The Contract

Chapter 27

Contrary to popular belief, or what would be popular belief, the Dark Lord Voldemort did not spend every waken moment with thoughts of murder and death in mind or desiring it, planning it. No, he was however, readjusting to living, after having spent over a decade in debilitating agony that he couldn't describe to anyone and have them fully understand it unless they too had undergone the exact same thing. Quite often much to his consternation, he found himself just staring at his hands, overwhelmed with the fact he had them again, had magic he could use at his full disposal and his mind free of insanity. Even just being able to hold a wand was the most liberating feeling in the world. It was...easy to lose oneself to ruminating.

The stone's properties had given him clarity that he had lost somewhere along the way. It wasn't the only use of it, of course, he had made himself quite a treasure trove of gold, and had sold a great deal of it, allowing him an abundance of funds to ensure his safety and security.

Right now he was living in a cottage that abuts the estate he had bought, the old mansion had already been bulldozed and destroyed. This place would do while his property was built just as he desired it. 'Property' might be going a bit far, he had just signed off on the build finding it quite satisfactory. The architect was very renowned in pureblood circles and had been recommended to him. He was aware it would take at least a year and a half before he could probably move in, especially with the warding hubs he desired in his home, which would need to be done with the foundations. Those warding hubs would take at least a month to settle, before they could get to work. Then once the construction was complete, he would most definitely be contracting a warder to add to the finishing touches. Nothing but the best for his home, it was under his new name, something that didn't much bother him at all, after all, he had stopped using the name Tom Riddle decades upon decades ago. Finding it much too common for his tastes, primarily to those who know him he would always be the Great and powerful Lord Voldemort.

A screeching sounded, forewarned Voldemort that he was about to have company. Flicking his wand with great delight - nothing showed of course he was naturally fully composed - he knew immediately who it was from opening the window granting the bird entrance. "Loki," Voldemort murmured, his lips twitching a little as the Hawk swooped in still screeching as it's claws grasped a hold of the chair and stilled, Corvus' latest bird of prey of choice. It was magnificent and elegant, Hawks had been Corvus' pet of choice since leaving Hogwarts, he had owls, yes, but they were very rarely used, only if the Hawk was busy. "Now what could Corvus have to tell me so soon?" he pondered for a second before swiftly but gently removing the missive from the bird. Well aware, if mistreated, the bird could easily use that beak to pluck out his eyes and do considerable damage. He admired them really, they were not judged for following their instincts, not like humanity was. His fingers sought out Loki and he petted him for a brief moment.

Snapping open the wax seal, Voldemort read the very short and curt missive. Annoyance flared within him at the audacity of Corvus' demand for a meeting immediately. This was probably written not even half an hour ago, Loki was fast and he was at least twenty minutes as the Hawk flies from Lestrange manor, at a walking pace three to four hours and Apparation pace mere seconds. His anger and irritation paused as he realized something, his lips pursing, Corvus wouldn't have been this demanding unless he was emotional, tired and vexed perhaps even bordering on anger.

"Go back to your Master," Voldemort said, his tone contemplative, and with that Loki took off, swooping out the window and gaining momentum as he flew, much too soon he was nothing but a blip on the landscape. Did he leave it until tomorrow in an effort to show Corvus his place? Would his curiosity hold? He was genuinely interested in what he could possibly have to say. Corvus had always been more of a servant to him, and he was really the only one of his original Knights left...he deserved better for the loyalty he'd shown him all these years, as did the other Lestrange's.