Chapter Forty
"The Greenhouse"

Page One

"I should have known you'd be here, Peter!" shouted Sirius, holding Pettigrew against the floor of the cluttered gargoyle hall, his elbow pressed firmly against Pettigrew's throat. "How does it feel now that your Lord has left without you?"

"He'll be back!" spat Pettigrew, coughing from the dust that was settling around them. "He shall never desert me!"

Black's nostrils flared as he reared his fist and brought it crashing forth against Pettigrew's left cheekbone. "Where's your 'Lord' now?" he bellowed as he raised his fist into the air again, ready to strike. "Any Lord who supports cowardice such as your own is no Lord worthy of respect."

"Sirius," Snape stepped forward and placed his hand on Black's reared wrist, holding him from striking again. "I agree that he shouldn't be spared after what he's done, but we can't do it like this."

"You can't take the honor away from me, Severus," breathed Black, his eyes furious as he stared at Pettigrew's sweating face. "He's mine."

"I don't want it," said Snape, tightening his grip. "Kill him, but not until he's answered for his crimes. If you kill him now, what's left to prove your innocence?"

Sirius blinked, reason returning to his agitated mind. "Bind him, Severus, so tightly his lungs can barely move enough to let him breathe."

Sirius backed away, taking all of his willpower to contain his rage as he gave Snape a clear shot.

"Turn into a rat, Pettigrew," said Snape, pointing his borrowed wand at Pettigrew's forehead, "And I'll make sure you spend eternity as a Muggle scientist's personal guinea pig."

* * *

Lupin shook the mud from his hair as he pushed himself off the ground, rising to his knees. As he got to his feet he looked upon the unmoving lump of disheveled wings that lay ten feet away from him. He must have slid quite far upon landing, the mud and momentum projecting him forward.

He walked toward Voldemort, thinking him unconscious. He knew better than to suspect death; such a creature was beyond such a simple escape.

As that thought entered Lupin's mind, the wings began to stir. Voldemort's snake-like face peaked out from underneath their cover, his lips curling into a smile once more. In an instant, Voldemort was on his feet, running desperately across the lawns, straight toward the darkened greenhouses. Lupin, caught off guard by this immediate departure, quickly followed, a span of a few feet between them.

Voldemort's left wing was horribly bent, but it seemed as if, as he ran, the wings began to shrink, changing color with every step. His back began to bend, molding, shifting, and allowing space for the wings to submerge themselves, creating a more aerodynamic shape for running. Truly, a demon had taken this man and turned him into something too awful even for folklore, mythology, or ghost stories. Pure evil far beyond anyone's expectations. Rumors had floated during Voldemort's first reign. Rumors had been molded into legends, until finally, in the minds of modern wizards, he had turned into a floating evil. Shapeless, bodiless, soulless; a force to be reckoned with, but not to be seen.

As the wings disappeared beneath Voldemort's cloak, the threads of his torn robe reformed, leaving not a single thread forgotten. Lupin didn't have to struggle to keep up with Voldemort, energy surging through his legs, forcing him to go on. Although Lupin was not gaining any ground, he never fell behind, keeping the distance between them perfectly even.

A few strides farther and Voldemort had reached Greenhouse Three, casually glancing over his shoulder as he slithered through the open door, casting a hideous smile at Lupin. His lips had sunken, leaving a pale, thin slit of a mouth. His eyes had slanted inward toward what used to be his nose, making it seem as if his entire bone structure were reverting to a snakelike form as well.

Voldemort's tongue flicked out in an instant, as if taunting Lupin to follow. Without hesitation, Lupin barreled through the door just in time to see Voldemort disappear down a steep stone staircase, exposed in the center of the floor. It seemed, thought Lupin, Professor "Ceres" had a few sinking beds of her own.

Lupin continued the pursuit, his wand in hand, galloping down the staircase. It curved to the right, gradually the turn becoming more severe, until finally he saw shadows on the wall in front of him. Light was escaping the room that surely lay at the end of the stairs, beckoning him.

As he turned the last corner, a brilliant light blinded him as a sharp pain sliced through his abdomen. His eyes closed from the brightness that surrounded him, he hunched over his stomach, one hand bracing him against the wall. As the light subsided he allowed his eyes to open slightly as he brought his hand to his face, expecting to see his life staining his fingers.

