Interlude: G(l)ory
They are sitting, all of them, in the great dining room of Malfoy Manor. Dinner has just concluded; the house-elves have whisked away the plates, and now they watch their master as he absently strokes his wand, gazing into nowhere.
Lord Voldemort is thinking. For all his flaws, he is not precisely an ugly man – even Narcissa, who is largely apathetic about his existence, can admit such. His cheekbones are high and striking, eyes piercingly red. No wonder Bella is so drawn to him. The master exudes a sense of command, of presence, which Rodolphus Lestrange can only dream of having.
The Dark Lord turns his head to his right side. "Sirius," he says. His voice is a cold, silky rasp. Narcissa wrinkles her nose at the shameless display of emotion and sidles closer to her husband. He rubs her hand comfortingly.
"Yes, my lord?" Sirius Black says. His voice skates the line between bored and respectful. He is seated at Lord Voldemort's right hand. What honour! What favour!
"How did the experiment work?" the Dark Lord asks him. "I assume it was successful. Did you experience any side-effects?"
Sirius rises gracefully to his feet. "No, my lord. There was a moment where my wizard's magic was nearly overcome by the Hogwarts wards, but then the other magic asserted itself, and I was able to exit safely with a passenger."
"I see," Lord Voldemort says. His bloodless lips curl into a triumphant grin. "This is a joyous day, my loyal followers. We have discovered a way past the Hogwarts wards!"
There is whooping and cheering. Narcissa smiles dutifully, but is inwardly irritated; now she'll be expected to give up more of her house-elves, and good servants don't grow on trees.
The Dark Lord raises a hand to silence the jubilation. "Sirius Black," he says, "you have done your family proud this day. I will see to it that the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is rewarded beyond measure. Now, which of you would like to follow him?"
His pitiless red eyes pass over his Death Eater seated at the table, lingering longest on Yaxley. He beckons.
"Yaxley. Lord Voldemort is merciful. Here is your chance to redeem yourself, to prove your use beyond being a meal for Nagini."
"Indeed, my lord," Yaxley says. His voice, as always, is flatly unemotional. Narcissa has always rather liked him – he is like her, a bastion of cool reserve, surrounded by the mad mercurial figures of her sister and cousin.
Voldemort gets slowly to his feet. Immediately the other Death Eaters rise too.
"Narcissa," he says. "Summon a house-elf."
She runs through a mental list of her least favourite house-elves. "Dobby."
There is a crack and he appears, small and ugly, his wide tennis-ball eyes moving in terror over the spectators. "Y-y-y-yes, mistress?"
"Lord Voldemort has need of you," she says. "Serve him."
The house-elf looks like he wants to Disapparate, but she knows he never would. Loyalty to their wizard overlords is bred into such species. He only bows at her and turns, trembling violently, to face the Dark Lord.
"Incarcero," Lord Voldemort says. Dobby jerks as the cables wrap themselves python-like around him. "Come here, Yaxley."
Yaxley approaches unhurriedly.
Voldemort's wand moves in a slashing motion, and the house-elf cries out as he is cut open from chin to sternum, exposing a dirty yellow ribcage and his tiny fluttering heart. Greenish blood sprays out onto Narcissa's lovely blue carpet.
The Dark Lord truly is merciful then.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Beyond pain, Dobby's anguish-twisted features ease somewhat, his mouth falling open slackly as he sways and tumbles to the floor.
Voldemort floats the body up to rest on the table before him. Narcissa winces as the glossy brown wood is contaminated.
Then follows half an hour of careful dissection. The Dark Lord uses his wand to sever the house-elf's heart, teasing out each sheet of muscle into individual layers he arranges beside him. Twelve curving ribs are added to the pile, as well as a meaty section of lung. The final addition is a bulbous eye. Mostly he uses his wand, but for the more delicate removals he uses a needle-sharp silver knife, its edge glinting the same gorgeous colour of Lucius's eyes.
Bellatrix's own eyes are flames as she watches. Her tongue darts out to lick at her full lower lip, smearing the scarlet lipstick.
"Flagrante," the Dark Lord says carelessly when he is done. No longer useful, the body burns into ash. Voldemort's attention leaps to his chosen Death Eater. "Here, Yaxley."
Yaxley climbs onto the table, settling himself into the pool of green blood where Dobby so recently was, beside the heap of organs. "Ready, my lord."
He is silent through the blinding pain as Voldemort sinks the rib bones into his chest, the edges punching past his robes and skin. He is blank-faced as Voldemort hand-feeds him the house-elf's heart and lung. Narcissa has seen this before, but even she has to suppress a shudder when she hears the tiny crunch of Yaxley's teeth biting into the house-elf's eyeball.
The last step is the house-elf's blood, which Voldemort smears onto Yaxley's lips, and then he raises his wand.
"Metamorphmago!"
Yaxley shudders once, twice, and then it is done: his magic is bonded with the house-elf's, and there is now no ward in the world which can keep him out.
AN: Just one more full chapter and then one more interlude left, I believe. Read and review!
B - I'm so happy you're enjoying! You're pretty much 90% responsibele for this story coming off hiatus, after all. Remus is totally unexpectedly turning into the only sane/normal character in the story haha. Bellatrix definitely has a soft spot for Lily, I can't wait for the story to move to Malfoy Manor so you can see more of their interactions! xxx