DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.
The Emotion Challenge: determined
Percy Jackson Character Challenge: Kronos - Write about Voldemort
Drabble Club: Torture, murder, they called it; he called it art. (sentence)
Quidditch Pitch: lust (word)
Cinema Competition: Mean Girls - Write about the Death Eater Initiation
Greek Mythology Category Competition: Demeter: Write about a Slytherin
If You Dare Challenge: 222. Dripping
Potions Club: Bat Spleens - Write about the fine line between good and evil.
A pale, slender hand strokes the snake's scales, fingers brushing over each ridge in a lazy flow. He holds out his hand, and the snake coils around it, opening its jaws in a yawn. It reveals long fangs dripping with blood, blood that will stain the white that used to be there.
The snake hisses as it rises and slithers up the robed arm and wraps itself around his neck.
"We will become strong, Nagini."
"Of course, master."
Tom pushes open the door, smiling as his eyes, glimmering with a lust for blood, a lust to see pain, take in the immaculate state of the house. The floor seems to be polished recently, and he can't help but sigh at the thought that it won't be so clean for long.
He walks up the stairs, his black robes gliding over the wood, making only the softest of rustles.
He wants to hear their screams, wants to see the plea for mercy in their eyes.
"Soon," he whispers, reaching the top of the stairs. He pulls out his wand, running his fingers over it's familiar wood. He cannot wait to see the green light burst from it, ready to take lives with pleasure.
The door is ajar, and he can hear the soft laughs. He knows that soon those laughs will never be heard again.
"Soon," he says again.
He walks into the room, making his presence known with a single sigh.
"Well, well. What have we got here?" he says, eyes gliding over the three Muggles that turn to him, eyes wide with fear. He relishes it, that feeling of power, that feeling that it is he brings them that horror.
"Who are you?" the young man says, voice trembling. He glances at the wand in Tom's hand.
"Don't you know me, Father?" His words cut through the silence.
"I have no son," the man says, rising. "I am not your father."
"Do you not recall a woman named Merope? Long time ago, wasn't it? Search through your memories; I am sure they will give you some recognition," Tom drawls, sitting down. He dangles his wand from his fingertips.
"Merope?" the man whispers. "That woman bore me no son."
"You simply left too early."
"No!"
"Do not try to deny it, Father. You know it is true." He smirks.
"What do you want with us?" the man asks, chest heaving with every breath.
"Only revenge." A cold smile curves Tom's lips. In a flash, his wand is pointed at the three Muggles.
"Avada Kedavra."
When he leaves, all that is left is the faint trace of death that hangs in the air.
He watches as a pale man walks forward from the sea of black, his platinum blonde hair glinting in the dim light.
Another recruit. He smiles.
"Lucius Malfoy," he says, drawing out the name. "What a pleasure."
"My lord," Lucius says, trembling. He drops to the ground.
"Come here, Lucius."
Lucius crawls forward. He does not meet Voldemort's eyes.
"Crucio!"
Lucius writhes in pain, his screams ringing out in the heavy air.
Torture, murder, they call it; he calls it art. It was an art that he has long perfected.
He waves his wand, breaking the curse. Lucius takes a deep, ragged breath, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair.
"Good, good," Voldemort says.
"My lord, I wish to become a Death Eater."
"I am not stupid, Lucius." He fixes his eyes on the man in a hawk-like glare. "Get up."
Lucius stumbles as he pushes himself up, trying to ignore the sniggers behind him. They are silenced by a glare from Voldemort.
Voldemort takes Lucius's left arm on his, pushing back the sleeve of the robe.
He lifts his wand and presses it against the pale white of Lucius' arm.
"Morsmordre."
Lucius gasps as the black skull is burned onto his skin. Voldemort runs a finger over the mark, sighing in content.
"Welcome to my ranks, Lucius Malfoy."
Voldemort levitates the Muggle with a raspy laugh. "Look at you." He sneers and waves his wand. A gash appears on the Muggle's neck, and from it seeps a relentless torrent of blood. "Look at your dirty blood."
"Crucio!" he says, and the Muggle screams, eyes rolling back. He holds the curse for a few minutes.
"Avada Kedavra."
The Muggle drops to the ground, head falling back, eyes dimming. He jerks once then becomes limp. Lifeless.
There is a fine line between good and evil. One that he had been determined to break through.
He had crossed it long ago.