(no subject)
Who: Salazar, Voldemort and the Death Eaters
What: A meeting to discuss the release of the virus
Where: Headquarters
When: Last night, midnight
Rating: PG-13
One by one, the Death Eater filed into the conference room and took their seats at the table. Bellatrix near one end, close to Voldemort would soon be sitting with Wormtail opposite her. Rodolphus sat next to his wife, with his brother on his otherside. Rookwood sat next to Wormtail, and Dolohov was sitting not too far from him. The table was very large, and slowly, as the remained Death Eaters filed in, each space was was filled, except for the chair on the opposite end, which belonged to Salazar, who had yet to arrive.
Once they were all seated, and quiet, a deep silence seemed to fall upon the room, imposed rather than natural, heavy and dark. A black shadow descended rapidly from the ceiling, trailing sediment and fragmented soul, to swell in the chair of the leader. Quickly, almost too quickly, it took the shape of a man, and Lord Voldemort materialized there, leaning back with a languourous air in his chair, though his eyes were sharp as they went around the table, delving briefly into the mind of each man--and woman, in the case of Alecto Carrow and Bellatrix Lestrange--seated there, before resting on the
empty chair opposite him.
"Where," he said, his tone soft and barely more than a whisper, "is Slytherin?"
An even heavier silence fell upon the room when he asked this, and it seemed that only Bellatrix dared to answer.
"He's on his way, my Lord," she said in a voice she would only use when speaking to a most cherished lover.
Rodolphus glanced sidelong at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and Voldemort inclined his head briefly. "How long?" he asked.
"I expect only another minute or so," Bellatrix said, leaning into him, wanting to reach out and grab his hand, as if to tell him not to worry.
Voldemort glanced down her with the signs of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips, a derisive, almost patronizing expression taking hold of his face. "Good."
Less than a minute later, Salazar walked into the room almost lazily, with Jor slithering on the floor at his heels. He took his usual seat, and Jor slithered up the chair to come to rest on Salazar's shoulders. Jor flared his neck, as he usually did when they were all gathered together, to show everyone that his master reigned supreme.
Voldemort's lips twisted into something like a cross between a smile and a grimace. "Slytherin. How kind of you to join us." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was in Parseltongue, for Salazar's ears only. "I'm sorry. Lord Slytherin."
Salazar arched an eyebrow and inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Where is Nagini?" Jor asked Voldemort.
"Guarding the virus, of course," Voldemort responded shortly, before lifting his gaze to the others, and returning to speaking in English. "As you all are aware," he said slowly, each word enunciated carefully, a subtle warning, "the virus is ready to be distributed, thanks to Professor Ravenclaw."
"She was so much fun to play with," Bellatrix mused almost dreamily. "I miss her."
Salazar quickly put up the barriers in his mind, to keep the sudden and extreme anger he felt by Bellatrix's statement well-hidden from Voldemort. Outwardly, he showed no signs of a change in emotion.
"I'm sure you do, Bella," Voldemort said disinterestedly, his cool gaze returning to Salazar once more. "But she has served her purpose. From what I read in the papers, Slytherin, there is a congratulations
in order."
"I was under the impression that we are gathered here to discuss matters of our cause," Salazar said. "Not my personal life."
"Your personal life might be relevant, if this child is indeed your own," Voldemort said in languorous tones.
"How so, Voldemort?" Salazar looked across the table at him with an expression of mock curiosity.
"He could prove useful. Or...entirely...worthless." The last word was almost a hiss, and Voldemort smirked.
"Oh don't hurt my baby!" Bellatrix exclaimed in an intentionally poor imitation of Rowena's voice. "He will be ever so smart!"
There was a ripple of partially concealed laughter around the table.
"We've discussed this before, Tom," Salazar said, his voice icily quiet. "Don't you remember?"
Voldemort's expression was unreadable, but there was certainly something of danger in his voice as he spoke. "Perhaps," he responded coolly. "But that is a discussion for a later time." He turned his
gaze toward Bellatrix, motioning for her to be silent.
