[This book has been dropped. I am uploading all my drafts. Check out my new book. Harry Potter: Return From Future]
Abraxas's body trembled at the mere thought that Voldemort had been waiting for him. It was a terrifying and unimaginable prospect.
"I dare not delay you, My Lord," he pleaded, his voice trembling with fear. "I dare not. I did not know that you would arrive early, and finding the entrance to this cavern took a bit of time."
"Get up, Malfoy," Voldemort said, completely ignoring Abraxas's frantic explanations.
Though still gripped by fear, Abraxas did not dare ignore the Dark Lord's command. He stood up, but kept his head and waist bowed respectfully or out of fright, not even daring to look directly at the man before him.
"Tell me, Malfoy," Voldemort bellowed.
"Why did you contact me?" He questioned. What emergency arose that warranted the use of that method?"
He had the answer but he was interested in hearing it from Abaraxas' mouth.
"My Lord," Abraxas responded, trying to steady his breath. "After what transpired in the Wizengamot, all of us were growing increasingly nervous and anxious. We had received no orders from you, and we did not know how to proceed. The entirety of Wizarding Britain is in unprecedented chaos, and our faction is completely divided."
"Some of us wanted to use this chaos as an opportunity to further our interests and bare our fangs, while others wished to remain dormant and let things calm down. Without your words to guide us, we were left entirely indecisive."
"Furthermore," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "since we had heard nothing from you regarding a plan of such magnitude, we were confused and unsure of what was truly happening. In such a scenario, everyone agreed that I should utilize the emergency contact method to hear directly from you. It was agreed that I will seek you and will bring your precise orders back to them and chart a unanimous path forward."
"Oh?" Voldemort drawled, his voice laced with mock amusement. "But you forget one very important part."
"What part, My Lord?" Abraxas asked, his voice shaking.
"The part where all of you are incredibly intrigued, highly curious, or perhaps even desperate to find out exactly who those people were, the ones assisting me in my attack," Voldemort responded.
An amused, sinister and evil smirk was playing on his pale face.
Abraxas's entire body went rigid. He turned stiff and froze.
"No, My Lord," he responded hastily, panic bleeding into his words. "I would dare not. I would never dare to question you."
"Abraxas Malfoy," Voldemort's thunderous voice cut through the cavern.
The Malfoy Lord flinched violently. He braced himself, fully expecting a curse, most probably the Cruciatus Curse, the Dark Lord's favorite tool, to strike him and plunge him into an abyss of agonizing pain at any second. But the flash of light never came.
It came as a surprise to Abraxas. He was entirely used to seeing, on numerous occasions, the Dark Lord punish even his most loyal servants at the slightest hint of displeasure.
It was true that Voldemort often acted like a volatile maniac to keep his followers terrified and extinguish any thoughts of defiance or even question before they could even form.
However, Voldemort also knew that this strategy had its limitations. Times were getting tougher, and he could not afford to alienate or deeply dissatisfy his primary followers, especially not when there were already hidden issues brewing that might foster resentment in their aristocratic hearts.
"I do not mind you all getting curious about the identities of those people," Voldemort said calmly.
"My Lord," Abraxas murmured.
He was utterly baffled, shocked to his core. Was the Dark Lord truly going to offer them an explanation? This was entirely unprecedented. But Voldemort's next words instantly smothered all of Abraxas's rising hope.
"But," Voldemort continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper, "you are never going to find out."
"They are my secret force," he said. "My most powerful tools. They are brilliant and powerful wizards and are fiercely loyal to me."
"They live and breathe our ideology. The supremacy of pure bloods. A society where the pure-blooded not only receive their fair share of rights and respect, but also rule Wizarding Britain."
"This is what they desire, and what they live for," he boomed, the sound echoing against the stone walls. "And to achieve this, they are willing to do anything. And by anything, I mean anything. Even launching a direct assault on the Wizengamot."
Abraxas listened in absolute silence, not daring to raise his head.
"Malfoy," Voldemort drawled. "I know many of you are confused. Some of you are even dissatisfied that this grand opportunity was not granted to your ranks."
"We dare not feel such envy, My Lord," Abraxas interjected instantly, fear gripping his heart at the accusation.
"And I understand it, too," Voldemort continued, completely ignoring Abraxas's desperate defense. "But I also understand that this sudden envy emanating from the Death Eaters is purely a result of the attack's staggering success."
"If I had asked before the assault, you would not have been able to give me even ten names of men who would have followed me inside the Wizengamot without hesitation, and without fear of the consequences," he added.
"And I do not blame you for that. I do not doubt your loyalty, but the truth remains that you all have a great deal to lose. If your identities are exposed, you fear losing your social standing, your influence, and your power. You fear losing the grip your family commands on Wizarding Britain."
"Reinhart Lestrange is a prime example. His family lost nearly everything because his identity was revealed when he was caught attacking a Wizengamot Lord."
Abraxas did not reply. Inwardly, he completely agreed with the Dark Lord. If he had been approached before the attack, he knew he would not have been daring enough to participate in such a catastrophic risk. He might have done it, but only out of sheer terror of Voldemort himself, not out of bravery.
"But these people," Voldemort drawled, "they have absolutely nothing to lose. They are entirely without fear. They are like shadows, present everywhere, yet completely unremarkable. There are tasks that only they can perform."
"Do you understand, Abraxas?" he questioned, his red eyes boring into the man.
"Yes, My Lord," Abraxas nodded quickly. "I understand perfectly."
"Good," Voldemort grinned, a terrifying expression on his pale face. "And this had better be the absolute end of your curiosity regarding the identities of these men. I may have been lenient this time, but if any of you dare to even sniff in their direction again, do not expect me to be so forgiving."
"Yes, My Lord," Abraxas responded immediately. "It will never happen again."
Voldemort nodded, satisfied with the submission.
"Call for a gathering," he ordered, his tone switching back to normal. "I want to meet all of my Death Eaters. Summon every single one of them, even those of the lowest ranks, and even those who only joined our cause yesterday."
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