Launching Ships, Chapter 9

Lord Voldemort had never been so very angry in his life, and he was actually rather unnerved, as well. Something was happening to his inner circle. At first, he had thought it was simply a little of the tension owing from the plot to take over the ministry, combined with his servants' natural viciousness. He had actually thought that it was quite amusing that Alecto Carrow and Rodolphus Lestrange had been having a torrid affair, judging by the dirty notes and love bites which the couple couldn't seem to hide, though they continued to deny their relationship. Alecto's possessive husband was furious at this, though, and had literally called a duel to the Third Blood in the middle of Riddle Manor before he apologized to his Lord and Master. Voldemort had, at the time, been actually rather amused, and had allowed the duel to go on (after crucioing Carduus Carrow for his forwardness). It would, after all, be a nice show, particularly as there had been no Dark Revels and no prisoners lately, and Nagini could eat whoever died. He had not been so amused when Alecto killed Rodolphus for killing her husband, though, before being herself cursed to death by Bellatrix, who, while not caring a whit for anyone except her Lord and Master, as it should be, still had her pureblood pride, which forced her to avenge her husband. And thus there were three of his Inner Circle dead in a single night!

Then came Crabbe and Goyle Sr's slow, humiliating illness, rendering them far too ill to attend the meetings, or indeed, to move more than a few feet from a lavatory at any given time. There was also the incident of Fenrir Greyback's sudden attraction to Bellatrix, who (taking offense to the beast's clumsy attentions) had literally Avada Kedavraed him after a comment which, although crude, should not have warranted such a harsh reaction, and Voldemort had actually been forced to punish her, his favorite of all his Death Eaters (awe and devotion, after all, was quite refreshing, even if he didn't care about her in a romantic way) since she had virtually ruined his chances at allying with Greyback's pack (which had been slim from the beginning) and by extension, the allegences of any other Dark packs or rogue weres. Then, too, it seemed that Nott had been afflicted with a curious and debilitating condition that involved him being entirely covered in purple spots, which disappeared within seconds of him stepping into St. Mungo's or within a foot of a Healer, only to reappear minutes later, and the otherwise-capable Rookwood had, only a week ago, literally walked into the auror office whimpering, stripped his sleeve, and told everyone who would listen that he was the Dark Lord's spy with the Unspeakables, as well as babbling out far more of Voldemort's secrets than he should have told him; he had certainly been killed for it, but when Voldemort looked over the auror records that McNair had somehow obtained for him, he discovered that the man had been drugged to the eyeballs and obliviated, so they didn't even know who to kill for forcing his defection.

Speaking of McNair, the man was driving him mad lately. He babbled on about anything and everything as though he had been fed a Babbling Beverage, and the last meeting he had had to crucio him twice and feed him a calming drought, and then gag him magically just to get the man to shut up, and no diagnostic had turned up results (nor would the effects of Babbling Beverage for an entire meeting unless he were being dosed at regular intervals throughout). Not to mention that his job at the ministry had laid him off until the mediwitches could figure out his "affliction", meaning that he was now useless as a spy, which would have been bad enough in the old days, but it was worse now, considering that McNair's special breed of "interrogation" was not necessary; since they were laying low at this time, there were so few prisoners that a regular Death Eater with a wand and enough sense and practice in Dark magic could do his job.

Then, only three days ago, Lucius Malfoy, his other most important spy in the Ministry, had been committed to St. Mungo's by his wife for his rather disturbing obsession with the white peacocks wandering his grounds; apparently he had literally followed them around and sometimes even tried to assault the creatures, earning himself a few scratches in the face until Narcissa found out how far the obsession ran and packed him off before he could cause a scandal.

Just yesterday, Yaxley had collapsed in the middle of the Death Eater meeting, apparently from a heart attack, only to be found hours later in the middle of the auror office, stripped entirely nude and with the word "DEATH EATER SCUM" painted in large block letters all along his body along with smaller writing listing all the crimes that he had committed in Lord Voldemort's noble service. It was getting absurd, and he was losing his followers far, far too fast.

The worst part was that he had no idea who the culprit was. There obviously was one; nothing just happened totally spontaneously like this- but there was nothing that pointed to any of his other Death Eaters, for all he crucioed them and rummaged through their feeble minds. Rowle was too loyal, Gibbon was too stupid, Pettigrew was a snivelling idiot, Snape was not one to just make such mischief and mayhem; he would more likely just use some sort of untraceable potion to kill them in silence and without being caught, while Dolohov's mind was too open to hide anything. But who else could get into his innermost sanctum and kill and incapacitate his Death Eaters with just as much ease as if they were so many ants?!

