Oh yes, oh yes, my name is Willy Lee….

Urquhart Castle loomed over the water against an oppressive sky. The truest of the true among the Dark Lord’s followers had assembled at the remains of a well, the wind off the loch seeping into their cloaks. Although it was only noon, the November day looked as though it would quickly wane away and yield itself to chaotic night. Even those who could afford warm clothes paced slowly and rubbed their gloved hands. Those less unfortunate stamped often on the cold grass to hide their shivering. They averted their eyes from each other, silently waiting for their leader.

Upon seeing his tall form appear out of thin air, they huddled like a group of shades. Like one being, they bowed before him as suppliants would before a god. Still, they kept their oaths of silence in reverence for the gravity of this gathering.

“All of this had once lorded over all in its sight. The water, the earth, and even the sky were in its grasp.” He gestured to the mossy stones, everything broken down by the passage of time. “Now, this great work of war lies in ruin. Look at what decadence has wrought.”

The grass seemed to ripple like the crimped fins of a fish. Their eyes noted what remained of a building’s corner. The castle had once been tall, but now the stone wall stood no higher than their knees. The castle’s rotten tower was the only indication that it had been anything more than a pile of rubble.

“This war machine lies in ruin. We lie in ruin.” The Dark Lord pulled a stone off the well’s wall. “Before our fathers, before the Ministry, the world knew us as its masters. Now, we live in fear of lesser beings, a race that took what was rightfully ours. While we hide, they couple like rabbits and breed more deformed creatures to bring about our end.” He dropped the stone down the well, waiting to hear its lonely splash. “They think we’re only myth, something harmless. We must fight these savages who dare call themselves lords over the earth.”

Signaled by their leader, the dozen faithful followed him obediently down the steep climb to the waters of the loch. They clustered together like birds in a rookery, watching the shifting surface of the loch with waters so clear that rather than being green, the expanse looked like a yawning hole leading below the earth. On the loch as if the water were solid ground stood a round table with thirteen seats. It looked arranged for a meal except there were only goblets, a decanter of water, and a loaf of bread.

“Come. We have only this day.” When no one budged, the Dark Lord’s eyes hardened. “Is the faith of men easily broken?” His feet hit the water. Rather than sinking through, he treaded upon the waves so that even his trailing robes seemed impervious to a drop of water.

Even for a wizard, this was unusual. None of them had sensed the spell he used for any of this sorcery, nor would they have known what words to utter for this charm. Eager to seem the most loyal of the all, Bellatrix parted from the gaggle to take her master’s hand. “The faith of women can never be broken, my lord.” Like him, she walked atop the water.

He smiled thinly, leading her to a place at the table. Others chose to apparate into their seats, less willing to take their chances; they were the younger Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Eric Mulciber, and Fitzroy Wilkes. Lack of infatuation and long-standing loyalty gave their trepidation credence.  The more trusting took the Dark Lord’s hand, bewildered by how dry their feet stayed. At the table sat the oldest and most loyal followers such as Ophiuchus Lestrange, Valerius Avery, and Maximillian Nott. Finally, the catalogue was completed with the presence of Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood, Walden Macnair, and Cadogan Rosier. Tension floated over the table as the generations eyed each other warily. They didn’t know who could be trusted.

When the Dark Lord took his place, he uncorked the decanter. Out of the decanter poured clear water; into his goblet gushed dark red wine. The wizards were astounded because, once again, they couldn’t deduce what sort of spell he had used. It seemed that he literally willed the water to change rather than using any magic. They sniffed at the wine which he put in their goblets, disbelieving and trying to verify that their eyes did not deceive them.

The Dark Lord then broke the hard loaf, tearing off a piece before handing it off to the others. He watched them take their piece, unsure as to what they should do. He also noted which of them hesitated to take something such as Severus. The loaf never made it back to the Dark Lord as was his intention since everyone had taken their share. After waiting until some of them were so uncomfortable that they clearly were fighting back the urge to fidget, he stood up with his goblet in hand.

