I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the related characters. The Harry Potter series is created by JK Rowling and owned by Warner Bros. This fanfiction is intended for entertainment only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of the original Harry Potter story belong to Warner Bros.
Beta'd by Dorothea Greengrass, thanks for your patience and knowledge of correct punctuation.
The Boy With The Dragon Tattoo
Chapter Three
Lucius Malfoy winced at an unnaturally loud crack as he appraised the darkened manor house. The lawn stood out in stark relief against the black walls, and a single shadow lurked before him. He sighed in impatience and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. The earpieces rubbed against the delicate skin behind his ears, and he winced at the pain.
The crack had been his recently arrived companion, and he shifted his weight slightly and felt something under foot. He glanced down to see a twig on the packed dirt of the forest path. The crack of apparition was bad enough without adding more noise to their arrival and approach, so he flicked a foot and watched the twig sail off into the gloom. The two men remained in place until a third shadow popped into existence.
"You're late, Mulciber!" Malfoy hissed.
"Ruddy goblins! Kept me in meetings until well past ten. I might follow Goyle's example and withdraw all my gold and keep it under my bed." Mulciber grumped as he stomped his feet angrily and balled his hands into fists.
"The wards will be down in a few minutes," Malfoy said quietly. "The tunneller rune stone is through and will begin to widen soon. Here, wear these to see the wards."
Malfoy handed his compatriots each a pair of glasses. Jugson regarded them with disdain, but Mulciber made no comment, he merely adjusted the ear pieces.
Mathias Jugson clumped closer and muttered darkly, "Will it stay open long enough for us to be done with this and get out?"
"No, Ogden's wards are extensive and well made. They will overwhelm the tunnel and collapse it in a few minutes. We must be quick," Malfoy replied.
"So we'll be trapped?" Jugson's voice rose in pitch.
Malfoy and Mulciber gave their fellow Death Eater scathing looks.
"No, Idiot! We'll be using Ogden's house elf to leave," Malfoy sneered.
"Oh yeah, like the McKinnon's." Jugson said.
Malfoy and Mulciber shared a look behind Jugson's head as the air ten metres before them sparked red and shimmered up and out to each side. The red faded away the further it went until it disappeared completely at a diameter of fifty metres. In the centre of the red transparent barrier, a tiny hole appeared, dark against the bright red just above the turf.
The hole grew and soon a trench three metres long formed. The grass and soil beneath vapourised, and the air took on a burnt quality. This happened at the same time as the arch to form a perfectly circular hole.
"As soon as it's big enough, you go, Jugson," Malfoy said.
"Aye," Jugson rumbled and leant forward, wand at the ready.
"Remember, no magic until we're at the door," Malfoy continued. "The active wards only work on manual activation, a breach in the perimeter wards, or an internal detection."
"Aye," Jugson said again.
"Yes," Mulciber agreed.
"Rosier's special rune stone has disabled the anti-intruder jinx and a dozen of the more common defences that we know Ogden has," Malfoy finished.
Jugson shuffled forward, then crab-walked the last metre before he transferred to his hands and knees. He scrambled out the trench on the other side and flattened himself onto the turf, his wand twitching between the various outhouses, servants quarters, and the imposing manor itself.
"Mulciber, go."
The second Death Eater crossed easier through the widening hole, took a knee besides Jugson, his wand at the ready. Malfoy strolled through the gap and stood next to Mulciber as the three waited tense and primed for a reaction from the house. They held positon for a further minute before Malfoy sniffed, then crossed the centre of the expansive lawn with a swing of his cane.
His compatriots were more furtive in their movements and skittered in his wake, their eyes roving constantly. Malfoy paused at the top of the stone steps and regarded the night calmly before he pulled his wand from within the cane and tapped the door.
"Aberto."
The door issued a click and a faint groan as it swung ponderously open. The moonlight illuminated the hallway and foyer beyond and caused nightmarish patterns from the stained glass-high gothic windows spaced evenly along the walls above. A banked fire provided the only other illumination for the men who stole inside. Malfoy exchanged a look with Mulciber before he tapped each shoe with his wand. Mulciber copied the motion a second after.
