So, chapter forty three, eh? Well, the title says it all, and in this chapter, the Death Eaters run into someone they had hoped never to see again…

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The Death Eaters have a garage sale

CRASH!

A chorus of angry shouting woke Lord Voldemort on what would have been an otherwise peaceful morning.

He angrily stuffed a pillow violently over his head and inwardly seethed as the shouting got even louder.

"Leaving it there of all places!"

"Well where else do you suggest I put it?"

"In your room?! We've all got one, you know!"

"There are five in my room already, and it's not that big you know! If you insist on walking around in those ridiculous shoes then on your own head be it!"

Voldemort gave a snarl of annoyance and got out of bed, pausing in the nick of time to pull a black dressing gown over his spotty purple pyjamas.

"WHAT is going on out here?!" He shouted, swinging open his door and causing the two offending Death Eaters to jump.

Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were standing on the landing, glaring at each other on either side of a large, black, pewter cauldron.

"What exactly has been going on?" Voldemort asked them.

"Snape left his cauldron out here," Lucius said. "Right outside my bedroom door, if you please, and I tripped over it, incidentally breaking the heel off one of my favourite shoes!" He brandished a thin, sharp looking red heel.

Voldemort eyed it warily before turning to Snape.

"Well?" he asked. "Explain yourself!"

"There is simply nowhere in my room to put it," Snape replied smoothly.

"Yes," Lucius agreed, nodding at him. "Because it's got five other cauldrons in it already!"

"Five?" Voldemort asked. "Why, Severus, do you need five cauldrons?"

There was a pause whilst Snape glanced from Lucius to Voldemort, then he opened his mouth to speak.

"In all honesty, my Lord," he replied. "I don't."

"Ha!" Lucius cried triumphantly.

Voldemort silenced him with a look and then turned back to Snape.

"Then why," he asked. "Do you have them in your room?"

Snape gave a half hearted shrug.

"I don't know what else to do with them."

"Well this can't very well stay here," Voldemort said, giving the cauldron a savage kick, and then trying to hide a grimace as a sharp pain shot through his foot, accompanied by a hollow 'clang' from the cauldron.

"Are you all right, my Lord?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, fine!" Voldemort snapped through gritted teeth. "Tell the others to gather in the living room in five minutes, and anyone who isn't there will be stuffed in this thingand rolled down the stairs, got it?"

-

"There'd better be a good explanation for this, Lucius," Bellatrix snapped as she sat on the sofa next to her husband, Lucius ushering them all into the room. "It's eight in the morning for heaven's sake!"

"The Dark Lord insisted that everyone be downstairs right now!" Snape said. "If you don't like it then I suggest you talk to him."

"Is that everyone?" Lucius asked, as Rabastan walked in, wearing a pair of swimming flippers on his feet and sat down next to his brother.

However before he could check, Voldemort strode into the room, having dressed into his trademark black robes, and Lucius skittered over to an armchair.

Voldemort cast a haughty glance around the room, before opening his mouth to speak.

"Where's Barty?" He asked. The Death Eaters looked around, and shrugged. Voldemort's face darkened. "CROUCH!" He yelled.

There was a pause.

"I'M ASLEEP!" Called a voice from upstairs.

"YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN!"

"IT'S WORMTAIL'S FAULT!" Came the reply.

"BARTEMIUS CROUCH JUNIOR!" Voldemort shouted. "GET DOWN HERE NOW OR I'LL CRUCIO YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!"

There came a sigh from upstairs, and a few thumps as Barty came down the stairs in a pair of striped pyjamas and a blue flannel dressing gown, and pushed Wormtail out of an armchair before flopping into it grumpily.

"That's better," Voldemort said, giving Barty a disapproving glance. "Anyway, what I wanted to talk to you all about it the pressing problem of the lack of space in this house, namely the lack of space to put things. This is an evil lair, not a rubbish tip. And I was wondering if any of you had any suggestions as to what could be done?"

"May I suggest just magically shrinking the unwanted items?" Snape said, thinking logically as usual.

"That," Voldemort replied. "Would be far too sensible. Any other suggestions?"

"How about we just throw stuff away?" Bellatrix said.

"Oh yes," Snape said sarcastically. "And then you can be the one to explain to the muggles why their rubbish tip is suddenly full of cauldrons and suchlike."

"Fair point," Bellatrix shrugged.

"How about we just sell it?" Rabastan asked, tugging at a loose bit of cotton on his pyjama top.

"Rabastan, that is…" Voldemort paused. "…Actually not a bad idea."

