The Dark Lord Voldemort sits across from his newest charge, his latest conquest, Draco Malfoy. Despite his position, the boy is oddly confident, radiating an aura of arrogance usually reserved for…others not so powerful, a common trait in the Malfoy line. Voldemort finds himself uncomfortable with being subjected to it, something he will have to ingrain in the boy.
"Young Draco, you seem in good ssspirits." The Dark Lord remarks, a frown on his face, as the Malfoy heir leisurely places his feet on the dining room table, a smug look on his face.
"You have no idea, Morty." The boy replies with a cheeky grin, invoking the fires of rage within the dark wizard's body.
"You play a dangerousss game boy." The older wizard hisses, eyes narrowed in anger. "Do not presssume that jussst becaussse you are valuable, that you are…sssafe." He casts a dark spell at the boy, showing him his rightful place, only…nothing happens. The spell practically bounces off his body.
"Maybe we have different definition of safe but…" The Dragon King removes his feet from the table and leans forward, teeth showing in a wide grin. "I feel pretty damn untouchable." The Slytherin heir bristles at the response, the casual indifference, neigh the disrespect in the boy's tone.
"But on to business." Draco continues, leaning back in his chair once more, feet on the table. "Dumbledore has been killed." He drops the bomb on the now-shocked Dark Lord.
"H-he isss…you're sure of it?" The platinum blond teenager scoffs at his words.
"Of course, I am. And you should be too." He points out, drawing confusion from the leader of the Death Eaters. "Our vow." He clarifies. "I'm not…dying painfully, and you should feel a…compulsion to let me and my family go right about now." The serpentine wizard frowns as he begins to feel with his magic, searching for the truth of the boy's words and…they do ring true.
"I sssee…isss that the reassson for thisss meeting then? Have you come to liberate your family from my clutchesss." He questions with a sneer. The boy dares to shrug, as if dismissing a child or a vapid woman of sorts, and for that, another spell is sent his way. Again, it does nothing.
"To start." Draco responds simply. "But that's more easily done. What I want is to discuss me joining your organization." Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord of the British Wizarding World, is left speechless; astonished at the words the boy in front of him just spoke. His mind races incredibly quickly as he tries to make sense of it, but despite his brilliance, he fails in his endeavor.
"You…wish to join me." He sounds out slowly, unsure of exactly what is going on.
"Your organization." The Malfoy heir corrects. "As the leader." There it is. There is the disrespectful, impudent, undignified brat that has shown himself throughout this exchange. The gall. The audacity. The—
"You dare mock me?" He roars in fury, magic sparking around him, just begging to be used. It's made worse when the boy, the Demon of Slytherin merely raises an eyebrow at his inquiry.
"Mock you? Never." He licks his lips, the grin never leaving his face. "I was actually thinking of rewarding your power, once I'm leader." A nearby vase explodes…only to reform not a second later. "If you're good…I figure you might be, what? 3rd…no 5th in command?" This time the windows blow out, but again they are repaired not a second later. "After Blaise of course, my father, Bellatrix, and hmm… maybe you'll be 6th if my mother wants to—"
"ENOUGH!" The Dark Lord yells, wrath consuming his visage. "YOU WILL WATCH YOUR TONE BOY, AND KNOW YOUR PLA—" The half-blood's red eyes widen in shock as he is silenced so casually by the boy in front of him.
"You hurt me once, half-blood." Draco speaks, his voice devoid of the humor and jovialness that it just held. "But you can guarantee it will never happen again." He then withdraws his wand from his sleeve, eliciting a gasp from the still-silenced Dark Lord.
"The Elder Wand." He whispers, despite no sound coming out. With a wave of his wand, he unsilences himself and then points it at the current bane of his existence. "Give it to me, and your transgressions will be forgiven." The Dragon King grins widely, a toothy grin that contains far more malice than it has any right to.
"No."
:
Draco grins wide in glee as he duels the cheeky half-blood. Unlike his duel with Dumbledore, this is far more leisure an activity, one could almost call it easy, and it's not all in the wand. While Voldemort holds the same talent that the old man does, and is far more willing to use dark, lethal spells, he lacks the experience and skill, making him more up Draco's alley as far as a matched opponent.
His only advantage, using Nott's trinkets, has now been negated, both by Draco employing the same, as well as the Elder Wand's sheer power, which makes this a walk in the park. Visibly and audibly yawning at the ease of the fight, he watches on with amusement as Voldemort doubles his efforts. Spell after spell flies his way, some scorching the surrounding manor, some cracking the earth, while others sail by with the wail of the dead and forsaken souls, and absolutely none of them get close to touching him.
The damage to his home is…annoying, but he finds that with a flick of his wand, anything is possible, and that includes mending damage done by the darkest of spells. Another ten spells fly by, and he sends back two more, hitting the so-called Dark Lord square in the chest, breaking his shields. A quick summoning charm deprives hi of his wand, and now the fun can begin.
"I'm going to enjoy this, Thomas. So, so much." He practically sings with a bloodthirsty grin, as the Dark Lord begins to know Fear.
