essential input of my fellow Potterite and friend, "Jessica S Jade." I will post the next installment when we've written enough, so you're probably in for a long wait (just a warning.) Background: This story is really strange - we started out with a plot objective and distanced ourselved as far from as it as we could. It is set in the Harry Potter world, and it started out as a Voldemort fanfic, but it's gotten elements of Discworld and Greek Mythology along the way. If you don't like Voldemort - or don't like Voldemort acting slightly out of charachter - you probably don't want to read this. If you don't like a plotless plot with millons of plot twists, REALLY don't read this. Although there is a plot; it just kinda gets lost.
Disclaimer: Everything here mentioned in Harry Potter books is prop. J. K. Rowling. Everything from Discworld is prop. Terry Pratchett. Everything else (except the Greek Gods which are prop. themselves and including a little disclosure about your fav. snake, Nagini) is prop. Me, Roanaz, and Jessi. S. Jade) If you have any complaints about inconsistencies, acting-out-of-character, or other stuff, write me a review with it but don't expect me to change it. Write me a review even if you don't have any complaints! Anyway, on with the story!
Voldemort snarled silently, baring sharp eye-teeth, at the obdurate wall. He tapped the brick again with his long, phoenix feather wand, stealing a glance over a black cloaked shoulder at the room behind him. It was empty, as he had known it would be; even Tom the Barkeeper had gone to bed hours ago. He turned his attention back to the wall. Which still refused to open up and admit him back to the wizarding world.
"I should have never let down my guard enough to get caught out here!" he raged. He was especially furious at the fact that he couldn't even stay and wait for some other wizard to come through, as that would bring the entire Ministry of Magic down on him. Incompetent fools, the lot of them… but there were enough that alone, without even a single death eater with him, he could not withstand their combined efforts. He tapped the brick one last time and stalked off, a tall figure in a night-black cloak.
It just HAD to be London, didn't it? he thought as he walked, a shadow's shadow among the alleyways and back streets. Of all the Muggle towns to be stuck in, didn't it just HAVE to be London? It didn't scare him; even as a boy, he had never been intimidated by the looming skyscrapers and dark streets with their darker secrets. No, quite the opposite. Those shadows had been a welcome refuge from the Muggle orphanage. His crimson eyes flashed with hatred, and an alley cat took flight at the sight of the glowing eyes swooping down at him. All thanks to his dearly devoted, (and now departed as well) father. A rather unpleasant smile twisted his pallid features. Oh, but revenge had been sweet. . .
He shook his head. No time to reminisce, not now. He had to find some way to connect with his Death Eaters, or, barring that, get back into Diagon or Knockturn alley on his own. No use apparating; he'd tried it already and all he'd gotten was a headache. He sat down on an overturned ash can and thought.
Try though he might, he was too angry to think coherently, so he rose again and strode off down the street again. He was so angry and pensive that he didn't even notice the girl until he walked into her.
"Hey, bugger off, pal!" The young Muggle snapped up at him from her modest height. Voldemort started, having not even seen her. He looked at her and decided she couldn't haven't been more than 13 or 14; she was very short, with a stubborn look on her high cheekboned face, an angry set to her mouth, and a rather clouded, stormy look in her intense, blue eyes. Voldemort bared
his teeth in an unholy grin which the girl could not see, under his
hood.
"You should go home, little girl," he hissed. "These streets are not safe after dark."
The girl scowled at him. "My name is Odile, and it's not as dark as you think." Voldemort winced in pain and surprise as the bright light of a flashlight hit his face. He held up a spindly hand to shade his eyes, which had become accustomed to the dark. He blinked rapidly, and peered through his fingers at the girl, who had dimmed her light and was staring at him oddly, with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. He was about to yell at her in anger, but just then she spoke quietly.
"Tell me, have you ever heard of a Muggle named Joanne Rowling?"
"No, I haven't, and what's more, it's extremely impolite to shine torches in people's faces like that, and if you knew who I was, you'd-" He stopped. At the first sentence, she had suddenly gone white, and then just as suddenly broken into gales of helpless laughter.
"What in the nine spheres is so funny?"
