Still Ⅲ

The trio departs quickly from the Gibbon's manor wrapping their robes about them, before apparating away to plan how to accomplish their master's request. The Death Eater's gaze is suddenly pulled back to the serpent only to with horror see the serpent jaws widen and widen an impossible length to swallow whole first the house elf and then the corpse of Walden Macnair. At this point, a few sickly-looking Death Eaters are no longer able to keep their bile inside and are forced to run outside and begin to spew onto the frozen steps, in the withered bushes, and the surrounding snow around the front door.

"How utterly weak," Voldemort contemptuously sneered, before dismissing the Death Eaters from his presence. The Death Eaters hurriedly scurry away lest their Master changes his mind mid-way. "A word, Lestrange," he abruptly said causing the Death Eater's passing by to glance at Rodolphus Lestrange with blatant envy and curiosity in their eyes. Lestrange was well known for the time being to have the Lord's favor, but favor rises and ebbs much like the tides.

"I hearken to your summons, Dark Lord," Rodolphus Lestrange replied bowing deeply to hide his gaze from the Dark Lord.

"Come," Voldemort ordered leaving his Horcrux, Nagini behind to consume the rest of the corpses.

Voldemort arrogantly leads the way into the inner Great Hall. A marble throne is erected in the middle of the Great Hall for the Dark Lord to rest and command his followers from. Yet as of late, he had not spent much time on his throne, but rather gazing out of the window down on the snow-covered muggle village in the valley.

A single long spider-like finger reaches up and taps on the misted window. "From here they seem so tiny and insignificant," Voldemort murmured pressing his bluish sharp talon hard enough against the windowpane to leave a scratch. "And just like a bug, their lives can be sniffed out so very quickly."

Knowing better than to interrupt, Rodolphus patiently waits for the Dark Lord to readily address him. After some time, Voldemort turns towards Lestrange. His crimson eyes carefully assess the slender dark-haired wizard. "Mm, Lestrange, you have always been one of my most loyal of followers," he pensively commented.

"Milord, it is my task and duty to serve the Dark Lord," Rodolphus carefully responded telling no lies.

"I know and that is why I shall entrust you with a task of the utmost secrecy and importance," Voldemort's gravely said.

Rodolphus's eyes widen in surprise at the rare solemnity heard in the Dark Lord's voice. A trace of caution appears in his voice as he asks, "I shall obey your will, Milord. What does the Dark Lord require of me?"

"Your family served under Grindelwald did they not?" Voldemort pointedly inquired crimson serpent eyes blazing.

"Yes, Milord."

"Good, good. Lestrange, go and seek out the acolytes. Integrate yourself as part of their circle and when the time is right," Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed with hunger, "propose an alliance between our two forces seeking the destruction of Albus Dumbledore."

Rodolphus shows no signs of shock but rather his dark eyes become grave. "Thy will shall be done, Dark Lord. However, might this humble servant be permitted to plainly speak?"

Voldemort signals to Lestrange to speak. "Milord, the Acolytes have had all these years to seek revenge upon Dumbledore for their Gellert Grindelwald's defeat and capture at the hands of Dumbledore. The acolytes are not interested in vengeance against Dumbledore not as much as freeing Grindelwald from Nurmengard."

"I do not see why the matter cannot be accomplished, Lestrange," Voldemort chillingly replied. "I will only be merciful this once, I do not have a habit of being questioned."

"My mistake, Milord," Rodolphus sincerely admitted and bowed his head lower.

"Enough, Lestrange, I have no need for such flattery," Voldemort frowned, before pointedly dismissing Lestrange with a wave of his spider-like hand.

Rodolphus keep his head low and bows moving towards the door. "And Lestrange," Rodolphus froze at Voldemort's voice, "leave the door open, Nagini has finished eating and is returning to my side."

"Yes, Dark Lord," Rodolphus muttered hiding his revulsion but nevertheless left the door open behind him for the sated serpent to enter.

The sound of something heavy slithering can be heard beyond the darkness of the door. Voldemort expressionlessly sits down on the marble throne to wait for his horcrux. From the depths of the shadows of the large serpent, Nagini swayed slowly towards him. Two large lumps can be seen within the serpent being digested and dragged towards him.

Satiated, Voldemort's Horcrux lays before his throne outstretched to slumber. Voldemort studies his Horcrux now only in name called Nagini. An empty feeling fills his chest and one that he has no name for. With the creation of Nagini as his Horcrux, Nagini was no longer the serpent that he once knew, the one that killed his kin. The current Nagini remembered him, but the snake was no longer Nagini, but rather a mere vessel to house his soul. This Nagini was a vicious, bloodthirsty, murderous, beast, that is the carrier for his internal madness.

Yes, Voldemort had knowingly split his soul to house the growing madness. A trace was still left behind in his current soul, but the creation of the living Horcrux housed the majority of the corruption found within his soul. A trace of melancholy and nostalgia for a moment is visible in his crimson eyes as he studies the slumbering serpent laid out before him. His Nagini was gone and only his Horcrux remained.

Uncomfortable with the almost foreign sentiments, Voldemort raises his gaze and recalls the copy of the Daily Prophet that he had read. He pursed his bloodless lips slightly, but not a trace of fury could be seen in the depths of his blood-red eyes. Normally, he would be enraged at the words written in the Daily Prophet, but now, he could calmly read and observe his surrounding without being clouded by a fog of madness.

It was tedious to learn that his origins to an extent had been discovered. Yet this was an opportunity in itself, Voldemort could use the Daily Prophet to increase his exposure to the public and gather more like-minded followers. With clarity returned to him, he slowly began to ponder on how to further exploit the opportunity before him.

Unknowingly Voldemort's crimson eyes return to the scene outside of the fogged windows. A dim shadow can be seen moving down the snow-covered path of Gibbons manor and beyond the gates, Lestrange. Yes, Lestrange was a most loyal follower and one that Voldemort relied on, but after the betrayal of Devante Nott, it was better to depend on oneself. No, he could only truly trust himself for he could not afford to be too dependent on any of his followers. And know that he was aware of the existence of his enemy, he began to recall true memory fragments.

Unlike Dumbledore, Voldemort's retreat at the Ministry of Magic had filled him with coincidence. Voldemort had found Dumbledore weaker and full of weakness to exploit. Should they face on the battlefield once again, he would no longer fear his former Professor. Rather he was even confident of being able to take the old man's head.

Voldemort's crimson eyes flash as he returns to the thought of his nameless foe. His true enemy did not just carry one face but rather many faces. To destroy his enemy, he would have to find the means to hunt down an existence like him. He was only in the preliminary stages having finally learned to create a living vessel, but his enemy was a master in the art. However, his nameless foe was arrogant and confident in being unable to be discovered.

Yet unlike his foe, Voldemort had access to some of Herpo, the Foul's private records in parseltongue. During his time abroad, he had by some unknown instinct retrieved the precious journals are written in parseltongue having belonged to the ancient Greek parseltongue, Herpo, the Foul. And though the records were incomplete, they were more than sufficient in pointing Voldemort in the proper direction.

For Voldemort was terrible, yes, but great. A psychopath, but brilliant; and not even his enemies could deny the awful power that Voldemort possessed. And as the ancient wizard clans of the East once said, "One mountain cannot house two Occamy." There could only be one.