Malfoy Manor.
"Crouch the Elder" stared fixedly at the floor, not daring to lift his head. The yew hedges outside the manor cast ghostly, elongated shadows, yet they were nothing nothing compared to the terror of the man standing before him.
"…I am willing to die… only in the hope that you will be killed when you meet your opponent."
"That's what he said? R.A.B.?" Voldemort's eyes blazed crimson. "Regulus Arcturus Black… Regulus… Regulus…" A name he had barely noticed more than a decade ago was now being repeated over and over.
Voldemort had never paid that person any mind.
But now he had no choice. He forced himself to dredge up every memory he had of Regulus: a rather thin young man with the Black family's signature dark hair and a trace of aristocratic hauteur. Of course, in his presence, Regulus had always been humble. Voldemort recalled the moment he had branded the Dark Mark onto his arm—joy, awe, eyes brimming with visions of the glorious future. Yet that light in his eyes had soon faded. Voldemort had known Regulus harboured some doubts deep inside, but the boy had remained loyal all the same. Even when he borrowed the Black family's house-elf, Regulus had seen it as an honour. He could not have been mistaken…
That house-elf…
"Little Barty," Voldemort's entire body suddenly went rigid. "That elf… Did you see a house-elf at the funeral?"
Crouch raised his head in bewilderment.
"It should have been very old," Voldemort said slowly. "It would have been following…" He glanced quickly around the room; several figures lurked in the shadows. "Following Bella's cousin, perhaps?"
"Master, do you mean Sirius Black?" A dark-skinned woman with bulging eyes stepped cautiously out of the darkness. "He is the disgrace of the family, filth. He was disowned long ago. I swear that if I ever—"
"Silence!" Voldemort roared. His wand flicked sharply, and the woman shut her mouth at once.
The next instant, Crouch felt crushing pressure bearing down on him. He racked his brain.
"There… there was indeed a house-elf helping at the funeral, but it wasn't with Sirius Black. It was following a boy—yes, the boy who sat beside Harry Potter!"
Crouch described the boy's appearance. "He had black hair too. He might be from the Black fam—"
"Hodge Blackthorn," Voldemort snarled through clenched teeth.
Crouch felt as though an invisible hand had seized him by the throat.
"Did you hear what the boy called the elf?"
It had been too long ago, and he would never have bothered to remember the name of a lowly creature, but Regulus had called it… Kre… Kre…
"Yes. Kreacher."
Voldemort's heart sank like a stone.
Impossible. That wretched beast should have died long ago, in the cave, after drinking the poison he himself had brewed. There was no way it could have survived… Even if it had, there was no escaping. He had set the most airtight enchantments. A mere house-elf…
"Master—" Bellatrix drew nearer with exaggerated care, only to let out a shriek the next second and stumble backward.
Voldemort lowered his wand and resumed his thoughts.
His treasure, his guardian, his hope of immortality—the Horcrux… Had Dumbledore found out? Was it his miraculous return from death that had aroused the old man's suspicions? Voldemort suddenly felt the situation spiralling out of control. He had been too careless. He should have foreseen this. Dumbledore—that old fox had suspected him since their school days. If anyone could hound his secrets like a bloodhound, refusing to let go even after his "death," it was him.
The question was: how many had he found?
The locket in the cave was almost certainly lost to him now. Yet if Dumbledore had destroyed even one Horcrux, he—Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard alive—would surely have known, would surely have felt it, wouldn't he? If the most vital, most precious piece of himself were attacked or damaged, he would sense it immediately. At the very least, the others must still be intact… He had to check them himself and reinforce every protection at once.
Which one first? Which was in the greatest danger?
The diary was with Malfoy—he had entrusted it to him. He should retrieve it at once…
"Bella," Voldemort said abruptly.
"Yes, Master." Bellatrix gazed at him with feverish adoration.
"Summon Lucius."
It was not the order she had expected, yet Bellatrix obeyed faithfully, leaving several Death Eaters and Crouch standing in petrified silence. Voldemort paced the vast, dimly lit room.
After the diary, the ring came to mind. If—on the off chance—Dumbledore was investigating Horcruxes, the ring was the most likely place he would look. He knew Voldemort's middle name; he would connect him to the Gaunts… There was also the one still hidden at Hogwarts—Dumbledore would never think of that one, but it would be wise to summon Snape and have him retrieve the diadem without explaining what it truly was… The cup in the vault—once Bellatrix returned, he would send her to fetch it… And then there was the matter of Nagini…
Voldemort's gaze slid to the shadows where Barty Crouch stood. Could he still be trusted? He had brought nothing but ill tidings… Or Bellatrix? No—Nagini was the newest; he had told no one, and no one knew. There was no need to overreact. He would simply keep Nagini at the manor until he returned.
When Bellatrix came back, a flustered Lucius Malfoy trailing behind her, Voldemort had regained his composure.
That calm lasted only a few minutes.
Lucius Malfoy's screams of agony soon echoed through the manor.
Voldemort could scarcely believe it—one of his Horcruxes destroyed? When he saw the diary, tattered and ruined beyond repair, rage consumed him entirely. Though he hated to admit it, the dread in his heart grew sharper. That meant Dumbledore knew of at least two…
He had to leave immediately and confirm the safety of the others.
He hastily imprisoned the entire Malfoy family, ordered Yaxley to inform Snape to await his return, instructed Bellatrix to retrieve the cup from the vault, then strode out into the dark gardens. Speaking in Parseltongue, he summoned Nagini. The great snake slithered forth and coiled close against him. The failure at Malfoy Manor had sounded the alarm: from this moment on, he would not be separated from Nagini again.
On the other side of the country, Harry suddenly clutched his scar as blinding pain lanced through his forehead.
"He knows. He's coming."
Harry cried out, pressing a hand to his forehead.
On the raised fingers of his left hand glinted a ring set with a black stone.