"Silencio."
"Silencio."
The two men waited for Jugson to follow suit, but he simply regarded the room and did nothing.
"Jugson?" Malfoy asked.
"Hmmm." Jugson turned to face him.
"Silence your feet."
"Oh right, Silencio." Jugson casted.
The room was wall to ceiling with relics and artefacts in glass cases or resting on shelves. The dozen man-sized glass cases littered the floor, interposed between ornate tables, settees, armchairs, and several chaise longues. Jugson stopped just over the threshold and gasped, he slowly pulled the glasses off his face.
"Sac de balle affaissé Merlins," he whispered. "It's a bloody museum."
Mulciber snorted, but did not speak as Malfoy shot them both a furious look. He pulled the glasses off his face and dropped them into a pocket.
"Yes, it is impressive, but we have to rid ourselves of the inhabitants before we can go shopping," Malfoy whispered.
Malfoy opened his mouth again but was interrupted by a pop. A small house elf stood on an end table, slightly shorter than the lamp that occupied it. Her white nightdress looked like several handkerchiefs sewn together. She pointed a finger at the intruders and spoke in a piping voice.
"You'se are not welcome here, master will be angry with you. Leave now and-"
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green flash illuminated the room and vanquished every shadow for a split second before they reappeared. The soft thud was deafening as the tiny elf tipped backwards, slid down the lamp shade and leant drunkenly against the vase-like base, a broken marionette.
Malfoy, his jaw tense, slowly turned his head towards Jugson. His gaze spoke of an eternity of agony as he glared into the side of Jugsons head. Mulciber stared at the elf for a second, then turned towards his compatriots.
"Jugson?" he whispered.
"Yeah?" Jugson said, his voice loud in the gloom.
Mulciber looked from the man, who was grinning like a loon, to the empty husk propped up against the lamp and sighed and pulled his glasses off. Malfoy growled and silently banished the elf into the far wall. A dim thud and scraping sound traced its descent down the wall mounted tapestry to the stone floor.
"So, how do we get out now?"
Jugsons smile faded as realisation dawned. "Err."
"You moron," Malfoy hissed. "Just get on with it. I'll have to use another runestone. They're expensive, the cost of which will come out of your share."
Jugson pulled a face and sullenly kicked at a green leather sofa. Then he cursed and hopped for a second as his shoe ricocheted off the wooden leg and his ankle clattered into the varnished wood.
Not another word was spoken as the three men spread out around the room and inspected each plaque to find their target. The dark silence was interspersed with unintelligible muttering and flashes of wand light. Their footsteps changed to a muffled slosh as the carpet darkened in regular patches and quickly spread to seep into every stitch.
"What is this?" Mulciber hissed.
"Blood?!" Jugson was a second after him, but three times as loud.
Malfoy crouched and inspected the rug underfoot and brushed fingers through the pile.
"No, it's only water." Malfoy said as he rose from a crouch.
All three looked up at a faint noise, a clatter of wood on stone and maybe something slide like a shuffling. Mulciber and Jugson jerk their wands up but Malfoy flung a hand to the side and they stopped, mouths open and eyes wide. A shadow flooded across the ceiling as a candle was placed in an alcove and the wielder was projected into a thirty foot high shade.
"Who dares to enter my home unbidden?!"
The voice carried the weight of years, but projected with the strength and implacability of a storm filled river. Long iron grey hair rested on the shoulders of a rich tartan dressing gown, the pale lapels looked white in the gloom. As the figure mounted the top step the three men below could see him for the first time. Leather slippers slid from step to carpeted step silently, a metal on stone grinding the cause of which Malfoy could not see until the old man had reached the section of stairs which swept towards the centre of the room and revealed a long metal object sliding down the stone bannister.
"Lucius." Mulciber hissed, "What are you waiting for? Let's get him before he comes down."
"I want to give him a chance to join our lord, to join us."
