Why Is He Laughing?
Italicized portions are taken directly from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Harry, laughing a high, cold, mirthless laugh.
His was not a handsome form by any means.
But that's not what counted.
Lord Voldemort was no longer the mirror image of his pathetic Muggle father.
He was neither lined with wrinkles nor sinking under the weight of wiry hair and beard.
He looked down at Harry again, a cruel smile twisting his snakelike face.
Spidery fingers lingered over a bone white wand, his thumb sweeping over the handle.
The Dark Lord aimed his wand, an extension of his very self, at the boy.
He looked hardly more competent than he had the last time they met.
Voldemort laughed again.
Nevertheless, he must be punished.
For surviving where none had before.
For wearing the bolt on his brow like a badge of honor.
Voldemort began to laugh.
The boy had escaped with but a gash on his head.
The Wizarding World thought it a mark of pride, a symbol of his triumph over the Dark Lord.
He knew better.
Voldemort laughed softly in his ear.
The boy was marked for death—specially chosen for pain.
Lord Voldemort would be the one to rip the screams from his throat and the life from his veins.
Voldemort smiled his terrible smile, his red eyes blank and pitiless.
Oh yes. The boy would know lightning.
Hear the crackling streaks detonate.
Feel his body blacken and char.
Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling.
And Lord Voldemort would bear witness.
Watch the boy sizzle and writhe.
Set him ablaze and let him combust.
Harry saw his mouth curl into a smile, saw him raise his wand.
He would spare the boy no relief.