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Post by voldemort on Dec 22, 2011 17:02:59 GMT -5
Voldemort paced down a great candlelit hall. The house had once been exquisite in its majesty and elegance. Now however, it’s best days had past, tall marble columns and brass chandeliers were clouded over by a thick coat of grey dust. Elaborate stained glass windows sparkled with a variety of glistening spider webs. Stubs of candles, dripping with trails of aromatic wax cast a fiery orange glow, pronouncing foreboding and threatening shadows across peeling grey wallpaper. Paintings of somber-looking past lords and ladies of the manor, glared down at passerby’s as they harrumphed and shook their heads in distaste. By any definition of the word, the house seemed by all means abandoned, left to die with it’s memories and lay a forgotten monument of witches and wizards who had occupied it in days long ago. However, things are rarely as they seem; this house was, in fact, occupied.
The house’s mains occupants were house elves. Though Voldemort had instructed that the dust and cobwebs remain untouched, three of the pathetic grey creatures fed Nagini, since the house’s mice population had long been extinct due to the snake’s hunting, made meals for Voldemort and accomplished other tasks while keeping well away from the house’s master. Voldemort reveled in solitude and chaos. He liked the must smell of rotting wood, the creaking of the house’s ancient foundations and thick layers of grey dust. It remained this way. Alone unless a deatheater came to give him reports, in the house’s eerie and spacious rooms, Voldemort had ample time to think, and to plan.
“These times make me impatient,” hissed the Dark Lord to his faithful friend, Nagini. “I am fully prepared to claim my victory yet potter remains in hiding, cowering behind a blood traitor and a mudblood.” Distaste was thickly pronounced in his expressions as he whispered on in parseltongue. “Too long, we have had to wait, present indication forecasting that we shall wait again, unless any of the incompetent fools that bear my mark can find the boy.”
He had in fact summoned the “incompetent fools” that were his deatheaters to himself tonight. Things had to change if Harry Potter was ever to be found again. A system had to be set, deatheaters had to survey spots important to the boy. Hogwarts, for one, was already guarded by a majority of deatheater staff. Then, the place where his curse has first failed, so many years ago had to be guarded as well. Deatheaters would be stationed there in case the boy went to search for “clues” to Voldemort’s “pieces of soul”, his horcruxes. There were other places, some worth stationing his followers, others, would need momentary supervision. Making a mental list, he continued to pace, the sound of his dragging robes and the creak of rotting wood, the only noises of the dilapidated mansion, ready for an answer to his call.
A cloud of dust suddenly exploded before the wizard as the noticeable change in air pressure of one appearing was felt. When the grime settled a dark, cloaked figure stood, before him, bowing deeply.
“My Lord…” a feminine voice spoke firmly as she paid him due respect.
Straightening up, Bellatrix pulled back her hood, now grey from the settling of the house’s mark of age and abandonment. Her master gazed down at her with unreadable red eyes. They were alone, as she had been the first to answer the call. The thrill of being alone with the Dark Lord before her sent pleasant chills down the witch’s spine.
“I see you are the first to join us, Bellatrix, that is, until the other’s answer my call.” Replied the Dark Lord.
Us? Ah yes, the snake, her master’s shadow, always by his side. Remarking a irritating heaviness in his demeanor, Bellatrix wished with every once of her being that she could produce the boy, come bearing her master’s greatest enemy. She would be highly praised and rewarded, a queen among deatheaters. However, the brat was still missing, and as her master didn’t ask of him, she said nothing. The witch was content with being the first to answer the call, always her Lord’s most loyal and powerful lieutenant.
Voldemort walked on, this time to a specific destination, an elegant marble arch at the hall’s end leading to sumptuous dining room. High backed ash chairs lined the contours of a vast ebony table. Long black velvet drapes cascaded down endless windows stretching from the room’s great roof to graze the marble floor. Most of the window’s panes were broken, letting in the frigid night breeze. With a flick of his wand, Voldemort lit the great brass chandelier, the room lighting up to display elegant artwork on the room’s tall ceiling. Depicted, were the peeled remains of painted merpeople, hippogriffs, dragons and every magical creature imaginable coexisting on an emerald scenery. The once beautiful room shone now with a dim elegant appeal and the whispering ghosts of rich banquets once held.
