The Reader of Books
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)
AN: YES!!! An update. I haven't abandoned you. . Woot!!! 4 chapters. very proud of myself at this point . all I can say is, in the words of my kindergarten teacher ,"adjectives are my friends".
thank you so much for helping me Sophia!!! (KandiiKane)
~^~^~Chapter Four - The Hunt~^~^~
"She is dead my lord"
"Dead?"
"I vialed her blood myself, lord. She is truly dead" Lucius Malfoy proclaimed, his chest bloating with pride, eyes still gleaming with the ecstasy of his kill.
The hunt. The capture. The conquest. They were his existence, his being. Even after so many victims the rapture was still there, the delight in torture; the jubilation of slaughter.
Death was his joy.
"Crucio!" a harsh cry echoed, wracking spasms of pain through Lucius's body, each echo rippling his pain further.
"You fool! Does your bloodlust impair thought? Her blood is not enough!"
"My lord, I-" Malfoy halted, his voice echoing the torture of his body, "I could not-" he inhaled sharply, a spiked boot tearing his side as he writhed with pain on the cold stone of the Dark Lord's hall.
Above him, the sky swirled with stars, strangely clear of autumn rain, a paltry impersonation of the Hogwarts roof.
"She was the last silver! You were told to escort her here!" Lord Voldemort stood above the convulsing form of Lucius Malfoy, his crimson eyes burning with a rage only he could muster.
Beside him, the pitiful figure of Peter Pettigrew twitched; dim eyes alight with malice at Malfoys pain, whispering frenzied words into the Dark Lords ignoring ears.
"Kill him, lord, kill him. He has betrayed you once, he shall again, kill him! Kill him." Wormtail's words frenzied, his hate rising like bile through his mind.
"My lord, mercy." Malfoy's voice withered, blood obscuring his eyes, dripping freely from his forehead," I." he collapsed, unconscious, skull resounding dully off the floor.
Lord Voldemort's eyes hardened, his disfigured face setting into an empty remnant of a smirk.
"Dispose of him" he muttered, mouth resuming its decaying scowl as his predicament loomed forward. Behind him Wormtail scurried forward, flicking his wand at Malfoy's unconscious form.
"Lord-"
"He is to live, Wormtail."
Pettigrew flinched at the cold use of his marauder name, yet even he did not dare reprimand the Dark Lord. Instead, as always, he bowed his dumpy figure down, and scampered off to leave Malfoy to wake up in a ditch.
Sharply Lord Voldemort waved his hand, signalling the servants and house elves to leave, taking all light with them.
Without the torches the hall soon froze, frozen air seeping from the walls. Silencing the room with his wand he paced, talking harshly into the darkness.
"What to do, what to do." The dark lord murmured, wandering back and forth in the dusk shrouded hall, each step committed to memory. Even in his own presence Lord Voldemort was not to be made a fool of by a shadowed wall.
His plan was demolished, wiped out by a single blow of Malfoy's wand, and there was no substitute.
Kaevira was the last Silverblood, and she knew it. Even in her death she laughed at their stupidity.
To his right the body lay, pale with death, drained of blood, her hands still crossed over her chest in a parody of respect, eyes staring blankly into the darkness.
She had reared no children. All that was left of the Silverblood race lay desiccated on his cold, stone floor, her face still alight with the laughter she had died through.
She was the most powerful being in all creation and she laughed at her death, and welcomed it with wide-open arms.
Her one child died, nearly seventeen years ago now. He was sure of that. He had inspected the child's frozen carcass himself. Ethany Silvress died on a forest floor seventeen years ago, barely receiving her first breath before it was her last.
Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of. disconcertion.
"She is dead," The dark lord proclaimed to the star-strewn night sky enchanted above him.
"She is dead!"
________________
Greasy black gloom permeated the still, dark air, slinking under doorways and clawing at chimneys, thick with the unknown dread of night.
Yet through this supposed impenetrable night a twitching figure emerged, trudging wearily through the gloom, wand held high to a levitating form in front of him.
This was not the first time Peter Pettigrew had walked this path with Malfoy's unconscious form floating before him. The dark lord's magic was powerful, and when fully unleashed. he could kill instantly. Even a Cruciatus curse to half the power of the dark lord was prone to cause loss of consciousness, and Malfoy was weak, unlike his son.
