Pre-Chapter A/N: Welcome to September, guys! Let's smash whatever goals we've set ourselves this year. More chapters on my patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga)— same username as here and link in bio. Experimenting with two chapters a week, we'll see how long I can keep this up for.
XXXXX- LUCIUS MALFOY
"Are you certain this is the place, Lucius?" he heard his Lord's sibilant voice hiss through the mask he had now taken to wearing and nodded. He was certain this was the place. Of course he was. He wasn't a fool. And even if he had been a fool, he would still have had enough self-preservation instincts to know that information taken to the Dark Lord could not just be confirmed once. He had one of his remaining contacts on the Board of Governors get a copy of the boy's Hogwarts Letter during an audit—why the boy chose to sleep in a cupboard of all places he did not know. And then he'd gone to the trouble of checking the address written on the Improper Use of Magic notice the Ministry sent out in 1992.
Needless to say, he was sure. He was more than certain.
"Then tell me why there are no wards, Lucius," his Lord hissed again. No wards? That was impossible. There were supposed to be Blood Wards here. Fudge had said as much when Lucius asked.
"I do not know, my Lord. Perhaps this might be a trap of some sort and we should return at a different time." There was no reply, and like often happened when one had the Dark Lord's attention and he lapsed into silence, Lucius began reviewing what he had just said. Could he have phrased it better? Had he been disrespectful? Was he going to be Crucio'd within an inch of his life now? Even worse, could he just be killed? It happened rarely, but that did not mean it did not happen at all. Lucius was fairly confident he was too important for such a fate, but what were the chances?
The Dark Lord chuckled, and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. "Let him who would dare lay a trap for Lord Voldemort live to rue the day. We proceed."
"Yes, my Lord," he did not allow any of the apprehension he felt to show on his face as they crossed the Muggle road. It was an interesting neighbourhood these Muggles lived in. For one, they all chose to live in the same type of house. No variety, no originality. Of course, animals like Muggles would struggle to find the higher brain function necessary for creativity and style. But surely they could manage to paint things in a colour other than pastel? And then there were the gardens, and even down to the carriages they used for transport, they were all alike.
Was it some defence mechanism? Safety in anonymity amongst the group? He scoffed. They were not safe. The Dark Lord waved his wand, and Lucius shuddered as he felt wards settle over his skin. The Dark Mark made him extraordinarily sensitive to his Lord's magic. Bellatrix saw it as the greatest gift imaginable, but Lucius knew that whatever benefits the mark gave, it was not worth it when one considered just what it meant for when they were punished. The tremors in his right hand from the last Cruciatus still persisted, after all.
The home shone forth from within, casting light unto their masked visages. His mask was the standard for the inner circle Death Eaters, a silver ensemble with a horrific face carved onto it, but his Lord wore a simple golden mask. Apart from its material composition, it had no other defining features. Just a pair of slits from which his red eyes shot forth with hatred, anger, and menace. Those eyes were turned to him now.
"If you would, Lucius," his Lord said, gesturing to the door they stood before.
Lucius stepped forward, removing his wand from his cane with a flourish and brandishing it at the door. It exploded outwards, shattering in a collection of white splinters.
"I meant knock, Lucius. Where are those Malfoy manners when you need them?" The Dark Lord did not sound angered by Lucius' misstep. If anything, he was even more amused. Lucius could point out that the Dark Lord should have been more specific with his orders, but the pain he still felt across his body drove home just how stupid that would have been.
"Who's that just barging in and making a noise?" he heard the voice from above.
"I warn ya, you thief and ne'er-do-well, I am armed," the voice said again, sounding far from threatening. His Lord chuckled, and Lucius joined in. What did this Muggle think he could do to them? There was the sound of an avalanche coming down their stairs, and Lucius wondered just what sort of heavy contraption the man was carrying that would cause such a ruckus. When he rounded the doorway and faced them, Lucius realised the man himself was the heavy contraption.
"Merlin, how are you still alive?" he found himself asking in shock. How could a man grow so… so… The word 'fat' did not do enough to drive it home.
The man reddened, pointing the metal rod at them.
"Now, now, Lucius, you should not be so rude. Muggles do not have the same protections we magicals do to spare us the consequences of overindulgence," his Lord chuckled.
"Muggles? You're part of them freaks, aren't ya? I told the old man already. We ain't seen the boy since he left last year. Worthless little freak decided to stop darkening my doorstep with his presence. Now get!" he shouted in their direction. What in Merlin's name was he talking about? By 'freak', he must have meant they were members of the Wizarding world. The worthless little freak was probably Harry Potter himself. And the old man, Dumbledore most likely. They had already confirmed that Harry Potter lived with his magical guardian Sirius Black abroad in a country and at an address they had so far refused to disclose to the Ministry. The letters sent in that respect returned unopened. While Lucius was putting the dots together and coming up with even more questions, his Lord seemed to have arrived at a conclusion, and he was not pleased if the sudden dryness in the air was any indication. Lucius felt his lips chap and dry out.
