The Dark Lord's Secret Love

Chapter Four:

A Time to Kill

The lemon drop touched the Dark Lord's tongue, and he closed his mouth.

It was sour, so sour that it made his lips pucker! No, wait a minute, it was sweet! What a pleasant combination of flavors. Lord Voldemort closed his scarlet eyes in absolute ecstasy. If all muggle candy was this delicious...

"No!" he thought desperately. " Muggles are lesser life forms. This sweet is purely a fluke of an otherwise abominable culture: the only worthwhile thing muggle society has ever invented," he reasoned. Yet there was a kernel of doubt at the back of Voldemort's mind. "Maybe muggle confectioners should simply be enslaved, rather than entirely eliminated," he thought. "Yes, that idea merits consideration."

As the Dark Lord was debating whether or not to murder muggle candy-makers, a dull pop resounded in his sitting chamber.

"Who's there?!" he squeaked. "Ahem! I mean, yes loyal Death Eater, come and bow before me, your master!" he finished, in a more dignified, although still high-pitched, tone.

"Yes, Master," answered a female voice. Bellatrix LeStrange stepped forward, knelt at Voldemort's feet, and kissed the hem of his robes.

"I have not summoned you, Bella, yet you dare invade the abode of the Dark Lord?" Voldemort challenged.

"I am sorry, Master, but I am ashamed of my failure," Bellatrix looked fairly contrite, a remarkable accomplishment for her. "I have failed you, and Potter escaped. I beg of you to return my sister's worthless husband to her, and to forgive me..."

Bellatrix trailed off as her hooded eyes met Lord Voldemort's narrowed crimson gaze.

"You dare to come before your master to beg for the freedom of the man who jeopardized our entire cause for his own personal gain? Your impudence astounds me, Bellatrix, as does Narcissa's. She will see her husband again if I am ever feeling generous enough to end both of their miserable lives at the same time."

"I apologize, Master," Bellatrix backed away almost imperceptibly, instinctually. "I will inform my sister that begging will do her no good, just as I told her before I came. She insisted that I try."

"Your insolence deserves punishment, Bella," said Voldemort calculatingly. "However, I shall let you escape unharmed this time, because you were the only Death Eater to accomplish anything in the Department of Mysteries."

"Thank you, Master," said Bellatrix, still kneeling on the ground.

"You may rise," said Voldemort. "Inform your sister that I shall summon her this evening, and that she is to bring the boy. We have much to plan."

Bellatrix rose silently and disapparated with a swish of her black cloak.

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The next morning found the Dark Lord at his black lacquered dining table, with a mug of English Breakfast Tea and a scone. He was reading the Daily Prophet, which Wormtail faithfully stole from a different house every morning.

"So that imbecile Fudge has finally acknowledged my return, has he?" thought Voldemort amusedly, raising his black mug to his lipless mouth. "He actually called me 'Lord Thingy!' It's always so lovely to be the cause of terror. Now that I no longer have to worry about secrecy, I must begin making my plans. What to do first?"

While eating his continental breakfast and considering his next step in his scheme for world domination, the Dark Lord heard the telltale "pop" of another of his loyal Death Eater's arrival. Quickly vanishing his decidedly un-evil meal, Lord Voldemort stood and bade his visitor enter the dining room. The rogue werewolf, Fenrir Greyback, entered his chamber, a feral glint in his eye.

"Good morning, Master," intoned Greyback, kneeling before his master, head bent in a pose of submission, although he undoubtedly did not feel it.

"What is it, Greyback? Have I not provided you enough prey?" asked Voldemort.

Greyback raised his head and smiled, his pointed eyeteeth gleaming in the dimly lit underground room. "I thank you for the prey, master. However, I require more freedom in procuring human flesh than you have given me recently."

"In case you have failed to notice, Fenrir, I have given you much more freedom than the Ministry would ever consider."

"I understand, Master," said the werewolf.

"Perhaps your hunger for human flesh may be fulfilled sooner than you think, Fenrir. I intend to assemble a group here tonight, to test the loyalty of those who have just rejoined us. I will summon you along with the others," said Voldemort.

"Thank you, Master," said Greyback, his face twisted in a chilling grin. He left abruptly, satisfied that he would be allowed to rip out at least one child's throat that night.

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At eleven o'clock that night, Lord Voldemort summoned the rat, Peter Pettigrew, to his side.

"Give me your arm, Wormtail," he commanded.

"Yes, master." Pettigrew presented his right hand, which seemed to be made of some kind of metal.

"No, you incompetent fool!" hissed Voldemort, "your other arm!"

Wormtail held out his left arm this time, whimpering, and the Dark Lord touched the ugly mark that marred Pettigrew's pale flesh.

Peter sat in a corner, sobbing and cradling his tattooed limb, while the rest of Voldemort's Death Eaters apparated into the room. When a large enough group of black-cloaked and masked individuals had appeared, Voldemort addressed the crowd of his loyal (and one not-so-loyal) servants.

"My faithful Death Eaters!" he exclaimed. "As most of you are aware, the Ministry of Magic now knows of my rebirth. As a result, we must hide in the shadows no longer. We must strike fear into the hearts of mudbloods and blood traitors. We must wrest power from the imbeciles at the Ministry of Magic. We must take back our world from those who are unworthy to taint it with their presence. We must take action, and we shall begin tonight!

"A group of Death Eaters was assigned the rather simple task of retrieving an item from the Ministry of Magic. They failed miserably, and the Aurors apprehended all but one of them. They revealed my rebirth to the Ministry and the wizarding world at large. For this abysmal failure, they will remain in Azkaban." The Dark Lord heard a quiet sniffle from the circle.

"Bellatrix," he commanded, "come forward and receive the punishment you deserve."

Lestrange stepped out of her place in the circle and approached her master. Once again, she kneeled on the ground before him.

"Crucio!" The woman screamed, writhing on the ground in obvious agony. A small smile played on Voldemort's mangled face as he held her under the curse.

After a few moments, he lifted his wand, and Lestrange scrambled back into her kneeling position, hastily wiping unwarranted tears from her cheeks, and faced her master unwaveringly once again.

"Have you learned your lesson, Bella?" he asked. "Do not fail me again. The results of a second such failure will be much less...pleasant."

"Yes, Master," she intoned.

"Return to your place in the circle. There is much business to discuss." The Death Eater did as her master ordered.

"My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort began again, "it is time to reclaim the rightful place of purebloods in wizarding society. It is time to take action against the injustices done to our people. It is time to finish the noble work of my ancestor, Salazar Slytherin. Tonight, we will use force to begin the process of achieving our objectives. Follow me, to destiny!"