Surrey, Guildford.
This Christmas, Amycus Carrow had a rough time—broken pipes, magical repairs affecting nearby gas lines, nearly ignited half the apartment, and although the fire was extinguished in time, it was witnessed by Muggles, leading to an entire afternoon of interrogation by Muggle Aurors...
Unlucky events kept happening to him in succession, as if it were an omen, foretelling even worse incidents to come—
Unfortunately, fifteen minutes ago Mr. Carrow didn't realize this, and when he dragged his heavy footsteps back to the apartment under the moonlight, an uninvited guest was already sitting on his newly replaced sofa, now mostly charred. In the instant he saw that figure cloaked in black, Carrow immediately reacted—
"Incarcerous!"
A hoarse voice echoed in the darkness.
The packed sandwiches fell to the ground—
Thus, even before Carrow could pull out the magic wand hidden inside his coat pocket, the man had already lost control over his own body.
"Ha-ha..."
The man's throat began emitting strange sounds as he watched the figure in black robes rise from the sofa, instinctively focusing his attention toward his wrist.
Blue flames leapt up, but the next moment, a pale finger pressed down on the fire, and the flames began to flicker less rapidly, though no matter how hard that finger pressed, it continued to gently dance—"Tsk—" The man who appeared behind Carrow had the look of annoyance, clicking his tongue before slicing his hand like a blade—
Carrow's arm flew straight away and disappeared mid-air, along with the deep blue flames.
"Ha, it seems dear Mr. Richard might have wasted a trip—"
The man chuckled, flicking his seemingly shriveled arm to dry the bloodstains clinging to it, "Or perhaps, he doesn't care whether you live or die?" Looking down at Amycus Carrow on the ground, eyes wide with pain, "Seems you're not so sure yourself—"
But now, Carrow's attention was fully focused not on this unknown man, but on the figure in black robes standing in front of the sofa.
Since the other showed no interest, the man lost interest in speaking. "Hey, it's your turn to speak, Tom. I see this guy's eyes are all on you—"
"..."
Standing in front of the sofa, Voldemort seemed to nod, stepping forward slowly, and thus, Carrow exerted himself to raise his head. From that cloaked shadow, he saw only a decaying chin, and two crimson gleams—
"Ma-master..."
"Crucio!"
"Ahhhhhhh—"
Withering agony made Carrow scream uncontrollably, bulging veins stood out in layers, and his originally crooked lips were "cured."
Voldemort remained expressionless, watching the man rolling on the ground, casting another Crucio spell, rendering the man unable even to scream, his swollen face turning purple, black veins rising around Carrow's eyes, dry lips pale, drool uncontrollably leaking from the corners of his mouth—
"I say, indulging a passion is fine, but we still have questions to ask?"
The unidentified man leaned against the wall, checking the time, "I'm uncertain if that person will suddenly find their way here—you know, his power has surpassed 'human' by far, I've seen several wizards studying ancient magic, and none of them measured up—" Though his voice carried a hint of amusement, it was clear he wasn't joking.
"Hoo—"
Voldemort took a deep breath, gently twirling his magic wand, Carrow's complexion finally eased, his pupils gradually returning to normal.
"...Cough, cough, master, I..."
"Crucio!"
"Ahhhhhh—"
"Tsk."
...
Who knows how much time passed, Carrow finally awoke from that nightmare—
Well, it was clearly not just a nightmare.
The man turned his head to look around, even this simple action took all his strength, he was now leaning against his own sofa, legs bound together by a rope, the single remaining arm felt incredibly heavy... wait, what was tying him seemed not to be a rope.
He watched as a serpent slowly slithered up along his legs, Carrow wanted to scream but could only utter hoarse cries like a snake's hiss—
He could only watch as the snake climbed up his chest, raising its head high, its dark green scales reflecting specks of light, "Hiss—" He saw the snake turn its head, the hoarse sound not coming from Carrow, then another sound came from outside the door—
"Come, Nagini—"
The door was pushed open from outside, Voldemort in his black robes entered, Nagini smoothly slithered off Carrow, coiled half a circle around Voldemort, winding around his neck.
