I Just Ate Death
At first, all she did was twitch. Her eyes snapped shut and she shivered as though she was simply cold. He increased the strength of the curse, pouring his own rage at everything that had happened into his magic. Finally, she shuddered and sat bolt upright with a gasp. He ended the curse to grab her face and force her to look at him. The black creatures still swam within her eyes, but they were faster — more frantic now.
He stepped back and hissed, “crucio” again. She dropped to her side with a yelp of pain.
“Jesus Christ,” Dawson mumbled.
“Don’t look,” suggested Rosier.
“It’s a bit hard not to.”
“Can you both shut up!” Dolohov snapped.
Rosier sniggered. “Enjoying the show, Antonin?”
“He’s — he’s — that’s disgusting,” said Dawson.
“Shut up or I’ll give you another injury to worry about,” said Dolohov.
Natalie rolled onto her hands and knees, matted blonde hair falling around her face, Quidditch robes slipping off her shoulder. Voldemort maintained the curse, watching her tremble, waiting, hoping, expecting. If this little experiment didn’t pay out, he couldn’t imagine she’d be very pleased with him after. Outside, lightning lit up the mountains and thunder roared. Heavy drops of rain blew through the broken windows, hitting the stone floor with a hiss.
She let out a strangled scream that sounded choked before descending into a flurry of wet coughs.
“Sounds familiar,” Rosier snorted.
Dawson made an astounded noise.
“What?” Rosier rolled his eyes. “She’s always coughing blood out of her lungs.”
“Hope it’s not blood this time,” remarked Dolohov. Voldemort ended the curse to turn his wand towards Antonin Dolohov.
“Crucio!” he hissed. Dolohov collapsed to the floor with a shout. He writhed about until he finally let out a scream. Satisfied that they all would remain quiet hereafter, Voldemort turned back to the task at hand, ignoring the others — though he could sense their fear. It felt right, appropriate even. And he found it pleased him.
“Crucio,” he said yet again. Though it didn’t appear to have much of an effect. Natalie was gasping for breath in between hacked coughs that shook her whole body. Her bloodied hair stuck to her bare shoulders. Voldemort studied the blood, trying to find its source. Her head. . . her arm. . . .
All of a sudden, her hair was tucked back into a neat knot at the base of her neck by magic. Voldemort glanced around, the Cruciatus Curse petering out as his eyes landed on Dawson, who lowered his wand as though he’d just cast a spell.
“What-” he began to demand what on earth the idiot thought he was doing interfering in this matter but Dawson flung his hands up as fast as he could in defense, albeit groaning from pain.
“She’s got enough rubbish in her hair. I know what she’s about to do and I’ve done plenty of it already-”
As if cued, Natalie let out an awful retching sound and promptly vomited up a thick black liquid. It hit the stone floor and began squirming on its own accord.
“Ugh,” Dawson groaned and looked ready to copy her actions.
“Ugh,” Natalie said herself and raised a hand.
“Don’t-” Voldemort jumped towards her but she slammed a hand down on the blackness as though to shove it away. “Natalie!”
The slimy blackness — the Excerebratus Parasitus — latched onto her hand, molding itself along her skin and continuing to swirl about insidiously.
Natalie made a disgusted sound and began banging her hand on the stone floor. “Gerrof!”
“Stop moving!” Voldemort hissed, dropping down and trying to grab hold of her to get her to stay still.
“Get — get — it — off!” her voice grew panicked. The blackness continued moving along her hand, creeping up her arm — but it seemed to be growing smaller and smaller until he realized it was seeping into her skin. He jumped back up to his feet and aimed his wand at her.
“Crucio!”
She screamed and continued banging her hand on the floor, though it was useless. The viscous blackness had vanished, melting into her body. He was shocked at the parasite’s ability to adhere to her magic well enough to crawl back through her skin so easily. Excerebratus Parasitus was usually ingested — but the Russian had mocked their ignorance on the subject. A small corner of his mind was intrigued by the diabolical blackness. He just wasn’t particularly pleased that it was being used against him.
He had nearly forgotten Dawson, Rosier, and Dolohov were present. Muttering the curse yet again, he shot a glance around the room. Dawson was still sitting on the floor, hand pressed to his chest wound and looking very much like he was going to be sick. Rosier was spinning the dagger around his hands and watching Natalie with something like polite interest on his face. Voldemort could tell he was darkly fascinated by everything that had happened. Dolohov stood stiffly nearby with his head down, as though to not attract attention. Voldemort was pleased by this — he had no care for the rather lewd images and feelings that had jumped to the forefront of Dolohov’s mind upon seeing Natalie screaming on the floor.
She started coughing again, it sounded more deliberate this time — which meant she at least understood what was happening. Hopefully she wouldn’t do anything stupid again. Excerebratus Parasitus wasn’t some meddlesome insect that could be driven away by swatting at it.
“Evan,” Voldemort said calmly, “be ready to move her.”
Rosier pocketed the dagger and stepped forward, watching Natalie intently. She was still coughing. It couldn’t be long now.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dolohov scurry towards the door and peer out. He ignored it. He didn’t care if the remaining Russians came bursting through the door. He had to stay focused.
