The Heads of some of the most prestigious families in the country sat around a long table carved from a beautiful white jade marble, polished to reflect their tense faces that were taut in nervousness. None dared to look at the head of the table where their silent leader sat— Voldemort hadn't said a single word since they had gathered in the room, but no one ventured the risk of opening their mouth to say anything about it. Why would they? Everyone in the room knew the reason behind the silent fury.
"We lost eighty-five men," Voldemort finally spoke, his tone not any different from usual. "What was supposed to temporarily cripple twelve important departments so that we could gain control over them turned into a slight against our name—my name— and has cost me eight-five able-bodied men. What was supposed to be one step forward has made us take one step back. How did this happen?" he asked.
"My Lord, we should get our men back from the hands of the Aurors! Storm Azkaban and free our comrades!" said one of the Death Eaters, looking to score points; alas, his attempt was doused in oil and then set on fire.
"Silence," Voldemort's voice was graver than a cemetery. The Death Eater cowered in his seat, immediately developing a sheen of sweat over his face. Voldemort continued, "I talked"— a shiver passed through the present company— "with all the team leaders and with Rivers to identify who let our plans slip to the Invisible Vigilante. . . but none of them knew about it or could remember interacting with him, which means either someone in my court is the Invisible Vigilante, or they have a way to know our every move. If anyone wants to come forward to say something, now is the moment."
The members sweated. They noticed how the twelve team leaders were not present in the room, and neither was Rivers. Their mind raced to think where were they, how were they. . . if they were alive— the thoughts went through everyone's minds and locked their eyes on the table in front of them, not even putting Voldemort in their peripheral vision.
"So be it," Voldemort's voice reverberated in the room. "From now on, every mistake that happens in my court will directly go through me; anyone who makes a mistake will have to face me. I will be the judge, jury, and executioner. . . death will not be the worse punishment. I have said so here today." He stood up from his table, and everyone straightened up. "This was a shameful loss, and I despise losing. I have had it enough. Setting up plans just to see them crumble down and fail— I shouldn't have to pay for the mistakes you make, clean up after your mess. From now on, there will be none of it. It's time that the masses remember why they feared me."
Voldemort took a couple steps and arrived at the chair beside the head of the table. "How are the preparations going, Wormtail?" he asked. "I hope my best Death Eaters don't have disappointment for me. . ."
Pettigrew felt the cold bony hand on his shoulder. If it was anyone in the room in his place, they would've been unable to suppress the shiver and fear. But Peter Pettigrew was the once pathetic and weak man who had survived the horror known as Azkaban, which had broken men much stronger than him. The miserable rat that had gone inside had come out with sharp fangs coated with poison. He raised his head with a stale stone-like countenance and spoke up to the entire room, his voice steady and loud enough to reach every corner without magic.
"Rookwood is gathering Vampire tribes as we speak; the Elders have agreed to our cause in exchange for the promises of hunting grounds. Those who haven't. . . Rookwood has instigated seeds of greed in the mind of young Vampires; even if we aren't and the tribes don't change their mind, the hungry young will switch tribes and join us."h
"Good, situate them in the forests in the west highlands. There are plenty of villages nearby they can feast upon. What about the Giants?"
"Dolohov has gained the approval of the chiefs. They like our offerings. . . and have agreed to come out of dwellings. Six chiefs and their hordes have already begun moving through the country."
"No, that won't do. The Giants need to travel through Portkeys; traveling through lands will attract the Ministry's attention. We can't have them knowing what is happening. Make them take Portkeys to the mountains."
"The Giants refuse to take Portkeys. Three of the six chiefs didn't trust human magic, and listening to them made the other three follow. They will only travel through lands. . . and in doing so cause a natural disaster like havoc. I fear there is no way to hide the Giants leaving their homes to travel across the country. However, I say we can use this. Use the Giants and the attention they will gain as a decoy to hide the other movements."
It was a good idea. A decoy as impactful as Giants would everything else. They would be like the sun hiding the stars in the morning. The positive of casting shadows on a plethora of plans outweighed the negative of announcing a hand.
"No"— however, Voldemort didn't like it— "the Giants will do what I want them to do," there was an air of no comprise around him, "if Dolohov can't make it happen, then I will do it myself. Send him a message; I will meet the chiefs."
". . . As you wish, my Lord," Pettigrew bowed his head.
"What of the werewolves," asked Voldemort.
"The Lestranges are rounding up the Werewolves. The packs are scattered around the country because of their territorial nature. They have beg—"
"Is it just the Lestranges?"
"Jugson and Macnair are with them to ensure that the discussions don't break down if Bellatrix gets. . . emotional."
Voldemort hummed.