Malfoy could feel the judgemental gaze from eyes buried in shadow sweep across him and continue on towards his companions. The old man halted two steps up from the bottom and his already imposing frame towered above the three Death Eaters, the sword point rested between his feet, point first on the bottom step.
"Lucius Malfoy. Imagine my surprise that you have returned to the Malfoy family roots of highway banditry and common thuggery. I see my gesture of mercy towards your grandfather has come home to roost." The voice was dry as kindling and just as brittle.
"You should have accepted my Lord's most generous offer. It's still open for now," Malfoy said, his calm silky tone belied the cinder of white hot rage that burst into life at the slur. "It would be a true tragedy if the Odgen legacy followed that of the Braithwaites, the McKinnons and the Prewetts. Straight to my bank vaults."
"My legacy, you little bastard, will not be impugned by the likes of you. What is in this house is a fraction of what I own, the Aurors will soon—"
Odgen was interrupted by a loud impatient sigh and all eyes turned towards Jugson who was rolling his eyes.
"This windbag doesn't half go on, do we really have to listen to this?" he asked.
Malfoy sent him another dark look and opened his mouth to respond.
"The quality of your underlings are a match for your own Malfoy," Ogden snorted. "Rude, disrespectful, and fairly stupid."
"Watch your tongue!" Mulciber snarled. "You can't hold a candle to the power of the Dark Lord. Respect that!"
Ogden huffed a laugh and hefted the sword so it pointed towards Jugson's throat. "Your Dark Lord isn't here though, is he, Mulciber Junior? How well do you think you'll do against the manor defences in the middle of my seat of power? Arcainas!"
The final word was bellowed toward the chandelier and the sword tip slipped forward to touch the damp carpet. A flash and smell of ozone permeated the room and Jugson spasmed. He emitted a strangled gasp and collapsed to the floor at the same time as Malfoy gave a pained cry and fell backwards onto the plush green sofa behind him. The motion lifted both feet off the ground and he scrambled completely onto it as the temporary paralysis faded, his boots ripped the upholstery and goose-down shot out in a geyser of white feathers as his nerves jangled. The feathers took on a mind of their own and swirled about his head, they battered off his nose and tried to enter his mouth. His hands reflexively spasmed around his wand and cane, his left leg collapsed underneath him so he flopped into a sitting position as his leg twisted uncomfortably beneath him. With a savage swipe of his wand the feathers zipped away on an non-existent wind.
Mulciber had quick-stepped to the side and planted one foot onto an end table, which caused a lamp to clatter to the floor. His standing leg collapsed from under him, and he flopped over his knee and had to grasp the table edge otherwise his momentum would have carried him back to the floor. Mulciber lifted his gaze in fury and his wand arm followed.
"Avada Kedavra!" he screamed.
"Marcis!" Malfoy followed a second later.
The killing curse shot high and blackened the stone balustrade above Odgens head. The crack of stone caused the aged lord to duck and shift to the side, and he bounced off the handrail and stepped down onto the electrified carpet. The sword followed him and Jugson stopped twitching. This instinctive reaction saved his life. Malfoy's spell was a black fizzing mass which passed through the space Ogden had just occupied and splattered onto a portrait of an ancestor. The paint bubbled and slid down the canvas.
Tiberius Ogden staggered a few more steps before he caught his balance and straightened. He paused a fraction of a second as he stared directly into the eyes of the corpse of his loyal elf, the glassy orbs reflecting the moonlight, he gritted his teeth and swept his wand in a wide arc.
"Leave my house!" he thundered.
The silent spell sent a wave of force so thick that a distorted wave shimmered through the air and propelled the two standing Death Eaters skittering across the room amongst the general detritus of a hurricane. Pillows and cushions, loose leaf paper and whole books, tables flipped, chairs slid and display cases fell with a clatter and shattering of glass. The two stunned men rolled and manoeuvred for cover from the onslaught which abruptly stopped as they slid up against the back wall.
"I don't think we can convince him." Mulciber wheezed.
Malfoy snarled and tried to extricate himself out of a landscape painting.
