Disclaimer: Oh, I hate fucking lawyers. Wish they'd get off my back. sigh Okay, I don't own Harry Potter 'cause if I did I'd spend my time having money fights with my servants until we were both pretty bloody, and, upon entering a room, I'd sing, "Here comes the money, here comes the money. Money, money, money, money, money…", accompanied with a little dance. Instead of that, I'm trying to get a job that I'll hate doing, so I can pay $26/unit to go to crappy school. frustrated sigh Pass that on to the lawyers.

A/N: Ha ha bitches, I'm back! (I am sooooooooooooo sorry I haven't been posting for so long. It's my, simply obsessed's, fault, not captain chaos'. I guess I had writer's block. To anyone who has been even kinda reading this story, please accept my apology, especially Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, my only consistent reviewer. I hope everyone keeps reading and enjoying.)

A/N2: This chapter doesn't contain any spoilers pertaining to the sixth book, so don't worry if you haven't read it yet, although I've already read it. I bought 3 copies of the book the night it came out, including the deluxe edition, and it took me about a day to read it. Now, on with the story, take your time, read slowly.

Harry Potter and the Dark Mage

Chapter Seven: To Kill a Man

By: simply obsessed

Last night was crazy, Voldemort remembered. One too many bottles of beer. Then that dream, with the twins. (He smiled slightly) No, not that dream, the dream with Harry and Bellatrix. It had seemed so real to Voldemort. His connection with Harry Potter seemed to be strengthening.

Then that emergency meeting didn't help. Fifteen-odd years in hiding, trying to regain his strength had really changed the Death Eaters' feelings toward him. They were starting to think of him as weak. The Dark Lord was not weak. His mind started wondering why he was here; for power! To purify wizards and destroy all others. "There is no good or evil, but only power, and those to weak to seek it," his own voice hissed in his ear.

"Well, I going to make them learn to respect my fucking author-i-ty!" Voldermort slammed his fist against his bedroom's dresser-drawers. Voldemort calmed down slightly because of the throbbing pain in his hand.

"It's time to get down to business," he muttered, "I have to show everyone that I am the same Lord Voldermort that reined supreme a decade and a half ago. But this time will be different, this time, I have a new plan."

A sadistic grin slid across Voldermort's face, and a soft evil chuckle exited his lips, as the picture darkened…darkened…darkened….

Voldermort burst through the hallway doors that lead into his dining room/meeting room of darkness.

"Damn Voldie!" the nearest Death Eater gaffed. "You in the bathroom again. You gotta lay off them beans, man!"

There was an uproar as all the other Death Eaters howled with laughter. Vulgar comments were coming from every direction.

"Yeah, lay off them beans, Voldie!"

"It makes you go to the bathroom too much!"

"Quit farting."

Voldermort surveyed the entire room of Death Eaters. The blood rushed to his temples, anger coursing threw him. He clenched his fists into tight balls, then loosened them again. Bowing his head and giving a small chuckle, Voldermort said, "You guys think that's funny?"

Blasts erupted from Voldermort's wand in an instant and consumed the hollow dungeon chamber. The true power of Voldemort was seen in that dungeon room as red, black, blue and green lights exploded from the single wand in Voldemort's hand. The screams, yells, and blasts echoed off the stone walls making the commotion sound even worse. All the while Voldemort was thinking In order for my dream of a New World Order to exist I must get rid of this disobedience.

Little did Voldemort know that while he was in his bedroom, the Death Eaters had their own meeting. They decided it was time for a new leader, someone who could get rid of their disobedience, and who wasn't on such a hang up on killing Harry Potter, but making a New World Order.

Voldemort was still throwing deadly spells every second when the Death Eaters did something never before seen in a ninja movie. They ganged up on Voldemort and attacked him as one. Voldemort had more power than any one of them, but not as much as they had combined. The electricity of the Death Eaters was overwhelming, Voldemort realized the energy and momentarily stopped his attacks to see the Death Eaters advancing towards him.

A strong cry of 'Expelliarmus!' knocked Voldemort's wand out of his hand, hitting the wall behind him and landing with a loud clatter on the floor. There was a dead, powerful stillness. Then, one of the Death Eater's voices punctured the silence. "Leave."

