Chapter 8

A/N: Review, review, review! Thanks.

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"The Dark Lord is most anxious for my visit?" repeated Polyxena, voice rising in horror. "I never thought I'd be dealing with him directly. I'm hardly the Potters or Dorcas Meadowes, am I?"

Rodolphus shrugged. "Just following orders. I was to bring you back and use as much clichéd 'evil villain' talk as possible. That's what we Death Eaters are known for." He opened a heavily carved, ebony door to reveal a large room predictably decorated in dark green and silver with a single chair placed before a crackling fire. "My lord," intoned Rodolphus, head bowed, "the prisoner has arrived."

"Excellent work, Lestrange," came the high, cold voice of the Dark Lord. "Lord Voldemort rewards his followers." Pausing, he turned in his chair to face his visitors. "So feel free to pick up a fresh box of Bartlett pears on your way out."

"You are good and merciful, my lord," murmured Rodolphus, prostrating himself at his master's feet.

Polyxena scoffed, drawing herself up. "What is it you want with me exactly, Lord Voldemort?"

"Do not speak the Dark Lord's name!" hissed Rodolphus, leaping to his feet. "How dare you besmirch it with your filthy half-blood's tongue?"

"I'm not a half-blood," replied Polyxena. "And what else am I going to call him? Not being a Death Eater, I can't really say 'master' or 'my lord.'" She turned back to Voldemort and spoke quickly. "It seems a bit odd to call you You-Know-Who because you clearly know who because you is who and you is you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is just plain stupid, unless I change it to You-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, which is idiotic in the extreme, and I doubt you'd be willing to go in for things like 'Voldie,' so nicknames are out of the picture. I can't really see myself saying 'Oh, hello, The Dark Lord' either."

Voldemort's red, snakelike eyes narrowed in confusion. "Lord Voldemort hasn't been this perplexed since Lord Voldemort read Ulysses. But Lord Voldemort grows impatient. Lord Voldemort will not bore you with the details of the Harry Potter drama in a pitiful attempt to up the word count and seriousness of this particular scene, so suffice it to say that Lord Voldemort is angry. Lord Voldemort could have killed Harry Potter in what Lord Voldemort likes to call 'Book Four' of Lord Voldemort's 'series' of encounters with the boy, but... "

"The wands, yes, we know, we know," snapped Polyxena impatiently. "So you want my father to make you a special Dark with which you can kill Potter?"

"That is Lord Voldemort's eventual objective, yes," admitted the Dark Lord. "But there is haberdashery afoot."

"Do you even know what haberdashery means?" queried Polyxena in outrage. "It's nothing to do with my father or his wands. I think you mean skullduggery."

"Lord Voldemort has overindulged in Gilbert and Sullivan of late," admitted You-Know-Who. "But, at any rate, that wretched Mundungus Fletcher absconded with the entire stock of prototypes for Lord Voldemort's new wand. Therefore, Lord Voldemort has come to the most obvious and trite conclusion possible: Mundungus, the Order member, has intercepted them to keep Lord Voldemort from having the most destructive wand ever created!"

Polyxena's brow furrowed. "You don't think very highly of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, do you? Aren't you forgetting that Dung is affiliated with all sorts of criminal gangs, save for Harz's lot. (Harz, your 'not-quite-arch' enemy) Perhaps he merely stole them to sell them in Knockturn Alley before Stop 'n' Jinx takes the Dark Arts mainstream. What I don't understand is how my father could be making wands for you, but you have no idea where he is, and are in fact so scrapped for ideas that you kidnap his daughter, who is obviously searching for him, too."

At that, Rodolphus pulled her aside. "I should warn you, the Dark Lord has a tendency to overlook crucial facts. He's a brilliant wizard and a noble master, but things like life debts, powerful ancient magic that could potentially destroy him, Priori Incantatem, hearing the entire prophecy before acting, noticing that someone is reading his mind, the existence of love, and feeling pieces of his soul die tend to escape him. Just so you're aware."

"Lord Voldemort heard that. Crucio!"

Writhing in agony, Lestrange fell to the green carpet. "I adore you, oh, master."

Sighing, Polyxena glanced from the Dark Lord to the fallen Death Eater and back again. This moment could have pivotal and dramatic, but it's become nothing more than a farce. "Lord Voldemort, please. I know your followers put the Imperius on my father, but somehow Harz's lot got hold of him. We need to speak rationally. All this 'She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' and 'word count' talk is so Pirandello it's not even funny."

"Lord Voldemort's followers did not put the Imperius on the wandmaker. The wandmaker sent word to Lord Voldemort that he wished to indulge in that particular intellectual challenge. He never arrived. Those guilty of great treachery to Lord Voldemort must pay the ultimate price." The Dark Lord drummed his skeletal fingers on the mantelpiece.

"How can you Avada him if you don't know where he is?" queried Polyxena.

