The noise is certainly something that will call attention to the others outside, if that's her intent. It may take them a bit of time to get through the door with all of the spells that slid into place when Voldemort shut it, but they'll make it in eventually.
'Eventually,' may not be soon enough, though, depending.
"Luck," Voldemort says with another spell aimed her way. This one might have caused more harm than the others he's been casting-- Sirius is losing the battle in his own mind-- but his aim is thrown off when the spell to the snake makes both it and Sirius' body twitch. It'll graze her or miss her entirely, instead, "Luck, and I was told your precious husband had plenty to do with it, too. Perhaps I'll pay him another visit when I'm done here. And maybe one to your son, as well."
The thought alone has Sirius shoving back again, one last desperate push as his soul starts to slip entirely away. It's enough. It's enough to keep him still as the stunning spell flies his way; enough to get him crumpling in unconsciousness. Which is, apparently, a bad twist for Voldemort, if the even more furious hiss from the snake is anything to go by.
And then there is a-- mist, for lack of a better word-- that begins to rise from both the snake and Sirius' body, coming together between them. A mist which forms into Voldemort's-- though he looks more like Tom Riddle, still, now-- form. The snake slithers its way over towards Sirius' body as Voldemort manifests, and he doesn't look quite real, yet; still a little fuzzy around the edges. Still, it's clear he's coming back, and Sirius' soul is the price, if the sudden increased pallor that further settles into his skin is any indication.
"You keep making mistakes tonight," Voldemort says, but there's something very slight in his tone that indicates nerves, "You only prolong the inevitable, girl. Just give in, and perhaps I'll be merciful."
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'Eventually,' may not be soon enough, though, depending.
"Luck," Voldemort says with another spell aimed her way. This one might have caused more harm than the others he's been casting-- Sirius is losing the battle in his own mind-- but his aim is thrown off when the spell to the snake makes both it and Sirius' body twitch. It'll graze her or miss her entirely, instead, "Luck, and I was told your precious husband had plenty to do with it, too. Perhaps I'll pay him another visit when I'm done here. And maybe one to your son, as well."
The thought alone has Sirius shoving back again, one last desperate push as his soul starts to slip entirely away. It's enough. It's enough to keep him still as the stunning spell flies his way; enough to get him crumpling in unconsciousness. Which is, apparently, a bad twist for Voldemort, if the even more furious hiss from the snake is anything to go by.
And then there is a-- mist, for lack of a better word-- that begins to rise from both the snake and Sirius' body, coming together between them. A mist which forms into Voldemort's-- though he looks more like Tom Riddle, still, now-- form. The snake slithers its way over towards Sirius' body as Voldemort manifests, and he doesn't look quite real, yet; still a little fuzzy around the edges. Still, it's clear he's coming back, and Sirius' soul is the price, if the sudden increased pallor that further settles into his skin is any indication.
"You keep making mistakes tonight," Voldemort says, but there's something very slight in his tone that indicates nerves, "You only prolong the inevitable, girl. Just give in, and perhaps I'll be merciful."