Voldemort backed out of the room, his eyes on the Death Eaters. Just before he opened the door, Voldemort picked up his wand. Bending down, Voldemort's eyes never left the Death Eaters. The wand was too important to leave behind, yet Voldemort seemed not only to bend in order to retrieve it, but also to show the Death Eaters that he had surrendered.

Voldemort walked out the front doors of his mansion, glad to get away from his homicidal Death Eaters, but not sure what to do next. How was he going to get out of this mess? Ever since he had made his comeback, everything's been working against him. Voldemort gazed up to the heavens, toward God, the biggest asshole of them all. Voldemort's left hand tingled, and he shot it into the sky, flipping off the Omnipotent being.

A strange snicker from behind made Voldemort whip around. Standing out on the balcony, the balcony to Voldemort's bedroom, was a Death Eater. He was just standing there, watching Voldemort, face completely hidden. Anger shot through Voldemort's body, that bastard had no right to watch him, let alone laugh at him. Voldemort immediately flipped off the Death Eater with his left hand, before he could even stop himself. Voldemort quickly withdrew his hand, scared the Death Eater might retaliate. Then Voldemort realized there wasn't anything the Death Eater could do, he drew his left middle finger up again, smirking at the Death Eater, his right hand on the wand in his robes just in case that punk tried something.

But instead of attacking, the Death Eater stood there doing nothing at first, then did something Voldemort neither suspected nor was prepared for. He flipped off Voldemort, with his left hand. Voldemort's smile instantly disappeared. Fury built up in his heart. Voldemort had a real anger-control problem, but he wasn't going to try and master himself now, he was too piss off.

Voldemort ran towards the balcony and made a mad jump towards the Death Eater, but didn't come close to reaching him. Upon landing, Voldemort stumbled backwards to prevent himself from falling, getting a clear view of the Death Eater once more; his middle finger was still exposed. Something inside Voldemort cracked and he went berserk, forgetting about magic. Unfortunately, Voldemort didn't forget his wand. His hand dived into his robes, pulled out his wand and he threw it straight at the Death Eater.

"Shit," Voldemort half whispered, half gasped.

The wand hit the Death Eater right in the chest and fell on the balcony floor. For a moment the two stood motionless looking at each other. The Dark Lord was shocked and terrified, still taking in the situation. The Death Eater was thinking.

The Death Eater seemed to come to a decision and broke out of the trance first. He raised his wand to eye level and did a complicated twirl while crying, "Fargoesyou!" Voldemort tried to dodge the attack but even several years of scurrying and dodging spells during battle weren't enough to save him.

Voldemort felt as if a cannonball had hit him in the gut. A weird sensation came over him and Voldemort felt himself falling backwards faster than a speeding bullet. A moment later Voldemort hit the ground and fell onto a forest floor. "Ow."

An immeasurable amount of time had passed before the Dark Lord started to slowly get up. He realized he was covered in dirt and mud. Voldemort opened his eyes only to let more dirt fall in them. Voldemort wiped out most of it, but he eyes were stinging horribly. He patted the dirt off but smeared the mud deeper into his clothes.

Voldemort tried to look around him and figure out where he was, but the dirt blurred his vision. He started walking in a random direction, swaying violently because he was still dizzy from the spell. The powerful wizard felt himself going down a small slope and when it leveled he felt asphalt beneath his feet. He soon came to a street lined with shops and people walking on either side.

The sun was just starting to slowly set, as a middle-aged woman with brown hair came up to Voldemort with a concerned expression on her face.

"You poor man," she said, "are you alright? Your eyes are so red."

"I got dirt in them," Voldemort pouted. In reality the dirt, if anything had made his eyes less red.

"You poor, drunk, homeless, retarded man," she cooed. "Here you go." Voldemort brought out his left hand to flip her off, but before he could, she had placed a dollar into his hand. Voldemort smiled at the money. The woman smiled back encouragingly. "Now don't spend it all on drugs."

