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Harry Potter & The Order of The Phoenix
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Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Harry Potter
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A/N: First Harry Potter Story
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-CHAPTER ONE-

The Quill

The scratching of the quill on the withered, creased old parchment shattered the otherwise placid silence into a thousand pieces. There was no crackling of a fire, no whistling of the wind, no creaking of floorboards. There was only the quill on the parchment. However, this was no ordinary quill. This quill was writing absent of any outside force. No one else was near this remote ruin for at least twenty miles. It had been deserted many, many years ago. The dust had remained untouched by human hands for decades. The complex had remained exactly as it was since it was founded. No one took anything with them, no one left anything there. After thirty-six years, however, it was alive again, it was needed...
*
The creaking of the floorboards disturbed the giant snake. It bounded through the corridors, knocking down a bumbling man. He was knocking down doors and walls, his sleek silver hand crushing anything at it's whim. The man's name was Wormtail. He punched another wall. This one, however, stood firm.
"What?" Wormtail muttered. He punched it again. This time, it positively repelled him. It threw him into the remains of one of the stone walls.
"Ow..." Not deterred, however, he attempted it one more time. This time yielded results. Results which weren't good for Wormtail. His magical hand began to quiver, and subsequently went out of control.
"No! Stop it!" With his spare hand he pulled out his wand and began prodding the hand furiously, which now was a sickly green. It ploughed through doors and walls, relentlessly dragging Wormtail with it.
"AH! STOP IT! OTHERWISE MASTER WILL-" There was a loud 'pop!'
"I will what, Wormtail?" The high pitched voice rang out among the empty chamber. A person, although 'creature' would have been more appropriate, was hidden in robes of jet black, swirling around him like liquid darkness. There were two hands protuding from the robes, of clearest white, with unnaturally long fingers. The face was fully hidden in darkness, with only two, red, glowing eyes visible.
"I-er-I like your robes." commented Wormtail, desperate to quell the angers which he knew were swelling inside the darkness. The hand was gradually turning back into normal, as the other wand touched it. It then receded into the robes.
"Indeed. However, they serve another purpose." The hands touched the arm of his robe. Almost instantly a man appeared by his side.
"Master?" asked the man, in a quavering tone.
"I presume you know why I called you here?" intoned the high voice.
"Yes, master?" the voice was definitely shaking now.
"You know you must sacrifice your life for Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort always rewards those who do his bidding," said the now Lord Voldemort.
"Yes, master," the voice was barely heard. Voldemort touched a part of his flowing robe. Suddenly a wave of black expanded from the figure, leaving another, much more ordinary, black robe. The blackness was now at the very edge of the chamber. Then it converged into a point right above the second man, and engulfed him. There were muffled screams, which went on for quite a while, in which neither did anything. Then the darkness disbanded, leaving a gleaming human skeleton. The creature returned to Voldemort, and assumed its robe form.
"You see, Wormtail, this is, in fact, not a robe. It is the last remaining Dark Lethifold in the world. And now, here he comes." A glow came from where the man had died, It began building itself up into a figure.
"Thank you, my Lord!" said a strange, echoing voice.
"Now you will go through that wall and get the item behind it!" Voldemort ordered sharply.
"Yes, my Lord!" The ghost glided through the wall.
"Now it is time to deal with you," Voldemort withdrew his wand.
"Crucio!" Wormtail was on the ground screaming. This went on for about a quarter hour, before Voldemort withdrew his wand. "I hope that taught you never to disobey my orders again!" shouted the voice. At this point the ghost glided through with nothing in his hands.
"Where is it?" inquired the voice.
"It is not there, my Lord," the voice was deathly quiet.
"WHAT?" Voldemort shrieked. "NO!" Voldemort got out his wand and shrieked, "DISSIPATIA!" The ghost turned into powder, which then got blown away in the soft breeze.
"Fool. He did not understand the privelige of immortality. He has paid, though, and I still have my plan...."