Sitting himself down at the tables end, Voldemort lifted the wide sleeves of his robe sighing and he let Nagini coil her body around the chair to his left. Hurriedly Bellatrix placed herself on the chair to his right, worshiping the Dark Lord a worshipping gaze. The other Deatheater would arrive shortly and take their places around the table before discussing the matter at hand. Now, all Voldemort had still to do was to wait. He’d waited enough already though; his followers would be wise to arrive in moments lest Voldemort’s mood sour still more.
The moon shone through black clouds, casting a beam of silver light over the dark table, adding to the dancing shadows that cast the chandelier. Wise enough to remain at silence; Bellatrix’s eyes followed the dancing patterns across the tables’ vast expanse. Time was passing and she grew more and more weary. Each creak of the old house rousing her to anticipate another cloaked figure. She was eager for something to be said, something to start, yet knew that, as impossible as it was, she had to be content waiting. Waiting that was made worse by the fact that she knew that they were to be reprimanded, that her beloved master was unhappy and would not hold back from letting them know. Endless seconds, then minutes flew by before anyone else appeared.
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Post by raphael on Dec 24, 2011 16:30:47 GMT -5
The second Death Eater to arrive was Raphael Samael, his robes swirling around him as his face and body changed from a soft and vulnerable female form to a male with pale skin, high cheekbones and dark, almost blue-black hair. Dusting himself off disdainfully, as if trying to wipe the trace remains of the female off of him, he strode forward, a slightly impatient look on his face before he caught sight of the two people standing in the shadows and gave a short gesture of respect, tilting his head to reveal his favoured "form" - an extension really, with the right side of his face that revealed a row of demonic teeth extending from where his human mouth ended to just past the middle of his cheek. It was something he did more out of habit now than anything else; an adaptation of sorts that had developed from a need to terrify at his Lord's orders. He found, now, that he rather enjoyed it regardless. It was much better than being a female, at any rate.
A slight grimace flickered across his face at that, remembering the soft curves of a female's body in the place of the sharp angles of his own - a body he knew instead of that of a stranger. It never got easier, the innate oddity of seeing oneself in the mirror and glimpsing a stranger instead of a familiar face. And yet he rather enjoyed the things he could do; the lives he could control; the lies and the webs he could spin just by pretending to be someone else.
This case had been one of mere infiltration, like his Order counterpart the half-blood Nymphadora. Just the name was enough to make him twitch, the disgust clear on his face, for while he could easily pretend the other members of such a useless organization would be easy to dispose of harder yet was fooling one who knew the same tricks he did. This was where, he supposed, a complete and utter lack of compassion and morality came in. Well. The woman whose form he had taken was that of an ordinary witch - a Mudblood - that they had stolen off the street, and he smiled when he remembered how her last sight on earth had been him stealing her form before Tyvone Duvesque had put her permanently out of her misery with a simple Avada Kedavra. He had just finished his assigned mission when he had gotten the summons, and it had been instinctive to just Apparate immediately to the summoning point, long red hair and a chest or not.
He hoped they appreciated it, but he really doubted they would. Glancing up, Raphael glimpsed the dingy and musky house they were in, his lips pursing as he noticed the cobwebs and the otherwise filthy conditions. I fail to understand why we wait here when the Ministry is already under our control.
ooc;; Short post I'M SORRY NELL ;__;
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Post by Cole Alexsander Riddle on Dec 24, 2011 21:54:31 GMT -5
Cole wasn't one to nit pick about the places his father choose for meetings but this one took the cake. A cobweb tickled across his nose as he strutted down the darkened corridor. He froze and dusted it away from his face. A few strands lingered on his nose, tickling the young man, annoying him to no end. He finally ran the sleeve of his hoody across his face and preceded on. It had been forever since he actually laid eyes on any of his fellow Deatheaters ( Or his dad for that fact ). He had been on his search for his sister. That was leading him to a dead end rather quickly. Cole raked a hand over his dark brown head, thinking if he did that then it would rake away some of the past memories. It didn't, sadly.
