WRITTEN FOR THE HOUSES COMPETITION, YEAR 10, ROUND 5
House: Slytherin
Class: Prefect
Category: Drabble
Word Count: 770
Prompt: [Object] (New Years) Glass of champagne
Warnings/Disclaimers: AU
Lord Voldemort smiled at Madam Macmillan and accepted a glass of champagne from one of the indistinguishable servers that crowded the Ministry hall.
He would need the alcohol to survive what Madam Macmillan considered small talk, but he'd turned the Ministry's New Year's party into a fundraiser for the most valid of reasons, and he wouldn't skimp on his duty. Overhauling a government was expensive, after all, and the Ministry's coffers suffered from it even after a full decade of his peaceful reign.
He expected his Death Eaters to contribute to the cause, of course, both by donating part of their own income and by wining and dining potential sympathisers with deep pockets. Many of his followers were making the rounds, but Lord Voldemort had always had a particular touch with the matrons, and drawing in the old widows was always a worthy venture when the objective was financial gain.
Lord Voldemort leaned in and made all the right noises while Madame Macmillan prattled on, swirling his champagne around in the tall glass.
Much had changed in the last several decades, and while Voldemort could admit he'd somewhat lost sight of his true goal in his forties, he'd regained everything he had started bartering away as a hotheaded sixteen-year-old Hogwarts student. He was a new wizard, and he could confidently say he'd gone above and beyond even the natural suaveness of his twenties.
Lord Yaxley—one of his, albeit far from the inner circle—interrupted Madame Macmillan's recounting of one of her many grandsons' recent misadventures in securing a job. He excused himself politely and spared a nod for the matron before bowing to him.
"My Lord," he murmured. "All my best wishes to you on this fortuitous day. Your followers rejoice with you."
Lord Voldemort inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, smirking on the inside as he congratulated himself once again on one of his most satisfying accomplishments. He'd turned the often-lamented day of his birth into not only a celebration of his person but an occasion that reunited people from all paths of life and encouraged them to contribute materially to his cause as they waited for the turning of a new year. It was almost symbolic—how the world turned and his power over the masses was renewed.
Lord Voldemort raised his champagne glass as the overly loud chime of the clock signalled the beginning of the countdown.
He brought the edge of the glass towards his lips for the customary toast and let his gaze wander through the crowd. Soon enough, he met a pair of Avada-green eyes absolutely riveted on him.
Seeing the naked hope in those eyes—or rather, being afforded the opportunity to squash it—was a gift in itself.
He grinned against the glass as Harry Potter noticed he'd been made.
Because, of course, Lord Voldemort knew his champagne was poisoned. A twirl of the liquid had been enough.
For the longest time, he'd thought of the Potter boy as nothing more than a thorn in his side. Becoming obsessed over a baby because of something as ridiculous as a half-overheard prophecy had been the push he'd needed to reconsider how much of his mind he'd truly given up in his pursuit of the Darkest Arts, but the boy had only been a nuisance.
Then Potter had grown up, joined the Order that Dumbledore seemed to have posthumously tasked with annoying him to death, and started "going on missions".
Ever since, Lord Voldemort had to admit that he'd started regarding Potter's exploits as a somewhat consequential source of amusement.
That didn't mean he wouldn't rejoice when the Death Eaters currently advancing on the little pest finally captured him.
He smirked and raised his tainted glass of champagne towards the self-styled rebel as Potter started looking panicked.
Oh, yes, he thought with the satisfaction of a big cat taunting its prey. What a perfect way to usher in the New Year.
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Harry gritted his teeth. He hadn't truly thought the poison would work. He'd volunteered to be the one to see the plan through anyway because he'd hoped he would get a chance to curse Voldemort in the back. There didn't exist a more deserving bastard in the whole wide world, after all.
Instead, he'd only managed to spend New Year's Eve watching Voldemort smirk and shake hands, and now he would have to escape the Dark Lord's minions.
What an absolute waste.
The clock struck midnight, and Harry threw the latest of the Weasley Twins' inventions to the ground as he disappeared from the heavily warded room. He would be sad to miss those fireworks.