Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to HP. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved.
Lord Voldemort was seething.
Because he wanted to breach Hogwarts' wards and destroy an icon of resistance to his power, he had to spend at least half a year in the UK.
And things had been working great for him in Provence. Who would've thought that the place the great Salazar Slytherin would go to after leaving fair Scotland would be the south of France? This would have been a magical archeological find of the greatest import, if he cared to share, that is.
Miss Elizabeth Jenkins had been an avid researcher in the Department of Mysteries, dogged and persistent in her search for the truth; much like that Mudblood of Potter's. It was brilliant how she traced the parchment's source and managed to evade the charms that were obscuring the location. However, it was a pity that she had not been as smart in her choice of friends and confided in a future Death Eater who happened to be a Hogwarts student and dear to Mr. Potter.
Though it pained him to destroy such a brilliant mind, he had to do it to get to Slytherin's old haunts and secrets. Gibbering Miss Jenkins had been given a reprieve, when, mind broken, she had finally revealed the secret and its location. After AK'ing her, her body was left in the Department as a warning to others.
Voldemort looked much different than the last time he'd faced Harry. To Harry, he would have looked somewhat like a forty-year old version of the Tom Riddle of the Chamber of Secrets. He still had a slitted nose and red eyes and projected an aura of daunting evil.
The months spent in Provence had been very enlightening. It seems Slytherin dabbled in more Dark Magic that people realized, magic that was too dangerous to teach at Hogwarts, which needed coding and passwords, protection upon protection.
To be known, the secrets demanded that the asker be a parselmouth, a descendant of Slytherin, and, biggest hurdle of all, that he be the Heir of Slytherin.
These secrets would give him control of the world in good time, but first he needed to deal with Hogwarts and her students, and the magic required him to be in the same country.
So here they were, gathering in Fudge's Manor, granted hospitality by the old fool himself, who after admitting them as guests had fled out of the country.
Voldemort missed the sarcastic cruelty of his second in command, Malfoy. Also, if his plans had borne fruition, they'd be gathering today where he really wanted to be, in Malfoy Manor. That they were not was due to the intromission of the unspeakable brat himself.
Voldemort remembered one time when he had been visiting with the Malfoys, finalizing his brilliant schemes to get rid of the troublesome Potters.
Lucius and Narcissa had been standing beside Draco's crib, and respectfully allowed him to pass. Voldemort neared the infant, and noticed immediately the pale limbs, the head full of luxurious blond hair. The boy opened his silver-grey eyes and looked at Voldemort. Where other children, all other infants, screamed and cried when they saw him, this one did not. Draco just stared intently at Voldemort, as if weighing his very soul, and then looked beyond him, as if he found him wanting.
Voldemort had been secretly enraged. He wanted nothing more than to take that disrespectful brat and hurl him to the wall, watching as his silky platinum hair turned red with the blood leaving his body, becoming cold to the touch, and satisfyingly dying.
But he contained himself, and just walked away. He knew Narcissa would have been angry, and Lucius indifferent to the loss, if he'd just been promised more power.
Next time he saw them, he would order them to dispose of their son. Lucius would follow him blindly, of that he had no doubt.
However, fate dictated otherwise, and before he could meet Lucius again, he met Harry Potter. Of course, he lost his corporeal form in the exchange.
Long years he spent in exile, and then he came back, and Lucius was at his side, as always. Lucius was quick to belittle Draco's efforts and yet offer him up as a future Death Eater. When Voldemort next met Draco, the blond boy visibly cringed and cowered in front of him, as it should be, and he let him go.
Now he wondered if all that was just playacting on the part of the foolish child. What made him uncomfortable, however, was recalling how many times he had been about to order Lucius to kill his son, only to momentarily be distracted by something more important happening around him. What was maddening was that the distractions should not have occurred.
What broke his reverie were the sounds of Apparating that could be heard across the Hall. In the next five minutes, the anti-apparation and anti-portkey wards would be up. Again he was painfully reminded of Lucius, for it was with his help and blood that the wards had been set up.
