The Pureblood Coup
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
58
Views:
42,124
Reviews:
137
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
58
Views:
42,124
Reviews:
137
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Triumph of the Dark Lord 3
Sheherazade and Lilith: Thank-you, both for reviews. So appreciated. I am trying to get this chapter done right...but it is proving very arduous...it's just hard to imagine Voldemort eating! I'm also trying to add more interesting character dynamics...
Continuation of…:
Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord
The murmur of polite conversation could be heard inside the Drawing Room. The gigantic crystal chandelier spread luminescent light, filling every corner of the room, thus spreading ambience all around. There was no warmth to be had from the fireplace, as it was not being utilized for this evening. Only Dolohov and Rowle were mute and withdrawn, staring with melancholy expressions into their laps.
They heard deliberate footsteps. Lord Voldemort entered, his presence as powerful as it always had been. In acknowledgment, the Death Eaters rose at once.
Voldemort did not say anything, but his gait was sure, his demeanor stolid, as he took his place at the head of the long table. Once he was seated, they sat down.
There was a pause for a moment, with Voldemort looking around at them, until he spoke smoothly, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
“First, allow me to welcome, our guest: The former Minister for Magic, who as of yesterday, resigned. His death is the reason we celebrate.”
Directly opposite to Voldemort at the other end of the table Rufus Scrimgeour hung, upside down, bound strangely by nothing but magic. The lifeless frame was perfectly inert with a swarthy face, the eyes open from the casting of the Avada Kedavra Curse, as he stared hauntingly at them. He was clothed, the minister's robes staying in place at his ankles, despite being upside down. It was part of the strange sight caused by the unseen magical bonds.
Most of the Death Eaters nodded or gave grunts of recognition, turning their head’s slightly sideways to look to where Voldemort indicated. Except Draco, who gave a few intermittent glances, and Narcissa who sat rigid and impassive, staring at the wall.
Voldemort continued to look at the corpse, staring at it, apparently lost in thought.
“Did you enjoy those nightmares about me coming to kill you, old Rufus?,” whispered Voldemort to himself.
Voldemort was referring to what he saw while he was doing Legilimency on Scrimgeour’s mind. He had seen the minister's having nightmares about the inevitable day of his assassination.
Before Voldemort could continue, Snape bravely interrupted, “So…Was the mission undertaken last night, successful, My lord?”
Voldemort turned his head jerkily, looking to his immediate right where Severus Snape sat beside him. The burning red eyes had a fleeting look of paranoia as he answered bitterly, “I was not…”
Snape, unfortunately did not hear about how enraged Voldemort was from being called back, and so Snape did not know how dangerous it was to bring up anything related to it. But before the subject could be pursued any further, two champagne bottles came floating through the open doors, and landed placidly on the table.
Severus Snape raised an eyebrow and then took his wand out and popped the cork of one of the bottles. Malfoy at the same time, hurried to do the same with the other bottle, wrenching his wand out of his cane.
Severus, took Voldemort’s glass, and poured his master a drink. Then Snape poured one for himself. The bottle flowed down the line to Bellatrix, who was seated next to Snape.
She glared at Snape, reproachfully as she filled her glass. Bellatrix resented losing the opportunity, to show even the smallest gesture of kindness towards Voldemort. She wanted to pour their Lord’s champagne, and more importantly she wanted to be sitting at his right hand side.
Meanwhile, Lucius, who was at Voldemort’s immediate left, poured a glass for Narcissa, and then himself, sending the other bottle floating down his side of the table towards Draco.
Once everyone, including Dolohov and Rowle at the end of the table, had filled their glasses, with shimmering, golden champagne, Lucius instantly raised his glass, “A toast… to the Dark Lord: May he rise to ever greater heights than 1981. To his return to power and the promise it holds for the future of the magical race…”
Voldemort’s mouth parted into something like a smile, but his red, vertically slit eyes showed no emotion. He did not really believe Lucius’s anecdote of wishes for his toast. Voldemort did not trust that Lucius really did relish that Voldemort had returned, greater and more terrible than before.
The table was much too long for everyone to touch each other’s glasses, and so the glasses clanked together in groups: Snape, Lucius, Bella at one, Narcissa and Draco shared a toast, then Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley, and Amycus and Alecto, and finally the feeble attempt of Dolohov and Rowle.
Voldemort did not take part in it, but simply was the first to a take a tiny sip of the sparkling, crisp champagne. He noted on the bottle, directly in front of him, the year “1981” inscribed. He felt more of a dislike of that year than any other, and thought how tactless they are. Lucius chooses the very year of Lord Voldemort’s loss to an infant?
There was the tiny snap of fingers, and then several House-elves were using magic to sail in dozens of dishes for the feast, landing on the tabletop.
On plates of heavy, real silver the Death Eaters dined with the Dark Lord on a single course of caviar with rare dragon kidney, and dragon steak as if it was roast beef. There were roasted potatoes with gravy and other vegetables, and a platter of rye bread and butter.
The forks and knives, spoons, and glasses had emeralds as big as eggs, along with the Malfoy coat of Arms. For the first few minutes, they generally ate in silence. Dolohov and Rowle ate the fastest, famished after being in solitary confinement for nearly an entire day, and only released by Wormtail, who was made to fetch them right before dinner.
