Wolves Without Teeth ── theodore nott ¹ ( UNDER EDITING )

chapter sixteen

         𝖂ith every suck of air she took between her lips and nostrils, her body ached to feel anything emotion besides the dullness in her chest. Her bones sagged with a sharp bitterness, a freezing cold sensation that caused her bones to clack and shiver inside her body. There was a feeling of never returning when standing in the presence of one who felt so tiny, of one who felt nothing.

     At the time, she wished she paid more attention to Harry when he spoke of him. It was both a sense of ignorance and pity that she hadn't originally, she didn't think a day would come when she would see him face to face, and she also didn't wish to put Harry through the memory of seeing him again.

       It was intoxicating, being in the same room as a killer. She couldn't even call him a person; he didn't qualify as one in her mind, even if he did look like a man. His eyes were crimson, like trickles of blood smeared upon floors and bodies. No slight of humanity dripping in them, only insanity and thirst for power. He was deathly pale, almost translucent against the black robe he wore. His face was sunken in, pointy in a way that didn't allow him to have a nose. Only two tiny slits where she suspected a nose should be, and his lips disappeared and were nonexistent. Crooked, yellow teeth bared sharply every time he spoke and smiled. She was horrified that his tongue had been split into two, like a snake in all its rights.

       He was anything but human, and her skin crawled anytime his eyes flickered at her.

        He had arrived with only two others. One was a hunched-over man who was terrible with white hair flying in strings. He snickered and winced, tiny hands coming up to his face occasionally; she had noticed that one of his pinkies was gone. One hand was made of metal, silver against his sickly pale skin, buck teeth sticking out from behind his lips. She didn't choose to look at this man long; she felt her lip curl every time he flinched like a coward.

       The last, well, it was hardly human. It slithered around the floor, for it was a snake. Much like its owner, it held an atmosphere of darkness. It had snaked itself around her chair at one point, causing her body to stiffen like a rock as its tongue stuck out against her ankle. It tasted her as if it sensed how she differed from the rest. She suspected it was eyeing her like it was its next meal; that thought made her heart pound again.

        They sat for an hour at the long table, her body tense with every word, whisper, and movement someone made in the light as they ate. Her appetite was non-existent, but she stuffed food down her throat and into her stomach anyway, too afraid to do much else.

         Until finally, the other shoe dropped.

          "Young Mr.Flint, I hear you're interested in my plans," Voldermort's voice was as cold as ice, swirling around them and demanding attention. Winnie's eyes were glued to her plate, watching from the corner of her eye as Marcus froze in his seat.

        "I am, Dark Lord," Winnie wondered what he was doing, how he could look him in the eye and agree. "Yes," he answered, clearing his throat as he dabbed at his mouth, shoulders straightening as he sat up straighter. The pendant on her chest weighed her down; she had a choice; she knew she would have to use it soon. But then she remembered they had no choice but this or death.

         "Your father said you were a smart boy, come boy," Voldemort drawled his chair, pushing back as he stood. Winnie tore her eyes away from her plate and then looked at her cousin, who was staring with his hands clenched in his seat. She eyed him, knowing this would be the end. For a moment, she wished to throw the portkey at him, hoping he to disappear and herself to deal with the outcome.