October Twilight

October Twilight
Chapter Fourteen
“The Mind of Riddle”

September 3rd, 1976
6th Year

Stellan Christiansen peered over the top of the attendance sheet at his new sixth-year students. They gazed back with curious expressions. Some of them took in his eccentric appearance silently while others debated about his foreign accent in hushed voices. Among two of the whispering students were the young men called James Potter and Sirius Black. The two girls behind them, Lily Evans and Dorcas Meadowes, poked and shushed them while motioning to the new Professor.

Stellan stood from his seat and walked around to the front of his desk. “Welcome to N.E.W.T level Defense Against the Dark Arts. I am Professor Christiansen. You’ve had a — disjointed – education in this subject. However, I will not allow any of you to use this as an excuse for poor performance in my class. You’ve received an Outstanding on your O.W.L or you would not be here. Let us begin with a refresher course in what you have already learned and a brief overview of what to expect in this class. Who plans on becoming an Auror when you’re finished here at Hogwarts?”

Slowly, six students raised their hands. Professor Christiansen whistled. “That many of you, eh? You’re ready to charge into the fray and defeat some Dark wizards, are you? Well, let’s see if you have what it takes.” He scanned the room and finally pointed to James. “You, sir.”

“James Potter, sir.”

“Mr. Potter, please demonstrate the Patronus Charm.”

With a swagger and a smirk, Potter stepped into the aisle between the desks and cast the Charm. A few of the sillier girls in the back of the room cooed at the shining silver stag. Lily only rolled her eyes, and Dorcas stifled a laugh.

“Very good, very good. That is a strong Patronus, very strong.” Potter exchanged an arrogant smirk with Sirius. “But not strong enough, Mr. Potter.” The young man’s smile fell. “Professor McGonagall tells me you’re top in her class. Do not think that because you’re better at the more difficult subject of Transfiguration that you do not need to perfect your Charms. Your homework will be to master the first twenty Charms in Advanced Defensive Magic and perform them in front of the class next Monday for critiquing and advice from your classmates.”

Potter looked thoroughly put out, but Lily and Dorcas were giddy with self-righteous humor. Finally they had a professor who would put Potter in his place.

“You there,” Professor Christiansen said, moving on.

“Annabel Knight, sir.”

“Miss Knight, tell me the uses and incantation of the Dark Mark, and what you would do, as an Auror, if you saw the Dark Mark above the home of a wizarding family.”

“The Dark Mark is used to signal that Death Eaters have been to a home and either killed, tortured, or kidnapped one or more members of the family who lived there. The incantation is ….” Annabel hesitated for a moment. She dropped her voice to a whisper, “Morsmordre.”

“What was that? I didn’t hear you,” the professor asked.

“Morsmordre,” she repeated, a bit louder.

“I still didn’t catch that.”

“Morsmordre.”

“I’m an old man, Miss Knight. You’re insulting me with this whispering.”

“Morsmordre!” Annabel shouted.

She looked pale and was shaking slightly. Professor Christiansen watched her closely, his frown deepening as she squirmed under his intense gaze. Apparently, he decided not to make her answer the second part of the question.

“I would like you, Miss Knight, to write fifteen inches on why you want to become an Auror, due tomorrow.” He turned away from the girl, looking for another student to call on. “You.”

“Sirius Black, sir.”

“Mr. Black. Please repel the spell that I am going to cast on you.”

Black stepped into the aisle with this wand raised. His fingers twitched around the wood the longer Professor Christiansen did nothing. Without speaking, the professor flicked his wand and a jet of orange light flew at Black.

“Protego!” Black called.

The spell bounced off the shield, the professor ducked to miss it, and a portrait on the wall howled in pain as it burst into flame. Calmly, the professor extinguished the fire.

“Very good, Mr. Black. You will write twelve inches on the theory of nonverbal spells, due at the start of next class. You,” he said, pointing to another student.

“Dorcas Meadowes, professor.”

“Miss Meadowes, I am new to your country. I’m visiting from Denmark because my old friend Dumbledore requested it of me. I’ve heard a rather confusing term used a lot. Perhaps you could clarify for me?”

“Certainly, sir,” Dorcas smiled, sitting up straighter.

“Who is … You-Know-Who?”

Dorcas’s confident smile vanished. Her jaw opened and closed several times without any words coming out. She glanced sidelong at Lily, who wasn’t at all frightened of saying the Dark Lord’s name. Potter and Black were peering over their shoulders, waiting for her to answer.

“He’s the Dark Lord, sir,” she stammered.

