Author's Note:I am conspicuously not the first writer of fiction to use Stephen Crane's 1895 poem (untitled by the poet but popularly referred to as "In the Desert") as inspiration and as the source of a title for my own work.

Novelist Joyce Carol Oates was, to the best of my knowledge, the first to take the final line of Crane's poem as her title, and it will be obvious to her many readers and my few that there is no similarity whatsoever between this novella and Oates' work.

The ten sparse and sere lines of Crane's poem have haunted me since I first read them in childhood, and they seemed to fit the themes I have tried to expound on here better than any original title I could come up with, so I hope Ms Oates will forgive me for emulating her fine example.

Because It Is Bitter, and Because It Is My Heart
by Squibstress

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said: "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter—bitter," he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

~ Stephen Crane, In the Desert

Chapter One: The Gathering

"You would be wise to stop interfering," Severus Snape said to the tall witch standing before his desk.

"You know me well enough," she answered, "to know that I will never stand by and allow the students in my care to be abused."

"I know you well enough to trust that your wisdom will overcome your stubbornness, despite your unfortunate affiliation with the House of Gryffindor," replied Snape smoothly.

"Your definition of wisdom differs considerably from mine," retorted the witch.

"Perhaps. But know this, Minerva McGonagall: every act of defiance from you can result only in greater suffering for your students and trouble for yourself."

She was about to reply when a sudden burning sensation on his arm prompted him to cut her off.

"That will be all, Professor.

As he automatically placed a hand over the place where the Dark Mark burned, McGonagall smiled unpleasantly. "Your master is calling his lapdogs?"

"Good day, Professor," he said sharply as the door to the Headmaster's study opened with a slight bang.

/***/

About two dozen black-robed figures surrounded the ornate—throne was the only word for it—intricately carved with inter-coiling snakes.

The former man in the chair spoke in a high, haunting voice vaguely reminiscent of the castrati of the Baroque period.

"I believe it is time to make my presence felt more acutely," he said with pronounced sibilance.

"The Ministry is, of course, under my full control, as are Azkaban and the Dementors. Hogwarts is secure, with my trusted lieutenant at the helm," continued Voldemort with a brief nod in Snape's direction. "Yet there are troubling pockets of resistance, and it is time to crush them."

Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes sparkled at this last.

"What would my Lord have us do?" simpered Peter Pettigrew.

"I will appear at Hogwarts to address the students," replied the creature in the chair. "You will all accompany me. Children are so impressionable, and I have no doubt that they will carry my message back to their families most urgently."

Snape frowned. This did not bode well for Hogwarts and its inhabitants. "Will my Lord allow me to prepare the school for your arrival?" he asked.

"That will not be necessary. The surprise of my sudden appearance will unnerve the traitors," said Voldemort.

"As you wish, my Lord," said Snape, bowing his head.

/***/

Headmaster Snape's voice rang suddenly throughout the castle and grounds.

"All students and staff will report to the Great Hall immediately. Latecomers will be severely punished."

Minerva dropped her quill on her desk and sighed, rubbing her temples. It would be another late night grading essays, she thought as she stood and moved toward the door of her classroom.

The students milled anxiously about the Great Hall, murmuring quietly. The House tables had been removed and the High Table replaced by a large, raised dais, which was ringed by dark-clad figures. The teachers and other staff huddled like nervous animals near the back of the platform.

One of the dark figures had collected the wands of students and staff alike as they entered the hall. When Professor Flitwick objected to surrendering his wand, the man had growled, "Security measure. You'll get 'em back later, now shove off."

"I have a very bad feeling about this," whispered Flitwick to Professor Slughorn as he joined the other staff on the dais. "I wonder what kind of dark mischief is afoot?"

He didn't have long to wait.

The doors to the Great Hall suddenly flew open with a loud clang, startling everyone, and the students parted like the Red Sea as a tall, hooded figure strode toward the dais, flanked by several more of the black–robed Death Eaters.

They mounted the dais, and the figure removed the hood. A collective gasp was heard from the students, along with several cries.