He inwardly laughed and sneered at his Pureblooded Death Eaters. All of them were so naive and trusting in him. They never suspected the truth and never would.
They never wondered why the Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons, Zabinis and Bulstrodes only had one offspring each. They would never have suspected Lord Voldemort of casting an Infertility Curse on his trusted Death Eaters, so they could only have one son or daughter.
For one, it ensured that the place would not be overrun with brats, like the unseemly Weasleys. For another, it kept his DEs in check. They knew that if they betrayed him, their lines would become extinct, of course, they did not know that their lines would die out anyway, no matter what they did.
For Voldemort intended to live forever and to do that one must have funds, and his trusted Death Eater families would provide the funds.
Voldemort turned to look at Bellatrix Lestrange. He had cast the Curse even on his beautiful Bella.
He asked, "What happened at St. Mungo's?"
Bellatrix replied, "It's just as you told us, my Lord. I had Brown cast the Killing Curse at Lucius, and it rebounded and killed her. Tobias wanted to get to know Lucius, intimately, and he was so mangled that we left him there. It seems my ickle nephew was thorough."
Voldemort's eyes flashed and Bellatrix, recognizing her Master's temper, stepped back.
He said, "He is not as smart as he thinks. He's not cunning enough for me. He's never been and will never be."
He continued, "He will know my power, he will submit to me and then I will…"
While Voldemort was talking, he suddenly felt an immense drain of magical energy and sat down. Throughout the years with the Death Eaters, he had marked them and watched them suffer for it, but had never felt that pain. He did now, an excruciating ache that took away a small part of his magic, forever. He knew then what it meant: one of his Death Eaters had been torn from him, his or her magic negated from him. Once the Dark Mark had been cast, there is no way to undo it, except…
He remembered some of the manuscripts he'd read in Provence. The bond created by the Mark could be replaced by another stronger bond. There was only one candidate: the Liege Bond, which could only be performed by Purebloods and was thus unavailable to him. The only ones who were powerful and pretentious enough to do it were Narcissa and her Little Lord. Well, he'd show them!!
Voldemort stood up and bellowed, and all the Death Eaters present feared for their lives: "Bella, I want you to gather 20 men. The Little Lord thinks he can protect her and has taken Narcissa from me!"
"You will go to your other sister, and bring her and her family with you. We'll break them, and when we are done, we'll send their heads to the Little Lord."
"Then we'll see who is more thorough, and he will realize that he can't protect his family from me."
Bellatrix quickly picked up the men and left with them, using portkeys provided by the Dark Lord. Presumably Voldemort's sources knew the location of Andromeda, her husband and daughter.
BBBBBBBBBB
Voldemort mused if the Little Lord had a bare inkling of the extent of his plans. Even now he sought refuge in the blasted Order, and that company of fools did not know he had the perfect Spy on their midst, someone with much more sophistication and cruelty that poor, driven and distracted Moody.
The very identity of the Spy would shock their souls, and he'd give anything to see that blessed moment when they realized that their most cherished secrets had been compromised. What made it so delightful was that he was the only one who could give the Spy what they wanted; of course, the Slytherin magic that he'd been able to perform in front of the Spy helped to intimidate them a lot, and the Spy was trusted by all factions: Potter, Dumbledore and the Little Lord, who should have been more like his father.
Voldemort now indulged in trains of thoughts in parselmouth. When he was thinking in that frame of mind, possession and time, past and present seemed to become steadily less important. What mattered was right and wrong, or heat and cold, and the near certainty of knowing the perfect moment to strike a blow, to deal the decisive wound that would render the enemy who dared disturb the nest, dead. The perfect Slytherin thinks like the Serpent that symbolizes the House.
The Dark Lord stirred when there was the sound of many feet crossing the hall, and the triumphant shout of the men:
"Open the door, for we have great news. The War ends today, and our Cause lives on, for Bellatrix Lestrange has captured Harry Potter and brings him here to his certain death!!"
The doors were opened and the men entered, forming a semicircle. In the center there stood Nymphadora Tonks, a defiant Harry Potter and a smirking Bellatrix.
tbc