She looked up at him, her face an odd mixture of laughter and fear. "It's just that, I do know who you are, and, and, I must say, you've shown a great deal of self-restraint…" Her voice trailed off. And Voldemort, musing on the appearance of this strange Muggle (for he could tell she had no magical talent, and no Squib would have acted as she did,) began to feel the strange sensation of fear.
Well, no matter. She'd seen him, and, whether she knew who he was or not, she couldn't go blabbing it to everyone. There were too many wizards about. Odile, who had been frozen with shock, let out a squeal of excitement.
"Hey, you're Volde-"
Voldemort lashed out, clamping one hand over her mouth, and the other around her neck. Still, the girl didn't show as much fear as he would expect, something he wasn't used to. His surprise turned into anger when Odile bit him on the hand. He let go of her neck in mild surprise, staring in surprise and fascination at the trickle of crimson that had appeared on his hand. Mesmerising. . .
"You know, for the most evil wizard in the world, you really can't fight!" Odile snapped, tossing her silvery-blonde braid over her shoulder.
Voldemort grinned a serpentine smirk. "Watch me." He reached for his wand, mentally preparing himself for the strong drain of energy that always followed his use of the killing curse. And stopped. He couldn't risk doing magic - the Improper Use of Magic office was especially stringent on spells done in high Muggle - density areas - such as London. He laughed shortly under his breath. Here he was, the recently risen almost all-powerful Dark Lord, and he was worried about a citation from the Ministry of Magic!
"I'm waiiting…" He jumped for the second time that night. The girl - a Muggle, for the Ineffable's sake - had gotten him completely stymied!. She continued.
"I'm sorry, is there some reason you are refraining from killing me? I'm sure I haven't made that good of a first impression."
He scowled. "Believe me, Muggle, if there was some way of disposing of you without revealing to the general public that I exist, I would do it in all haste."
Odile did not appear shocked by this. She thought for a moment, and replied.
"I don't think you have to be quite so secret about it. It is October, after all…and there's something I should tell you regarding that Muggle I asked about before."
He regarded her with growing curiosity. "Yes, you probably should."
"Come with me, Big V. Oh, and if a mean looking blue centaur and a tall guy in black with a red sword show up, then I am officially nuts."
Odile led him in to an alleyway, bowing mockingly, savouring her power over him.
Oh, she'll pay for that. . .
The girl sat down on an overturned ash can and arranged herself comfortably, while Voldemort leaned against the wall, toying with his wand.
"Humour me, Muggle," he sneered, faking boredom. "It's listen to you or wander around aimlessly, and I do not desire the latter."
So Odile, a half grin playing on her mouth, spoke.
Leaving Voldemort more than a bit more stymied than before.
Odile laughed at the starstruck expression on his face. "Well, THAT's an expression I never thought you'd wear."
Voldemort shook off the shock that someone had been telling MUGGLES about HIS world, (the nerve!) and regained his icy gaze and cold composure.
"What did you ssay her name wasss?" He asked. As he spoke this, he knew he must REALLY be angry, because he only hissed his sibilants when he was particularly displeased.
"Joanne Rowling," Odile repeated fearlessly, matching him glare for glare.
"Hmm. . .Rowling. . . Aha!" Voldemort barked a harsh laugh.
"Rowling! I should have guesssed. Excellent Sseer. . . she never could keep a ssecret."
"Hey, Ineffable!"
Voldemort looked down at her, his face once again calm.
"Yes, Muggle?" he sneered.
"May I just say that this has been the coolest day of my life? Not to mention the weirdest. I mean, that woman I ran into down at the library was weird enough, but. ." She shrugged, looking off into space.
Voldemort's vermilion eyes widened. Ah! Her guard was down. "Your weirdest, you say? And best? May I add LAST to that category?"
Before Odile could react, he had grabbed her round the throat and pinned her against the wall.
"Dammit… I… should…have….known!" Odile struggled, her face slowly growing redder as the lack of oxygen caused her blood vessels to dilate. "Never … trust… a dead man."
Voldemort grit his teeth. The girl had told him all he needed to know; she was expendable. He had strangled people before, before he gained his powers, and he knew how much longer it would take. He didn't factor in oversized starlings attacking his face.
