"I am confident that he has a plan to lure Pettigrew to him," Narcissa breathed out, knowing no such thing for sure. Desperately, she realized that she needed to sell the impression that that it was only a matter of time before Pettigrew fell into Lucius's hands. If Voldemort decided that Lucius was not likely to succeed, he would send someone else or go himself. Neither alternative boded well for Draco, even if Bellatrix could be trusted to exert her full efforts on Draco's behalf.
Voldemort continued to gaze at Narcissa as if he was savoring the terror in her eyes. Slowly, he let his hand drop before suddenly bringing it up and slapping her viciously across the face. "Tell Lucius that I want results-immediately."
"I will, my lord, I will," Narcissa whispered as Voldemort moved toward the center of the circle of Death Eaters gathered in one of the rooms of Malfoy Manor.
"You," Voldemort barked, suddenly approaching one of the Death Eaters who had the good fortune to be able to remain masked in front of his fellows. "What have you found on Ashworth?"
"Little," the Death Eater replied timidly. "Bellatrix Black, his alleged wife, has been seen in public several times. Professor Dumbledore even invited her to teach a class on dueling and the Dark Arts."
Narcissa closed her eyes. Please don't ask me about my sister, she begged as she watched Voldemort stalk among some of his loyal followers.
"It could be that Mrs. Black is behind these ghost attacks," one of the Death Eaters in good standing suggested.
"Perhaps," Voldemort acknowledged. "Perhaps." He paced silently, before suddenly turning to the masked figure that Narcissa knew was Severus Snape.
"What is known of Ashworth among your contacts?" Voldemort demanded.
"Still-nothing more than is generally known," Snape said. "They have interacted with Bellatrix Black. From what I gather, she is reticent concerning her whereabouts these past years and has said little about the late Professor Ashworth."
"The late Professor Ashworth?" Voldemort hissed questioningly, his whisper slicing the thick atmosphere like a razor. "Are you so sure that Harry Ashworth has passed on?"
Snape shifted almost imperceptibly shifted his weight, somehow maintaining his cool mask in the Dark Lord's presence. "Bellatrix Black is the same brat she always was. She has set her eye on something-perhaps political influence-and is using whatever resources she has to get it. In this case, she has the mysterious past of her deceased lover with which to frighten people."
"The symptoms of your diagnosis are certainly there," Voldemort said, leaving Snape and resuming his prowl amongst the Death Eaters that had been summoned to this particular meeting. "But there are other symptoms. At times, I can feel Ashworth as if he is lurking nearby-watching me and waiting to pounce. And the fiendfyre."
"Nearly anybody with a bit of power and a decent wand can set fiendfyre," one practical Death Eater declared tiredly, sounding as if he had said that phrase dozens of times.
"But it was his trademark! " Voldemort erupted, hissing at the Death Eaters and spinning to glare at anyone who might challenge him.
"My lord," came Rodolphus Lestrange's confident and eager voice, echoing in the chamber, "clearly, this is a ploy to knock you off balance. Given what you have told us about your final duel with Harry Ashworth, there is no possible way that he could have survived. Obviously, Bellatrix did. Fearing for her life, she no doubt fled with whatever money she inherited from her father. Have you considered that the Order may have found her and recruited her in a scheme to resurrect some ghost from your past? The Order is probably behind these mysterious ghost attacks. They are waging psychological warfare against you."
"Did you not hear me?" Voldemort nearly screamed, stalking toward Lestrange. "I can feel Harry Ashworth's presence. This is his work. I know it. He is waiting, getting ready to pounce."
"Then pounce first," Lestrange said boldly, seamlessly abandoning his tact that Ashworth was dead and moving to give counsel on what to do against Ashworth.
"I cannot!" Voldemort barked. "I cannot strike against him because none of you can find him. Find him!
"As you command, my lord," Lestrange intoned.
.....
Harry woke with a start, rubbing his scar and groaning. For the first time in a long while, the scar's connection to Voldemort had been clear enough for Harry to hear what Voldemort was saying and hearing. It presented Harry an advantage, though the side effects were not welcome. It also presented reason for Harry to be nervous. From the time Harry had traveled to the past until now, the connection to Voldemort had largely been dormant with the occasional exception. If Voldemort became angrier and fearful more often, Harry reckoned he might need to find a newer and better way to cope with the connection.
Despite it being quite late, Harry rolled out of bed and walked to cramped closet that the pub owner had described as the restroom. He grabbed a painkiller potion vial from his toiletry bag, downed the contents, and washed the aftertaste down with a gulp of water.