A Grim Ⅱ

In an immense dark underground cave system over forty feet tall giants of all ages gather for battle as even the giantesses and elderly giants arm themselves for battle. The halflings were included except for halfling giantesses who would remain behind to care for the infants and children. Despite the fierce preparations for battle many of the experienced warriors are concerned. Their Gurg had ordered them to attack in broad daylight. Yet none of them dared to voice their concerns lest they attract the attention of their bloodthirsty Gurg.

In the largest corner of the cave system sits a larger-than-normal giant, thirty feet tall, Wurbog, the Gurg of the Giants. The gray-skinned giant had a large nose with a five-o'clock shadow on his face. His dragon hide clothes were dark, covered in dried blood from his enemies and his own. His necklace of dragon fangs and the teeth of his conquered foes was much larger than before. The newly added teeth still had dried blood with bits of rotting flesh still stuck to them. The giant's hair was dark and thick lopped off at the earlobe kept short. His left hand had been chopped off at the wrist, but now in place, a steely, blood-stained hook stood there in place.

Wurfbog raised his head and sneered revealing a bloody smile filled with teeth that had been filed to razor-sharp points like those of a shark. He had caught the scent of something foul that approached. However, he did not dare attack the group of wizards and witches who are led by the one called Lord Voldemort.

Tall, thin, and powerful, Voldemort strides forward with dark robes clinging to his skeletal frame. With deathly pale skin, sunken crimson eyes with snake-like pupils, and two slits for nostrils; Lord Voldemort is a most terrible existence to behold.

A cold merciless smile if it could be called that clings to the skeletal face of Voldemort. He extends his long, spider-like fingers in the air in a sardonic greeting. The sharp, blue-tinged talon-like fingernails curl slightly up in threat. "Wurfbog," his crimson serpent eyes scan the ranks of the giants. "I trust there will be no impositions or weaklings to be found among the giants?"

Wurfborg snorted raising his hooked hand in the air. "Death awaits them be it at the hand of others or my own."

Voldemort's crimson eyes curl in pleasure before turning to address the Death Eaters behind him. "Lestrange," he ordered to step forward from the masked Death Eater ranks.

Removing a cold steel hollowed mask, a tall, thin, dark-haired gaunt wizard emerges and kneels. Rodolphus Lestrange's ice-cold dark eyes that burn with a dangerous fire are carefully kept on the floor to not betray himself. His hatred had not dimmed with the passing of time but had grown into an inferno that became increasingly more difficult to hide each time.

Wurfborg instinctively raises his hooked hand sensing the wizard as a threat. There were not many among the wizards and witches that followed Voldemort that were a threat to him. But one of them most assuredly was this wizard and Wurfborg would be an utter idiot to turn his back on this one.

Rodolphus Lestrange bows deeply before Voldemort. "Dark Lord, how may I best serve thee?"

"The Aurors and their allies are sure to arrive," Voldemort plainly said. "Have the Aurors and the Ministry of Magic's allies been appropriately deterred so as to not interfere with our plans?"

"My contacts within the Ministry of Magic (the Auror under the Imperius curse and sympathizers to the cause) have successfully set a plan in motion to hinder the arrival of the Aurors and the Ministry of Magic's allies," Rodolphus coolly answered. The smoldering hatred flared in his eyes, before burrowing under cold difference to hide.

"Most excellent," Voldemort approvingly said, before a cold smile appears on his face.

"And dear old Professor Dumbledore is not to be found Hogwarts," Voldemort triumphantly crooned. "I am afraid he has been detained at the Ministry of Magic by pressing matters of the Wizengamont. Naturally, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Dumbledore must be in attendance. An excellent preemptive move on Runcorn's part."

"Furthermore, it will take Hogwarts staff at least ten minutes to arrive at Hogsmeade even on a broomstick or on foot from the nearest apparition point outside of Hogwarts wards," Voldemort with a bloodthirsty gleam gazed down at the burn scar on his hand.

The burn scar on his right palm is in the shape of a locket with a coiling, S, a serpent. Voldemort knew for a fact that one of the vessels of his nemesis attended Hogwarts. He clenched his spider-like hand into a fist. The blood pact prevented him from destroying his blood cousin, he visibly sneered at the mere thought. But the soft underbelly of his so-called kin also attended Hogwarts.

Never mind, there was a pesky loose end to take care of in Hogsmeade. A certain shopkeeper's aide. He would not take any chances. He would be victorious.