He admitted to himself that he did have side reasons for being so far out of touch. He just used the Ellie thing as a cover. Cole enjoyed having worlds in his hand. He enjoyed being out and scaring the crap out of people. Cole didn't want to be bonded to the shadows-where a handful of Deatheaters did. He liked seeing people, as strange as that sounded to him. Many muggles and witches slash wizards knew of him simply as Lord Voldemort's son, The Dark Prince or what ever little nicknames they came up with. Most of the time, his names were spoken in terror, music to Cole's ears.
Cole was the third person to enter. Bellatrix LeStrange and some guy named Raphael were already seated. Bellatrix was practically in The Dark Lords lap at this point. She bugged Cole a bit. She was his fathers most loyal and powerful solider and that was the only praise Cole would throw her way. He nodded at Raphael to acknowledge the male as he moved up to the end of the table were Bellatrix and Lord Voldemort were seated. Since Cole's usual spot at the right was taken, he slid over to the left. " Nice to see you again father. " Cole said with a tiny bow of respect to the older man. Cole sat in the chair he had picked and turned his eyes to the entry way. More should be coming soon.
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Post by bellatrixlestrange on Jan 9, 2012 15:58:42 GMT -5
"Nice boobs, Ginger!" Snickered Bellatrix, sending a mocking glance to Samael's feminine form.
Subconsciously in her desire to heighten herself in deatheater ranks, she automatically though the worst of her colleagues. In the case of Samael, she was positive he could not be trusted. For all she knew, he could be her mudblood niece. Both shapeshifters could assume any possible form. It was even probable that he was not who the others believed him to be. She would discuss this with the dark lord when he was no longer present, investigations had to be made. As he revealed his usual form, that of a sideshow freak, it seemed, Bellatrix glared over him hatefully, her nose in the air.
Soon, another of the Dark Lord's followers apparated, sending more dust flying. It was the boy that her master had conceived to fulfill his legacy when he no longer lived. The though seemed impossible, the Dark Lord was larger than life, seemingly invincible, there would never be a time without him. Bellatrix disliked the boy, or rather, disliked the fact that he was the one to hold such honor. As he greeted her master with familiar terms, she nearly choked, how dare he address him in this way! How arrogant, how despicable! Here the very Dark Lord's heir stood in muggle attire, how disturbing, repugnant! Her fingers itched for her wand, her mouth longed to enunciate her much coveted favorite spell. As she reached into her robes and produced her wand, her mouth almost forming the word Crucio, she was stopped as Voldemort stood.
"At peace, Bellatrix! I will not have you lay a finger on my heir." Turning to Cole at this point, he continued. "You shall do best to remember to address me as the rest of my deatheaters do."
While his words were cold and blank, annoyance raked his mind. He had only recently returned from his weak form. A little over two years now, his body was restored to him. Since he'd been gone things had not gone on desirably. The boy that he wished to train himself had been trained by his loyal followers. Somewhere in passing he seemed to have taken to the idea that he, himself was a paternal figure to him. The boy was powerful and well educated in the ways of magic but had need to be reminded that although he would one day take over his reign, in the meantime he was a deatheater, like the others.
"Apologies, my Lord." murmured Bellatrix, bowing her head before casting a loathsome glance towards Cole. The stare was filled with all the hate and disdain in the world, one that would have nearly melted a weaker man into a pillar of salt. If the Dark Lord noticed, he failed to react.
Other deatheaters gradually apperated, taking their places in the ebony chairs, some standing for lack of a seat. Truly, deatheater ranks were growing as Voldemort found himself at his most powerful. The ministry had been overthrown, Hogwarts infiltrated and the world was his. Now all that had to be done was eliminate his one threat: The boy who lived.
