Chapter 11: Interlude: As the Storm Raged
Far away, he could hear the steady drip, drip as some of the rain that thrashed overhead leaked through the weak ceiling. Wind howled violently, screaming at him, screaming its hatred of him. As the wind’s ally, thunder boomed and roared its disapproval. Through the cracked windows he could see lightening streak through the air, desperately reaching for ground.
But he knew the old wooden shack would hold. It had creaked and whined under the perpetual storm’s pressure, but it withheld, as it would until he needed to find new cover.
He hated that. Running, running, always running so he wouldn’t be found, so he couldn’t be taken over just as he was getting started. An evil grin twisted what used to be full, handsome lips as he thought about his progress.
In the few months since he’d come out into the open, since he’d thought himself ready, powerful enough, he’d already made fear tear through the wizarding world like wild fire. Now, he mused with a chuckled, now, all he had to do was heighten that fright. Make them so scared they’ll all become insomniacs, because they were worried he’d come kill them in their beds as they slept.
Good, that was good. It would be so… tedious to kill them that tidily, that quietly. He wanted them to be aware and attentive as he tortured them, as he bathed in their screams, as he showed them their rightful place in the wizarding world.
Which was no place at all.
It was his duty to wipe out all impurities. Lowering the population would be a risk, of course, but what difference would it make whether the men and women bred with only their spouses? It’s not like the world wasn’t already filled with infidelity and deception. So why not mix and mingle?
How could so many of the pureblooded ancestors alike let the muggles take over the population like this? It was disgusting, and he would not tolerate it. So he was doing something about it.
He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard footsteps approaching the door to his chamber. There was a hesitant knock, and he granted the visitor entrance.
Lucius Malfoy knelt to kiss Lord Voldemort’s robes and shoes.
“Rise,” commanded Voldemort in a bored voice. Malfoy obeyed, but his head was still bowed to show his inferiority. “Is everything in its proper place?”
Malfoy looked up then, into eyes as red as bleeding roses, eyes as cold and distant as hell frozen over. “The student has been bewitched, my Lord, given the potion, and has been instructed of what they are to do with it.”
“He can be trusted with the burden of this task?”
“Under the Imperius, yes.”
“I should hope so. That isn’t the easiest of potions to brew, let alone gather the ingredients for. The student can be trust to not throw off the spell?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Has she returned to school?”
“The train just took them back today, my Lord.”
Voldemort let tense silence hang and become deafening until, “Very well. You may go, Lucius.”
Malfoy bent to give Voldemort’s shoes once last kiss before bowing out.
In his lonesome the Dark Lord went over his flawless plan in his mind. It was simple enough, but to be applied would take some deft sneaking.
Just a drop, a single drop ingested into the body would create pain so great the Cruciatus Curse would be welcomed as a blessing. And this pain would be constant, nonstop, for days. There was no doubt the victim wouldn’t beg to find mercy in death.
The blood traitor and his mudblood whore were in Voldemort’s way. But he wasn’t afraid of them. That would be absurd. He was anything but a coward. He was simply a man that loved to make people cower.
The Mudblood would go first. With her gone, the blood traitor would weaken. A shrill cackle echoed within the empty room.
Fools, they’re all fools. Love was for fools. Love made one weak, made one blind, and in the end would be one’s downfall. Power made one strong, helped one climb to the top to dominate.
Power is the key.
And without Lily Evans and James Potter blocking his path, Voldemort will have plenty of power, with only more to gain.