"I saw an American film on the television," Dolohov piped up. "In which they sold a lot of their unwanted household items outside their own house! They called it a 'garage sale'."

"Perfect!" Lord Voldemort exclaimed. "We shall have a said 'garage sale' today outside of the house! Everyone get things together that you want to get rid of, and meet outside in fifteen minutes."

"Great," Barty said sarcastically. "I'm going back to bed."

"Haven't you got anything you want to get rid of?" Dolohov asked him.

"Nope."

"Ah, good!" Voldemort said. "Because we need someone to make posters about it. You can do that, and then you can go around the town and stick them up. But for Slytherin's sake get dressed first."

"Yes, my Lord," Barty sighed, before trailing out of the room.

Voldemort turned away and picked up a pen as the last of his minions left the room and scribbled something on the back of his hand.

Note: Look up 'garage'.

-

"No, Rabastan," Rodolphus sighed, putting down his end of the table to gaze wearily at his brother who was holding the opposite end and trying to fit the table lengthways through the front door. "It's hardly going to go through that way, is it? Use your brain."

"His what now?" Snape sneered, sweeping past.

Rodolphus shot Snape a dangerous glare.

Snape smirked and squeezed past Rabastan and his end of the table in order to get out of the door and into the bright August sunlight.

Snape squinted, and would not deny feeling fairly sickened by the sight of such a perfectly beautiful day. In fact, he would have dumped his pile of unwanted robes on the ground and returned swiftly indoors if he hadn't spotted one of his comrades stapling a poster to the telephone pole on the pavement nearby. Ever the critic, Snape swept over in search of something to nit pick.

"What are you doing?" He asked Barty, who had several posters in one hand, and a staple gun in the other.

"I am putting up posters advertising our little sale here," Barty replied.

Snape regarded the posters disdainfully.

"Your handwriting is appalling." He commented.

"Oi!"

-

"I think we should have the book over there," Lucius was saying, standing in front of the table that was finally outside of the house and attempting to arrange the items for sale in a way which would 'encourage sale'.

"I don't quite see the sense in selling this book anyway," Snape commented, giving the large heavy volume a sideways glance. "It's not as if muggles will find it of any particular interest."

"And why is that, Snape?" Voldemort asked, arranging a line of rather ugly porcelain penguins.

"Well it's a magic book, my Lord," Snape replied, trying hard not to sound too patronising.

"Oh, muggles love that sort of thing," Voldemort said. "It's not as if they could do any damage with the information inside. They'll think it's all wonderfully made up, and even if you did get the odd obsessive who might try and use the spells, they are muggles after all, and I can't say that they are prone to having spells work for them."

Snape gave a relenting sigh, and swept indoors.

"Ah, Crouch!" Voldemort grinned, as Barty strolled over. "Finished with the posters, I presume?"

"Yes, my Lord," Barty replied. "There's one on every telephone pole in the town."

"Excellent work," Voldemort said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "The muggles should be flocking in soon enough!"

"Look what I made!" Came a voice from behind them. Voldemort and Barty turned around to see Lucius, proudly holding a tray covered in dainty little cupcakes, topped with pink icing.

"Muggles love cakes," he continued. "And these are the best I've made so far! This'll show Mrs Warrington from next door just who should have won the cupcake contest at the village fête last year." A small frown passed across his face. Barty and Voldemort exchanged a look. "I'll put them down here next to those adorable little penguins," Lucius smiled, placing the tray of cupcakes on the table as if he were setting a baby in a cot.

He then walked back inside, humming to himself.

Barty turned to his master.

"Who's looking after the stall?" He asked.

"Oh," Voldemort looked slightly taken aback. "Someone has to do that?"

"Yes…" Barty said slowly.

"Excellent!" Voldemort exclaimed. "You can do that, then! I'll go inside and help the others gather some more things together. Good luck!"

"But my Lord!" Barty began to protest, but Voldemort had already rushed inside, and Barty was very much alone outside the house, with a table full of useless rubbish to sell to muggles.

He pulled up an old chair which was hidden behind an umbrella stand, sat down on it, leant back and was quite ready to have a late morning doze, until he heard a cough.

He opened his eyes and looked around. No one was there.

Passing it off as his mind playing tricks on him, Barty leant back in his chair again and closed his eyes.

"Ahem!"

Barty jumped, and looked around. There was nobody there!

"I'm down here, you idiot!" Came a voice.

Barty froze. He recognised that voice.

