"I believe I smell guilt—"
Voldemort flared his nostrils wide, drawing in the air with a long breath.
"Now why would that be, I wonder."
The Death Eaters lining both sides of the long table hung their heads at once, in perfect unison, as though attending a funeral where each of them feared they might be next into the ground.
"Who will give Voldemort a reason?"
Voldemort asked softly, his bloody red gaze sweeping slowly down the two sides of the table before finally settling on a figure whose platinum blonde hair was soaked through with sweat. A faint, satisfied sneer tugged at the corner of Voldemort's mouth.
"My dear Lucius." The endearment fell like a hand closing slowly around a throat. "Perhaps your wisdom can enlighten Voldemort?"
Lucius shot to his feet as though sprung from a coil, dodging Voldemort's gaze. His lips were working, opening and closing without sound. The first attempt to speak failed.
Lucius's voice was ravaged with hoarseness; he cleared his throat hard, forcing the sound out by will.
"Master." The single word cracked slightly at the end, and Lucius flinched at the sound of his own voice doing that.
He gasped for breath.
"I think—perhaps—it's because of Watson."
He stole a quick, darting glance at the Dark Lord's face, and seeing no immediate sign of an outburst building there, Lucius pressed on trembling faintly as he spoke.
"Bones is only a puppet, Master. The Ministry, under Watson's command, opposes us at every turn. He isn't soft, like Dumbledore. He doesn't let things lie. We—we—"
"Are afraid to stand against him." Voldemort finished the sentence for him. "Is that it?"
The amused smile that surfaced on Voldemort's lips wasn't meant for Lucius alone—it was aimed at every other face gathered around the long table.
"Oh, perhaps I should put it rather differently: Voldemort's Death Eaters are afraid to defy Watson. You are afraid that Watson will think up some clever new scheme to strip away your fortunes."
Voldemort's light, offhand words set off a wave of unrest.
"Never, my Lord!" someone called out.
"Everything I have is yours—" began another, talking over the first.
A number of the Death Eaters straightened their backs sharply, voices rose over one another in an ugly, competing chorus, loudly assuring Voldemort that everything they possessed belonged wholly to the supreme Dark Lord, that they stood ready at any moment to surrender it all for him without hesitation.
Of course, no small number of others simply squirmed uneasily in their seats instead, murmuring similar words under their breath that carried far less conviction beneath them.
"How very disappointing."
Voldemort's murmured words, quiet as they were, settled the entire unrest of the hall at once into a heavy silence.
"Oh." A small, almost wistful sound rose.
"I find myself missing my once well-disciplined Death Eaters. Men who did not need to shout their loyalty across a dinner table like fishwives haggling at market. What stands before me now is nothing but a rabble."
The Death Eaters kept their heads bowed low at that, not one of them dared to lift their eyes to meet his.
Every one of them knew perfectly well that Watson's hard-line policies had left them with nowhere left to turn. Yaxley and Rosier could manage to get a few smear pieces about Watson printed in Witch Weekly. But what real good would that actually do, in the end, against a man like him?
If it had been Dumbledore in Watson's position, faced with such reporting, he would likely simply let it be—allowing them to manipulate the press and blacken his name unchallenged, absorbing the blow with that infuriating, saintly patience of his. But Bryan Watson followed no such rules, and everyone at this table had learned that lesson the hard way.
The moment such a piece actually ran, Witch Weekly might well find itself facing a sudden, thorough investigation and a forced shutdown for "restructuring" within the week—and soon after, the front page of the Daily Prophet would inevitably carry a lengthy article, penned personally by Rita Skeeter with her usual poisonous skill, detailing precisely how Witch Weekly had been infiltrated by dark and criminal forces all along.
The truth was exactly as the Dark Lord had said. They no longer dared act with the same reckless abandon they once had. Because they had organized a strike among the lower ranks some months back, Watson had simply used public opinion and raw political power to strip away their shares in the workshops.
If their infiltration of the Ministry went too far now and drew Watson's notice, there was truly no telling what harsher measures he might resort to next.
The goblins had already made their allegiance to Watson plain and he could, at any moment, seize the fortunes their families had spent centuries carefully building up. Even shipping the gold galleons home to hidden vaults offered no safety anymore.
Sending in Hit Wizards to raid their homes was a measure few Ministers for Magic before him would ever have dared consider—but every person in this room was certain that Watson was fully capable of it, and that he would not be cowed by threats of any kind.
