The Demon and the Angel
The forest was dark and cold. The trees were so closely packed together, no sunlight could get through, and the ground beneath the huge looming canopy was bare, except for the waste of nature.
A thick, heavy fog curled around the tree trunks, the darkness of the night only served to make the trees a looming witness of a small, quiet ritual-taking place.
A terrified, muggle girl was tied to the torso a huge oak. She was writhing futilely against her bonds, tears running down her cheeks, the bondage causing deep red welts in her wrists.
A confident figure was busy, looming over a massive cauldron, big enough for a full-grown man to fit inside quite comfortably. He was throwing ingredients in and muttering to himself the whole time. The frightened girl was staring at him with the look of an animal that knew of its impending fate but still fighting anyway for any thin strands of a chance at life.
The tall man grabbed a bag and carefully produced a bone from it. It seemed to be human, and dropped it into the cauldron, he then pulled something else out, he winced, there were two little fingers and one index…master had said that it was enough. Those also met the same fate as the bone and were dropped unceremoniously into the cauldron. He then turned to the girl with a sneer. He picked up a dagger and moved towards the girl. She was writhing against the tree, now, trying to be as far as possible from the knife raised towards her. There was a slash. He clumsily opened a phial and collected the blood from her throat and poured that too into the cauldron.
The forest was strangely quiet now. There was only the soft hissing of the cauldron as its ingredients were heated by the crackling fire beneath it, and an impatient twitching from a small bundle nearby.
The man looked unconcernedly at the dead figure still held up by the ropes and then turned to the bundle. He held it and easily and carefully lowered it, too, into the cauldron.
There were sparks.
A blinding flash of red light.
The man threw his hood back. He had short blonde hair and an angled face.
The smoke was heavy.
"Master?" He called out uncertainly. His heart paused for a moment. Fear laced his mind…maybe he had failed…
And through the mist he saw a figure rising. His heart jumped and then beat two times faster. He raised slightly, excitement filling him.
The figure stepped out of the cauldron. The man quickly went to receive a black cloak and then stepped forward to the figure, clothing it.
The smoke slowly dissipated, revealing the figure. He was tall. His features inhumane. He was bald, with bone white skin and glowing red eyes with slits for pupils. His unnaturally, long fingers looked like spider legs. They clutched his torso.
The man and the…other man looked at each other. One was extremely excited and eagerly handed the other man a long, thin strip of wood.
"Quirrell, you have done well." Quirrell practically beamed with pride.
The other one looked around him and laughed. His voice was cold and high pitched.
"It seems…Lord Voldemort has returned."
Lord Dietrich was incredibly pleased. He looked at his reports, it seemed that his new batch of ten years olds ready to be auctioned off were one of the best he'd had in 5 years…Obedient, beautiful, strong…he allowed a small smile to cross his features.
He sat in a large airy room. It was domed shaped, and behind him stood roof-tall windows that allowed in a brilliant sunlight. The walls were white and around him stood pillars and bookshelves, doors leading off to other rooms and his personal bedroom. This was Lord Dietrich's office. He sat behind a large mahogany desk, darkly furnished and before him was various documents and official letters from various wealthy families, a glass of wine was held in one hand, and another hand was twirling a quill with a peacock feather.
A knock at the door sounded his pride-and-joy.
"Enter."
Lord Dietrich had a very refined and smooth voice. It was not overly posh, yet far from lower class, it also spelled that while he was incredibly patient and temper was practically unknown to him, he would also lock you up in chamber and calmly talk about the weather while you screamed for a release.
The large, double oak doors opened and in entered door two guards and between them a small boy wearing a simple white toga.
"Sit."
The little boy sat.
"You may go."
The two guards left.
He laid his chin on his hand and surveyed the boy in front of him…'yes, this was his pride-and-joy' he thought to himself.
The boy was small and thin, and while his physique did not suggest that he was malnourished it did suggest that he hadn't seen the sun for quite a time. His skin was white, almost glowing, and his raven black hair made a beautiful contrast…it was unruly, but that only intensified his quiet charm. The boy did not look at him, which was against the rules, no slave was allowed to speak, look or hear anything without their master's allowance. Apart from these simple rules, the Slave trade, at least the business Dietrich ran, was not cruel. Contrary to popular belief, he did not rape his subjects or beat them unnecessarily. In fact, comparing the situations, one might go as far to say that slavery was better then freedom in some circumstances, at least when you were a slave, you didn't have to worry about your income or where your next meal was coming from.
"Raise your head."
The boy did as he was told. Lord Dietrich kept his gaze, and admired his shining emerald eyes…eyes that held so much power and talent…
"You are nervous."
Lord Dietrich was well known for his ability to make a question without even making it a question.
"Yes my lord." Lord Dietrich smiled kindly at him.
"Well, I shall insure that you have a good home to receive…I have someone special in mind for you, power like yours, of course, should not be wasted."
The boy did not ask questions…he didn't expect him to.
"Thank you my lord."
Lord Dietrich sipped his glass of wine. He snapped his finger and a manservant entered from one of the side doors.
"Orange juice for my little one here." The servant nodded.
When the servant returned he was artfully carrying a tray with a glass of pure orange juice and a bowl of grapes. The manservant left.
He rose and walked round to the front of his desk, sat neatly on the corner and cupped the boy's chin. He caught the emerald orbs with his own grey ones and caught the fear and anxiety broiling in the little one's mind. He chuckled and kissed his forehead…where the scar rested.
"I have already insured you a good home." The boy recognised the hidden question.
"Yes, but…" Any protest died on his lips as a grape was pushed against his lips. He opened them obediently and chewed it slowly, letting the sweet juice's flavour bloom in his mouth before swallowing. He let his mind wonder. He felt a pressure by the boundaries of his mind. He let them through. Lord Dietrich always knew…
After a moment, Dietrich smiled in an almost fatherly way. He pulled the boy towards him, who fell easily towards his hand, and gave him a small hug, stroking his silky hair.
They stayed like that for sometime.
The sun grew dimmer.
