7.
— Are you questioning my virility, Miss? — Abraxas asked.
Rita felt the danger in those words, yet before she could respond, Narcissa laughed. A soft, yet cutting sound like glass escaped her throat.
— Your virility, Abraxas? Please… your virility is worth as much as a broken wand forgotten at the bottom of a chest.
She took two steps, standing beside Rita. Her gaze was a mix of disgust and contempt.
— And that little taste of yours for boys… — her eyebrows arched with a glacial smile — is simply repugnant. It only confirms the rotten blood you carry. And sincerely…
Her voice lowered, the last sentence coming out like a whisper distilled in venom and acid:
— Marius got the fate he deserved.
Abraxas' face flushed. Then fury returned to him, alive, at the sound of the restrained laughter and scorn echoing in the background.
— No one speaks like that… — his hands went down to his belt to draw his wand.
And under the explosion of tension, before Abraxas' fingers could touch the wand handle, a voice cut through the air like a blade.
— Enough.
The tone was low, but the power behind it left everyone frozen. As if they didn't even dare to breathe.
Rodolfo Lestrange, who had already raised his wand reflexively, pointing at Abraxas, lowered it slowly. Still, the greenish glow shimmered at the tip of the wand. It was the trace of the Killing Curse that had almost been cast.
Abraxas froze. One second had been enough. One second more, and he wouldn't even have had time to react. He looked at Rodolfo as if slapped across the face. Rodolfo, in turn, remained impassive, serene, as if he had already decided that, if necessary, he would erase his colleague from existence without a second thought.
Mortavius' gaze turned to Narcissa:
— I'm impressed you defend someone with tooth and nail.
— I only defend what's in her head… — Narcissa replied succinctly.
— So that's it? — Mortavius asked rhetorically, then looked at Abraxas.
— Don't get worked up. Moody isn't all that extraordinary… even Wormtail managed to catch him.
He turned his gaze to a rat slinking between the bars of the nearby cells. Moments later, the small animal began to writhe, and under the curious eyes of those present, transformed into Peter Pettigrew.
— Isn't that right, Wormtail? — Mortavius asked, a thin, venomous smile playing on his lips.
Wormtail fell to his knees, panting.
— Y-yes, my Lord.
— Tell them how you managed it — Mortavius ordered.
Wormtail looked around, eyes wide like a scared child before a room full of adults. Rita watched him. She saw fear—a primitive, absolute fear—but also something else.
There was a twisted, almost feverish gleam in him that made her stomach churn. Madness lurked there, hidden beneath cowardice and repulsion. Yet it was still there, like darkness at the bottom of a well.
— Actually… it was Barty Crouch Jr. who caught Moody — he began, his voice trembling.
Mortavius raised an eyebrow.
— But you did all the work, didn't you?
Wormtail swallowed hard.
— I just… used what Moody would never suspect — he smiled, a dirty, nauseating smile — He was always paranoid, but he could never anticipate rats. They go wherever they want… I just had to ask them to infiltrate the house, spreading a paralyzing poison. When he fell, Barty stepped in.
Mortavius listened silently, a slight satisfied glint in his eyes. Then he turned to Abraxas:
— And you, Abraxas? Have you drunk from the wisdom of our dear Wormtail?
Abraxas lowered his head, teeth clenched.
— Yes, my Lord. I thank him for the instruction.
Mortavius stared at him for a long moment, until a cold smile formed.
— Then bring me Moody's head. It's time to end that disgusting man.
Abraxas didn't respond immediately. His face paled, sweat ran down his temples. His eyes sought Mortavius' in search of mercy, finding only the Lord of Darkness' unfathomable void.
— M-my Lord… Moody is a dangerous target.
— Are you telling me you fear a mutilated, one-eyed man?
— No, my Lord. I just meant it will be done — he bowed in reverence, sweat dripping from his temples.
— That's the way to speak — Mortavius said, then looked at Rita, locking eyes with her.
— Ah, Rita Skeeter — he said. A slight smile formed on his thin lips. — We were waiting for you to start the game.
The others began to laugh, low, muffled chuckles, as if they already knew the outcome. Rita froze instinctively. Her eyes fell on the five cages lined up side by side, each containing a person. Dirty, wounded, eyes wide with terror.