Heirs of darkness || Theodore Nott

Shadows Over Little Whinging

The dark and foreboding atmosphere of Malfoy Manor hung heavy over the assembled Death Eaters as they gathered for their next meeting. The long, polished table in the center of the room was surrounded by cloaked figures, each one fixated on the serpentine figure seated at its head. Voldemort's cold, red eyes gleamed in the dim light, surveying the room with an air of malevolent anticipation.

The flickering flames from the fireplace cast eerie shadows across the stone walls, dancing like dark specters as the Dark Lord spoke. "Tonight, we discuss the boy's capture," Voldemort began, his voice a soft, sinister whisper that commanded absolute silence. "Harry Potter will be moved from his place of safety, Number Four, Privet Drive, in a matter of days. He will be vulnerable, and that is when we will strike."

A ripple of eager anticipation ran through the room. The Death Eaters leaned forward, listening intently to their master's words. Lucius Malfoy, seated closer to the head of the table than most, tried to hide his apprehension. His usually immaculate demeanor was marred by the strain of the past months, as Voldemort's displeasure had steadily eroded his standing within the ranks.

Voldemort's gaze fell upon Lucius, his thin lips curling into a faint, mocking smile. "Lucius," he said, drawing out the name with cruel delight, "you will lend me your wand for this task. I trust it is still in working order?"

Lucius's heart sank. The request or rather, the demand was anything but a simple favor. It was a sign of how far he had fallen in the Dark Lord's estimation. He knew he had no choice but to comply. With trembling hands, he reached into his robes and withdrew his wand, holding it out to Voldemort.

"Of course, my Lord," Lucius murmured, lowering his head in submission. "It is yours."

Voldemort took the wand with a smooth, almost delicate movement, turning it over in his hands as if assessing its worth. His smile widened into something more akin to a sneer. "Good," he said, his voice dripping with condescension. "It will serve me well... until it no longer does."

Lucius nodded, but his face was a mask of humiliation. He could feel the eyes of the other Death Eaters on him, some filled with contempt, others with pity. None dared to speak out of turn.

Voldemort turned his attention to the rest of the room. "We will be divided into teams to ensure that Potter does not escape. He will be heavily guarded, but that will not save him. I will join the attack once Potter has been identified. And this time," he said, his voice taking on a dangerous edge, "he will not escape me."

There was a pause, and then a cold, mirthless laugh filled the room. The sound came from Bellatrix Lestrange, who sat near her sister, Narcissa. Her dark eyes glittered with excitement at the prospect of finally capturing the boy who had eluded them for so long.

"Soon, my Lord, we will bring you the boy, and his blood will water the earth!" Bellatrix declared, her voice filled with manic devotion.

Voldemort's smile returned, and he nodded in approval. "Indeed," he said softly. "But first, there is a matter of housekeeping."

At that, Voldemort flicked Lucius's wand with a casual motion, and the doors to the room opened. Two masked Death Eaters entered, dragging between them a terrified woman, her face streaked with tears and her body trembling with fear. Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, was a broken figure, pleading for mercy even as she was forced to her knees before the Dark Lord.

"Professor Burbage," Voldemort said, his voice smooth and venomous. "You have taught the children of Hogwarts that Muggles are not so different from us, that they should be treated as equals. And yet, you sit before me now, pleading for your life. Tell me, do you still believe that Muggles are our equals?"