Prolouge

496 22 2
                                    

The Manor was dark and ill. Its aura was much darker and suffocating than usual; enough to drive anyone from their sanity. It made Narcissa want to itch and to squirm.

But she didn't itch or squirm.

She didn't dare move.

The air was thick and dangerous. It could easily suffocate anyone who moved too quickly and drew attention to themselves. It was contaminated with hatred, deep, dark hatred.

So in fear, the table set in a still silence. It was almost mistakable for a muggle picture frame if it weren't for the woman desperately flailing and squirming above them, much like a butterfly caught in a widow's web.

Around the dark table sat many stoic Death Eaters. Lucius' hand lay still on top of hers in tense anticipation. Across from them sat Severus, his dark eyes empty of any and all emotion. Narcissa's sister, Bellatrix, sat with an unsettling smirk a seat or so down. Her posture and facial expression truly portrayed unhinged in its purest form and Narcissa had to train away the anxiety from her mind.

There was the faint clicking of shoes. It dragged closer and closer, building tension with each step. However, Narcissa not dare have even one heart beat out of place. If her and her family were to live, they would need to be obidenant dogs.

It wasn't long before the owner of the footsteps entered the room. Voldemort. Voldemort in all of his ugly, bloodcurdling glory. His red eyes traced over each figure in the room with a piercing glare, no doubt using quick Legilimency on the table. Narcissa knew better to have her thoughts like an open book. She was a Malfoy now, and all Malfoys knew Occlumency like the back of their hand.

After the tense moment of scrutiny was over, he dramatically took his seat at the head of the table.

"Severus?"

"My Lord."

The response was immediate, almost reflexive. Severus bowed his head in the direction of Voldemort, his black hair falling in front of his eyes. His facial expression remained completely unchanged and passive.

"Any news regarding the Order's placement of Potter?"

Only at the ending of his speaking did Severus raise his head completely. Voldemort leveled him with narrowed eyes.

"My Lord, the Order of the Phoenix has hidden Harry Potter in a stronghold."

The interest around the table sharpened palpably; some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.

His red eyes fastened upon Snape's black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort's face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into something like a smile.

"Good. Very good. And this information comes -"

"- from the source we discussed," said Snape.
"My Lord."

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape.

"My Lord, I have heard differently."

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on, "Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape was smiling.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been placed upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be susceptible."

Love For Blood: Blood LustWhere stories live. Discover now