"Avada Kedavra," repeated Voldemort with relish. "What a wonderful phrase." He eyed Polyxena shrewdly. "You claim not to know where the wandmaker is. Lord Voldemort does not believe you." His cold, red gaze met Polyxena's furious grey one. "But I see he is with Harz, as you said before." Turning to Rodolphus, the Dark Lord sighed, "She is useless to Lord Voldemort. Crucio!" He flicked his wand lazily at Polyxena.

She screamed, falling to the hard, stone floor as thousands of hot nails drove themselves into her flesh. The pain came in waves, searing into her bones and finally leaving her motionless and aching with the curse's aftereffects. Through the haze of pain, she saw Lord Voldemort's cold smirk and heard him tell Lestrange to take her to one of their 'guest suites.' Just before she lost consciousness, Polyxena felt Rodolphus magic her up from the floor and float her back through Death Eater Headquarters.

* * *

"It just doesn't add up," growled Moody, swigging deeply from his flask as he and Dung sat in a dark, smoky corner of the Hanged Man, Little Hangleton's village pub. "If the scum who sent that finger was part of Harz's lot, then why did he write that it was a bad idea to send Nott to Azkaban? The bastard didn't even have a chance to unpack his bags before they let him go, so how would Harz have even known that Nott was arrested?"

"An' why would 'e care?" muttered Dung, letting out a great cloud of pipe smoke. "Harz's lot'd be 'appy if one of You-Know-Who's lot wasn' workin'. An' what'd 'e think P'lyx'na was gonna tell 'im? She an' the wandmaker don't talk much."

"Dunno." Moody replaced the cap on his gin. "You-Know-Who's the best Legilimens in the world. He'll realize that Polyxena can't tell him much of anything." Pausing, Mad-Eye said gruffly, "And kill her then, no doubt."

Blinking at him mournfully, Dung had to agree. "Wager you're right, Mad-Eye, 'less we find 'er first. Maybe Dumbledore'll know somethin' 'bout that rat-faced bloke."

Moody's magical eye twitched. "Well, we'd better not waste any time, then." Dragging Mundungus' tweed arm through the door of the pub, he led him to a quiet spot near the edge of the forest to Apparate.

With a few sharp cracks, the two men appeared in Hogsmeade and hastened up the path to the school, Moody limping so heavily that he conjured a staff and Dung simultaneously gasping for breath and taking drags on his pipe. They tore past a number of startled students and staff, ignored a brooding, angry Snape and tearful Hermione, and skidded to a halt at the stone gargoyle.

"Blood... flavored... lollipops," panted Moody and dragged Dung up the spiraling stone steps to Dumbledore's apartments. "Dumbledore! Albus!"

"Th' Death Eater's've got P'lyx'na!" cried Mundungus. "Reckon they're torturin' her right now. Th' Cruciatus or maybe th' Curse of... "

Moody leaned painfully on his walking stick. "Enough! We all know what Dark wizards are capable of. If you hadn't lit your pipe under the cloak, the Death Eaters would never have known she was there. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

"I've got an addiction, me," he grumbled under his breath. "An' you couldn't've hexed Lestrange while P'lyx'na was torturin' the others?"

Alastor's magical eye and normal eye both narrowed dangerously. "There was nothing stopping you from hexing the lot. I had to protect her."

Snorting derisively, Dung wheezed, "P'lyx'na don't need no protectin'. Didja see what she did t' them with th' special Dark?"

"Special Dark?" queried Dumbledore.

"Wands," growled Mad-Eye. "Ollivander made 'em, least, that's what Polyxena says. Dung here nicked them off a 'rat-faced bloke' with a 'silver hand' who was 'wearing a cloak.' Not a very apt description if you ask me; it's all part of Stealth and Tracking, knowing what... "

"Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted gently, "Dung stole those wands from Peter Pettigrew."

"Wormtail?" exclaimed Mundungus. "Th' bloke who betrayed th' Potters? Bloody hell, I'm movin' up in th' world, nickin' shit from Death Eaters an' all. Reckon ol' Elfrida'd let me have a go now."

"Wormtail." Wisely ignoring the rest of Dung's statement, Dumbledore continued, "He was indeed the man who betrayed the Potters, a double agent for Voldemort and the Order."

"Filthy scum," snarled Moody. "He got the Potters killed, not to mention Dorcas and the McKinnons. I could see him double-dipping with Harz's lot and the Death Eaters, the lousy traitor. Cutting off a finger, that's Pettigrew's trademark, and of course he'd be worried if one of You-Know-Who's inner circle was sent to Azkaban. But if Harz's lot has Ollivander, the only way Wormtail could have got to his finger is by being one of them. But why the special Darks? Harz's lot doesn't use Dark magic, and those are walnut with black cat whisker cores."

"The special Darks, then, are very powerful wands," replied Dumbledore thoughtfully. "And really, what vicious criminal overlord wouldn't want a very powerful wand? My guess would be that the Death Eaters put Ollivander under the Imperius to force him to create Voldemort's new wand, but Harz's followers seized him to prevent him making Voldemort more powerful."