Pulse racing in terror, praying that his guess was incorrect, Barty leaned over the piles of bric a brac and unwanted items, peered over the edge of the table, and stared straight into the face of Stewart Mallory.

-

"Lucius, what are you doing?" Voldemort asked. Lucius had grabbed a mixing bowl, and was currently throwing ingredients into it like some kind of blonde whirlwind.

"I'm making cookies, my Lord," Lucius replied breathlessly. "For the garage sale."

"But you already made cupcakes!"

"Well I decided that if I arranged some chocolate chip cookies around the cupcakes, it would make it seem more enticing and promote sale."

Voldemort gave him an odd look, and then they both jumped as they heard a terrified yell, and seconds later, Barty came dashing in.

"My- my Lord!" He gasped, leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. "It's- it's him."

"Who?" Voldemort asked, raising a disdainful eyebrow. "What are you talking about, Crouch?"

"It's-" Barty's face was strangely pale. "Stewart Mallory."

The bowl that Lucius had been holding fell to the ground with a resounding crash, and as Barty looked into the face of his comrade, he knew that he was not the only one who was quite aware exactly what Stewart Mallory being there meant.

"There must be some mistake," Voldemort stuttered, his face turning even paler. "It can't be!"

"But it is," Barty said. "I saw him with my own eyes. Only reason I got in here safely was because I threw one of those hideous penguins at him and ran for it."

"Here, you need to sit down," Lucius pulled out a chair for Barty. "You've been through quite an ordeal."

"Thank you," Barty said, and, still shaking, lowered himself into the chair.

"Lucius," Voldemort said. "Help me gather the others together. Lock all the doors and close all the windows. Don't let anyone go outside. Do I make myself clear?"

Lucius nodded, and the two of them hurried off to gather the Death Eaters into the kitchen.

-

"I can't believe it," Dolohov said.

"I don't believe it," Rodolphus added.

"I won't believe it," Bellatrix said stubbornly, folding her arms. "It can't be true. Stewart Mallory? But we haven't seen him for months!"

"And don't complain," Voldemort said darkly.

"Well we're overreacting, obviously," Bellatrix said. "Surely he's gone by now."

But as if Stewart had heard her, there was a knock at the door.

The Death Eaters exchanged nervous glances, and very slowly got up and walked into the hall, keeping close together.

Voldemort bent down, opened the letter box with a trembling hand, and peered out.

Stewart was staring right back at him.

"ARGH!" Voldemort stood up sharply and cracked his head against the doorframe.

"My lord!"

"Are you all right?"

"Is he out there?"

"Shut up, all of you!" Voldemort said, brushing them away. "He's there all right. Now be quiet."

Slowly, and with a hammering heart, Voldemort looked out of the letterbox again.

Stewart was still staring at him, with those large, brown, unblinking eyes. He was holding one of the heavy spell books in his little hands.

"Can I help you, young man?" Voldemort asked.

"I want to have this book," Stewart replied, voice terrifyingly soft.

Voldemort eyed the book through the letterbox.

"What would a six year old boy like yourself want that old thing for?" He asked.

"I'm not six, I was seven in October," Stewart replied, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice that made Voldemort want to run upstairs and hide. "And I find this book very interesting."

"Oh really? And why might that be?"

"The subject of the dark arts has always been a fascination of mine," Stewarts replied.

"But you're only seven."

"Something wrong with that, Mr Riddle?"

"No, no, not at all!" Voldemort stammered. "It's just… that's all made up nonsense."

Stewart took a step closer to the letterbox.

"You and I both know that's not true, Mr Riddle," Stewart said. "I've been watching you lot. Owls flying in and out of your house? That blue box on your lawn? I'm not stupid, Mr Riddle."

"Yes, Stewart, I know that," Voldemort said, voice strangely high. "But what would you want with one of those old things, eh?"

"To help educate me," Stewart replied. "I can hardly wait four more years before starting my education."

There was a pause.

"What?" Voldemort asked.

"My education," Stewart repeated. "In the art of wizardry."

"So what you're trying to say is…"

"I'm a wizard." Stewart finished.

Voldemort's heart beat even faster, and every inch of him told him to turn and run. But he couldn't.

The faces of the Death Eaters were as white as sheets as they heard the news.

"But you can't control your magic yet," Voldemort said. "You're only seven."

"That, Mr Riddle," Stewart said, peering in at the letterbox. "Is why I want the book. I am hoping that it will help me control it."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry," Voldemort said, swallowing his fear and pulling out his wand. "But I can't let you have it."

