Where's Waldo…err, Voldimort
Chapter 1: Flight Interrupted
Voldimort, Dark Lord, heir of Salazar Slytherin, Master of the Death Eaters and future ruler of the wizarding world was on top of the world, both literally and figuratively. He was high in the sky above England, south of London. The lights of the distant city visible along the horizon.
He was just returning from the continent where he visited the once great wizard, Grindelwald.
It sickened him to see how far the older man had fallen. Disgusted by the fact that in his dodder age his former idol was now actually afraid of seeking power, advising him to abandon his quest for the master wand.
More proof that it was only he, himself, who was destined to bring about the glory once envisioned by the great Salazar, who's ring now graced his finger.
His ability to fly without the aid of magical devices, something even the celebrated Dumbledore couldn't do, was another.
Voldimort was master of magic's lesser wizards thought impossible, setting him above their petty rule and fearful hiding. He would not hide his greatness from the muggle world and under his rule, the great families of magic would at long last be recognized by the whole world. Under him, of course.
Yes, Lord Voldimort was full of himself and he loved flying. Loved the sense of superiority it gave him as he looked down on the world below, the muggles scurrying about like insignificant ants. Loved the fact that it was a power no other wizard or witch was known to have. Not even ancient Flamel, creator of the Sorceror's Stone. Another disappointment. Voldimort would never allow immortality, or power of any sort go out of fear.
As he flew beneath the clouds his breast grew warm at the thought of another power he held, this one over his supposed destroyer, the hope of the weakling world, that bright shinning lie; Harry Potter.
His lip curled in disdain as his mind filled with thoughts about the boy who lived.
There were those among his own followers who lived in fear of Potter, who quailed when it was learned that Potter had received a vision of the attack on that thin blood, Weasley.
They had muttered how it was a power Harry held over him, that he could invade the Dark Lord's very mind, but he proved the doubters wrong. It wasn't Potter's power, but his. He used that link to control and manipulate the boy, bringing him to the Hall of Mysteries and into Malfoy's clutches.
Malfoy, another disappointment, may he rot in Azkaban.
With a malicious chuckle, he drew his mind inward, away from the countryside passing below to the small and annoying spot in the back of his consciousness that was Harry Potter. The world around him faded as he focused on the link between them, pushing himself to the front of the boy's mind, making himself visible as if he was actually there.
Looking about the vaguely dreamlike world of Potter's mind, Voldimort found himself standing in a subway station, beneath London from the look of it.
His smile grew predatory as he witnessed Harry's reaction to his appearance. The stumbling fool blundered through his jacket, trying to draw forth his wand, nearly falling from his feet as his fear unmanned him.
Voldimort laughed as he looked upon this, his prophesied destroyer.
He would show them. The great Voldimort was not a victim of fate, but the master of his own destiny.
He was distracted from visions of glory by the strange sense of building pressure and a rapidly growing noise behind him, in the real world. Leaving Harry's mind, he turned to look. He saw bright lights and…
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Captain Theodore Hodgeson, Theo for short, checked his flight gauges. His eyes absently looked through the cockpit's windscreen, along the plane's wings, constantly looking for potential problems the way he had been taught in the Royal Air Force.
After finishing school he had gone to the RAF College at Cranwell, Lincolnshire, where he trained first as an officer, then as a pilot in her majesty's air force. For the next six years he had flown C-130J Hercules cargo planes, followed by two as the pilot of a new C-17 Globemaster, one of only four in the English Air Force. It had been a great honor, the crown jewel of his military carrier, making it easy for him to move into his new, civilian career as the pilot of one of the new Airbus A380s.
Theo loved his life and a warm smile graced his lips as he reflected upon it. He had a wonderful career with a promising future, a loving wife, Patricia, and two beautiful children. A daughter Agatha who was ten, and William, seven, named for his own father.
Yes, he was thinking to himself, life is good, when out of the corner of his eye he caught just a glimpse of something in the air before his right wing. He had just enough time to see that it was large, roughly man sized with what looked like great wings fluttering behind it, before it was sucked through the outside engine of four. Easier it was, to see the resulting fireball that engulfed the massive nacelle.
The great plane shuddered and rocked, alarms screaming within its cockpit as Theo automatically killed power to number one, while simultaneously kicking up engines two and three to compensate for the loss of four.
"Mayday, mayday" his copilot, Stephen Aberforth was already saying into his radio headset. "This is British Airways flight BA0478 from Rome on approach to Heathrow, we have lost our number four engine and are requesting clearance for an emergency landing. I repeat, we have lost the number four engine and are requesting clearance for an emergency landing."
"Roger that flight BA0478, this is Heathrow Tower, we have you on our scopes. Permission granted, we are clearing runway six for an emergency landing. Adjust your approach vector to…"
As his copilot repeated instructions back to the tower, Theo looked out the window to his right, watching as the in flight extinguishers successfully put out the flames in number four. He shuddered at the thought of all the paperwork and reports that now loomed in his future. Not to mention the media circus that would inevitably accompany the downing of yet another Airbus. Well, at least this time they couldn't blame it on Rolls Royce, manufacturer of the engine, or on poor maintenance. Theo didn't know what he saw, but he knew he saw something get pulled into the engine before it blew.
Author's notes:
This story is in response to AramilOniasha's challenge to kill Voldimort with the hand of a muggle. Just a thought that popped into my head after reading about an Airbus performing an emergency landing in the paper. This story won't be very long or complete, just a handful of short chapters.
This takes place just before the Half Blood Prince.
The only real change is that Voldimort, the arrogant jerk, is proudly wearing Salazar's ring instead of having hidden it under the floor boards of his grandfather's house for Dumbledore to find.