A Tangled Web (Post-DH)

Chapter 4: The Dark Lord's Wrath

Voldemort had returned from the Ministry beside himself with fury. The Prophecy was destroyed, Potter and the old fool yet lived, and no less a personage than Fudge himself had seen him. His followers, weak, worthless fools all, deserved the worst he could hand out. Bellatrix, Lucius, and those they led, deserved punishment for their failure to seize the Prophecy when his planning and efforts had placed it within their grasp.

Though the blame might lie elsewhere. According to information that Snape himself had helped provide, he had been the only member of the so-called Order of the Phoenix present at Hogwarts that afternoon. Nonetheless, when Potter had left the school, help had arrived for him. The time was coming, perhaps, to remove all doubt surrounding the loyalties of his spy.

Only three of those he had sent to the Ministry had come at his call, and stood before him waiting to hear his will. The others he had sent to the Ministry were missing; whether too afraid to face him, or so inept they had been captured, he would ascertain later. Neither flight nor prison would long preserve Malfoy from the punishment he so richly deserved for this new failure. Voldemort already had an inkling how this might be accomplished in Lucius' absence. The other Death Eaters he had summoned stood behind them, watching, doubtless grateful not to have attracted his attention.

Voldemort scanned the frightened, downcast faces of the trio standing together before him, in front of the others, allowing his eyes to rest on each guilty party in turn. They had failed him, had failed to provide him with the prophecy orb he had plotted to obtain all year. He should kill them, weak, worthless fools all, but followers had their uses, and the unfortunate truth was that these included one of the best he had.

"I am waiting for an explanation, my friends," he said quietly, and watched them flinch at his words. None found the courage to address him, so he allowed the silence to linger, increasing their fear and dread. The room grew quiet, except for the breathing of his Death Eaters, made harsh and loud by the emotion he inspired. Which was as it should be.

He paced back and forth in front of the empty marble fireplace a few times, savoring the moment, but also choosing to draw it out just long enough to heighten the fear, before spinning and stopping in front of one of them. A woman, tall for her sex, but still shorter than he, her usually proud bearing notably absent. Her head was bowed like those of the others, and, this close, he could see that she was trembling in fear.

"Bellatrix!" he addressed her. "Perhaps you will explain to me how Dumbledore and his Order came to be at the Ministry? I had thought," he said, then paused to look around at the others, lest any begin to feel safe now that he had selected a target, "that a party of my Death Eaters would suffice to overpower the virtual Squib that mans the night desk at the Ministry, and a single Order guard?"

"Have mercy, My Lord," she cried out fearfully. "We have failed you. But truly, we carried out your orders as planned; you can ask any of us."

"How so?"

"The Ministry guard we Stunned, Obliviated, and locked in a closet for cleaning supplies," Bellatrix said, looking pleadingly up at her master. "The Order guard we overwhelmed immediately; she had no opportunity to send any message. Since we were able to take her alive, we thought she might prove useful, and sent my companions away with her," she finished. As she spoke, she indicated the squat man and woman standing with her, before gesturing at the magically bound, unconscious woman sitting propped against the wall.

"Then how, I repeat, did Dumbledore come to be at the Ministry?" Voldemort demanded.

The captive Order member would doubtless confirm Bellatrix's story, but Voldemort had no desire to provide her with that reassurance at present. Her story, doubtless true, raised an issue he would need to deal with later, he reflected, that of Snape. If Snape's information was to be trusted, he had been the only Order member left at the school yesterday. With the Ministry's grip on Owl and Floo communication, confirmed by Malfoy through his contacts, Potter should not have been able to reach anyone outside the school. Yet the Order had arrived.

"I...I don't know," Bellatrix replied in a tremulous voice into the silence that had followed his question.

"Then perhaps you can explain to me instead why you did not obtain the Prophecy from Potter the moment he had it? His mind is as an open book before my powers - I saw it break, far from the Hall of Prophecy," Voldemort said.

"Lucius-" she began.

"Lucius is not here, Bellatrix!" Voldemort said dangerously. "I asked you."

She fell to her knees, reaching for the hem of his robes. "Master, please - I tried -"

Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it down at her.

"Crucio!" he said clearly.