"The virus will be released tomorrow."
Yet another ripple passed around the table, but this time it was louder. A few of the Death Eaters smiled, a few cheered quietly and Bellatrix cackled madly, and then quickly hushed her when she remembered Voldemort's order to stay silent.
Voldemort allowed himself a moment to bask in the approval of his followers before moving on to his next words. "We must begin slowly. Three simultaneous isolated releases, at three very opposite ends of Britain. Four hours later, six simultaneous releases. Then twelve, then twenty-four, and so on...until the whole nation is infected."
Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Salazar interrupted him. "Have you given any thought to the Purebloods? Or have you decided that the only ones who have a right to live are the ones currently in this room?"
A smirk curled around Voldemort's lips. "That is the beauty of the virus that your personal whore has created. The quality of the blood itself in those of pure heritage gives them full immunity."
"Genius," Salazar murmured honestly. Despite the fact that Salazar was only here as a spy, he still felt strongly for their cause. After all, Rowena, Ronan and himself would all be safe from it. He hardly cared if a few thousand Mudbloods met disturbing ends...
"Yes, well, I suppose she rather is. You know," Voldemort said, "she came up with that idea on her own. I had been thinking I would make her create an antidote afterward. But no...no, she fought for our cause as surely as if she had sworn herself to be my follower. For that, you should thank her." A twisted smile crossed his lips once more.
For a brief moment, Salazar had a fleeting thought of converting Rowena, and it disappeared just as fast as it came. He knew her too well to ever think she would take part in this.
"Dolohov. Rookwood. Lestrange." He pointed to Rabastan. "You three will take the three. Then the Carrows, the other two Lestranges, Malfoy, and Macnair for the six."
"With pleasure, my Lord," Bellatrix said with a twisted smirk.
"We will move in concentric circles," Voldemort went on, ignoring Bellatrix. "Beginning at the outer edges of Britain, near the coast. Then further in, moving at increments, though the northern vicinity
will draw closer at a slower rate than the southern. The intent is to bring the viruses closer and closer to the location of Hogwarts, until it is completely surrounded. By that time, the virus will have long
eradicated the Ministry, and we can proceed to use blackmail and fear tactics to manipulate the other three Founders."
"If I may make a suggestion," Salazar cut in. "Simply kill Godric instead of trying to manipulate him. Hell... I'll do it." He smirked.
"It is better to have him working for us than to simply take him out of the picture altogether."
"Godric Gryffindor. The forever hero to the weak and unworthy. Do you honestly he will work for us?"
"If he won't, he will be made to. Just like Ravenclaw."
"If that is what you want..." Salazar conjured a vial and extracted a memory with the tip of his wand. He placed the memory inside the vial, sealed it, and put it in Jor's mouth. Jor slithered off of Salazar's shoulders and across the table to Voldemort. "Perhaps you would like to see what you're dealing with."
Voldemort extended a pale, long-fingered hand toward the snake, palm open, ready to receive the vial.
Jor placed his head in Voldemort's hand, opened his mouth, and pushed the vial out with his tongue.
Voldemort slipped the bottle into his pocket and lifted his gaze once more. "That is all," he said in soft tones, dismissing the Death Eaters. In Parseltongue, he made an addition--"Lord Slytherin.
Stay behind."
As the Death Eaters filed out, Jor slithered back to his master, taking his place around Salazar's shoulders. Salazar remained seated, watching them all leave with a vague, detatched interest.
"Slytherin," Voldemort said, keeping to Parseltongue for purposes of simplicity. "I daresay you have noticed my method of communicating with the others via a brand on the left forearm. I am of the opinion that it would be beneficial for you to receive the same."
"Beneficial so I will come when called like a common dog, or beneficial to show the others your 'superiority' over me? Or perhaps both?"
"Beneficial as a mode of communication, of course," Voldemort said smoothly. "Are you afraid of the pain?"
