Round 5, HoH Ravenclaw, Standard, Prompt: Black velvet cloak, WC: 995 (as of Google Docs)
Crackfic, because I just couldn't not. Voldy gets a new cloak.
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Newly fitted, and hemmed beautifully. It was the most spectacular cloak that Lord Voldemort had ever seen in his something-something years of life (who in Merlin's name kept track of their age, anyway?). The velvet was supreme and supple - he assumed it must be magically enhanced. It rippled between his fingertips. He couldn't stop touching it. And the clasp too - silver, with the Slytherin emblem as specially requested by him. Amazing. It clicked when he fastened it.
Click. Fasten. Click. Unfasten. Click. Fasten.
He twirled around, admiring himself from other angles. Usually, he would not have taken particular care in his appearance, but this really was something special. Voldemort glanced in the mirror several times over, his snake-like face splitting into a grin. His crimson eyes glinted with joy. If he had a nose with proper nostrils, it would have flared.
Yes, he looked fabulous.
"My lord?" Wormtail's simpering voice came through the door. "Everyone is waiting for you downstairs. They are anxious."
"Wormtail, shut up. I'm in charge; I'll turn up when I like," Lord Voldemort snapped. He grabbed the edge of the cloak and whipped it around with abandon. He could be a matador, or a vampire. With that thought, he attempted to create some sort of ruff around his neck, then decided it looked a little too vampiric. Plus, the cloak worked wonders purely by itself.
"Yes, my lord," Wormtail replied weakly.
The door banged open as Lord Voldemort stepped out with a flourish. Wormtail gasped - a sure sign that he adored his master's new cloak. Voldemort would revel in this astonishing cloak as long as he could, because it certainly was one of the most spectacular things he owned. It might even replace his Russian dolls as his favourite ever possession.
"Do you like my cloak, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked, a sly look upon his face. He did not give the shorter man an opportunity to answer. "Of course you do. It's magnificent. Now, to the meeting."
He felt Wormtail's eyes on him as he sashayed down the corridor and fluttered down the elaborate Malfoy Manor staircase to where the meeting was being held. Good thing the manor was drafty. It meant he could get away with wearing his cloak without arousing too much suspicion. The only suspicious thing about it would be Voldemort's renewed sense of style. Maybe it would set a Death Eater trend and the others would soon have velvet too. Not as nice as his velvet, but nice enough.
"Gentlemen," he said, greeting the Death Eaters.
All of them were pallid-faced and gloomy. Perhaps none more than the Malfoys themselves. Shame. It was a joyous day. Alas, his Death Eaters were grumpy and miserable. Above them hovered the almost-corpse of Charity Burbage. She was unconscious, hanging in mid-air like a cloud. A useless, annoying cloud. Like a stratocumulus. Pointless clouds. But Voldemort found himself smiling. He was warm and he was comfortable. Today was going to be a good day.
"Do you like my cloak?" he asked his followers. They looked around at each other as if in surprise. How ridiculous. They could all see that he was wearing something entirely new. It was so blatantly obvious - he might as well have been wearing a sign. If he was wearing a sign it would say something along the lines of check out my awesome new cloak, it's velvet and I love it more than I love you.
Even Rookwood, who had the prettiest face of all of his friends.
"My lord," Avery began. "It's new?"
Voldemort sighed heavily. "Avery, you're annoying me. Shut up."
"My apologies, my lor -"
"What did I just say?" Voldemort snapped. He ran his hands over the cloak again, soothing himself. He would not let idiotic Avery ruin his moment. "Does anyone else have anything to say? About my new cloak?"
McNair coughed. "Velvet, my lord?"
"Of course."
"It looks comfortable," said Dolohov. "I like velvet. It makes a nice robe, but very dear."
Voldemort nodded. This was more like the response he should have gotten. Avery really was a fool. Others in the group began talking about velvet, and about their master's new cloak. They almost forgot the woman above them, in the liminal space between torture and death. Nagini crept along the floor, diving in between feet and cracked crag stones. Voldemort could sense her. He could also sense that she liked his cloak.
Quickly, the conversation became overpowering, and Lord Voldemort was being spelled with compliments from every corner of the table (except for Avery - he knew he had made a mistake, the idiot). He leant back in his chair and brought his cloak tighter around his body. He could be a fashion model. If only his face was not so hideous, he could be in magazines. Witch Weekly would take him with a look like this one. Surely.
The only problem was the woman. Charity Burbage needed to be dealt with before Voldemort could consider aiming for the front page of Witch Weekly (of course he would be on the front page; there was no other place for him). He also needed to deal with Harry Potter - the insolent boy who possessed no more style than of a garden toad. His fashion sense would make people cry. All he wore was the one shirt and jeans combination. Always flannel. Usually blue.
Harry Potter didn't have a velvet cloak, and that was surely to be his biggest downfall of them all.
"I think you look very dashing," Bellatrix cooed to her master. He raised a hairless eyebrow at her.
Apparently this cloak would make him lucky too. Not that he cared for Bellatrix in any capacity.
It was all in the cloak.
"Now that you've all seen how amazing I look, let's get on with this," Lord Voldemort announced to the group with a malicious smile. He adjusted his emblazoned fastener. "Right. Charity Burbage. Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. Thoughts, anyone?"
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Thanks for reading!