"Supporting the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore, or Watson—none of it truly serves our interests in the long term. I believe the position most suited to us is to stand aside entirely and watch them tear each other apart like wolves fighting over a carcass."
The moment Voldemort began to speak in his high, cold voice, every murmur and whisper in the room ceased instantly.
The lenses of Adam Vogel's gold-rimmed glasses caught an arc of pale moonlight filtering through the windows.
He held his silence for a long, careful moment, weighing his next words then inclined his head toward Voldemort with the careful deference of someone navigating dangerous waters.
"Your counsel is most illuminating as always, my respected Dark Lord. However—might we also consider the possibility of relocating our base of operations to a more secure location?"
'Relocating their base of operations? Leaving Malfoy Manor?'
The Death Eaters' gazes snapped back immediately to Adam Vogel's face with the intensity of predators scenting blood.
Those probing eyes from all around the long table held a mixture of anger at the presumption, contempt for the suggestion, excited interest at the implications, and quiet contemplation in equal measure.
At the center of the long table, the Malfoys tightened their hands beneath the surface of the wood, concealing their clenched fists from view, and cast their eyes down so that no one present might glimpse the desperate hunger flickering in their expressions. They wanted their home back, wanted these invaders gone, but could never say so.
"Relocating—you mean leaving Malfoy Manor?" Voldemort asked. His narrow red eyes, slitted like a serpent's, widened slightly with what might have been surprise or amusement.
"How fascinating that you would think of that particular matter, Adam. Oh—but of course, I understand now. You must be referring to the fact that Lucius rescued you from Azkaban during our recent operation. After all, having so many of us crammed in here day and night has cost Lucius quite a substantial sum of galleons for food and provisions, hasn't it?"
"My Lord!"
Lucius immediately leapt from his chair with such force it scraped loudly against the marble floor, and hurried toward Voldemort's reclining seat with quick, desperate steps. His face was as pale and bloodless as moonlight, drained of all color.
"To serve you is the greatest honor of my life, the pinnacle of my existence. A trifling amount of galleons is nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to the incomparable privilege of your favor and presence."
"Calm yourself, my friend," Voldemort said dismissively. He let out a sharp, thin laugh.
"I was only making a small jest at your expense."
"I am deeply grateful that your loyal servants rescued Jasnah and myself from that hellhole of Azkaban, and my proposal has absolutely nothing to do with that rescue, my respected Dark Lord—" Adam said quickly.
He had no choice but to rise from his seat at the table and take his place beside Malfoy in a show of deference, standing rather than sitting.
"It is simply this: based on certain intelligence I have gathered, we must account for the very real possibility that Watson defeats Fudge completely in this political struggle. And, if I may speak plainly without causing offense—I do not believe Cornelius Fudge possesses the intelligence or the political skill to hold his own against both Watson and Dumbledore working together."
Adam met Voldemort's burning red eyes with a steady, earnest gaze that showed complete honesty.
"Should Fudge truly fall from power as seems increasingly likely, the most probable successor as Minister for Magic would be Amelia Bones. This woman is Watson's puppet. She would follow his orders without question or hesitation, and would intensify the campaign against us considerably with the full resources of the Ministry. That outcome is very much to our disadvantage."
"Contemptible scum! Useless coward!" Bellatrix shrieked as she sitting two chairs down from Malfoy, shot to her feet with a screech like a hunting bird, her wild face was contorted with fury and madness.
"You're terrified of Watson, aren't you—because he defeated you and sent you to Azkaban!"
Adam Vogel did not so much as flinch at the accusation, though a deep hatred flickered briefly in his eyes before he controlled his expression.
"Bella—" Voldemort spoke her name softly, but the single word was laced with ice.
"Do not be rude to our new friend."
Bellatrix shrank back at once like a beaten dog, her eyes were going wide—but then, moments later, her eyes blazed back toward Voldemort with frenzied devotion.
"My Lord! If you believe Watson is a problem that needs solving, I will go and eliminate him for you myself! Just give me the order!"
A cold, heavy silence fell over the Death Eaters at this statement.
"Your courage is to be admired, Bellatrix,"
Severus delivered the words in a tone utterly devoid of inflection or emotion, completely flat, which earned him a furious baring of teeth from Bellatrix like an animal showing dominance.
"A temporary withdrawal from Britain would offer us several significant strategic advantages, my respected Dark Lord,"
Adam pressed on, ignoring the interruption.
"Here in Britain, no matter what we do or how we proceed, Dumbledore and Watson will remain obstacles—they are utterly committed to resisting you to their last breath. The British Ministry, though presently hobbled by a weak and foolish Minister who serves our purposes, would become far more formidable and dangerous under new leadership. Most of its personnel survived the last war against you; they are experienced Aurors and not easily shaken or intimidated.
But if we were to move our base of operations elsewhere—to any other country in Europe or beyond—their magical government would be entirely unprepared to stop us. They would have no experience with your methods. We could expand our forces freely and without interference, recruiting new followers and building strength.
In the end, we could encircle Britain itself from all sides. Dumbledore and Watson would find themselves isolated and surrounded. They would have no choice but to kneel before you or be destroyed."