“There is only today.” His voice was deep and brooding. “I have given you great things. I have given you liberty, I have given you health, and I have given you opulence. When you eat this bread, think of this body which I will soon shed. When you drink this wine, think of the blood I have spilled for you. Remember me when you eat and drink.”

The wine was far stronger than they had imagined, and there was something not quite right about the bread. No one thought much about the white powder that dusted the bread or spilled out of it with the crumbs. They did notice, though, that their mouths started to get numb as they ate more bread. With the two combined, they felt their tongues loosen.

“You always knew how to be a good host,” said Valerius, smiling as the wine did its work on him. Even though he could hold his liquor well, something about this draught hit him quick and hard. Age and dark magic had taken its toll on his constitution, but he had few worries because his son would soon replace him.
Once the silence broke, others slowly became at ease. “Much more hospitable that any sort of gathering at the Ministry.” Augustus smirked stupidly. “Reminds me of those things muggles do. What do call them?”

“Symposiums.” Walden was embarrassed to admit even knowing one fact about non-magical culture, so he quickly added, “I read it somewhere, maybe. I don’t think it’s even true. I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He then gulped down a mouthful of burning wine.

“‘Tis a shame we have no entertainment.” Cadogan, remembering his student years with the Dark Lord, felt comfortable enough to start being candid. “Perhaps we’ll have to provide that for ourselves.”

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord wasn’t receptive. He glared icily around the table, leering until the any form of joy had left their faces. At their rueful expressions, he hissed, “You think this is a little party for your own benefit?” He slammed his fist on the table, shaking the goblets. “Have you no perception?” Standing up in anger, he now seemed even taller than before. “It is good that I have seen what is to come. One of you will deny me, and one of you will betray me!”

Protests exploded from the followers, all of them simultaneously insisting that they would never do such a thing and blaming the others for those crimes. Fingers pointed everywhere as they pleaded and shouted.

The Dark Lord’s voice rose above the ruckus. “Lucius! After all I have given you, three times you will deny me!”

“No, never!” Lucius prostrated from his seat. “My lord, no such thing—”

“Three times, Malfoy!” Gazing over the others, his acrid voice gained more bite.

“And one of your diners, one of my twelve chosen, will betray me!”

Severus kept his head low, absolutely certain that the Dark Lord could hear his thunderous heartbeat and every thought in his head. He had betrayed someone he loved, and then again he had betrayed someone he loathed. His death would neither be sweet nor swift, and he waited in terror for his fate.

The Dark Lord’s eyes fell on young Fitzroy Wilkes who, unlike the others, had eaten only the crust of his bread. The freckles on his face stood up prominently against his pallid face. Deaf to Fitzroy’s appeals, he raised his wand. Moments later, the young man writhed in the water and clawed desperately at the surface. They all knew that he had never learned how to swim. “Leave him,” commanded the Dark Lord, seeing a few flinch in his direction. “Let him feed the monster. Cast your eyes away from him.”

Helplessly, they obeyed and looked everywhere but at their dying comrade. He continued to cry and shout like a bleating goat in pain as he thrashed against the waves. They heard something else break the surface, something bigger. Around their feet, they felt larger waves wash over their shoes. Fitzroy had no last words; he only screamed as the unseen monster pulled him into the black depths.

“A toast to your fallen comrade,” said the Dark Lord, raising his goblet. “May you learn from his mistakes.”

They gave a tepid response before drinking more wine to drown their memories. All of them secretly breathed in relief because they had been spared. Lucius and Severus were especially grateful that would live to see the end of the day.

Something about killing made the Dark Lord a little more chipper, or at the very least it put him enough at ease to not seem so brooding. From his robes he pulled more flasks of wine and his precious white powder, the hint of a smile on his face. “Now that there are only the faithful present, it is only fitting that the faithful be rewarded. Drain your cups to the dregs.”

I thought I was her daddy but she had five more….

The Death Eaters leaned heavily against each other as they tried to navigate the ruins of the castle, drunken giggles coming from their lips like champagne bubbles. Bellatrix held onto the Dark Lord for support who didn’t seem to mind because he was walking straighter than anyone else without too much effort. Antonin kept rubbing his gums because he couldn’t tell whether or not they felt any sensations. And having lost any sense of decency after his third cup, Eric braved the cold to shamelessly relieve himself near a mass of rocks.

