Entitled

Chapter 149

The atmosphere at Malfoy Manor had grown darker with each passing day. The failure to locate the locket, coupled with the increasing defiance from Iris and the disappearance of Violet entirely, had pushed Voldemort to the brink. He sat in his study, his pale fingers tapping restlessly on the armrest of his chair, the firelight flickering ominously across his serpentine features.

Yaxley stood before him, his head bowed low, his expression one of fear and submission. He had already delivered the news—Grimmauld Place had been thoroughly searched, the house turned over from top to bottom, but there was no sign of Kreacher, no sign of Potter, and no definitive evidence to suggest Violet had been there. It was as if the place had been deserted, save for a few lingering traces of recent habitation.

Voldemort's eyes, glowing crimson with fury, fixated on Yaxley, his rage simmering just below the surface. His breath was shallow and his fingers clenched the arms of the chair tightly, his knuckles white with barely controlled anger.

"Nothing?" Voldemort's voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "You found nothing?"

Yaxley's throat tightened. "My Lord, it appears someone had been there recently, but... I could not confirm whether it was Potter, Violet, or even the house elf Kreacher. The house was thoroughly searched, but..."

Voldemort stood abruptly, his movements unnervingly smooth for such a tall, gaunt figure. His eyes burned with malice as he stepped toward Yaxley, his shadow looming over the man.

"Do not give me excuses, Yaxley!" Voldemort snarled, his voice rising in fury. "Someone was there. Someone slipped through your fingers. And now, we are no closer to finding Potter or my locket!"

Yaxley flinched but remained still, too terrified to respond.

Voldemort began to pace, his anger crackling in the air around him like electricity. "Violet..." he hissed, the sound of her name twisting in his mouth like poison. "And Iris—they were always reliant on outside forces for guidance. They are both weaker than they think. But they are cunning, and they will use whatever remnants of hope they have to elude me."

He stopped pacing, his red eyes narrowing as a new thought took root in his mind. "Iris relied on someone... Dumbledore. That foolish old man always thought he could meddle in my affairs."

Voldemort's voice lowered to a near whisper, as though he were speaking more to himself than to Yaxley. "If they are hiding, if Violet or Potter are receiving any aid... it could be tied to Dumbledore. She always trusted him—more than anyone."

Suddenly, Voldemort turned sharply to face Yaxley, his expression cold and calculating. "Dumbledore was her mentor, her guide. His influence remains. Search every place Dumbledore ever lived, every place he ever visited. Start with his home in Godric's Hollow."

Yaxley blinked in surprise. "Godric's Hollow, my Lord?"

Voldemort's lips twisted into a sneer. "Yes, Godric's Hollow. You think Potter is safe because he hides in shadows? No. He clings to symbols of hope, of strength. Godric's Hollow is a place of significance to him. It is where his parents died... and where Dumbledore once lived. Search the house thoroughly. Tear it apart if you must."

Yaxley nodded quickly, eager to escape the growing storm of Voldemort's wrath. "At once, my Lord," he muttered, bowing low before he hurried from the room, his footsteps echoing down the darkened hall.

As the door closed behind him, Voldemort stood still, his mind racing. He could feel his control slipping, his carefully laid plans unravelling. Iris had defied him in the most profound way by hiding Violet, and now, Potter was on the verge of discovering his greatest secret—the horcruxes.