Hi everybody!
Here is a stupid big OS (3 chapters). This is a translation of a fiction I wrote in french. Sorry for the language mistakes (if you'll see a lot of those, please tell me ;p)
Hope you'll like it! Enjoy!
Mudbloods are friends, not fun!
- Next patient!
The voice was crushing, disillusioned, an image that perfectly matched the arrogant and disenchanted woman it belonged to. She wrote in a bulky folder with a nothing less than surprising nib: she did not need to soak it every time in the nearby ink phial that was even not there, besides. It was a straight with no down, in an unknown material nib she had in her hand, her manicured hand, whose nail polish of a common colour peeled in places and horribly clashed with her loud suit.
- It's me.
The man stood up. He moved forward slowly until the counter. His walk was curved and he wrapped himself a little more in his black overcoat, although the weather was nice in this delicious month of June. The secretary did not give him the least look, chewing an awful piece of gum and he felt like bursting her head against the table. But he held on: he would stand firm. He was not as beyond redemption as they said about him in rumours. He scowled a little bit and straightened his hat on his head.
- You are? The woman asked nonchalantly.
- Vol… Er… Tom Jedusor, the man bumbled.
The woman gave him a quick look and he could notice that she had two incredible green eyes. What a shame she is so impolite, he thought. The secretary turned pale while she stared at him, however she quickly turned her head away. After all, madmen, she saw them every day.
- You have an appointment with Doctor Maddy, she informed jauntily.
- I thank you, he said with a cold smile.
The secretary shivered and held out a paper on which the purpose of his visit was scribbled. The man by the name Tom Jedusor almost strangled while he read the parchment and repressed a strong urge to suffocate the arrogant one with the aforesaid parchment. He wrinkled with a hatred expression on his face. "Psychological problems"? Seriously?
- Thirty-fourth office, she pointed while she kept going on chew her bubble-gum that made her look like a cow.
He gave her a cold look and went away in the indicated corridor. If it ever went wrong, they would have a hard time. He still saw their large smiles on their faces. All of that fuss because he failed to say "no". Damned Death Eaters!
- My Lord, it'd make you the most highly! Bellatrix assured and her long black hair waved in all directions.
- You'll be an undisputed Lord! Lucius added obligingly.
- It's the opportunity for your reintegration into society! She approuved.
They just came out of the Wizengamot. Harry Potter came, saw, conquered and imprisoned Lord Voldemort and his troop of Death Eaters. The escaped the death and were sentenced to life imprisonment. They served this sentence for now ten years and were carrying on with their internment for the rest of their lives. Except if they accepted Hermione Granger's condition. They had three days to think about it, three days during which they would be given a compulsory order of residence.
Saint-Granger. The friend of desperate people and ex-convicts. He should have killed her immediately. Especially as such a clause was unbelievable. She was clearly making fun of them.
The ex self-proclaimed Dark Lord came with difficulty to terms with his failure of the conquest of the world, if moreover he had to submit to the pity of a Mudblood, he'd better avada kadavra himself right now, rather than continuing living like this.
- But still, my Lord! Bellatrix squeaked.
- What? Voldemort grumbled. It is completely out of the question! No way! Can you imagine me doing that?
They just apparated until the Malfoy manor, and he annoyingly put off his coat.
- Those little brats… Making a fool of me in that way…, the Dark Lord mumbled. I should have bumped them off when I had the opportunity.
Next morning the Gazette Wizard landed on their tables. Drago Malfoy, young heir of the prestigious Malfoy family, redeemed by the Ministry, quickly casted an eye over it. He did not really appreciate to share his house with the psychopath who wanted to kill everybody, but his parents participating in his madness, he had no choice. It was part of the sentence to serve. Doing a favour to the society. He raised his eyebrows.
- Seriously? Granger did really do that? He exclaimed, puzzled.
He shook the newspaper article in front of their eyes and Voldemort tried his best not to kill him straight away. The headline of the frontpage was in boldface.
Psychotherapy for The-one-who-must-not-be-named?
At the Wizengamot yesterday, Hermione Granger, fervent respondent of the house-elfs' rights and smart lawyer, claimed a reduction of punishment for the Dark Lord and his loyal Death Eaters at the huge amazement of anyone. Last straw of the astonishment, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley who were also present were appearing to be in accord and disposed to give their forgiveness. The accused may now speak: they have now three days to determine if yes or no, they could keep their word on Granger's clause, which consists in going into therapy to limit their murderous drives. "I know that The-one-who-is-in-jail-for-now-ten-years has a heart like everyone else and he is retrievable." Hermione Granger stuck to her words with enthusiasm in front of a crowd of demonstrators rejecting his release yesterday night at Gringotts. If the clause is respected, the Dark Lord and his believers could hope a quick reinsertion in society inside our community. The concerned on the contrary did not seem very into be submitted to Miss Granger's will (who is – let me remind it for you – a muggleborn). To continued, well!
