Prologue
Voldemort sat in a high-backed chair with velvet cushions, twirling his wand restlessly in his
long, white fingers. Nagini, his beloved snake, lay in a pile at his feet, her belly swollen from the Muggle-
lover she had eaten earlier in the day. "Are you satisfied, my sweet?" asked Voldemort in Parseltongue.
"Yesss," Nagini replied. "Thank you, my Lord."
They both sat in silence, staring at the wall. The Death Eaters had tried so hard to make the
dwelling suitable to Voldemort's tastes, but they weren't housewives. They didn't know the cleaning
spells that so many witches used every day , so frustration had eventually caused the Dark Lord's
servants to abandon the cleaning, which had to be done in the Muggle fashion.
As he continued to glare at the filthy wall, Voldemort thought of Harry Potter, and how the boy
had managed to evade him. As Nagini nodded off, succumbing to sleep, displeasure darkened his
thoughts… Wait a moment. What if the boy could be approached while You-Know-Who was in disguise?
He could simply use a few charms to alter his appearance! No, that wouldn't work; Potter's scar pained
him whenever Voldemort was in the vicinity. So he returned to his scheming.
Something was bothering Voldemort. When was the last time he had had some fun? Killing
people usually seemed to satisfy the urge to go out and really enjoy himself. His mind came back around
to the idea of being in disguise. Having once seen a television (The things Muggles think of!) commercial
about plastic surgery, Voldemort began to wonder if he should conjure up some counterfeit Muggle
money and have a procedure done. It would be quite entertaining and be of no cost to himself; If he was
unhappy with the job done, killing the surgeon and reverting back to his usual appearance was always
an option.
With that happy thought in mind, Voldemort cried, "Incendio!" A large fire was lit, and the room
filled with warmth. Nagini rolled over in her sleep, and basked in the warm glow.