Chapter Ten - Voldemort's Return

Chapter Ten - Voldemort's Return

"Duck."

"How could you see a duck, Crabbe?"

"I say it's a gorilla with a trombone."

"No one cares what you think, Avery."

Severus swished his brush along the easel and grinned.

"You're all wrong," he stated.

Lucius creeped up behind his fellow Death Eater and gazed at the creation.

"That's horrible Sevey!" he shouted, startled and apalled. "Painting a picture of James Potter burning in a pit of fire! I expected more of you, Mr. Artist pants!"

Crabbe, Nott, Avery, and Forrest Lestrange all let out an "oh-I see-it-now" gust of breath. Severus grinned, very absorbed in his painting and seeming slightly crazed.

And then, very unexpectedly, a stream of acrillic paint splashed across Severus' canvas. Severus spun around to face the culprit. Seeing no one at his eye-level, he directed his gaze to the floor. And there, very peacefully, sat Lucius' toddler son, Draco.

Severus eyes fired up.

"Why you little vermin! I out to shove this bru--" Severus caught sight of Lucius, who was staring right back at him with a blank expression. Severus crinkled his nose.

"Lucius, my friend," he said through gritted teeth. "Could you kindly remove your son from our headquarters?"

Lucius beamed.

"Don't be silly, Severus. Draco meant no harm! He was just unleashing his creative energy, weren't you, Drakeykins?"

Draco nodded, his silvery hair flopping delicately on his mischevious little head. Lucius put one hand on his hip and flourished the other in a wide sweeping movement.

"Our children are the future! You better be taking notes, Mr. Lestrange."

"My ass," Forrest grunted, now nose-deep in a Highlights magazine.

Lucius stood there proudly. There was a moment's silence, and then it happened.

Out of the blue, little Draco jumped onto the paint tube with all his might, directing the colored liquid straight at his unsuspecting father.

It seemed like it happened in slow motion, the paint flying through the air, headed straight for Lucius. He noticed it a moment too late. He was paralyzed in fear; the only movement on his body was the widening of his eyes. He wailed as he was splattered, his light-colored khakis dyed to a rich purple. His sweater vest and collared shirt were no longer light tan, but ironically enough, still matched his equally dark pants.

Lucius stammered for words, but was at a loss. His arms jittered frantically and he wiped the paint from his eyes.

With one fluid motion, he snatched up his son and ran straight out of the room.

The second he left, the room erupted in laughter. Forrest, however, was less than pleased.

"Where the hell is the candlestick?!" he bellowed. He chucked his magazine across the room.

"You've always been less than adequate at 'Hidden Pictures'," Lara said spitefully. She then added under her breath. "That among other things ..."

Forrest crossed his arms and glared at her out of the corner of his eye.

"It's a conspiracy, I'm telling you. A goddamn conspiracy! Screw the publishers!"

"Language, Lestrange," a cold voice said, centering from somewhere in the room.

Severus and the five on the couch whipped around. And there, standing before them, stood a heavily hooded Lord Voldemort.

"Master!" they shouted, bowing to him and kissing the hem of his robes. The others in the room pushed through to do the same.

Severus cowered behind his easel. God only knows where that snake of a wizard had been, and after nearly abandoning them, Severus was in no hurry to run right back to him so fast.

"Snape, dear acquaintance," Voldemort hissed, as if he could read Severus' mind. "Come and say hello to your master."

"Ahhhhh."

Narcissa curled up in the sea of bubbles that was her elegant bathroom. The water was sweet and warm; she could stay there forever.

She took a sip from her margarita. It had been ages since she had been able to have a little time to herself. And, as far as she was concerned, she was going to have a damned good time doing so.

She reached over the side of the bathtub, the water dripping off her arm and glittering in the gentle light of the scented candles. A house elf was standing next to the tub, a tray of bon-bons sitting on top of his head. His large eyes blinked nervously as Mrs. Malfoy lifted off one of the tasty treats.

But before she could enjoy herself any further, the door of the bathroom flew open, and Lucius stumbled in, drenched in purple from head to toe. He was so upset, he couldn't form words, but he tried to communicate to his wife by pointing to his outfit and the to his son, who was standing in the doorway, picking off the paint.

