Who: Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black-Lestrange. When: Late on the night of December 5th Where: The old Gaunt house. What: Of loyalty, nephews and horcruxes. Status: Complete Rating: PG. Because it's VOLDEMORT.
Above the village of Little Hangleton there sat a dilapidated little shack. None of the current residents ever went near it, and only the oldest could still remember the last family to live there - an old tramp by the name of Gaunt and his two children. The son was mad, the tale goes, and used to beat the townsfolk. Some say the family was cursed, and there are no facts to prove them wrong since the entire family disappeared under bizarre circumstances. But those tales are the stuff of whispers, and most ignore them - yet still, nobody goes into those woods, or near that house.
Nobody except the rightful owner, that is.
Tom Marvolo Riddle - a name he had given up long ago, in favor of Lord Voldemort, but still his. Every so often he came back here, and tonight it seemed as good a place as any to meet with one of his most loyal followers. So, lighting a fire in the hearth, he stood and waited.
When the Dark Lord called, you answered. Fear had surely motivated many of his followers over the years, but for Bellatrix each moment in his presence was to be cherished. The arrival of the terse order had sent a delicious thrill down her spine, adrenaline rushing through her veins as images of torment and anguish danced merrily within her head. So many memories, both diabolical and destructive, each treasured and permanently etched in her mind.
Cloak was soon donned and little time wasted - even if she had not been eager to see him, she had been in his service long enough to know what happened to those who dawdled. It had been years since she'd visited the Gaunt House, but she remembered it as vividly as she did all of the locations that had played a role in her early Death Eater years. As she stepped inside in a whisper of heavy black velvet, the deteriorated state of the little shack did not faze her - but its occupant certainly did.
"Master," Bella murmured reverently, the fine silk of her skirt pooling atop the floor planks as she dropped to her knees without question, rich black fabric juxtaposed against old, splintered wood. A shiver coursed through her body at his mere presence - the same, peculiar shiver that had possessed the characteristically rebellious girl on the very first occasion she'd met him. Time had dampened a great many things, but nothing could stifle the intoxicating aura of power and charisma that surrounded him.
His head turned towards her first, noticing her reverence with a pleased grin. Slowly the rest of his body turned to face Bellatrix, a hand reaching out so that overly thin fingers could grasp her chin and lift it…then let it go.
"Stand, Bella," he said, showing his favor of her. "You arrived very quickly."
Bella did not shy from the touch of what so many considered a monstrous being, merely gazing up at him with the unadulterated veneration evident in her submissive perch before him. She made no movement to stand until he afforded her permission, slowly rising to her feet and regarding her lord and master.
"I can think of no matter that could ever take precedence over my attendance, my lord," She spoke softly, her characteristic passion underlaying, but not overwhelming, her calm tone. "I am honored by the invitation."
"Always so eager, Bella...I can always count on you to do as I ask, without question." He strode across the small room that looked like it was once kitchen, dining room and sitting room all in one, stirring dust in his wake. "This place serves as a reminder. Can you imagine the sole heirs to Salazar Slytherin living in this hovel, surrounded by filthly Muggles?"
Once again he turned to her, walking back to stand close enough that the edges of his robes touched her cloak. "I have a very important mission for you - one that must not be spoken of to anyone else. The only other that shall know about it is your nephew, who I wish for you to mentor. It is far past time he was Marked, but I do not feel he has proven himself, yet."
It was appalling. Wealth was clearly of some significance, but she would sooner die than associate with a rich Mudblood. To think that the heirs to the most prestigious bloodline in all of Wizarding history would be subjected to such squalor... "No, my lord," She answered, uncertain of whether he required an answer but nonetheless providing one. "They should have been lauded and revered, their place in society and luxury assured and unquestioned." Where others feigned, Bellatrix was genuine, her voice heightening with zeal as she spoke of the injustice. "It is unconscionable."
She stood still as he approached, content to bask in his proximity and wait silently until he deemed her worthy of address - an attribute that clearly existed solely in his presence. When he elaborated, however, her neutral expression gave way to a hint of annoyance, though it would soon be clear that it was hardly directed toward Him.