Turning his crimson serpent eyes to Lestrange, Voldemort muses, "My lost loyal of servants, Lestrange, you shall amply be rewarded for your sincere devotion," he turned towards a witch with dragon pox scars on her face named Bonnenne.

Voldemort's crimson serpent eyes lingered on Bonnenne, before turning to face the Death Eaters. "We shall strike at the root of the problem. We shall eliminate the next generation of mudbloods."

The Death Eaters loudly applaud the Dark Lord for his glorious plan. All the while Wurfborg holds back a snort. Pathetic to be bought so easily on a mere whim.

Irked Wurfborg rises to his feet and reaches for his enormous club has jagged spikes emerging from nearly every surface except for the club handle. "Commence the preparations," he impatiently ordered glancing down at Voldemort.

"Do not forget yourself wizard," Wurfborg sneered. "Have your followers prepare the portkeys. The shamans of the tribe will need time to prepare for battle."

The crimson eyes of Voldemort grow frigidly cold. "Do not forget your place, half-breed."

Wufborg's hand tightens around his club before he storms away barking orders. The giants all hastily move out of their raging Gurg's path. The children hide behind their mothers in fear.

Voldemort coolly turns to address his followers. "Prepare the portkeys with the Shamans. The portkey's must be capable of carrying a giant's full weight."

"Yes, Master," many Death Eaters chorused before moving to aid the shamans despite their internal disgust for the walking beasts.

Rodolphus Lestrange moves to aid in the preparations, but Voldemort instead commands, "Speak to Bonnenne of your formal intentions." It was an order, not a request. The new world order would require pureblood children and Lestrange is no exception. His followers must produce heirs that would follow in his image.

Rodolphus Lestrange merely bows while Bonnenne repeatedly thanks the Dark Lord for his magnanimity. Voldemort spider-like hands reach over and forcefully grip Bonnenne's pox-marked face and tilt it upward. "I grow weary of such praises," he frigidly hissed.

Bonnenne blanched knowing she had overstepped her place. "Forgive me, master," she whispered trembling in fear.

Voldemort's crimson serpent eyes glitter with some unknown emotion. Perchance Bonnenne reminded him of Bellatrix, but there was some measure of reluctance within. His blue-tinged talons dug deeper into Bonnenne's flesh, but she dared not cry out in pain.

"If I may, milord," Rodolphus Lestrange carefully interjected. "Might I suggest Bonnenne receive personal instruction? I would be greatly honored and gratified if the Dark Lord took her into hand."

Rubbing Bonnenne's check with one finger, Voldemort abruptly releases Bonnenne. "Since my most loyal follower has made such a request of me, I will gladly do so." Voldemort turns away leaving Bonnenne behind with her chest wildly beating from fear and an unnamed emotion.

Seeing the light flush on Bonnenne's cheeks, Rodolphus Lestrange's eyes glow with an eerie, most terrible gleam. The gleam vanishes as quickly as it comes as Rodolphus Lestrange aids the witch to her feet. "A calming drought," he held out the vial for the witch to take. "And for your protection," he also hands her a knife to take.

"Thank you, Lestrange," Bonnenne gladly accepted the potion and blade. Finished, she vanishes the empty vial and hurries away to aid in the preparations for the upcoming battle. She carefully tucks the dagger closely on her person.

Rodolphus Lestrange stands there watching the witch go. She really should have known better than to accept a potion without checking its contents or for that an unknown dagger. He turns hastily away to hide a ghastly smile.

Ironically, Voldemort checked his meals for poison and other dark potions, but never for a lust potion. Arrogance, really. It had been so easy to order the house elves of Gibbons to pour the lust potion into Voldemort's meals. It had been even easier to brew the lust potion using hair from Bonnenne taken from her hairbrush. The lust potion was keyed directly to Bonnenne to induce lust.

Moreover, the potion Bonnenne had so willingly taken would be of great use to him. The trap is set. Now as to whether the bait would be taken, he would wait and see.

Rodolphus tarried a few moments longer to ensure, he is composed before joining the group. The Death Eaters work jointly with the shamans to create great portkeys capable of carrying several giants all at once. Normally, there would be sniped remarks, but they were working under a time constraint. There would be plenty of time to make rude remarks about the giants later.

Yet in the corner of the cave sits an elderly giant in monk robes, (an Ōnyūdō). The elderly giant watches the inhabitants of the cave; however, his gaze is caught by the dark dog that no one else seems to see. It is most strange, really.