The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade and Lilith: Thanks for reviewing.

I must announce that I sent in selections of this story to Terminus, the Harry Potter academic conference to be held in Chicago in August. My story "The Midsummer Coup" was one of the ones picked to be presented. Out of all the thousands of story excerpts submitted, mine was one of the dozen or so chosen! The excerpt I chose that will be read are the the first two updates in chapter One and also the chapter, "Waiting for the Worms", in which Voldemort has his coup, and then the scene between Voldemort and Snape on the terrace in 'Young Lust'. I was of course, thrilled. If anyone is attending the conference, please let me know. I cannot attend because I have "real-life" work responsibilites. So I need somebody to proxy read it in my stead. For anyone interested in contemplating going to celebrate the fandom...here is a link to the informative site: http://www.terminus2008.org/registration/



Continuation of….


Chapter Eleven: Young Lust


A short while later, Voldemort flanked by two of his henchmen entered one of the two billiard rooms, adjacent to each other. There was close to one hundred people inside the long rectangular room lit by a line of golden shaded magical lamps. The violent, erotic music of Ancient Pure-blood lore echoed in a vibrating resonance from spade-shaped wind chimes. There were plumes of a variety of coloured smoke still venting the atmosphere, and ample quantities of sealed containers of alcoholic beverages floating, and Lucius was again auctioning off his material treasures. Despite all the action, two men were at a corner table, concentrating intently on a game. It was Augustus Rookwood and Theodore Nott, playing of all things, Wizard Chess.

The obsolete weapon cases with a Malfoy Coat of Arms shield above the encased swords remained untouched by Lucius. In front of the glass case were several tall vases on the stone floor filled with daggers. Next to the vases were piles of worn snakeskin.

Greyback had actually stolen a sheet of snakeskin. With his palm he rubbed it in his lap, whispering, “Ah…I love the softness of the skin.” He seemed to be lost in some kind of fantasy and nobody was paying attention to him. The werewolf took another swig from his large tankard. He repeated, “the softness of the skin” over and over to himself. He might have been masturbating under the ceremonial Death Eater robes.

Voldemort flitted away from Walden Macnair and Scabior, as they freely went over to Yaxley enjoying a card game with the Avery men.

Something in the crowd caught Voldemort’s eye. Two men playing a game throwing something against the wall. His eyes fixated on the wall display, as he walked forward, the black tapestry-like cape with the crescent moons flowing behind him. The crowd parted robitically at the sight of Voldemort striding, heads turning in wonder. Many of them had not seen him for the entire duration of the party, except from a distance.

It was Evan Sr. (the father of the other Death Eater, Rosier who is deceased) playing with Jugson, both standing with backs turned. They did not notice Voldemort approach. Covering the wall was a behemoth carving of a dragon, thirty feet in length from head to tail. It was a Hebridean Black, an exclusively British dragon from the Hebrides Islands, known to be very aggressive. For it will eat humans, yet most of the time only gets to consume deer. The majestic purple dragon has arrow-shaped spikes on it's tail, which were three-dimensionally represented in the art as spikes on the wall.

Voldemort watched them play for a moment, standing right behind them. One of them finally turned around, they had gotten the hair-raising feeling they were being watched.

He looked his Death Eater, Jugson coldly in his blue eyes and said chillingly, “Standing with your backs to Lord Voldemort?…. But by all means continue,” and Voldemort gestured grandly. “Turn your back to your Master…”

He had said it sarcastically. Jugson and Rosier’s colour drained from their face with fear. They could not tell if Voldemort was offended or not. “We are almost there, My Lord. Can we finish the game first?,” said Evan Rosier.

Truth be told he wasn’t quite so offended. Yet still he pressed mysteriously, “I was not interested in speaking with either of you. What does interests me in an inane moment such as this, is a match against both of you....Competition….You - Rosier, and you - Jugson in a game of Dagger Cricket against Lord Voldemort?”

Jugson and Rosier’s eyes bulged at the same time, and they both resisted the urge to share a glance with each other. Jugson answered dryly, “Of course, my Lord. We’ll just restart it.” To play a game like this with Lord Voldemort was like a symbol of how courageous it was to be so associated with Voldemort, the most deadly enemy in the room, and to dare play a game of deadly marksmanship with him.

