Notes to be dispensed below. Onwards!

The Search for the Moths

oOo

Voldemort was feeling somewhat unnatural.

But that was good – feeling strange was good. It gave, what the movies Seamus had forced him to watch, called, 'an edge.'

Edges were good. Girls liked guys with edges.

The large white hands clenched at his sides felt slightly prickly with sweat. He cast a nervous glance at Seamus who was walking beside him, looking for all the world as if he had spent every day of his short life so far promenading the wet streets of Dublin city with an oversized lord of evilness.

Word.

Seamus gave Voldemort an appraising look.

'All righ'?' he asked suspiciously. Voldemort gave a pained sort of smile. Seamus nodded, and sighed, pulling him into a shop doorway.

'Jaysus man, ye've gotta stop sweatin'. It's mank,' he reprimanded the evil lord, as he nodded appreciatively to a platinum blonde woman of questionable employment. She giggled, and waggled a red nailed hand at him, before her gaze flicked to his companion. Voldemort's mind worked over-time in top-gear to come up with the sickly smirk which she didn't even see, having walked on at least a minute and a half before.

Seamus smacked a hand to his forehead.

'Jaysus,' he muttered, as he rearranged his companion's attire.

'Would ye stop messin' wit yerself?' he hissed, as Voldemort went to turn down his cuffs once again.

'I'm sorry,' he said, stiffly, which could not exactly hide the desperate undertones, 'but these garments . . . you are positive that these will aid our search for a queen?'

Seamus frowned at him, his mouth slightly open for a long moment.

'Yeah. Stop panickin'.'

Seamus immediately shifted his body into an attitude of causal loitering, leaning half of himself against the grimy chip-shop front, and turned his attention to a crowd of young women, the kind who are always found shopping in Dublin on a Saturday, with Daddy's credit card and Mammy's Jimmy Choo's.

He wolf-whistled. Voldemort marvelled at the ease with which the boy executed such gestures, and for a moment envied his complete lack of respect and decorum. The things that simply flowed to his lips! Voldemort could not fathom where such 'pick-up lines' as Seamus had explained later that they were came from. His obviously was a uniquely beautiful mind to be blessed in such a way. Secretly, Voldemort truly admired this boy. He reminded him of a younger self, skilled in two completely different ways, yet skilled none the less. He did not think of what should be said or done, he simply did it. The actions came naturally to him.

Voldemort fervently wished for some of his surety and charm.

The girls giggled, and passed by. Seamus shrugged himself from the wall, and turned to his older companion who flinched self-consciously.

'For f--'s sake, man, would ye calm yerself down? Look, ye're goin' to mess up yer wig if ye keep mooching like dat. That was f-- expensive! Relax!'

'I cannot,' Voldemort muttered, tugging on the ends of his long blond mullet-inspired wig. Seamus smacked his pale hands away, and adjusted the wig surreptitiously.

The virulently dyed ginger ends of the wig snagged on the handle of the door, and Seamus unwrapped them none too gently.

'Now,' said Seamus, facing his apprentice in the ways of the moth gaining sternly, 'Dere is a group of passable wags comin' around de corner. You're turn. You can do dis!' he punched Voldemort on the arm affectionately.

'You're ready.'

And Voldemort nodded. He was ready. It had taken many months of learning the etiquette and internet shopping on Seamus-approved web-sites for new 'threads' and hair-pieces, but now was the moment of truth, and he would not fail.

The sweat gathering on the palms of his hands grew wetter, as Voldemort licked his lips and begged his voice to be as seductive and care-free as Seamus's. He could do this.

He did.

'Hey there, erm . . . young females . . . would you care to . . . erm . . . kick it with me . . . at a large social gathering? Or to . . . erm . . . 'make it' with an evil lord? Or . . . would anyone care to be my queen and carry my heir and rule the wizarding world with me forever, unparted by the cruel irony of mortality?'

Voldemort hazarded a smile.

Both speech and gesture were met with horrified expression, wide-eyed and terrified by the small group of barely adult girls, who crowded together as if for protection from this foul mulleted creature. Seamus closed his eyes as if for a reprieve from the sight. Voldemort cast towards him wildly, before back to the girls, one of whom had begun to cry, but the group was still stationary, as if rooted to the spot by disgust and repulsion.

