It was the middle of the night. The towering graves were illuminated by silver moonlight, although no stars shone in the jet-black sky. A cloaked figure rose from a carved chair, encrusted with fabulous jewels of all shapes and sizes. His followers cowered at his feet, shaking with fear. Very sinister.
Draco Malfoy watched as the Dark Lord stepped away from his tasteless (in Draco’s opinion) even verging on Cabaret throne. “I had a lot more respect for him before I met Harry Potter, the boy who helped people… When I am Dark Lord,” thought Draco Malfoy, “everything will be decorated with either black or silver. None of this ruby-emerald clash…”
A puppy was sacrificed and the meeting began.
“I have a special task to appoint to you,” rasped the Dark Lord, pointing an unattractively scarred bony finger in Draco’s direction. The Dark Lord laughed maniacally. His other followers, taking this as their cue to laugh maniacally, laughed maniacally also. The graveyard resounded with maniacal laughter, although the best Draco could manage was a light cackle.
Like all maniacal laughter, it finished abruptly, plunging the graveyard into silence.
“Ahem,” coughed the Dark Lord. “Where was I?” He looked around and took a sip of freshly squeezed unicorn blood. “Ah yes. The younger Mr. Malfoy’s task,” he rasped to himself. “I hope you are listening, Mr. Malfoy, your future career here depends on the success of this task.”
Draco looked round at the shaking wrecks that were his parents and thought that maybe accountancy didn’t sound so bad after all…
“What is my mission, Master? As my chosen purpose in life is to serve you.” Draco backed this up with a charming smile and a flick of his white-blond hair.
“You will use your geographical closeness to Harry Potter to dispose of him, in whichever manner you see fit. I am bored of his escapalogical antics and would quite like to add his left foot to my collection.”
It was strange how few people knew or Lord Voldemort’s vast feet collection, and also how the ones who did know about it weren’t remotely surprised.
“This is a chance for you to prove your worth, and also for you to start a collection of your own.”
Draco Malfoy grinned at the thought of Harry Potter’s nose floating in a jar. “Master,” he drawled, “nothing would give me greater pleasure than finishing off the bespectacled ninny that is Harry Potter. Should I fail you, may my buttocks drop off or catch fire, may dragon fire frazzle my beautific locks. May I…”
His speech lasted for about five minutes more before the Dark Lord cut him off. He had always tried to encourage young speech-making talent and Draco Malfoy had always shown exceptional promise, although his speeches did tend to refer to his appearance more often than the Dark Lord would have liked…
“Very well. Now on to other business…”
As night faded into morning, the meeting ended and each Death Eater was sent home with a vial of puppy blood and his/her own thoughts. Draco Malfoy was ecstatic with the ease of his first task. Potter was as good as skewered on a long pointy stick.
Draco Malfoy watched as the Dark Lord stepped away from his tasteless (in Draco’s opinion) even verging on Cabaret throne. “I had a lot more respect for him before I met Harry Potter, the boy who helped people… When I am Dark Lord,” thought Draco Malfoy, “everything will be decorated with either black or silver. None of this ruby-emerald clash…”
A puppy was sacrificed and the meeting began.
“I have a special task to appoint to you,” rasped the Dark Lord, pointing an unattractively scarred bony finger in Draco’s direction. The Dark Lord laughed maniacally. His other followers, taking this as their cue to laugh maniacally, laughed maniacally also. The graveyard resounded with maniacal laughter, although the best Draco could manage was a light cackle.
Like all maniacal laughter, it finished abruptly, plunging the graveyard into silence.
“Ahem,” coughed the Dark Lord. “Where was I?” He looked around and took a sip of freshly squeezed unicorn blood. “Ah yes. The younger Mr. Malfoy’s task,” he rasped to himself. “I hope you are listening, Mr. Malfoy, your future career here depends on the success of this task.”
Draco looked round at the shaking wrecks that were his parents and thought that maybe accountancy didn’t sound so bad after all…
“What is my mission, Master? As my chosen purpose in life is to serve you.” Draco backed this up with a charming smile and a flick of his white-blond hair.
“You will use your geographical closeness to Harry Potter to dispose of him, in whichever manner you see fit. I am bored of his escapalogical antics and would quite like to add his left foot to my collection.”
It was strange how few people knew or Lord Voldemort’s vast feet collection, and also how the ones who did know about it weren’t remotely surprised.
“This is a chance for you to prove your worth, and also for you to start a collection of your own.”
Draco Malfoy grinned at the thought of Harry Potter’s nose floating in a jar. “Master,” he drawled, “nothing would give me greater pleasure than finishing off the bespectacled ninny that is Harry Potter. Should I fail you, may my buttocks drop off or catch fire, may dragon fire frazzle my beautific locks. May I…”
His speech lasted for about five minutes more before the Dark Lord cut him off. He had always tried to encourage young speech-making talent and Draco Malfoy had always shown exceptional promise, although his speeches did tend to refer to his appearance more often than the Dark Lord would have liked…
“Very well. Now on to other business…”
As night faded into morning, the meeting ended and each Death Eater was sent home with a vial of puppy blood and his/her own thoughts. Draco Malfoy was ecstatic with the ease of his first task. Potter was as good as skewered on a long pointy stick.
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