Severus Snape nudged his scrambled eggs listlessly around the plate with his fork, glaring at the yellow and white mix. The cup of burning, acid-like black coffee had woken him up, but did nothing to improve his mood or his throbbing headache. The noise in the Hall was unbearable, and it took all his willpower not to violently strangle the nearest person. It would have been particularly satisfying considering it was Dumbledore, smiling away as though he had never been happier in his life.
The usual flurry of white, brown, tawny gold and black flock of feathered Hermes' fluttered in, signalling the arrival of the owl post. Severus glowered darkly, which would have quelled any of the usual cheer that accompanied receiving the gifts and other such nonsense that parents felt compelled to spoil their little brats with.
The pin-drop silence that greeted him instead was so utterly eerie that Severus felt the fine hairs on his neck stand on end. The students were almost falling over each other to grab a copy of the newspaper, and the completely stunned silence in which they all dropped what they were doing to read was faintly disturbing. As his own copy thumped unceremoniously onto his artfully arranged breakfast, it took much effort not to lose his grip on the mug of acrid coffee.
'LESTRANGES FOUND MURDERED', it read;
'Bellatrix and Rabastan Lestrange, known Death Eaters, were discovered dead in what is believed to be their apartment, near Knockturn Alley. The Lestranges, cousins of the late Sirius Black, were active supporters of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They escaped from Azkaban three years ago and were actively involved in the killing and torturing of wizards and Muggles alike.
Bellatrix Lestrange's body was found on the floor in a small pool of blood. An eerie mark was left upon Lestrange's neck a fairly deep incision, in the shape of a cross, with a blood red rose laid across it. When Aurors searched the flat, Rabastan Lestrange was found dead on the roof, without any markings indicating cause of death. When Healers performed an autopsy, they found an unknown substance in his blood stream, which they have not yet identified. Whether this bears any significance, is unknown Story continued on page 2. See also pages 3, 4, 5, and 7.'
Severus could only stare at the page in shock, though he was careful to school his features to show indifference. In the few years that the Dark Lord had regained power, Bellatrix had been one of the most highly sought-after Death Eaters.
Suspicion was at its height, not only among 'civilians, but among the Death Eater ranks. Severus was not so ignorant that he did not notice the ever-increasing distance between himself and others, or the furtive glances when he entered a room. Lucius Malfoy and his golden reputation were rapidly declining in popularity, but his desperate contributions had been his only saving grace. He flung his money and influence around as though they were simply flower petals among a bed of roses, as he had always done.
Bellatrix Lestrange's death would be a definite cause for celebration. Even as a schoolgirl, though one of the most beautiful in the school and known for her cadaverously stunning, dark allure, she was a cruel, heartless demon. Males cowered in her presence, yet were forever drawn in by her wiles, and the manic gleam in her eye only served to further disturb those around her. The callous, cold-blooded torturing of the Longbottoms, a well-loved, intelligent and strong couple, only brought more mud to her blackened name. Sirius Black's death at her hands had resulted in the pointless announcement of his innocence. If Bellatrix had had any respect before it, she certainly didn't have any afterwards.
Severus frowned more deeply still. The Order had been hunting down Death Eaters ever since the rise of Lord Voldemort, and Bellatrix had been, and was until today, particularly high on their list. They had searched the more dubious ends of both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds, but to no avail. Severus could not reveal any of their locations; when questioned, he said that he was bound by magic. He wondered vaguely if Albus ever suspected him of simply keeping it from them. It was very likely; Dumbledore might play the fool, but he never was one.
Regardless, there was still a greater issue at hand. The Order's attempts had been fruitless, and that was even with the use of people well-connected in the Ministry. Yet one person, or perhaps several, had managed to break into the tightly woven circle protecting the Dark Lord and his followers.
It stank of treachery.
The knowledge could be used in so many ways that Severus could not even begin to fathom the possibilities. Whether the murderer (or murderers) inclinations were towards the Dark or Light, he had no idea. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both.
Knowledge was powerful.
Severus wondered idly if they knew more than the Order. If that was the case, they would have to tread carefully. Power turned people's minds.
He would know.
Lord Voldemort was not pleased.
Wormtail's small, pathetic form cowered in a dark corner of the dank, dusty room. He shot a silent prayer to the unforgiving heavens every time the Dark Lord cast a murderous look in his direction. Even Wormtail, idiot though he was, knew better than to penetrate the black cloud of intense fury. It enshrouded him like a storm cloud, ready to strike out with lightning at any moment.
The room was a massive dungeon and completely thrown into darkness from lack of any light source, save for an eerie bluish hue that was distributed randomly throughout the dark expanse. At one end stood a throne, majestic and gothic in design. Black with moving silver snakes writhing along the sides, it brought nightmarish panic to more than just raw recruits. It seemed to be coated in a wispy, almost liquid obsidian mist, which circled around it in a predatory fashion.
