First, a few author's notes!
Thank you to everyone who reviewed so far! I really love getting reviews, but being evil, greedy, and bent on universe domination (world domination would be aiming too low), I want more reviews!! So please, if you like the story, leave a review. If you have suggestions, leave a review. If you want to request control of a city or small country when my best friend and I become dictators of the universe, leave a review!!
Also, I wanted to comment on the direction of the story. I'm going to be rewriting part of the first chapter soon, because I had an epiphany. I can't really say more, except that as silly as this story is, it does follow cannon in fulfilling the prophecy.
One character in this chapter is named for my (insane) friend/beta reader/co-dictator. I hope everyone likes it. Now, on with the story!
Chapter Seven: Good First Impressions
"Mummy! Mummy! I want some sweets!" Little children wailed variations on that theme all over the small store. Exasperated parents tried to control their young charges in vain. Pleas for behavior resounded throughout the room. Bribery was offered, punishment was threatened, and four-year-olds shoved brightly colored toffees into the pockets of their trousers in that split second during which their parents' backs were turned.
Such was the day-to-day atmosphere in the most popular sweetshop in London.
One of the harassed clerks, a young man in his early twenties, declared that it was time for his daily break. All that whining gave him a headache, and he desperately needed a smoke to calm his nerves. He knew he would never be able to successfully quit the habit with all of those screaming toddlers around! The clerk stepped into the alley in back of the store, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket, and brought it to his lips. As he produced a disposable lighter from another pocket, a faint popping noise resounded.
The young man jumped. The sound had come from behind the trash bins, and he rationalized that it had only been a cat, or some other small animal. He turned his head toward the source of the noise, and screamed.
Standing in a small triangle of space, between the corner of a brick wall and a dumpster, stood a vaguely human figure, where none had been before.
Not only had this...person appeared out of nowhere, into a spot that was physically impossible for someone of that size to enter, this was possibly the strangest looking individual the young clerk had ever seen!
The man-the clerk supposed it was a man from his physical build-was completely bald and skeletally thin. He didn't even have so much as eyebrows. Stranger yet were the man's eyes. The color was an average enough shade of brown, but the pupils were...vertical! They were like a cat's eyes! The man was also a bit pale, although he looked as though he had used some instant tanner---a bit orange and spotty.
His clothes were stranger yet. It looked almost as if the bloke was wearing women's capri pants---they ended just below his knee. Black knee socks met the short pants at the joint. A white button-down shirt, black tie, and black sweater vest completed the peculiar ensemble. He looked like an overgrown version of a newsboy from a 1940's movie.
As the oddly dressed man seemed to take in his surroundings, it became apparent that he had noticed his predicament. He let out a chillingly high- pitched howl of fury, removed a slender stick of wood from the pocket of his strange pants, and pointed it at the large trash bin in front of him. He mumbled some words, his voice sounding dangerously angry.
The dumpster was blasted into smithereens. The young clerk's eyes processed the scene, but his mind refused to believe it. Had that man destroyed a metal dumpster with just a wooden stick and a foreign word?
As the smoke and trash settled, the clerk witnessed the stranger calmly stepping around the rubble while smoothing down his incredibly outdated outfit. The young man stared incredulously.
Round pupils met slitted ones, and both men froze. The stranger's long- fingered hand once again reached for his wooden stick. This time, the clerk heard the word that he uttered.
"Obliviate!"
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The Dark Lord nodded approvingly at his reflection in the thankfully silent mirror. He was determined to get those lemon drops. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and disapparated.
With a nearly silent "pop," Lord Voldemort appeared in a small alley. Noting the muggle modes of transportation, whatever they were called, littering the surrounding scenery, he assumed that he had reached his destination: muggle London.
Still marveling at the ease of entering the public muggle world, the Dark Lord looked directly in front of him.
Bloody hell.
Maybe this hadn't been his best idea ever. Lord Voldemort was trapped. He was stuck between a brick wall and a giant metal trash bin.
