Wormtail's bedraggled figure disappeared around the bend in the stairs, and the basement fell completely silent.
Yet that silence was charged with pressure, as though it might explode at any moment.
Voldemort's fury had only just subsided, but the air still carried the scent of destruction.
He lay in the blanket, only his scarlet eyes shining in the darkness, like two embers that had not quite burned out.
He could feel his frail heart beating feebly, each beat reminding him that his roars and plans just now had been nothing more than an infant's impotent rage.
He loathed that feeling.
"Nagini..."
He whispered in a rasp that only the great serpent could hear.
The great serpent stirred and brought her enormous head closer, watching him with her eerie green slit pupils.
"That coward... is still afraid."
Voldemort's voice held a mockery that sounded almost like he was talking to himself.
"He fears my anger, fears your fangs, fears that task he cannot possibly accomplish."
"But his fear is so primitive. He fears only things that can hurt his flesh."
The figure in the blanket shifted slightly.
"But they, that damned Holmes and that blood traitor Black... are doing something far more terrifying."
His hollow gaze turned toward the damp stone wall, as though he could see through it to the newspaper Wormtail had abandoned upstairs.
"That ridiculous advertisement. What do you think it's selling? Safety?"
Voldemort gave a derisive laugh.
"No, it's peddling an idea. A poison."
"An idea that makes the sheep believe that as long as they hide inside a sturdy shell, they won't hear the wolves howl.
"That makes those fools fit only to be ruled forget what it means to stand in awe, forget the gulf in power!"
"They're building an enormous asylum, trying to turn