Helthorn Ⅱ

The tension is broken by a loud sneeze from Gibbons. Gibbons pushes back his hood revealing his dour face. The youngest integrant in the chamber is a beautiful dark-haired witch. The witch had dark eyes, thick, long eyebrows, and short hair elegantly pulled back. And her lips were elegantly stained in a mauve shade of lipstick.

"Gibbons," the witch in her late twenties purred, "It has been some time, no?"

"Praxidlike," Gibbons sourly replied, "you look well."

"Ah, you are still not sour that I did not accept the betrothal between our two houses, did you?" Paxidlike flashed a wolf-like smile.

"Vinda Rosier would never have allowed her daughter to marry a lesser pureblood," jeered, an older witch with a harsh face. Her cold eyes dart maliciously around despite her being dressed so properly in dark clothing.

"Charybis Carrow," an older handsome American wizard name Abernathy with brown hair chided the older witch, "now is not the time to discuss such personal topics of nature."

"Enough!" Grimmson impatiently said. "Let us speak to the task at hand," gesturing at Voldemort and his party to take a seat. Krafft hides an expression of annoyance and instead flicks off unseen lint from his uniform. The remaining Acolyte members fall silent waiting for the bloodbath to begin.

Voldemort with a great demeanor takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. Gibbons and Lestrange remain dutifully standing behind him. "I greet the Acolytes," Voldemort superfluously said. "I am obliged by being granted to be in the presence of those that came before."

"I come with a proposal," Voldemort steadfastly declared. "An alliance between us to take back what rightly belongs to wizardkind to rule over those lesser than us, the muggles, who are no more than beasts."

"Those are rather passionate words, Voldemort," Krafft retorted. "However, you have allied yourself with the Giants and even then, the tides of war have not turned in your favor."

"A half-breed is only capable of this much, Krafft," Charybis Carrow ridiculed. "This is the sort of rubbish that can only be expected of a half-breed. It would be foolish to expect any intellectual thought from those born beneath us."

Voldemort's crimson serpent eyes gleam with an eerie light before growing hard. "And yet, the greatest wizard of our time was defeated by Professor Dumbledore, a half-blood as well."

Charybis Carrow leaps to her feet with her wand held high in hand along with Karfft, who could not stand to have their leader, Gellert Grindelwald be insulted by such lowly filth. Before either of them can cast a spell, a thud is heard echoing loudly through the hallway behind the seated figures of Voldemort.

The sound of firm footsteps can be heard echoing faintly through the hallway. The occupants of the chamber glance at each other in clear surprise. "Did you ensure you were not followed, Lestrange?" Sharply asked, Praxidlike with a suspicious frown.

"None followed us," Rodolphus earnestly answered holding his wand firmly in hand ready to attack or defend from those in front of him, and those approaching from behind.

The Acolytes glance at each other cryptically except for MacDuff, who calmy continues to toy with his lucky talismans. "I must have forgotten to mention, an old friend desired to be in attendance this evening."

'Who?' Is on the tip of everyone's tongue yet no one asked. Voldemort is far too proud to turn around, but he carefully grips his wand in his lap. The footsteps grow louder and louder until the source stands in the doorway.

There are gasps and murmurs of astonishment, but Voldemort does not turn to glance around. He held far too much pride, but yet his hands betrayed him gripping his wand that much firmer. An unusual trace of unease slithers across his neck and down his back. It was rare for him to meet a witch or wizard with such power. Yet the approaching figure held great power perchance even enough to rival that of his own.

It was an unsettling sentiment that Voldemort had never encountered before except in the presence of a few namely Professor Dumbledore. At his back, Lestrange and Gibbons both grow tense. They actively breathe shallowly as if not to draw attention to themselves.

They are not the only ones as the tall, thin figure came to a halt a few seats away from Voldemort. Voldemort's crimson eyes flicker in surprise at seeing a slender, pale wizard with stern features. The elder wizard's dark eyes are frigid, bottomless holes.

The elder wizard wears fine, silky dark clothing, yet Voldemort can easily recognize the fine Acromantula silk interwoven with dragon wide. A garment worth a fortune in itself. Yet his eyes are drawn to a diamond-shaped pin with an inscribed symbol.

"Prince, you are not welcome here," viciously spat Charybis Carrow.

"I was invited," Reginald Prince matter-of-factly declared peering down at his hand and proceeding to slowly remove the leather glove on his left hand.

Without the slightest hint or warning, Charybis Carrow is abruptly magically tossed across the chamber slamming brutally into the wall before falling onto the dusty floor in a daze. "I am in no mood this evening to continue to hear such foolhardy sentiments," Reginald Prince plainly said taking a seat at the table between Voldemort and the Acolytes.

"You are late, Prince," MacDuff slyly interjected.

"The roads are impossible to traverse in this weather," Reginald Prince responded. "And I am not as young as I once was."

MacDuff sighed knowingly, "Ah yes, decrepit age comes to even to the best of us."

Reginald Prince does not respond turning away to face the wizard, who called himself, Lord Voldemort. With his leather glove firmly held in hand, it is violently thrown forward with a hint of magic painfully slapping Voldemort fully across the face. The black leather glove lingers for a second, before sliding down Voldemort's face leaving a ghastly red handprint mark behind.

There is a shocked silence as Gibbons tries not to choke on his own spit. Even Rodolphus Lestrange appears greatly startled unable to hide the clear astonishment in his dark eyes. Voldemort himself is unable to believe what transpired as his spider-like hand reaches up to touch his burning face in disbelief.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Reginald Prince deliberately said, "you have in every single manner dishonored our shared ancestor Salazar Slytherin. You have forsaken the old ways that bind wizards and witches together despite your supposed claims of honor. You dishonor the Gaunt line and disrespect the very sacrifice of your mother, my distant cousin, Merope Gaunt by denying the very name bestowed upon you with her dying breath."

"You are the worst ingrate of its kind, Tom," Reginald purposely said staring down his long nose at Voldemort. "And half-blood or not, it is no excuse for your ignorance," and after a pause, he deliberately added, "cousin."

Voldemort visibly twitched at Reginald Prince calling him, "cousin." His crimson serpent eyes narrowed before he leaned back and matched the elder wizard with a frigid stare. "Yes, I have heard the supposed claims, but I see no proof of the House of Prince being descended from Salazar Slytherin."

Prepared Reginald reached into his robes, before pulling out a silver goblin-forged dagger encrusted with emerald gemstones forming a serpent across the hilt of the blade. With great force, the silver dagger is plunged into the table as the emerald serpent mockingly glints at Voldemort. "Perchance, the Gaunt line lost their family relics, but the Prince's preserved and protected that which was bestowed upon us by our forefather."

A trace of greed flashes across Voldemort's crimson eyes followed by simmering irritation and envy. Even he could not deny the crest of Salazar Slytherin nor the age of the artifact. The proof lay before him and he could argue otherwise, but it would not be enough to discredit the claim.