Woohoo! I have more than one page of reviews!! This is incredibly
exciting for me, to be perfectly honest, because I was sure it was never
going to happen.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I'm glad that you all seem to like the story. Also thanks to Katy, my insane beta reader, who makes writing this fic so much fun.
I'm very sorry this is so late in being posted. My only excuse is a rather lame one: I had finals. Please forgive me!
On with the story!
Chapter 8: Analysis
Lord Voldemort was glad to be home. Actually, he was relieved. As he stood in front of his ornate, voiceless mirror and removed the charms hiding his true appearance, the Dark Lord reflected on his trip to the muggle sweetshop. He never would have thought that a simple shopping excursion could be so stressful! To be perfectly honest with himself, the Dark Lord was disappointed. His debut as a benign entity in the muggle world had not been nearly as successful as he had hoped. However, he had accomplished his main goal: he had a full pound of lemon drops to consume at his leisure.
He popped a yellow sweet into his mouth and tasted it with a lipless smile of utter contentment. Lemon drops made him happy. This feeling was new to Lord Voldemort. He couldn't remember ever feeling fulfilled and secure before, not even as a young child. He imagined that if his mother had lived to raise him, she might have given him lemon drops.
The Dark Lord visualized the scene he had just witnessed in the sweetshop. He had observed mothers and fathers interacting with their children. The muggle parents had been buying sweets for their young offspring, in order to make the kids happy. The children seemed to have an inordinate amount of power over the adults who cared for them. The parents were willing to sacrifice their own precious power to make their children happy.
This new realization shocked the Dark Lord. No wonder he had never before felt happy and secure! He had never had an adult to care and sacrifice for him. Nobody had ever truly loved Lord Voldemort, and he had never loved another in return. Now, however, Lord Voldemort knew what love was.
Lord Voldemort loved lemon drops.
Once again reaching into the clear plastic bag, the Dark Lord grasped on of the succulent treats. He held it before his eyes. The sugar coating made the yellow morsel sparkle in the torchlight that illuminated his lair. It was a truly beautiful piece of food, in Lord Voldemort's opinion, not to mention the fact that it was incredibly delicious!
A tight, almost painful sensation welled up in the Dark Lord's chest as he twirled the sweet between his chalk-white fingertips. It became difficult for him to swallow, and it felt as though there was a lump in his throat. His eyes prickled strangely.
"Am I choking?" he wondered. He was rather disinclined to believe that was the problem. As a boy at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort had once choked on a Fizzing Whizbee. It had been the first sweet he had ever eaten, and up until a week ago, it had also been his last. He recalled that choking had involved a lot of coughing, but very little of the sentimentality he was currently experiencing. So what was this mildly unpleasant sensation he was now encountering?
Having decided that he was not in immediate danger of suffocation, especially because he was mostly immortal, the Dark Lord allowed his thoughts to drift back to the muggle sweetshop. In hindsight, the children in the store had not reacted to him as he had expected. They had seemed terrified! Lord Voldemort was confused by the children's' behavior. He hadn't even insulted them about their lack of magical ability.
Actually, why did he even care? Lord Voldemort had spent his entire life hating muggles. Why should it suddenly bother him that a few muggle children found him frightening?
In spite of his attempt at rationalization, the Dark Lord couldn't help feeling hurt by the muggles' attitudes. He had made a genuine attempt at friendliness, and it had been rebuffed. However, what truly alarmed Lord Voldemort was that he cared enough to be upset by what a few dirty, inferior muggles thought of him!
The Dark Lord felt awfully strange. His scarlet eyes burned and his vision blurred as a little droplet of moisture spilled from one of them, and trickled down his unnaturally pale cheek.
"Sweet Merlin! My eyes are leaking!" thought Voldemort desperately. He hadn't cried in more than fifty years, since he had been a small boy in a muggle orphanage. Consequently, he did not immediately recognize the symptoms of weeping.
"Wormtail!" he yelled. "Get over here now!"
Peter appeared a moment later, cringing and trembling in fear. "Wh-what do you need, my lord?" he stammered.
"I am ill, you imbecilic dolt! Summon Severus Snape immediately. He is the only trustworthy wizard with the skills necessary to provide me with a curative potion. I can depend on him, unlike you, Wormtail," answered the Dark Lord abusively.