The face of the creature was preternaturally smooth, with no nose and only slits for nostrils. The eyes were red, punctuated by reptilian pupils that narrowed to ellipses in the bright lights that illuminated the raised platform.

"Students of Hogwarts," he began, raising cries of fright from the assembly, most of whom had never heard his voice before. He inhaled deeply, savouring their terror as another man might a fine Burgundy.

"I am pleased that the taint of impure blood has at last been purged from this great institution," he intoned. "Nevertheless, I am troubled. I have heard reports of disobedience and rebellion within the ranks of both students and teachers. This must not continue."

Snape sensed danger. "My Lord," he said, stepping toward the creature. "I take full responsibility. I assure you, it will be handled more forcefully in future."

"I am confident that you can manage any difficulties that arise," Voldemort continued. "Yet I believe teaching by example is considered a valuable pedagogical methodology, is it not?"

"Indeed it is, my Lord," answered Snape, trying to mask his apprehension.

"Very well. Which miscreant shall serve as our teaching aid this evening?" The assembled students and staff held their breath as one. Ah, but their terror was sweet! Voldemort allowed himself to bask in it a few more moments before turning suddenly.

"Minerva McGonagall!" he screeched, wand arm outstretched. "Come forward."

Minerva stepped toward the creature, her chin thrust forward, demonstrating a bravery she did not feel. She forced herself to look into its red eyes.

There was nothing but madness behind them.

"You have repeatedly defied the dictates of your Headmaster and interfered with the rightful discipline of the students of this school. Now you shall receive your just punishment."

The silence in the Great Hall was profound.

Minerva felt her wrists wrenched upward, held above her head by invisible chains. Gasps broke the silence, and several staff members surged forward but were forced back by a phalanx of Death Eaters, several of whom shot Stunning spells at Hagrid, who collapsed to the floor. Madam Pomfrey hurried to the fallen half-giant but could do nothing other than ascertain he was still breathing.

The reason for disarming everyone was now quite clear.

Voldemort moved in so close to Minerva that she could smell his breath. It smelled of rotting meat. She could not suppress a shudder as a skeletal finger caressed her cheek.

The creature smiled and stepped back.

Minerva closed her eyes, steeling herself for the agony that was sure to follow.

But it never came.

Instead, she heard words that made her eyes snap open, suddenly alert as a rabbit that senses a wolf on the prowl.

"Bella, my dear, perhaps you could help Professor McGonagall with her clothing?"

Another collective gasp erupted from students and staff alike. Minerva felt her stomach drop.

Snape nearly shouted aloud, but gained control just in time. He closed his eyes momentarily to steady himself. He had witnessed enough Dark Revels to know what was coming.

Bellatrix stepped forward and pointed her wand at Minerva. "Depulso," she hissed, smiling into the other woman's face.

A wave of nausea passed over Minerva as she felt the cold air shock her suddenly-bare skin.

The hall remained in stunned silence for a few moments, and then Minerva heard a lone wolf-whistle from the corner where the Slytherins had been gathered. A smattering of tentative applause followed from the same direction.

"Be silent!" thundered a bass voice from behind her. She recognised it as Snape's.

"Who will begin the lesson? Perhaps you, Amycus?" enquired the creature.

A short, sweaty wizard stepped forward, leering at his prey.

Minerva felt that her very skin would scream if he touched her.

Before he could think, Severus shouted, "My Lord! May I speak?"

"You may, but be brief; Professor McGonagall is waiting," said Voldemort.

"As Headmaster of Hogwarts, would it not be more appropriate for me to administer discipline to the staff?" he enquired, speaking carefully to maintain control of his voice.

"Ah, Severus," replied the creature. "Naturally it would, but given your past reluctance to indulge in the more tangible pleasures of your position, I had assumed you preferred to delegate the current task."

"A very wise assumption, my Lord," replied Snape. "Nevertheless, when duty calls I must answer, must I not?" he continued, as if he were discussing the grading of Potions essays.

"As you wish, Severus, as you wish. Amycus, step aside for our Headmaster."

The shorter wizard shot a poisonous look at Snape and backed away.

As Snape approached the helpless Transfiguration teacher, he thought, My gods, what am I doing?