"By 'freak', surely you do not mean wizard?" his Lord asked, and that was the tone every Death Eater became familiar with at some point. It was the tone that told you that there were only two outcomes possible and they depended on what you said next. Either you would suffer under the Cruciatus until your bowels loosened and you soiled yourself, or you suffered under the Cruciatus until the Dark Lord got bored of it. Anyone with sense hoped for the former. The Dark Lord's pleasure in the Cruciatus was so great that he had kept it on Tobias Withers for so long that the man had run mad, and then so long after that, the man had become sane again. Lucius remembered that day so vividly. He had entered the Dark Lord's presence on three different occasions that day, and each time Withers had been a fixture on the ground, moaning in pain. No one even knew what the man had done. Some said he had done nothing and the Dark Lord just wanted to test how long he could hold the Cruciatus uninterrupted.
"So you are part of them. Now did you not hear what I said? The Freak isn't here. Get out of my house." Now he was holding the rod even more aggressively, brandishing it at them as he stepped forward.
"Yes, so I was not mistaken. You are one of them," his Lord whispered, and even as his wand didn't move, the rod in the man's hand turned into a snake. The man yelped, a distinctly cowardly sound, and tried to drop the snake, but the snake had attached itself to him quite securely.
"Get it off me!" the man screamed. The Dark Lord brought forth his wand with a flourish, and a moment later, the man was on the floor screaming. Lucius tried not to pay too much attention to the wand. He had not gotten to see it in person, but he had heard it whispered, and now it was clear that the whispers were true. The Dark Lord had lost his wand. This wood was a lighter shade and made a much shorter wand overall. While some doubted his Lord's potency for it, Lucius had been under the Cruciatus. Nothing had been diminished about his Lord's power. And it was that power that this Muggle now felt. The man screamed, wailed, yelled like a banshee, almost covering the sound of another avalanche hurtling itself down the stairs. Another Muggle, this time a boy—so fat that he could only be the man's son. He took in the situation and instead of running, as was sensible, he jumped at them. "Dad!" he screamed before he froze in the air. The Dark Lord had only given him a look.
Another sound came from the woman that rushed down the stairs after her son. A mixture between a gasp and a cry. She held her hands up to her mouth on seeing them. And it wasn't just from seeing them, Lucius observed. It was from seeing him in particular. How daft of the Muggle. These things were truly little brighter than mules. How could she not see that his Lord was the true danger between the two of them? Lucius had barely even done anything here.
"You recognise Lucius' mask, woman?" his Lord asked, and he began to realise. Of course. His Lord's gold mask had not made a public appearance as of yet. No one knew it was the Dark Lord beneath it. But Lucius wore the silver mask of one of the Inner Circle, and those with any sense knew to fear the Inner Circle. It made sense.
"Y-you're them. The De-de-Death Eaters," she managed to force out, pointing at them while taking a step back.
"Indeed we are, woman. Now tell me how you know about us."
"B-but you're supposed to be gone. Your Master is dead. That wretched boy killed him," she said with more vehemence than he would have expected from such a slip of a thing.
"Lord Voldemort cannot be killed. Lord Voldemort is the only true immortal to have walked this earth, and he has returned. I have returned." His Lord removed his mask, and the Muggle woman flinched backwards, damn near turning and running, leaving her husband and son behind.
"You are right to quake in fear. Against one as great as me, there is nothing you can do but shiver and quake in fear. Still, you are yet to answer my question. How do you know about us, Muggle?" he asked, and now there was menace in his tone. A tone that promised nothing but pain if it was met with anything less than total and complete obedience to what it requested.
"Lily and her friends," the woman finally managed to stutter out.
"Indeed. You are Lily Potter's sister. This is a chance for me to get some revenge on your sister for destroying my former body. It is only fair if your sister cost me my body, and then when I got it back, your nephew cost me my face, then you, your husband, and your son will help me get my face back," he said with a chuckle.
"No, please. We do not care for the boy. If we knew you still lived, we would have given him to you. We just want to be left alone; we don't want anything to do with your world."
"I know you care not for the boy. You shoved him in a cupboard for years, forced him to live in servitude to you, and hid his true nature from him. Even without your blood ties, I would most assuredly kill any Muggles that have dared to lord over a wizard in such a manner."
"B-but the boy is your enemy," she tried.
