AN: Welcome back, my beautiful, wonderful readers! I pray you're all doing well, and especially any of you in the USA. What a time we live in, yes? I hope this story provides a bit of respite from the psychotic world of today. For my reviewers, forgive me for not responding as of late. I will do my best this week!
My heart belongs to all of you, I hope you enjoy this installment!
XXII
—
Voldemort sensed the three teenagers the instant they stepped foot in the Manor.
At least they aren't collapsing on the doorstep half-dead, this time, he thought. Pouring himself another glass of brandy, he moved to stare out the windows of the master study. Behind him, Severus waited for their conversation to resume. The dark wizard heaved an annoyed sigh.
"Has he said nothing else?"
They'd captured Arnold Caswell a few days after the bombing in Celesti Alley, but given how difficult it was to get solid information on The New Order, they were being very careful with how they handled him. Snape worked his jaw for a moment.
"Nothing that has been true. He's had extensive training in resisting the Imperius and Veritaserum, and it appears he's learned some memory shielding technique. My attempts at Legilimency have not yielded anything fruitful."
The Dark Lord glared down at the rear lawn.
"I do not have time to waste digging through the minds of every rebel we capture, Severus," he snapped. "Figure out a way past this supposed memory shield. If I am forced to make a trip to Azkaban, I will be most displeased."
The Potions Master nodded, though the other man's back was still turned to him. Voldemort called for Migo, ordering the House Elf to let Draco know he would speak with him in half an hour, then returned to his desk.
"I sometimes regret you aren't fifteen years younger, Severus. You would've made a wonderful heir."
Snape raised an eyebrow slightly. "Does Draco disappoint you?"
There was a pause as the Dark Lord considered, and he tapped his fingers against his tumbler.
"He's effective enough. I was pleasantly surprised he managed to repair the Vanishing Cabinet last year, there was no small amount of skill in that. He's also quite the fighter when I need him to be, he's the right pedigree to appeal to the higher families of the Wizarding World, and he's pretty to look at. My only concern when giving him the title was his genuine affection for the Granger girl, but I was able to use that to our favour."
"You knew he cared for her, yet you still gave him the position. Dare I ask why?"
The Dark Lord took another sip of his brandy as he signed something before responding.
"I knew I had to restrategize the summer after I regained my strength, when I looked at the ridiculously low population. It forced me to re-evaluate my stance on the Mudbloods." He looked up at his comrade with a piercing, garnet gaze.
"I want to rule. Fools who don't learn from their past mistakes rarely hold onto power, and I will not be counted amongst fools. The absurd depth of Draco's feelings for Hermione Granger made it obvious that, if I told him he could have anyone in the world, he would pick her. That was what I needed. A Pureblood prince willingly binding himself to a lowly Muggle-Born, and yet, not just any Muggle-Born. The darling of Hogwarts, Harry Potter's best friend, betraying the Order of the Phoenix to join the ranks of the Death Eaters."
Snape just stared as the wizard continued to review documents, occasionally gracing them with a signature or notation as he spoke.
"She was the key. If people saw her standing with us, it would cement the idea that we are no longer concerned with blood supremacy, it is only about strengthening the magic in our veins. I had to find a way to unite the broader public behind me, and Draco's naïveté coupled with the girl's impressive survival instincts provided that."
The room was silent a moment, then the Potions Master dipped his head. "Your foresight is, as it has always been, keen and invaluable, my Lord."
"It's merely a grand game that we play, my friend. If one wishes to win, one must consider the future, and move accordingly in the here and now."
There was a pause, then the wizard again glanced up at his colleague. "In talk of the future, how are you and the Healer coming along?"
The question was posed casually, but Snape knew it was significant. As one of the only Death Eaters to be unmarried and without offspring, he had been one of the first to be drafted into the Fortification Programme, and so also was in the first wave of confirmed pairings. Given his Half-Blood status, he'd been paired with a Healer named Cassandra Bolton, who's ancestry had been pure for the last six generations at least. The man clenched his jaw.
"The ceremony will be this Friday."
"And who will witness?"
"Her elder brother," Snape ground out. "If I might again appeal, my lord-"
"You may not. Lily Evans has been dead for nearly seventeen years; the fact that your lingering infatuation with her denies you the pleasure of another woman is, quite frankly, a bit disturbing. You, like anyone else who is physically able, will produce no less than three children. I don't give a damn if you never bed her otherwise, but you will adhere to this policy."
The tone Voldemort spoke in implied that, should he hear more about it, the results would not be pleasant for the one asking, so the Potions Master swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. His fate was sealed.
He'd not been dismissed, so Snape waited for whatever else his leader had to say.
"Granger's Occlumency, is she getting any better?"
"She utilizes an odd technique that is rather effective, so long as she can manage it. But so far she cannot consistently block intrusion."
The Dark Lord looked contemplative for a moment, then shook his head.
"Push her. I have another meeting with the head of their security branch in a few weeks, she will be coming along for introductory purposes. I want her competent by then."
Ducking his head in acknowledgement, Severus was relieved to finally be sent away, giving his superior a bow before exiting the study.
Voldemort set his quill down when he was alone again, glaring at the closed door.
Your foresight is, as it has always been, keen and invaluable…
The words replayed through his mind, and his fingers curled into fists. He had not foreseen the attack on the young Malfoy and his intended. He didn't personally care what happened to either of them, but their betrothal was a valuable media tool that he would hate to lose, as he was quite certain a similar opportunity would be near impossible to come by. Granger's commitment to his cause had already swayed plenty of witches and wizards who had been hesitant to submit to his leadership, and if the girl continued to play her part well, he was certain many more would yield. But the bloody New Order…
They were nothing like the noble fighters of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. The New Order was ruthless and unafraid of doing whatever they deemed necessary to seize control. His spies had already foiled a few attempted disasters that would've killed many magical folk, each one having been framed to appear as though the Death Eaters were responsible. It was the type of guerilla tactics the Dark Lord had once applauded, but now despised.
