There was something rather poetic about the fact that Tom’s sanity was being restored by a snake of all living being – even if it was no common snake by far, but a Maledictus who had reached the final stage of her life.
It was akin to a miracle that Nagini’s mind had not shattered after decades of being imprisoned in the body of a snake, of being unable to converse with any human being, and the sudden awareness of the utterly disgraceful state of his own mind in comparison had shaken Tom’s very core.
From that moment, Nagini had become his anchor, and in exchange for her aid in restoring his former self along with the clarity of his mind, he had made her aware of her own value and resolved to one day restore her human form.
The day of his return was glorious. While he harbored nothing but disgust for the new name he had given his followers when he had been of unsound mind, Tom was pleased by how quickly his Death Eater were adapting to his original persona by once again treating him with respect and reverence instead of obeying him out of fear first and foremost.
And yet, there was no rule without an exception, for the very moment that he asked about Lyra Lestrange when visiting Lucius for the first time, it became apparent that Bellatrix’s daughter of all people had turned her back on Tom’s glorious cause.
To Tom’s chagrin, disposing of her was not an option, for the act of doing so came with a high risk of a mass desertion among his followers.
When Lyra Lestrange entered the parlor and apologize for intruding, Tom regarded her with an indulgent smile.
“There’s no need for you to apologize, Lyra,” he reassured her, and his voice was warm and deep and melodious. “Won’t you come and join us?”
The smile that Tom held did not inspire confidence within Lyra. It was almost as though she had walked into his trap, waiting to catch her off guard. She had been about to show herself out, when instead she had been welcomed into the parlour to join the conversation. The Dark Lord would know the ways in which she was raised, that it wasn’t something she could simply refuse.
A sick sort of feeling overtook her, her stomach reeling, her head aching. It didn’t help that her shift at work had bene tortuous. Though, she doubted it’d be more challenging than the conversation she was about to have. With a falso smile and a dee breath, Lyra did her best to train her mind to do the things that she had taught it to do – to occlude her mind and thoughts.
She couldn’t let slip that her son was Severus’. She couldn’t show that her faith had strayed. She couldn’t show that there were doubts in his vision.
“But of course, my Lord,” she bowed her head and took a seat. Without even asking, her Uncle offered a drink. That wasn’t a good sign. If he knew that she needed to drink then she obviously wasn’t passing as someone calm and collected.
“So, what did I interrupt?” she asked as she plucked the glass that floated over from the air. Lyra took a deep drink from it.