Pettigrew continued, "The packs around the country have begun to move. Fortunately, they know better than to reveal their presence. The packs have agreed to not infect others and play with the Muggles as long as they are continued to be supplied with the free wolfsbane. Our efforts with the Werewolf Capture Unit," which were supposed to give results when their Head was killed and replaced with a paid-off individual, "are now being used to turn a blind eye to any problems that might occur during the move."
"Trolls?" Voldemort immediately moved on, which meant he was satisfied with what he had listened to.
"With Mulciber Junior working on it. The Troll specialists we targeted have been successfully placed under Imperio. They're working on leading the Trolls through the forests, and with the food we'll give them, they'll do our bidding." Mulciber Junior was the Imperius Curse specialist inside the Death Eater organization and had controlled more people during the last reign than everyone else combined. Rookwood had once said that the Unspeakables would've rolled on their bellies to get Mulciber Junior into their ranks for his uncanny skill with the mind-controlling skill.
"When the Trolls are stationed, I'll visit them. . . the specialists might have led them to our site, but they still need to know who they're fighting for."
"As you wish."
"Have the Dementors been behaving well?"
". . . Some are hunting at Muggle prison grounds," Pettigrew said, and for once, he had a strange expression. "We had to disperse them into groups, so it doesn't get obvious. . . and in every group, some Dementors always hunt at prisons near them."
"Ah, is that so," Voldemort nodded in understanding. "Do not worry, let them hunt at prisons. The Dementors have been researched to seek familiar hunting grounds, favoring that familiarity over even the quality of their prey. They have been guarding Azkaban; it's not strange for them to be attracted to Muggle prisons. If the Dementors act strangely, I need to within the hour."— Pettigrew nodded— "What about the Death Eaters?" he asked. "How fast can we get everyone ready?"
"A month," said Pettigrew after thinking of a number. He didn't care for the looks he was getting from others at the table.
"Twenty days," declared the Dark Lord.
Pettigrew looked to the others and shrugged. It wasn't like it mattered to him; he didn't have anything to take care of; his mother was dead due to stress from all the hate she got because of his actions. . . . As for his revenge, it coincided with the Dark Lord and Death Eaters.
"My Lord," spoke Pettigrew, "may I ask what the plans for these preparations are. I'm sure it's on everyone's mind." No one voiced the same opinion, but it could be seen in their eyes that they were wondering the same thing.
Voldemort walked around the table, his hand grazing shoulders and backs. There was silence until Voldemort rounded around the table and returned to his seat. He stood behind his chair and addressed his Death Eaters, "The opposition. . . has been tougher than we expected. The Ministry Aurors have been slowly but surely picking apart our allies ever since Amelia Bones has taken office. Wizengamot hasn't been our friend with Dumbledore leading that faction of his, and the Grey faction hasn't swayed to our side because of their greed." A rare frown appeared over his face, "Ever since we failed to abduct George West's grandson, the West has increased his business with the Grey faction and is using that to exert control through them to oppose anything we put out in Wizengamot. . . . and recently the Wests have poured gold into DMLE coffers to oppose us."
Even though Voldemort had diverted George's attention through his stint in Germany, it had only worked for so long. The Wests had not only opposed them politically, but he had also been hostile towards the business owned and operated by the Dark faction members, creating bankrolling problems for the Death Eater operations.
"As long as George West stands strong, taking the Ministry will be a long and arduous process," he said.
"What if you pay George West a visit, my Lord. Maybe we can go around and burn his business to the ground," said one of the Death Eaters viciously with a harsh smirk— but a look from Voldemort made the smirk drain away into palpable nervousness.
"I won't see George West's face if he doesn't want me to," said Voldemort; it would require effort and time to get near George West, time which he didn't have. "And destroying his business will only anger him— and that man will launch an actual combative war against us if we target his work; I will be untouchable no matter what he does, but all of you will undoubtedly die if he wishes for it. I would rather ruin this country to have him give up on it than anger him more than he already is. Don't open your face if you don't have anything useful to say."
"M-My apologies, my Lord," the man sputtered pathetically.
"If we can't take the Ministry, then we will go for the next institution that defines this country— Hogwarts." There were gasps around the table. Voldemort continued, "I'm tired of Dumbledore standing in my way, and I think it is time for him to leave along with that bird club of his. When I get rid of Dumbledore, I'll get to kill the Boy-Who-Lived to tell the blood traitors, the mudbloods, and anyone who dares oppose that it is time. . . time for despair."
There was a mixed reaction in the group. On the outside, they showed complete and total appreciation for the Dark Lord's target, but inside, some of them were doubtful if they would be able to siege Hogwarts. It didn't have the reputation of being the most secure place in the country for no reason.
"And. . . we need to take care of the pesky little bug that has been buzzing around and ruining our plans," said Voldemort with a cruel light in his eyes.
.
-*-*-*-*-*-
.
Voldemort - Dark Lord - Fear. Despair. Dread.
FictionOnlyReader - Author - Any good new movies. Nothing too dark.