“Ah, I see. Would this be Grindewald? Ducellini? Skasgard? Wlasyllsaw?”

Dorcas’s discomfort increased with each Dark wizard he named. She swallowed thickly as she tried desperately to find a way not to say the Dark Lord’s name.

“You-Know-Who,” she began, “is the Dark wizard who is, at this moment, alive and powerful in Britain.”

“So there is only one Dark wizard in Britain? Well, you’re very fortunate. We have a whole army of them in Denmark. How peaceful Britain must be!”

The professor paused, waiting to see if Dorcas would say the name or not. She tightened her jaw resolutely, but did not meet the professor’s gaze.

“You, Miss Meadowes, will write sixteen inches on what it means to be brave, including how courage and the traits of Hufflepuff House compliment each other.” Seeing that Potter and Black were nudging and grinning at one another, Professor Christiansen leaned down and looked into their faces. “For I assure you, Gryffindors do not have a monopoly on bravery. And if by some stroke of unhappy circumstance they do, God save us all.”

The class had become so silent that the trees outside the window could be heard swaying and groaning in the mild autumn wind.

“Words are not everything,” the professor continued, “Aurors who stand around speaking will soon be found lying down dead. Let’s see who does better in a duel: the wizard who can block a spell when he knows it is coming or the witch who will not say a certain name. Mr. Black, Miss Meadowes, up you get.”

Dorcas and Sirius walked to the front of the room and turned to face one another. They bowed and assumed the beginning positions for dueling.

Dorcas knew she could never beat Black in a fair fight. She could cast powerful and debilitating defensive spells, but her reflexes were nowhere near as good as his. If he knew they were coming, he would be able to block and duck every spell she sent his way. Worse still, she wasn’t fast enough to dodge his spells.

She did have one major advantage, however. She could read imminent thoughts. She hoped that Professor Christiansen wasn’t a Legilimens, or if he was, wouldn’t tell Dumbledore what she was about to do. She focused on the image of the blocked door that was the symbol of her Occlumency shield. She imagined it opening, and next moment, when she looked into Black’s eyes, she knew that he was planning to use the Stinging Spell first.

“Begin!” Christiansen yelled.

Black hadn’t so much as uttered the first syllable of the incantation when Dorcas shot a Stinging Spell his way and immediately cast the Shield Charm. Black stumbled backwards, completely surprised that Dorcas had struck so quickly. They had never dueled before, being in different classes, but they had hexed one another in the corridors plenty of times.

“Re—,” Black began.

Prepared for the hex, Dorcas calmly flicked her wand and cast the Trip Jinx. The duel went on in that way. Black barely began saying the incantation when Dorcas hexed or jinxed him, then either blocked the spell or ducked out of the way.

Black was getting more and more infuriated. He had yet to hit Dorcas with a single spell, but he was getting pummeled. Dorcas was merrily jinxing him, even glancing at Annabel and Lily occasionally, who were laughing so hard they were crying. Dorcas’s smile faltered when she saw Professor Christiansen’s face. His eyes were dark and the corners of his lips pulled down, creasing his already wrinkled skin.

In the time it took for Dorcas to realize that this professor was much cleverer than their former teachers, Black had seized the opportunity and sent a crippling Striking Hex in her direction. Dorcas doubled over, clutching her side and gasping for breath. She vaguely heard Professor Christiansen’s rumbling voice end the duel and felt someone lifting her up.

“I hope you’re happy, Black! You beat up a girl. How manly,” Lily exclaimed scathingly.

“She wants to be an Auror! What does she expect?” Potter shouted.

In a moment, the whole class had erupted in chaos. The girls were shouting at the boys about civility, the girls were shouting at the girls about equality, and the boys were shouting at the boys about propriety. In the middle of it all, Professor Christiansen had picked up his briefcase and left the room, whistling a peppy Danish tune as he shut the door.

“You had it coming, you know.”

Dorcas looked up, surprised to see Black was helping her to her feet. She shoved him away roughly, glaring fiercely at him. She could breathe now, but her side would likely be bruised for weeks.

“I’ll remember that the next time you jinx a little second-year just because you think it’s funny,” she replied hotly.

“We were dueling, Meadowes! You used your strengths, and I used mine.”

Dorcas’s head snapped in his direction. “What do you mean, I used my strengths?”

“I think you know what I mean.”

Before Dorcas could demand to know exactly what he was referring to, the door to the classroom flew open. Professor McGonagall took in the sight of screaming students, some of whom were hexing each other or Muggle dueling.