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Post by Crispin Delacriox on Jan 9, 2012 22:18:24 GMT -5
Crispin moved through the house disgusted by his surroundings. The vampire did not know why he had allowed himself to get drawn into the whole ordeal but now he was stuck until the blasted leader was dead.Really he had no problem with Potter. On any other terms, he would be happy to let the boy go on and live his life. If it was not for the mark etched in his arm, he would have nothing to do with any of this. But as it was, all of that was currently wishful thinking. But not for long. Wizards did not belong at the top of the chain. Vampires did. And Crispin planned to put them there.
So he moved through the corridors avoiding cobwebs, dust and insects. He could hear voices up ahead and arranged himself so he would look accordingly when he entered the meeting. The doors were closed and Crispin pushed them open effortlessly and then stepped inside. There were not many people here. The perfect picture of insanity, Bellatrix was closest to Voldemort, of course. Crispin took in their leaders on and a few other death eaters before nodding to Voldemort himself and then taking a seat as far away as possible.
He sat back in the high backed chair trying to ignore the neglect and filth around him. Crispin's pale skin almost glowed in the light in the room He ran hand through his hair and then sighed. Where was everyone else? Crispin did not want to spend anymore time here than he absolutely needed to. He doubt ed anyone knew of his true intentions but it was agony to be forced to sit here with the others and listen to the crazy witches cackles and the old wizard talk.
His mind went to Christina. He really wished that she had not found him again after all thee years. He had gotten her in trouble before and would rather not drag her into more now. He forced himself to try and relax as the breeze from the broken windows played over him.
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Post by Carmen Erickson on Jan 10, 2012 20:17:42 GMT -5
Carmen appeared on the road out of nothingness and the heels of her knee high dragon hide boots clacked on the driveway. She took a long i hale from the cigarette in her hand and stood there for a moment in the shadow of over grown trees. She exhaled slowly looking up at the house. The Dark Lord had been instructing her on her duties. As she still lived in his manor, there was plenty of time for lessons. So when the mark on her arm had began to twitch and burn, Carmen knew what it meant. She was needed. She knew where the meeting was and after a bit of hesitation, here she was. She really did not want to be here. She had met most of the other deatheaters here. That was not a problem. The closer ones knew a little bit about her situation. The others simply assumed.
The problem was Bellatrix. That woman would be here as well. Carmen was sure of it. She was the reason Carmen did not want to be here. The Dark Lord had mentioned Bellatrix on occasion and Carmen new the other witch was fixated with him. But what could she do but to obey the calling. As he had once told her, this had been what she wanted. Carmen had decided to dress in a black velvet long sleeved dress. The hem of the dress came to an end about four inches above her knees and the material was loose so that it swished around her when she walked. Her brown hair was hanging straight down her back. Was she showing off? Maybe a little...
She started forward now. There was no use putting it off any longer. The pain in her arm radiating from the mark was driving her insane. She continued to glance up at the house as she came nearer. It looked light it was going to fall to the ground it was so forgotten. Mounting the front steps, Carmen opened the front door letting it swing closed behind her and then started forward. She willed herself to ignore the filth and the sounds of small animals scurrying in the dark.
When he reached the meeting room, Carmen was glad to see that at least the lights were lit. There were some others here and and Carmen offered a few smile at the people she knew. She glanced at Cole and then looked away. Carmen did not know the boy but she knew of him. Her eyes then fell on The Dark Lord. She smiled softly but it was gone quickly. Bellatrix of course was at his side. Carmen bristled slightly but said nothing. As she walked towards the Dark Lord, a wizard sitting at his left stood and held out the chair for her. Carmen graced him with a warm smile and a soft 'thank you' before stepping around the snake and sitting across from Bellatrix and at Voldemort's Left. She crossed her legs and waited, the cigarette still in her hand. Why should she not smoke? This place was in need of a fire to put it out of it's misery.
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Post by raphael on Jan 10, 2012 20:47:30 GMT -5
Raphael's head snapped over to Bellatrix, his eyes narrowing for a few seconds before his body started to shift again, short black hair turning into soft, shining waves of red that tumbled down his back, his eyes becoming more almond shaped and a sharp hazel in colour, hands becoming more slender as his body shifted from that of a slender man to the unmistakable hourglass of a woman's figure. He became shorter as well, the black, flowing Death Eater robes sitting slightly baggy on his frame now.
