Interruption:
The creature begging for favors before him sniveled and whimpered. It capered about in elaborate delusions of grandeur, then scampered away in idiotic awe of him. He really and truly wanted to kick it.
It droned on nonetheless, nearly panting with sycophantic rapture. "…so, Dread Lord, you see that with a force of your most loyal servants, backed by enough money," (his money being his only steadfast supporter, the dry thought occurred to the Lord,) "We can probably capture at least Shacklebolt, and quite possibly take out three Aurors with him! It would be a stunning blow, your Lordship, a true –"
"Malfoy." The babbling ceased immediately as Lord Voldemort cut him off. "You will transfer the appropriate funds to Borgins for our use. Not from your Gringotts account – by all means, leave that one for show. Let's say… from that untraceable Swiss account. Sapphires and garnets are such excellent ways to store one's wealth…"
He smiled broadly when Malfoy let out a squeak, taking it for acquiescence. "The court thanks you for your generosity." The Dark Lord's expansive gesture took in the grim room, with stone walls and smoky torches whose light barely touched on the black robes of the wizards assembled along the walls. One robe, however, subtly drew his eye. His grin became a fraction broader.
"Clearly, Malfoy, these settings have inspired you to great heights of fiendishness. The Court has no desire to interrupt such a productive streak on your part—we need all the fiendish plotting we can muster." A heartbeat's pause after the token compliment, then, "Snape."
The man unfolded himself from his artful slump along the wall. He had, the Dark Lord noted, chosen a spot quite close to the dais on which Voldemort's chair was placed, but in a nook, so none of the other ambitious, jealous Death Eaters would notice his proximity… very subtle indeed.
None of the annoyance he must have been feeling at the sudden attention showed on Snape's bland expression, either. "My Lord. How may I further serve you?" The slight emphasis on 'further' was fairly unsubtle – few were pleased that Snape's murder of Dumbledore had landed him so much of the Dark Lord's favor and trust.
The Dark Lord ignored the loaded question. "What a subtle agent we have here… perfect for leading a group to complete the task you've outlined, Malfoy."
Lucius made a choking noise. Voldemort cocked his head – would the man turn any amusing colors? – No such luck.
Regardless, the Dark Lord infused his next words with a snap: "While I'm sure that was a sound of agreement, in case there was any notion on your part of designing a task specifically so you could lead it in a quest for glory…" Wicked smiles appeared on the faces of the old guard of the Court, who had witnessed Malfoy's many past attempts to do just that "…Let me condescend to explain why. Your mission calls for violence, but also subtlety. Violence, you have in spades, Malfoy, but Snape has, of late, proven himself capable of bloodshed. Subtlety, though… look at the man. Can any of you even pick out what it is in his style of dress that has such a compelling effect on an observer?"
From the looks on Rookwood and Nott's faces, they recognized it. The Dark Lord motioned Snape forward, and with a sour look on his face, Snape stood at the front of the dais, before the entire Court. "Note the tint of his robes – just a hint of blue, and he appears untouched by the gloom around us, while the rest of the Court looks dark and drab." Voldemort, of course, looked nothing of the sort, but his silky, vibrant green robes did not fight off the oppressive murkiness with the same minimalist efficiency as well as Snape's blue-black.
Snape, sarcastically helpful, lifted his arms and spun in a full circle for the room. The Dark Lord proffered the necessary two claps of the hand. "Very nice, Severus. We all admire your fashion sense."
Now that Snape was finally reinstated into the Death Eaters, Voldemort was pleased to have a wit around. Something like a court jester (– though, never a disrespectful one, the Dark Lord made sure of that.) Now, Malfoy – Malfoy was only amusing in his idiotic tendencies, and those were too much of a danger to the Court to be laughed off. Which was why the Dark Lord repressed Lucius's ambitions at every turn. While the Dark Lord waited for the man's ambitions to catch up with him and kill him, the pressure made him struggle, and produce, admittedly, fairly brilliant plans such as this latest. Too bad the man was such a snake – no, a rat, Voldemort corrected himself, thinking of loyal Nagini. Though she liked rats, herself – she'd made quite a production of eating Wormtail, last month, to all appearances, genuinely enjoying the meal.
The Dark Lord liked to follow his serpent's example. Time, then, to begin toying with Lucius. "Well, Severus," he addressed the sallow man, who still had a mocking smirk on his face, "Malfoy has laid out for us the bare bones of a plan… how do you propose to flesh it out?" Snape nodded towards the Dark Lord and proceeded to the center of the room, accepting the delegation of leadership with poise and deference in equal measure.
"Though Lucius emphasizes the importance of money in this venture of his, we must also consider resources that connot be bought. Since his defection to us two years ago, Mr. Ollivander has provided us with profiles of Order members and their magical strengths and weaknesses." He extended a hand towards Ollivander, whose eyes glittered as he nodded acknowledgment.