Your devoted,
Rita Skeeter.
- This filthy little…, Voldemort gnashed, while he teared up in confetti the newspaper with a pervert and obvious pleasure.
- Master, Bellatrix begged. It's a chance for you! You'll be free!
- My Lord, Lucius greeted while he entered the dining room. I have a wonderful idea for you! It is really delicate to confide in someone who already knows you. Also, I found you the most perfect healer as possible! He doesn't know you. At all.
- That's impossible, The-one-who-aggressively-bit-in-his-toasts. Everyone knows me.
- Certainly… in the wizard world…
Lucius turned pale and Voldemort purpled while he understood what he had in mind. He almost strangled as he gobbled up the rest of his slices of bread before he yelled:
- Oh no! No way! Out of the question! These disgusting woodlouses? These…
But the insistent looks and the repeated supplications of Lucius and Bellatrix got the better of him.
And that is how The-one-who-wanted-to-dominate-the-world entered the thirty-fourth office while he ruminated about his dissatisfaction. The room was cold and sanitized. An abominable smell of detergent filled his nostrils.
- Hello! A strong and cheerful voice said.
- Hello, the man-with-no-nose unfriendliness answered.
He stiffly sat on the uncomfortable chair in front of the doctor who gave him a silly smile.
- Well, your name, please? The latter asked while he leaned on a paper.
Oh yeah. He really did not know him. Or did he want to appear polite? A glint of irritation shined in his pupils.
- Voldemort, he announced, waiting for the normal reaction this name could spark off.
- Voldemort? Is it your stage name? The paunchy doctor was amazed while he raised his head, wondering how he spelled it.
Ah. No one had not ever done that to him before. A murder drive beat his temple, but he controlled himself barely. He was at the muggles'. He should contain himself.
- Er… Yes, The-on-who-was-just-been-royally-humiliated said, uncertain.
- Great… But what is your real name? The doctor asked with a more serious tone.
- Tom… Jedusor, the patient made a face, little inclined to give his real identity.
The paunchy man wrote some details on his paper and raised his head while he scrutinized him.
- And what do you do for living, Tom? You might be an artist to have a stage name! He questioned with a smile that was too warm to be sincere.
What he was doing in life? Was it a joke? Did not he really know him?
- I'm the Dark Lord, he said with disdain.
- Oh, you play video games? That's the seventeenth level, I might say in WoW… This is a good point…
As the other man kept going on writing on his sheet, The-one-who-seriously-began-to-be-sick-of-this-doctor tried his best not to strangle the latter with his scrap of paper and not to get out of this room. What an idea you had, Lucius!
- Anyway, what do you like doing? Any hobbies?
- I like er… casting some spells, he confessed with sincerity.
- Magic! A magician! The doctor exclaimed and he smiled from ear to ear. Awesome!
Voldemort felt like he was overwhelmed. He blinked several times, but did not answer because he was too awkward.
- So what, what's wrong with you?
- I've been told that I kill too many people (just have been told), the questioned man sighed.
- Ah, it looks like your magician tricks are not very well developed, right, Tom?
The doctor heartily laughed. The-one-who-was-in-front-of-him-and-wanted-to-avada-kadavra-him-right-now began to boil inside and almost spit out that unless proven otherwise, it was because he succeeded his spells that he killed people. But he held back his tongue. He was unknown here. He was at muggles'.
- Er… yeah. Sort of, he articulated with difficulty.
After one hour of interview, the Dark Lord almost fell apart. This session was useless. Merlin he was losing his time!
- I reassure you, the doctor said with an affable tone. There is no psychological problem! But you should do something about your face. Your nose, especially! Aesthetic surgery does wonders nowadays! I can provide you the name of a good colleague of mine…
Resisting to the want of dismembering the muggle, The-one-who-had-lost-two-hours-of-his-life left the room with relief.
- So what? Lucius enquired as Voldemort went back to the manor.
- So what, Lucius, you're going to cop it, The-one-who-was-vindictive-to-death said while he approached him with a threatening look.
- Pity, my Lord! I beg you to give me a second chance! I suspected well that this one wouldn't work, so that I took another appointment for you… At St Mungo's! It's a wonderful and professional healer, you'll see!
Voldemort ranted and raved about it all the night long, but he finally gave up, when Bellatrix joined the team to enjoin him to try. He cursed himself for being so weak. These ten years at Azkaban had made him behaving like lemmings. A dumb lemming. Sufficiently dumb to follow the advices of these two nutcases.
Thank you for reading, (sorry again for the language mistakes, I'm not a english-native ^^")
If you want to write me some reviews, well, thank you a lot, it gives me lots of courage!
All the best,
Kumi