Ogden gasped and staggered a step. His gaze drifted down towards his leg, towards the knife jutting out of his calf and the hand that was clamped around it. Blood that coated the fingers looked black in the dim light and he traced the arm back to a victorious looking Jugson, his grin showing red stained teeth.
"Manticore venom," he smirked. "Your death is swift and certain."
"Not quick enough to prevent me from taking you with me," Odgen snarled.
The sword tip rose and fell. Jugson's eyes widened and his gaping mouth formed a perfect O in realisation of his close proximity to his untimely demise. The sword came down with all the old man's strength and pierced the back of Jugson's throat. The sword quivered with the struggles of the dying man.
Jugson's grasping hands couldn't quite reach the hilt and blood from cuts made in the struggle for life flowed down the blade to collect in his mouth. With one final grunt of effort the sword slipped from Ogdens grasp and remained upright as Jugson's arms fell to his sides, motionless. The three men watched in a kind of reverence as the burbles and heaves slowed and stopped.
Their gazes met. Ogden regarded Mulciber, then Malfoy. He kept an eye on them both as he leant down and pulled the knife from his flesh. He straightened, and with a wry smile Ogden gestured towards the corpse.
"Believe it or not, at the ripe old age of one hundred and thirty nine that is the first time I have killed a man. It was something that I prided myself on once. No matter now, in my final few moments I refuse to go out with a whimper.
"If you wish to take my life, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, for the petty whims of a false lord, you will have to earn it. Or is it for more base reasons? The trinkets and baubles collected over a rich life? You're welcome to them. But I warn you, those slave collars will not give you or your lord what you seek."
Malfoy had used the time Ogden had been speaking to recover his composure and manoeuvre around the room, the path to his destination was hardly clear and to surreptitiously drift patiently from his place against the back wall was difficult to do with his heart pounding and his blood up. From the corner of his eye he could see Mulciber move slowly. Their unspoken aim to be far enough apart that the old fool couldn't keep them both insight. It almost worked, too.
"Finally," Ogden sighed. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have monologued."
At the confused glance between the Death Eaters he hefted his sword and smirked.
"This stores ambient energy. I had to let it recharge! Arcainas!"
Odgen slammed the point down so hard that it splintered the oak floor boards beneath the carpet and stuck. The ozone stench returned, and both men collapsed to the floor. They spent the next few eternities in agony, their only movements were twitches and jerks. Malfoy's awareness finally returned to him to see Ogden tower over him with a smirk, the smirk turned pained and he clutched his blood encrusted leg for a moment before he straightened.
"You, I'll curse last."
He hobbled over to Mulciber, sneered down at him and brandished his wand.
"Talipes Equinovari."
Mulciber yelped and wriggled, he lifted his left leg to clasp at his boot. His quizzical gaze turned pained as he scrabbled at his leg, he rolled to a sitting position to tear at the boot and pulled it off. The sole of his foot contracted and arched the toes towards the heel. His cries echoed off the walls as he clutched at his ankle, sweat poured down his forehead and dampened his robes.
"That's on the restricted spell register, very difficult to reverse. You might have killed me, but I have made my mark on you. You will have that club foot for the rest of your life. That is just because I'm vengeful, but this is to punish you. My death curse is for you both! I curse you to sire squibs and half breeds!"
Mulciber struggled and squirmed in protest, letting out a hoarse bellow with a wild wave of his arms. Ogden stepped backwards out of reach and grinned viciously.
"I curse your women to have curdled milk in their breast!"
Mulcibers flipped over onto his hands, but failed to gather his arms under him and face-planted twice before Malfoy could see him clearly, grey with horror and shock as he tried to gain his feet. Malfoy scrambled for his wand and snapped off a couple of silent spells, one missed, but the second tagged Ogden in the shoulder.
"I curse you to have bad luck for ten years! So mote i-." Ogden cut himself off with a scream and span to the ground. He bounced once then came to rest propped up against a chair leg. He raised his wand and frantically cast as many spells as he could and it was clear he gave little thought to aim.
