On the night of Halloween 1986, two figures Apparated onto a deserted graveyard outside the Riddle House. They couldn't have been more different to each other. One was tall, the other was quite short. The tall one was thin and bony, the short one was round-faced and chubby. The tall, thin, bony one had the air of deadly seriousness about him, the short round-faced chubby one was stuffing his face with a jam doughnut. The tall, thin, bony deadly serious one was shrewd and cunning, the short, round-faced, chubby one, stuffing his face with a jam doughnut was downright stupid. This Laurel and Hardy type pair did share one thing in common - they both got each other's names wrong.
"Turnwail?" said the cold, high voice of the tall, thin, bony deadly serious, shrewd, cunning man.
"Fold-a-snort?" came the squeaky voice of the short, round-faced, chubby, face stuffed with jam doughnut, downright stupid one, slightly muffled through a jumble of crumbs and jam.
"The name," said the first man coldly, "is Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. However, you shall address me as 'my Lord,' or 'master.' Is that clear, Firm-snail?"
"The name," said the second man, "is Wormtail. However, you shall address me as........well, Wormtail will do just fine."
"Hmmmm, Wormtail," said Voldemort, thoughtfully. "Well, you know what I'm like remembering new names. And you haven't been a Death Eater long, have you?"
"Nope," replied Wormtail. "Two weeks last month, to be precise. Hang on, that can't be right. Let's see, if Nicholas Flamel turned six hundred and forty two last Monday, and tonight's the 31st, and the fifteenth was on a Tuesday...."
"Silence," hissed Voldemort, and Wormtail buried his face in the Dunkin' Doughnut again. "You said you had valuable information for me, Burn-stale?"
"It's Wormtail, my Lord. And yes, I have."
"Well, bagel-brain, what is it?" snapped Voldemort, finding himself fighting an increasingly powerful urge to transfigure his new follower into an under-ripe watermelon.
"The Potters have made me their Secret-Keeper. I have their whereabouts written here on this parchment."
He handed the piece of parchment to Voldemort, who read it carefully before slipping it into his robes.
"Very well, Churn-ale..."
"Wormtail."
"...you have been of some use. You shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."
Wormtail choked on the chocolate filling of his doughnut. "what reward is that, my Lord?"
"A reward granted only to the courageous and brainy" ("that's me all right!" squeaked Wormtail, dancing up and down) "Beats me why I'm giving it to you, but here you go, anyway."
Voldemort held out his bony white hand, and handed Wormtail and rectangular piece of card.
Wormtail shrieked with delight, spraying his master with jam and crumbs. "THE Pokemon Trading Card! Oh, thank you, master! Oh, thank you ever so much! Master is too kind. Master is so generous. I is lucky to be serving Master."
"Stop talking like a house-elf!" snapped Voldemort, regretting he had recruited Wormtail in the first place.
Wormtail continued to goggle at his prize, squeaking his thanks so loudly that from a small run-down cottage outside the Riddle House, Frank Bryce poked his head out of the window, and waving his walking-stick furiously, threatened to set the Royal Air Force on him if he didn't stop his "brutal noise-pollution." Then, muttering darkly about young people today, and pesky rock-bands influencing them, he slammed the window shut and disappeared form view.
Wormtail, deaf to all this, and oblivious to the way his wails of gratitude diminished his master's patience stocks to their minimum, soon found himself at the tip of a wand. A split second later, Wormtail the cauliflower sat on the soft earth still marveling at his trophy.
Voldemort rolled his eyes and Disapparated.
"Turnwail?" said the cold, high voice of the tall, thin, bony deadly serious, shrewd, cunning man.
"Fold-a-snort?" came the squeaky voice of the short, round-faced, chubby, face stuffed with jam doughnut, downright stupid one, slightly muffled through a jumble of crumbs and jam.
"The name," said the first man coldly, "is Voldemort. Lord Voldemort. However, you shall address me as 'my Lord,' or 'master.' Is that clear, Firm-snail?"
"The name," said the second man, "is Wormtail. However, you shall address me as........well, Wormtail will do just fine."
"Hmmmm, Wormtail," said Voldemort, thoughtfully. "Well, you know what I'm like remembering new names. And you haven't been a Death Eater long, have you?"
"Nope," replied Wormtail. "Two weeks last month, to be precise. Hang on, that can't be right. Let's see, if Nicholas Flamel turned six hundred and forty two last Monday, and tonight's the 31st, and the fifteenth was on a Tuesday...."
"Silence," hissed Voldemort, and Wormtail buried his face in the Dunkin' Doughnut again. "You said you had valuable information for me, Burn-stale?"
"It's Wormtail, my Lord. And yes, I have."
"Well, bagel-brain, what is it?" snapped Voldemort, finding himself fighting an increasingly powerful urge to transfigure his new follower into an under-ripe watermelon.
"The Potters have made me their Secret-Keeper. I have their whereabouts written here on this parchment."
He handed the piece of parchment to Voldemort, who read it carefully before slipping it into his robes.
"Very well, Churn-ale..."
"Wormtail."
"...you have been of some use. You shall be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams."
Wormtail choked on the chocolate filling of his doughnut. "what reward is that, my Lord?"
"A reward granted only to the courageous and brainy" ("that's me all right!" squeaked Wormtail, dancing up and down) "Beats me why I'm giving it to you, but here you go, anyway."
Voldemort held out his bony white hand, and handed Wormtail and rectangular piece of card.
Wormtail shrieked with delight, spraying his master with jam and crumbs. "THE Pokemon Trading Card! Oh, thank you, master! Oh, thank you ever so much! Master is too kind. Master is so generous. I is lucky to be serving Master."
"Stop talking like a house-elf!" snapped Voldemort, regretting he had recruited Wormtail in the first place.
Wormtail continued to goggle at his prize, squeaking his thanks so loudly that from a small run-down cottage outside the Riddle House, Frank Bryce poked his head out of the window, and waving his walking-stick furiously, threatened to set the Royal Air Force on him if he didn't stop his "brutal noise-pollution." Then, muttering darkly about young people today, and pesky rock-bands influencing them, he slammed the window shut and disappeared form view.
Wormtail, deaf to all this, and oblivious to the way his wails of gratitude diminished his master's patience stocks to their minimum, soon found himself at the tip of a wand. A split second later, Wormtail the cauliflower sat on the soft earth still marveling at his trophy.
Voldemort rolled his eyes and Disapparated.