Neville Longbottom and the Goblet of Fire

Chapter 20: Duel to the Death

Neville experienced a swirl of difficult emotions, and everything seemed to be happening too fast. Cedric was gone; dead in an instant and it happened right in front of him - it happened because of him. Finding out that it was Moody all along, Luna was right about them wanting him to survive the Tournament. In fact, he was supposed to win the Tournament so the Portkey would bring him here. But Neville had messed up, which is why the Portkey brought Cedric here instead of him.

Moody stepped forward and placed a long black robe around Voldemort's shoulders.

"Thank you, Bartimaeus," Voldemort rasped. Neville was confused, he knew Moody's first name was Alistair.

Moody nodded his head toward Neville, and Voldemort looked in his direction. He pulled a wand out of his robes, but something was wrong. Voldemort's right hand still looked withered, and he was having difficulty holding the Wand. He held up his left hand for comparison and those spindly fingers flexed nimbly, but the fingers on his right hand made a cracking sound when he flexed them stiffly.

"What went wrong!" Voldemort demanded, and then he saw the broken hole in the bottom of the cauldron. Voldemort took two long strides toward Neville who flinched away. Neville could see the cat-slit pupils of his red eyes, and he was frozen with fear.

"I will deal with you in a moment," Voldemort said, and the ropes binding him tightened unnecessarily. He walked back to Moody and said, "Call them!"

Moody rolled up a sleeve and touched the tip of his Want to his forearm. A glowing image appeared in the sky above them - a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. Neville saw that Pettigrew was crouched down clutching his left hand. No, not his left hand, but the stump where his left hand no longer was. Neville realized that he had cut off his own hand as part of the Spell.

"How many will come," Voldemort said rhetorically. "How many will feel their Mark and heed the call, and how many will be foolish enough to stay away."

Then the night air was filled with a series of popping sounds - some sharp, some loud and some dull. Cloaked figures wearing masks were appearing in a circle around the broken cauldron. Moody and Pettigrew took their own places, yet Pettigrew sat on the ground in pain. There were several gaps in their circle as though leaving a spot for the ones that stayed away.

Voldemort stood in the middle of them, arms out as though to prove that he was real. One of the masked figures dropped to their knees and crawled to him, repeatedly calling him Master and kissing the hem of his robes. All of the others did the same, and then returned to their place in the circle.

"Welcome, my Death-Eaters," Voldemort hissed. "Thirteen long years, and yet you answered my call. We remain united under the Dark Mark. Or do we?" This last part was said with anger.

"You all stand here, whole and healthy . . . You have all sworn eternal loyalty, and yet none of you came to the aid of your Master."

No one answered as Voldemort wandered around the inside of the circle. "I have to ask myself, how much loyalty could you have if you thought that I was broken - dead even. That can be the only reason; you doubted that I would return."

"Forgive me, Master!" one of them begged.

"Crucio!" Voldemort was standing over him in an instant, and had him writhing on the ground in pain. He stopped and said, "Get up Avery, you beg my forgiveness? I do not forgive you now, and I do not forget! I expect thirteen years' repayment before I forgive you.'

He turned his attention to Pettigrew. "Wormtail has repaid some of his debt to me. You returned not out of loyalty, but out of fear. You had nowhere else to go, and yet you helped me return to my body. Stand!"