Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and am not affiliated with anything even remotely close to it.
A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic (that I'm planning to follow through with, anyway), so constructive criticism is welcomed. That said, I hope you enjoy. :D
Chapter One: Once Upon a Midnight Dreary
A cloaked figure cut through the dense fog that hovered in Little Hangleton. From a distance, the silhouette was bald, the head so skull-like that an observer would believe that this walking shadow was that of a corpse, the layers of skin and flesh peeled off by years of decay. He would be correct, in a way. But that observer would never discover how close he was to the truth, because if he were in the way of the stranger stalking through the small town, he would be hit by a flash of green light that would instantly kill him. For tonight, Voldemort did not want to be bothered by anyone.
The Death Eaters that so worshipped his every move were dispatched to various places in the world, ready for the signal that would herald the fulfillment of their most important duties. Which was fine for Lord Voldemort; he had wanted to be alone for a while. He did not want to reflect on his need for alone time, however, and instead let his feet direct him to the former home of the mother he never knew.
The small house looked even sorrier than Voldemort remembered from the last time he passed by, almost three years ago. The roof had collapsed some time ago, and the stones were barely seen under their carpet of moss. Half of the body of the snake that used to hang from the door now lay on the steps leading to the entrance; what was left hanging swung pathetically with every gust of wind.
Stepping casually over the snake's head, Voldemort opened the door.
"Master."
Voldemort turned around to face Draco Malfoy.
"You," Voldemort hissed menacingly. "What are you doing here?"
"I brought you something." A facial twitch betrayed Draco's fear, but he kept his voice steady. Bowing low, he gestured towards what looked like a human body sprawled on a dusty sofa. Shafts of moonlight illuminated the corpse's long white hair and paper-thin skin.
"Excellent," Voldemort murmured in satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the young Malfoy's spine straightened with pride. "However," Voldemort continued, "you have shown a lack of willingness to give yourself wholly to my cause. I ask for nothing less, and what you have done does not measure up to what you had promised. You have not completely redeemed yourself yet."
The color left Draco's face.
"Crucio!"
Absolute pain coursed through Draco's body, traveling along his veins and singeing his nerves. A loud moan escaped him as he writhed on the dirty floor. His limbs splayed out violently in all directions as the sensation of a thousand knives bore themselves upon his pale body; Draco could have sworn sweating blood. His chest constricted, his heart thumped painfully past in his ribcage, and his eyeballs nearly rolled into his head as he let out screams of anguish. Then as suddenly as the pain came, it went.
"With this, Draco," Voldemort said coolly, gesturing towards Dumbledore's body, "you have bought yourself some time that could be used for improvement. Remember, however, that I do not appreciate being surprised, pleasantly or not."
"Yes, Master," Draco murmured, bowing again in an almost grudging reverence, his pale blonde hair plastered to his head with sweat. Despite his disappointment at Voldemort's reaction to his "surprise," he knew he was lucky to be alive, and Disapparated quickly.
Voldemort focused his gaze on the dead body of the old man who for years had been the bane of his existence, and his red eyes gleamed in anticipation of the triumph that lay ahead.
A/N: Okay, so it's short. But it'll be better—or at least, the story won't get any worse. R&R!