Bab 890: Still Ⅱ

The doors to the inner hall smoothly open to reveal the tall, thin skeleton-like figure in dark sweeping robes. The face of Lord Voldemort is deathly pale, sunken crimson snake eyes, and two slits for nostrils much like that of a serpent. In his long, spider-like fingers he holds a neatly folded copy of that evening's Daily Prophet. His sharp, blue-tinged fingernails dig lightly into the paper causing the paper to slightly tear. A spark of rage gleams in the depth of his crimson eyes, before being completely extinguished.

Lord Voldemort emotionlessly tosses the newspaper to the ground. The copy of the Daily Prophet bursts into flames mid-flight turning into a rubbish heap of ash, before falling into a smoldering heap onto the ground. Naturally, none of the Death Eater's believed the Daily Prophet's lies and even if they did, they could not afford to permit the Dark Lord to know such perilous thoughts were strangled while still in their cradle.

Gibbons privately winces at the Dark Lord's actions but does not comment on the action. It would not pay well to verbally criticize their Master rather it would only lead to his untimely death. And he had no intentions of dying anytime in the near future.

An icy, detached smile appears on Voldemort's face causing the hairs of the Death Eaters to stand on end. "Most excellent, Nagini was exceedingly hungry," he idly praised causing many of the Death Eaters to shiver despite their robes and cloaks.

Gesturing at the corpse of Walden Macnair, Voldemort asks, "And who is responsible for Nagini's meal?" None of the Death Eater's seem capable of responding as they watch Nagini curl tighter around the corpse and the transfixed house elf. The serpent begins to predatorily squeeze its prey causing the house elf to hyperventilate in dreadful terror.

"My dear old friend," Dolohov replied lazily, "I found Macnair's excuses for his failure intolerable. What use was Albert Runcorn if he could not even swing a single vote at the Ministry of Magic? It should have been child's play and yet the Ministry of Magic has allied itself with beasts to corral and hunt the giants."

Dolohov snorted dismissively and took a sip of his drink, before raising the glass towards Voldemort. "Though I must say, friend, I must toast your mastermind plot to thin the giant's ranks while at the same time decimating the Ministry's forces. It was truly a brilliant ploy," he murmured sipping the rest of the firewhiskey.

"I am greatly heartened that you noticed, Dolohov," Voldemort remarked causing the Death Eater's eyes to fill with awe, hope, and a bit of fear at their master's might. Although, a few suspected that Devante Nott's death had not just been a mere coincidence since Nott's death was the only fatality among the ranks of the Death Eaters.

In the background, a final pitiful pleading gasp escapes from the breathless house elf's throat, before a loud violent, sickly crack is heard. The house elf's eyes become blank as the last breath from its body escapes. Yet the serpent continues to coil tighter and tighter crushing ribcages and bones. Some of the Death Eaters begin to look rather ill and hastily look away, while the rest feel a dreadful shiver creep down their backs. Still, it is impossible to ignore the cracking sounds forcing many to grind their teeth to ignore the ear-screeching sounds.

Gibbons frowns at the sight of his dead house elf. Prices for house elves had increased since Hogwarts trained house elves became all the rage in pureblood circles. Personally, he preferred traditional house elves, who knew their place. The Hogwarts trained house elves did not seem to know their place acting as if they were of worth. What an utterly preposterous idea to believe that such insignificant creatures would be of any real value!

"Helot!" Gibbons patiently summoned one of the house elves, (Helot meaning slave).

With a loud pop, Helot timidly appears and barely refrains from pulling on his long, droopy bat-like ears in fear. A stifled sob dies in his throat at seeing the tragic inhumane death of his kin. "Yes, Master!" The house elf squeaked in heartache.

"Clean the carpet up once master's familiar is sated," Gibbons pointedly ordered not wanting to another house elf.

"Yes, Master!" Helot hoarsely replied before vanishing to grieve the loss of their kin with the remaining manor house elves.

Voldemort is pleased at Gibbons actions and demonstrates his approval with a simple nod. "Dolohov-."

"What?" Dolohov snapped annoyed at being called upon yet again.

"Patience is a virtue, Dolohov," Voldemort coolly warned, but maintained his calm demeanor that would have been unfathomable once in the face of such a remark. Dolohov appears mutinous, but he does not retort again and instead loudly washes down the remnant of his firewhiskey.

"With the giant's forces appropriately thinned out, I require you to keep a close eye on Wurfbog, Dolohov," Voldemort clearly instructed. "I do not wish for Wurfbog to be slain, but you may upon occasion slay any giant that crosses your path."

A wide predatory grin spreads across Dolohov's face. The tougher the prey, the better the hunt. "I would be honored to fulfill the order, Dark Lord," he earnestly said. His prey, Wurfbog was at present wounded and grieving for the loss of his mate, Iwara. It was the perfect time to humble the half-breed and put him in his proper place.

Rising to his feet, Dolohov carelessly tosses the glass over his shoulder. The glass shatters loudly on the floor causing Gibbons to rub his face in exasperation. Could they at least attempt to keep his ancestral home in one piece?!

Without further ado, Dolohov marches into the cold night with his cloak eagerly snapping behind him. The door slams portentously behind him leaving the Death Eater's uncertain. The Dark Lord had changed in many ways since his return. Their master no longer put tortured them with the Cruciatius Curse, but he was infinitely far more cruel and deadly. The madness that seemed uncontainable had finally been bridled.

The Death Eater's cease to breathe as Voldemort's crimson eyes pass them over one by one. The burly Death Eater named Seth possesses far too much brawn rather than intelligence. The brother of the deceased Corban Yaxley, Darith Yaxely a pale wizard with rugged domineering features and blond hair eagerly puffs out his chest. However, the Dark Lord passes over Darith Yaxley as he required sly flattery and not haughty arrogance.

Voldemort's crimson gaze falls upon three Death Eaters standing together. MaCann, a sly wizard with a long scar across the stretch of his face, a souvenir earned at Rowan Prince's hands during their stay in the marshes. A gift MaCann was most eager to return to the Prince's granddaughter. The second is a spotted wizard named Sirglide, who knew the art of flattery and used it rather successfully. And the third, a female witch with dragon pox scars on her skin named Bonnenne. The witch was not very powerful, but she more than made up for her weakness with fierce savagery.

"MaCann, Sirglide, and Bonnenne," Voldemort said causing the Death Eater's to blink and the three Death Eaters to alertly stand straight up. "I require that you appease the vampires."

Many of the Death Eaters including Rodolphus Lestrange gaze with some astonishment at the Dark Lord. It was almost unheard of for the Dark Lord to attempt to please much less appease any party. Why even the giants had not been appeased so much as bribed!

"The vampires have felt slighted ever since our alliance with the giants," Voldemort said avoiding mentioning the fact that the vampires had been slighted since the beginning of the war with the selection of werewolves as allies, (but who no longer existed thanks to the cure). "Furthermore, the vampires wished to test our strength, but I had greater plans," causing the Death Eaters to smirk at the tragedy that befell the giants.

"Persuade the vampires to agree to hear out our proposal for an alliance," Voldemort matter-of-factly stated with a steely glint in his eyes. "Failure is not an option."

The trio pales at their master's words, but they all meekly bowed their heads forward. They would fulfill their master's request, or it would be better they did not return all. Death only awaited those that failed, there were no excuses.