Back when they had followed the Dark Lord in his earlier contest against the Ministry, that older Ministry had never once played so far outside the rules.
"Severus?"
Voldemort turned his head almost lazily to look at Severus who sat straight and composed beside him.
"Perhaps you have some good news to share with me. It would be a novelty, tonight."
"There is indeed a piece of news, Master." Severus's voice was flat. "Bryan told me himself, in passing."
His eyes stayed fixed steadily on Voldemort's throughout.
"He attended the International Confederation of Wizards meeting alongside Dumbledore not long ago. Afterward, he went to investigate the breach at Erkstag, and—"
Severus cast a flat glance sideways at Adam Vogel beside him, who sat there smiling with usual gentlemanly composure.
"—he arrested a woman near Erkstag. Jasnah Vogel."
The smile on Adam's face stiffened for a moment before he composed it away.
"Ah." Voldemort drew the sound out. "Now that is unexpected news."
A flicker of shock crossed Voldemort's face, gone as quickly as it came, and he turned to the man seated at his right hand.
"My dear Adam. I recall you telling me your daughter had very likely given her life for our shared and glorious vision."
"That was my belief, most honoured Dark Lord."
Adam Vogel rose slowly from his seat and bowed low to Voldemort.
"When Erkstag fell, I believed—truly believed, my Lord that Jasnah had not made it out."
There was little visible grief on his face as he straightened again; turning it toward Severus instead, it showed far more confusion than sorrow.
Severus's tone remained flat throughout. "Her wand was broken in the battle to take Erkstag—she could no longer cast a spell. And the German Ministry sealed off the whole area around the prison immediately afterward, hunting down every escaped prisoner hiding in the mountains and forests for weeks."
He paused, letting Adam absorb that much before continuing.
"She couldn't Apparate without a wand and had no choice but to stay hidden in the mountains—which is how Bryan found her."
Adam nodded. The explanation accounted neatly for why Jasnah, if she hadn't died, had only now been caught by Watson after so many days.
"A great pity, Adam." Voldemort's voice showed theatrical sympathy. "You raised an exceptional witch, and yet she has fallen into Watson's hands once again. But have no fear. Voldemort promises you—I will see her set free."
"I have no doubt of it, most honoured Dark Lord." Adam said it with deep deference. "After all, you once freed both myself and Jasnah from Azkaban."
Voldemort nodded, satisfied by the answer, then turned a slow, thoughtful gaze out across his followers. After a moment of silence, he looked back to Adam once more.
"And what of the prisoners we freed from Erkstag—how do they fare now?"
Severus did not move at the question, his posture remained unchanged, though something tightened, just slightly, behind his dark eyes.
"They have all been placed at a stronghold of mine that remains intact, Master."
Adam's aged voice carried a thread of eager hope through it now.
"And once they learned it was you who had won them their freedom—they were overcome with gratitude. Every one of them has sworn to fight for you."
"Oh, is that so?"
Voldemort said in a noncommittal tone.
"It seems that after our rather bitter defeat at Diagon Alley, we have gained some support after all."
"Though these men will find it difficult to enter Britain, most honoured Dark Lord."
Adam's hope tempered slightly now
"The Ministry has locked things down tightly now. They've stationed heavy visible watch, and covert watch besides, along with multiple surveillance charms, all along the border now. The old smuggling routes we once relied upon are no longer usable."
"That is not part of my plan, Adam."
Voldemort said it simply, and smiled.
"I have indeed been considering that suggestion of yours, my dear Adam." His fingers stilled on Nagini's head.
"Now that Watson has assembled that laughable joint task force of his at the Confederation—intending to move against us across the whole of Europe, I've begun to think that beyond the goal of killing Harry Potter, perhaps Watson too deserves a lesson of his own."
Voldemort said it lightly, drawing curious looks from a number of the Death Eaters.
"And your specific plan is—" Adam leaned forward slightly in his seat, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.
Voldemort did not answer instantly. His red eyes moved slowly around the room, gathering every face into the moment before he finally spoke.
"Watson wishes to set more obstacles in our path. And I will show him just how laughable his scheming truly is—that it will never succeed. Perhaps it is time more people came to understand just how much there still is to fear in Voldemort—"
In the dining hall wrapped now in shadow, Voldemort's soft murmur lingered on the air.
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