HARRY
Harry twirled a slender yew wand between pale, thin white fingers, so carelessly that one observing might have mistaken him for placated, pleased even. But he was far from it; indeed, the snake-like red slits that must have once been his eyes practically flamed with barely restrained ire. With a cool, aloof gaze, he observed the long table he was seated at the head of. Even his own followers were afraid of him, Harry noted with a degree of satisfaction; the way the robed Death Eaters avoided eye contact and fidgeted like children caught stealing the very last liquorice did not go unnoticed.
At last Harry spoke, his unnaturally high, cold voice dripping with false pleasantness. "Bella."
The black-robed woman named Bella flinched visibly, as if he had physically struck her upon stating her name. "Master."
"Would you care to explain why it is that not only have I not gained the prophecy, but lost a good number of my followers to the Ministry of Magic?"
She whimpered. "Master, it was not my fault! We were struck unawares, and Potter and his friends tricked us; they cheated, Master, so much for Gryffindor truth; please, Master, you must understand—"
"Enough," he snapped, and she recoiled. "I did not ask to hear your pitiful excuses. Lucius is the one who failed me, and he shall pay. He, ultimately, was the one whom I had tasked with this, and he is the one rotting in Azkaban." He made a noise of disgust.
Bellatrix nodded vigorously. "Yes, Master, it was Lucius' fault. If not for his incompetence, we would have succeeded, and you would have not only had the prophecy but Potter and his friends as well! Let me punish him, Master, make his own halls run with his blood!" Her eyes were wild, almost insane with a desire to please the master.
Harry snarled in warning. "Lucius shall be mine and mine alone to punish, Bella. But for now, as there is no use for a failed Death Eater but disgrace… and death, I will spare none of my precious time to break him and the others out of Azkaban." His slit-pupiled eyes narrowed further. "Perhaps they ought to be grateful for the iron walls which keep them safe."
"Yes, yes," said Bellatrix eagerly. "But will you allow him to escape without punishment? Or is Azkaban enough?"
"I told you, Bella, Lucius is mine to punish. He will receive his due. I am not a merciful lord— tell me, Yaxley," he turned on a random Death Eater at the table, who started despite himself, "Am I ever merciful to those who fail me? Tell me; perhaps I am losing my touch."
The man named Yaxley, a rather blunt-faced person with a thin braid down his back, swallowed. Like all the others in the room, he otherwise might have been a tall, proud figure; he favoured the long, ornate robes that flaunted his aristocracy, and was known for his brutal treatment of mudbloods and blood traitors; but faced with a wizard of such superiority who was able to kill him with a word, he cowered. "No, my lord. You are not merciful."
Harry nodded. His rhetoric had been answered wisely. "Then, the failed Lucius Malfoy—"
There was a loud crack, and everyone but the leader froze. If the Ministry had found them, what would happen… but it was only a house elf in tattered rags, carrying a delicate tea set upon a crystal tray. It crept forward hesitantly.
"M-Mistress ordered Kinnie to bring the Death Eaters some tea," the house elf squeaked. When there was no response, she stepped forward and made to place the tray on the table.
This was a mistake. Anyone who had known the leader of the Death Eaters would have recognized the disgust and irritation flaring in his already burning eyes, his displeasure at having his meeting interrupted clear in the way his hand loosely held his wand yet jerked and tightened involuntarily for want to use it. This puny house elf dared — she dared to interrupt his meeting, for something to trivial as tea —
The crystal clinked as it was set down, and the porcelain teacups clattered gently.
Suddenly there was a flash of crimson light and Harry was standing, his wand pointed at the poor house elf; the house elf wailed in agony and fell to the ground, limbs jerking wildly; the tray fell with her, and the glittering shards flew through the air like so many drops of water. He felt a surge of satisfaction upon seeing her writhe on the floor, a sick pleasure in watching the house elf so completely under his control — he relished in the feeling of power, of causing pain, of being the reason for her convulsing limbs and desperate screams…
The curse seemed to go on for an eternity. Bellatrix giggled, lips stretched wide in bloodlust, while the others watched with varying degrees of amusement and coldness. A rather fat Death Eater watched with some ruefulness, likely lamenting the waste of a perfectly capable house elf.