Her coughs turned much more rackety, she began gagging and wheezing until, finally, for the second time, she spat out the churning mass of blackness. He dropped the Cruciatus Curse and pulled an assortment of much more destructive curses to mind.
The instant the blackness hit the floor, Rosier grabbed her under the arms and pulled her halfway across the room. Voldemort jumped towards the blackness and fired a curse at it.
He found himself astonished when his curse hit the blackness and was absorbed by it. The parasite curled on the floor and seemed to grow even more blacker, more formidable. Irritated, he shot several more curses at it, of varying strengths — only for the same thing to happen. It swirled and spun around as if it were a duck and he was throwing bits of bread to it. Then he recalled the most basic tenement concerning Excerebratus Parasitus, modified by the Russians or not: it fed on magic.
The door clicked shut and he heard Dolohov mutter a swear.
“We might have company soon,” Dolohov said.
Voldemort turned his attention to Natalie, leaving the Excerebratus Parasitus for now. He was betting on her being able to destroy it. She had to — else it would continue squirming until it destroyed her.
Natalie was sitting against the wall, staring at him blankly. The blood on her pale skin made her gray eyes look ghastly. The grimy Quidditch bathrobe was wrapped over her and she clutched one bloody arm to her chest. Rosier stood beside her, shifting on his feet as though unsure what he ought to be doing.
It seemed to take him forever to walk over to her. Every step felt like slogging through a timeless eternity. She stared at him the whole time, unblinking, unmoving. Finally, he knelt down and stared into her eyes. He was met by swirling gray clouds of complete and utter mystification — but the squirming black lines were gone.
She blinked, coughed, and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of the bloody bathrobe. Then leaned forward to whisper like this was the first time she had seen him in a long time. Which, according to the blank look in her eyes, it was.
“I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but I feel like I just ate death.”
Evan Rosier found the concept of eating death to be the funniest thing imaginable. He exploded into laughter that echoed all around the room. Lord Voldemort didn’t have time to begin to fathom why he found this so amusing, because Natalie immediately started panicking.
“What- What happened? I — I — where — why — why are you even here? What’s going on? Where’s my team? Why do I feel-”
Voldemort held up a hand to stop her. She lapsed into silence, but her gray eyes were swirling.
“A group of Russians have been holding you hostage to force Triple I to open sales to the Soviet Union,” he summarized in as calm of a voice as he could muster while being so close to her. He could feel her energy beginning to grow dangerous. It pleased him — the parasite had not managed to consume it. His mind began formulating an abundance of theories concerning the parasite, her energy, and her magic.
She was staring at him.
“They’re holding the rest of the teams too,” he answered the question in her eyes.
Her eyes widened.
“They’re fine. Just stunned.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“The Aurors were given Draught of the Living Death.”
Her mouth opened.
“The Russians used Polyjuice Potion to disguise themselves as Hans and slip into the castle. The real Hans is dead.”
Her gaze moved to stare beyond him. He flew to his feet to realize the Excerebratus Parasitus was crawling over the stone floor towards them. Dawson, Dolohov, and Rosier were watching it with a mixture of disgust and fascination.
Voldemort grabbed Natalie by the arm — the noninjured one — and pulled her after him, circling the creeping blackness. As they moved, it paused, swirling and seething as though recalculating.
“What. . . .”
“Excerebratus Parasitus,” he explained to her. “You’ve read about it.”
Her shudder told him his statement was correct.
“That fucking thing. . . was inside me. . . .”
“Yes, feeding on your magic. It would be rather useful if you could-”
“Wand.”
He drew her wand from his pocket and handed it to her, though he knew it would be useless.
She took a shaky step away from him and pointed her wand at the blackness, her left arm still clutched to her chest. The blackness scuttled towards her as though sensing her determination to destroy it.
“Avada Kedavra,” she mumbled — and nothing happened, not even the tiniest hint of green light.
“You gotta mean it,” Rosier piped up.
“Yeah, like these bloody Russians have all day,” said Dawson.
“Shut up!” she snarled, “this isn’t the first time I’ve killed something.”
Rosier snickered, “yeah, you did just eat death.”
“Evan,” Voldemort warned.
“Sorry,” he said, though apparently could not suppress his grin.
“Avada Kedavra!” she snarled and this time there was a jet of green light that crashed into the blackness with fury. The parasite was surrounded by the green light, stopping it momentarily, before the light faded into it and it gave a little shiver. Then continued crawling towards her even quicker than before.
“Bloody hell,” she flung her wand to the side and it landed at his feet. Voldemort knelt to pick it up and decided it was wise to shield his eyes while doing so. His intuition proved correct. Natalie let out a snarl, there was a blinding flash of bright, white light. The others let out yells that were drowned by a loud cracking noise that echoed around the room.
Voldemort stood back up to observe the small pile of sooty ashes that had once been the heinous parasite. He watched Natalie stare at it before she turned and walked right into him.
“Oof,” she mumbled and stared up at him. “Oh.”
“Oh,” he repeated.
Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her neck. The emptiness was apparent to both of them. She tried to step away from him but he grabbed her wrist and held her against him.
“Who took it?” he demanded.
“Solokov,” she whispered. “Solokov took it.”
His grip tightened around her wrist. “Find him. Now.”