the snake, the soul and the lovers

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black

Voldemort entered the somber ballroom - it was the middle of the night, the party had stopped being festive when he drank the stupid poison, and everyone was tired and looked scared. Good, they should be . He had his clothes on, but left the vest open, so everyone could see his chest and the runic circle still carved into him. It would heal, as all Dark Ritual Magic did, but it was a nice touch to show his followers. A tiny taste of his powers, even if in this case it was all Harry's. Robe swishing behind him like a cloak, Voldemort marched straight to the center of the room, climbing the steps of the small dais still covered in his blood. When he stood, facing his men, he found them confused.

Why... and then it hit him. No one had ever seen him with this face. Even during the wizarding war, Voldemort used a glamour or a mask to hide his beauty - and only a select few knew him like this. So he showed the yew wand, and swishing it, he made the Dark Marks burn.

"Kneel, for I am your Lord." he said, and at once the room kneeled. Many were still confused, but others whispered: "He's the Dark Lord." and no one complained. Voldemort cleared his voice, looking down at the sea of robes and heads, looking down to the people that called themselves his friends . Always ready to do what he wanted, always ready to kill and betray in his name. They were kattle, waiting for the hand to feed them, desperately showing off so as to grab more favour for themselves and climb the social hierarchy of the Death Eaters. He trusted absolutely no one.

Mentally he excluded Lucius, not because the man was above poison, but because he went always over and beyond to please him, and especially with Harry he demonstrated to be trustworthy. Maybe Nott Senior, seeing as the man always seemed proud to be part of the Inner Circle, and most than anyone else loved to kill and torture. Still, everyone could be an enemy under the right circusmtances.

"My dear friends ," he started then, voice calm and soft, always well-spoken, "Tonight someone decided to try his hand at me. Someone poisoned me, ignoring that I am, in fact, immortal and so - cannot die. That I stand here before you is proof of my powers. I shall thank you, even, for the ritual used to take the poison out of my blood granted me my old body back - and not the fabricated one I inhabited before."

Now he could see curious gazes all around. Some were trying to spy on their neighbours, to catch the killer , some were looking at him with a newfund appreciation for his looks. Many ladies stared at him, in fact. And many men too.

"I will give you fifteen minutes. If the traitor comes forward, then he shall die a painless death. If he does not, but someone still reveals their identity, he shall die a painful death. If no one comes forward, I will personally torture and legilimens every single one of you until I have my answer, and it will not be pleasant." then he summoned a high chair and sat down, masking his tiredness and pain with an air of pure boredom, crossing his legs - cherishing the fact that his body now bent more easily and muscles worked with him and not against him. Who thought that being an homunculus could be so damn tiring.

The room descended into chaos, everyone accused everyone else, some tried to fight - some to leave, but they couldn't do anything more than resembling ever so a mass of animals fighting for supremacy. Not trusting any of the foods on the tables, Voldemort summoned a glass of water directly from the kitchens and drank slowly, enjoying the clear taste wash out the grime.

Time ticked quickly.

When fifteen minutes had passed, the clock on the mantelpiece of the fireplace chimed an eerie chime, and everybody stilled. He clapped once.

"Now, will the traitor confess?" but no one moved. Some looked around, some stepped back, but no one dared leave the security of the herd. His mouth - now full and human again - bent in distaste. He was not happy - mainly because he wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with Harry and sleep for a solid week, and he was losing time here.