As he shielded his eyes from the sharp beak, bleeding in several places, he noticed Odile panting, slumped to the ground. He flinched back from the flapping wings and the shrill screeching of the bird. Abruptly, the starling shimmered into the figure of a tall woman, without ceasing her diatribe. "… I know you're the dark lord but what are you some sort of idiot, if you'd even bothered to try an aura analysis, that's elementary in magiphysical science, you'd see…" Her voice trailed off. Voldemort, though still furious, stared in wonder at the grey-haired apparition in front of him. "Maggie?" he said, "Maggie Proserpine?"
"The one and only, and still keeping track of current events!"
"And just why did you stop me of disposing of this Muggle? You hate them as much as I do!" growled Voldemort.
Maggie responded carefully. "I saw her earlier today, and immediately realised she was worth watching; I've gotten into the habit of reading auras in passing, and it paid off. I set a tracer on her-" Here Maggie turned to Odile. "You still got that feather?" Odile, now sitting up but still visibly red, mutely pulled a black starling's feather out of her pocket. "Good." Maggie turned to Voldemort, who was growing even more irritated. "So what does that have to do with me?"
"You will soon see that she may represent your last hope."
Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Really."
"WHAT!?!?!" Odile yelped, almost losing her eyebrows in her bangs.
"ME?! Man, you're as crazy as HE is!"
Voldemort glowered at her. "I'll take that as a compliment. And you would do well to remain silent. I would prefer not to have the Ministry of Magic swoop down on me from all directions. But if you push me too far I might decide to risk it."
Odile's mouth closed with an audible snap.
"Oh, be quiet, Tom," snapped Maggie. "Give the kid a break."
Voldemort's face contorted into an expression that was half snarl, half glare, and altogether unpleasant. "Never. . . call. . .me. . .that," he said in a voice so menacing and cold that it could make a raging hippogriff turn around and go home with its tail between its legs. Maggie, however, was unintimidated. "What? Afraid to hear your father's name? Your name?" her lips quirked in a half smile. "Well, the dead DO have a habit of coming back to haunt us. . .don't they?" Odile stifled a laugh, and Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits. "I refuse to be controlled by a child and a songbird. Tell me what I wish to know-"
In an instant his wand was pointed at Maggie's throat--
"Or you will be conjuring yourself a new head."
Maggie laughed and looked at Odile, a mockery of indignation on her face. "Such rudeness! I don't think he deserves to be told, do you?"
Odile grinned. "Well, I don't know. He HAS been very poorly behaved, but on the other hand. . . .I've always been fond of anything cold-blooded."
Voldemort threw his hands in the air. Females!
"Well . . . All right then."
Finally!
"Very well," he said coolly. "Tell me. I might let you live after
all."
He leaned against the cold, unyielding stone wall.
Their move.
"All right," Maggie said. "First, stop being so threatening - point your wand somewhere else." Voldemort complied, grudgingly. "good. Now, I want you to remember that Advanced Enhancement of Powers class we took sixth year - the one with Professor Jupes." Voldemort sent his memory back. Jupes had been extremely dry most of the time, interspersed with bouts of rage; an extremely odd temperament for a graduate of Ravenclaw.
"Remember what he said to us the first day, when we discussed resources." Voldemort concentrated. It had been extremely profound for the old duffer.
"If one has complete dominion over oneself, one has more power than if one had control over any number of others."
"Right."
Voldemort was getting irritated. This failed witch was acting as if he was a student in one of her classes! "What do you have to say about this … female conspiracy, Odile?"
"Actually, I don't know anything; I was bluffing and it seems to have worked." Odile, though still sitting, seemed to have recovered fully. "And I don't see how she's a failed witch - she seems fine to me."
Voldemort was shocked. He hadn't said it out loud, had he?
Maggie appeared insulted. "I am NOT failed! I am a credentialed witch, and have no lapses in any way recognised by the Ministry of Magic!"
"Ah, but that's the point. You've failed where it really counted, though - the Rite of Ash-Kente." He remembered it well. There had been three of them; himself, Maggie, and the other one; what had his name been? It didn't matter, anyway; he was more than dead now, obliterated in a very special sort of way.
