Chapter 1

Barry White

Deep within the forest that surrounded the town of Great Hangleton laid Barry White as he lazily lounged in front of a small fire. Barry reached over towards the crisps on his left and greedily popped them one by one into his rather large mouth. After smacking his lips in a most satisfied fashion, he licked his fingers clean of cheese dust as he eyed the tip of the flame with his beady eyes. Back and forth it flickered, its rhythmic pattern adding to the serene and tranquil setting of the clearing. “Camping’s good for the soul,” Barry thought as he savoured his twelfth can of the night. “Who needs a job, anyway?” He proceeded to take a rather large gulp from the can, draining it of the last drops of beer, and returned his gaze to the fire. Back and forth…back and forth…Barry slowly closed his eyes during the repetitive trance and found himself being lulled to a peaceful sleep.

However, had he been awake, he would have heard the distinct cracking noise that came from the surrounding forest; a clatter that broke the golden silence in which Barry slept. But alas, as he was soundly asleep, he did not hear anything but the sounds within his own dreams.

Not yet, at least.

Now, let it be said that Barry White was not an extraordinary character by all means. In fact, he was about as normal as they came. Having just been fired from his job as a cashier at the local supermarket, Barry had taken the route taken by most in postponing his search for a new job, and instead opted to surround himself with liberal amounts of food, beer, and leaves. Yes, Barry White was nothing special, nothing special at all.

A few minutes later, a sudden cry from a crow snapped Barry out of his slumber. The trickling flame of the fire was beginning to falter and he realized it was time to find more wood. Reluctantly, he chucked the can that had remained in his hand towards his right and wiped his burly moustache dry. However, before he could make any move from the lawn chair on which he had been resting upon, he heard a sudden noise coming from within the foliage behind him.

Barry narrowed his eyes and shook his head forcefully, deciding that he had drunken one too many cans of beer. Dismissing the noise, he proceeded to struggle into a standing position and turned around.

Little did Barry know that this would be last move he ever made.

“Avada Kedavra.”

A flash of green light hit Barry square in the chest and he fell towards the ground with a large thud. A pair of black shoes soon appeared next to his body.

“Wormtail, you know what to do,” hissed the attacker impatiently. His eyes, merely red slits, gazed at Barry with disgust, a look that only intensified as he caught sight of the large pile of cans near the fading fire. The attacker turned his bald, pale head away from the ghastly sight.

A second man appeared from within the shadows of the forest. He scurried forward towards Barry with his wand brandished and muttered a spell. Ropes appeared immediately, coiling themselves tightly around the dead man’s body. He turned to his companion, his small watery eyes gleaming with pleasure. 

Lord Voldemort’s gaze, if possible, became even more disgusted.

“What am I to do with a bound Muggle, Wormtail?” he asked curtly. His long spider fingers twitched as if he had the urge to strangle the man in front of him. Relaxing his fingers, he continued hissing, “Sometimes, your lack of intelligent thought surprises me, Wormtail. However, why should I be? Time and time again, you have proved to be unworthy of servitude.” 

Wormtail flushed deeply as he quickly retrieved his wand from his robes. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he said hastily, pointing his wand to the body.

Barry’s body slowly began to float up, as if suspended by invisible ropes. Wormtail waved his wand towards the faltering fire and slowly dropped the body amid the small flames.

“Incendio!” cried Wormtail.

Suddenly, the flames blasted up with new vigour, engulfing Barry’s body in a blazing heat. Wormtail turned around and looked at the pale man with expectancy.

Lord Voldemort gave a curt nod. “Follow me,” he said. “Let us leave the stench of a Muggle corpse.” He turned swiftly, his cloak rustling the dry leaves on the ground, and began to walk in the opposite direction.

Wormtail, giving one last look to the burning corpse behind him, followed suit.

~*~

“Stop.”

Both men had now reached a clearing not too far from Barry White’s campsite. A small trail of smoke could be seen winding its way through the tall trees that filled the immense forest.

“And now,” said Lord Voldemort, “it is time.” Lifting the sleeve of his cloak, he revealed a grotesque tattoo of a skull intertwined with a snake. Using two fingers, he firmly pressed upon the tattoo, a cruel smile hanging on his face.

Wormtail winced in pain as he felt a familiar burning sensation on his forearm. As the pain lessened, he opened his eyes and saw several heavily cloaked figures Apparating one by one into the clearing. Swiftly, the cloaked figures began to form a circle positioned around Lord Voldemort. Wormtail quickly scurried into place.

“We are all here, I presume,” said Lord Voldemort, look at the men surrounding him. 

The circle remained silent.

