wand_wavers: (voldemort)
[personal profile] wand_wavers
OOC: Warning for violence and extremely disturbing images

Gone.

All of them, gone.

All of the infinite care and precision put into making them, concealing them, searching for them...all for naught.

But what is worse, and what has been preying on his mind since the moment he Apparated away from Egypt, is the fact that if he does not have them, then someone else surely does. And there are no prizes for guessing who that someone might be.

It is not surprising that he has been rather liberal in his use of the Cruciatus Curse, in the last few days.

Not even the knowledge that the Horcrux which had been in his old diary is safe, ensorcelled in his wand, is of much comfort. One Horcrux is not enough; he must have more than that.

He has only one real option, and very little time to prepare it. There is no way to save time by cutting corners, not for magic of this degree. The price for failure, or even over-hasty execution of the spell, is high enough to make even Lord Voldemort think twice. But after several exhausting days and nights' work, he has managed to assemble all of the necessary ingredients to brew the required potion -- including the one that now lies upon the low table before the steaming cauldron.

Bellatrix had not questioned him, when he had ordered her to bring him a half-blooded child of a pureblooded mother. (Then again, Bellatrix was not likely to question any command of his that gave her the opportunity to sink her arms elbow-deep in blood; a pity, what had happened to her, but after all, every war demands its sacrifices.) The child is male, less than six months old, taken from his parents' home in the very first strike the Death Eaters had made on Black Sunday. Even under a Silencing Spell and a Full Body Bind, it appears to be attempting to scream its little lungs out.

The glass orb is floating in the thick, oily potion that fills the cauldron. Voldemort takes the child by its ankles, casts a spell to suspend it above the cauldron and leave his hands free for what he must do. A freshly-sharpened knife is in his hands, and the blade glints dully as he holds it aloft and begins to chant the words of the spell.

'Here I stand, and summon the darkness that dwells between the worlds!
Here I stand, and present my sacrifice to those who dwell within that darkness!
'

The temperature of the room seems to drop a few degrees, in response to his summons.

'Blood for blood -- '

The knife flashes.

'Life for life -- '

The Silencing Spell stifles the infant's final cry and even its last gurgling breaths.

'Soul for soul -- '

The potion begins to change colour, and the bubbling around the edges quickly expands to cover the entire surface of the cauldron's contents.

'Return that which is rightfully mine!' His voice rises to a high, vengeful shriek on the last word.
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July 2010

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