Jugson immediately accioed back the daggers that had already been thrown. He picked the few of them up and placed them back in jeweled scabbards and into the ceramic vases.

It took a minute, mainly because Jugson was being so cautious with the daggers as if they would break in two. But Voldemort waited patiently. Jugson was running through his head furiously why this was happening and how he should behave.

Concerning Voldemort, on the other hand, did he really wish to waste his mind playing a game? But what else was there at this point in the party, for which he now regretted ever permitting?

“Ready for your first draw, My Lord,” said Rosier after waiting expectantly in which Voldemort did nothing.

“Oh, no. I should like you to go before me.” And Voldemort was perfectly civil and polite.

They were shocked. “But, My Lord. Surely you want to-“

“Win. Of course. But only a fair match will do. Now, draw Rosier! And then you, Jugson. Your scores are combined against mine.”

Rosier took from the smallest group of daggers in one of the vases. Slowly, he unsheathed the dagger from its scabbard. Dropping the scabbard, he poised the weapon in his hand. Rosier lingered. He was sweating profusely, dots glistening on his brow. He did not know how he should play against...'No it couldn’t be. He was competing against the Dark Lord! It was only a game', he thought bracingly.

“I grow weary of waiting,” commented Voldemort.

Rosier threw the dagger at these words. He threw it blindly. He threw it way off course, from nerves. So off course, it didn’t even hit the wall, but a countertop some forty feet away. It actually came close to stabbing Narcissa’s leg, where she was reposing on a stool next to the counter. She screamed and despite seeing no imminent danger, she moved to sit somewhere else.

“Ah, Rosier. Surely my Death Eater can do better than that?,” sneered Voldemort. Now he really was getting a little irked. He thought he knew exactly why he had done so poorly. He could detect their deceptive performance, seamlessly through his Legilimency he saw their motives for their play.

Rosier whispered, “I’ll do better next time, my Lord.” And now Rosier felt worried that he was going to be punished.

Jugson already had taken his wand out and accioed back the dagger that had made a dent in the ebony countertop. The rule was in Dagger Cricket that if a target is not hit, you must return it back into the vase in it's scabbard.

Jugson at least seemed less apprehensive than his team cohort. He did not hesitate, but threw the small dagger, with intent. Yet it did not land inside one of the several grooves dispersed in difficult to reach points on the dragon carving. It did not even come close to one of them. Instead it landed between the dark, rough scales at the ridges along the dragon's back, where the silver metal is chipped, as if to make the dragon have scales.

Voldemort turned furiously on the spot and glared dangerously at his follower, red eyes flashing into him, as the nostrils flared.

He hissed, “You caused that blunder on purpose Jugson!”

Jugson did not know what to say. Nothing seemed adequate. Really, because Voldemort was right. Jugson had purposefully made sure he did terrible, despite the fact he was an expert at this game.

Voldemort chose not to scold any further, thinking his message was clear. He violently wrenched out one of the small-sized recently polished iron daggers from its vase. Meanwhile, Jugson accioed back the dagger before he could offer it to the Dark Lord.

The rule was that ideally you must stab the dragon’s wings first to get the most points. Voldemort held it in his left hand with the double-edged triangular blade pointing from the heel of his hand, in which there was a dragon head on the handle of the dagger, jutting out behind Voldemort's wrist.

Voldemort’s eye’s glittered, and then there was a downward jab motion of his left hand, as he was equally adept at both, being ambidextrous. The dagger impacted a groove in the dragon’s tail right under a spike. The grooves located on the tail are all placed there, to make it hard to score. Of course, Voldemort has a keen eye and naturally exceled.

At Voldemort’s draw, an audience of men and women gathered to watch the game. They automatically clapped at Voldemort’s success, a respectful short applause ringing in the billiard room.

A man several feet behind, in the back of the throng whispered in someone’s ear, “Bet against the Dark Lord winning?”

“Are you mad?! Certainly, no! There could be special magic jinxes if one bets against him,” answered the other man, looking frightened at merely the thought of it.

“However…,” the man considered carefully. “I’ll bet on the terms. I bet fifty-six galleons that the Dark Lord wins by more than half the score,” he consented after a moment.

“That is inevitable,” scoffed the other man. “I refuse to accept.”

“Fine! We won’t bet then. I cannot dare bet against him. It’s bad luck.”

