Stardust

Chapter 17

Voldemort looked away from his prisoners 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 cat's, 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 Harry and Stella 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 Stella was tied; he fell to the foot of it and lay there, crumpled up and crying. Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry and Stella, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.

Wormtail's robes were shining with blood now; he had wrapped the stump of his arm in them.

"My Lord..." he choked, "my Lord... you promised... you did promise-"

"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 Stella saw something upon the skin there, something like a vivid red tattoo — a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth — the Dark Mark.

Voldemort examined it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable weeping. "It is back," he said softly, "they will all have noticed it... and now, we shall see... now we shall know..."

He pressed his long white forefinger to the brand on Wormtail's arm. The scar on Harry's forehead seared with a sharp pain again, and Wormtail let out a fresh howl; Voldemort removed his fingers from Wormtail's mark, and Stella 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. "How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?" he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. "And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?" He clearly wasn't satisfied with only ten people that were around. He wanted more.

He began to pace up and down before Stella and Harry, eyes sweeping the graveyard all the while. After a minute or so, he looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool... very like your dear mother. But they both had their uses, did they not? Your mother died to defend you as a child... and I killed my father, and see how useful he has proved himself, in death..." Voldemort laughed again. He then looked at Stella, "Ah, Miss Jones, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Can't say the same," she mumbled.

"I only expected to see Potter here, but you? You are just a plus. A gift if you want."

"It seems like you are in love with me," she grinned and he made his way towards her and grabbed her face.

"You will respect me," he hissed at her and she rolled her eyes.

"You found the wrong person, I will never be one of your puppets" she answered and he slapped her, making her lips bleed a little. She closed her eyes and turned her head back to him.

She spat out the blood, "I know you were bascially born two minuts ago, but you really punch like a baby."

He turned his back to her, "You will be by my side at the end of this war, dear Stella. Just you wait."