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Chapter Eight
Voldemort was angry. Not that he was ever particularly happy. Even on the best of days the most he had managed was mild bemusement. So to say that he was angry was not especially telling. It pretty much described his usual demeanor. There would only be one day when he would be truly happy and that would be when Harry Potter was dead. Since that had not happened and showed no signs of happening anytime soon, Voldemort was in a constant state of irritation. On this particular day however, Voldemort's agitation had reached a higher level than usual.
"Useless!" He roared, pointing a shaky finger at Lucius, who, for his part, stood his ground, however scared he was.
"My Lord, I want to apologize for my alleged wrongs—however, I would like to beg you to remember that the potion has only been in place a few days—"
"Silence!" Voldemort raged, his dark slits of eyes glowering wrathfully. "You assured me that the potion would be wreaking havoc by now! The Weasley child is supposed to be eaten up in agony! The trio is supposed to be disbanded; feuding! What do you have to say in your defense?" Lucius opened his mouth and closed it frantically.
"My Lord, I beg of you to hear me out. I guarantee you that the potion was at its maximum strength. It has only been a few days; we must be patient. It may take a few more days but I would bet my life that it will work and the Golden Trio will be disbanded." Voldemort looked up, studying the Deatheater before him. Lucius had always been loyal. He always offered his services. He was Voldemort's right-hand man. He had always been good. Still, Voldemort wasn't one to keep his cohorts particularly close. One Deatheater was just like another. Lucius could be replaced.
"That's a risky bet," Voldemort began slowly, his raspy breath hissing out from his robes like an iron exhaling steam. Lucius felt his insides turn uneasily as he regarded the dark lord before him. What was he getting at? What bet? Lucius thought wildly, racking his brain for answers. As if reading his thoughts, Voldemort continued. "Betting your life that this will be successful; it's an awful risky wager," Voldemort hissed darkly. Lucius felt sick but was determined to keep an impassive countenance. "Still, I accept."
"My Lord—," Lucius began but stopped suddenly when Voldemort held up his hand.
"That is enough Lucius. I have faith that our new—deal—will serve to…speed up the process?" Voldemort said curtly, standing to leave. Lucius stood numbly, the basic courtesy he had grown up with causing his to rise involuntarily at the departure of his lord. Voldemort held up his hand, excusing Lucius from his duties.
"I do not require an escort out. You just stay here and monitor the…progress." With that, Voldemort disappeared, leaving Lucius to puzzle over his predicament completely alone.
Lucius was at a loss for what to do. He had carefully hand-selected each and every ingredient. He had followed the instructions down to the letter. He had checked and rechecked the process and ingredients after each step. He had sacrificed months in order to prepare the mixture. Yet, something was wrong. According to the instructions, the potion was supposed to be eating the Weasley boy up by now. At the first rejection, which both Lucius and Voldemort had watched with smiles of excitement (well, as excited as those two could manage); Ron was supposed to had endured a pain like no other. It was supposed to slowly eat him up until he was nothing more than a shell of a person. It was supposed to kill him from the inside, working its way out. What had happened was that Ron had gotten sufficiently angry and had stormed off. He had been upset, but there had been no evidence of physical pain or writhing in despair. Something was horribly wrong, and Lucius was determined to figure it out.
"Lucius dear?" Lucius looked up as Narcissa pushed open the door to his study and stood quietly in the doorway.
"Come in," Lucius muttered distractedly, figuring that he could use the break. He had been obsessing over the potion far too long. A distraction might be good. Narcissa walked over to his desk, her feet padding softly against the cold stone floor. She put a thin hand on her husband's shoulder, attempting to comfort him. She could tell that he was upset and wanted to soothe him any way she could.
"Do you want me to have the elves make you anything? Something to relax you a bit?" Narcissa asked. Lucius shook his head, covering his wife's hand with his own. I made sure every single ingredient was perfect! He moaned inwardly. What went wrong? Everything was perfect! I picked the roots myself!
"Draco's marks came in today. They are remarkably better than last time. I wouldn't be surprised if he received top honors," Narcissa continued absently. Lucius stood up immediately, nearly knocking Narcissa down in his haste. Of course! He though to himself, anger filling his chest. Draco! I knew that he wasn't good for anything!
"Send a letter to the school—I want to see my son." Lucius snarled, racing out of the study. Narcissa watched him go, a startled expression gracing her flawless visage. She had been about to respond but realized too quickly that Lucius was already gone.
Draco entered his father's study, his stomach entwined in knots. He had no clue as to why his father had called him home for the weekend but he knew that it wasn't good. His father paid him little attention and that he did lavish on his only son was not positive. Now was no exception and Draco was fully aware of it. Clutching his wand stiffly in one hand, Draco took a deep breath and sighed.
"I wouldn't consider a career in espionage—you sound like a mountain troll," Lucius remarked sharply, looking up from the book he had been hunched over. Draco flinched slightly at the remark but his face remained stony and unchanged. When he didn't respond, Lucius grew agitated. "Well sit down then, this isn't a social visit." Draco nodded dutifully and in two strides had reached the desk, sitting down across from his father.
"What is the premise of this visit then?" Draco snapped sharply with more courage than he felt. Lucius' eyes narrowed darkly as he sat up, taking in the sight of his son. Insufferable little thing, isn't he? Lucius thought to himself with a glimmer of distaste and pride. On one hand he admired his assertiveness, but on the other hand he was annoyed by Draco's disrespect.
"I wanted to ask you about a certain vial you sent to me." At Draco's confused expression, Lucius elaborated. "The vial of Miss Granger's blood." Draco paled in horror as everything became startlingly clear.