Fearlessly Pettigrew staggered through the darkness, using his own brand of idiocy, so often confused with bravery, to ignore the terrors of the night. He didn't have the mind to even conceive the creatures of the night awaiting him.
Instead his simple mind roamed other things.
I will kill him.
Soon. This body will soon be a corpse. I will drink his blood and laugh.
Wormtails eyes glowed with the prospect of his maniacal dreams, anything else forgotten without a thought.
He would betray his master soon. Since when was the rat a creature of loyalty?
They would all welcome him back. The business with James would soon enough be forgotten. He would be a marauder again.
Wormtails darkly stained teeth glowed with moonlight as he smiled gently at the stars. Soon everything would be right again.
Through the obscuring shadows of the forest a dark figure took form.
________________________
Shoulders hunching, teeth lacerating pale flesh, the werewolf took dignity from its meal, soft meat spilling dark blood from his jaws, caught in the frenzy of the hunt.
The poor lumbering insult of a man possessed barely a chance before he was devoured. If possible, the wolf may have even felt pity on the destitute creature dying below him.
But he did not. This creature was a meal, and the beast had not yet finished his feed.
Perhaps, in the morning, the human taking form from this creature would pity the poor soul it had destroyed.
Perhaps.
Steadily the werewolf's meal ensued, feeble bones snapping easily, spilling their fleshy marrow on the blood-spattered mud below, scattering more than enough evidence for them to know of Peter Pettigrew's fate.
Finishing his worthy meal, the wolf searched languidly for the other creature, it's feline grace stretching through a pale cover of matted hair.
The first one had carried it, floating in front of him. Where did it go?
Searching tiredly the wolf soon surrendered to the unavoidable onslaught of weariness.
Softly curling around itself like a cat, warm in its little bundle of fur, the werewolf slept, blood from the wormtails final death still staining its muzzle.
____________
Deep down a ravine, Lucius Malfoy slept on, thoroughly unaware of the decaying stench of death surrounding the moonlight forest he slept in, blissful in his sleep.
Not that he would be crying at the prospect of the rat's death.
Disclaimer: I own all!!!! (except Harry Potter, and all adjoining statures,
from a story based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended)
AN: YES!!! An update. I haven't abandoned you. . Woot!!! 4 chapters. very proud of myself at this point . all I can say is, in the words of my kindergarten teacher ,"adjectives are my friends".
thank you so much for helping me Sophia!!! (KandiiKane)
~^~^~Chapter Four - The Hunt~^~^~
"She is dead my lord"
"Dead?"
"I vialed her blood myself, lord. She is truly dead" Lucius Malfoy proclaimed, his chest bloating with pride, eyes still gleaming with the ecstasy of his kill.
The hunt. The capture. The conquest. They were his existence, his being. Even after so many victims the rapture was still there, the delight in torture; the jubilation of slaughter.
Death was his joy.
"Crucio!" a harsh cry echoed, wracking spasms of pain through Lucius's body, each echo rippling his pain further.
"You fool! Does your bloodlust impair thought? Her blood is not enough!"
"My lord, I-" Malfoy halted, his voice echoing the torture of his body, "I could not-" he inhaled sharply, a spiked boot tearing his side as he writhed with pain on the cold stone of the Dark Lord's hall.
Above him, the sky swirled with stars, strangely clear of autumn rain, a paltry impersonation of the Hogwarts roof.
"She was the last silver! You were told to escort her here!" Lord Voldemort stood above the convulsing form of Lucius Malfoy, his crimson eyes burning with a rage only he could muster.
Beside him, the pitiful figure of Peter Pettigrew twitched; dim eyes alight with malice at Malfoys pain, whispering frenzied words into the Dark Lords ignoring ears.
"Kill him, lord, kill him. He has betrayed you once, he shall again, kill him! Kill him." Wormtail's words frenzied, his hate rising like bile through his mind.
"My lord, mercy." Malfoy's voice withered, blood obscuring his eyes, dripping freely from his forehead," I." he collapsed, unconscious, skull resounding dully off the floor.
Lord Voldemort's eyes hardened, his disfigured face setting into an empty remnant of a smirk.
"Dispose of him" he muttered, mouth resuming its decaying scowl as his predicament loomed forward. Behind him Wormtail scurried forward, flicking his wand at Malfoy's unconscious form.
