The Dark Lord Cometh

A gruff old man with a dirty beard, dark robes, and a nasty disposition stepped out of the Floo system and into the Three Broomsticks. As he dusted off his robes and stomped his feet, he sneered at the jolliness around him.

"Ignorant fools," he muttered, trying hard not to hiss the end of the phrase. Even as the most powerful wizard alive, it would not bode well for him to reveal himself in a place teeming with so much tainted blood.

He dusted off his robes, gave a hacking cough, and watched as an infant began to crawl towards his feet. He snarled at the brat and agitatedly brushed it out of his way with his boot. The mother gave him an appalled look when her baby began to wail.

"Who do ya thin' you are?" she fiercely scolded him as she tried to comfort her child in her arms. "Tha's no way ta treat a babe."

He stopped in front of the witch and brought himself a hairs breadth away from her face. The witch began to shudder and tried not to shy away from his rancid breath. She valiantly held her ground, clutching her child close to her.

He sneered and gave a demeaning glance at her infant. Revelling in the mother's obvious fear of him, he prolonged the painful moment.

"Then control your young…" He hissed the words as if their target was less than human, and therefore not worthy of his notice.

The witch gasped when his eyes flashed red; satisfied, Voldemort made his way out of the pub.

oOoOoOo

Birds twittered, the sun was unusually bright, and no clouds were in the sky as Ginny and Harry made their way through Hogsmeade. They had dropped Hermione and Ron off at Puddifoot's, and were making their way to her brothers' shop to check out their latest inventions.

"What have your brothers come up with this time?" Harry asked Ginny.

She shook her head. "Who knows with those two. Last I heard, they were finishing an elephant version of their Canary Creams."

"Really?" Harry wanted to see those in action…preferably on a certain already big-nosed, greasy-haired git. "You think they'd give me a sample?"

"Of their Toffee Trunks? I'm sure." With a sly grin she added, "Especially for their benefactor…"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know what you're going to say—I shouldn't encourage them, but some of their stuff is just so bloody brill—"

Harry stopped mid-word when he realised how abnormally quiet it had become around them. The two of them stood right in the middle of the road as Harry took in their surroundings. The birds had stopped twittering, no dogs were yelping, and the children that had been playing about them had disappeared from sight.

"Erm…Ginny?"

Ginny shrugged; she had no idea what was going on.

Harry took one last look around, and satisfied that nothing was horribly amiss, began to walk…

Thwack!

"Ow! Hey!" the two students called out in pain as a cane came out of nowhere and thumped them a good one.

"Out of my way, vermin!" The owner of said cane was a grizzly old wizard, and one hell-bent on having his way.

"Hey! We're walking here!" Ginny exclaimed indignantly. "You can't just shove people aside and have your way!"

The old man sneered in a way that said 'watch me,' and shoved Harry aside to get past them. Harry hissed when he was shoved out of the way, and clutched at his scar.

"Old coot," Ginny sneered to the retreating figure. She saw Harry with his hands over his scar, and looked at him with concern. "You alright there?"

Harry grimaced and rubbed his scar one last time. "Yeah…I just saw the weirdest thing, though—couldn't possibly be from Voldemort."

Ginny was both intrigued and wary. "But, your scar…What did you see?"

He shook his head and they kept walking towards the Weasley brothers' shop. How was he supposed to tell her that his latest vision had been of little green snakes doing the samba—with pink hearts, no less?

"Nothing."

Ginny looked at him like he was crazy. "Whatever."

oOoOoOo

Voldemort proceeded to make his way through Hogsmeade. He sneered at the students who were quick enough to get out of his way, and swung his cane at those too bloody slow for their own good. He cursed his aged body; it was a form he had borrowed from the former Riddle gardener, and therefore barely tolerable. However, it was a form he knew would not be recognised, as he had killed the nosy Muggle a few years past.

"One day," he muttered to himself, "I'll be rid of those pests…" The last word turned into a hiss when a group of bumbling students nearly knocked him off of his feet. He turned with a snarl and brandished his wand from his cane. The students froze in place and watched him with wide eyes—they knew they had made a mistake in running this old man over.

Using his cane for support, Voldemort stood as tall as his rickety borrowed body could bear, and sneered as his cloak fluttered menacingly around him. Oh, how his hand itched to hex the brats…but he had to refrain.

"Out of my way, scamps. Do they teach you nothing at your school?" The students stood frozen in place, not knowing if they should answer, or cower.

He made the decision for him. "Well? MOVE!"

They didn't need to be told twice. The students stumbled and tripped over themselves to get out of his way, and Voldemort gave an evil laugh. It wasn't his usual sport, but it was amusing all the same.

He finally made his way to Madam Puddifoot's, and stopped when he caught a glimpse of the interior through the opened door. There was pink and lace by the cauldronful, and he grimaced at the entire kitschiness of it all. It was all he could do to not gape in revulsion—after all, gaping isn't very becoming on an evil overlord.

"This is the place? How—cough—how utterly revolting."

Speaking of revolting, the Dark Lord realised it was time for another dose of Polyjuice. Taking a swig from his hip flask, Voldemort shuddered and smacked his mouth in distaste. He should have had Snape brew the potion for him rather than Bellatrix—it would have still been vile, but not this god-awful revolting!

As he walked through the door, the entire room immediately fell into a shocked silence, with the students all gaping in his direction. Oh, he realised as he looked around. Must have picked the wrong body. Judging by the profusion of students (and nearly nothing but), his current form was not that of the regular clientele. Well, bloody hell.