"Confringo! Confringo! Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Malfoy's aim was off and the chair above Ogdens head exploded and covered him in scorched feathers and charred fabric. The spells were interspersed by Mulcibers shrieks, his thrashing had slowed, but he was too jerky to pick up the wand which had rolled under a sofa barely fingertip distance, and he was having to stretch.
"Bombarda!"
The floorboards erupted to Malfoys left and his face exploded with pain as splinters embedded from his scalp down to his neck. The display case on his right took the brunt of the force as he bounced off it and kept him almost upright, but so dazed and rattled that he was incredibly lucky that Ogden was thrown by the scale of the explosion that his spells missed by several metres.
"Confringo! Confringo!"
With a shake of his head Malfoy tried again and drew careful aim.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The spell impacted Ogden in the centre of his chest so hard that his corpse bounced off the chair and he lay down slowly to spread eagle into a perfect x.
The ensuing silence was broken by Mulciber's cursing as he lurched to his feet, hopped on his good leg, then sat heavily in a wingback armchair. He leant forward and scowled down at his unshod foot, sighed and began to cast spells at it.
Malfoy cursed softly, tentatively touched his face with a wince and stood slowly like a wet flag unfurling in a gentle breeze. He sighed and turned to regard the state of the room, the two dead bodies, and his wheezing compatriot.
"Let's get to searching," Malfoy said.
"I can't bloody walk," Mulciber retorted.
"And?" Malfoy said dismissively. "Levitate yourself if you must. Find those bloody collars."
It took the two Death Eaters three exhausting hours to find the hidden cache, and they took many priceless heirlooms for the blood price of their dead companion and the pain and distress caused. But more importantly, they found the two dragon slave collars. With the death of Tiberius Ogden, the level of security on the wards slowly degraded and their exit was slightly easier than it might have been.
Much to Malfoys chagrin, he did have to use a tunneler rune to get through the wards. Both he and Mulciber apparated through the tunnel as soon as the thing was barely a metre wide. Malfoy was immensely glad and relieved that The Dark Lord was so far away, he would be able to leave the explaining of this mess to a letter and any residual anger to be taken out on Rosier.
Malfoy smiled.
—-Scene Break—-
Wild eyes roved in their sockets staring at friends and colleagues with mute desperation. The dull clink of metal against wood and a muffled moan caused the conversation to waver then pick up again. The villager had been in this position since most of them had entered the tavern and the shock had worn off as the boredom set in and the beer flowed.
The table in the centre of the room was an isolated island in the storm of activity around them. Two stools sat on opposite sides, one occupied by Lord Voldemort while a man, naked from the waist up, lay on top spread-eagled and manacled to each of the four legs. He stretched his jaw to ease the pressure of the gag and moaned into it. An intricate pattern had been traced onto his skin in blood and was smoking slightly.
"My lord! He is here."
The hubbub that filled the room from the low-slung ancient beams to the rustic tables and stools died at the exclamation and heads turned towards the rough wooden door as a silver masked individual moved from a window to take a seat at a card table. A collective shiver passed through the crowd as a silence invaded the space, invaded by the howl of the wind.
Dozens of eyes traced across bare whitewash until they all were transfixed by the crude door latch. With a creak the door was snatched from nerveless fingers by an ice ladened wind and slammed against the wall. The spider's web of cracks widened and chips fell to the floor as the impact contributed to the long term destruction of the decor.
The dark silhouette remained still for a few seconds, and the temperature in the fire-warmed room dropped rapidly. A bone-white hand waved a bone-
white wand, and the temperature stabilised.
"Come, Rasputin. I offer you salt," a cold voice hissed.
The hulking shape manoeuvred through the door frame and yanked the door out of the depression in the plaster before the howl of wind dropped to a wheezing gasp. He turned to survey the room and nodded at a few locals. They had been nervously sipping at wooden tankards and visibly relaxed at his presence.
"Offering me salt in my own country is an insult to both me and my ancestors."
The deep rumble of the man had a subsonic quality, beginning in his chest behind his massive bushy beard and going not an octave higher. His hands clenched into boulders and his eyes narrowed.