“Why, I never—Not in all my years—What is the meaning—and three prefects in the class, too! You should be ashamed of yourselves!” The Transfiguration professor glared around the room. “But—But where is Professor Christiansen?”

“I think he went to his office when we began fighting, ma’am,” Annabel answered.

McGonagall’s cheeks turned pink and she stormed out of the room. Some of the students nearer the door later swore that they heard her say, “Bleeding old codgers! As if Albus wasn’t enough to handle!”

“Let’s go before she remembers to punish us,” Potter said, grabbing Black and heading for the door.

Lily and Annabel joined Dorcas near the professor’s desk.

“You are all right, aren’t you?” Annabel asked.

Dorcas wondered how to answer that. Physically, she was fine. But Black had implied that he knew she was a Legilimens. If that was true, she could be in a great deal of trouble if he ever told Dumbledore. She would just have to remind Black that she had some dirt on him too.

*~*~*

July 30th, 1979

Summer sunsets were usually among Dorcas’s favorite things to watch, but not this year. The flaming sun no longer looked majestic as it descended below the horizon. Through the dementors’ mist, the brilliant orange rays looked faint and murky. The perpetual chill in the air and constant reminder of the hooded creatures caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. A shudder passed up her spine, and Sirius pulled her closer to his body.

“We should go inside anyway,” he suggested, glancing around at the backyard. “Dinner is probably ready.”

Like his father, James had taken extra precautions to ensure his family’s security. The high garden wall kept out Muggle intruders, but wards had been placed all around the property as well. Magical sensory detectors were placed every few feet apart. In addition to all the charms and spells placed on the Potter’s home, Lily had hired men to install a Muggle security system. At first, Sirius had thought it was wonderfully funny to set off the alarms. That is, until Lily jinxed him and Muggle law enforcers arrived to investigate the disturbance.

He was still nursing a sore back from the jinxes, but he didn’t really mind it so much. The utter impracticality of sirens and flashing lights had made Dorcas laugh until she cried. She hadn’t so much as grinned in the last three weeks. Now that Darius was staying with her, she had the added responsibility of taking care of him. She was trying her hardest to stay strong for him, but Sirius could see the cracks forming. Any more stress, and she would likely break.

“I’ll have to leave earlier tonight than usual to get Angelica home,” she stated, entering the kitchen.

“I’ll Apparate with you … just to make sure.”

Dorcas didn’t object or declare that she could take care of herself. In the past week, the unnatural mist had spread over London. Every waking moment, Dorcas struggled to keep the negative memories at bay. When she slept she had terrible nightmares about her family’s deaths and the gleaming red eyes of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She no longer maintained any pretense of courage. She had to stay alive for Darius, and if that meant allowing Sirius to Apparate everywhere with her, then she was willing to do that for her younger brother.

Plates piled with food were floating from the kitchen to the table in the dining room. Sirius ducked underneath the charmed dishes and took the seat next to Darius while Dorcas went to help Lily with the finishing touches. Angelica’s blonde head appeared from below the counter as she hefted a pot roast out of the oven.

Angelica had begged Dorcas to let her spend the day in the wizarding world. She had grown up surrounded by magic, and suddenly living with her Muggle aunt and uncle was driving her crazy. Even still, Dorcas’s cousin hadn’t complained once that Lily strictly enforced the underage wizardry laws in her house. She gladly helped the Potter’s house-elf wherever she could.

It had become a routine to meet for dinner at Godric’s Hollow or Holly Falls. No one wanted to be alone for too long, and dinner was a good excuse for being together for most of the night. That night, only Lily, Sirius, Dorcas, and Darius were free for dinner. Remus had gone back to Scotland again, James was watching suspected Death Eaters, and Pete was standing guard in Hogsmeade. Nights when so many of their friends were out was especially tense. Every week more people died and disappeared. The possibility of a loved one being next was never far out of anyone’s minds.

The Order had had a meeting two weeks prior to give their reports. The pattern had become clear to them all, although no one said it aloud. The Order of the Phoenix was being picked off one-by-one. The latest causalities were Gideon and Fabian Prewett. At the funeral, Dorcas had watched from across the room as their older sister Molly cried over their coffins. She was the last surviving Prewett.

She glanced sadly at Angelica. The girl knew what it was like to lose her parents and siblings in one moment. Dorcas wondered when Darius would be the last Meadowes. She knew her number would be up sooner or later. She was a priority to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and she had resolved to die fighting rather than allow the Dark Lord to kill hundreds of others with her Sight.