"Well actually, that figures into this whole episode - scene - thing - whatever you want to call it - that's happening right now-" Maggie began, but was interrupted by a shimmery blue -white vaguely human-shaped wisp of smoke that grew and twisted and gradually solidified. Voldemort recognised it as a showier form of Apparating, but was totally unprepared for the person it became.
Well, technically, he was familiar with the lithe, black clad
figure who shimmered into view, but at the moment, he wasn't aware of it. It was a her; that was unmistakable. Tall. . . .the word wasn't adequate to describe her. She towered over even him. She was very slender and long limned, with a catlike grace that was uncanny. Her features were aquiline, sporting prominent cheekbones, a thin face, and slanted eyes. She wore a sleek black sleeveless dress that came down to mid thigh, supple black leather gloves which came up past her elbows, and sharply heeled, thigh high boots of the same material. Her flesh, what little of it was visible at the shoulders, face and neck, was chalk white, and smooth, silky hair fell in an ebony sheet to her ankles. It was difficult to tell her age; She could have been as young as 20 or older than 50. Odile and Maggie were staring at her with gape mouthed amazement; Voldemort with surprise and interest. The woman, however, seemed to completely ignore the two females and trained her cold, ice blue eyes on Voldemort. He saw that the pupils of her eyes were slitted, like a cat's.
Or a snake's. . .
Odile realised it at the same time as he did.
"Nagini?!?" They whispered in unison, mouths open in shock.
The woman's thin, blood red lips twisted into a sardonic smile. "At your sssservicsse, my Lord."
Voldemort tried, once again to regain his composure, but it wasn't
often that snakes changed into leather clad, hard faced women, and he found it difficult. "Is there a reason I was not told of this?"
"You never asssssked. I ssssaw no reassson to enlighten you, asss you did not require the asssisstancssse of me in thisss form."
"Well, then why are you here?"
"Becaussse I am the only loyal Death Eater capable of travel."
"Why, may I ask?"
"Becaussse every other loyal Death Eater hasss been imprissssoned."
"By whom?"
"The resst of the Death Eaterssss, my liege," Nagini said simply.
"WHAT?" His ruby eyes flew open at that. "WHAT did you sssay?"
"Insssurrection. Usurpation. Rebellion. Mutiny. However you
choossse
to ssay it, Half your followersss have decsssided to take over."
Voldemort stared at Nagini for a moment. He did not go white, as he was already bone - pale; however, his eyes did widen until they looked the size of teacups. He spoke in a too - calm voice.
"I have had too many surprises today. And none of them have been good. I think I am about to have a nervous breakdown."
With that, he collapsed sitting onto the ground with his face in his hands, sobbing strangely, hissingly.
Everyone froze.
Slowly, Odile walked over to him and put her arm around his shoulders. "It's okay," she said softly. "We've all had a bad night. We'll figure something out."
Voldemort froze. For one of the first times in his life, he was experiencing true sympathy, sympathy that he had not schemed and calculated to receive that he might use it for his own ends. But he was opportunistic. He tried to calculate what he could do.
And stopped. A rebellious part of his brain, one long - dormant, was screaming at him: "Idiot! You are in a bad way, you cannot even think straight, and you would reject possible allies to do it on your own! What are you thinking?!"
Slowly, Voldemort calmed down. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe, and looked up. He noticed Nagini standing off to the side in perplexion; snakes could not truly understand sympathy and compassion. He had worked to destroy those emotions in himself, but it seemed he had failed. He looked up at Odile.
"What do you suggest we do?" he asked, his voice shaky.
Odile stared into the middle distance, thinking. When she had seen him upset, she had moved instinctively to comfort. She could never have done it consciously - or could she?
"You mentioned a seer," she said distantly. "Let's ask her."