"I assure you, Voldemort," Salazar said, standing and slowly walking around the table to him. "I've experienced worse."
Voldemort's smile was wide. "Then extend your left arm."
"First..." Salazar lifted Jor from his shoulders and placed him on the table. "I want to hear you say that you understand that this is for communication purposes only, and that I am in no way submitting to you."
"Of course," Voldemort said in low tones. "I understand completely...."
"And that if and when you do call me," he said, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeve his shirt, "I will come in my own time."
"I would be careful about that if I were you," Voldemort said slowly. "For I do not always call for meetings. Sometimes, there is a battle."
"Then rest assured that I will arrive just in time to save the day." Salazar held his left arm out to Voldemort, the chain scar on his wrist gleaming in the light from the nearest torch.
Voldemort's cold gaze turned down to the arm extended before him, and he reached out, spidery pale fingers curling around Salazar's wrist, and the nail of his right forefinger pressing fully into Salazar's
forearm, at least half an inch deep. Slowly, he dragged the nail down the length of Salazar's ulnar artery.
The pain was excruciating, and it felt as if everyone of Salazar's nerves were about to explode, but he showed no outward signs of discomfort other than clenching his jaw. He was too used to pain to truly let it get to him.
A smile curled around Voldemort's lips, sadistic and amused. He withdrew his hand and the mark on Salazar's arm began to turn black, the blood seeming to boil and spill over, spreading widely, taking a
familiar shape. It seared as would a red-hot coal into Salazar's flesh, branding him with the Dark Mark, causing his skin to turn vivid red around it, already bleeding on its own, blistering, pussing.
Salazar looked down at the mark with distate in his eyes. "Charming," he said sarcastically.
"It will heal soon enough," Voldemort said indifferently, leaning back in his chair once more. "You may leave."
Salazar rolled his eyes, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the room, with Jor at his heels. He decided that he would immediately Apparte back to the castle to have Rowena Heal his Mark faster.
What: A meeting to discuss the release of the virus
Where: Headquarters
When: Last night, midnight
Rating: PG-13
One by one, the Death Eater filed into the conference room and took their seats at the table. Bellatrix near one end, close to Voldemort would soon be sitting with Wormtail opposite her. Rodolphus sat next to his wife, with his brother on his otherside. Rookwood sat next to Wormtail, and Dolohov was sitting not too far from him. The table was very large, and slowly, as the remained Death Eaters filed in, each space was was filled, except for the chair on the opposite end, which belonged to Salazar, who had yet to arrive.
Once they were all seated, and quiet, a deep silence seemed to fall upon the room, imposed rather than natural, heavy and dark. A black shadow descended rapidly from the ceiling, trailing sediment and fragmented soul, to swell in the chair of the leader. Quickly, almost too quickly, it took the shape of a man, and Lord Voldemort materialized there, leaning back with a languourous air in his chair, though his eyes were sharp as they went around the table, delving briefly into the mind of each man--and woman, in the case of Alecto Carrow and Bellatrix Lestrange--seated there, before resting on the
empty chair opposite him.
"Where," he said, his tone soft and barely more than a whisper, "is Slytherin?"
An even heavier silence fell upon the room when he asked this, and it seemed that only Bellatrix dared to answer.
"He's on his way, my Lord," she said in a voice she would only use when speaking to a most cherished lover.
Rodolphus glanced sidelong at her with an unreadable expression on his face, and Voldemort inclined his head briefly. "How long?" he asked.
"I expect only another minute or so," Bellatrix said, leaning into him, wanting to reach out and grab his hand, as if to tell him not to worry.
Voldemort glanced down her with the signs of amusement pulling at the corners of his lips, a derisive, almost patronizing expression taking hold of his face. "Good."
Less than a minute later, Salazar walked into the room almost lazily, with Jor slithering on the floor at his heels. He took his usual seat, and Jor slithered up the chair to come to rest on Salazar's shoulders. Jor flared his neck, as he usually did when they were all gathered together, to show everyone that his master reigned supreme.