"Y-yes, m-m-master," acquiesced Pettigrew. "R-right away, sir." Wormtail left the chamber, presumably to floo Snape, leaving Lord Voldemort alone with his thoughts once again.
The panic-stricken megalomaniac paced the ornately furnished room. "What is wrong with me?" he kept wondering. "There must be something terribly wrong with me!"
He realized that he had been acting and feeling strange for some time now. This had been going on for about a week, to be specific. A week ago, after his duel with that fool Dumbledore, he had found muggle sweets on his person. Had he contracted some muggle disease from that one lemon drop? He had been so careful to avoid that kind of complication!
Wait---he had already established that Albus Dumbledore had most likely slipped him the package of lemon drops. Had the sweets been enchanted, or even poisoned? Voldemort had assumed that the lemon drops had been tampered with at first, and he had taken measures to neutralize any spells the headmaster may have placed on them. However, what if Dumbledore had used some kind of delayed-release poison? His counter spells were useless against undetectable potions, which Dumbledore, old as he was, was perfectly capable of brewing. Oh, would Severus never arrive?
A timid knock sounded on the door. "Wormtail, you dunderheaded fool, is Snape here yet?" called the edgy Dark Lord.
Peter eased the door open. "Y-yes, m-my lord, he h-has a-arrived."
"Well, send him in immediately, you insolent moron!" roared Voldemort.
Wormtail squeaked and ran from the room, probably to fetch the Hogwarts potions master.
A few tense moments of anticipation passed before a more forceful knock was heard.
"Enter, Severus," commanded the Dark Lord.
A nervous Severus Snape opened the solid mahogany door and stepped into Lord Voldemort's private sitting room. He immediately noticed that no other Death Eaters were present. Only he had been summoned.
"Ah, Severus," greeted Voldemort. "I have a problem that I need you to solve for me. I am ill, and I have reason to believe that Albus Dumbledore is the cause of my ailment. What do you know about this?"
Knowing that the Dark Lord was (mostly) immortal, Severus was sure that his former master could only be implying one thing. He began to panic.
"I am sorry, my lord! Yes, I am a spy for Dumbledore, but please spare my life, and I will serve you faithfully from now on!" cried a terrified Snape, all of his training in occlumency flying out the window in an instant.
"A spy? You, Severus? What in the name of Merlin are you babbling about?" The Dark Lord was confused; he only wanted to be cured of whatever was causing him to develop a conscience.
"N-nothing, master," stammered a sheepish potions master. How was he ever going to get out of this situation?
"Anyway, Severus, I have not been feeling like myself for at least a week. It is common knowledge that Dumbledore wishes me dead. I am afraid that he may have had an opportunity to harm me during our skirmish in the Ministry," Voldemort explained. "Just a short while ago, my eyes began leaking a clear salty fluid. I also experienced some choking sensations, and had difficulty breathing through my nose at the same time."
"You were crying?" exclaimed Snape incredulously.
"Crying? Me? I am the Dark Lord!" roared Voldemort. "I do not cry---I am the most powerful wizard in the world, and possibly in all of history! I do not cry! I am seriously ill, and I need to be cured immediately!"
"Erm, my lord, you do remember that you are immortal, correct? Considering that fact, I highly doubt that Dumbledore could seriously damage your health," Severus responded tentatively. He did not want to trigger his former master's infamous temper.
"What? Oh yes, of course I remember that I'm immortal! After all, I am possibly the most successful dark wizard who ever lived. A lowly schoolteacher like Dumbledore could never defeat me!"
"Of course, my lord," agreed Severus, blocking his real thoughts from the Dark Lord's legilimency.
"You are dismissed, Severus. And remember, none of this ever happened!"
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A wave of relief rushed over the greasy-haired potions master as he apparated outside of the Hogwarts gates, leaving him feeling weak and limp. He was home. When he had found himself summoned to the Dark Lord's lair alone, he had been sure he would never see the castle again. Severus felt incredibly fortunate: he had admitted his duplicity to the Dark Lord himself, had survived, and even had all of his limbs in tact!
As grateful as Severus was for still being alive, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the Dark Lord had been acting very strangely. He had little doubt that his eccentric boss was at least partially responsible for Lord Voldemort's sudden and drastic change in behavior.
