Capítulo 391: A Successful Assault
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When the clock stuck fifteen past five, the floo of the Westen house fluttered in green, and Randolph Westen arrived home. He frowned at the sight of the lights in the floo-room turned off.
He called, "Charlotte! I'm home, dear." Randolph hung his coat at the coat-hang and walked to the living room while loosening his tie, turning on the lights on his way. He called for his wide again but didn't get any reply.
"Is she not home?" he muttered as he entered the living room to be again greeted with darkness. He walked to the light switch of the MLEs and flipped them to light up the room, but when he turned back, his heart all but stopped.
"Randolph Westen, welcome home. I've been waiting for you."
Randolph's eyes trembled as his body turned to stell. There sat Voldemort in front of him in his favorite chair, staring up at him, looking like a simple house guest.
"D-Dear. . ." His eyes turned to the side and saw his wife sitting like a trembling cat in the rain, looking as if she was scared out of her mind. Her face was a mess with mascara that had dripped down her face with red puffed-up eyes. She turned her head, pointing to the side with tears trickling down her eyes.
Randolph followed, and sitting in another chair was his daughter with her eyes closed with her head leaning to the side, resting on the curved edge of the chair. His throat closed up, and his stomach churned violently as his mind flew in directions that brought upon thoughts that almost made him pass out.
"A-Annie, Annie!" he yelled.
"Nothing has happened to your daughter, Randolph," spoke Voldemort, making the father turn to him, "she's simply unconscious." Voldemort snapped his finger, and the little girl stirred as if waking from a nap. She sat up straight and rubbed her eyes before looking upon Randolph; a bright smile surfaced on her face, showing her front tooth missing that had fallen off a few days back.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed in glee and was about to get off the chair when her eyes turned back, and she slumped in her chair.
"Annie!"
"Take a seat," said Voldemort. A chair creaked behind Randolph, who sat down, but his eyes were fixed on his daughter. "You have a charming house here and a delightful family. Your wife has been a lovely host to me in your absence. . ."
Mrs. Westen continued to tremble, not daring to raise her eyes from the floor. To Randolph, his wife seemed like she had aged a decade and looked as though she hadn't slept for a week.
". . . I desire something from you, Randolph Westen, and you will give it to me," continued Voldemort. "I want access to the floo network. My Death Eaters should be able to lock down any floo they want, any time they want. If there are some un-intelligent folk out there who haven't secured their floo-s on incoming, I want my Death Eaters to be able to get into their house without any problem. . . . I want the floo network of this country to be under my control."
"I-I can't do that."
"You can and you will. It's elementary. You get contacted someone from my side, and you give them whatever they want, whenever they want. . . don't make them come down to your house because they wouldn't mind coming here anytime."
"P-Please, I-I cannot. . . I would—"
Voldemort raised his hand, and the look in his eyes made Randolph stop into a croak. "I do not like to repeat myself. When I say I want something, it happens. That's not going to change today. You have the means to give me that and. . . you. . . are not going to refuse me. But I see the dilemma here, so let me offer you a clear reason for you to do my bidding, something you can't refuse."
Voldemort lifted his wrist; little Annie's right arm rose up, and like a spot of ink dropped in the water, dying the clear in its color, a Dark Mark appeared on her fair, thin arm. Randolph gasped, and his wife broke down into sobs. The snake coming out of the skull's mouth looked all the more horrifying on the girl's arm, who didn't even have her permanent set of teeth.
"You don't give the control over the floo-system, and I can make your daughter suffer all the way to death with a single through." Voldemort raised his finger, and Annie's thin brows crumpled, and her petite body shivered slightly as her face paled. Annie stirred and weakly opened her eyes, and just like last time, she called — "Daddy" — however, this time, it was a weak mummer that could barely exit her mouth. Voldemort rested the finger back on the armrest, and Annie closed her eyes again; the red returned to her skin, she stopped shivering, and her face looked as peaceful as if nothing had ever changed. "Kneel down, kiss my robe, and little Annie will grow to become a fine woman with a happy future and life in front of her. . . all because of her daddy."
Randolph pressed his palms into his knees. He looked to his daughter, then to his wife, who was repeatedly nodding and pleading. That was it for Randolph; that was all he needed. "I'll do it. I will give you the floo network," he said.
"Kneel down and kiss my robe."