Severus, who had taken a potion for cutting the effects of liquor, still felt queasy thanks to the white powder. He felt mentally clear, but the effects of the wine were still clouding his brain. Unlike the others who wove around, he walked very slowly so he could keep on a single path. He knew that this stuff was dangerous for him because there was truth in wine. He had to keep himself very well-guarded.

“You still want your entertainment, old Rosier?” asked the Dark Lord with an ominous chuckle. “Have a dancing girl.” From his wand came a plume of amber smoke that grew, taking on shapely legs and a narrow waist. Clad in only a short India-inspired skirt and a long necklace stood the form of Lily Evans, her empty eyes smiling and willing.  She was like an orange ghost, her long hair twisting like small flames. When he flicked his wand, the simulacrum pantomimed a bawdy dance.

The men crowded around as they tried to keep on their feet, already mesmerized by her; Severus, however, glowered at the ground with a face redder than the ghost. Maximillian, one of the oldest present, offered his hand which the ghost took eagerly. As he led her around haphazardly, he shouted with glee, “I should learn this spell so I can have my wife back!” At the Dark Lord’s approval, he passed her off to someone else.

Ophiuchus grabbed the wispy creature, intrigued because she felt like flesh and blood. “She was almost as beautiful as my daughter.” After the marriage, he often referred to Bellatrix as if she were his own. She had far more ambition than Rodolphus, someone he didn’t put as much faith in. He felt that his son rightfully did not belong at this gathering because he didn’t have the necessary drive. In any case, Cygnus Black had pledged the girl to his family for as long as she lived. Her fanatical devotion delighted old Lestrange. Seeing that they were free to do what they wish, he blatantly snuck a hand under the skirt that left little to the imagination.

The simulacrum of Lily Evans wandered from man to man, whirling like a dervish when they pushed her away and flailing like a marionette. It took very little for the intoxicated Death Eaters to remember their carnal cravings, and they giggled stupidly at how life-like she felt. The married ones seemed even more delighted about acting out their fantasies than the bachelors. Though Bellatrix only watched, she cackled maniacally as her jealousy burned brighter. She turned a blind eye to Lucius’ pseudo-infidelity because she still felt great rage against the muggle-born girl who dared defy her master. Amidst all the licentious revelry, Severus bit back all the emotion and protests that welled up.

With a cold grin, the Dark Lord took his turn at last. Although no music played, he led her around in a beautiful dance reminiscent of a Hindu street performer charming a snake. The simulacrum followed him around like an obedient cow, twirling at his will as she fell into his arms with every move. Her smoky hands clung on while she invited every unseemly grope. Letting her spin out of his arms, he laughed as Bellatrix gave the simulacrum a hard punch across the jaw to send her flying in young Severus’ direction.

Too drugged to keep his usual composure, Severus yelped at the ghostly creature falling on him. He shoved hard rather than catching the simulacrum, and she dropped to the ground in a heap. She lay still like a discarded doll, her eyes just as empty as before. This was just a shell, and yet that fact made the whole ordeal even harder to bear. It reminded him of the fact that she was still gone.

Raising his wand with a deep snicker, the Dark Lord made the simulacrum disappear. “I should have found you a plaything of your own.” He must have been drunker than he thought; rarely did he make those kinds of offers. “Before the year is out, I will see to it that you have a little concubine.” More uncharacteristic snickers came. “A courtesan you never need to pay and a petite odalisque for her too. Two women apiece for all of you.”

While the others rejoiced loudly at the idea, Severus kept quiet. In his sobriety, he felt the mental haze cleared. The numbness had come from the powder. The Dark Lord was slowly drugging all of them, dulling their minds until they became just like the dead-eyed ghost of Lily Evans. He could almost see their marionette strings. Shuddering in the harsh wind, he knew the end was near. It was just a little harder because it had been brought about by friends.