Chapter 408 - Trip to the Marshlands (2/2)
”It's not the Ministry of Magic is it?”
”No, no, that place at present is impossible to get into nor to maintain the building in our custody for very long even if the attack was successful.”
”An apt description,” Runcorn slowly said. ”Very well, and where is the location that requires my aid?”
A Death Eater in a mask moves forward with a slip of paper. Runcorn accepts the slip of paper as his lips twitch in a cold smile. ”Yes, this might just prove to be quite tantalizing,” Runcorn smirked. ”Very well, you shall have my aid, Dark Lord. But I will not be taking your dark mark either. I will be beholden to no man.” The Death Eater's in the room shuffle in anger or in an unease is unknown.
Voldemort's crimson snake eyes study the tall, powerfully built wizard before him. ”Very well, Albert Runcorn. But should you wish the position of Minister of Magic, you will take my mark.”
”And I shall,” Runcorn promised. ”But first I'd like to know if it is worth my time. I am not a foolish pureblood to be misled by all this nonsense of supremacy of bloodlines. I am amply aware that even a muggleborn witch and wizard can be born naturally powerful. And I follow where the most power resides, Dark Lord.”
Voldemort slowly nods his head as Runcorn's answer was within his grasp. Runcorn was much like himself in many manners calculating every single thought and deed to climb over the bodies of over in order to achieve his goal. But unlike himself, Runcorn did not desire a revolution but power. And whichever party handed that over to him would win him in the end.
”So be it, Runcorn,” Voldemort said. ”But I do require an oath on your magic for you to never speak of that which we have spoken of.” Such an oath was dangerous as the wizard in question would live but without their magic should the oath ever be broken. But it was better than an unbreakable oath, where said wizard would lose their life if the oath was broken.
”So be it,” Albert Runcorn rumbled as he raised his wand into the air. ”Upon my magic, I vow to never reveal the events which have been spoken of on this night lest my magic is lost. So, mote be!” A twisting like magic can be seen around him like a thorny vine that soon disappears.
”I trust that we will hear soon from you, Runcorn,” Voldemort hissed.
”Via Macnair,” Runcorn made it abundantly clear who their point of contact would be.
”I expect nothing less,” Voldemort said, before Walden Macnair bowed, before leading Albert Runcorn the way he came.
”Is that wise, Dark Lord?” A smooth male voice asked that of S.R. Wilkes.
”Worry not, Wilkies, we shall soon make our stand,” Voldemort purred, before rising from his seat. ”Come, you shall aide me in my night's work.”
”It'll be an honor, Dark Lord,” Wilkes graciously said, before departing alongside the Dark Lord to the envy of the watching Death Eaters. They quickly hurry away to complete their own tasks. Soon, the grand hall is utterly empty except for one last single figure who seems to be staring at the throne before departing. Whoever it was there was something strange about them.