At last Harry pulled back the spell, and the house elf lay whining and scrabbling at the rug. She mumbled incoherently and incessantly, the pain still far from forgotten, and every few seconds a shriek would leave her lips. Harry watched with disdain — how utterly pathetic —, and lifting his wand once more, flicked it at her twitching body.
"Avada kedavra."
The house elf was still.
Lowering his wand, Harry took his seat again. "Goyle, get rid of it." His tone was detached and dismissive.
The named Death Eater's face flushed with eagerness to serve. "Yes, my lord." With a simple incantation and a wave of his wand, the house elf's body Vanished. The meeting proceeded as if it had never been interrupted, the majority of the Death Eaters wholly unfazed by the episode.
"Now. Lucius shall be punished as I see fit; there is yet business to attend to." He nodded at Bellatrix again, his anger cooled somewhat. "You captured the wandmaker. What did he tell you of the wand?"
The witch scowled. "Nothing, my lord. He refuses to speak… the old fool insists he has no knowledge of the wand, that it is but a myth." Her tone changes. "I must be truthful, master, I had not believed, myself, in the existence of the Elder wand. But if you say it is, it must be true. How ingenious, becoming the master of the most powerful wand ever to exist! My lord, only you would be worthy —"
"That is enough, Bella," Harry cut her off, but he felt pleased. "I am aware of the competence of my plan. But you say the old man won't talk?" His eyes darkened. "We shall see. Bring him from the cellars to me after this meeting… and Yaxley, what of the Ministry?"
The Death Eater straightened. "After the battle in the Department of Mysteries, it is in a bit of an uproar. The Minister, Cornelius Fudge, is rather panicked; he now must admit that you, my lord, are back indeed with physical form. They are scattered, disorganised. Many are paranoid. They are clamouring for Fudge to step down, angry that he could not inform the people of the real happenings and neither could he protect them. It was laughably easy to infiltrate."
"Good," said Harry, nodding slowly. "Yes, that is good. Someday, we shall overthrow the Ministry, and given the state it is in, there will be little difficulty. But there are still those who would stand up to me, the Dark Lord himself, those foolish enough to believe they can prevent the inevitable…" he remembered a few wizards with a burning degree of hate.
Bellatrix smiled. "But Master, none are powerful enough to stop us! None have power anywhere close to the Dark Lord. Even the Potter boy—"
"No," he interrupted, irritated. "There is one wizard… You must never underestimate your enemies, Bella."
Bellatrix dipped her head in a show of submission, but her eyes were reluctant.
This time it was Rookwood who spoke up. "But my Lord, who could possibly dream of matching the Dark Lord himself in power? Surely you are unrivaled, wholly unmatched."
Harry felt his disdain rise — surely his followers were not so idiotic as this — "The old loving fool, Dumbledore. Or do you presume to be omnipotent, able to defeat with facility the headmaster of Hogwarts himself?" His lip curled. "Those so foolish, so arrogant, ought to be disposed of, no?"
He felt his wand rise.
Rookwood let out an involuntary shriek of fear. "N-no, my lord — I mean, yes! Only, no, that was not my intent — please, my lord, I meant simply to praise your sovereignty, your power — spare me —"
Harry observed the cowering Death Eater coldly. "Followers of mine ought not to quaver, nor be so weak —" he spat out the word — "at the lift of a wand."
Rookwood whimpered. "I apologise, my lord." His voice shook.
"'However…"
The Death Eater gasped, sure that his grovelling apology had been insufficient, that his last breath would be now —
"However, it was in deference to your lord, and therefore I shall show some leniency." Harry watched with clinical interest as Rookwood collapsed in his chair, almost sobbing with relief.
He allowed the silence, broken only by Rookwood's occasional whimpers, to stretch on for a minute longer before continuing the meeting. "One last thing I must address…"
Here Harry clenched his wand tighter, and resisted the urge to laugh. "Yes, one last thing I must let you, my faithful followers, know…"
Voldemort's high, maniacal laughter ringing in his ears, Harry awoke with a gasp.
Really sorry for the short chapter! I didn't want too much filler, plus the ending seemed perfect for the end of a chapter... anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed last week. Have a great day!
unfinished . nocturne