She sat across the table from her brother, watching him chat with Sirius. Sometimes she swore they were on the same maturity level. Both of their mouths were stuffed full of food, but they continued talking about Quidditch and racing brooms. She saw so much of her father in Darius’s face, but not in his personality. He had to know how much danger his sister was in, but he never showed it. A sudden surge of envy rose up in her. Everyone had found a release for their frustration and fear except for her. Sirius could make even the direst situation humorous, Lily always found a speck of hope in the darkest times, and Darius could let go of the things he couldn’t change, but not Dorcas.

“The World Cup will go on with or without the British teams,” Darius speculated. “Without our teams, I think it’ll be New Zealand and Chile.”

Sirius shook his head vigorously. “Chile? No, I think Finland has it next year. They beat Tibet by 400 points last—”

“Must we always talk about Quidditch?” Lily asked, sighing deeply.

“Yes,” Sirius and Darius answered immediately.

Lily smiled despite herself, but Dorcas rose from the table, staring at the antique spindle-legged table beside the door. The Dark detectors James had placed among the pictures were whizzing and spinning, and the largest one was emitting a faint hissing sound. The other two adults sprang from the table with their wands already out.

“Darius, Angelica! Keep hidden as long as possible!” Dorcas ordered.

“What!? No, I’m a Gryffindor! Gryffindors don’t hide!”

“Yes, they do,” Lily countered, rushing back into the room. “When there are nearly twenty Death Eaters tearing the town apart and a third-year student in that town, you’d better believe someone is going to hide with the child.”

“I’m not a child,” Angelica protested, but her voice shook as she said it.

“Under this,” Sirius said, holding out James’s Invisibility Cloak. Whenever Darius and Angelica came over, James always left it behind and borrowed one of Moody’s.

“Wands ready, but don’t use them unless you have to. Hide under the stairs and don’t come out until one of us comes to get you,” Dorcas finished, shoving them into the cupboard beneath the staircase.

Angelica grabbed her cousin’s hand. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re going to go help the Muggles. Stay with Darius. We’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

“We’ll be here until Judgment Day,” Darius muttered, as he pulled the cloak over himself and shut the door.

Sirius and Lily had already disabled the Dark detectors by the time Dorcas entered the drawing room. Two bright Patronuses were flying through the night sky, dodging the Dark Marks springing up over Muggle homes.

“The pattern is too random and they’re staying in a tight formation,” Sirius observed. “They’re coming here.”

“Then we’ll draw them away from the house until more of the Order arrives,” Lily said. She turned towards Dorcas. “Maybe you should stay—”

“No. I’m not letting you two duel twenty Death Eaters alone. If it’s tonight, then it’s tonight.”

Lily fell silent, knowing what Dorcas was referring to. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been after Dorcas since May. It was only a matter of time before he sent his servants to get what he wanted.

Dorcas and Sirius looked at one another silently for a long moment. Other couples, those who were willing to admit they’d fallen for their former nemesis—couples like Lily and James—would have kissed, in case it was the last time they ever saw each other. But Sirius and Dorcas weren’t like those couples. Sirius would never admit defeat before a fight, and Dorcas couldn’t stand anymore good-byes. Without words, they left the house and plunged into the duel.

The town that had once looked like a greeting card now looked like a battlefield. Houses were burning, fences had been reduced to splinters, people were screaming, and the dull green glow of the Dark Marks cast unnatural light on the narrow streets. The hooded and masked Death Eaters marching down the street quickened their pace when they saw the three Order members. A few stayed behind to torture and kill Muggles, but over three-fourths rushed at the witches and wizard.

For a moment, Dorcas thought that the world had slowed down. She could see everything clearly: the stars shining beyond the Dark Marks, the scuttle of dirt beneath her shoes, the soft wind picking up her stray hairs, and the presence of her friends on both sides. Suddenly, the clarity was violently interrupted as a dozen Killing Curses came rushing around them.

As Dorcas ducked, instinct kicked in, and her mind opened to the magic in the air. She knew exactly what curses were being cast in her direction. She hurled jinxes and hexes with all her power between dodging the curses being cast at her. She was vaguely aware that none of the Death Eaters were trying to kill her, but the flashes of green light and rushing sound that accompanied them meant that Lily and Sirius were not fighting such equal battles.

Dorcas turned sharply and blocked the hex the smallest of the Death Eaters had sent at her. She knew intuitively that there was a woman behind the mask and that she was a Legilimens. Part of Dorcas was terrified of dueling this woman, but the other part was thankful for an even fight. For once, she felt that she wasn’t wasting the ability she’d worked so hard to learn.