Adam's eloquent words ignited fresh debate among the gathered Death Eaters.
Some Death Eaters nodded at him with clear approval, seeing the merit. Others looked upon the proposal with open distaste and suspicion.
Severus's dark, lightless eyes drifted briefly to Adam Vogel—composed and shrewdly calculating as ever then slid away after only a moment, not wanting to draw attention.
'Bryan probably made a serious mistake in not executing this man when he had the chance. Sending him to Azkaban was a mercy he didn't deserve.'
The debate ran on for some time before gradually quieting under Voldemort's patient silence. The Death Eaters' eyes returned one by one to their master.
"A very interesting proposal, Adam. I nearly found myself persuaded by your logic,"
Voldemort spoke, and Adam's brow furrowed slightly as he prepared to argue his case further.
But Voldemort raised one pale hand in a silencing gesture, and the weight of it—and the twin scarlet eyes now fixed upon Adam with cold scrutiny that seemed to see into his very soul—silenced him completely and immediately.
"But have you overlooked something crucial, my dear friend?" Voldemort asked softly.
A smile, cold and crooked and utterly without warmth, curled at the corner of Voldemort's lipless mouth.
"Would this not cause foolish people throughout the wizarding world to think that we have withdrawn from Britain... because we are afraid of Dumbledore and Watson?"
The room, which had been held under some restraint and control, erupted instantly into chaos. Death Eaters shoved back violently from the long table and roared their denial and outrage.
Bellatrix was so moved by emotion she actually wept, tears were streaming down her haggard face.
"We are their nightmare! We are what they fear in the dark!"
Alecto Carrow climbed onto her chair and shrieked at the top of her lungs, her face was flushed with fervor.
Jasnah, cold-faced and silent throughout the entire meeting, watched the Death Eaters' passionate display and felt something she had not expected to feel: genuine astonishment bordering on disbelief.
'They are all completely mad. Every last one of them. Truly, utterly mad.'
"In any case!"
Voldemort observed his Death Eaters with evident satisfaction at their loyalty, raising his voice only slightly to cut through the noise.
"I have no intention of leaving Britain, Adam. However—"
He turned his burning gaze back to the silent Adam, who stood very still.
"You are not entirely wrong in your assessment. Amelia Bones will indeed be a serious problem if she becomes Minister."
A faint light returned to Adam's brown eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses.
"Find a way to eliminate Amelia Bones,"
Voldemort's voice dropped into something darker and more menacing, filled with death.
"This is the first task the Dark Lord assigns to you personally, Adam. Do not fail me."
Under the eyes of everyone present around the table, Adam slowly lowered himself to one knee on the cold marble floor in a gesture of absolute submission.
"It is an honor to serve you, my respected Dark Lord. And there is one more matter I wish to bring to your attention—" Adam said.
"Yes? Speak," Voldemort prompted.
"The prison of Erkstag in Northern Europe still holds many of our compatriots and allies, my respected Dark Lord. I believe they would prove to be your most steadfast and loyal supporters if liberated."
"Go, then, Adam. Make the arrangements,"
Voldemort said it lazily, waving one hand dismissively.
"The Death Eaters here will support your efforts. The Dark Lord, too, requires more followers."
Lucius, Adam, and Bellatrix returned to their seats at the table, the moment of drama was passing.
Voldemort rose smoothly from his reclining chair and drifted like a shadow toward the cold hearth.
The moonlight outside was now veiled behind the grey mist that clung to the grounds. Voldemort paced slowly before the empty fireplace, his body wrapped in shadow and darkness, only two points of burning crimson light moving through the gloom like the eyes of some hunting beast.
"I trust my faithful Death Eaters have not forgotten that the Dark Lord's defeat, fourteen years ago on that Halloween night, stemmed directly from a prophecy—one whose full contents remain unknown to us even now."
At the long table, Severus's expression shifted subtly. An emotion raged beneath his composure, vivid enough to unsettle him at this most critical of moments.
He caught himself with effort. And when he returned to full awareness of the present, he found those two red lights of Voldemort's eyes already facing him directly.
"Forgive me, my Lord," Severus said hoarsely.
He felt a cold shock run through his entire body like ice water in his veins.
He rose immediately from his seat, dropped to one knee on the marble floor, and spoke in a low, rough voice:
"If not for that prophecy—"
"Please, do not misunderstand me, my dear Severus—"
Voldemort's terrible voice drifted from the darkness where he stood.
"Though it led to fourteen long years of suffering for the Dark Lord, I must say: it was a crucial prophecy. I have you to thank for bringing it to my attention in the first place."
Severus allowed himself a quiet breath of relief.
In that brief moment of emotion, the emotion that had surged in him were interpreted by Voldemort as remorse—guilt over having delivered the prophecy that had ultimately led to his master's catastrophic fall.
"That prophecy resides in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry," Voldemort continued.
"Only I and Harry Potter may retrieve it. We cannot expect Dumbledore to be so generous as to share its full contents with me voluntarily."
The crimson light of his eyes stilled in the darkness. Its glow swept slowly across all the Death Eaters at the table, touching each face.
"I already have a plan. You will locate the prophecy for me and determine its precise whereabouts in the Department."
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