"We don't have this custom in Britain. No offence was offered, merely an open hand of peace."
Rasputin glanced down at the table in front of Voldemort. Only one hand was visible and that held his wand. He looked at the pale chest of the captive and watched it rise and fall rapidly and met the roving eyes before he nodded with a smirk.
"You understand some of the old ways."
"I believe you've been looking for Pietro here for several years. A fitting tribute, I felt."
A bushy eyebrow rose slowly and he pulled a bemused face before he approached the table and sat on the remaining stool. It creaked as he settled, and a serving wench placed a frothy mug of beer before him.
None was offered to Voldemort.
"Five chests of gold," Rasputin said.
"How many men are you willing to give me?" Voldemort asked.
"They are just for my presence. I travelled from Siberia for this meeting. It has disrupted my operations and set me back a week. Five."
"You will gain much from an alliance with me. Do not insult me with a ridiculous demand. Two chests for the inconvenience, and I will let the insult go in lieu of a favourable negotiation. Now. How many men do you have and are you in contact with any werewolf packs?"
"I can offer you sixty tribesmen from Mongolia. They are fearsome warriors, deadly against wargs and wyrms," Rasputin offered with a smirk.
Red eyes flashed and the wood of Voldemort's wand creaked slightly. Rasputin twitched a smirk.
"You've got a thousand in the steppes and at least three more across mainland Asia, and four thousand in Japan. I suspect you have operations in Indonesia and the Orient. I have come in good faith to negotiate the use of dark wizards and magical creatures. I will approach the werewolves of Bulgaria and the vampires of Romania next, but I wanted to honour you with first refusal. Clearly I was mistaken."
Voldemort gathered his robes about him as he stood. The door slammed open and made half the room jump. Rasputin negligently waved his hand, and the door creaked closed.
"Sit down, Voldemort. You are dramatic. I will negotiate, as you say, in good faith. We dark wizards must stick together, there is too little trust as it is in the world. The Weres and vampires will follow my lead. You will have trouble unless we come to an agreement."
Voldemort paused and stared at the door for a few seconds. His gaze smouldered with intensity, and his wand creaked at the pressure exerted on it. He turned and sat in one fluid motion. The silence in the room deepened, and the howls of the wind and moans of the restrained man were the only noises. Voldemort pointed his wand at a hollow pen which rose from a ritual bowl, dripping red liquid. It shook itself twice to dislodge excess fluid, then moved to rest at the jugular notch. More lines were traced up along the neck of the restrained man who squeaked and grunted. Sweat ran in rivulets from his body despite the frigid air as he strained against his bindings.
"I will require three thousand men and creatures by August next year to conquer the British ministry, and another four a year after that to claim the French territory. In return, I have several ritual experts who are proficient in curses and demon summoning, a master runesmith, and myself of course. You know my qualities."
"What creatures?" Rasputin asked.
"I have Acrumantulas which makes for a decent shock assault option and cannon fodder, also a tentative alliance with the dementors of Azkaban, but a gorgon or two or a couple of manticores would be very useful."
"A sphinx?"
"The intelligence and strategic brilliance would be a boon, but their propensity for betrayal is too big a risk. No."
"Centaurs make good cavalry, especially if you can convince them to allow a magic caster on their back."
"Imperio works wonders," Voldemort said absently as he negotiated the difficult area around the nose.
"Chimaera?" Rasputin said and issued a massive belch.
Voldemort paused again and glanced up. "You have one of those?"
"Not yet, but I know where I can get my hands on a breeding pair."
Voldemort kept his silence for a long minute and prompted another suggestion from Rasputin.
"Sphinx?"
The British Dark Lord let out a uncharacteristic huff of laughter and smirked at the Russian.
"Is it causing you that many problem?"
"You have no idea. It keeps eating its handlers when they get a riddle wrong and replacements are hard to find."
"If I take it I want a discount." Voldemort smirked.
"You can have an extra five hundred warlocks. They are itching for combat anyway."
Rasputin took another swig and scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"What are your thoughts on Golems?"
