Chapter 686 - Ruse Ⅸ

Despite the silence, the screams of Empusa Snyde can still be heard echoing in the ears of the countless gathered Death Eaters. A feeling of apprehension filled the Death Eaters as some licked their dry mouths, others loudly gulped, and others kept their gazes firmly fixed on the ground. It was a stark reminder to them all of what happened to traitors.

With a dreadful, but somewhat appeased expression, Voldemort stiffly says, "Those wounded rest. Lestrange come with me," before turning away and striding away with Nagini slithering closely at his heels.

The tall, gaunt cheeked, dark-haired, slender figure of Rodolphus Lestrange follows closely after with ice-cold dark eyes peering at those in the hall. Those in the hall hastily glance away lest they incur the wrath of the Dark Lord's new favorite. The door slams shut behind him to the relief of the Death Eaters as they tend to their wounds.

Pacing inside one of the side chambers, Voldemort's crimson eyes flicker back and forth with the words he heard in Empusa Snyde's head, "The Puppet will soon return." Puppet! Who was the puppet for whom!?

Voldemort wanted to rage and destroy when Nagini rubbed her head against his hand and successfully returned him to the present. He must calm his rage, there was something wholly unnatural about it all. After breathing deeply for several moments, he much more controlled turns to gaze to one of his most trusted followers. "Lestrange, are there more that cannot be trusted?" He bluntly asked for the first time revealing the feelings of unease within Voldemort.

Rodolphous Lestrange's eyes glitter with some unknown emotion before he tilts his head in a brief bow. "There are those that are less loyal than others, but I do not believe that is what you are asking, Dark Lord."

Voldemort rubbed his robe in agitation. "There was something off with Empusa Snyde. Though traitor she is, it was not for on the behalf of the Auror's nor the Ministry of Magic. There is someone else pulling the strings; someone hidden in the shadows that seek to make use of us!"

Rodolphus hides his surprise and pensively replies, "Dark Lord, if might I inquire a bit into the request that you previously made regarding the acquiring of the cup?"

"What of it, Lestrange?!" Voldemort sharply asked with crimson serpent eyes full of suspicion.

"If the said article is indeed precious and of valuable to you, Dark Lord, why did you entrust such an item to Bellatrix? Why not hide them away yourself, Dark Lord?" Rodolphus asked. "That is the far more reasonable and logical election. And I do not speak to question ye, Milord, but what made thee undertake such an unneeded risk?"

Voldemort is astonished by the line of questions as he appears stunned for a moment by the logical statement. Why did he entrust his Horcrux to another?! Why did he create so many Horcruxes? Why?! Something was wrong, it was not like him. It was through a memory of his deliberately escaped him.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Voldemort tries to recall, but those bits and pieces escape him like glistening mercury through his fingertips. A terrifying, cold realization causes him to falter. He was missing something, a memory, no, much more than that MEMORIES! Just how many were missing and far more concerning exactly of what?! Just who was powerful enough to erase and affect his memories, Dumbledore? Although the old man pretended to have moral qualms, Dumbledores was not so devious. And if not him, then who?!

It was a disturbing train of thought and one that Voldemort did not like to consider. Furrowing his brow, he turns his crimson serpent eyes to Rodolphus Lestrange. "Lestrange, you are to be my eyes and ears. Anything amiss you are to report immediately to me."

"As you command, Dark Lord," Rodolphus obediently answered. "Is that all, Milord?"

"No, what of our spy?" Voldemort asked in a pointed effort to change the subject.

"Our spy will report once they are able to leave the Ministry of Magic," Rodolphus honestly replied. "The entire Auror's department has been summoned and they will not be able to report at least until nightfall falls again."

"See to it that it is done," Voldemort dismissively said dismissing Lestrange, who retreats with a small bow never removing his gaze from Nagini.

Once Lestrange had departed Voldemort rather perturbed turns to Nagini and asks in parseltongue, "Nagini did you scent or sense anything different with the witch that I cursed in the hall?"

Nagini flicks her tongue and softly hisses, "She smelled of human, but there was a strange scent attached to her. It was like death, but not. Something foul that I have never scented before, and yet eerily familiar-."

Nagini's voice trails for a moment, before murmuring, "I know not, kin."

Voldemort nods his head causing the furrow on his brows to only deepen. Something was afoot, but what? He could not tell, but he instinctively knew he needed to find out.

Turning towards the serpent, Voldemort carefully says, "Nagini are there any others who possess such a similar scent among my own?"

Nagini coils around his feet and flicks her tongue pensively for a moment. "There is only one that I have smelled such a scent on," she replied. "I know not the wizard's name, but he is the one with the angry face and pointed chin."

Voldemort's crimson serpent-like eyes quiver with visible shock. No, it was impossible! Yet, his mind recalled the Slytherin housemate, who had formally introduced him into wizarding society and had cleverly hidden Voldemort's half-blood parentage. The same one, who had pledged himself as a Knight of Walpurgis, and still served as one of his Death Eaters.

Voldemort for the first time feels as though he is a shark that suddenly realizes it is not the biggest nor most fearsome creature in the pond. Feeling that the rug had been pulled out from underneath him, he is quiet for some time as Nagini curls around his feet. Curling his sharp blue-like nails, he stretches his long, pale spider-like hands into his robes to touch the warm locket against his chest, his ancestor's, Salazar Salazar's locket, and one of his Horcruxes. As if comforted, the calmness within his mind grows stronger suppressing the enraged madness that threatened to erupt at any moment.

Voldemort had been careful and calmer as of late. Even he had noticed a difference in his actions and logical decision-making. That he had to ask himself just when had he begun to lose leave of his mental faculties and his sense? Upon further reflection, he found that the madness had occurred all at once, but a slow and gradual erosion of his mental faculties that seemed to worsen with each Horcrux that was created.

Filled with a cold desire for vengeance, Voldemort raises his pale hand into the air. His nails are bluish and sharp enough to easily draw blood. His long fingers are spider-like as he extends them into the air and waits, before snapping them shut as if having successfully trapped some sort of invisible prey.

"Nagini," Voldemort icily said as his crimson serpent-like eyes are filled with malice. "I need you to keep a close watch on HIM and all those that approach him especially any other that carries the same scent as he and Empusa Snyde. Can you do that for me, Nagini?"

"Yes, kin," Nagini hissed in promise, before hesitantly asking, "But kin, what if you are in harm's way?"

"Worry not, Nagini," Voldemort answered. "I shall temporarily bide my time until we have learned more, and the Giant's arrival. Wurfbog shall finish his gathering of the giants by mid-December. After that, they must wait to cross the English Channel until a large winter storm gathers lest the Ministry of Magic or even Muggles take notice of such a large group of Giants."

"I will obey thy will, kin," Nagini hissed rubbing her serpent head against Voldemort's hand, before slithering silently into the dark of the shadows. She had a mission to complete and she would not fail. Not this time. Not again.

Despite her large, girth, Nagini moved soundlessly for her girth and disappeared out of the hall in search of her quarry. Voldemort is left alone in the great hall in silence contemplating his next step. A test, no, the bait must be set out to properly draw all his enemies out into the open.

A cold, cruel smile appeared on Voldemort's face as a terrible idea dawned in his mind. Yes, that would be most adequate. And with that vile idea in mind, he moved away with firm determination to plot and plan as though a spider forging its deadly web.