The dining hall of the Malfoy estate was absolutely silent as they waited. In fact, the only one making any meaningful movement whatsoever was Eden himself, who was nervously twirling his stubby wand between his fingers.
Bellatrix was beside him, the only one of the group that looked completely at ease as they waited for Voldemort to arrive. Her brain was on a different wavelength than that of most people, though, so Eden didn't fault her.
The others sat quietly. Some were very clearly worried that these might be their last remaining moments alive. Narcissa Malfoy looked as though she'd been crying for quite some time and Lucius was pale. Antonin Dolohov kept glancing at the door as though contemplating his chances of escape if he were to run.
He'd been the leader of the reinforcements, sent to support Malfoy in his attempt to secure the prophecy when it became clear that Harry had unwelcome support. Instead of sandwiching the students and soldiers into a tight spot and killing them all, the reinforcements folded and allowed their escape.
The casualty rate had been fairly staggering as well. Many of Voldemort's more trusted Death Eaters were missing, either captured or killed by the Ministry and their lackeys.
Eden scanned around the silent room once again, paying attention mostly to the windows and doors. There was still no sign of anyone around. He hoped that would be the case, but he couldn't be sure. He wished someone trustworthy was outside keeping watch.
"We'll be fine," Gibbon whispered from next to Eden, giving him an elbow. "Neither of us was there."
He looked like he was trying to convince himself as much as Eden. A few of the others close enough to overhear the comment scowled. Eden smiled back tightly in thanks. The comment seemed to spark some isolated and very quiet conversation between a few people around the table.
It was reasonable, he thought, that others believed him nervous about Voldemort's impending tirade. The losses at the Ministry were catastrophic to Voldemort's plans. He wanted that prophecy and he wanted the Ministry to remain unaware of his presence. He now had neither, and had lost a fair few Death Eaters in the process.
Truth be told, Eden was primarily worried about the fact that they were all still sitting here at Malfoy Manor. With the soldiers still present and operating with the Ministry, they could expect somewhere as obvious as the Malfoy residence to be high on the target list. Every moment they remained was one closer to discovery, and he couldn't wait to get moved over to his own property.
The doors at the end of the dining hall slammed open, echoing loudly through the room. Though he wouldn't admit it if anyone asked, he too jumped at the sudden noise, almost dropping his wand. He managed to keep his grip, however.
As Voldemort entered the dining hall, his snake slithering up to the head chair expectantly, the room fell deadly silent again.
"Sixteen." Voldemort said simply. Eden found the pale, snake-like face of Voldemort difficult to read, but his voice held a barely contained rage. "Sixteen of our number lost, like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis and placed his hands on the back of his chair, which he stood behind. The snake lay coiled across the back of the chair, staring at them with a similar look of contempt.
"Sixteen lost and nothing achieved." Voldemort let that quiet statement hang in the air for a long moment.
"Crucio!" Eden hadn't seen Voldemort pull out his wand, nor aim it. One second they sat in the Dark Lord's muted rage, the next, Dolohov's screams of pain echoed through the hall. He fell from his chair, not that it mattered. Voldemort simply followed him, not letting up even for a moment.
For the first time, Eden felt a sliver of doubt in his chest. He hadn't seen someone draw a wand that quickly before. Voldemort was obviously a powerful wizard, his reputation alone stated that. Seeing it in person really sent the message home, though.
Bellatrix rested a hand on his knee, her face mixed with worry and delight. She truly had a strange relationship with torment, but then he loved that about her. You just don't find a woman like that every day.
They'd gone over his plan before, but now that they were here, seeing Voldemort in action, his stomach was beginning to churn. Still, the pieces were in place, and if nothing else, Bellatrix's confidence helped him steel himself. He went back to twirling his wand as the crescendo of screeching finally ceased.
"YOU FOOL!" Voldemort crossed around the table to stand over the top of Dolohov, who was cowering in a ball. "YOU NEEDED ONLY DEFEND THE ONE PATH OF ESCAPE!"
For a moment, Eden thought Voldemort might kick the hapless man. He discarded the thought as soon as it entered his brain. Voldemort wouldn't stoop to something as muggle as kicking. It simply wasn't his way...it was one of his biggest problems. He was unwilling to look at the benefit of non-magical things.