"Therefore we already know that Shacklebolt has a strong command of nonverbal spells, but very little speed in casting compared to most Aurors. He was an indifferent potions maker in school, I might add, which clearly indicates a lack of subtlety." With a more elaborate hand gesture towards the throne, Snape added, "A blindness, I presume, out Master expects I may best exploit." Voldemort allowed a small smile to his servant and waited for him to continue.
Suddenly, the heavy gold ring around his middle finger tightened for an instant. He was careful not to react – a frown, or worse, getting up to leave in the middle of Snape's scheming would worry the man, and perhaps encourage Lucius to try that latest scheme to oust Snape from favor. He stayed completely expressionless, and as Snape outlined a particularly complex logistical snag, he lowered his eyes slightly and readjusted his hands on the arms of the throne chair, allowing the tip of the finger bearing the ring to barely graze the surface of the glass of water on the table next to him.
The ring channeled his security wards, and the water provided all the elemental power he needed to scry. Instantly, images played across his half-closed eyelids. A broomstick-mounted rider was zooming in on the base, quite rapidly judging by the play of robes across the rider's body – the wind changed direction slightly, and Voldemort could see the curves of a witch.
She had remarkable speed. In fact, she was about three seconds from hitting the—no, at that very instant she angled sharply downwards, landing just before the point where the no-fly barrier began. Dismounting, the witch abandoned her broom and continued on foot. Shortly, four Death Eater guards Apparated around her. She hit the ground to dodge their curses, and lying on her back, hit them in quick succession with stunners. No, the Dark Lord corrected himself when they failed to fall to the ground, she'd used a full body bind. They were stranded uncomfortably in attack positions, perfectly aware of this humiliation.
How intriguingly callous of this intruder. He was able to rule out some of his more sanctimonious enemies from the list of possibilities, then. He watched the witch running up the hilly approach to the fortress. Two Dementors swooped down on the woman. She didn't even flinch, just flicked her wand to banish the pair of ghouls. Her Patronus disappeared too quickly to be helpful in identifying her. The Dark Lord was increasingly interested. Would she make it through the entrance into the base?
She came pelting up to it, pressed her hand on the door, and was able to swing it open easily! Ah, that was why, she had already cut her palm with the knife in her other hand, a neat little gash considering she'd done it on the run. Now, had she learned the trick to the door from Potter? Well. That would narrow down the list a great deal. In fact, the only witch close to Potter, so skilled at fighting, and yet potentially up to a dirty trick like the one she'd pulled… Lord Voldemort sat up, waving Snape to silence.
Wisely, the man dropped to his knee, head bowed, ready to face the displeasure of his master. The Dark Lord repressed the urge to glare down his nose, knit his eyebrows together in apparent fury, or otherwise toy with Severus in response to the obsequiousness of his display. He instead smiled. "No need to worry, Severus. Get off the floor and dust off those lovely robes of yours. We're about to receive… company." Every time he blinked, he caught another flash of the girl: dueling his guards, racing down a corridor, blasting a stubborn door out of the way, headed unerringly for his throne room.
Just as Snape rose, the door burst open. "Dread Lord, there–!" A cry, quickly choked off in a green flash, interrupted the announcement of the head guard who had just entered.
The Dark Lord permitted a small moue of a pout to cross his lips. "Now, Avery, I do not recall announcing that our guest was to be killed. She is most certainly preferable alive." Around the room, there was a swish of fabric as each of his men re-pocketed their drawn wands. "As for the guard, he was pathetically slow in his duties. But since you killed him, Avery, the responsibility of finding his replacement falls to you."
Avery bowed deeply. "I will do my best, Lord."
"Indeed." The Dark Lord said. He let the silence sit for a moment, then murmured, "Now let us see what we have here."
On cue the doors burst open again, but this time not one of the figures lining the wall twitched as the girl staggered to the front of the room and collapsed, prostrate on the floor before Voldemort's throne. After waiting a second to be sure she was not about to be killed for her entry, she raised her head, and let down her hood. The torchlight made her hair look rust-colored and her palm looked black with blood – in a quick jerking motion, she flicked it, intentionally scattering drops on the floor. She blurted in a frantic, broken way: "I beg sanctuary from Lord Voldemort. I reject my membership in the Order of the Phoenix and I swear allegiance to the Dark Court and the Death Eaters. I throw myself on your mercy."
An eerie silence reigned. After a morning of precisely planned politicking and smoothly executed manipulations, Lord Voldemort was astounded that it was, indeed, Ginny Weasley in his Court, with the intent, no less, of defecting to the Dark Lord.
A.N.: It's back! I'm contemplating refurbishing and re-posting this story. Thoughts?