The two women dueled silently. The sounds of Muggles screaming, Killing Curses rushing, and the creaking of wood beneath magical fires faded away. Round and round they circled. The curses they used were part of the physical battle, but they were struggling mentally also to see who had the stronger mind and better Legilimency skill. Dorcas caught a glimpse of the Death Eater’s next move.

She finally understood why the other woman was fighting defensively instead of the usual impulsive, aggressive manner of the Death Eaters. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had told them that Dorcas was very valuable and possessed a great skill, but he had not told them what she could do.

It was dangerous, but Dorcas could think of no other way to win. She focused all her concentration, willingly herself to See. As if in slow motion, a shadow of the Death Eater in front of her began to move. Her wrist flicked … red flame shot towards Dorcas … Time began to move more quickly and the shadow became more solid. She kept her physical eyes squarely on her opponent, but her mental Eye watched the future unfold.

To an inexperienced dueler, the double vision would have been disastrous, but for Dorcas, it became much easier. She took the offensive, no longer waiting for the Death Eater to strike first.

“Fenia!” she thought.

The woman reeled in shock, not having seen that jinx coming. She stumbled, but managed to stay on her feet. Dorcas pulled her wand high over her head and brought it down sharply. Again, the woman was caught off guard. A glowing blue ball of light sped towards Dorcas, but she had Seen that already and wordlessly cast the countercurse. The two spells connected in mid-air and blue sparks fell to the pavement.

“Acucorpus!” Dorcas thought.

Out of nowhere, something hard slammed into the side of Dorcas’s head. She lost her footing and collapsed on the street. When she glanced up, the double vision was gone. She saw triple of the same image. A Muggle man was shaking a rubber mallet at the woman Death Eater. The man must have thought all the magicians were evil and, in panic and rage, charged through the duel hitting anyone who he could get close to.

“Avada Kedavra!” the woman cried, without a second hesitation.

Dorcas scrambled to her feet, but she had already lost the advantage. The Death Eater silently cast the Impediment Jinx on her and called to four of her companions to hurry. A hundred thoughts swirled through Dorcas’s mind in the thirty seconds it took the Death Eaters to reach her.

She was captured and about to be taken to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named … She hadn’t died in the duel like she had sworn to herself she would … She didn’t know if Sirius and Lily were alive … Where were the other Order members? … How many Muggles had died so that the Death Eaters could capture her? … Were Darius and Angelica all right? … Was this is the end of Dorcas Meadowes as her friends knew her? … If she returned, would her mind be clouded by the Imperius Curse? …

“Good night, love,” said a man with a gruff voice as he raised his wand.

“Sirius!” Dorcas cried, suddenly finding her voice. His name came out more slowly than she had meant it to because of the Impediment Jinx. Somewhere behind her, she heard him yelling something, but she never found out what.

“Somnia!” the Death Eater growled, flicking his wand at her.

Her eyelids slipped closed, her legs felt like jelly, and the world went black.

She didn’t know how many hours had passed when the spell was lifted. Her eyes had snapped open, but everything around her was pitch black. It was impossible to see the walls in the dark, but Dorcas had the feeling that she was in a very small space. The mold in the air stung her eyes, and the stone floor she had been laying on was damp.

She barely had time to orientate herself when two Death Eaters grabbed her by the elbows and dragged her out of the tiny room. A surge of panic welled up in her, and she tried desperately to fight back, but her hands and feet had been magically bound. One of the Death Eaters laughed cruelly as she floundered around, but the other remained utterly silent.

Her heart began beating rapidly and adrenaline coursed through her veins, triggering her reflexes to fight or run. She was unable to do either. The excess endorphins were making her head spin and vision blur and blood pound in ears. She knew what was about to happen. She was being taken to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

In a few moments, she would find out what she was truly made of. She would refuse to join him and die or suffer torture; or fear would overtake her and she would break. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she blinked them back. Years of lessons with Dumbledore came back to her.

She took a deep breath, and for one moment only, let all of her fear and uncertainty wash over her. Then, she pictured the sphinx that symbolized her Occlumency defense. She was no match for the Dark Lord, but she had made a promise to herself to go down fighting, and that held true for mental duels as much as for physical ones. She hadn’t used Occlumency since the incident in Greece, and it felt good to shut away the negative emotions and memories.