Instead, he waved his wand silently. A green pulse of light erupted from the wand and struck Dolohov dead. Eden hadn't seen a silent killing curse before, either. He knew it to be possible, but difficult and requiring great concentration. To see it done so flippantly was...intimidating.
Voldemort stared at the body for a moment before letting out a sigh and moving to stand at the front his chair. Eden saw the rest of those seated at the table visibly relax. Evidently, this was a sign that he was done with his outburst.
"Rookwood, my normal and most trusted source of information at the Ministry was killed last night. I want to know who-" Voldemort began, but he stopped his line of questioning as Eden scooted his chair back. The scraping of chair legs against the wooden floor made a grating sound that drew all eyes to him.
"Did you have something to add?" Voldemort asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. There was a tinge of warning to his voice, but also a look in his eye, as though he hoped to be challenged.
Not good. "I did, actually," Eden admitted, standing up to address the table. His nerves were apparent, both in the slight waver in his voice and the rapid twirling of his wand between his fingers.
Voldemort watched his hand for a moment, drawing attention to Eden's nervous tick, before opening his arms in a sweeping gesture and sitting with an amused look on his face. Inviting him to dig his own grave.
"I too am horrified by our losses at the Ministry of Magic. Sixteen individuals, all devoted to the cause...a tragedy." Eden looked at each of the Death Eaters seated with them. Their faces bore pleas for him to stop there. No one wanted him to antagonize the Dark Lord further.
"I was vocal with my strategic concerns about a raid on the Ministry," Eden continued, letting his eyes rest on Voldemort, whose amused look was starting to diminish. He could sense the brazen words coming. "I brought up the concerns that this was strictly personal benefit for you, Mr. Voldemort-" those at the table gasped at his use of Voldemort's name. He was to be referred to with reverence, not by name "-and I was ignored."
"You take issue with my leadership?" Voldemort asked. He leaned forward, as though making ready to stand up. Eden, after months of practice, reacted smoothly and quickly.
He caught his wand between his fingers, pointed directly behind Voldemort's chair.
"Pýli kólasis!" Eden shouted. He'd have preferred to use this lost spell silently, but the consequences of not getting the curse right were too steep.
The familiar, inky black pit opened just behind Voldemort's chair, a terrible, screeching wail erupting from it. A back leg of his chair was seized by one of the dozen, scabbed, grey arms that writhed from that nothingness.
With a look of genuine horror and surprise on his face, Voldemort was yanked backward. He tried to launch himself from the chair, but it was too late. Decayed hands gripped his robes, his ankles...he was yanked into that pit of nothingness with an enraged howl matched only by the screeches from those doomed souls already in the pit.
Those closest to the scene scrambled away from their seats, climbing over one another to get away from the terrifying portal. Eden waved his wand as soon as Voldemort had passed all the way through, and the inky pit collapsed in on itself, throwing the room back into a deafening silence.
"I can tolerate a great many things," Eden spoke loudly, confidently. He'd done it. "A lack of concern for your fellows is not one of them."
No one said a word. Eden glanced around at the shocked Death Eaters as they tried to digest what they'd just seen. Even Bellatrix looked surprised and worried. He'd never shown her that particular trick before.
"Does anyone have a problem with that?" Eden asked, flashing a smile at the bewildered faces.
For the second time today, Brad stopped himself across the street to stare at the little cottage. It was a quaint, two story affair on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, on the edge of town between the path to Hogwarts and the one leading to FOB Phoenix. A convenient spot for Fleur to recover from her ordeal.
Brad had been released by Colonel Sumner earlier this morning, after an extremely long debriefing period. Every decision he'd made was second guessed by command staff and intelligence experts, in detail, several times over...to the point he'd started to question his own judgement.
Sumner, along with the rest of them, had informed him that their investigation found no evidence of misconduct and that he was cleared to carry on with regular duty. He'd have today off, and tomorrow, they would begin the high tempo operation against Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
He couldn't wait. Behind any one of those doors, he stood the chance of staring down his sights at Voldemort. He would pay for what he did...to Neville...to Jason...all of them.
