Chapter 11: - The Dark Lord’s Lair
A gloomy manor stood upon a black hillside. It looked as though it had never seen the sun. Stone gargoyles and serpents stood atop the high walls while large English oak trees, hundreds of years old, dotted the overgrown lawn. The decrepit gated entrance bore signs of “No Trespassing” to divert curious Muggles. It had been a stately château in its day. Now it served a dark and evil purpose.
A grubby little man in a brown robe approached a large chamber. He had a worried expression on his face, as though he was afraid to enter and face what dwelled within. He knocked hesitantly on the wooden door and waited.
An icy voice was heard answering, “You may enter.”
He turned the knob and quietly entered the chamber. Another man sat with his back facing the door. Several drippy candles flickered on the table next to his chair, casting large shadows against the wall. “Master, I must speak with you about something,” said the man standing near the entrance.
“What is it, Wormtail? You know that I am very busy.” Lord Voldemort rose from the chair and stared across the room into the face of his servant.
“Yes, Master. I know you must attend to your plans, but I have stumbled across something that…that might need to be addressed.” Wormtail began to choose his words carefully. He had fallen victim to many of the Dark Lord’s punishments and preferred to avoid doing so again.
Voldemort sighed and conjured a glass of sherry. With a slight wave of his hand he turned the chair he had been sitting in to face them both. He sat down once again, sipped his sherry and spoke. “Continue. What is it that requires my attention?”
Wormtail took a breath, visibly scared to divulge what it was that he knew. “W-well Master…you remember telling me to monitor the dream network from time to time…now that the others have escaped Azkaban?
“I do.” Voldemort suddenly seemed curious.
“Everything has been relatively innocent so far. Narcissa speaks with Lucius on occasion; nothing out of the ordinary. Just moments ago I thought it best to check again before I turned in for the night. I’m concerned about whom it was that I saw…”
“Yes? And who was it that you saw?” Voldemort looked as though his anger began to rise.
“Young…young Mr. Malfoy, sir.” Wormtail’s hand shook ever so slightly.
Voldemort continued to sip his sherry. “Draco, was it?” His anger subsided and he appeared as though there was nothing to worry about.
“Yes, but Master he was with someone. A young lady.”
Voldemort had a rather sly grin on his face. “Wormtail, I’m surprised at you. Draco is now seventeen. He’s been practicing the Dark Arts since he was very young. I see nothing wrong with him using this method of travel to spend time with another young Slytherin.”
“Yes, sir.” Wormtail stared at his feet and sweat began to roll down his forehead. “Sir…it’s just that…. Well, the young miss isn’t from Slytherin.” Voldemort’s snakelike eyes narrowed all the more and Wormtail continued. “She is the daughter of a member of the Order. She is a Gryffindor, sir.”
Voldemort’s sherry glass fell to the stone floor and shattered. His movements were swift as he stood and grabbed Wormtail’s throat as though the fault were his own. “What did you say?” His eyes gleamed red. “The daughter of someone in the Order?”
“Master, perhaps he has a motive…?” Wormtail tried to save his own skin though he knew from the looks of things that Draco had no motive at all. He seemed quite in love with the girl.
Voldemort released his grasp on Wormtail’s throat and crossed the room. A large black cauldron stood in the corner. It was filled to the brim with a silvery white substance. Many small flasks stood upon a high shelf. “Accio Barmillow!” One of the flasks shot from the shelf and into Voldemort’s open hand. He dropped four drops into the cauldron and with a wave of his hand the substance began to take on a plum color. An image began to appear on the surface. He looked displeased as he waved his hand again…and again. Finally he seemed satisfied with the image he saw; as though he had found the right one.
The cauldron bubbled. Steam rose from the edges as Voldemort gazed at the picture unfolding before him. It was a beautiful night and Draco Malfoy lay in the grass holding a young girl with ginger-red hair. She appeared to be crying softly as her head lay against his chest; Draco’s arm cradling her as he tried to comfort her. He bent slowly toward her face and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Every once of the boy seemed to pour into her. Voldemort gave an angry wave of his hand. He’d seen enough. Voldemort knew there was no motive to Draco’s association with her and that he loved her.
Anger seeped from every pore in his snakelike face as he called to his servant. “Wormtail! Come here!”
Wormtail scampered forward eagerly. He looked like a dog that had upset its master and was hurrying to make amends. “Yes, my Lord?”
“Are you certain that this girl belongs to someone in the Order?” He knew Voldemort was searching the inner workings of his mind. He didn’t like being lied to.
“Yes. Yes, I’m certain. She is the youngest of Arthur Weasley’s children and the only girl. Her brother nearest in age is Harry Potter’s best--”
“Wait!” Voldemort interrupted his servant. His brain was working hard as he gazed at the image once more. Voldemort’s eyes lit up as if realizing something for the first time. “Weasley…of course! My, but Ginny has grown into a young woman. Yet, I’m sure she remembers the turmoil that my younger self inflicted upon her in her first year at school.”
Wormtail watched his master’s expression carefully. The red flickered within Voldemort’s eyes and he had a look of malevolence across his face. He wondered if he’d made a grave mistake by giving the Dark Lord this news.
“Perhaps I underestimate you, Wormtail. Obviously, this was news that needed to be brought to my attention. Our young Mr. Malfoy, a traitor? Ahh…we shall see about that. Yes indeed, we shall see.”
