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.
