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More powerfully, as though to undo that moment of weakness.

“And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Wormtail’s wand from his other

Hand.

Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from

Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward

His own throat.

“No –“

Without pausing to think, Harry tried to drag back the hand, but there was no

Stopping it. The silver tool that Voldemort had given his most cowardly servant had

Turned upon its disarmed and useless owner; Pettigrew was reaping his reward for his

Hesitation, his moment of pity; he was being strangled before their eyes.

“No!”

Ron had released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the

crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was

Turning blue.

“Relashio!” said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened;

Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful

scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last

Twitch, and was still.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then leaving Wormtail’s body on the floor

Behind them, ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the

Drawing room. Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door,

Which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who

was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long-fingered hands. Hermione was lying at

Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring.

“Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?”

Harry waited, holding his breath, fighting against the prickling of his scar.

“No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.”

“Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?”

“Yes,” said the goblin.

Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it.

“Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut

into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. She kicked him aside. “And

now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!”

And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

At once, Harry’s scar felt as though it had split open again. His true surroundings

vanished: He was Voldemort, and the skeletal wizard before him was laughing

toothlessly at him; he was enraged at the summons he felt – he had warned them, he had

Told them to summon him for nothing less than Potter. If they were mistaken . . .

“Kill me, then!” demanded the old man. “You will not win, you cannot win! That

wand will never, ever be yours –“

And Voldemort’s fury broke: A burst of green light filled the prison room and the

Frail old body was lifted from its hard bed and then fell back, lifeless, and Voldemort

Returned to the window, his wrath barely controllable. . . . They would suffer his



Retribution if they had no good reason for calling him back. . . .

“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback,

take her if you want her.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!”


Date: 2015-12-11; view: 641


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Dobby nodded again. | The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress.
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