A gloomy manor stood upon a black hillside. It looked as though it had never seen the sun. Stone gargoyles and serpents stood atop the high walls while large English oak trees, hundreds of years old, dotted the overgrown lawn. The decrepit gated entrance bore signs of “No Trespassing” to divert curious Muggles. It had been a stately château in its day. Now it served a dark and evil purpose.
A grubby little man in a brown robe approached a large chamber. He had a worried expression on his face, as though he was afraid to enter and face what dwelled within. He knocked hesitantly on the wooden door and waited.
An icy voice was heard answering, “You may enter.”
He turned the knob and quietly entered the chamber. Another man sat with his back facing the door. Several drippy candles flickered on the table next to his chair, casting large shadows against the wall. “Master, I must speak with you about something,” said the man standing near the entrance.
“What is it, Wormtail? You know that I am very busy.” Lord Voldemort rose from the chair and stared across the room into the face of his servant.
“Yes, Master. I know you must attend to your plans, but I have stumbled across something that…that might need to be addressed.” Wormtail began to choose his words carefully. He had fallen victim to many of the Dark Lord’s punishments and preferred to avoid doing so again.
Voldemort sighed and conjured a glass of sherry. With a slight wave of his hand he turned the chair he had been sitting in to face them both. He sat down once again, sipped his sherry and spoke. “Continue. What is it that requires my attention?”
Wormtail took a breath, visibly scared to divulge what it was that he knew. “W-well Master…you remember telling me to monitor the dream network from time to time…now that the others have escaped Azkaban?
“I do.” Voldemort suddenly seemed curious.
“Everything has been relatively innocent so far. Narcissa speaks with Lucius on occasion; nothing out of the ordinary. Just moments ago I thought it best to check again before I turned in for the night. I’m concerned about whom it was that I saw…”
“Yes? And who was it that you saw?” Voldemort looked as though his anger began to rise.
“Young…young Mr. Malfoy, sir.” Wormtail’s hand shook ever so slightly.
Voldemort continued to sip his sherry. “Draco, was it?” His anger subsided and he appeared as though there was nothing to worry about.
“Yes, but Master he was with someone. A young lady.”
Voldemort had a rather sly grin on his face. “Wormtail, I’m surprised at you. Draco is now seventeen. He’s been practicing the Dark Arts since he was very young. I see nothing wrong with him using this method of travel to spend time with another young Slytherin.”
“Yes, sir.” Wormtail stared at his feet and sweat began to roll down his forehead. “Sir…it’s just that…. Well, the young miss isn’t from Slytherin.” Voldemort’s snakelike eyes narrowed all the more and Wormtail continued. “She is the daughter of a member of the Order. She is a Gryffindor, sir.”
Voldemort’s sherry glass fell to the stone floor and shattered. His movements were swift as he stood and grabbed Wormtail’s throat as though the fault were his own. “What did you say?” His eyes gleamed red. “The daughter of someone in the Order?”
“Master, perhaps he has a motive…?” Wormtail tried to save his own skin though he knew from the looks of things that Draco had no motive at all. He seemed quite in love with the girl.
Voldemort released his grasp on Wormtail’s throat and crossed the room. A large black cauldron stood in the corner. It was filled to the brim with a silvery white substance. Many small flasks stood upon a high shelf. “Accio Barmillow!” One of the flasks shot from the shelf and into Voldemort’s open hand. He dropped four drops into the cauldron and with a wave of his hand the substance began to take on a plum color. An image began to appear on the surface. He looked displeased as he waved his hand again…and again. Finally he seemed satisfied with the image he saw; as though he had found the right one.
The cauldron bubbled. Steam rose from the edges as Voldemort gazed at the picture unfolding before him. It was a beautiful night and Draco Malfoy lay in the grass holding a young girl with ginger-red hair. She appeared to be crying softly as her head lay against his chest; Draco’s arm cradling her as he tried to comfort her. He bent slowly toward her face and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Every once of the boy seemed to pour into her. Voldemort gave an angry wave of his hand. He’d seen enough. Voldemort knew there was no motive to Draco’s association with her and that he loved her.
Anger seeped from every pore in his snakelike face as he called to his servant. “Wormtail! Come here!”
Wormtail scampered forward eagerly. He looked like a dog that had upset its master and was hurrying to make amends. “Yes, my Lord?”
“Are you certain that this girl belongs to someone in the Order?” He knew Voldemort was searching the inner workings of his mind. He didn’t like being lied to.
“Yes. Yes, I’m certain. She is the youngest of Arthur Weasley’s children and the only girl. Her brother nearest in age is Harry Potter’s best--”
“Wait!” Voldemort interrupted his servant. His brain was working hard as he gazed at the image once more. Voldemort’s eyes lit up as if realizing something for the first time. “Weasley…of course! My, but Ginny has grown into a young woman. Yet, I’m sure she remembers the turmoil that my younger self inflicted upon her in her first year at school.”
Wormtail watched his master’s expression carefully. The red flickered within Voldemort’s eyes and he had a look of malevolence across his face. He wondered if he’d made a grave mistake by giving the Dark Lord this news.
“Perhaps I underestimate you, Wormtail. Obviously, this was news that needed to be brought to my attention. Our young Mr. Malfoy, a traitor? Ahh…we shall see about that. Yes indeed, we shall see.”
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