Panic began to seep into the Dark Lord's euphoric pride he felt in actually making it to his destination. He was stuck! There was no space to move! How was he ever to get back to his loyal Death Eaters? More importantly, how was he ever to get his lemon drops?
Partially on instinct, Voldemort reached for his wand. His pale, spider- like hands shaking, he aimed at the dumpster directly in front of him.
"Reducto!" he said quietly, trying to calm his nerves.
The curse hit the metal container, blasting a hole in its side. The sparks that flew from the Dark Lord's wand settled on the contents inside, which promptly began smoldering. Bits of flaming trash fluttered down to earth.
Feeling relieved, Lord Voldemort took a deep breath of smoky air, and stepped away from his brick and metal prison. His lovely muggle clothes were wrinkled, so he smoothed them down with his hands. He certainly didn't want to make a bad impression! This was his first contact with muggles since he was a boy, in which he did not intend to torture and murder them. Anyway, muggles were strange creatures. Would they sell lemon drops to someone who looked like a slob?
The Dark Lord looked up from his now impeccable outfit into the eyes of a young muggle man.
He froze. A muggle! He hadn't planned on meeting one so soon---he wasn't prepared yet! Plus, the muggle must have witnessed everything: the failed apparation, the panic attack...Lord Voldemort could not allow the muggle to have such information against him! What if news of his miscalculation and claustrophobia reached Albus Dumbledore? Or worse, what if his Death Eaters learned of his weaknesses? They were infinitely more dangerous than the headmaster. No, the Dark Lord would have to take measures to prevent that from happening.
"Obliviate!" The young muggle's face went slack. As the Dark Lord stepped around him, he called out, "Sorry, muggle," and continued on his way.
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The Dark Lord donned a pair of white gloves before touching the doorknob, and entered the store. One could never be too careful of those muggle diseases!
As he stepped over the threshold, barrels of sweets met his eyes. He breathed in the scent of sugar. Yes, this was the place. They would certainly stock lemon drops here!
He felt a bump against his leg, and looked down to see a blonde-haired muggle child fallen at his feet.
"Hello there, little muggle," he greeted, offering his gloved hand to help her up.
The little girl took one look at the Dark Lord and screamed. She continued letting out eardrum-piercing shrieks until her mother arrived to comfort her.
"Scary man, mummy! Scary man!" she repeated several times. Her mother glanced up at Lord Voldemort, and carefully backed away, as if he were a wild animal.
Confusedly, the Dark Lord set out toward the counter at the back of the shop. A small boy looked at him and whimpered. Parents searched out their children and hurried them from the shop. For the first time in the history of the store, not a single child protested his or her departure.
Voldemort reached the cash register, and greeted the girl standing behind it. She was looking a bit peaky. The Dark Lord was thankful that he had remembered his enchanted germ-repelling gloves.
Reading her nametag, which said "Katy" on it, Lord Voldemort spoke to the pale cashier.
"Hello, Katy. One pound of lemon drops, please!" he requested in his most cheerful voice.
"I'll give you whatever you want," squeaked the girl. "Just please don't hurt me!" Shaky and looking definitely a bit ill, Katy ran to fill the Dark Lord's order. She quickly returned with a bag of the requested sweets.
Voldemort reached into his pocket and fished out a galleon coin. He offered it to the cashier.
"What's that?" asked the panic-stricken girl. "Just take them and go!" she cried.
Furrowing his nonexistent eyebrows in consternation, Voldemort placed the galleon he had retrieved back in his pocket. Why didn't she want his gold?
Lord Voldemort picked his bag of lemon drops up from the counter beside the cash register. He turned and exited the now empty sweetshop, heading back toward the alley to disapparate. Behind the store sat the obliviated clerk, who scampered away, frightened, at the sight of the Dark Lord.