She shrieked and writhed on the floor under the influence of his spell. For a few glorious moments, he allowed the anger he felt, that Dumbledore had not fallen to his Killing Curse, that Potter had eluded him, that his plan had failed, course through him unchecked, its wildness lending power to his magic and bringing the woman at his feet to new heights of agony. Regretfully, he at length raised his wand and stepped away from the sobbing, shivering heap that still reached, vainly, for his robe. Others were to blame at least as much as she, and he could use her to impose upon them a measure of the punishment they, too, deserved.

The door to the room swung open, revealing Nagini's triangular head. The noise must have attracted her. Voldemort watched as she slithered into the room, past the quivering Bellatrix, and arranged herself at the foot of one of the two armchairs that flanked the fireplace. As always, he found himself soothed by watching the grace and power of her movements, a fitting, living symbol of the House whose last heir he was.

"This failure," he said, addressing all present, "has brought upon us the next phase of our operations, for my return will shortly be public knowledge. We have planned for this day, my friends, and you know your duties. Leave now to alert the others, and be ready to carry out your roles when called upon!"

A chorus of assent from those who had watched the little drama play out met his declaration. One by one, they approached him to make their obeisance and back away before Disapparating. So, with some trepidation, did the Carrows, departing with their bound prisoner in tow. Soon, only the woman on the floor remained, sobbing quietly. Voldemort seated himself in the armchair Nagini had chosen, and allowed her to place her head in his lap.

He stroked the snake's jewel-like head idly and considered the woman before him. Whether Lucius would be sent away to Azkaban or was in hiding, she would doubtless be keeping her sister company frequently. Her sister - and her nephew. Lucius had dared trifle with a Horcrux - a guarantee of Voldemort's immortality. It was time to turn the tables on Lucius, and see how he liked it. A son was the closest a wizard lacking the skill and the ambition to create a Horcrux could get to personal immortality. A paltry substitute, but not everyone had his power and his ambition, he reflected.

"Sit up!" he ordered her sharply.

Awkwardly she rose to her hands and knees and sat back on her heels. She raised her tear-streaked face to his, without quite daring to let her reddened eyes rest on his face.

"You have been spending a good deal of time at Malfoy Manor," he said.

"Yes, my lord," she answered quickly, her voice hoarse.

"What can you tell me of your nephew?" Voldemort asked.

"Draco?" she asked, surprised. "I have not seen him since he was a baby, Master," she added.

"His parents speak of him, do they not?" he asked her sharply.

"Oh, yes, master. Yes, they do," she agreed hastily. "My sister is quite proud of him - he is an excellent student, a House prefect, she says, and a Quidditch player too."

Her babbling, doubtless a consequence of the fear her punishment had inspired, annoyed him. He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the smooth feel of Nagini's scales under his hand before replying.

"Do I look like that fat fool Fudge? I am not looking to hire him as a paper-pusher, Bellatrix!" Voldemort said.

"Oh, no, Master, of course not," Bellatrix replied. "His parents have raised him to a proper understanding the importance of blood. Narcissa has mentioned his rivalry with the Potter boy - Draco despises him, for his Mudblood and blood-traitor friends, and his closeness to Dumbledore. His sympathies lie with us."

"And his skills?"

"He has the talent of his Black forebears," she replied. "I fear his training may have been neglected, Narcissa does dote on him. It was a source of friction between her and her husband."

"Young Malfoy is in his seventeenth year, an adult in all but name," Voldemort said. "I bid you bring him to me. I trust you can find the words to convince him."

"Yes, my lord. I will bring him as you ask," she replied, bowing her head submissively. "He will be returning home in a week."

"Very well. See that you do, and do not try my patience. You may go now," he said.

She bowed her head again, and then crawled up to him to kiss the hem of his robe. He watched impassively as she struggled up to her feet and Disapparated.

oon young Malfoy would become his youngest follower. The possibilities of this development brought a smile to his lipless face. Another Death Eater at Dumbledore's school. Perhaps, if her nephew was all Bellatrix suggested, the old man might even find himself forced to kill the boy, despite his pretensions of superiority. If the old fool refused, then the boy's failure would be his to punish. He would make sure Bellatrix shared her knowledge of young Malfoy's difficulties with her sister. It would be a pity if Lucius missed the lesson; fortunately, his wife could keep him informed.

Of course, the old man had to go, eventually. He had stepped between Lord Voldemort and his prey. Worse, he, Lord Voldemort, had tried to kill him - Dumbledore was marked for death. In the aftermath of whatever mess young Malfoy created, Voldemort would learn whether he truly had another follower at Hogwarts.