On top of that, there were many other guaranteed recruits all over the world. The Malfoy family for one had originated in France and the family was still fairly prominent there today. There were also Malfoys in Canada, the U.S, Germany and many other countries. Malfoys from around the world had provided a certain amount of financial backing to his first campaign for power, but this time he would make sure that they were more active participants. The same went for the Lestrange, Dolohov, Rowle and any other foreign relation of his followers. It was time that they all brought their wands to the war and united under his banner once and for all.
Only that way could they dominate the world as they so desired.
Of course, Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange being locked up in Azkaban did present him with the slight problem of no longer having a decent in-road with those families but for now that could not be helped. Those families would have to wait. In the meantime Voldemort planned to meet with Lucius Malfoy and Thorfinn Rowle the following morning to request that they visit their cousins.
Names like Malfoy, Rowle, Dolohov and Lestrange had been associated with a different Dark Lord fifty years previously and members of those families bore a significant grudge against Wizarding Britain for their interference in a war that Gellert Grindelwald had never intended to allow to spill over onto British soil. To their minds the British Ministry had interfered in a war that had nothing to do with them and they hated Britain for it. Of course, they rather conveniently overlooked the fact that the Muggle side of the War, as led by Adolf Hitler, had spread to Britain, causing much death and destruction, thus forcing the British Ministry to act.
But in especial they loathed Albus Dumbledore, the man who had stepped in just as they were about to seize victory and defeated Grindelwald in a duel to surrender.
Voldemort was certain that he could harness that hatred and use it to achieve his own ends. It had worked well enough in getting the Pure-blood Elitists of Britain to do his bidding, so it would work just as well here.
Contrary to popular belief, Lord Voldemort was not a blood-purist. All in all he barely cared what a person's parentage was so long as they knew their place and did as they were told. Oh, and they had to be capable of performing magic, that bit was important to him as well.
The fact was, the Blood Purists were the easiest group to manipulate into doing his bidding. All he had to do was spout off about killing mudblood upstarts and blood traitors, pruning family trees to ensure purity remained and ensuring that the pure bloods ruled the roost as they were entitled to and the Blood Purists bent over backwards to do whatever he wanted of them. They were so easily manipulated, it was almost disgusting.
But if there was one thing that Lord Voldemort was good at, it was taking someone's anger and stirring it up until it boiled over before pointing them at his intended targets.
He was certain that within a year he would have forces at his command which dwarfed that which he had had during his first attempt to seize power.
When he finally did return, Wizarding Britain would not know what hit it.
The rumble of thunder echoed through the air as another storm passed over the North Sea. Winds blew, clouds swirled and rain hammered down as the sea below churned about. Great waves roiled across the surface of the freezing waters to brake against the rock of Azkaban Island. Thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, a wave smashed against stone and weakness in a cliff face gave out. A great crack split open, another wave slammed against it and it broke away, sliding, falling, toppling before crashing into the sea below, taking with it at least twenty graves containing the remains of some of those who had died in their cells within the large stone prison that stood prominently in the centre of the island.
In the East Wing Guard Room Simon Alton shoved another two logs onto the fire in the fireplace and stoked it up until the flames were roaring away, providing a nice contrast to the storm outside and the fog that permeated throughout the rest of the prison.
Over to one side Benny Cram took four cups out of a cupboard and popped a teabag and a spoonful of sugar into each one before joining Simon by the fire. He set the cups down on a small, wooden table before sitting himself down in his armchair. Simon sat himself down in the one next to him, picking up a copy of The Daily Prophet as he did so.
Benny glanced over and got a look at the headline on the front page, which read
EXPOSED: THE CULT OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!
"What do you reckon about all this regarding Dumbledore?" Benny asked.
Simon closed the newspaper to look at the front page. He snorted and replied "It's long overdue, I reckon. Even when I was at Hogwarts there was somethin' about Dumbledore that set my teeth on edge. Of course, he was only the Deputy Headmaster back then…"
Behind them the door to the room opened wide, allowing Alexa Dedworth and Jerry Findlater to enter. They had been doing one final patrol of the East Wing of the prison before settling down for the night
"Well, everyone's down for the night," said Alexa. "No problems to report."
"Just what I like to hear," replied Simon.
"Cor, I'm ruddy freezin'!" complained Jerry. "Is the tea ready?"
"Kettle's almost boiled," said Benny.
While every prisoner in the East Wing of Azkaban may have turned in for the night, up in the maximum security wing, one prisoner was still active.
She held her left forearm up to her face and ran her tongue along the skin, licking away the grime and dirt that had accumulated there over the month since she had last been hosed down. Satisfied with her cleaning, she slapped the back of her arm against the heavy wooden door and waited, gazing up at her arm longingly.
A few moments later she was rewarded when lightning flashed outside and a narrow strip of light filtered through the tiny window of her cell. It wasn't much but years spent inside that cell had helped her see clearly in less light.
To her disappointment, when Bellatrix Lestrange saw the Dark Mark tattooed onto her arm, it was faded, nothing like it had been the last time she had been lucid enough to look at it. She knew that her beloved Dark Lord had arisen once again; she felt it through her mark every time he summoned the Death Eaters to him. What's more, she knew it in her heart.
The Dark Lord was back, he was once again going to make his war on the Ministry and this time Bellatrix knew that he would succeed. He would. She knew it.
.....
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