"Harz's lot don't like You-Know-Who," interjected Mundungus eagerly. "An' them special Darks would've sold for a pretty Knut if Mad-Eye here hadn't burned 'em up. 'S like th' time ol' Warty Harris an' I went up t' th' top of Stoatshead Hill t'... "

"But You-Know-Who has Polyxena," interrupted Moody agitatedly, clunking back and forth across the room. "Finding her is more important than finding that wandmaker."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Is it now?"

"Stop trying to be cute, Albus," Moody growled. "Where's the Death Eater Headquarters?"

With a repressive look, the older wizard countered, "You of all people, Alastor, should know how many security measures the Death Eaters will have taken with their stronghold. One cannot simply barge in on Lord Voldemort."

"Yeah? Watch us."

"'Us'?" Dung edged nervously toward the door. "'M not th' one who's trained for this, Mad-Eye. Followin' th' fuckin' Potter boy 'round Hogsmeade, that's one thing, innit? But sneakin' into th' Death Eater's house, that's just askin' t' get m' privates hexed off or get Avada'd an' Crucio'd 'til we're both madder 'n a coupla fuckin' Quintupeds."

Desperately, Mad-Eye grabbed a fistful of Dumbledore's purple velvet robes and leaned forward so that they were partially obliterated nose to crooked nose. "I was an Auror for twenty-five goddamn years, Albus, the best the Ministry ever had. I'm the reason most of those motherfuckers were in Azkaban... "

"So they'll be especially glad to see you sweeping onto the lawn of Riddle Manor to seize their hostage."

"Riddle Manor, is it?" Moody quirked the brow over his normal eye. "Back in Little Hangleton?"

"I... " Dumbledore's face was disgruntled. "Er... can I interest you in a Sherbet Lemon?"

Seizing a fistful of Dung's tweed overcoat, Moody dragged him back to the stairs. "Come on."

"Dunno... rescuin'... P'lyx'na... privates," muttered Dung incoherently as Alastor dragged him out of the castle. "Er, y' see, Mad-Eye, I just r'membered, I've got a business opportunity down in London, these thin-bottomed cauldrons... "

"Shut up, Dung," Moody snarled, tightening his grip on the other man's arm so that he could Apparate them both.

* * *

When Polyxena came to, she was lying across an enormous, carved, ebony bed covered by a moth eaten, velvet coverlet. Her limbs were stiff and throbbing with a dull, continuous pain that felt as though she was being repeatedly bludgeoned with the business end of a Firebolt. Moaning slightly, she struggled to sit up and saw through narrowed eyes the ink-black sky pressing against the diamond-paned windows. The windows were, she noted at once, unlocked, though with heavy heart, she realized that the Death Eaters would have plenty of wards around the manor to stop her and the other guests escaping. At the sound of sharp raps upon her door, she started.

"Who's there?" she said weakly. "Al-Alastor?"

Dolohov of the twisted beard and evil leer entered the room and gave a harsh, mocking laugh. "You think the old Auror could limp past the Dark Lord and the entire night shift of Death Eaters?" He began to chuckle in earnest. "Yeah, yeah, I can see it now. He and that tramp looking bloke burst into the Dark Lord's very chambers and take him into Azkaban!"

"Fuck you," snapped Polyxena, finding some of her old ire. "Who do you think put you in with the Dementors last time? Who's to say it couldn't happen again?"

"I'm not here to discuss politics," interrupted the Death Eater smoothly. "Here at Death Eater Headquarters, we pride ourselves on providing the utmost in torture experiences. We, the Dark Lord's followers, believe in two things: the supremacy of purebloods and the brutal torment of our opponents. Every four hours, each prisoner receives a complimentary Cruciatus session with one of our certified Torture Infliction Associates. Your last torture session was at six, so Crucio!."

Polyxena had opened her mouth to retort, but instead the sound of her screams punctuated the silence. It was pain beyond pain beyond pain that made her think that Dolohov was actually better with the curse than Voldemort himself.

"Yes, I'd like to see that paranoid old nutter take that on," he said, licking his lips. Dolohov then tapped his Dark Mark thrice and spoke into the end of his wand. "Ground control to Major Tom. Can you hear me, Major Tom?"

"Speak to Lord Voldemort, Dolohov. Have you completed the rounds?" The Dark Lord's cruel voice erupted from the tip of Dolohov's wand.

"I have, my lord."

"You have done good work, Dolohov," praised the Dark Lord, "and Lord Voldemort rewards those faithful to the cause. You may pick up your free Death Eater's insignia tote bag at the end of your shift."

"You are great and merciful, my lord," simpered Dolohov and touched his wand to the Dark Mark once more. "See you at two," he sneered at Polyxena before slamming the heavy door behind him.

Sinking once more into the guest suite's uncomfortable bed, Polyxena felt consciousness leave her again.