During this time, the game continued to progress with Jugson and Rosier losing out to the first part of the game, only racking up a small portion of the points for the tail of the dragon.

They moved onto the eyes of the dragon, a difficult target towards the end of the game, in which there is only one target.

Evan Rosier, who was still extremely nervous failed miserably, throwing it way off course from nerves. “Accio!” he said defeatedly. Jugson turned to Rosier, a note of blame etched on his plain features towards his partner.

"Damn...Damn it. Do it right, Rosier!," screamed Jugson, getting riled. He did not want Voldemort to continue to blame them for their mistakes, for who knew where it would lead.

The dagger came sailing back into his hand and then Jugson took the initiative. Hand shaking, he hesitated. Should he allow himself this little part of the points? Could he be sure Voldemort would win, if he allowed himself to hit the target like he knew he could? He knew the Dark Lord would be annoyed if he saw that his Death Eater did not perform honestly, once again and so he had to at least pretend to do his best.

He took a deep breath, and threw the dagger stabbing it between the two slit purple eyes of the Hebridean Dragon, which was like a serpent that had spread leathery-looking wings. For once, despite the dozens of constant jibes and admonishments he had endured throughout the dagger game, Voldemort did not complain.

And now they were onto the last phase, in which the team that had recently scored gets to go for the final draw.

Jugson unsheathed one of the biggest daggers from the collection, the size of a sword. This was worth the most points, as by now all the other grooves on the dragon picture were filled, mostly with Voldemort’s points.

Jugson now had to go for him and his teammate, Rosier to get to stab it in the heart. He gulped looking at Voldemort. Jugson was caught in a quandary.

Voldemort watched as Jugson threw it and missed the grooved circular peg-hole by mere inches. Jugson breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had done it just right. He purposefully made it seem like it was an honest attempt and still lost to the most important piece of the game, the one dagger that goes in the heart of the dragon, in which one team gets only one attempt.

Voldemort, once again let out his irritation towards the two, he had spent the whole game directing constant complaints at them for not playing up to their potential.

He decried vehemenently, “You sabotage yourself. Pathetic sabotage! That was not acceptable. Not appropriate from my servant Jugson!”

In a flourish, Voldemort whipped out an unseen silver whirl from under his attire’s left forearm, beneath the emerald and silver studded link. It was a concealed dagger hidden under the dressrobes. He had noticed the dagger earlier, while dressing for the evening. This dagger had come with the ancient Malfoy robes, as it had been common in early Wizarding times to carry one.

He threw it in his hand and in an instant, the tiny dagger had hit the center of the dragon’s heart with a thrust. The tiny silver dagger lay pierced into the heart, gleaming with it’s handle encrusted with emeralds.

There was an eruption of applause mixed with a few confused remarks about the outcome.

“Right!” said Rosier loudly to counteract the arguments that Voldemort had not won fairly. For he had not used the correct dagger. “There is an exception to that rule. The element of surprise is always a formidable one in battle, so said our ancestors. It is Pure-blood tradition that a weapon on hand, that is- besides a wand may be used to slay the dragon in Dagger Cricket. This has been allowed all throughout the ages!”

That was true. Voldemort had won the game.

Jugson answered, “And whoever wins is denoted the victor. A victor as saviour for the Pure-bloods! Therefore, it makes perfect sense for our Lord’s achievement. I congratulate him.”

There was more respectful, but not necessarily enthusiastic clapping. Voldemort's dignified appearance remained static, his face expressionless.

A moment later, and everyone went back to their business. Jugson and Rosier looked relieved and got themselves as far from Voldemort in the room as they dared without it being blatantly obvious they wanted to escape him.

When nobody was looking, Voldemort accioed the dagger back to him, and inserted it up, and under his left sleeve again. He could not risk discarding a potentially useful weapon, not even for moments.


Note: The next scenes are really dramatic...and do not center on Voldemort.... There about 4 or five updates left until the party ends. I promise it ends with a bang! And then I still have to write what happens with Narcissa/Voldemort (which is amazingly disturbing) and then there is quite a bit the morning after this all. All together at least 12 updates left!

Daggers achieved public notoriety in the 20th Century as ornamental uniform regalia during the fascist dictatorships of Mussolini's Italy and Hitler's Germany. Daggers are also shown in the Pure-blood house of Black, next to snakeskin, the reason I came up with this game.