Resolving to get to the bottom of the mystery, Snape began walking toward Dumbledore's office. He needed to have a chat with the scheming old man.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I'm glad that you all seem to like the story. Also thanks to Katy, my insane beta reader, who makes writing this fic so much fun.
I'm very sorry this is so late in being posted. My only excuse is a rather lame one: I had finals. Please forgive me!
On with the story!
Chapter 8: Analysis
Lord Voldemort was glad to be home. Actually, he was relieved. As he stood in front of his ornate, voiceless mirror and removed the charms hiding his true appearance, the Dark Lord reflected on his trip to the muggle sweetshop. He never would have thought that a simple shopping excursion could be so stressful! To be perfectly honest with himself, the Dark Lord was disappointed. His debut as a benign entity in the muggle world had not been nearly as successful as he had hoped. However, he had accomplished his main goal: he had a full pound of lemon drops to consume at his leisure.
He popped a yellow sweet into his mouth and tasted it with a lipless smile of utter contentment. Lemon drops made him happy. This feeling was new to Lord Voldemort. He couldn't remember ever feeling fulfilled and secure before, not even as a young child. He imagined that if his mother had lived to raise him, she might have given him lemon drops.
The Dark Lord visualized the scene he had just witnessed in the sweetshop. He had observed mothers and fathers interacting with their children. The muggle parents had been buying sweets for their young offspring, in order to make the kids happy. The children seemed to have an inordinate amount of power over the adults who cared for them. The parents were willing to sacrifice their own precious power to make their children happy.
This new realization shocked the Dark Lord. No wonder he had never before felt happy and secure! He had never had an adult to care and sacrifice for him. Nobody had ever truly loved Lord Voldemort, and he had never loved another in return. Now, however, Lord Voldemort knew what love was.
Lord Voldemort loved lemon drops.
Once again reaching into the clear plastic bag, the Dark Lord grasped on of the succulent treats. He held it before his eyes. The sugar coating made the yellow morsel sparkle in the torchlight that illuminated his lair. It was a truly beautiful piece of food, in Lord Voldemort's opinion, not to mention the fact that it was incredibly delicious!
A tight, almost painful sensation welled up in the Dark Lord's chest as he twirled the sweet between his chalk-white fingertips. It became difficult for him to swallow, and it felt as though there was a lump in his throat. His eyes prickled strangely.
"Am I choking?" he wondered. He was rather disinclined to believe that was the problem. As a boy at Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort had once choked on a Fizzing Whizbee. It had been the first sweet he had ever eaten, and up until a week ago, it had also been his last. He recalled that choking had involved a lot of coughing, but very little of the sentimentality he was currently experiencing. So what was this mildly unpleasant sensation he was now encountering?
Having decided that he was not in immediate danger of suffocation, especially because he was mostly immortal, the Dark Lord allowed his thoughts to drift back to the muggle sweetshop. In hindsight, the children in the store had not reacted to him as he had expected. They had seemed terrified! Lord Voldemort was confused by the children's' behavior. He hadn't even insulted them about their lack of magical ability.
Actually, why did he even care? Lord Voldemort had spent his entire life hating muggles. Why should it suddenly bother him that a few muggle children found him frightening?
In spite of his attempt at rationalization, the Dark Lord couldn't help feeling hurt by the muggles' attitudes. He had made a genuine attempt at friendliness, and it had been rebuffed. However, what truly alarmed Lord Voldemort was that he cared enough to be upset by what a few dirty, inferior muggles thought of him!
The Dark Lord felt awfully strange. His scarlet eyes burned and his vision blurred as a little droplet of moisture spilled from one of them, and trickled down his unnaturally pale cheek.
"Sweet Merlin! My eyes are leaking!" thought Voldemort desperately. He hadn't cried in more than fifty years, since he had been a small boy in a muggle orphanage. Consequently, he did not immediately recognize the symptoms of weeping.
"Wormtail!" he yelled. "Get over here now!"
Peter appeared a moment later, cringing and trembling in fear. "Wh-what do you need, my lord?" he stammered.
"I am ill, you imbecilic dolt! Summon Severus Snape immediately. He is the only trustworthy wizard with the skills necessary to provide me with a curative potion. I can depend on him, unlike you, Wormtail," answered the Dark Lord abusively.
"Y-yes, m-m-master," acquiesced Pettigrew. "R-right away, sir." Wormtail left the chamber, presumably to floo Snape, leaving Lord Voldemort alone with his thoughts once again.
