Mia Potter was the other Potter. Looking almost identical to her mother, she was a force to be reckoned with. But there was only one person who could reckon with her, and his name was Draco Malfoy.
In which the youngest Potter twin finds herself fa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✴ ✴ ✴ ✴
Voldemort looked away from Mia and began examining his own body. His hands were like large, pale spiders, his long white fingers caressed his own chest, his arms, his face; the red eyes, whose pupils were slits, like a cats, gleamed still more brightly through the darkness. He held up his hands and flexed the fingers, his expression rapt and exultant. He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of the great snake, which had slithered back into sight and was circling Mia again, hissing.
Voldemort slipped one of those unnaturally long-fingered hands into a deep pocket and drew out a wand. He caressed it gently too, and then he raised it, and pointed it at Wormtail, who was lifted off the ground and thrown against the headstone where Mia was tied. He fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Mia, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.
"Hold out your arm," said Voldemort lazily.
"Oh Master. . . thank you, Master. . . ."
He extended the bleeding stump, but Voldemort laughed again.
"The other arm, Wormtail."
"Master, please, please. . . ."
Voldemort bent down and pulled out Wormtail's left arm. He forced the sleeve of Wormtail's robes up past his elbow, and Mia saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth, the image that had appeared in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup. The Dark Mark. Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping.
He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm.
Mia's head seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl. Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Mia saw that it had turned jet black. A look of cruel satisfaction on his face, Voldemort straightened up, threw back his head, and stared around at the dark graveyard.
The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were Apparating. All of them were hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward, slowly, cautiously, as though they could hardly believe their eyes Voldemort stood in silence, waiting for them. Then one of the Death Eaters fell to his knees, crawled toward Voldemort and kissed the hem of his black robes.
"Welcome my friends," Voldemort said, looking around the Death Eaters, "thirteen years it's been, and yet you stand before me as though it were only yesterday. I confess myself disappointed, not one of you tried to find me."
He put back his terrible face and sniffed, his slit-like nostrils widening.
"I smell guilt," he said. "There is a stench or guilt upon the air."
