Ruse Ⅷ

On the outskirts of the little-known muggle town by the name of Sharmourn, the old Gibbon manor stands coldly looking down on the village down in the hills below. The dark manor is surrounded by thorny overgrown bushes that are hacked down in fury as Death Eaters begin to apparated onto the stone path. Those severely wounded are carried past the metal gates that are covered by winding vines. Up the winding path, past the old, decaying trees, the Death Eaters hurry inside the dark, and ancient manor.

The countless Gibbon family tombstones that reside behind the ancient manor seem rather heavy and ominous as shadows seem to stir. Countless Episkey's are cast on those less wounded, while the worst of the wounded are tended to by those that possess better healing skills. Among them is the widow, Empusa Snyde as she quickly and efficiently tends to the wounded as best as she can. The ash, covered fire singed Death Eaters mutter their gratitude as their wounds are tended to from the battle.

The Gibbon gates with a loud crash are smashed onto the ground as Lord Voldemort appears on the winding path with his serpent companion. The Death Eaters that are slightly wounded quiver with dread as an icy, murderous visage can clearly be seen on the Dark Lord's face. Those that are still able to kneel among the wounded kneel, while those that cannot bend their heads showing their fidelity.

Crimson eyes glowing with old madness, Voldemort raises his wand to curse his followers, and remembers, he must control his rage. Forcefully taking a deep breath and his wand shaking with bloodthirst, he slowly lowers his wand hand. "Report on our losses and gains!"

The Death Eaters gaze at each other in surprise, before the rugged domineering featured wizard, Darith Yaxley, the brother of the deceased Corban Yaxley eagerly steps forward. "By my count, Master, we lost at least eleven of our brethren, and four captured. However, our losses were less severe than the Auror's at least sixteen dead by my count, and more wounded," he keenly replied having embellished his tale to some degree.

Somewhat appeased by Darith Yaxley's words, Voldemort turns his eyes to his followers. However, before he can speak, the door slams open behind him causing everyone to turn around and see the figure of Antonin Dolohov leisurely striding into the Gibbon manor front hall. "Pardon me, I did not know I was late," Dolohov arrogantly sneered as he eyed the wounded with disdain.

"Dark Lord," Dolohov leisurely greeted, before his roving eyes fell upon his prey. His long, twisted pale face widens with cruelty as he found that which he sought. "My old friend, would you like to learn of something that will surely be of interest to you?"

"Dolohov speak clearly," Voldemort growled. "I am in no mood for your tiresome games."

"Oh, I speak truthfully, my old friend," Dolohov said with great glee. "Did you know that among of our brethren there exists a traitor?" The air suddenly seems to evaporate from the very chamber as a terrible chill descends upon the hall. Those within the hall attempt not to shiver lest they draw unwanted attention to themselves.

"Who?" Voldemort dangerously hissed with narrowed crimson slit eyes.

"Empusa Snyde," Dolohov slowly said causing those in the hall to let out a gasp. Those that were nearest to the widow wounded or not scramble away in their haste as some trip over their robes. A very large space appears around Empusa Snyde as everyone in the chamber intently turns to gaze at the witch.

Empusa Snyde opens her mouth to defend herself, when Voldemort shouts, "Crucio!" Screaming in agony, she falls to the floor as her body shakes from the force of the torment. The other fragments contained within her retreat except for one forced to linger behind. The fragment was directly tied to the lifeforce of the vessel and could not depart without sufficient time to unravel itself from the magical core of the witch.

The fragment bitterly lamented to itself as it suffered under the cruel hand of the puppet. It was obvious that Life or Death had intervened enough to damage them. They were now bound by the curse of the puppet. It would seem that the gamble of Life or Death had been successful. The handicap imposed on them would slowly take its toll and perchance even be enough to cause the scales of power to tilt. The puppet would have to die, but not before it had been properly been made use of. There was no other choice as any action taken by their own hand would be cursed. They would restrict their movements, for the time being, it was the most prudent course of action. Before it retreated further into the depth of Empusa Snyde permitting the vessel to experience the full force of the torture while it remained unharmed.

After what seems like an eternity, the curse ceased to be cast and Empusa Snyde lays limply on the cold tile floor weakly panting like a fish out of water. Raising his crimson serpent gaze from the wretch, Voldemort flatly asked with barely suppressed fury, "What did the wretch do?"

"Mm, I saw that she killed Damian Mulciber," Dolohov leisurely said with a cruel grin. "Though we can't say for certain who else she might have killed. Although S.R. Wilkes did perish rather mysteriously and if I recall correctly Empusa Snyde was most assuredly nearby when he perished."

The Death Eaters gasp as they too follow the logic of Dolohov much as does Voldemort. The scary thing about truth and lies is that such logic can make the illogical seem logical and the logical seem illogical. The mind is a terribly conniving thing at times.

"Lies, Master," Empusa Snyde panted.

"Silence!" Voldemort roared as he strode over, and his crimson eyes become fixated upon the witch's tear-red eyes. "Legilimens," he non-verbally thought without using his wand. It was one of his many gifts that he had inherited from his ancestor, Salazar Slytherin.

Voldemort suddenly rushes through Empusa Snyde's memories and feels her hatred for Antonin Dolohov. She had attempted to slay him when Dolohov had thrown Muliciber into the killing curses pathway. He was about to pull himself out of her mind when he sees and hears, "The puppet will return soon," before being cast out of her mind by an impossibly powerful force that did not permit him further entry.

Voldemort stumbles back in shock and pain at having been so forcefully expulsed. His crimson serpent-like eyes gaze with genuine surprise at Empusa Snyde, before his face darkens with uncontrollable fury. Without waiting for an explanation, he raises his wand to cast the Killing Curse in rage but forcing himself once more to stop. His wand trembles violently in the air as if a wild beast that is restrained by chains and manacles. Lowering his hand excruciatingly slow, he says through gritted teeth, "By right, she is your prey, Dolohov. You may do with the traitor as you wish."

"Thank you, Dark Lord," Dolohov purred with dark satisfaction. He was going to enjoy playing with his prey until she ceased to breathe.

"Just one thing, Dolohov," Voldemort abruptly said.

"Yes, Dark Lord?" Dolohov warily asked.

"Once you are finished entertaining yourself, burn the traitor's body to ashes, and deliver her severed head to Mulciber," Voldemort instructed. "I do not wish to lose a valuable ally for the sake of a traitor. She slew his heir, and the least we can do is provide the proper means for appeasement."

"It shall be no trouble at all," Dolohov practically purred with perverse glee. "I am certain that Mulciber will appreciate the generous offer from his oldest of friends."

Striding forward Dolohov without any qualms reaches down and snaps Empusa Snyde's wand in half, before tossing it to the side. Without any care for the fairer sex, he lifts Empusa Snyde by the hair and drags the shrieking witch out of the hall underneath the eyes of the gathered Death Eaters. None dared to show a pity-filled expression for the traitor lest the Dark Lord call them Traitors as well. The witches screaming abruptly cut off leaving the listeners filled with a dreadful chill as they wait in the hall.