He made sure, however, that the front part was pulled down a little before turning back to Bellatrix, tugging a strand of hair behind his ear as he send her a condescending smile. "I rather thought so," he told her, gesturing to his rather ample chest. "They're certainly larger than yours, at any rate." He laughed then, his voice not the pleasant rumble of a man's but rather the soft, lilting voice of a victorious female. "Jealous, Bella? I'm sure there's some sort of spell you could use to... enhance yourself."
His remark finished, the male Death Eater turned to the others with a raised eyebrow, his arms crossed and his fingers drumming on his arm. Still very much female at that moment, he turned to acknowledge the new recruit, a faint smirk flickering across his face as he inclined his head to Cole Riddle. Naturally he was aware of the boy, and even if he hadn't been the fool's last comment would have given him away instantaneously. Had anyone else called him such the Dark Lord would likely have blasted him in some absurd display of dominance or power. Raphael could not understand why - all of them knew very well that he was the most powerful, and of what he could do.
Next was the vampire, and Raphael just pointedly ignored him, not even sparing the barest of seconds to knowledge the creature's existence.
Another Death Eater, Carmen, caught his attention. She was an attractive enough woman, he would admit, but he could not help feel anything but scorn for her now - scorn for her attitude, and massive amounts of scorn in the way she chose to conduct herself, especially in concerns to what she had shown up in: something he supposed was there to make her look attractive but really just made him want to hex something.
Really, if he had to wear the damn uncomfortable things, it was only fair that she should have to as well.
"Is this everyone?" the metamorphmagus asked dryly, still female, knowing very well that there would be more yet to come.
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Post by bellatrixlestrange on Jan 11, 2012 16:46:38 GMT -5
At Raphael’s response, Bellatrix pushed back her chair, drawing her wand. For once, she was short of remarks. What does one answer to such mockery? Defending her breasts seemed a rather pathetic response and was therefore out of the question. Then there was the fact that she’d instigated the argument. When meant to be a snide remark had been received and met with equal contempt, making it hard to sit and let herself be spoken to in this manner. She’d not though forwards as to how she’d teach him a lesson, but was stopped from injuring the man when the Dark Lord spoke up.
“Enough, Bellatrix. Draw your wand once more and I’ll see to it that you depart at once.” While his words were heavy with anger, his threat was empty. He did not expect her to disobey; yet needed her to remain in order. No, Bellatrix had a feeling that every person here and who had yet to arrive had a crucial role to play tonight. If it were not the case, he would not have summoned the mass of his deatheaters tonight.
Bellatrix sent Raphael the very dirtiest of glares before harrumphing and turning her eyes to the doorway. Almost immediately, she wished with all her being that she hadn’t. There at the door, was the one woman she hated with every fiber of her existence. Her eyes, narrowed into dark slits, her lips pursing tight. Suddenly, she very much wished that she could raise her wand and end the pathetic creature. She’d break Carmen, like she’d broken the Longbottoms. The other witch would beg for death yet Bellatrix would grant her no mercy. Fire flew through her veins as she pictured the girl’s delicate features twisted into an expression of unimaginable pain. She wanted nothing more than to see her destroyed. Ordered not to touch her, Bellatrix rapidly made the decision that humiliation was the next best thing.
“ The brothel’s that way, you tramp.” Hissed Bellatrix, quietly enough that only Carmen heard her as the young witch proceeded to the other side of the table, where Cole and Nagini were already seated.
Obviously, Bellatrix was referring to Carmen’s revealing choice of attire, among other things. She suspected by looks exchanged that Carmen was quite smitten with the Dark Lord. To Bellatrix’s utter dismay, her master returned to the witch looks of interest. Why was it that years of proving her valor by sacrificing everything, mastering the dark arts and becoming the deadliest and most dangerous known deatheater has earned her nothing, when some pretty young thing in what looked like a muggle’s sexy vampire costume could steal his attention? She’d thought that the Dark Lord would admire more than knee high boots and miniskirts. Thrusting out her chin, she continued glaring viciously at her arch nemesis.