"Invaluable with the correct script in their heads. How many do you have?" Voldemort looked up curiously.
"As many as you want. I have several bakers with the expertise. One can be made available to you," Rasputin said.
"I believe we have an agreement. Name your terms."
"Sixty thousand of your galleons a year for the next three years, assistance on several curse breaker expeditions I am planning; either yourself or Mulciber or Dolohov, and you take that accursed Sphinx off my hands."
Rasputin kept his gaze on poor Pietro's chest. The pools of sweat were gathering within the ritualised markings like they were providing a physical barrier.
"Thirty thousand galleons or you can keep your Sphinx and I'll let it go free. You're bordering on insults again Rasputin." Voldemort growled.
"Fifty-Five. I have expenses, and you will have my most capable men. I want an agreement that you will come to aid me in the Orient when I go up against the Triad."
"Thirty five, and I will ensure favourable dealing with the Goblins."
"That is not yours to promise. They are notoriously fickle when it comes to foreign investment. Fifty."
Voldemort nodded.
"They are deceptive and traitorous creatures but once bound to an agreement they will honour it. Forty."
"Your minion, Malfoy, has deep pockets. Forty-five."
"He is my most loyal servant. Agreed. We shall invoke the pact of Rostov. Ten years of cooperation and mutual defence. My Death Eaters will be available for your subjugation in the Orient and your curse breaking. In addition when I require it, you will aid me in crushing the British and French ministries and completing my empire."
The blood continued to flow as he spoke. The symbols were intricate but obscene without being recognisable. A haze was visible above the chest now, charred chest hair caused several noses to twitch at the stench.
"The Orient is one concern, but more pressing is the ice giants in Arkhangelsk Oblast. I can hold them off for now, but I need dragons to defeat the frozen scourge. Your power would be of great help in this regard, too."
Voldemort paused in his ministrations and glanced up at the hulking man.
"The ice giants? Are they not in hibernation for another five hundred years?"
Rasputin pulled a sour face and wiped foam from his chin.
"The fucking muggles and their ungodly machines have warmed the atmosphere enough that they have triggered an early thawing. Several villages have been attacked by warg packs driven from the tundra by something larger and more vicious than they are. There's only one thing that will raise an instinctive fear in wargs."
"Ice giants. Fucking muggles." Voldemort growled.
The pen rose from its place on the forehead and returned to the bowl. With little fanfare Voldemort and Rasputin touched their wands to identical bare patches of skin on either flank, and with a flash and a buzz of excess power the blood ignited and illuminated the room in pulsing red light. The scream of heart-rending anguish was cut off by a wave of Voldemort's wand, and the pair watched the man writhe in silence for several seconds before Rasputin spoke.
"I was disturbed to hear of your difficulty in killing a school boy. Even a child with the devils own luck can cause untold damage, in both physical and reputation."
"It is of no matter. My power quickly returns to its former levels. He is lucky as you say, but that will run out and no amount of luck can last against one such as me."
Voldemort glowered and slashed the air over Pietro with his wand and cleared the thick acrid smoke which gathered between them.
The thrashing and magical build up rose to a crescendo as the skin split and blood squirted in globules onto the table and sprayed the two warlocks in a fine red mist. With little warning the body exploded and a magical blast rocked everyone present in their seats and everything within a ten metre circumference became thick with blood.
"I'm not sure that was Pietro, you know." Rasputin said casually as he stood.
"Oh?" Voldemort asked.
"Pietro had brown hair, only one arm, and I killed him three years ago."
The door creaked and slammed again as Rasputin left the inn at the same slow speed he arrived.
Voldemort's satisfied smirk slowly fell as he retrieved a scroll from his robes. The creased and now blood streaked letter floated before his eyes and unfurled slowly so he could read it again. His mood plummeted as he read the litany of excuses for the permanent maiming of one of his inner circle and the death of another. Lucius was lucky that he wasn't present now or four hours earlier when Dolohov felt the brunt of his Lord's ire.
"These dragons had better be worth it."
T.B.C.