Chapter 2 - "Twisted Quale"

Location – Nottingham, England

Time – 11: 15 AM, April 20, 1980

A row of spring kissed tulips lining a window's shelf bowed their heads in shame as a heavily cloaked figure fell to its knees in front of a half winged arm chair. The figure ripped its hands from its sides and brought them to a shaking praying position. The fingers of its hands were not only pale, but were marred and misshapen. They gave the impression that they'd seen a world where only war could bestow.

"Please, I beg of you," its voice shook in a quiet agony as it brought both of its prayer clasped hands closer to the arm chair. It stretched its arms to such an extent that the black hood covering its head fell to its shoulders. This hood revealed a thinning face lined with age, a mouth whose lips were nowhere to be seen, and darkening shadows under a pair of bulging eyes that stared hungrily in front of them.

It was a man.

The winged arm chair stood in front of a small and flickering fireplace. Despite its size, it roared and eased smoke into the air around it. Another man was lounging in his seat and faced away from the lap dog that was staining the tile beneath his feet. In his lap sat another figure. He nurtured a small and gently hissing snake with the tip of his finger.

"You sicken me with your excuse as a human being," Lord Voldemort spoke in a hushed and malignant tone. The man behind him forced his entire abdomen and both of his arms onto the ground in mercy. He pressed his skull painfully into the delicately etched tile.

"You know that I've given it all of my power to—"

"Your power? Do you have any grasp on that definition?" Voldemort teased the groveling man with these words as the snake rose its head above its master's knees. Her scarlet eyes fixed upon the puddle of a man whose spirit had begun to diminish behind his eyes.

"After all that I've sacrificed, my power has surpassed all expectations." The man on the floor sneered and moved one of his hands into his back pocket. He stroked the sleek handle of his wand and allowed a morbid fantasy to walk into his mind. He became seduced with the image of Voldemort's blood splashing against the rows of tulips behind him. If he used the blood sought by thousands to water an innocent flower; this would make him famous.

The colors dancing in the fireplace began to intensify. The man settled his eyes on his adversary as he drew out his wand. At the same time, the snake began to coil around Voldemort's forearm.

"Traitor."

The man's face distorted into a twisted smile as he straightened his body into a standing position. He brandished his wand at the Lord sitting comfortably in his chair.

"You act as nothing more than a swine before me, Quale," Voldemort rewarded him with an amused and thin smile of his own. Yet, these words didn't have that impact on Quale. Quite to the contrary, they only caused him to take a step back with his wand swaying slightly in front of him. Quale sputtered.

"You dare mock me when you only have a snake to protect yourself!"

Lord Voldemort cocked his head to the side and grinned at the man as though he was a delicious feast.

"Are you certain that a snake can offer me no protection?" The snake in question uncoiled itself and slithered up his sleeve, and found itself pulsing around its master's neck. It whispered a single word into his ear that only a parselmouth could comprehend.

"Feed me."

Quale felt his skin glisten with a thickening sheet of sweat. His eye twitched in reaction from the pain of holding his arm in front of him. He couldn't even breathe the incantation of the simplest of spells. His mind began to run in frantic circles. Should he run or should he stand and fight the very being that's carved fear into the families around him? The widowed man thought that all thoughts were destined to be futile. Yet, the anxiety prompted a last attempt at survival.

"Before you murder this pitiful life, I have an interesting bit of information to give you, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort's irises flickered with a hint of curiosity. To the emancipated Riddle, this man was nothing more than an animal crying for mercy before its slaughter. The portrayal brought a faint memory from his experiences at the orphanage to light. He remembered how he watched two muggle boys harking with laughter before stoning and skinning a stray canine. The dog's whining in their shadows reminded him of this Death Eater's cries for help within the darkness.

"There's a newly wed Wizarding family a few miles away from here, my Lord."

Voldemort's temper rose as quickly as the flames behind him. Again, the dog fought to keep his life bound to how loudly he whined in his corner.

"I would reward you with a bone for your efforts, Quale. But, I dare say that my followers would be much more grateful."

Quale's nerves resurfaced at these words.

"But wait! This family may prove to be interesting to you." A hiccup fought to escape from his throat as he watched his master grip the arm of his chair in frustration. A twitch flowered along the back of his spine.

"They have dared to deny the most sacred rule of magic –"

Lord Voldemort's body stiffened as his next reaction rode on Quale's next few words.

"A pure blood witch has mated and produced a child with a male muggle, my Lord."

As these last few words dwindled amongst the both of them, the air was filled with a sudden and disturbing cackle of female laughter. Quale felt his bottom hit hard on the tile beneath him as he watched as a new silhouette form against the doorway.

"Allow me to take this honor and rip the creepy crawling vermin off of the Earth, my master," the silhouette stepped forward and dropped its body into a formal bow. When she lifted her head, Thaddeus Quale's heart wrenched with horror.

The crooked and sadistic face of Bellatrix Lestrange smiled at the cowering man as she feasted on a pair of a butterfly's wings fluttering between her lips.