The Death Eaters unceremoniously dropped her on the floor of a dimly lit chamber that almost resembled a drawing room. A dying fire smoldered in a hearth and one chair was placed beside the fireplace. On the far side of the room, a dusty crystal chandelier glinted in the dull light.

Dorcas cringed as her knees hit the bare wood floor. The rustling of cloaks and creaking of floorboards as the Death Eaters moved ceased abruptly. Dorcas also froze, feeling the penetrating gaze on the back of her head.

“Dorcas Meadowes,” said a high, cold voice, “how accommodating for you to bow even before I enter the room.”

She wanted to jump to her feet and defy him, but she was unable to move her legs. As the Dark Lord moved around her, his cloak grazed her bare arm and chills raced up and down her spine. Already she felt her resolve shaking. She stared hard at the ground, refusing to look into the glowing red eyes and snakelike face.

“You left too quickly last time, Dorcas. I didn’t have a chance to explain my proposal.”

Dorcas didn’t trust herself to speak, although she thought of ten different defiant remarks. She knew her voice would shake, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would take advantage of her fear.

“You have an incredible gift, Dorcas. Alas, it is a magical ability that cannot be learned. I have tried, of course I have tried, but it is impossible. True Seers are so rare, and now that I’ve found one, I cannot let the opportunity pass me by.” He paused for a moment, but Dorcas didn’t look up. In a calculating voice, he continued. “When my loyal servant Severus—”

Dorcas couldn’t help herself. The jolt of hearing that murderer’s name shook her to her very core. She glanced up, hoping to see the Dark Lord motioning to one of the Death Eaters in the room so that she could take her revenge. It never occurred to her that her wand was missing or that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would never allow her to move. But she never had the chance to find out if the Dark Lord had gestured at all. The moment her eyes left the ground, he swooped from his chair and pierced her gaze with his cruel red eyes.

Dorcas cried out in alarm and pain. He was probing her mind with such vigor as Dumbledore had never done, even when pushing her to her limits. She tried to avert her eyes or move away from him, but she was rooted to the spot. Images of memories and premonitions swam before her eyes and the room around her disappeared. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named encountered the Occlumency sphinx, he crushed it like an annoying insect.

Dorcas vaguely realized that she was lying on her back, screaming and shuddering in pain. Without her Occlumency defenses, and with such an aggressive assault on her mind, she couldn’t hold out much longer. She knew what the Dark Lord wanted: an expression of cooperation and a demonstration. Hating herself for it, but panic and pain seeming to give her no other option, she gave him what he wanted.

She tuned into the magic in the air and hazy images began rushing into her mind. That was when she realized, with horror and revulsion, that the Dark Lord was touching her. She was Seeing his future, and through Legilimency, so was he.

The Hog’s Head pub … a locked door … a scar like a lightening bolt …

“Tell me what it means!” the Dark Lord roared, twisting her arm painfully. “Interpret for me!”

The mental barrage overwhelmed her strength. The words left her throat before she could stop them. “Beware the half-blood boy!”

As suddenly as it had begun, the pain ceased. The Dark Lord rose to his feet and resumed his position in the chair beside the fire. Dorcas lay panting on the floor. Her head pounded mercilessly, and the coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. She couldn’t move for physical exhaustion, and all she could think of was that poor child whose future she had undeniably altered.

“I think that was more effective than the Cruciatus Curse,” the Dark Lord was saying. The Death Eaters cackled appreciatively. “Now that you are a traitor, Dorcas, perhaps you will consider my offer. You will join me, willingly or not. Admittedly, I would prefer you come to my side of your own accord. It would be so much more gratifying.”

Dorcas pushed herself to her knees. Her entire body was shaking with the effort to move, but she was determined to look at Voldemort when she answered. She had done what she swore never to do. She had nothing left to lose, except her life, and she felt that she deserved death anyway. She looked directly into his red eyes.

“Death first.”

She spat a mixture of saliva and blood onto his polished black shoes. He reeled back and raised his wand, but lowered it after a long moment. With an evil sneer, he approached the young woman.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Dorcas. I will graciously allow you to leave this place alive, without performing the Imperius Curse. You will come back here within the week and submit yourself for the burning of the Dark Mark onto your forearm. If you do not, I shall demonstrate to you how important you are to me until you do return freely.”

“Severus, Bella, take her back to Godric’s Hollow. I wonder, Dorcas, how will the Order react when they find out you’ve been with me? I doubt they will believe you have not been put under the Imperius Curse.”

His lips twisted into a vicious smile as he flicked his wand. Once again, the world went black and Dorcas knew no more.