At Raphael’s question, the Dark Lord spoke up once more:
“Patience, there are still many to appear and the night is young.” Replied the wizard flatly, his own impatience, ironically apparent in his tone and pitch.
ooc;; let us assume that everyone is here now so we can start this thing! if the others wish to show up, they still can. I, like my Characters really want to get this thread going! I have big plans, honhon!
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Post by Carmen Erickson on Jan 11, 2012 18:45:56 GMT -5
“ The brothel’s that way, you tramp.” Bellatrix hissed at her and Carmen arched an eyebrow. She had not missed the glimpse The Dark Lord had given her and apparently neither had Bellatrix. "Easy old girl." Carmen teased in a soft purr. This woman comments did not hurt her. Carmen was quite aware that it was all jealousy. Her own eyes held the same emotion. "We wouldn't want someone who was getting up the years to give herself a heart attack." Carmen gave a coy smile now. Carmen did not look around her eyes were glued to Bellatrix. Carmen was not stupid enough to think that the other woman could be trusted not to pull her wand.
When Voldemort spoke however, Carmen was listening intently. “Patience, there are still many to appear and the night is young.” It was then that she looked away from the other female and back to The man at her right. She had no idea what all tonight as about. Carmen only assumed it had something to do with the Boy Who Lived. Everything this movement did seemed to have something to do with the boy.
One by one, others began to arrive until the room was nearly full. Carmen took one last drag off of the nearly finished cigarette and then with her wand, summoned a ashtray. She exhaled slowly deliberately blowing the smoke in Bellatrix's direction and then butted it out. She was actually surprised that no one had said anything about the smoking but that was fine by her. At the Manor the Dark Lord lived in, she always smoked outside out of respect but she did not mind smoking here.
Once they seemed to have enough people, Carmen turned back to the Dark Lord and waited. he shivered slightly with the frigid wind coming in the broken windows but she would survive.
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Post by voldemort on Jan 27, 2012 4:10:04 GMT -5
As the room became more and more filled with the presences of his devoted deatheaters, Voldemort stood, silencing the room at once. The contempt and superiority in his voice was present, though discrete as he began. It did not escape the man that every person in this room had sworn their lives to his cause, would leave everything in the execution of his latest order. Power served him well. "Many of you must question the sit of tonight's encounter. One can't help but notice that this manor has passed it's better days. In fact, it has not been inhabited since the early fifteen century, if my research served me right. If the site has not been touched since then it is due complex concealment and protection charms shielding it from curious muggle vandals." Letting his words settle for a moment, he continued, pacing now as he spoke.
" Though this house's history as of that of it's inhabitants is not well, known a few facts are certain. Direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin once sat where you now do. Vincent Slytherin and his wife were tried, tortured and murdered for witchcraft somewhere in the heat of the burning times. Since then, this house has remained vacant, the dust untouched and the floors unwalked until today. "
He'd planned this example to heat the blood of his followers. Research had brought him the location of the abandoned mansion that had once belonged to a distant ancestor of his own. Upon first arriving at the venue, Voldemort had been surprised to find the presence of Eugénie Slytherin, a shy yet vengeful ghost, ready to share her tragic past upon realizing Voldemort's intentions. He was certain she was watching now, though unwilling to reveal herself.
"Why is it that Eugénie and Vincent Slytherin lost their lives to the inferior race we cower and hide ourselves from today? Why is it that we witches and wizards accommodate muggles in everything we do for their safety? Why is it that we bend to their needs?"
Voldemort, a visionary, had initially been fueled by the concept of a single ideal, even now when his dram had been distorted, modified and reformulated, he still fantasized about the same world he had years ago. One day, there would be a world where magical people no longer had to conceal their power, their identity from the rest of the earth's population. Why would they, a superior race by far, have to hide themselves from muggles, the slime that they were? In an orphanage by the sea, once so long ago, a solitary boy by the name of Tom had known, even though he know not of magic besides that "he could make bad things happen to people who were mean to him", he had known of his superiority. Even as a child, he'd known that he had a right over the ones who mocked him and feared him. Muggles, in his opinion should crawl on their knees like the maggots, they were, they did not deserve the accommodations the magical world made for them. His vision was coming closer day by day and only a teenage boy and his allies stood in his way.
