Chapter 4
A/N: If you're trying to figure out TIME in this story, don't, it skips parts. Don't let it be a bother, just live into it -This is a short one - :)
Voldemort rubbed at the spot of drying blood on his cheek. It was not his own, he was exceptionally relaxed at this particular moment in his rather productive day.
He did not bother closing the door he had to force open earlier behind him as he strode out over the deceased's icy stretch of lawn and through the squat picket fence gate over Fitzgerald street. The wall of cold air that met him came evoked an unexpected wave of appreciation from a small corner of his heart after the stuffy atmosphere inside the house. Happiness comes with the little things, he thought a bit sarcastically.
He was still wiping at the dried stain as he passed a church, pitched voices ringing off the walls and escaping through the thick doors. He didn't like it. Christmas carols especially. No initiative. Always the same.
His breath hung in the air in front of him, the cold stung his face but he paid it little mind as he was bringing the image of his voyeur into his mind's eye and with a loud CRACK he was overwhelmed by warmth and ugly wallpaper bearing down on him from all sides.
He cocked his head to the side, satisfied when he heard the bones slipping sharply into place and a stiff kind of pain leaving.
The door in front of him swung open at a slight touch of his gloved hand.
Inside the entire collection of his followers sat nervously, their waiting eyes following him to his seat at the head of the dark polished table. Of course, he heard in his mind, the proud baron Agus was absent yet again. He made a mental note of it and turned to the faces floating nervously in front of him.
He smiled then, not because he was somehow delighted by their loyal presence but because he knew he'd robbed them of aChristmas evening with family – most of them anyway. He highly doubted someone like Greyback had holiday plans with a special someone tonight. He noticed a few mislead smiles reflect back. Turning the curve of his lip into a smirk he hid tactfully by the act of sitting down, a fluent movement encrypted in his personality and muscle memory by many years of practice. It had disappeared by the time he was levelled with them again – literally of course. What a good day this is to be alive.
He started then, as always, by admonishing his flock in general before he got to the rest. An old strategy.
His voice was the only sound. Everything seemed to listen intently as he explained some subject Nagini frankly did not really care about. She was listening to the sleek, deep vibrations and honey dripping from his lips. It was the kind of honey she could get drunk on, if it were to be bottled, it would be illegal, she thought idly as she entered the audience chamber from the opposite side of the table through double doors left slightly ajar. Her body slid over the elaborate soft carpet, approaching the group, she knew he was aware of her presence but he made no attempt to acknowledge her. She wove through the forest of fine wooden furniture legs, mentally giggling at the Deatheater feet scrambling out of her way as she slithered up to her only alpha and omega.
She looked up at his high-backed chair and did a small calculation before using her serpentine strength to ascend the carved wood and find a perch above his head, her sizable body hanging slightly from the back, the tip of her tail brushing his shoulder. The contact between the delicate scales of her tail and his thick riding robe was very purposefully made. She knew he knew her slight touch was not incidental.
She waited until he dismissed his followers and slid down from the chair as he rose, almost toppled by her own weight draped over the high back and the abrupt absence of his. Nagini coiled hesitantly into a heap as she touched the floor, her Lord did not seem to desire company by the look of his hooded eyes, drawn together by a troubled frown, clearly busy far away. She should wait for his tempest to abate, she decided.
888
It was 3:08 in the morning; Voldemort was sitting in front of a large window, studying the silent graveyard at the side of the manor, lit only by the moonlight in the mist drifting outside. He was having trouble sleeping again.
Nagini walked up to his armchair, careful not to make a sound as she ceased her stride at his elbow, sitting down gently on the floor with legs loosely crossed.
Again, he made no move to acknowledge her presence. His left hand rested lightly on his chin as he sat, probably overthinking something.
Boldly, she made a move:
"There were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at twilight." She started in parselmouth, noticing his attention shifting to her story. He grew up in a muggle society after all, thus she was quite sure he'd never caught up with the tales generations of witches and wizards were sent to bed with.
"In time," she continued, "the brothers reached a rivertoo deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were learned in the magical arts, and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across it when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.
And Death spoke to them.
He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travellers usually drowned in the river. But Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their magic, and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him.
So the oldest brother, who was a combative man, asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death! So Death crossed to an elder tree on the banks of the river, fashioned a wand from a branch that hung there, and gave it to the oldest brother.
Then the second brother, who was an arrogant man, decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further, and asked for the power to recall others from Death. So Death picked up a stone from the riverbank and gave it to the second brother, and told him that the stone would have the power to bring back the dead.
And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And Death, most unwillingly, handed over his own Cloak of Invisibility."
Nagini had had her Lord's curiosity, but now she had his full attention.
"Then Death stood aside and allowed the three brothers to continue on their way and they did so, talking with wonder of the adventure they had had, and admiring Death's gifts. In due course the brothers separated, each for his own destination.
The first brother travelled on for a week or more, and reaching a distant village, he sought out a fellow wizard with whom he had a quarrel. Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor, the oldest brother proceeded to an inn, where he boasted loudly of the powerful wand he had snatched from Death himself, and of how it made him invincible. That very night, another wizard crept upon the oldest brother as he lay, wine-sodden, upon his bed. The thief took the wand and, for good measure, slit the oldest brother's throat.
And so Death took the first brother for his own.
Meanwhile, the second brother journeyed to his own home, where he lived alone. Here he took out the stone that had the power to recall the dead, and turned it thrice in his hand. To his amazement and delight, the figure of the girl he had once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared at once before him. Yet she was silent and cold, separated from him as though by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered. Finally, the second brother, driven mad with hopeless longing, killed himself so as truly to join her.
And so Death took the second brother for his own.
But though Death searched for the third brother for many years, he was never able to find him. It was only when he had attained a great age that the youngest brother finally took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life."
"The hallows..." he whispered, almost to himself.
"Could they really exist?" He asked then, honest intrigue etched into his brow.
She was comfortable enough to shift for the first time, breathing in deeply.
"My father last claimed a man named..." she paused trying to remember correctly, "Grindelwald, owned the Elderwand."
Upon seeing rare doubt flicker inside his dark eyes, she added;
"My father might have been many things my Lord, but he was no gullible fool. He knew a great many things."
He fell silent for a measure, still gazing out of the window at the grounds blanketed by thick fog with glazed eyes. Nagini scooted to sit at his feet, her hand falling softly on his knee as she drew her body nearer to him, breaking his concentration for a mere second, she saw.
The minutes strode by impatiently and he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes when he realized she was still looking up at him like a hungry puppy. He pried her fingers from him and stood up, leaving his private chambers for the hallway with a billowing tangle of robes. His riding cloak still hanging heavy on his shoulders.
He knew his personal library like the back of his hand and he was sure he had no books on the Hallows in hiding in between the rest, less myth driven books. He snorted to himself. Wondering if he was acting a fool in allowing himself to ponder the actual existence of the Hallows. But his time in the wizarding world had taught him it could just as well be true.
Just like she said, echoed in his mind, he ignored the echo.
Voldemort apparated to the Largest Wizarding Library of London sparing an aching thought for the Hogwarts library, where he once sought refuge from the world for so long, immersing himself in the isles of knowledge.
888
He ruffled through the pages of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, pausing at a carefully drawn symbol at the start of the chapter housing the story of the three dead brothers.
He frowned, glanced at his hand resting on top of the page; the symbol was the same as the one on his ancient ring. A simple line, circle and a triangle.
The Dark Lord sat back, he'd been wrong all this time, it wasn't the Peverell coat of arms... he'd been wearing the Resurrection Stone all along...