"W-What?"
Voldemort raised his chin.
Randolph stood up from his chair and walked to Voldemort with shaky steps. He dropped down to his knees at Voldemort's feet; with trembling hands, he picked up the hem of Voldemort's robe and kissed it with his eyes squeezed shut in disgust.
"Good," Voldemort stood up and walked towards the exit.
"Why not just Imperio me?" said Randolph, still on his knees.
Voldemort paused at the living room door. "The time for Imperius Curse passed the last time we visited." He turned to Randolph, "Besides, Imperius makes people work as ordered. You, Mr. Randoplh, will do much more," he glanced at Annie, and she stirred, "well beyond what I have asked for."
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In an inner corner of the Ministry headquarter, somewhere highly restricted, so much so other than a few select Ministry personnel, no other Ministry employee was allowed inside. It was an area reserved when the Ministry wanted to do things quietly away from prying eyes. . . and for the cases where people of interest demanded the privacy they deserved.
"Is today really supposed to be such a big deal?" Kinsley said to Robards as they stood in the pearly white corridors, much different than the black interior present in most of the Ministry.
"It is," said Robards, pointing to Scrimgeour standing ahead of them, chatting with the Secretary of the Ministry of Magic, the highest-ranking member in the Minister's cabinet, "if today goes well, it is going to be massive for the department."
"For the Ministry, you mean."
"Yes, for the Ministry as well."
They straightened up when the floo at the end of the hall turned green. The most exclusive floo after Minister's own had been connected on the other end.
"At attention, people, the party's about to arrive," announced Scrimgeour.
The green fire exploded like an upward shooting fire thrower going up into the empty roof of the chimney. A group of people stepped into the Ministry from the curtain of fire.
Scrimgeour stepped forward and greeted with a smile, "Mr. West, it is a pleasure to see you again."
George West was the reason why the Head of DMLE, the Head Auror, and the Secretary of Ministery of Magic all had arrived collectively for greetings. They were some of the people who wouldn't come greet people like this individually, much less together. But George West was the big fish that warranted this treatment. It was the Minister of Magic's dignity that held Amelia Bones wanted to maintain the reason behind she was not here— Cornelius Fudge would've been here faster than the fastest runners in the country.
George West nodded to Scrimgeour before turning his eyes to the people present in the hall. There were a couple people accompanying him.
As Scrimgeour talked with George, Robards leaned near Kingsley and pointed out the well-dressed smiling man standing beside George, conversing with the Secretary, "That's Elliot Dalton, THE right-hand man to George West. Most people have to go through him before even getting the chance of getting a single alphabet to George West, much less seeing him."
"I have never seen Madam Secretary smile like that."
"Neither have I. Moving on, you know Bach," Robards sneered. Kinglsey nodded with similar emotion and recognized arguably the best attorney-at-law in the country, Orrin Bach. The old lawyer had built a career so strong that he was the only one in the country able to bill whatever he wanted from his clients. None in the entire DMLE liked the man and his firm.
"As for the other, I don't know who that is. . ." said Robards, looking at the middle-aged man in a fedora who stood a step back from everyone with a small smile on his face.
Robards and Kinglsey had their eyes stuck to the man. They couldn't pull them away, no matter how they tried. Even Scrimgeour shifted his eye to the man from time to time. There was something about the man which screamed dangerous to the Aurors— the way he stood, the way his hands laid- relaxed yet ready, even the way his eyes moved said that the man was experienced.
"That guy is trouble," said Robards, eying the guy with a critical eye.
"He's the bodyguard, isn't he?"
"He's got training. I can tell he's got professional training and then something more. . . I wonder how much is he getting paid?"
Robards quirked his brow. "Are you looking to switch to private?"
"No, I'm for the long haul," smiled Kingsley.
"Aiming for my position?" asked Robards. Kingsley shook his head. "Head of DMLE?" Kingsley again shook his head. Now Robards was surprised. "The Minister of Magic?" Kingsley nodded with a smile. "Oh my, you got big aspirations, my friend, and I hope you achieve them."
They stopped talking when Scrimgeour began to lead George down the hall. It was time for the biggest meeting of the year. . . and possibly of the entire current administration.
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Voldemort - Dark Lord - I use spells other than the Unforgivables.
Randolph Westen - Head of Floo-Network Authority - I should've retired the first time around.
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