"I can see a world where muggles shy away from us, hiding their presence and cowering away. We are so close, yet one threat stands in our way."
Throwing a heated gaze down the length of the table, he continued, his glare accusing.
"Why is it that the most powerful witches and wizards of our generation are unable to find for me a teenage boy and his friends? The task I gave you was simple, but perhaps there lies our problem. I've devised a plan, a system that should allow us to let nothing pass by."
“Hogwarts should be an area of concentration, the Potter boy has friends there, single them out, torture them if you have to. Do anything to make the boy come out of hiding. I hate spilling magical blood or turning the next generation of deatheaters against our cause but remember that what we do we do for the greater good. I do not want anything done with restraint on moral values; we must be tactical, if anything. On that note, Snape, I want you as headmaster and the deatheaters among the school’s teachers to take this in account and use your judgment to do what must be done to bring the boy out of hiding.”
He turned his gaze sharply towards the members of the ministry of magic.
“The ministry should also by surveyed, many spies lurk among your ranks.” He said this with accusation and scorn, “Let it be known that if any disturbances occur, I will hold you among the responsible.”
“Raphael, I have a most important assignment for you. Your talent has served me well and should continue to do so in the most appropriate way…” he paused, making eye contact with the other man, “I’m sure you are aware that news has reached me of a spy at large particularly at Hogwarts. If my sources are correct that this undesired set of eyes and ears is none other that the female Metamorphmagus Nymphadora Tonks.” Ignoring the protests beginning to form beside him from Bellatrix, he continued. “Being a Metamorphmagus is not like being left handed, in my life I have only met two. You know the workings of the skill and you are most likely to pull out the small clues, the mistakes. As soon as she slips, you are not to kill her until you have every piece of information about the order, Potter and our other enemies as you can gather. Do I make myself clear?”
He continued in this way, giving orders, directions and occasionally threats, he covered Diagon alley, Hogsmeade, and other public places of interest. Forests and other places where one goes to hide were among areas of interest as well. Fenrir Greyback was given the task of patrolling the woods. Every deatheater had a task, some even two. It was crucial now to not let a thing go unregistered.
“We are left with only two of you now, I believe. Bellatrix and Carmen.”
As her name was spoken, the witch to his right perked up, leaning forwards in anticipation. Knowing what was to pass, the moment’s irony was almost humorous. From recent happenings and words exchanged tonight it was apparent that the women despised eachother. To be truthful, it was in sorts, a punishment. His lust for Carmen was a weakness; he could no longer deny it. He thought he was past human emotions, and he was, but human instinct overcame him. She was young, beautiful and wanted him. He needed her out of his sight, far away so he could compose himself. While reproducing was a part of life, he had no time or need for such disgusting and animalistic need.
“Since a spell of concealment that has kept the boy’s home hidden has passed it’s due, it has become known to me that Potter was raised by a muggle family. Yes, 4 Privet Drive is the address. His uncle aunt and cousin, now inhabit the place and I have a feeling they have answers. If they cared for the boy enough to raise him, surely they know of his plans. I want any information out, take it by force, torture them, and terrify them! This may be one of our best chances and I can think of no better witches for the task than the two of you…”
“What!” screeched Bellatrix before he could finish. “With all due respect my Lord, you want us working together?”
“How dare you question me?” Roared Voldemort, slamming a fist against the table as his voise resonated, echoing in support, it seemed of his reaction.
“You are to do as you are told, whether it appeals to you or not.”
Bellatrix’s incredulousness vanished in the place of shame and then anger as her gaze turned to Carmen.
All the hate the world contained was concentrated and magnified in the gaze she sent the younger woman. It was loathsome in a way so intense that the likes of it had never before been seen. Black and menacing it radiated fury, superiority and hatred. Written in the pupils of her eyes was the evident message I will end you .
ooc;; I hope this is okay!!! I'm not actually evil, I'm sorry if I offended anyone, my characters are just cruel assholes.
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