"Lord-"
"He is to live, Wormtail."
Pettigrew flinched at the cold use of his marauder name, yet even he did not dare reprimand the Dark Lord. Instead, as always, he bowed his dumpy figure down, and scampered off to leave Malfoy to wake up in a ditch.
Sharply Lord Voldemort waved his hand, signalling the servants and house elves to leave, taking all light with them.
Without the torches the hall soon froze, frozen air seeping from the walls. Silencing the room with his wand he paced, talking harshly into the darkness.
"What to do, what to do." The dark lord murmured, wandering back and forth in the dusk shrouded hall, each step committed to memory. Even in his own presence Lord Voldemort was not to be made a fool of by a shadowed wall.
His plan was demolished, wiped out by a single blow of Malfoy's wand, and there was no substitute.
Kaevira was the last Silverblood, and she knew it. Even in her death she laughed at their stupidity.
To his right the body lay, pale with death, drained of blood, her hands still crossed over her chest in a parody of respect, eyes staring blankly into the darkness.
She had reared no children. All that was left of the Silverblood race lay desiccated on his cold, stone floor, her face still alight with the laughter she had died through.
She was the most powerful being in all creation and she laughed at her death, and welcomed it with wide-open arms.
Her one child died, nearly seventeen years ago now. He was sure of that. He had inspected the child's frozen carcass himself. Ethany Silvress died on a forest floor seventeen years ago, barely receiving her first breath before it was her last.
Yet he couldn't shake the feeling of. disconcertion.
"She is dead," The dark lord proclaimed to the star-strewn night sky enchanted above him.
"She is dead!"
________________
Greasy black gloom permeated the still, dark air, slinking under doorways and clawing at chimneys, thick with the unknown dread of night.
Yet through this supposed impenetrable night a twitching figure emerged, trudging wearily through the gloom, wand held high to a levitating form in front of him.
This was not the first time Peter Pettigrew had walked this path with Malfoy's unconscious form floating before him. The dark lord's magic was powerful, and when fully unleashed. he could kill instantly. Even a Cruciatus curse to half the power of the dark lord was prone to cause loss of consciousness, and Malfoy was weak, unlike his son.
Fearlessly Pettigrew staggered through the darkness, using his own brand of idiocy, so often confused with bravery, to ignore the terrors of the night. He didn't have the mind to even conceive the creatures of the night awaiting him.
Instead his simple mind roamed other things.
I will kill him.
Soon. This body will soon be a corpse. I will drink his blood and laugh.
Wormtails eyes glowed with the prospect of his maniacal dreams, anything else forgotten without a thought.
He would betray his master soon. Since when was the rat a creature of loyalty?
They would all welcome him back. The business with James would soon enough be forgotten. He would be a marauder again.
Wormtails darkly stained teeth glowed with moonlight as he smiled gently at the stars. Soon everything would be right again.
Through the obscuring shadows of the forest a dark figure took form.
________________________
Shoulders hunching, teeth lacerating pale flesh, the werewolf took dignity from its meal, soft meat spilling dark blood from his jaws, caught in the frenzy of the hunt.
The poor lumbering insult of a man possessed barely a chance before he was devoured. If possible, the wolf may have even felt pity on the destitute creature dying below him.
But he did not. This creature was a meal, and the beast had not yet finished his feed.
Perhaps, in the morning, the human taking form from this creature would pity the poor soul it had destroyed.
Perhaps.
Steadily the werewolf's meal ensued, feeble bones snapping easily, spilling their fleshy marrow on the blood-spattered mud below, scattering more than enough evidence for them to know of Peter Pettigrew's fate.
Finishing his worthy meal, the wolf searched languidly for the other creature, it's feline grace stretching through a pale cover of matted hair.
The first one had carried it, floating in front of him. Where did it go?
Searching tiredly the wolf soon surrendered to the unavoidable onslaught of weariness.
Softly curling around itself like a cat, warm in its little bundle of fur, the werewolf slept, blood from the wormtails final death still staining its muzzle.
____________
Deep down a ravine, Lucius Malfoy slept on, thoroughly unaware of the decaying stench of death surrounding the moonlight forest he slept in, blissful in his sleep.
Not that he would be crying at the prospect of the rat's death.