Voldemort stared at this strange Muggle girl, so perplexing and complicated, such an enigma, filled with such things as he could never understand. Their eyes locked, crimson to ice-blue. "I did indeed mention a seer. I was referring to this. . .author, this Rowling. She IS a true seer, because that's the only way she could have known such things as you mentioned, such as my last. . . encounter. . . with the Potter boy. She is no Death Eater, a strong supporter of Dumbledore, which rules her out completely; I am sure she would never give me the time of day, much less help take over the world she is trying to protect. No, I'm afraid that is a dead end."
"Excuse me, my lord, but I musst be returning. I will tell no one of thiss encounter, but I will be misssed if I do not return," Nagini hissed, bowing low.
Voldemort glanced at her. "Yes, of course, go." She bowed again and disappeared. Voldemort turned his attention to Maggie, who had barely moved since Nagini's appearance. "Have you any ideas?"
Maggie gulped and nodded.
"Then let's find out if you're as smart as we all hope you are."
Maggie spoke. "Before this person - Nagini - appeared, we were talking about the rite of Ash - Kente. I'd like you to think about what that was.
Voldemort remembered. After he'd left Hogwarts, he'd gone through many of the sort - rituals and transformations that had made him who - what - he was now. The Rite of Ash-Kente had been one of the more obscure ones. It had come from an ancient tome that had appeared one day as he was experimenting with a spell that he had modified. The original spell had destroyed walls. He had apparently used it to temporally bring down a wall between worlds, and the book had gotten through. The rite had been quite interesting; he hadn't known that Death was an actual personality until then - and Voldemort was lost in the memory.
"It says you really only need 2 c.c.s mouse blood and some bits of wood," Maggie had said.
"Humph. Let's do it the other way, just in case." Malthor, that was his name; he was mildly obsessed with always following the rules. His rules, anyway. The circle was set up. It was not exactly like it had been in the book; they were reckless experimenters, even then. They said the words, and then -
the figure in the black cloak shimmered into being, uncertainly.
WHAT IS THIS?
Now was his cue. Voldemort stepped forward. He was confident of what would happen next; he had planned it out.
"I have brought thee here, Death, that I beg a boon, of control over thyself."
WAIT. YOU'RE GOING TO CONTROL ME? YOU? YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!
"I have none yet, but I bring for thee this sacrifice, that thou shalt be appeased." Malthor appeared shocked, though he knew it was part of the plan. Maggie's eyes narrowed.
OH. I SEE. YOU WANT ME TO - OH. FOR THEM. ALL RIGHT. WHAT ARE THY WISHES, THAT THOU WOULD APPEASE ME FOR?
"That I should gain complete and total control over thee and ton minions, for the connection therewith of my body and ghost therein." It was nonsensical wording, but he knew not to tamper with some things. "Therefore I offer to you, these two, one as the given payment, that he might suffer my death as the one you shalt not receive; the other as appeasement." This was a change from what they has agreed on; the fools Maggie and Malthor had each thought that the other was going to be the one destroyed.
THAT IS ACCEPTABLE. THREE ENDINGS FOR THREE LIVES. YOUR SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTED; BUT I SHALT ACCEPT THE OTHER NOT AS THE APPEASEMENT, FOR THERE HAVE BEEN PRIOR ARRANGEMENTS. IT SHALT BE COMPLETED.
With that the cloaked figure took, from somewhere inside his voluminous robes, three hourglasses, like egg timers. Suddenly, one began to crackle with reddish light. The second still appeared normal, but the figure - Death - passed it through the other two as if it was nothing but illusion- and when it came out it was empty of sand.
Malthor screamed.
Voldemort never remembered what happened directly after that, though he did sometimes have dreams, forgotten on awakening. But sometimes he though of that first timer, the one with the red lights. And sometimes he wondered about the apparently unaffected third.
He jerked out of his reverie. "I remember."
Maggie turned to Odile. "Do you remember your parents?"
Odile shook her head. "They found me on the doorstep of the orphanage, and I've been living there ever since. But I know this is my real name. This was around my neck when they found me; I've worn it all my life."
In her hand, on a chain of some dark metal, was a small hourglass. On the base, inscribed in silver letters, were the words Odile Orcus. There was no sand in it.