“Very well,” he continued. “You may have noticed that our meeting has begun later than usual. Alas, Wormtail was much too incapable of dealing with the burial of a misfortuned Muggle.  The blame must be put on him.”

At this, the circle erupted with scattered laughter, all directed towards a deeply embarrassed Wormtail. The laughter immediately fell quiet as Lord Voldemort raised one of his spider-like hands.

“No matter. We are here now.”

Voldemort began to walk appraisingly around the circle, examining each of the figures that were now bowing on their knees. His cloak whipped behind him as he looked upon each of his servants with a cold, impassive gaze. Halfway through the circle’s circumference, he suddenly stopped and looked down at the man below him-or rather, boy. There was a notable change in Voldemort’s demeanour now- his eyes were now filled with a furious rage, his mouth set in a straight line.

“Draco,” Voldemort whispered dangerously.

The cloaked man below him made no sign that he had heard his name being called.

“Draco,” Voldemort said again, this time with more force. “Will you not respond to your master?”

Draco gave an incomprehensible mutter.

“Get up,” spat Voldemort.

Draco hastily got to his feet, yet dared not to look his master in the eye.

Voldemort spun around to face the circle with his arms outstretched. “Death Eaters, you have failed me yet again,” he began majestically. He lowered his arms to his side as the signs of displeasure crept to his eyes.

A chorus of, “Forgive us my Lord,” rang through the circle, though the apology was clearly not sincere.

Voldemort waved his hand aloofly, silencing the Death Eaters. “Apologies are nothing. Last year, it was imperative that I had that prophecy…the secret to my triumph laid within the mist beneath that glassy sphere,” he whispered. “Yet once again, you were all incapable of following simple instructions, leading to the ultimate failure of my seemingly fool-proof plan. A considerable step backwards, I was forced to take. And Harry Potter lived on.” 

He turned back around to face Draco, who was visibly trembling. None spoke for a brief moment; only the whispers of the wind flowing between the trees were heard, along with the crunching of the leaves that coated the dirt floor.

“Draco,” Voldemort began quietly. “Who, in your opinion, played the largest role in the failure of my plan?”

Draco gave an inaudible answer.

“Louder, Draco.”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Voldemort repeated. He suddenly whipped his wand out of his pocket and firmly pressed it against Draco’s temple. “How about now?” Their faces were almost touching now; barely a centimetre of distance separated the terrified boy from his master.

“WHO FAILED ME, DRACO?” Voldemort roared, his free hand now clutching the front of Draco’s robes.

At this point, Draco seemed too shaken, too frightened to reply, and he merely made several choked noises as he attempted to relieve himself of Voldemort’s firm grip.

Voldemort snarled and threw Draco back with such force that he toppled clumsily to the ground. None of the Death Eaters made a move to help him, and all remained on their knees.

“LUCIUS MALFOY,” bellowed Voldemort to the circle. “The failure of my plan lies solely with the incompetent Lucius Malfoy. Had he kept the prophecy safe, as I had specifically asked, we would all not be here today.  Lucius himself knows this! He is safe behind Azkaban’s bars, and he is well aware of this. He knows that there is little that Lord Voldemort forgives.” He paused, breathing heavily, his eyes burning as bright as ever.

“ What, my Death Eaters, does your Lord do to those that disobey him? To those who fail him?”

None answered the obviously rhetorical question.

 “Why, he punishes them of course. No one defies Lord Voldemort and does not suffer. Ask Wormtail. He is quite knowledgeable on the topic.” 

Wormtail gave a whimper, similar to that of a wounded puppy.

Voldemort turned so that he once again faced Draco. “So tell me Draco. Is your father happy to be in Azkaban?”

This time, Draco gave an immediate response, not wanting to be manhandled a second time. “My father is never pleased about not serving you, my Lord.”

Voldemort sneered. “Like father, like son I suppose. Both simpering fools...both liars.”

He turned back to face the Death Eaters who continued to rest on their knees.  “Lucius is, of course, pleased. Overjoyed, most probably. But he forgets… he forgets that no one who disobeys Lord Voldemort leaves without punishment. “

“I called you all here to remind you of this very fact. Do not disobey me in the future. Catastrophes like last year’s cannot occur again! Your idiocy and foolishness have cost me too much in the past… it shall not continue in the future.“

There was a consistent murmur of ‘yes, my Lord’ throughout the ring of Death Eaters.

Voldemort raised his eyes to the sky above him. It had begun to darken as large clouds formed, moving to surround the clearing, tickling the tops of the trees. A flock of birds suddenly fled from the shelter of a single tree, interrupting the thick tension. He returned his gaze back to the Death Eaters.

“Excellent. You may all leave-”

The Death Eaters made a move to rise.

“- all but Draco.”

