QLFC Round 8 – Dystopian Future
Task: Write a Voldemort!wins AU, showing what happens to the Ministry.
Optional Prompts: (word) revolution, (word) cruel, (object) Time Turner
A/N: What happens to the Ministry ten years after the Dark Lord wins the war? Why, Voldemort became Minister for Magic, of course! Turns out killing all your enemies makes for a very boring future…This is intended to be a little humorous, mainly because I suck at writing serious stuff. The words in italics are Voldemort's thoughts. Also, I'm aware Voldemort sounds like a 12-year-old boy here… *cries*
Bureaucracy and Boredom
The Dark Lord walked purposefully down the tiled corridor, people hastily dropping to their knees in respect as he passed. His lip curled at the thought of them, at how each day at the Ministry of Magic was so predictable. Lost in his depressing musings, he almost didn't notice the woman bounding towards him.
"My Lord! I'm so glad I caught you! I need your opinion on a new Dark Arts Course at Hogwarts. See, the last one we had a few tiny accidents with… Nothing to worry about, Master. But it would be regretful if we were to lose any more of those darling little cockroaches."
He nodded automatically and continued walking at his fast pace. "Of course, Bella. I trust that you will construct an adequate syllabus."
But rather than realise the dismissal, Bellatrix continued to follow him, babbling about her ideas for introducing Flesh-Peeling Hexes. Voldemort filtered her out, as he usually did. Being Minister for Magic was certainly tiresome.
Voldemort had triumphed over the Boy-Who-Lived during the famous Battle of Hogwarts some ten years previously. The boy had evaded him for years, only to be caught trying to run away and escape his fate, hand-in-hand with some red-haired Blood-Traitor chit. The Dark Lord had eviscerated the pair of them. Romance had always made him nauseous, anyway.
And, so had begun the Dark Lord's revolution. Most of the Resistance had crumbled with the death of Potter. He wasn't a cruel Lord or a merciless leader. Those rebels who surrendered to the new regime were welcomed into the fold, were given places in his new world. Those that had chosen to keep fighting, however… Well, things were a little messier for them.
Bit by bit, the remaining magical community had conceded to Voldemort's absolute rule, leaving him to gradually take over the Muggle world too. Wizards had lived too long in the shadows. The Dark Lord had brought them out into the light, crushing the resisting Muggles like ants. Now, the only non-magic folk lived in Muggle Farms, bred for labour and entertainment for the magical world. Voldemort had ushered in a new era, where Witches and Wizards lived in a paradise, no longer in hiding.
Naturally, after he had conquered the world all that remained for him to do was to enjoy it, correct? So the Dark Lord had taken his position at the helm, as the Minister for Magic. What a dreary mistake that had turned out to be…
Reaching his office, the Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix.
"I have some business to attend to now. Perhaps see if Severus agrees with your thoughts. After all, he is the one with experience."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned away from her. He watched the disappointment bloom across her regal face as he stepped into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. Crossing the room, he sunk down into the chair behind the desk, breathing a sigh of relief.
A quick glance revealed a large stack of paperwork that needed to be dealt with this morning. He picked up the first form from the top of the pile, skimming its contents. It was a request for the commission for a new set of Time-Turners for the Department for Mudblood Regulation, in order for the unit to be able to achieve its full capacity.
He glanced at the name on the top of the request form. The department is headed by Dolores Umbridge, Voldemort thought. Well, I suppose the woman has proven herself as loyal, if not a little nauseating.
He signed the form with a flourish, placing it in the completed pile. Picking up the next one, Voldemort felt his irritation rise. Why do these people think they can waste my time? It is surely beneath the Minister for Magic, the Dark Lord no less, to be bothered with such ridiculous issues. Screwing up the parchment, the form requesting that extra sugar is put in the Pumpkin Juice in the Ministry Food Hall went sailing across the room.
Deciding that the paperwork could wait until later (and secretly hoping that someone would end up doing it in his stead), Voldemort pushed the stack of parchment to the side of the desk, before reaching into the pocket of his robe. He pulled out a stack of slightly dog-eared Chocolate Frog Cards and began spreading them out across the surface of the desk. Hmm, he thought. What order should I put them in today? Most abhorrent to most tolerable? Or how about who got murdered first? That's vaguely entertaining.
He started sorting the cards, placing Harry Potter, his crowning piece at one end of the table. The next cards were a little harder to sort. Whilst Flamel definitely kicked the bucket before I obliterated Dumbledore, does he count? Technically I only had a minor hand in Flamel's death…
A timid knock on the door distracted him from his intense sorting.
"Come!" He called, glancing up as a one of his Death Eaters entered the room. Voldemort struggled to produce a name for the small man before giving up. A Lord shouldn't have to struggle on behalf of his servants… he decided. Not to mention, he could barely distinguish between them, anyway. They were all just cockroaches, mindlessly obeying his orders. It's not as if any of them are entertaining enough to warrant any effort on my behalf.
"My Lord? My apologies for disturbing you, I know you must be...busy." The underling's eyes flickered down to the pile of Chocolate Frog cards scattered across the mahogany desktop. "It's just that the new shipment of Muggles has arrived. The Department for Monument Building needs you to sign off on the delivery. You know how unreliable Muggles are… the livestock will expire before we can get them down to work otherwise."
Voldemort sighed, gesturing offhandedly at the pile of 'important' documents in his in-tray. "Put it there. I'm currently undertaking a very important task. I shall attend to it later."
"Of course, Master." The minion swallowed, before dropping into a nervous bow and asking, "Was there anything else you needed?"
"Dismissed," Voldemort replied, not even glancing as the man turned and quickly fled the room, leaving him once again alone in his office.
The Dark Lord turned back to his cards, his lip curling in boredom. After all, the game of rearranging them in order of which Wizard you killed first began to lose its appeal after the first fifty times. Drawing his wand, Voldemort waved it lazily, watching smoke curl upwards as the cards burst into glittering blue flames. Well, he thought. The prospect of the desk catching fire and eventually burning down the entire Ministry of Magic does have its appeal…
However, all too soon the cards were a pile of ashes upon the desk that had stubbornly refused to surrender to the flames. I'm the Dark Lord! I am all-powerful! And a worthless desk won't even submit to me now?
He turned his patented Lucius-Malfoy-is-being-a-brat glare upon the offending piece of furniture, but to no avail.
Sighing, he spoke aloud to his audience of one, "What I wouldn't give for a couple of feisty Order members to torment right now. Just one leftover rebel to tear the limbs off… it would break this monotonous tedium that has befallen my world."
Bureaucracy sucks, he thought. Hell, I might even welcome the news that the Potter brat was miraculously resurrected if it meant I had some reason to get out of this infernal office…
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Voldemort dragged the stack of paperwork towards him once more.