And as fast as lightning, he had opened the door, shouted 'Accio book', grabbed the large volume and slammed the door before Stewart knew what had happened.

"I don't believe it!" Barty whispered desperately. "Stewart is a wizard?"

"He can't be," Voldemort shook his head, trying to convince himself as well as the others. "He just can't be."

"That was a very bad decision, Mr Riddle," Stewart said, quite calmly, voice slightly muffled by the door, but audible nonetheless.

The Death Eater froze in terror as he spoke.

"Well what are you going to do?" Voldemort asked, in awe at his own daring. "The book's in here, and you're out there."

"Well I suppose I'd better come in there and get it, then," Stewart said.

"You can't!" Voldemort crowed triumphantly. "All of the doors are locked!"

"Hang on a minute…" Rodolphus said slowly. "Where's my brother?"

They all looked around, but there was no sign of Rabastan anywhere.

"Last time I saw him," Dolohov said. "He was wearing aviator goggles and carrying a bed sheet, was heading out to the shed to get a ladder."

"The back door!" Lucius gasped.

The Death Eaters looked at each other, and then ran through the house as one to the back door. But no sooner had they got the door in their sights, had they skidded to a sudden stop, as Stewart Mallory had appeared outside the door, in all of his four foot glory, giving Voldemort a look that could have chilled the hearts of the bravest men.

"I want that book, Mr Riddle," he said dangerously.

"Well you can't have it!" Voldemort squeaked.

"I want that book," Stewart repeated slowly. "And no one is going to stop me from getting it, especially not you and your little band of clowns."

The Death Eaters gulped and took a simultaneous step backwards.

Stewart took a menacing step forward, but just as he was about to place one foot across the threshold, there came a loud cry of 'Geronimo!' from above their heads, and a large mass of black robes and bed sheets leapt from the roof, right towards Stewart Mallory.

Stewart's face turned as white as a sheet, and he took a terrified jump backwards, only to step on one of Barty's stray rocketed roller skates.

Sensitive to touch, the roller skate zoomed off around the garden, whooshing loudly, accompanied by a loud chorus of yells from the seven year old boy standing on it.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters ran outside to watch, just as the rocketed roller skate hit a flower pot, and Stewart went soaring through the air, and landed with a resounding 'Splash!' in the lily pond.

There was silence, and then the Death Eaters burst out laughing.

Rodolphus helped his brother out of the tangled mess of bed sheets and gave him a congratulatory slap on the back, whilst laughing helplessly.

"Damn good show, Rabastan!" Dolohov grinned.

Even the corners of Snape's mouth twitched slightly, as a bedraggled seven year old climbed out of the pond, dashed over to Rabastan and grabbed his robes.

"I'm sorry Mr Bird Man!" he said. "I'm not really a wizard! Please don't hurt me!"

Rabastan looked rather dumbfounded. Luckily, Rodolphus stepped in.

"The Bird Man says that he won't hurt you," he said. "As long as you go back home and never bother us again."

Stewart nodded eagerly.

"I won't, I promise!"

"Good," Rodolphus said. "Now GO!"

Stewart jumped, and dashed off.

It took a few minutes for the Death Eaters to regain composure.

"What was that about?" Barty asked, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"It seems," Snape said. "That young Stewart has a slight case of Ornithophobia." The others stared at him. Snape sighed. "He's afraid of birds. To him, Rabastan would have appeared rather bird like, dropping down from the roof, bed sheets billowing."

"Good work Rabastan!" Voldemort smirked.

"I think you deserve a cupcake for that," Lucius said.

Rabastan looked at them all for a moment, blinked, and then spoke.

"No thank you," he said, taking off the bed sheet which had been tied around his shoulders, before removing the aviator goggles, pulling off his shirt and trousers, revealing a pair of swimming trunks, pulling on a pair of flippers and swimming goggles which had been lying on the ground, and stepping into the lily pond, until he was up to his shoulders. "I need to look for my socks," he said, before popping a snorkel into his mouth and submerging completely under the water.

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Well, there you go for everyone who hates Stewart Mallory (which includes me, actually!) The Death Eaters got their revenge!

Incidentally, who is everyone's favourite Death Eater in my fanfic?

I'm guessing a lot of you will say Barty, so how about who is your favourite two Death Eaters? Just out of interest, and so I can plan for later chapters.

And who's mine? Well, Barty of course, and I have to say that I have grown fond of Rabastan. He's just quite endearing in his own simple little way. :)

Anywho, next chapter coming soon!

Until then,

Red Gnome