Disclaimer: I own nothing you can recognise to belong to J.K. Rowling
Voldemort stared down hard on the crowd that were his loyal Death Eaters. One of them was scratching his neck.
The problem he had was that one or more of his Death Eaters weren't so loyal, and soon the Order would be on their doorstep. He needed to weed the unloyal before that.
There was a spy. He was sure of it. But he didn't know who.
Chirp.
Maybe Lucius? He'd always been overly ambitious and treacherous, even more so as older. They were good qualities for a Slytherin, he could admit, but not if they are turned against him and his cause. Lucius Malloy could have thought that spying for the ministry would bring more benefit for him and his dratted family. He wouldn't, however, lower himself to work for Dumbledore, of that, at least, Voldemort was sure.
So maybe not Malloy. He thinks the Ministry is just a bunch of childish morons. With exceptions, of course.
So maybe the spy is Lucius' wife, Narcissa Malfoy. She has proven to be quite protective of her little spoiled brat, Draco, who couldn't even kill a fool like Dumbledore. Narcissa could have thought that spying for Dumbledore would grant some kind of protection for her son.
The son himself could be the spy too… Perhaps that's the reason why he couldn't kill Dumbledore? That he's been working for him?
Chirp chirp!
Voldemort's eye twitched.
Draco is a definite possibility. But he isn't very good at Occlumency, and Voldemort could see that he isn't treacherous to his cause, at least not yet… Draco did want to kick him, and he would have to crucio him for that.
Snape was obviously spy material. But Voldemort was sure that he was on his side. Snape loathes Dumbledore, after all, because of the old fool's blatant favoritism in Snape's schooldays. And there isn't anything he would want that Dumbledore could give in exchange for spying on his Death Eaters. Plus Dumbledore's dead, Snape himself killed him.
Besides, Snape wasn't so good at Occlumency as to fool him, the Dark Lord. So Snape was definitely not a spy.
Screech!
"All right, who brought that infernal bird here?" Voldemort shouted, rising from his thoughts.
The Death Eaters cowered like the spineless cowards they are. Moments ticked past, and Voldemort was getting more and more impatient. Then a commotion in the middle of the crowd drew Voldemort's eye. It seemed to him like the Death Eaters were pushing forth someone from their midst.
They were probably hoping that if they offered a sacrifice, they wouldn't have to suffer so much. Unlikely.
The unlucky Death Eater fell to his knees before his throne, after one final harsh shove from a front line Death Eater.
The idiot immediately started to stutter: "M– my Lord, I– I tried to shut him up, I r– really did, bu–"
"Silence, you worthless moron! Cru–" Voldemort started to hiss, but before he was interrupted by the offending chirper.
It was a green thing with small lighter green coloured wings, and a beak that looked somewhat owl-like. It was about the size of a mouse, and it sprang to flight from inside the Death Eater's hood, chirping in its high-pitched voice all the way.
"No Apple! Don't–"
Voldemort lazily aimed his wand and cast a quick Avada Kedavra. He didn't even bother to look after the curse left from his wand. A light thump was heard.
"Alright, you–" Voldrmort took a closer look, "Goyle Senior," he sneered.
"Thanks to you, Goyle, we have lost precious time. The Order is on its way here, to attack us tonight. It'll be happening very soon." Rustling of robes was heard as some of the Death Eaters shuffled in surprise. "Yes, someone has told them of my plans, my dear followers. They're attacking, out of desperation, and the Potter brat is with them. I can feel that he's somewhere near…"
Flutter of wings somewhere on Voldemort's right, small clicks of claws behind him, and then– chirp!
The implications of the sound hit him not unlike a physical blow, paining him more than he would ever admit. He almost doubled in half from that pain, and only sheer pride and stubbornness stopping him. The sounds meaning was that someone, something as insignificant as that little bird was defying his unlimited power, his decision to crush it's pathetic life.
It simply infuriated him. Nothing, absolutely nothing had the right to do that, the right to make him look weak.
Voldemort twisted on his throne with nearly inhuman speed. "Avada Kedavra!" he almost shrieked.