"Yes, and he is a wizard. That means he is worth more than every single one of your kind combined. The fact that your pig of a husband would be so bold as to place his hands on a wizard. On magical blood. I find myself struggling to control my rage, Petunia," the Dark Lord said, and Lucius tried his best not to gasp in shock. His Lord was most definitely using Legilimency to rifle through the Muggles' minds at will. So that meant what he was saying was true. These Muggles. They'd mistreated the Boy Who Lived. The last Potter. They'd put him in a cupboard and dared to beat him? His Lord was right. Whatever animosity they had with Potter did not matter. Potter was a wizard, and that meant something. The thought that Muggles would dare. His blood was boiling already. How had Dumbledore, the damn old fool, allowed this?
This was precisely what the Death Eaters fought against. Muggles in their cruel jealousy could never be given power over wizards. They ought to be relegated to serving, where they belonged, not daring to have charge over a wizard of all things.
"Now, Petunia, I want you to scream for me," his Lord said before lashing out with his wand.
XXXXX- LUCIUS MALFOY
"Arrange their bodies in a triangle," his Lord commanded, and he moved to do his Lord's bidding. He knew that using magic in or around rituals was a terrible idea, so he dragged the bodies of the two fat lards, insensate as they were from hours of his Lord's attention. He had driven all three of the Muggles mad and then some with his Cruciatus. Lucius had expected that someone—whether from the Ministry or even one of Dumbledore's cronies—would have intervened at some point, but it seemed the Ministry remained clueless as ever, even as the Headmaster had clearly abandoned these people to their own devices.
After a shameful amount of exertion, Lucius managed to move the bodies into place. He said nothing about how this was servant work. It was an honour to be the most trusted of the inner circle. The one his Lord trusted enough to bring on a personal mission like this one.
His Lord took out a bowl from the bag he had made Lucius carry. It was pure silver. The same was true for the knife that he took out next. He stepped next to the woman, kneeling and making a single straight cut along her forearm. He allowed the blood to pour into the bowl as he stood and went to get another bowl. Lucius watched with rapt attention as he bled the fat boy as well. His Lord was a master of the Dark Arts without compare, and Lucius could already tell that this ritual was an original creation. Lucius had not even known that Muggles could participate in rituals beyond acting as blood sacrifices.
When the Dark Lord had finished watching the blood pile up, he used the blood to paint runes on all three of the Muggles before he drew a simple pentagram on the cleared living room next, taking care to ensure the woman was at the head of the triangle and each of the men were at one of the ends of the three triangles that made up the edges of the pentagram.
"Imperio," his Lord commanded, and the Muggle man rose. His Lord brought the knife to bear at his position in the center of the pentagram and slashed him straight across the throat.
Then his Lord began to chant in a language Lucius could only vaguely identify as Egyptian. It took a few minutes of chanting, but the Muggle boy and his mother slowly dried out, their life-force being obviously drained from them. The ritual did not end until their hearts had stopped beating. And then his Lord removed his golden mask, revealing a face Lucius had not seen in over a decade, the same handsome visage that his Lord had used to tempt them all to his cause all those years ago.
XXXXXXX HARRY J POTTER
The girl was quick on her feet, I thought. Even with the ritual, I was becoming certain that I would struggle to beat her in a contest of pure speed. It was impressive the way she weaved not just through spells but through all sorts of obstacles. I had expected her to fall off steeply once we got to the last sixteen, but she was shockingly holding her own very well. I was no longer besieged by thoughts the second I opened myself up in the competitor's box, which meant everyone at this level had some amount of Occlumency training.
I expected she would lose to an opponent whose moves she could not predict with unearthly accuracy in a matter of seconds. The duel was already going on for close to three minutes now. Her opponent wasn't a slouch either. He brought to bear an interesting combination of skills—charms and elemental transfiguration, more specifically earth elemental magic. He had stilled the sandstorm around them with a breath and then expanded the platform outside with some sort of open-space expansion charm that stretched the battlefield to give both of them more space. He then used that increased space to his advantage; with waves of his wand, he lifted whole sections to form walls, fences, all sorts of barriers in an instant, and used them to great effect in penning in the Asian witch.
In contrast, she was forced to jump this way and that, continuously retreating from his attempts to close her down. His previous duels had passed much more quickly, but I did note that the last time he had almost gotten caught by surprise by his opponent because of the size of the platform—he'd managed to get right in front of him and had only missed his stunner by a hair's breadth. Now, thanks to the expanded platform, he was able to ensure he had the benefit of distance, and it was only a matter of time until the Asian girl would tire and fall into his hands.
A/N: If you think about it, thanks to the ritual he used to come back, Petunia was Voldemort's aunt and Dudley his cousin as well. That's why he could use them to power a bloodline restoration ritual. Powered by two wizards, it would have been enough to bring a wizard on the brink of death back to the peak of his powers. With two Muggles, he barely manages to fix his face. Next four chapters up on patreon(https://www.patreon.com/c/Oghenevwogaga) (same username as here and link in bio), support me there and read them early.