Voldemort's response was purely serpentine; his eyes widened and his
slit pupils dilated, and he hissed in surprise. He was dumbfounded; and he dealt with dumbfoundedness and shock in a very predatory way. Not many people knew he had retractable claws on his fingers; well technically, several people knew, just few of them were in any state to tell anyone. He extended them now and lunged at Odile, swiping with razor-sharp claws at the little memento of his past brush with Death that the child carried around her neck. "Hey!" Odile yelped, and dodged out of Voldemort's way. His impetus carried him past her and into the alley wall. There was a dull pain as a sharp eye-tooth slashed the inside of his mouth, but he could hardly feel it. He could see only through a haze of red. Adrenaline and rage poured through him. It was an outrage, an insult, that his life, that which was the only thing keeping him from dying as Malthor had, what been carted around for who knew how many years, by a clumsy, ignorant Muggle? And not just any Muggle, but a Muggle child?! He whirled around, starting again toward Odile, seeing not her fearful face, or bruised throat, only the little hourglass, so
insignificant to her, but his entire world to him.
"V-Voldemort!" she yelled. "Stop!"
He ignored her, he could hardly hear her through the pounding in his ears.
"Tom!"
That got his attention. He stopped cold and stared at her. "How DARE you call me that!"
"I w-will if it'll get your attention," Odile said tremblingly, blue eyes fearful. Her fingers crept toward the hourglass, and she clenched it tightly in her clammy, dirty hand.
"LET GO OF THAT!" he roared at her, and she dropped the hourglass in surprise. To his horror, the chain snapped, and the hourglass was falling, his life about to smash on the dirty cobblestones. . . .
ZAP.
The hourglass, instead of crashing to the ground, shot like a bullet, across the alleyway into Maggie's outstretched hand. She looked at them both as a disapproving mother looks at a child who has thrown a tantrum.
"Now, that's enough of that." she said calmly. "Now, you are going to be silent, you are going to listen, and you are going to learn exactly how you can maybe, just maybe, help each other."
Maggie looked at Odile. "Here's your hourglass back; it wouldn't have broken anyway. It's only the ones with sand, the other ones, where you have to worry about that."
Voldemort started to protest, but stopped; Maggie heard him, though.
"And you! I always felt that you thought with your wand instead of your head. Did you even look at that glass? Did you even see the name on it? Or did you just remember Malthor and make the wrong assumption?"
Voldemort hung his head. He had forgotten that maggie could be too much of a responsible adult at times - she made him feel like a child.
" This is a lifetimer. They can only ever have one name on them, and everyone has them. When all the sand has run out, that person's life has ended. It is possible to live on borrowed time, or even stolen time. If yours was empty, it would mean that you either had been permanently obliterated - or never lived in the first place. I assure you neither of these are the case. Your timer, if I remember correctly, was still crackling red and the sand flowing sideways last I checked. And it's where it should be. Odile's - well, Odile is a special case…"
Odile looked frightened. Voldemort didn't blame her. She was muttering something under her breath.
"Zeus?…too many…was it…let's see… Hephastus was…forge, umm…Apollo and wait, Daphne…who?…Demeter?…no…wait!"
They were figures from Muggle mythology; he knew that much. But why?
Idly, Voldemort began thinking of the Muggle Mythology as Relating to Ancient Wizards course he took fifth year. It was a subject that was soon retired due to lack of interest. Most of those myths were just that, myths. He remembered one, though, that did have a basis in fact. Which one was that? He could remember old Prof. Winder saying, as clear as day, about how it was really less violent and more romantic than the Muggles thought of it; there had even been a child - but what myth was it?
Suddenly, Odile blurted out, "Hades and Persephone! THAT'S it!"
Maggie appeared shocked. She nodded her head slowly. "We always called him Pluto, but yes. They were - are, they're still around, your grandparents."
Odile stared solemnly at her. "I thought so. I knew when we learned about them in class, but I didn't know how or why I knew. Now I know for sure."
Voldemort tried to comprehend all of this. "Wait… she's Hades's granddaughter …. But Hades is different from Death so… Maggie? Is that why He - Death said that? About the prior arrangements?"
"Yes. I am her mother. And Death is her father."
They all stared for a moment, and that was when the Aurors appeared at the mouth of the alley.
To be continued...