Voldemort's lips twisted into something like a cross between a smile and a grimace. "Slytherin. How kind of you to join us." He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and when he spoke again, it was in Parseltongue, for Salazar's ears only. "I'm sorry. Lord Slytherin."
Salazar arched an eyebrow and inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Where is Nagini?" Jor asked Voldemort.
"Guarding the virus, of course," Voldemort responded shortly, before lifting his gaze to the others, and returning to speaking in English. "As you all are aware," he said slowly, each word enunciated carefully, a subtle warning, "the virus is ready to be distributed, thanks to Professor Ravenclaw."
"She was so much fun to play with," Bellatrix mused almost dreamily. "I miss her."
Salazar quickly put up the barriers in his mind, to keep the sudden and extreme anger he felt by Bellatrix's statement well-hidden from Voldemort. Outwardly, he showed no signs of a change in emotion.
"I'm sure you do, Bella," Voldemort said disinterestedly, his cool gaze returning to Salazar once more. "But she has served her purpose. From what I read in the papers, Slytherin, there is a congratulations
in order."
"I was under the impression that we are gathered here to discuss matters of our cause," Salazar said. "Not my personal life."
"Your personal life might be relevant, if this child is indeed your own," Voldemort said in languorous tones.
"How so, Voldemort?" Salazar looked across the table at him with an expression of mock curiosity.
"He could prove useful. Or...entirely...worthless." The last word was almost a hiss, and Voldemort smirked.
"Oh don't hurt my baby!" Bellatrix exclaimed in an intentionally poor imitation of Rowena's voice. "He will be ever so smart!"
There was a ripple of partially concealed laughter around the table.
"We've discussed this before, Tom," Salazar said, his voice icily quiet. "Don't you remember?"
Voldemort's expression was unreadable, but there was certainly something of danger in his voice as he spoke. "Perhaps," he responded coolly. "But that is a discussion for a later time." He turned his
gaze toward Bellatrix, motioning for her to be silent.
"The virus will be released tomorrow."
Yet another ripple passed around the table, but this time it was louder. A few of the Death Eaters smiled, a few cheered quietly and Bellatrix cackled madly, and then quickly hushed her when she remembered Voldemort's order to stay silent.
Voldemort allowed himself a moment to bask in the approval of his followers before moving on to his next words. "We must begin slowly. Three simultaneous isolated releases, at three very opposite ends of Britain. Four hours later, six simultaneous releases. Then twelve, then twenty-four, and so on...until the whole nation is infected."
Lucius opened his mouth to speak, but Salazar interrupted him. "Have you given any thought to the Purebloods? Or have you decided that the only ones who have a right to live are the ones currently in this room?"
A smirk curled around Voldemort's lips. "That is the beauty of the virus that your personal whore has created. The quality of the blood itself in those of pure heritage gives them full immunity."
"Genius," Salazar murmured honestly. Despite the fact that Salazar was only here as a spy, he still felt strongly for their cause. After all, Rowena, Ronan and himself would all be safe from it. He hardly cared if a few thousand Mudbloods met disturbing ends...
"Yes, well, I suppose she rather is. You know," Voldemort said, "she came up with that idea on her own. I had been thinking I would make her create an antidote afterward. But no...no, she fought for our cause as surely as if she had sworn herself to be my follower. For that, you should thank her." A twisted smile crossed his lips once more.
For a brief moment, Salazar had a fleeting thought of converting Rowena, and it disappeared just as fast as it came. He knew her too well to ever think she would take part in this.
"Dolohov. Rookwood. Lestrange." He pointed to Rabastan. "You three will take the three. Then the Carrows, the other two Lestranges, Malfoy, and Macnair for the six."
"With pleasure, my Lord," Bellatrix said with a twisted smirk.
