Outcome pt 2
*Lord Lestrange pov*
Malfoy and I sat in the great hall watching everyone enjoy their feast and whisper about the failed attack. Relishing in the fact it failed, the mudbloods celebrated their detestable existence flaunting it at us like a plague.
We sat in silence.
The silence between us Lords seemed to stretch forever like a dome of gloom cut off from the rest of the hall. Today was supposed to be a day of celebration FOR ME, FOR US, FOR OUR LORD!
But I failed! No! I was plotted against, I was cursed, and sadly I detest the fact my lord will not see it as such.
Malfoy was supposed to see our glory, out might! rethink his decision and finally agree with his son!
From the look of disprovable that scorned his face earlier, I know it is a wishful fantasy.
"This was what your lord wished to show me?" Malfoy asked snidely
I frowned, "No, we failed this time but, you must realize Hogwarts will still face backlash. To be able to accomplish this is quite good no?"
Malfoy nodded, "Yes, if you were a ragtag group of nobodies. Your lord made it seem as if he already had a firm foothold and power in Britain. Still very much so like the kid we went to school with," he scoffed
A genuine peel of laughter escaped my lips, "He is much more powerful now than he was then, won't you consider his offer?"
A thin smile spread across his face, "I have always said I will consider it, I just do not see the need to put my all into a cause that has only failed in the past or did you think I would forget about the Rosier family?"
He was not wrong, "But your son is already deeply invested what will you do old friend?"
Malfoy laughed loudly garnering some odd looks from the students nearby, "My son is my son, I am me. He does not yet have the right to decide the fate of House Malfoy,"
Malfoy's words lingered in the air as we rose from our seats. The Great Hall buzzed with life, but we were ghosts among the living, shadows slipping out into the night. The cold air outside was a welcome relief from the oppressively cheerful atmosphere within. We made our way beyond the edge of the grounds, where we would Disapparate.
"Until next time, Lestrange," Malfoy said, his voice carrying a note of finality.
"Until then," I replied, and with a sharp crack, we vanished from the grounds of Hogwarts.
*Narrator pov*
The Lestrange Manor stood on a windswept moor, its dark silhouette outlined against the moonlit sky. It was a place of ancient stone and shadow, filled with the echoes of generations past. The tall, narrow windows were dark, and the iron gates creaked in the night wind as Lord Lestrange approached. The manor was both a fortress and a tomb, guarding secrets that had been buried for centuries.
Inside, the halls were dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long shadows that danced on the cold stone walls. Lestrange moved with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He descended a winding staircase to a lower level, where a heavy door barred his path. He whispered a spell, and the door creaked open, revealing a chamber lit by a single, guttering candle.
Lord Voldemort stood at the far end of the room, his serpentine features partially obscured by the darkness. His red eyes glowed with an unearthly light, piercing through the gloom to rest on Lestrange.
"My Lord," Lestrange began, bowing deeply, "I have returned."
Voldemort's voice was a soft hiss, filled with menace. "Lestrange. You have news?"
Lestrange swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. "The attack on Hogwarts… it did not go as planned. We were thwarted. But, My Lord, the mere attempt has sown fear and discord. It is a beginning."
"Show me!" Voldemort hissed grabbing his subordinate's cheeks and looking deeply into his eyes
Lestrange tried to resist, "Lower your defenses!"
The walls surrounding the events of the day crumbled letting Voldemort swim through his memories of failure.
Voldamorts eyes burned with rage as he tossed Lestrange to the side, a long drawn-out hiss riveted throughout the room, "CRUCIO!"
Pain, unlike anything Lestrange had ever felt, exploded through his body. He fell to the ground, writhing and screaming as the curse tore through his nerves, setting every inch of him on fire. His bones felt as if they were being shattered one by one, his skin as if it were being flayed from his flesh.
"Do you think failure is so easily forgiven?" Voldemort's voice was cruel, devoid of any hint of mercy.
"You disappoint me, Lestrange. You and your pathetic attempts to make excuses."
Lestrange's screams echoed through the chamber, mingling with Voldemort's mocking laughter. The agony was all-consuming, obliterating every thought, every sensation that wasn't pain. He could hear himself begging, pleading for it to stop, though he barely recognized his own voice.
"You will learn," Voldemort continued, his tone almost conversational, "that failure has consequences. This is a lesson you should have learned long ago."
After what felt like an eternity, the pain ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
Lestrange lay on the cold stone floor, gasping for breath, his body trembling uncontrollably. Every muscle ached, and he could barely summon the strength to lift his head.
Voldemort stood over him, his expression one of disdain. "Remember this pain, Lestrange. Let it remind you of the cost of failure. Next time, you will not be so fortunate."
Lestrange nodded weakly, tears of pain and humiliation streaking his face. "Yes, My Lord. I will not fail you again."
"See that you don't," Voldemort replied, his eyes narrowing. "Now, leave me."
Lestrange struggled to his feet, his entire body protesting with every movement. As he staggered out of the chamber, the echoes of his screams still ringing in his ears, he vowed once more that he would never fail his master again.
"Professor Morpheus is it?" Voldemort snarled, "I've been hearing that name far too often, you will be one of the first to go,"
The dark lord treated Lestrange manner as if it were his own he walked through the office and plopped down on the seat usually reserved for Lord Lestrange.
Opening a piece of mail that was sent by one of his followers he licked his lips, "Soon I will be able to make another," he whispered darkly
***
Lord Lestrange lay in his bed his muscles spasming at random times pain coursing through his body.
His eyes though they were different, gone the eyes of a shamed, fearful, and humiliated man.
Rage burned brightly.