Kapitel 672: The Master’s Return Ⅶ

There is an abrupt shocked silence that followed Dolohov's departure as none including Voldemort could believe that Dolohov had departed without leave. Displeasure flashes through Voldemort's crimson eyes, but he binds his temper to the shock of those that know him. Waving his spider-like fingers in dismissal, Voldemort gestures to the serpent which all had temporarily forgotten with his arrival and announcement except for one, Rodolphus Lestrange, who had kept his eyes firmly fixed to the ground lest the serpent approach him from behind.

"Nagini," Voldemort murmured, "a loyal companion of note, who I gained during the course of my journey. She will reside here with me, and none need ever fear her except for those that would seek to harm our interests. I trust that there are none present with such ill intentions."

There is an uneasy stiffness to the crowd as those, who had thought to flee to the old Prince's side and betray the Dark Lord were no longer certain of their decision. Those with such thoughts frantically hide them away in the depths of their mind lest their Master sense them. None dared to move must less breathe lest they attract the Dark Lord's attention and proved their innermost thoughts of treachery as he rips into their minds open.

The Dark Lord was a powerful Legilimen's that did need the use of a wand nor verbal magic to tear into one's mind. He often tore into the Death Eater's minds for sheer pleasure. He was even known to enter the victims and create visions that would drive the victims insane. The Dark Lord was anything but merciful. He was their Master.

Nagini lazily curls wrapped her head around Voldemort's feet. She lays watchful and intent observing the wizards and witches before her. Her friend had told her to watch those that followed him and watched she would. Her tongue flickers in the air as she tastes the scent of fear, terror, shame, and guilt. But then there was a particular scent that caught at the tip of her forked tongue. The scent tasted of ice, and snow, but burned like a blazing forest fire. It was a scent she had not never smelled before and had no name for.

Nagini turned her head toward the source of the scent to find a tall, thin, dark-haired wizard. His cheekbones were sharp with a cold face. But what captured her gaze was not the wizard himself, but his gaze that directly stared into hers without blinking. His dark eyes were frigid and filled with a deadly air that burned hot and cold. And for the first time in a long time, she found herself curling back to stave off an attack from another and more dangerous predator than herself.

Taking notice of Nagini's coiled stance from a corner of his Voldemort decides to move things along. "Rise, my brethren, and let us feast on this night. For tomorrow, we begin by taking that which the Ministry of Magic finds of precious worth."

A cheer is followed by Voldemort's announcement as the Death Eaters rise to their feet with joy and relief at the lapse of torture. "Gibbons," Voldemort ordered. "Have the house elves prepare a feast, and a live bird, Nagini enjoys the thrill of the hunt."

"Yes, Dark Lord," Gibbons mumbled with resignation. Despite this being his ancestral home, he had now become the Steward of his own house. It was a most tedious position, and one he would have never thought to have before.

Turning away Gibbons moves to depart with the crowd, when Voldemort adds, "And have the house elves clean up the hall. It is a most unsightly display."

"As you wish, Master," Gibbons sardonically answered with only a few in the crowd taking note of his tone, before he moved to the hallway to summon his house elves as instructed and out of the sight of the enormous serpent that could cost him a good slave.

"Lestrange," Voldemort demanded. "Remain behind, I wish to speak with thee."

"Yes, Dark Lord," Rodolphus obediently answered as he remained in place with his gaze to the ground and towards the serpent.

The crowd thins away leaving the two men alone except for the unusual presence of the widow, Empusa Snyde. The mild sniffing figure of Empusa Snyde falls to her feet in a reverent bow. "Oh, most gracious, Master, please allow me to collect the body of Primus Wilkes. He sought only to serve thee master and deserves a proper burial. Please allow me to take him away and I shall see to it that the proper rites are performed," Empusa sniveled.

"How dare you question my order, widow Snyde!" Voldemort fiercely reprimanded the witch. His crimson eyes flared with anger that he barely managed to suppress. No, he must repress it! Control it!

Voldemort's eyes shut for a moment before the madness passed him by. Crimson snake eyes slit open with still a trace of smoldering, dying ashes of anger. "Know your place, Widow Snyde. Primus dared to challenge one of my original own, and Dolohov for all his arrogance has always followed me. There will be no lenience, Widow Snyde."

"Yes, Master," Empusa sniffed with wide, red eyes of fear with a glimmer of astonishment. The puppet had not reacted accordingly to the script, it was almost unprecedented. And worst of all, two vessels had been lost all in a single night's work. Things most certainly were not going according to plan. Something must be done!

Seeing Empusa's gawking expression, Voldemort lost all traces of patience and bellowed, "Begone out of my sight, wretched widow!" Empusa scrambles to her feet almost tripping on her dark robes, before fleeing out of the front hall. With a loud thump, the doors slam shut behind her leaving only the two wizards alone in the hall apart from Nagini.

Voldemort turned his crimson snake-like eyes onto the figure of Lestrange, who still kept his head bowed to him in servitude. "There is no need to continue, Lestrange," Voldemort dismissively ordered. "You have proven yourself trustworthy over and over again, Lestrange, as one of my most loyal followers."

"Yes, Milord," Rodolphus murmured as he raised his bowed head, but kept his gaze firmly upon the coiled serpent that intently gazed just as strongly back at him.

"In various letters from your brethren, they stated that you and Dolohov were at ends with each other. Why is that Lestrange?" Voldemort inquired as he began to pace around Lestrange in a contemplative circle.

"I do not agree with Dolohov's most risqué idea," Rodolphus truthfully answered. "If the war is to be fought and won, we must plan carefully our every move. That is not to say daring is not required but within proper measures."

"You astound me, Lestrange," Voldemort admitted. "It would seem that only you and Bellatrix truly ever understood my plans."

At the mention of his deceased wife, Rodolphus barely manages to suppress his innermost emotions. Nagini must have sensed something as she coiled even further ready to spring into an attack at any time. Exhaling lightly, Rodolphus bitterly replies, "Bellatrix always saw the Dark Lord far more clearly than anyone else. Her opinions are sorely missed."

"Indeed," Voldemort mused out loud as he reflected on the beautiful witch, who had been so abruptly taken away in the prime of her life. If there had ever been a witch which he would have considered siring a child with, it would have been with one who possessed a good lineage and power, Bellatrix. But she had at the time of her tragic passing she had yet proven herself to be worthy of receiving such a grandiose gift.