In the midst of the chaos they sowed, the group somehow also managed to be disastrously good at covering their tracks. They used methods of concealment that he'd never seen before, and it bothered him intensely. Draco had sent scouts around the globe to trace the origins of the unusual magic, and the reports that had come back so far were proving useful, but it was still slow work. He wanted the dissenters found, soon, so that he could deal with them properly.
Setting aside the various forms he'd been signing, Voldemort continued to ponder the issue of the rebels, rolling his eyes as thunder rumbled. The permanently grey sky had been the unfortunate side effect of a ritual he'd performed to further tether himself to the physical plane; he just hoped it wore off one day.
Sensing Draco's appearance outside of his study, the Dark Lord flicked his wrist to open the door, watching as the boy approached his desk with measured steps.
"My lord," he said with a short bow. Voldemort canted his head.
"How was your trip?" He asked, carefully observing Draco's expression. The young man stoically pulled an envelope from his coat, placing it before his leader.
"I detailed the entirety of the meeting, as well as individual responses, both verbal and bodily cues. However, The Coalition voted to remain neutral, despite my best attempts to bring them to reason. I apologize for my failure."
The Dark Lord took the envelope and opened it, glancing at the several pages of report, then set it aside to examine later. He wasn't at all surprised by the news, as it was notoriously difficult to sway The Coalition of Mercury until they were absolutely certain that whoever was in power wasn't going to lose it. If the young Malfoy couldn't convince them yet, it would likely be several months or more before the group was ready to commit. The elder wizard stared at his subordinate.
"Just a short time ago, your godfather asked if you disappoint me, Draco," he stated, noting the way the boy's jaw clenched. Good. Fear pushed people to do better, sometimes as equally as pain did.
"While I am not thrilled to hear you were unable to persuade The Coalition to our efforts, the notes you took appear comprehensive and may prove insightful. We also received valuable intelligence from one of your scouts while you were away," Voldemort explained. He gave a small smirk. "Thus far, young Master Malfoy, you do not disappoint me. I pray it stays that way."
Draco swallowed. "I will forever serve you to my utmost capacity."
Nodding, Voldemort suggested the young man head to his own study to go over what had transpired while he was away, and soon was alone again.
Bringing his brandy to his lips, the Dark Lord picked up the stark white envelope his owl had brought him earlier that day. It bore only his title on the front, and would be unassuming were it not for the multitude of enchantments and curses worked into the wax that sealed it. Fairly certain of what the note contained, the wizard set his jaw and used his letter opener to prick his finger, allowing a drop of blood to fall onto the seal.
The wax dissolved, and with it the danger of opening the letter. Slicing through the envelope, Voldemort removed the stationery within, it's words not at all what he was hoping to read.
Highest and Most Esteemed Lord Voldemort,
It is my deepest regret to inform you that the article which you seek has been lost to my family for several generations, though in that time, we have never ceased searching for it. To our greatest woe, whoever stole it from us used powerful -and it appears, permanent- magic to keep it hidden. Would that I could proudly offer it to you! Rest assured that we will continue our hunt until the athame is restored to its bloodline, whereupon it will be as yours to use as you seek.
Your humble servant,
Siobhan Culhane, Mistress of Shadows, High Lady of West Cove, 24th Daughter to Lodema of Fen
The Dark Lord growled, reducing the paper to ash in his hand.
"Migo!" He snapped, the elf appearing no more than a second later. "Send Lucius to me immediately."
It took less than a minute for the head of House Malfoy to be standing before him, a mostly impassive facade on the regal man's visage. However, one could occasionally see his fingers twitch ever so slightly, evidence of a nervous tick the man had of toying with his rings when he was uncertain. Voldemort glared at Lucius.
"The Daggers of Anointment you hold, I want them destroyed."
For a moment the room was silent but for the snapping fire, then Malfoy recovered from his confusion.
"As you wish, my lord, but… are we no longer to carry out our experiments with the muggles, then? We only just acquired them."
This gave the Dark Lord pause. "What are their ages?"
"Seven and ten, my lord, a girl and a boy."
There was more silence, then the senior wizard nodded to his colleague.
"You will use your blood with the girl, Nott will use his with the boy. If it works, they will be placed with respectable families and brought up with proper ideals of the Wizarding World. If it does not work, I don't suppose they will survive the procedure anyways."
He gave his associate a hard look. "When the ritual is complete, the crystals on the daggers will be broken and you will cast them into Fiendfyre. You will also begin searching for the third. According to the descendant of it's creator, it has been missing for quite some time, hidden with strong magic, so perhaps you should request Burke's assistance. But I want it found and destroyed as well."
Lucius bent respectfully, asking if there was anything else he could offer, then whisked from the room when he was told no more was required of him.
Voldemort finished his drink, then stood, contemplating the daggers.
When he'd learned that the Malfoys had two of them, he had originally intended to use them as a way of growing the magical population. But there was no way of knowing if those that were gifted magic by the daggers would produce magical offspring. Sure, the descendants of Lodema, Beda, and Sigourney were all magical, but the Sisters had all been immensely powerful themselves. It would stand to reason that they would have magical children.
That had been the first flaw. The second was that the daggers posed a possible risk to him, loathe though he was to think it. No one would ever get close enough to impale him with one, of course, but on the impossible chance that they did, he couldn't be certain even his horcruxes would survive. They were, after all, magic, and the daggers destroyed the magic of whoever was damned enough to be stabbed by one.
It was an absurdly improbable situation, but the fates were fickle madames. He would leave nothing up to them.
—