Chapter 826: Chapter 711: Voldemort’s Wrath
Because he’d come back too late and then sat up drinking a bit with Bill and Charlie, Kael slept straight through until noon the next day.
"Oh, dear, how are you feeling?"
Mrs. Weasley pushed Kael toward the dining table. "I was going to wake you up for breakfast, but Arthur told me you’d only been asleep for less than two hours."
"I did go to bed pretty late yesterday," Kael said. "Where’s Mr. Weasley?"
"He’s already gone into the Ministry."
"He went in this morning?"
"There’s still a mountain of things waiting for him to do." Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Don’t worry, it’s quite normal for him to work through the night—one cup of Stimulant and he’s fine."
Lunch was lavish, almost on par with the last birthday feast.
"Mum was worried sick all night," Ginny said quietly. "Consider this a celebration of you all making it back safely."
"Originally Mr. Weasley didn’t have to bother with what happened last night," Kael said. "But I hadn’t expected him to insist on staying, and even bring Bill and Charlie along."
"That’s exactly what Dad’s like," Ginny said calmly. "It’d be strange if he didn’t."
"Yeah, you’re right." Kael rubbed his forehead. "But with almost everyone’s hand pointing to ’Mortal Peril’, it’s no wonder Mrs. Weasley was worried."
He knew the Weasley family had a magical clock that didn’t show the time, only what each person was doing. Things like "making tea, feeding chickens, you’re going to be late."
Or locations, like "home", "school", and so on.
It tracked the status of each family member in real time; it counted as one of the Weasley family’s bottom-of-the-chest treasures.
"No, it’s got nothing to do with that." Ginny spread her hands. "You might not know this yet: ever since the first time the Death Eaters attacked the Ministry of Magic, all the hands on the clock face haven’t moved once. In other words, that thing’s basically useless for now... unless You-Know-Who falls again."
As she spoke, Sirius arrived as well. He handed a bowl of beef stew and a few slices of toast to Kreacher to take up to Harry, and then everyone started in on lunch.
...
Nothing particularly special happened over the next few weeks. The only thing worth mentioning was that the Aurors hadn’t managed to get any particularly useful information out of those Death Eaters, but that didn’t stop them from holding a grand celebration for this victory.
The Daily Prophet finally didn’t have to report people going missing or even turning up dead every day, which gave everyone’s spirits a much‑needed boost.
But in a certain manor, the atmosphere was oppressively bleak.
A long table was packed with people sitting on either side, all of them with their heads bowed, hardly daring to breathe.
And all of this was because one man, wand in hand, was strolling unhurriedly behind them.
"Someone here has betrayed us, and betrayed the great Dark Lord." Voldemort’s voice was very soft, giving nothing away, his cold gaze sweeping over each and every person at the table.
Whoever his eyes fell on broke out in a cold sweat, lowering their heads even further, as if they wished they could crawl into a crack in the floor.
Unfortunately, there was no crack in the floor, and Voldemort would not permit a single person to be absent.
"Raise your head... Lucius." Voldemort came to Malfoy’s side and used his wand to lift the man’s chin.
If anyone might have sold him out, then the recently punished Lucius was the most likely candidate.
"M–Master..." Lucius Malfoy’s face instantly went chalk white, and his whole body began to shake uncontrollably.
Voldemort stared into his eyes, which were filled with terror.
"Why are you nervous, Lucius?" He pressed the tip of his wand against Lucius’s forehead.
"Master... I... have not... betrayed..." Lucius Malfoy forced the words out with all his strength.
If only he could have said it a bit more smoothly, it might have sounded more convincing.
"Of course I know, Lucius—you don’t have the guts."
Voldemort withdrew his wand.
In those few short seconds Malfoy was almost drained, but before he could even catch his breath, a jet of green light flashed before his eyes.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort gave his wrist a slight twist, as casually as if he were flicking away a bit of dust.
Macnair, the Death Eater sitting opposite Lucius Malfoy, fell to the floor on the spot, lying there motionless.
Only then did Voldemort speak again, his tone indifferent:
"Dolohov may not have carried out my orders, but at least he brought back word of the traitor. But you, Macnair—what I saw in you was only cowardice."
Repeated failures, plus the news of a traitor, had worn Voldemort’s patience down to almost nothing; someone had to bear the brunt of his fury.
Originally, Voldemort had intended to ferret out the traitor, but after looking around the room he found nothing amiss. Legilimency told him that every one of them was loyal.
There was nothing to be done about that. Voldemort wasn’t about to kill every single suspect, so he had to pick someone else.
For example, one of the two who had fled back after this latest failure.
Unlike Antonin Dolohov, who had escaped by the skin of his teeth, Macnair had bolted the moment the Aurors appeared, doing absolutely nothing of use, and so naturally he became the perfect choice.
Voldemort waved his hand, and a three‑headed serpent slowly slithered over. But no one dared to turn their head, not even to flick their eyes toward it.
"Of course I believe in your loyalty... but you’ve disappointed me far too many times." Voldemort went on, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.