Voldemort seemed to get very little pleasure out of his food. His forked tongue just scarfed the food down, swallowing rapidly. He ate with minimal chewing, and slowly. Unexpectedly, his eyes roved over to Narcissa, picking at her food.
Continuation of…:
Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord
The murmur of polite conversation could be heard inside the Drawing Room. The gigantic crystal chandelier spread luminescent light, filling every corner of the room, thus spreading ambience all around. There was no warmth to be had from the fireplace, as it was not being utilized for this evening. Only Dolohov and Rowle were mute and withdrawn, staring with melancholy expressions into their laps.
They heard deliberate footsteps. Lord Voldemort entered, his presence as powerful as it always had been. In acknowledgment, the Death Eaters rose at once.
Voldemort did not say anything, but his gait was sure, his demeanor stolid, as he took his place at the head of the long table. Once he was seated, they sat down.
There was a pause for a moment, with Voldemort looking around at them, until he spoke smoothly, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.”
“First, allow me to welcome, our guest: The former Minister for Magic, who as of yesterday, resigned. His death is the reason we celebrate.”
Directly opposite to Voldemort at the other end of the table Rufus Scrimgeour hung, upside down, bound strangely by nothing but magic. The lifeless frame was perfectly inert with a swarthy face, the eyes open from the casting of the Avada Kedavra Curse, as he stared hauntingly at them. He was clothed, the minister's robes staying in place at his ankles, despite being upside down. It was part of the strange sight caused by the unseen magical bonds.
Most of the Death Eaters nodded or gave grunts of recognition, turning their head’s slightly sideways to look to where Voldemort indicated. Except Draco, who gave a few intermittent glances, and Narcissa who sat rigid and impassive, staring at the wall.
Voldemort continued to look at the corpse, staring at it, apparently lost in thought.
“Did you enjoy those nightmares about me coming to kill you, old Rufus?,” whispered Voldemort to himself.
Voldemort was referring to what he saw while he was doing Legilimency on Scrimgeour’s mind. He had seen the minister's having nightmares about the inevitable day of his assassination.
Before Voldemort could continue, Snape bravely interrupted, “So…Was the mission undertaken last night, successful, My lord?”
Voldemort turned his head jerkily, looking to his immediate right where Severus Snape sat beside him. The burning red eyes had a fleeting look of paranoia as he answered bitterly, “I was not…”
Snape, unfortunately did not hear about how enraged Voldemort was from being called back, and so Snape did not know how dangerous it was to bring up anything related to it. But before the subject could be pursued any further, two champagne bottles came floating through the open doors, and landed placidly on the table.
Severus Snape raised an eyebrow and then took his wand out and popped the cork of one of the bottles. Malfoy at the same time, hurried to do the same with the other bottle, wrenching his wand out of his cane.
Severus, took Voldemort’s glass, and poured his master a drink. Then Snape poured one for himself. The bottle flowed down the line to Bellatrix, who was seated next to Snape.
She glared at Snape, reproachfully as she filled her glass. Bellatrix resented losing the opportunity, to show even the smallest gesture of kindness towards Voldemort. She wanted to pour their Lord’s champagne, and more importantly she wanted to be sitting at his right hand side.
Meanwhile, Lucius, who was at Voldemort’s immediate left, poured a glass for Narcissa, and then himself, sending the other bottle floating down his side of the table towards Draco.
Once everyone, including Dolohov and Rowle at the end of the table, had filled their glasses, with shimmering, golden champagne, Lucius instantly raised his glass, “A toast… to the Dark Lord: May he rise to ever greater heights than 1981. To his return to power and the promise it holds for the future of the magical race…”
Voldemort’s mouth parted into something like a smile, but his red, vertically slit eyes showed no emotion. He did not really believe Lucius’s anecdote of wishes for his toast. Voldemort did not trust that Lucius really did relish that Voldemort had returned, greater and more terrible than before.
The table was much too long for everyone to touch each other’s glasses, and so the glasses clanked together in groups: Snape, Lucius, Bella at one, Narcissa and Draco shared a toast, then Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley, and Amycus and Alecto, and finally the feeble attempt of Dolohov and Rowle.
Voldemort did not take part in it, but simply was the first to a take a tiny sip of the sparkling, crisp champagne. He noted on the bottle, directly in front of him, the year “1981” inscribed. He felt more of a dislike of that year than any other, and thought how tactless they are. Lucius chooses the very year of Lord Voldemort’s loss to an infant?
There was the tiny snap of fingers, and then several House-elves were using magic to sail in dozens of dishes for the feast, landing on the tabletop.
On plates of heavy, real silver the Death Eaters dined with the Dark Lord on a single course of caviar with rare dragon kidney, and dragon steak as if it was roast beef. There were roasted potatoes with gravy and other vegetables, and a platter of rye bread and butter.
The forks and knives, spoons, and glasses had emeralds as big as eggs, along with the Malfoy coat of Arms. For the first few minutes, they generally ate in silence. Dolohov and Rowle ate the fastest, famished after being in solitary confinement for nearly an entire day, and only released by Wormtail, who was made to fetch them right before dinner.
Voldemort seemed to get very little pleasure out of his food. His forked tongue just scarfed the food down, swallowing rapidly. He ate with minimal chewing, and slowly. Unexpectedly, his eyes roved over to Narcissa, picking at her food.