Orange light spilled suddenly into the dusk from the living room window of the cottage. Brad could see Apolline pushing the blinds open. Fleur was sitting on the couch, her knees tucked beneath her and a blanket draped over her lap. She was smiling at something her mother had said.
For a moment, Brad had the overwhelming urge to go over there. To knock on the door and hear those melodic voices again. The last time he'd spoken to either of them, he'd been leaving France. A lot had changed since then.
Brad's stomach rolled as he saw Fleur, still smiling and saying something to her mother, as she unconsciously rubbed the back of her hand. His face screwed up as though he had something sour in his mouth.
He should have been there for her. If he'd just known she was there, stuck in that dungeon...not in a million years would he have stood by to allow her to suffer like that. And yet, here they were.
The first thing he'd done when Sumner released him was to get his hands on the medical report for Fleur. Severe malnutrition and dehydration, tissue damage to the lips and tongue related to her dehydration...the list was ugly. Nothing so much as the words filthy half-breed...carved into her hand.
Brad felt his fingers twitching, his muscles remembering when Umbridge had been helpless on the floor in front of him. Jason had stopped him from unconsciously pulling his knife out and ending her. Subconscious or not, he'd wanted her dead. Now that he'd seen the damage, there wasn't a force on the planet that would stop him from killing her if they ever crossed paths again.
A small consolation, too late and too little for anything meaningful to come of it. Fleur had been imprisoned...tortured...and he'd done nothing. Shit, he'd followed orders like a good soldier and left her in the hands of his comrades while he chased Harry down...lost good friends in the process, too.
So, he didn't knock on their door. For the second time, he ignored that part of him that yearned for her touch, her voice. He didn't deserve it. She deserved someone who could...who would be there for her. Someone who would keep her safe and happy.
He'd tried earlier in the day, when he'd first left the FOB. He'd actually stepped into the street, but when he saw Henri and Apolline, he'd frozen. He already felt disgusted with himself, asking Fleur's forgiveness for not being there for her. He couldn't ask her and her parents at the same time, that was too much.
"That is a pained look, son," a deep voice rumbled from behind him. Brad's stomach sank deep as his heart leapt up into his throat. He turned to see Henri Delacour regarding him. With the street lamp angled just behind him, Brad couldn't tell anything about his features.
"She misses you, you know?" Henri asked, gesturing toward the open window. Brad glanced over just in time to see Fleur laugh. An echo of the times he'd heard that laugh rang in his head, bringing half a smile to his lips. And like any echo, it faded.
"What is the matter?" Henri pressed, evidently seeing the change in Brad's features. Brad wanted to reply. To say he missed her, too. To say he didn't deserve to see her again. To ask why she could possibly want to see him. His throat constricted as he opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out. Nothing but a hitching breath...a moment where he almost lost control of his emotions.
Henri placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into Brad's eyes. Brad didn't want to return the gaze, his eyes glazed as they were, but he did.
"She does not blame you, nor should she. I failed her as much as anyone. I thought she was with you this whole time, and you thought her with me, at home. That woman did evil things, terrible, and she rightly bears the responsibility for that. My daughter misses you, she loves you, I know it. Come in, see her." Henri gently pulled on Brad's shoulder, attempting to guide him toward the cottage.
"I-" Brad started, holding his feet firmly in place. Again, his constricted, dry throat stopped his words. He wanted to believe Henri, to go see her. To hear that laugh again.
But he couldn't picture it. Even with her so close, he couldn't imagine looking her in the eye again without reading his failure across her features. The people he cared about most were dying all around him...she'd almost died and he'd never even realized she was in danger. She deserved better than that.
He cleared his throat. "I've got to get ready," he said, his voice wavering more than he'd hoped. He tried to push confidence into it. "We're taking the fight to the Death Eaters." A little better this time.
Henri's face changed, the concern fading into suspicion, settling on disappointment. Brad stood straighter and Henri's hand slipped from his shoulder.
Brad opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't know what else to say. He closed his mouth and turned back toward the FOB, feeling Henri's eyes boring deeper into his back with every step.