The green bolt sailed across the short distance between his wand and the bird now sitting on the back of his throne. And then it hi–
No. Missed.
Missed. Voldemort blinked. Again. He'd never before missed on a distance so short. Never, except when it came to the Potter boy, but that was neither here nor now.
Darned bird. Reminds him of Potter.
Voldemort seethed even more after the thoughts that the stupid bird had something in common with Potter. The bird had ducked. Just like Potter! It did that just to make me look like an idiot!
And it had dared to set its unclean little feet on his throne. His throne. It was unacceptable. Voldemort twisted around more to get even better aim, and cast another Killing Curse.
Oh for Salazar's– The darned bird evaded his curse once again. He was going to kill it, even if it was the last thing he did. A part of Voldemort's mind was registering all the other things that were happening. Goyle Sr. was muttering something inaudible over and over again, and the rest of the Death Eaters stood as a motionless mass, watching their Lord get angrier and angrier over a little bird.
Humiliating.
Another death curse shot out of his wand, which the maddening bird avoided by folding its wings and dropping to a dive, warbling shrilly.
This deadly tag continued on, and foam was almost coming out of Voldemort's mouth from pure anger, and the bird was executing breathtaking maneuvers in air to avoid being hit.
But the bird – which was a budgie, to be exact – was getting weary and quickly. Finally it landed on Voldemort's leg, panting from fatigue. Its beautifully coloured wings were drooping.
Voldemort, huffing and puffing in equal parts of anger and exhaustion, aimed his wand at it, and "Avada Kedavra!'' his mouth went. Wait, hold up– his mind tried to say, but his anger-guided hand and tongue were too quick.
The bird – a budgie, named 'Apple' by Goyle – leapt to flight once again, and the Killing Curse hit Voldemort's own leg.
"No!" the Dark Lord had time to shriek before crippling pain went through him, and everything faded to darkness. A triumphant trill was the last thing he ever heard.
"So… the club's disbanded?" one of the braver Death Eaters asked tentatively several minutes after the Dark Lord had cursed himself. The only reason he'd got together the courage was because during those couple of minutes, the Dark Lord hadn't moved a muscle. So he deduced the Dark Lord wasn't rising anytime soon.
"I guess so," another Death Eater answered, just as carefully. They were all still standing in the precise rows their Lord had always demanded them to stand in.
"Yes!" Lucius Malfoy cheered (quietly, and with dignity, of course). "The Dark Lord's dead. No more of being called 'Malloy'!" he continued with glee, watching the blessed budgie tentatively bite his ex-Lord's ear.
No movement.
"My little Apple is a killer!" Goyle smiled a happy little smile and rushed to his budgie. The bird sprang to flight once more before Goyle could touch it, and with difficulty flew out the doors one Death Eater had opened to sneak away. The budgie disappeared down the hallway and Goyle chased after it, calling desperately for it to come back.
Some other Death Eaters were edging away from their places in the rows too. "I guess I can go? You don't need me anymore, do you, M'Lord?" one of them asked, but didn't stick around any longer for an answer.
Draco Malfoy strutted towards the Dark Lord's throne and after some hesitation pushed the body off the throne. It fell to the floor with a thump.
"Look out, world, for the dawn of the day! The reign of Malfoy is coming near!" He declared, sitting down on the throne. "Now– Hey! Where do you think you're going? Hey!" Unfortunately for his new career as a Dark Lord, the last of the Death Eaters had already left. Even Bellatrix, whom he would have thought to like the idea of a new Dark Lord.
"Come on!" Draco cried out, frustrated. He stomped down from the throne and on the way kicked Voldemort's body with a muttered "Dork Lord''.
Then he left too, sulking.
Somewhere in a forest outside the wards of Voldemort's manor, Harry, Ron and Hermione shared high fives.
Ron was laughing. "Good work, mate! Oh, how I wish I could've seen it!"
"I can't believe that plan worked!" huffed Hermione, but a small smile was playing on her lips.
"Yeah. C'mon guys, let's go grab some butterbeer to celebrate," Harry said smiling, and brushed a small green feather off his shoulder.
A.N.: Feel free to inform me of any mistakes you may find.
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