Narcissa looked up at Lucius from under her heavy eyelids. She blew a piece of stray hair out of her face. She sighed and set down her drink.

"Give me five minutes."

"I-er, call this meeting to order ...?"

Peter Pettigrew shuffled his papers and attempted to get the chattering crowd's attention. He was never a good public speaker.

"Anyone?" he tapped the magical microphone, and nothing happened. A crumpled paper hit him square on the face.

"Go home to mummy, Petty-boy!" Avery shouted. He and Lestrange laughed and high-fived. They then started to shove each other, and, moments later, weren't speaking. The rest of the solemn Death Eaters looked upon them in disgust and they quickly straightened to attention.

"Riiight." Pettigrew now had the crowd's tentative gaze. He then continued fluidly.

"Now, without further ado, I present to you, the supreme leader, the crème de la crème, the god among men, the whole kit 'n caboodle, the ba-da-bing-ba-da-boom of evil-doings, LOOORD VOLDEMORT!"

There was a huge applause and the group of obedient sycophants rose as one.

Severus, who couldn't get the song "Penny Lane" out of his head, rose a little later than the rest and touched his hands together emotionlessly. Pettigrew tsked and took note of this in his "Top-Secret Book of Top-Secret Death Eater Plans and Such." (Which was really nothing more than a discarded Barbie coloring book he found in the closet.)

Lord Voldemort whisked to the podium. Several members of the assembly gasped in spite of themselves, for the Voldemort who returned was not like the Voldemort who had left.

He was pale, pasty even. His skin, textured and reptilian was stretched tightly across his hairless head. His bony and sickly fingers slid across his papers, the nails long and vampire-like. He drew air in through his nose--no, it wasn't much of a nose anymore, but rather two slits cut meticulously in the middle of his face. But his eyes; his eyes were the most frightening of all. Red. A hideous, threatening, gruesome, scarlet red.

But he was pleased, very pleased, with what he had found. The group--his group--had come along quite nicely. They respected him, they adored him, they'd give their very lives to him, and that's why he had brought them a little present.

The artificial light illuminated his face as it twisted into a thin smile; an intimation of what was about to come.

Severus, Lucius, and a few others drew back slightly while the majority waited in anxiety on the edge of their seats.

"My children," he hissed, gripping the front of the podium with his claw-like fingers. "I have a splendid suprise for you all."

The Death Eaters exchanged glances. Lucius murmered "I like suprises," but bit his lip in fear of the thing that was the remainder of the strapping young Tom he used to know. Severus' eyebrows twisted. Among everyone else, the thought was unanimous.

Babes?

Donuts?

Voldemort's gaze lingered through the crowd. His followers were scared, he could tell. He loved their fear. He fed off it, lived off their timidness alone. His eyes quickly darted over to Peter, who cringed under his stare.

"Pettigrew," he said as a demand rather than a beckoning. Peter obviously knew what he had to do and twirled his wand between his pudgy fingers. The wand transformed into a microphone, a nice slim one, like on The Price Is Right.

"As you wish, sir," he said, his voice abnormally confident. Peter moved toward the bathroom, which was shielded with a lavish velvet curtain. "Let's show our crowd what's behind door Number One!" Peter yanked on the tassled rope, and two people stumbled out from behind it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Frank and Aurelia Longbottom!" Peter's voice echoed through the warehouse, sounding more and more like a game show host as the minutes wore on.

The Longbottoms shifted uncomfortably. They had lost the color in their faces and their nerves were a mess. Peter was enjoying this, and he continued.

"Frank enjoys candle-lit dinners, long walks on the beach, and heartfelt foreign films. The missus spends her free time knocking over burrito joints and caring for her only son." Peter paused for applause, but none came. "The Longbottoms!" He finished and looked at Voldemort for further instruction.

Voldemort looked at the crowd. They didn't say anything; they were expressionless, stunned. The only sound in the room was the whimpering of Aurelia. Voldemort was not pleased.

"Well?" he demanded impatiently.

The Death Eaters stared.

Voldemort pounded his fist on the podium. "Aren't you going to do something?" he asked, his voice still ominous, but gentlemanly. "Hex them? Curse them? Anything?"