The unexpected metallic sight on his hands jerked his eyes open, bringing his shoulders upright once more. He came face to face with the hideous smile of Voldemort continuing to taunt him. Lupin, glancing back down at the silver liquid that covered his wound, returned Voldemort's smile. The pain began to subside as Lupin realized it had been no small transitory gift that the female centaur had given him and this time, Voldemort could not win.

Voldemort hissed through his shining white teeth, his eyes alight with victory. "Even if I can't win," he seethed, seeming to read Lupin's mind, "I know I've left doors open for the future. With Dumbledore out of the way you'll never be safe from me. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth until every drop of that heathen blood has left you."

"Where's Albus?" demanded Lupin, taking slow, methodical steps toward Voldemort.

"You'll never find him… even though he's right under your nose." Voldemort's smile widened as he began to cock his head at Lupin. "He was foolish, he trusted too much and became too involved with a certain lovely redheaded Herbology Professor." He slid a few steps to his right where a large stone slab held several large cauldrons, beakers and burners. His fingers laced around a large orbital glass beaker, containing an iridescently green concoction that reflected the light up into Voldemort's smiling eyes.

"Polyjuice Potion was always something with remarkable powers and yet it wasn't enough. I had to improve it…Too bad I'll have to kill Pettigrew for all the mistakes he made with that Weasley brat. I ordered the rat to poison him, not turn the boy into a glutton. Despite his failures as a potion master, he certainly made a convincing woman and I must say the most attractive Herbology professor this school has seen in a thousand years." Voldemort's tongue escaped once more, traveling around his mouth, licking lips that had long since disappeared.

Lupin's nostrils flared in disgust as he lunged forward, trying to tackle him. But Voldemort was too quick, his spine as flexible as a snake, slinking out of the way. In one rapid movement he was gliding back up the staircase, leaving Lupin behind. Lupin pulled himself from his knees and raced up the stairs, into the greenhouse and ran toward the doors. He threw his weight against them, but they resisted, refusing to budge. He pressed his hands against the glass, looking out at Voldemort who stood on the grounds several yards away, laughing maniacally.

Lupin looked carefully back at his stomach, running his finger along his waistline. Apart from the thrashing of his robes, nothing could be seen as evident of a wound. It had completely healed in a matter of moments, without pain.

With faith in his gift, he looked around the room, searching each empty child's desk for a wand. Just beyond the staircase, near the front of the greenhouse, lay a long willowy wand. Eleven inches. He brought it to his nose, the scent of phoenix drifted past his nostrils. With a flick of his wrist, the wand sent out a spray of red sparks.

"That'll do," muttered Lupin to himself as he walked back toward the door, his eyes fixed on Voldemort, still standing outside, his shoulders gently gliding from side to side like a cobra, poised to strike. With a smile, Lupin raised the wand behind his back and shouted, "Convello!"

The ground inside the greenhouse began to shake as Lupin bowed his head, closing his eyes and reminding himself his faith had been well placed. A few splinters of sound sailed past his ears as spider webs crept through each glass panel, until finally a thunderous sound enveloped him. He felt shards fall upon him, the sensation of several points seeming to slide across his shoulders, down his chest and back, almost as if it were rain.

The din resolved itself and Lupin opened his eyes, his chin still glued to his chest. As the blaring silver coating across his skin met his sight, his head snapped upright. From his surrounding mountain of pure, clear shards of broken glass, he stared out at Voldemort with a triumphant look in his eye. A determination so powerful it was felt by the snake-like being, who stood fifteen yards away, returning a fierce look of deadly persistence.

"What have you done with McGonagall?" bellowed Lupin, climbing his broken mountain with no thought of the piercing of his feet.

"Your darling one has been returned to you," spat Voldemort. "She's with the others now, but I dare say she won't last long. Pitiful troops Dumbledore had at his disposal. Snape and Black are incompetent and there is another you have not found. He has his orders as far as McGonagall is concerned." Voldemort's eyes lit up, sending piercing shadows of red along his cheeks, framing his features. "She was meant for my destiny, not yours. Nevertheless, my other ordained one will prove more worthy than her."

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