"The boy is insolent," Bella replied shortly, recalling his impudent manner when she had reminded him of his mission. "He clearly inherits his profound arrogance from his father, but he must learn that even his greatest desires are secondary to your slightest whim. I fear my sister has not been firm enough with him." A brief pause. "What limits would you place upon my instruction?"
Voldemort had a feeling the boys behavior was most certainly from his raising - coddling from his mother mixed with the arrogance of his father was a danger combination; not dangerous in that Draco could attain power to rival him, but that he would make mistakes which would lead to losses. "The boy needs to realize that in becoming a man certain things are expected of him. He seems eager enough, but it is mostly so that he can brag to his peers and scare the weak. He must see the greater meaning in our work, and embrace it. He must also learn that I do not tolerate those who flit about when I have given them important work to do. Useful he may be, but he is not irreplacable. Make him understand that - and the price that others might pay, should he displease me again. Do whatever you must, short of killing him, for now, and report to me upon his progress."
But that was not her true mission, of course; the real mission was far more important. "Young Draco found Ollivander but was unable to return him to me. All these months have been wasted. He stole something from me, something important to me…as important as the diary, which I am sure you remember.
It would seem, from the information your nephew was able to gain, that Dumbledore had something to do with the wandmaker's disappearance, and possibly with the hiding of this item. You must find and return it to me."
The faintest hint of a smile curved on Bellatrix's lips when he indicated that he wished her to make him understand. She had no intention of dismembering the boy, of course, but he was entirely too sheltered and pompous for his own good. He needed to learn that his status at Hogwarts among his classmates was insignificant in the grand scheme and that his insolence would not be abided at all - let alone by the Dark Lord himself. If he would not obey on account of deep respect as she did, he would be made to do so out of fear. The permission to utilize creative tactics to achieve this goal was thus warmly received.
Alas, the delightful scenarios filling her mind were abruptly interrupted with his next words, confusion crossing openly over her features in a rare, candid display of emotion. "The diary?" She asked in a startled voice. Surely, he couldn't mean... Unless there was another?Her mild frustration at the existence of another such item unbeknownst to her was eclipsed by relish of the opportunity to avenge foolish Lucius's mistake.
"Of course," She agreed readily, silently vowing not to allow Lucius or his impudent son to impede her success. "May I ask what form this item has taken, my lord? I assume it is not another journal."
A sick grin twisted Voldemort's lips. "Surely you can figure that out, Bella," he replied, trailing a finger down the woman's cheek. "What would one hide in Ollivander's shop, but a wand? Cherry and Unicorn hair. Very old. You undertstand the importance."
Dark eyes briefly fell to a half-lidded state when the exceedingly slender finger grazed over her cheek, opening only when he revealed the nature of the item in question, darkly sparkling with mischief. "I do," She acknowledged, her voice lightly tinged with amusement. "May I ask what it is that Draco discovered of Ollivander? He's quite reticient, though I suppose I could torture it out of him."
"Do so, if necessary," the Dark Lord replied. "I wish for you to ask him of what he learned, and then to report it to me. I am curious if it will be the same. Mark me well, Bella, I do not want the boy knowing the true nature of what you seek."
Blood ran deep, but her loyalty to the Dark Lord trumped all - and Narcissa couldn't very well blame her for her son's suffering if he defied the Dark Lord's wishes. "As you wish," Bella vowed, a twinkle of delight in her eye at the thought of showing the boy a taste of the authority he so clearly needed. "The boy thinks himself clever," She mused, "But he has much to learn. He will have no inkling of the true purpose of the search, master - I swear it."
Voldemort nodded. "I know." And if he did hide something from Bellatrix, it would not be in his favour, for should she find out... "Go now and begin this most important undertaking."
A humble bow of her head was the only response she dared, accepting her mission graciously and stepping out of the dilapidated shack. Had it not been for the crucial task to which she had been assigned, she might have regretted having to return alone to the manor she tired of. But she would have visions of glory and anguish to keep her warm tonight.