Author: Muggin
Summary: Some people crack under pressure… Voldemort's got a new follower.
"Well, well. What do we have here? My! If it isn't Dumbledore's little pawn of a puppet!" Said the current Dark Lord, Tom Riddle, alias, Voldemort.
Vol de Mort-
French for either flight of death or fly from death.
Suits him. Both ways.
He is death on green tinted wings for his victims and he flees from death like a bird on an updraft.
But eventually that draft will calm and he'll be stranded, alone, naked to the elements.
"Dumbledore can go screw himself for all I care." The 'puppet-pawn' answered himself, an aura of danger and sadistic rage projected from him. "What I came here for was to take you up on your offer."
"What brought on this change? Methinks you're up to something." Voldemort stated, receiving a nicely raised eyebrow with the word 'methinks'. "Let's just say that I got tired of the bee manipulations and that if I'm going to Azkaban I might as well deserve it." Even though it was said with a shrug Voldemort saw the slight tensing muscles in his jaw line.
"What's that lemon drop loving lunatic done this time?"
"He lied to me. Again." The 'puppet', that was no more than a boy- stated sadly. Then with a sneer he continued. "You've never lied to me Tom. And speaking of lemon drops..."
The Dark Lord leaned forward in his chair, expectantly.
"What did you do to them?"
"Let's just say that they don't have calming potion in them anymore and he won't even realize it when he next eats one."
They both cackled gleefully. Not a very nice sound.
"Well now mister Potter; First order of business is an alias, then let us have some fun."
The boy now identified as Mister Potter put his finger to his chin in mock thought. "Hmmm. I've been thinking about something along the line of 'The-Boy-Who-Killed'." They cackled again; any distrust that had been there before was gone now.
To hell with the Light; being Dark is so much more fun.
Some people crack under pressure.
Not Harry; he shatters.
Magnificently so.