Voldemort was musing on this subject in fury and (although he would never admit it even to himself) fear, pacing his throne room, when he abruptly tripped over something thick and heavy in his path, and fell flat. With a hiss of total rage, he staggered to his feet and whirled around, ready to curse whatever he had stepped on into oblivion...and then he froze, the wand dropping from his nerveless fingers. It was Nagini. It was Nagini, and she was splayed out on the floor, coils cold and still in death, yellow eyes glassy and empty.

She was dead. She would never again talk to him in her quiet, reassuring hiss, never eat his prisoners for him, never coil languidly in his lap, letting him milk her venom, never curl up on his pillow when he was lonely or hiss threateningly at his Death Eaters until they cowered and remembered their place. Not to mention that, with her gone, he was one step closer to death, one step closer to oblivion, one step closer to the hell that the Catholic priests that tended Woolworth's orphanage always said that he was destined to go. He had lost not only his only friend, but a fragment of his soul that he had lovingly encapsulated in her, hoping to bind her closer to him and hoping also to stave off death. For the first time in his life, Lord Voldemort actually grieved. And, likewise for the first time, he was afraid. And then his fury exploded.

"WORMTAIL!"

Peter Pettigrew came running in, slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor that occasionally showed through the thin, shabby muggle carpeting that Voldemort had never bothered casting "reparo" on. It was not as gratifying as it usually was to see him snivel and cower; Voldemort was, as always, disgusted with the creature, but there was no heat of pride that it was his power that reduced the man to a cowering pile of mush.

"Y-yes M-m-master?"

Merlin, he was disgusting.

"Your arm!"

Pettigrew flinched, then held out his left arm. Voldemort pressed one long, spidery finger to the dark tattoo and Called his Death Eaters. This would be a long night, but at the end of it, he would- hopefully- have his answers. And, hopefully, there would be someone for which there was conclusive evidence against him or her, so that he could have some stress relief.

There were several pops and cracks of apparation at that moment, as his pitifully thinned Inner Circle appeared at his call, robed and masked and kneeling at his feet. Voldemort looked over him, drinking in their fear like wine.

"Sssso," he hissed, purposely extending the word. "Which one of you will die tonight?" He had not wanted to do this himself, nor had he wanted to waste his stock of veritaserum, but he had to do this. He did not think that any of the remaining Inner Circle members was strong enough to occlude, but, then, he didn't want to leave any stone unturned. The wards on Riddle Manor were impeccable; the only wizards who could have gotten in to kill Nagini would have to be his own Death Eaters, unless a muggle somehow sneaked in and somehow managed to feed Nagini some sort of poison (because she had been in perfect health; nothing wrong with her- it had to have been poison...didn't it?) which would have been impossible even had a muggle known or cared about a magical snake and her possible demise. "Rowle. Come forward."

Rowle did, shaking visibly, and Voldemort pulled out the bottle of veritaserum and a muggle dropper and, forcing him to his knees with one hand in his hair, fed him the three drops and made him swallow it. Then he waited until the man had gone limp to let go of him and step back, hissing in anger as them man fell on his boot. He pulled his booted foot out from under the man and nudged him with the tip of it. The glassy eyes stared back at him with no expression or accusation; excellent.

"Who are you?" he asked impatiently, just to make sure the serum was working. In the background, he was just barely aware of his Death Eaters edging away from him in their terror, and fought to contain his sneer. All of them were so weak, so useless. Well, Severus wasn't useless, but Merlin, that man's mind was so shallow. It had, after all, not occurred to Voldemort just yet that the man was, rather than occluding to look as though there was a shield, occluding to make sure there seemed to be no shield at all.

"Thorfinn S. Rowle."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"Yes."

"Rowle, are you loyal to me?"

"Yes," responded the man in a monotone.

"Do you know what caused Nagini's death?"

"No."

"Do you know what caused any of the other unusual occurrences lately?"

"No."

Voldemort unceremoniously kicked him aside (not so hard as to break anything; he still needed his minions) and then called the next inner circle member. It was the same. All the way, that is, until he reached Severus Snape.