"Master..." Carrow wanted to speak, but no sound came out.
"Ah, I almost forgot, afraid you'd scream when you wake up—"
A figure emerged from behind Voldemort. He raised his hand and pointed at Carrow's throat. The next moment, a small snake slowly crawled out from Carrow's mouth. Seeing the yellow-green snake emerge from his own mouth, Carrow was numbed and could no longer react. He blankly watched all that was happening in front of him—
When a person is in extreme pain, they start hallucinating, like a middle school kid whose phone is confiscated by their parents.
"Amycus Carrow—"
Voldemort stepped in front of Carrow, lowering his head, the scarlet flames flickering slightly in his eye sockets.
"Mas-master..."
Even though everything that happened just now made it clear that calling Voldemort this way would ignite his wrath, that didn't mean any other form of address wouldn't. Damn it, how else was he to address him? Call him "Voldemort"? He wasn't tired of living yet! He didn't want to be hit by Avada Kedavra—
"So, Mr. Carrow still remembers this..."
Voldemort's tone was somewhat distant as he stared at Carrow's swollen face, his voice strangely gentle.
"No! Master! It wasn't me who wanted to betray—it's all Draco Malfoy! It's all his fault!!"
Carrow didn't feel any warmth in that gentle tone; on the contrary, a bone-chilling pain crawled up his spine almost instantly, and he hurriedly continued, "Malfoy tricked the rest of us into gathering together and then brought someone more powerful than all of us combined—he controlled us!"
"You clearly could resist, Carrow. What about the intelligence you showed when escaping the Ministry of Magic's sanctions?"
Voldemort's tone didn't change much, hardly any inflection in it, as he stroked Nagini's head and continued.
"I'm still trying to find a way, Master! I-I swear! I've long resolved to leave—"
Carrow's voice grew more desperate. To him, Voldemort's voice was no different from the devil's whisperings of death—no, even the devil might not let one die so miserably, "But I haven't found a way yet, Master! That person's power is too great; I simply can't oppose him—"
"We once shared the same purpose, Amycus..."
Voldemort straightened up, a deep regret staining his voice.
"No! Master! Don't kill me! Please don't kill me! I kept this body just to serve you again, Master!"
Carrow gasped for air, the terror growing more intense in his eyes, but Voldemort no longer paid him any attention, only turning his back, "Now tell me, where are the others?"
Carrow felt as though even his mouth no longer belonged to him, "They are scattered across the world, Master."
"Across the world... What has William Richard made you do?"
Voldemort frowned, seeming to understand a bit—why he had to turn nearly the entire Great Britain upside down to finally find one of his former Death Eaters; it was as if the others had vanished into thin air.
"He said they're called distributors and general agents—" Carrow heard himself continue truthfully.
"Oh, such trendy Muggle terms."
A man sitting on the other side of the sofa, who barely had a presence, opened his mouth to interject.
"What does that mean?"
Voldemort felt even more confused—so, through an unrelated question and answer, Voldemort finally understood that William had turned these Death Eaters into television salesmen, sending them to remote third-world countries. Although those Muggle countries were backward, the Wizarding World had always been unrelated to Muggles.
Amycus Carrow happened to be on vacation, his sister Alecto Carrow still staying in Mauritius, enjoying seafood.
"What does he think this is? Waste utilization?"
The man on the sofa seemed to grasp William's "manpower strategy," blinking with some amusement.
"... Thank you, Amycus, for your last contribution."
Voldemort blinked, losing interest in asking further, clearly seeing that William hadn't disclosed any useful information to these former Death Eaters, unless he could capture Lucius Malfoy—
So, he had other purposes for coming this time.
"Master! No... I can swear! Master, I..."
Seeing the man's almost skinless withered hand drawing closer and closer, knowing his death was certain, Carrow's pleas turned into curses, and he loudly started cursing at Voldemort, "Damn you! You damned devil! Bastard! How can you crawl out of hell!? Why the hell don't you die yet—"
Finally, that felt hand pressed against the top of his head, and thick black smoke simultaneously penetrated the man's nostrils—
Finally, the curses stopped, and "Carrow" slowly stood up...