Author's note: Ah, so I'm back once again. Sorry for the hiatus; I was running low on ideas and time. Thanks to Sophie and Marauder3Moony for their lovely reviews...I appreciate it, guys.
Chapter Fifteen: Fire Eyes
The Death Eater stationed outside of Voldemort's study shifted uneasily. The Dark Lord had just returned from a summoning, his cold scarlet eyes brooding and almost—
The Death Eater clamped down on the thought, stiffening slightly. The Dark Lord was afraid of nothing. He was an idiot for having even considered it. What if he picks it up next time he conducts a search? the man worried, frowning. He shuddered with dread. On the last day of each month, Voldemort summoned his entire army, taking each Death Eater into his office individually and thoroughly probing their minds for treasonous thoughts or memories of traitorous actions. Some emerged from the encounter with splintered minds; others simply did not come out at all.
It was merely another reminder of the great and terrible power that their master wielded, another reminder that none of them really mattered when it came down to it. Well, none except perhaps—
No. The Death Eater banished that line of contemplation as well. He would—he must—think of trivial matters. Or, even better, he would think of nothing at all. One very quickly learned to blank his mind in the presence of the Dark Lord.
"Blair." Voldemort's voice slid into the man's consciousness from behind the heavy door of the study, slippery and ominous as a snake. "Come in for a moment."
Blair's breath caught in his throat. He knows. Oh, no, he heard—he sensed…somehow…
Then he shook his head and took a deep breath, steadying himself. No. His master simply wanted a word with him, as he did occasionally. Sometimes he asked a question; sometimes he wanted an opinion on his next move in the war. Blair was honored that the Dark Lord held him in such high regard.
He tugged open the door and stepped carefully inside. "My Lord?" he murmured softly. Voldemort was facing the fire, gazing into its dancing, blazing flames without actually seeing them.
"Blair," the Dark wizard said quietly, "am I wise to accept werewolves into my forces?" He half-turned to watch his follower, gauging his reaction.
Blair humbly kept his eyes on the floor, concealing his surprise. He did not dare accuse someone as ingenious as the Dark Lord of something so…plebeian…as foolishness. "It will bolster the army, my lord," he explained to the rich, deep green carpet. "It was a brilliant idea to enlist their help. They are bitter, and their power will intimidate the opposition. They may not be numerous, but they have already unwittingly been conditioned to follow you, my lord. Obviously they are simply half-breeds, almost as bad as Mudbloods, but there are ways to dispose of them once you have conquered." Voldemort had turned back to the fire and was nodding meditatively. Heartened by his master's agreement, he cautiously ventured, "And the newest follower…Lupin. You have spoken highly of him so far…"
Blair, peering at the Dark Lord from beneath his eyelashes, allowed his next words to die on his lips as his master suddenly whirled about. Voldemort stalked toward him, his crimson eyes snapping with reflected flame—or was this fire entirely independent of the one crackling on the hearth? Blair forcibly controlled a wave of tremors that rolled lazily across his body, flinching away from the searing rage in his master's eyes. He had gone too far, he knew. Sweat began to form along his hairline as Voldemort approached.
"You are too bold," the Dark Lord whispered, his cold, clipped voice in sharp contrast to the furious heat in his bearing. He halted a few yards from his cringing follower, who had fallen to his knees in futile supplication. The Dark wizard smirked with something very close to pleasure, raising his wand. "Crucio!" he shouted.
Blair vaguely felt himself hit the floor, overwhelmed by sheer, indescribable agony. Someone was yelling, begging for mercy—and the pain deepened threefold, fivefold, tenfold, multiplying and magnifying as seeming eons passed. Blair thought he could feel his body shredding to pieces under the pressure of the curse.
Several paces away, the Dark Lord grinned, eyes fiery with sadistic delight. He pumped more of his power into the spell, more of his doubt and fear and hatred, watching his follower writhe on the ground in anguish, the man's pleading for forgiveness punctuated with screams that gradually rose in intensity.
Abruptly, Voldemort raised his wand. Over Blair's panting, he spoke softly, voice silky and jaded. "Consider yourself chastened. Remove yourself from my sight."
Unconsciously shedding tears, emitting small whimpers, the man dragged himself to the door and left the office.
"I spoke highly of Lupin once, that's true," Voldemort mused in the silence that followed. He turned once again to stare into the fire. "But now, he seems much more volatile than I originally intended. More of a liability, costly rather than valuable…something to be dealt with." His eyes reflected the firelight without absorbing any of the flames' jovial warmth as he pondered the predicament that was Remus Lupin.