The Death Eaters blinked uniformly.

Voldemort sighed, the vexation evident in his tone.

"Oh for godssake, get up here Lestrange."

Forrest walked up, not really "in" to what he was doing. He scuttled over to Voldemort, his arms unmoving, at his sides. Forrest gazed at his master inquisitively. This irritated Voldemort.

"What?!" he flamed. "Am I not a good master?! I'm 'hip' and 'with it'! I've even been known to use phrases like 'where's the beef?'" He now turned to the crowd. "What do you all want from me?"

They all knew the answer, but no one said anything. But they didn't have to worry, for Forrest had accidentally set his own robes on fire in an attempt to attack the Longbottoms. Voldemort threw his hands over his face.

Peter flew from his position by the curtain and stomped on Forrest's robes, the flames now spreading across the stage. A few more Death Eaters ran onto stage to assist with the fire. Finally, one vanquished the inferno with a simple charm.

The attention of the assembly was even more scattered now. Voldemort tugged at his face.

"SILENCE!" he screeched, and everyone obeyed.

The lights in the room now glowed a horrid red, illuminating the dark wizard. His eyes were still ferocious.

"Now," he said slowly, "We're going to learn how to do this, and we are going to do this right."

The emphasis on that last syllable made the entire audience start slightly.

"That," Barty Crouch Jr. began, lighting up a cigarette, "Was amazing."

"Our dark lord is indeed a great one," added another of his misfit, teenage, ragbag friends.

"Indeed," the rest murmured.

The parking lot was dark and damp after the recent rain. No one was certain of the time, for the meeting ran far longer than expected. The events of the evening eventually led to the odd exploits of the Longbottoms. Voldemort had began with casting the Imperius Curse on the two, and the rest took over from there. They made the couple do some of the strangest things. Cluck like chickens, advertise on a make-believe home shopping channel, shave Antonin Dolohov's head, and many other wacky things.

"I dunno about you guys," Forrest said to Rosier and Wilkes. "But those kids really creep me out."

The three men all glanced over at the smoking kids.

"Ungh," Rosier replied, getting goosebumps on his arms. "Especially that little goth chick."

Barty Crouch and his crew were now staring at Forrest and his crew.

They all shivered simultaneously.

Several feet away, Severus was leaning against a brown station wagon, trying to avoid conversation with Lucius, but dying to speak his mind nonetheless. His black eyes darted, the moonlight illuminating his pale skin.

"What do you think about all this?" he said sharply.

"What d'ya mean, Sevey?" Lucius replied, very transfixed with picking the lint off the cuff of his Death Eater uniform.

"This whole ... " He paused briefly "business. It's a scam. I've known it from the start. I hate to say this, but I actually miss it when Riddle was a moronic druggie, rather then an arrogant, power-crazy, do--"

But Severus didn't have time to finish his insulting remark, for it was at that time that a rather annoying and familiar voice pierced the midnight air.

"Severus! Severus!"

A silhouette of a man flailing his arms was all Severus saw before he quickly averted his eyes to the pavement. He knew who it was and he didn't feel like speaking to

"Igor Karkaroff," he murmured despite his dislike. His eyes searched for Lucius. "How ... charming it is to see you."

His sarcasm was blatant and obvious, but not nearly as much as the outfit that Igor was wearing. He wore a loud, flashy ruffled shirt with a V-cut. It seemed phosphorescent in its multi-colored grotesqueness. He had tight black spandex pants on that were trimmed with a red lace-like gause material. His shoes were polished, but slightly scuffed, and he was sweaty and slightly red in the face.

"Why weren't you at the meeting?" Severus added after his near-blinding look at Igor.

"I have other duties, you know." He then twisted his hands, arms and feet into a tight, gymnast-like position. "Flamenco Dance Champion, three years running!"

Severus found it remarkable that anyone could say this with pride; it was like admitting to going to a Rod Stewart concert.

"Fabulous," he shot as he turned away, his dark robes billowing in the wind-less night.

Not only did he hate the structure of this whole Death Eater government, he despised the people as well. He knew exactly what he had to do and exactly where he had to go to get it accomplished.