The panic-stricken megalomaniac paced the ornately furnished room. "What is wrong with me?" he kept wondering. "There must be something terribly wrong with me!"
He realized that he had been acting and feeling strange for some time now. This had been going on for about a week, to be specific. A week ago, after his duel with that fool Dumbledore, he had found muggle sweets on his person. Had he contracted some muggle disease from that one lemon drop? He had been so careful to avoid that kind of complication!
Wait---he had already established that Albus Dumbledore had most likely slipped him the package of lemon drops. Had the sweets been enchanted, or even poisoned? Voldemort had assumed that the lemon drops had been tampered with at first, and he had taken measures to neutralize any spells the headmaster may have placed on them. However, what if Dumbledore had used some kind of delayed-release poison? His counter spells were useless against undetectable potions, which Dumbledore, old as he was, was perfectly capable of brewing. Oh, would Severus never arrive?
A timid knock sounded on the door. "Wormtail, you dunderheaded fool, is Snape here yet?" called the edgy Dark Lord.
Peter eased the door open. "Y-yes, m-my lord, he h-has a-arrived."
"Well, send him in immediately, you insolent moron!" roared Voldemort.
Wormtail squeaked and ran from the room, probably to fetch the Hogwarts potions master.
A few tense moments of anticipation passed before a more forceful knock was heard.
"Enter, Severus," commanded the Dark Lord.
A nervous Severus Snape opened the solid mahogany door and stepped into Lord Voldemort's private sitting room. He immediately noticed that no other Death Eaters were present. Only he had been summoned.
"Ah, Severus," greeted Voldemort. "I have a problem that I need you to solve for me. I am ill, and I have reason to believe that Albus Dumbledore is the cause of my ailment. What do you know about this?"
Knowing that the Dark Lord was (mostly) immortal, Severus was sure that his former master could only be implying one thing. He began to panic.
"I am sorry, my lord! Yes, I am a spy for Dumbledore, but please spare my life, and I will serve you faithfully from now on!" cried a terrified Snape, all of his training in occlumency flying out the window in an instant.
"A spy? You, Severus? What in the name of Merlin are you babbling about?" The Dark Lord was confused; he only wanted to be cured of whatever was causing him to develop a conscience.
"N-nothing, master," stammered a sheepish potions master. How was he ever going to get out of this situation?
"Anyway, Severus, I have not been feeling like myself for at least a week. It is common knowledge that Dumbledore wishes me dead. I am afraid that he may have had an opportunity to harm me during our skirmish in the Ministry," Voldemort explained. "Just a short while ago, my eyes began leaking a clear salty fluid. I also experienced some choking sensations, and had difficulty breathing through my nose at the same time."
"You were crying?" exclaimed Snape incredulously.
"Crying? Me? I am the Dark Lord!" roared Voldemort. "I do not cry---I am the most powerful wizard in the world, and possibly in all of history! I do not cry! I am seriously ill, and I need to be cured immediately!"
"Erm, my lord, you do remember that you are immortal, correct? Considering that fact, I highly doubt that Dumbledore could seriously damage your health," Severus responded tentatively. He did not want to trigger his former master's infamous temper.
"What? Oh yes, of course I remember that I'm immortal! After all, I am possibly the most successful dark wizard who ever lived. A lowly schoolteacher like Dumbledore could never defeat me!"
"Of course, my lord," agreed Severus, blocking his real thoughts from the Dark Lord's legilimency.
"You are dismissed, Severus. And remember, none of this ever happened!"
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A wave of relief rushed over the greasy-haired potions master as he apparated outside of the Hogwarts gates, leaving him feeling weak and limp. He was home. When he had found himself summoned to the Dark Lord's lair alone, he had been sure he would never see the castle again. Severus felt incredibly fortunate: he had admitted his duplicity to the Dark Lord himself, had survived, and even had all of his limbs in tact!
As grateful as Severus was for still being alive, he couldn't help but acknowledge that the Dark Lord had been acting very strangely. He had little doubt that his eccentric boss was at least partially responsible for Lord Voldemort's sudden and drastic change in behavior.
Resolving to get to the bottom of the mystery, Snape began walking toward Dumbledore's office. He needed to have a chat with the scheming old man.