"We will move in concentric circles," Voldemort went on, ignoring Bellatrix. "Beginning at the outer edges of Britain, near the coast. Then further in, moving at increments, though the northern vicinity
will draw closer at a slower rate than the southern. The intent is to bring the viruses closer and closer to the location of Hogwarts, until it is completely surrounded. By that time, the virus will have long
eradicated the Ministry, and we can proceed to use blackmail and fear tactics to manipulate the other three Founders."
"If I may make a suggestion," Salazar cut in. "Simply kill Godric instead of trying to manipulate him. Hell... I'll do it." He smirked.
"It is better to have him working for us than to simply take him out of the picture altogether."
"Godric Gryffindor. The forever hero to the weak and unworthy. Do you honestly he will work for us?"
"If he won't, he will be made to. Just like Ravenclaw."
"If that is what you want..." Salazar conjured a vial and extracted a memory with the tip of his wand. He placed the memory inside the vial, sealed it, and put it in Jor's mouth. Jor slithered off of Salazar's shoulders and across the table to Voldemort. "Perhaps you would like to see what you're dealing with."
Voldemort extended a pale, long-fingered hand toward the snake, palm open, ready to receive the vial.
Jor placed his head in Voldemort's hand, opened his mouth, and pushed the vial out with his tongue.
Voldemort slipped the bottle into his pocket and lifted his gaze once more. "That is all," he said in soft tones, dismissing the Death Eaters. In Parseltongue, he made an addition--"Lord Slytherin.
Stay behind."
As the Death Eaters filed out, Jor slithered back to his master, taking his place around Salazar's shoulders. Salazar remained seated, watching them all leave with a vague, detatched interest.
"Slytherin," Voldemort said, keeping to Parseltongue for purposes of simplicity. "I daresay you have noticed my method of communicating with the others via a brand on the left forearm. I am of the opinion that it would be beneficial for you to receive the same."
"Beneficial so I will come when called like a common dog, or beneficial to show the others your 'superiority' over me? Or perhaps both?"
"Beneficial as a mode of communication, of course," Voldemort said smoothly. "Are you afraid of the pain?"
"I assure you, Voldemort," Salazar said, standing and slowly walking around the table to him. "I've experienced worse."
Voldemort's smile was wide. "Then extend your left arm."
"First..." Salazar lifted Jor from his shoulders and placed him on the table. "I want to hear you say that you understand that this is for communication purposes only, and that I am in no way submitting to you."
"Of course," Voldemort said in low tones. "I understand completely...."
"And that if and when you do call me," he said, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeve his shirt, "I will come in my own time."
"I would be careful about that if I were you," Voldemort said slowly. "For I do not always call for meetings. Sometimes, there is a battle."
"Then rest assured that I will arrive just in time to save the day." Salazar held his left arm out to Voldemort, the chain scar on his wrist gleaming in the light from the nearest torch.
Voldemort's cold gaze turned down to the arm extended before him, and he reached out, spidery pale fingers curling around Salazar's wrist, and the nail of his right forefinger pressing fully into Salazar's
forearm, at least half an inch deep. Slowly, he dragged the nail down the length of Salazar's ulnar artery.
The pain was excruciating, and it felt as if everyone of Salazar's nerves were about to explode, but he showed no outward signs of discomfort other than clenching his jaw. He was too used to pain to truly let it get to him.
A smile curled around Voldemort's lips, sadistic and amused. He withdrew his hand and the mark on Salazar's arm began to turn black, the blood seeming to boil and spill over, spreading widely, taking a
familiar shape. It seared as would a red-hot coal into Salazar's flesh, branding him with the Dark Mark, causing his skin to turn vivid red around it, already bleeding on its own, blistering, pussing.
Salazar looked down at the mark with distate in his eyes. "Charming," he said sarcastically.
"It will heal soon enough," Voldemort said indifferently, leaning back in his chair once more. "You may leave."
Salazar rolled his eyes, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the room, with Jor at his heels. He decided that he would immediately Apparte back to the castle to have Rowena Heal his Mark faster.