Obsession

Chapter 13

"Bella." Lord Voldemort let his voice hum to her, the purr of a lover down the table in the meeting room. He tipped his head as all eyes turned to her, and he prompted her, "Tell us all where you've just come from."

"From Glasgow, Master," Bellatrix said proudly. "From the home of Rory Sherwood."

"Augustus Rookwood. You have infiltrated the Ministry more thoroughly than any of my other followers," Voldemort noted, and Rookwood bowed his head. "Tell me, Rookwood... will Rory Sherwood be missed at the Ministry?"

"I do believe so, Master," Rookwood smirked, "Seeing as how he was the Head of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."

"Ironic," Voldemort said, flicking up a brow, "that the head of such a department should be struck down by a catastrophe of his own."

A low rumble of laughter went around the table. Voldemort noted and ignored the way that Rodolphus Lestrange seemed almost afraid of his wife, in awe of her and wide-eyed with something between terror and admiration. He cleared his throat and asked,

"Bellatrix, how many were in the house?"

"Sherwood was a master of procreation, My Lord," Bellatrix said rather snidely. "He was a Mudblood, married another Mudblood, and together they had seven children. Four of the children are at Hogwarts."

Voldemort nodded. "So you killed... five. Five for me tonight, of the filthiest blood, of high Ministry rank?"

"Five, Master," Bellatrix nodded proudly, and Voldemort sent his voice down to her like a snake slithering through the air.

"What a very good girl you are."

She looked almost orgasmic then, her eyes fluttering a little as she nodded her thanks. The meeting continued on, with Avery and Nott discussing the ways they had made contacts and secret allies at Gringotts. Once everyone was dismissed, Voldemort went to his office and sat in the heavy chair behind his desk. There was a knock on his door, but it wasn't Bella. He knew her knock now. This was Malfoy. He could feel it.

"Enter," Voldemort called firmly. The door opened, and Abraxas Malfoy came striding in. He bowed just a little and noted,

"My Lord, as you know, my nephew Maximus was in my custody after my brother... well..."

"Yes, I know." Voldemort pursed his lips. Abraxas Malfoy's elder brother had killed his wife in a fit of anger, and he was serving a life sentence in Azkaban for it. Maximus Malfoy had been ten years old at the time; he was twenty-five now. Abraxas was far more like a father than an uncle to Maximus, who lived in a stately townhouse of his own in London and served as a mediocre but loyal foot soldier for Voldemort.

"Maximus is getting married, sir." Malfoy said, extracting an envelope from his robes. He approached the desk and bowed a bit as he held it out. Voldemort cracked open the wax seal on the back and read over the invitation. He sighed a little; he disliked maudlin events like weddings, but they were important in cementing the community of his followers and to demonstrating that he would give attention and attendance in exchange for combat service.

"Antigone Crouch? Is she even out of school yet?" Voldemort frowned, and Malfoy looked surprised.

"She... she was in the same year as Madam Lestrange, My Lord. They were roommates in Slytherin, I believe. If they were friends, I do not know."

"Bella didn't really have many friends," Voldemort mumbled, and then immediately realised how ridiculous that had sounded. He cleared his throat roughly and stared at the invitation, and he asked tightly, "I assume the Lestranges have been invited?"