Shaking his head at the myriad of strange muggle behaviors he had just observed, Lord Voldemort disapparated away from his first peaceful venture into the muggle world in the past forty-five years.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed so far! I really love getting reviews, but being evil, greedy, and bent on universe domination (world domination would be aiming too low), I want more reviews!! So please, if you like the story, leave a review. If you have suggestions, leave a review. If you want to request control of a city or small country when my best friend and I become dictators of the universe, leave a review!!
Also, I wanted to comment on the direction of the story. I'm going to be rewriting part of the first chapter soon, because I had an epiphany. I can't really say more, except that as silly as this story is, it does follow cannon in fulfilling the prophecy.
One character in this chapter is named for my (insane) friend/beta reader/co-dictator. I hope everyone likes it. Now, on with the story!
Chapter Seven: Good First Impressions
"Mummy! Mummy! I want some sweets!" Little children wailed variations on that theme all over the small store. Exasperated parents tried to control their young charges in vain. Pleas for behavior resounded throughout the room. Bribery was offered, punishment was threatened, and four-year-olds shoved brightly colored toffees into the pockets of their trousers in that split second during which their parents' backs were turned.
Such was the day-to-day atmosphere in the most popular sweetshop in London.
One of the harassed clerks, a young man in his early twenties, declared that it was time for his daily break. All that whining gave him a headache, and he desperately needed a smoke to calm his nerves. He knew he would never be able to successfully quit the habit with all of those screaming toddlers around! The clerk stepped into the alley in back of the store, pulled a cigarette from the pack in his jacket pocket, and brought it to his lips. As he produced a disposable lighter from another pocket, a faint popping noise resounded.
The young man jumped. The sound had come from behind the trash bins, and he rationalized that it had only been a cat, or some other small animal. He turned his head toward the source of the noise, and screamed.
Standing in a small triangle of space, between the corner of a brick wall and a dumpster, stood a vaguely human figure, where none had been before.
Not only had this...person appeared out of nowhere, into a spot that was physically impossible for someone of that size to enter, this was possibly the strangest looking individual the young clerk had ever seen!
The man-the clerk supposed it was a man from his physical build-was completely bald and skeletally thin. He didn't even have so much as eyebrows. Stranger yet were the man's eyes. The color was an average enough shade of brown, but the pupils were...vertical! They were like a cat's eyes! The man was also a bit pale, although he looked as though he had used some instant tanner---a bit orange and spotty.
His clothes were stranger yet. It looked almost as if the bloke was wearing women's capri pants---they ended just below his knee. Black knee socks met the short pants at the joint. A white button-down shirt, black tie, and black sweater vest completed the peculiar ensemble. He looked like an overgrown version of a newsboy from a 1940's movie.
As the oddly dressed man seemed to take in his surroundings, it became apparent that he had noticed his predicament. He let out a chillingly high- pitched howl of fury, removed a slender stick of wood from the pocket of his strange pants, and pointed it at the large trash bin in front of him. He mumbled some words, his voice sounding dangerously angry.
The dumpster was blasted into smithereens. The young clerk's eyes processed the scene, but his mind refused to believe it. Had that man destroyed a metal dumpster with just a wooden stick and a foreign word?
As the smoke and trash settled, the clerk witnessed the stranger calmly stepping around the rubble while smoothing down his incredibly outdated outfit. The young man stared incredulously.
Round pupils met slitted ones, and both men froze. The stranger's long- fingered hand once again reached for his wooden stick. This time, the clerk heard the word that he uttered.
"Obliviate!"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Dark Lord nodded approvingly at his reflection in the thankfully silent mirror. He was determined to get those lemon drops. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and disapparated.
With a nearly silent "pop," Lord Voldemort appeared in a small alley. Noting the muggle modes of transportation, whatever they were called, littering the surrounding scenery, he assumed that he had reached his destination: muggle London.
Still marveling at the ease of entering the public muggle world, the Dark Lord looked directly in front of him.
Bloody hell.
Maybe this hadn't been his best idea ever. Lord Voldemort was trapped. He was stuck between a brick wall and a giant metal trash bin.