'I . . . that is, I mean . . . crucio!' Voldmort cried, reaching automatically for his wand to threatening brandish at the now-scorned girls . . . air.

Seamus gave him a pointed look.

'We left the wands behind. Remember? To detract from our . . . haffliction.' Seamus pronounced the word carefully.

'Freaky and diseased,' on of the girls muttered, raising her eye-brows, as they scurried away together, a solid pack of females.

'N-no!' Voldemort began, and turned desperately to Seamus, who had a carefully guarded expression.

'Righ' . . .' he muttered, and grasped Voldemort's arm to tow him away.

oOo

They were in the 'lair' later, as Voldemort liked to call it, or the 'gaff' as Seamus staunchly referred to it, and Seamus was well into his fifth Guinness, solely, he proclaimed, to ease his shame of his protégé.

' … I mean, Jaysus, they weren't even dat good lookin'. Some of dem looked shite, actually. I mean,' Seamus ripped the lid of the bottle closest to him, 'Jaysus.'

Voldemort was silent. He felt like an abomination.

'I'm s-s-s-s-s-s …' Somehow, the apology died on his lips. Probably because a beer bottle thwacked him across the head at that moment.

'Drink up,' Seamus advised, smacking his lips as he downed another bottle.

'We're going to need to be firin' on all cylinders toni' to bag a mot' fer ye.'

Voldemort did not question Seamus's infallible logic. Seamus was the master. The master must be obeyed. Voldemort knew this. Voldemort understood this. Voldemort had been a master once. Speaking of which, he should really alert his Deatheaters to his current location. And he was itching to curse someone again … the thought faded away. First, a queen. Then, his minions.

Voldemort opened the bottle.

oOo

Three hours, and seven cases of beer later, Seamus stumbled down the streets he had grown up on leaning on the shoulder of his equally inebriated friend, who just happened to be evilness personified. They were singing. Their song switched between the Top Gear theme-tune, and the Hogwarts song.

'Hogwarts, dun-dun …

Dun-dun dun dun-dun

Mmpleeeease …

La na … mmmmm …

Knees …'

This was all hilarious. Voldemort found himself giggling uncontrollably, as Seamus walked funnily. Suddenly, he was face-down and sobbing with laughter on the tarmac of the road, comfortable in the knowledge that he was the most attractive creature in all of the land. The 'local', as Seamus referred to it, loomed in sight. Voldemort giggled breathlessly.

oOo

The next thing he was aware of, was Seamus climbing, in hysterical laugher, onto the roof of the nearby house, armed with silly-strong, and a wand. Seamus grinned, and waved, staggering. Voldemort saluted, feeling merry.

oOo

The next thing he remembered after that was watching, feeling faintly confused, as Seamus was loaded into the back of a van, reading 'Gardai' and a house engulfed in green flames blazing merrily in the background. Seamus was hiccupping and giggling.

'Shrrzznnump, Vllaaaaa …' he said, which sounded perfectly clearly in Voldemort's own ears as 'You're beautiful, Voldemort!'

He was glad.

oOo

The next thing that he remembered after that was throwing open the door of the local, and strutting inside, feeling manly and beautiful.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he announced to the room at large, who looked up disinterestedly from their drinks, and then returned to stare disconsolately into the dregs in their glasses. Voldemort swaggered about the bar, searching for an equally beautiful female. He found one. She was sitting with a puny male, whom Voldemort could squish between his fingers like a fish.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he told her. She glanced up at him, and sighed.

'Unfortunately, I'm married to that one,' she said, gesturing at the puny male, who was building an intricate prism of beer mats.

'Shall I squish him?' Voldemort offered, flexing his fingers. She shook her head.

'No, thanks. No life insurance,' she sighed. Voldemort bowed, toppled over, stood up, knocked the puny male to the floor, and resumed his search for the queen.