As the woman walked away, Voldemort was struck with an idea. Voldemort looked around and immediately spotted a woman, older than the first, walking in the opposite direction. Voldemort tried to mess up his hair more, put a helpless look on his face, and started limping towards the woman.

The woman's sad blue eyes searched his face, before saying, "I don't have much money, but I'll give you what I can. Luck hasn't really been on my side either." She took her purse off her shoulder and opened it gingerly.

Voldemort seized this opportunity to grab the woman's purse, knock her down, and run. He had only gone a short distance before stopping and opening the purse. Voldemort wasn't worried about retaliation, the old lady probably couldn't even get back up, he was sure he heard something crack when she fell.

"Damn it!" Voldemort said. The purse had very little money in it and lacked the valuable commodity Voldemort was hoping for: a wand. This must be a muggle village. "Shit, now what am I going to do?" Voldemort asked while pocketing his money.

Voldemort looked around as though expecting someone to answer his question. Lucky Voldemort, he saw a boy with jet-black hair and round glasses walking in a small crowd on the other side of the street. He was walking swiftly, glancing backwards occasionally, with a strange look on his face and a black bag in his hand.

Voldemort laughed softly to himself, imagining the possibilities that lay before him with his unsuspecting archenemy.

Suddenly a shout rang through the air, "Hey, come back here with that lady's purse!" A tall, and extremely muscular man was coming straight towards Voldemort, the old lady behind him was slowly getting up with the help of a passerby. Voldemort made no hesitation in running away, but it took him a few seconds to realized what the hell the guy was talking about.

Voldemort crossed the street and headed for a small alleyway, hoping the lose the giant of a man. Unfortunately the alley came to a dead end, and was completely empty except for a pale, arrogant looking kid with a pointed face.

"You-know-who?" he questioned.

"Who?" Voldemort asked, looking over his shoulder.

"You-know-who," the boy repeated, too afraid to say his real name.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" But just then Voldemort saw the guy chasing him. He quickly put his hand in the boy's pocket and withdrew an L-shaped metal object.

"Haven't you got a wand?" Voldemort yelled, frustrated. "I need to kill this asshole."

"That'll kill him."

"Really? How?" Voldemort asked hurriedly.

"Just pull the trigger," the boy responded.

"Like this?"

"NO," the boy shrieked, "the other way."

With an unexplained confidence, Voldemort jumped out of the alley. At first he couldn't find the guy anywhere.

"There you are." Voldemort heard a voice, then felt someone grab him from behind. It wasn't the first time Voldemort screamed like a girl, and it wasn't going to be the last. Voldemort whipped around and pulled the trigger. The hand gripping Voldemort loosened, the huge man immediately fell backwards on the ground, and moved no more.

"God Damn." Voldemort whispered, ignoring the screams around him, as the shoppers in the area ran for cover.

"Kid, you told me this thing killed, but you didn't say how effective it was."

"Yeah, it's a muggle weapon. It's called a 'gun'." The boy came out of the alley to address the Dark Lord.

You don't have to wave your wand, say an incantation, or concentrate on anything. You don't even have to be powerful. The weakest piece of shit could use this. All you have to do is pull the trigger and…POW."

"Yes, this item is most popular with gang members."

"What was your name kid?"

"Draco Malfoy, notorious asshole and ass kisser at you service, Dark Lord," the boy said proudly and redundantly.

"Interesting," said Lord Voldemort coming out of his reverie, still eyeing the gun. "Why don't

you join my team. There are, um, a couple positions open for ass kisser."

"Could I?" Malfoy said, his eyes twinkling, "It's always been my dream to kiss your ass, You-know-who."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Never mind," Voldemort said, thinking of more pressing matters. "Where did you get this gun? And why?"

"Well, I got it from a shop down the street because I'm a weak piece of shit and I'm trying to kill Harry Potter."

"Oh…My…God…," Voldemort whispered. "That's fucking brilliant." Here was someone to help him in a time of need, someone who respected him, and who wanted to kill Harry Potter as much as he did. This could be the start of a beautiful relationship…with my gun. Now I have a new plan, thought Voldemort.

And that familiar evil grin spread across Voldemort's face, as the sky darkened… darkened… darkened.