Of course, the only other choice he had was to become a student—a Hogwarts student. He took another glance at his flask, and his face broke out into an evil grin at the thoughts that that inspired.

If he impersonated a student, he may just be able to bypass the protective charms around the school (he got in with Quirrel, after all) and get into Hogwarts to kill Potter once and for all…right under Dumbledore's nose. Voldemort was certain that if it wasn't for Dumbledore's interference, Potter would not have gotten away during their last encounter.

What a blow that would be to the old wizard! To—cough—kill Potter right under his nose and finally end that blasted prophesy.

All Voldemort had to do was pick the right student—preferably a Gryffindor—or better yet, he realised as he looked across the room, one of Potter's little circle.

Granger…He noted that the girl was sitting by herself. Ah, never mind—there's a redhead joining her…Must be Weasley. His luck was even better, as he now had two delectable choices before him. It all came down to what would be the least suspicious, and so, he chose Granger. After all, who would believe a Mudblood girl would kill her 'saviour?'

Sitting down at an adjacent table, he continued to plot. Voldemort realised it was just a matter of grabbing a few hairs, disposing of the Mudblood's body, and no one would be the wiser. However, if he were to actually make it into the castle, be alone with Potter, and make it believable, he would have to observe and learn.

He realised he had been sitting there a while. Why in Slytherin's name had he not been served yet?

"Waiter!"

oOoOoOo

"Waiter!"

Oh, who the hell is that? My head snapped up (smacking into one of the floating cupids) when I heard someone rudely yelling for me from the other side of the room. If I had my choice, I wouldn't have responded at all, but seeing as that wouldn't exactly be 'in character,' I had to go.

I stalked—scratch that—calmly walked over to the new patron.

"Yes?" With a tsk of annoyance I plastered on a smile and gritted out the rest of the greeting. "What can I get you?"

I paused when I realised that this was not the usual customer. Instead of some pimply student or a part of a pair of twittering lovebirds, this was a greasy old man…one who looked two seconds away from kicking the cauldron.

The old man sneered at me in a way that was uncomfortably familiar, and demanded his order. "Tea. Black," he snarled.

With a short bow, I backed up and went to retrieve the order. Coming out of the kitchen, I place the piping-hot teapot on the table, along with the cup and saucer. Hopefully, I would not have to return to this table.

Something warned me not to keep my back to this particular customer, so under the guise of checking the nearest tables for refills, I subtly inspected him for anything unusual. I noticed his beard was dirty, his robes dark—not that there was anything unusual about that—a hacking cough, and there was a hip flask…Hip flask? Perhaps it just held his favourite liquor, but I knew of several other things that it could contain, as we well knew after the Crouch incident.

I narrowed my eyes and continued on my rounds; I would have to keep a close eye on this one.

oOoOoOo

Ron sat at the table with Hermione, and kept sneaking glances at the old man sitting behind her. He didn't like the weird looks that they kept getting…almost like the old man wanted something from them.

He didn't like it.

After realising that he had been caught staring, he cleared his throat to get Hermione's attention. "Erm…Don't you think something seems off about him, Hermione?"

Hermione put down her cup. "Who seems off?"

Ron raised his eyebrows and used his head to gesture behind her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a quick glance over her shoulder. At the same time, the old man gave a wheezing cough.

Hermione sighed and turned back around. "He's just an old man with a cough, Ron. Ignore him."

He persisted, "But he gives me the creeps, Hermione…"

She merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"Oh, fine." He tapped his fingers on the table for a few moments before starting again. "But, he keeps looking at—"

"Ronald," Hermione interrupted him. "He probably keeps looking at us, because you keep staring at him like he's a big, hairy spider."

Ron looked abashed at this. "I still think he's—oh fine, I'll drop it."

oOoOoOo

I took another round of the tables and refilled the pots with steaming hot water and refreshed the tea leaves. I still shudder when I think about what my directions called for…but best not think on that at all.

How I itched to dock points from the profusion of students in here. Did they think I couldn't see their sly hand holding, or notice their ankles rubbing under the tables? Did they think themselves clever, sneaking kisses far out of the sight of their teachers?

But that's right—I wasn't a currently a teacher.

I nearly wanted to gag on the sheer amount of hormones obscenely floating in the air—or perhaps it was just the large amount of scented candles. With my poor luck, I won't be able to smell anything but strawberries and roses for hours after I leave.

oOoOoOo

Ron and Hermione continued to sit there, much to Ron's increasing dismay. Hermione finally began to notice the uneasy looks he kept directing behind her, and decided to do something about it. Ron didn't need to suffer because of her.

"Well, I'm done here. Would you like to go for a walk around the lake?"

"Sounds brilliant."

Ron couldn't agree fast enough—he would do anything to get out of there. He felt like he was suffocating from the perfumes in the air, and the old wizard wasn't helping.

oOoOoOo

Now they leave.

Blasted Gryffindors…at least their table was now free for the Dark Lord to occupy when he came in.

I picked up a rag from the kitchen to wipe down their table, and noticed that they had left a tip as well as their tab. I supposed they felt obligated too; after all, if they knew who I really was, they probably would have left nothing.

The extra change really wasn't that much, but I pocketed it with a shrug. It wasn't like I was going to say 'no' to a few extra Sickles—I'm a teacher, for Merlin's sake.

Finishing with that table, I looked around to see what else had to be done. I noticed that the old wizard had left shortly after the Gryffindor pair. I cleaned his table and found that he had left me exactly one Knut.

Bastard.

Adding the single coin to those in my robe pocket, I glanced at the clock and felt the urge to bang my head against the wall.

Only five hours to go.

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