He sashayed to the bar, and leaned against it for a moment, pondering over what uses such a thing may have that could aid him in his quest for an evil empire. A female turned to him from her stool. She was oddly shaped, not much like a female at all, but her face was painted with the kind of feminine paint preferred by her kind.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he proclaimed. She batted her eyelashes at him.

'I can see that, sweetheart,' she told him. Her voice sounded very manly. He appraised her. She was dressed in female garments.

'Are you beautiful?' he asked her. She would know.

'Honey, I can be whatever you want me to be,' she told him, turning to face him. Voldemort noted the stubble on her face, and wondered a moment before deciding.

'You are not beautiful enough. I will crush you.'

'Not if I crush you first!' the non-female female cried.

oOo

The next thing Voldemort knew, he was picking himself off the cold stone tiles of the bar. When he struggled upright, a beautiful woman who standing behind the bar in front of him, pouring a drink.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he told her, hoping he sounded sure of himself. She nodded.

'I know, hon. Drink this up.'

Voldemort needed no more encouragement. The beautiful woman smiled at him, and he choked.

'You are beautiful. There is no puny male with you. Neither are you a puny male. You poured me a drink. You shall be my queen.'

Suddenly it was all so clear. The woman stared at him for a moment, before speaking.

'I only become a fellow's queen when he gives me his wallet to examine,' she told Voldemort slowly. He feverishly pulled out his wallet and shoved it into her hands. He had found his moth, all on his own! Master would be proud.

He gazed at her face as she rifled through his well-stocked wallet. Vaguely, Voldemort saw her pulling out the wads of 'cash' as Seamus called it. Voldemort had no use for the thousands within. She handed him back his considerably flatter wallet, and he gazed as she smiled. Suddenly, a great feeling of well-being pervaded him. He tucked his wallet into his pocket, and bowed to her, regaining balance with difficulty.

'You will wait, my queen?' he asked her.

'I will,' she smiled, dazzlingly. Voldemort gazed about the bar again.

'I am Voldemort. I am beautiful,' he repeated, to make sure they were all aware. No-one looked up this time, but Voldemort didn't care. His queen smiled at him, as he left the bar, and regained the street, breathing deeply.

He had a queen, and all was well.

oOo

When Seamus Finnegan awoke the next morning, it was in a cold cell, with a blinding headache, and a great view of his knocked out student across from him, behind the same bars. Groaning, Seamus dragged himself to the bars, and called out hoarsely.

'Hey! Hey! Jaysus, how'ya luve!' he called to the girl on duty, who glared at him.

'What?'

'When did my mate gerrin' here?'

'About half four this morning.'

'Jaysus. He langered?'

'Off his tree.'

'Jaysus.'

'Think he was mugged too. His wallet was totally cleaned out.'

'Ah, shite. What was he sayin'?'

'I think he was high. Kept going on about some queen, and being beautiful … sure, you know yourself.'

'Jaysus.'

Seamus glanced at his student, and, where a feeling of loathing and shame should have bloomed, pride instead sprung up. Here they were, student and master, together, behind bars, girl-less, and about to heavily fined, but together. He might be an evil overlord, or something, and Seamus might only be a rakishly handsome Dubliner, but they worked together. Soon, yer man would have his queen, and Seamus would have his cash, and all would be well with the world in general.

And why waste time?

Seamus turned, a grin already on his hung-over face, and jerked his head approvingly at the girl on duty, who blushed.

'How'ya luve!' he called, and grinned through his head-ache.

It was a new dawn, a new day, a new life for him …

And he was feelin' good.

xXx

Okay, lads. No language guide here. You lazy shites should have read the one in the last chapter! Te he. Well, I needed a break from writing my in-progress FF, so this took over my consciousness. Hope you like it. It's dedicated to LunarSpirit. Sorry dear, I know it's late, but hope you like it. I did warn you. Also, to C.D., that crazy stoner child. I laf yaoh. So, hope you like the Seamus-fest, fan-girls!

Wraithlike over and out. And I don't own Harry Potter. So there. sticks out tongue Or the song, 'Feelin' Good.' Or Guinness, as a matter of fact. Or Jimmy Choo. Or Top Gear. Or the local, really. Sad, in all honesty ...

If you likely, reviewy! Or something ... ;)