Rabastan was not much of a loss. Before Azkaban, he'd had many useful contacts and plenty of money, but other than his insatiable bloodlust, he served no further purpose. Bellatrix, however, had been one of Voldemort's most prized. One of the very few women, the first, in fact, to join the ranks, and she proved herself to be above any males. Half the circle was uneasy around her and disturbed by her tendencies; the other half were simple terrified. She preferred prolonged playtimes, cursing her victims to insanity rather than letting them die quickly and painlessly. Of all the Death Eaters, she had been the most eager at the Dark Revels.
Useful and eager.
Her skills were also a great loss. Despite her cruel, unsettling, and somewhat crazed manner, she was intelligent and cunning, and had an excellent knowledge of rather nasty curses. She had been his best Unforgivable Curse caster, save Severus.
Severus. Voldemort sometimes wondered if he was not already lost to the old fool Dumbledore. Even at the beginning, he had never been eager to join in the 'festivities', preferring to be alone with his potions. He was always the quiet one, immersed in his work and providing Voldemort with whatever he needed or desired. He was so different from twenty years ago, was Severus. He had been a young, strong, handsome and intelligent man, eager to please when he had first joined the ranks. A light in his eyes that simply begged for power- for knowledge. Yet now, that light was gone, replaced by something so different. Something akin to resignation.
Still, Voldemort could not deny that he was useful.
The loss of one of his most faithful servants had been a huge blow, and his circle was in a state of disarray, frantically trying to find loopholes that the predator could have picked into. It disturbed him that someone had access to his inner ranks, which inevitably meant that Voldemort and his followers were in a significant amount of danger.
The only thing out of place in it all was that Dumbledore and his Disorder of the Philistines appeared to be just as clueless as he was. The old fool had been interviewed several times by the reporters of that scrap of rubbish they called a newspaper, each time saying that he had no information or knowledge on the subject. Whether it was an act or not, Voldemort didn't know. But Dumbledore was known for his cunning, and he wasn't going to take the chance of second guessing him.
Whatever it was, he didn't like it one bit. If this was happening behind Dumbledore's back, then something was terribly wrong.
It reeked of betrayal.
'WORMTAIL!' Voldemort roared, and the pathetic excuse of a being flinched, scurrying forward nervously.
'Y-y-yes m-m-m-my Lord?' he stammered fearfully, eyes wide in anticipation.
'Hold out your arm,' barked Voldemort, and pressed his wand into the Dark Mark on it. The snake writhed and hissed for a moment, then turned an angry red. He quickly let go, and Wormtail nursed his arm, cringing in pain.
Voldemort's snake-like face held clear disapproval as he raised his eyes to the high ceiling. The wisps had formed an exact replica of the Dark Mark, and one by one, each of his followers appeared around him, forming the familiar circle he had known for so many years.
With an artful sweep of his hand, the dungeon torches lit, throwing the expanse into a light with a soft, yellow light, completely at odds with the prevailing atmosphere. He turned to sit his throne, which was perched much higher above the circle, and looked menacingly over them. As the last black figure came into appearance, he sat back and began to speak.
'My loyal followers,' he drawled, coating some irony onto the words, 'as you must know, we have suffered a terrible loss. Two of our number are no longer with us.' There was a small pause as heads discreetly turned to the obvious gap, where Bellatrix and Rabastan had once stood.
'It seems that someone has managed to jeopardise our position! And by doing so has endangered all that we strive for.' His voice was not more than a whisper, but the utter silence of the room was such that it rang in each and every masked figure's ears, with total, sonorous clarity.
'How interesting that a complete outsider, not known either by the lot of bumbling fools they call our Ministry,' he spat with a tone of loathing, 'or even to Dumbledore, has managed to infiltrate our defences! After all that we have done to ensure their reliability, someone has broken in.'
Voldemort suddenly lifted himself off the chair. In an instant, the Death Eaters found themselves feeling as though they were in the hands of a predator, as though it were not them circling him.
He turned slowly and deliberately, looking each and every one of his followers in the eyes. An anxious silence fell among them that seemed to never end. Some shifted their eyes away, unable to hold the probing stare of their Master that shot straight into them.
'I sense treachery!' Voldemort hissed, face contorted in a terrible mixture of paranoia and mania.
In an instant, Voldemort's voice transformed from the sibilant hiss to a soft, deep baritone. It was much more melodious, and much more dangerous.
'Mark my words: any bad blood, any effrontery, any rebellion, will be eliminated. I will have no subordination in my ranks.' With a final glare, and another sweeping gesture, the vast room seemed to ring with a hollow emptiness, the glow suddenly replaced with the wispy blue as though it had never been there. An absolute silence fell over the room once more as Voldemort turned back to his chair, signalling the end of the meeting.
As the Death Eaters turned to leave, Voldemort's voice halted them once more.
'Oh, by the way… Severus, Lucius? A word, if you please?'