Splitting Up
Lord Voldemort thought it was taking forever, but the castle hadn’t yet fallen down on them and he was not experiencing any extreme rage at the moment so he assumed nothing terribly offensive had happened. After slinking down the rock-hewn tunnel dripping with ancient water and climbing a rather dangerous set of stairs, they finally entered the body of the castle. It was a large open area that was still below the surface, given the water running down the walls. A crumbling staircase was directly in front of them.
“Must be under the moat,” Nott whispered.
Lord Voldemort immediately set off towards the staircase, the others following. He flew up the stairs and came face-to-face with a wall of flat stone. In the darkness, it looked pitch black. He placed a hand on it — it felt ordinary, less than magical — and very thin.
“Not again,” Lestrange groaned but Voldemort shushed him with a glare. He looked above them and frowned at the deliberately cut pattern in the rock.
“We’re below another staircase,” he realized.
The others looked up and gawked.
“Bloody enormous fucking staircase that is,” mumbled Rosier. Dawson muttered something under his breath that made Dolohov snort and Lestrange snicker.
“It’s gotta be some sort of main hall,” Nott began to speculate but Voldemort took a step back and pointed his wand at the stone wall. It exploded with a quick spell, shooting pieces of rock and dust outwards.
“Thank Merlin,” Lestrange sighed. “I’ve already lost so much blood.”
Dolohov scoffed and there was a gleam of silver from Rosier’s robes. “I can make you lose some more if you want.”
“Quiet,” Voldemort hissed. The dust was clearing, revealing the inside of the castle.
A shout and a smattering of another language from somewhere nearby made the others tense.
“Russian,” Nott identified the language immediately.
“You just know everything, don’t you?” Dolohov remarked.
“Don’t move,” Voldemort said as he heard footsteps approaching. Natalie would have known exactly how many individuals were running towards them, but he could only guess. He hoped it wasn’t more than four. He raised his wand, poised and ready. The others did the same.
The outline of three figures appeared through the dust. He grinned. Perfect.
“Stupefy!” yelled Lestrange.
“Corra Interrelascio!” barked Dolohov.
“Incarcerous!” hissed Lord Voldemort.
Then there were three figures crumpled on the broken stone. One stunned, one motionless, one bound in ropes. For a moment there was silence until he stepped out of the space and entered the well-lit area. A brief glance around told him it was the entrance hall of the castle. They had entered from underneath a massive stone staircase. Just to the right was a dark corridor. Imposing wooden doors with a wide metal bar stood locked, watching like a silent guardian of the castle.
He beckoned to the others. Nott, Dawson, and Rosier quickly spread out to search the hall for more Russians. Lestrange peered down at the three figures. “Antonin, did you kill the bloke? We just got here.”
“Got excited,” Dolohov grunted, moving to study the body. “I’ve been wanting to use that curse for ages. Coralis Interra Curse. It bursts the chambers of the heart simultaneously — instant death.”
Voldemort approached the one he had bound. The Russian was letting loose a string of what definitely sounded like curse words. He muttered, “Crucio!” and the Russian fell over, writhing about on the floor until Voldemort lifted the curse and knelt down beside him.
“Where are you keeping the teams?” he demanded.
The Russian glared at him with beady brown eyes. Flecks of gold dotted the iris until the Russian snapped his eyes shut and morphed his face into a sneer, denying Voldemort’s Legilimency. Voldemort had begun to utter the Cruciatus Curse again when the Russian’s jaw twitched and he smiled. He started laughing — it soon turned choked and foam dribbled across his lips. In seconds, he slumped to the floor and grew still — dead.
Voldemort muttered, “fuck,” under his breath and rose to his feet. He came to the infuriating realization that this would not be as easy as he had expected. In fact, this might just be very difficult. The others were silent; he felt their eyes on him. He knew they were arriving at the same realization. Nott drew in a slow breath. Rosier twirled the dagger. Dolohov licked his lips and bared his teeth in a grin. Lestrange cracked his knuckles. Dawson rubbed his hands together.
Voldemort looked around at them before he began levitating the bodies of the Russians into the space under the staircase. He did not want more Russians stumbling upon their neutralized comrades. Dolohov stepped forward to assist with a growl of delight.
“Cyanide capsule, looks like,” Dolohov said as he hovered the last body underneath the stairs. There was still foam on the Russian’s mouth.
Voldemort walked towards the large doors to study the entrance hall. The staircase took up most of the hall, dark corridors on either side of the stairs ran deeper into the castle. He eyed the two corridors and the staircase, revising his plan. There had only been three Russians in the entrance hall but he knew there were dozens more. He assumed the heaviest concentration of these would be wherever the teams and Aurors were being held. He had been wondering if the hostages were being held together or in separate locations, and hadn’t come to a conclusion yet.
There were only six of them, as Mulciber guarded the tunnel entrance. He couldn’t help but think that this was the perfect situation where Natalie could be exceptionally useful. He hoped to find her first, to take advantage of that. The others wouldn’t know how.
“Evan, Eric,” he looked at the two and gestured towards the corridor on the left of the staircase. They grinned, sent him a salute, and darted off.
“Zack, Adolphus,” he directed the other two to the corridor on the right of the staircase.
Lestrange bowed with a twirl of his wand. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. See you on the other end.”
“Shut up,” Nott whacked him on the shoulder and pushed him off down the right side corridor.
Voldemort turned to Dolohov, who was staring at him with the alertness of a hound awaiting a scent to track. He beckoned him along up the main staircase.
“Go left,” Voldemort said when they reached the top. Before them was a blank stretch of wall with a few doors, but the corridor stretched outward on both sides of them. “If you find my wife before I do, let me know immediately.”
Dolohov nearly tripped over the last step. “Your — your what?”
Voldemort shot him a look before he turned off down the right side hallway. “You heard what I said.”
Please note: the next several chapters will contain violence, blood, assault and implications of assault, death, and quite a few Unforgivable Curses.