Panic began to seep into the Dark Lord's euphoric pride he felt in actually making it to his destination. He was stuck! There was no space to move! How was he ever to get back to his loyal Death Eaters? More importantly, how was he ever to get his lemon drops?
Partially on instinct, Voldemort reached for his wand. His pale, spider- like hands shaking, he aimed at the dumpster directly in front of him.
"Reducto!" he said quietly, trying to calm his nerves.
The curse hit the metal container, blasting a hole in its side. The sparks that flew from the Dark Lord's wand settled on the contents inside, which promptly began smoldering. Bits of flaming trash fluttered down to earth.
Feeling relieved, Lord Voldemort took a deep breath of smoky air, and stepped away from his brick and metal prison. His lovely muggle clothes were wrinkled, so he smoothed them down with his hands. He certainly didn't want to make a bad impression! This was his first contact with muggles since he was a boy, in which he did not intend to torture and murder them. Anyway, muggles were strange creatures. Would they sell lemon drops to someone who looked like a slob?
The Dark Lord looked up from his now impeccable outfit into the eyes of a young muggle man.
He froze. A muggle! He hadn't planned on meeting one so soon---he wasn't prepared yet! Plus, the muggle must have witnessed everything: the failed apparation, the panic attack...Lord Voldemort could not allow the muggle to have such information against him! What if news of his miscalculation and claustrophobia reached Albus Dumbledore? Or worse, what if his Death Eaters learned of his weaknesses? They were infinitely more dangerous than the headmaster. No, the Dark Lord would have to take measures to prevent that from happening.
"Obliviate!" The young muggle's face went slack. As the Dark Lord stepped around him, he called out, "Sorry, muggle," and continued on his way.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The Dark Lord donned a pair of white gloves before touching the doorknob, and entered the store. One could never be too careful of those muggle diseases!
As he stepped over the threshold, barrels of sweets met his eyes. He breathed in the scent of sugar. Yes, this was the place. They would certainly stock lemon drops here!
He felt a bump against his leg, and looked down to see a blonde-haired muggle child fallen at his feet.
"Hello there, little muggle," he greeted, offering his gloved hand to help her up.
The little girl took one look at the Dark Lord and screamed. She continued letting out eardrum-piercing shrieks until her mother arrived to comfort her.
"Scary man, mummy! Scary man!" she repeated several times. Her mother glanced up at Lord Voldemort, and carefully backed away, as if he were a wild animal.
Confusedly, the Dark Lord set out toward the counter at the back of the shop. A small boy looked at him and whimpered. Parents searched out their children and hurried them from the shop. For the first time in the history of the store, not a single child protested his or her departure.
Voldemort reached the cash register, and greeted the girl standing behind it. She was looking a bit peaky. The Dark Lord was thankful that he had remembered his enchanted germ-repelling gloves.
Reading her nametag, which said "Katy" on it, Lord Voldemort spoke to the pale cashier.
"Hello, Katy. One pound of lemon drops, please!" he requested in his most cheerful voice.
"I'll give you whatever you want," squeaked the girl. "Just please don't hurt me!" Shaky and looking definitely a bit ill, Katy ran to fill the Dark Lord's order. She quickly returned with a bag of the requested sweets.
Voldemort reached into his pocket and fished out a galleon coin. He offered it to the cashier.
"What's that?" asked the panic-stricken girl. "Just take them and go!" she cried.
Furrowing his nonexistent eyebrows in consternation, Voldemort placed the galleon he had retrieved back in his pocket. Why didn't she want his gold?
Lord Voldemort picked his bag of lemon drops up from the counter beside the cash register. He turned and exited the now empty sweetshop, heading back toward the alley to disapparate. Behind the store sat the obliviated clerk, who scampered away, frightened, at the sight of the Dark Lord.
Shaking his head at the myriad of strange muggle behaviors he had just observed, Lord Voldemort disapparated away from his first peaceful venture into the muggle world in the past forty-five years.