All the Death Eaters froze in a seemingly synchronized movement. Draco, in a terrified motion, recoiled a few steps from the circle.

Voldemort raised a pale eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

After a uncertain pause, one Death Eater questioned, “My Lord, is it really necessary for Draco-”

Voldemort narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Do you dare question me, Bellatrix?” He stepped towards the cloaked figure with a vicious gaze.

Horror filled Bellatrix’s face as she struggled to regain her composure. “Of course not, my Lord. B-but he is my nephew, and Narcissa-”

“Are you showing signs of affection Bella? Towards a shamed family, at that. Are your petty emotions more important than your unconditional servitude?”

“Of- of course not, my Lord. But Narcissa, with Lucius in Azkaban, would not be able to handle the loss-”

“I am not going to kill him, Bella,” Voldemort said brusquely, his nostrils flaring. “I am assigning him a task.”

Bellatrix continued hesitantly. “And are we to hear of this task soon, my Lord?”

Voldemort’s thin lips curled into a condescending smirk. “So arrogant, Bella?”

Bellatrix flushed, much like Wormtail had a few minutes earlier.

“But to answer your question, no. This task is solely for Draco. It is a very important task- I believe only Draco has the skills and resources to complete it.”

Both Draco and Bellatrix looked visibly surprised.

“But- Draco is merely a boy of sixteen; not even of age! Surely, his superiors have skills that he does not. I, of course, would be more than pleased to serve you, and will complete this task with success.”

Voldemort sneered. “You abhor me, Bella. I have no patience for the overconfident. “

Bellatrix opened her mouth to interrupt, but he continued on.

“I repeat, this task is only for Draco. Leave, now, or face the full wrath of Lord Voldemort.”

Bellatrix seemed to desperately want to speak, but she slowly closed her mouth and bowed. “As you wish, my Lord,” she said.

“Now, leave. That is, with the exception of Draco.” He turned to Draco, who still stood out of the circle, his face plastered with a look mixed with horror and fear.

The leaves rustled once again as the Death Eaters Disapparated one by one. A few moments later, all were gone except Draco and Lord Voldemort.  Draco made no move to come any closer and he stood his ground, trembling.

“So, Draco,” Voldemort commenced softly. “What am I to do with you? As you heard before, I did not call you here to kill you, but merely to assign you a simple task. If you are any different than your father, you will complete this task successfully. If not…well I’m afraid that even Azkaban will not protect you.”

Draco’s grey eyes widened with obvious interest, but he remained silent.

“Now, I am about to instruct you on how I intend for this plan to carry out. Do not stray from these rules Draco, or you will find your Lord highly displeased. You are to return to Hogwarts this September, as you normally do. You will not advertise your new-found position as a Death Eater. However, spread the news to your advantage- you’ll soon learn that fear ensues a great deal of co-operation in most.” Voldemort smiled cruelly and continued on.

“Your task is one that must be carried out with thoughtful planning. However, seeing as your father failed to carry out my months of preparation, I leave that hefty task to you. Do as you see fit, but the final task must be completed.”

Draco waited for Voldemort to continue. When the silent pause lingered, Draco asked tentatively, “So, what is this task, my Lord?”

“Kill Dumbledore.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Kill Dumbledore?” he repeated stupidly. Realizing his foolish blunder, his eyebrows returned to their normal fearful position.

“Is that not what I said,” Voldemort replied coolly. “You see, I realized last year after the prophecy had been so carelessly wretched out of my grip, that Dumbledore was the cause of my problems. Take Harry Potter. Would a boy of merely fifteen be able to successfully conquer a wizard like myself? A wizard so knowledgeable in the Dark Arts that all cower at the mere utterance of his name!”

“Of course not! Harry Potter knows not even a portion of the magic that I do. He would have not been able to enchant that miserable statue in the Ministry. He would have not have been able to summon the school’s Sorting Hat from deep within the Chamber of Secrets. And he certainly would not have been able to dodge my countless attempts at destroying his pathetic life, time and time again!”

“It is simply due to the wit of his peers; the help of his friends, and more specifically, Dumbledore” Voldemort spat, “did he evade me all those times. Dumbledore is not only the problem- but the key to my victory as well. Kill Dumbledore- and well, Harry Potter merely becomes an incompetent sixteen-year old half-blooded wizard.”

Voldemort slowly walked across the clearing towards Draco and peered intently into his eyes. 

“Are you willing to serve your Lord, Draco?” Voldemort asked quietly. “Repent for your father’s mistakes?”

A loud clap of thunder rung through the forest, sending flocks of birds to flee from their trees. Fat drops of rain began to pour down and soaked Draco’s light blond hair, seeping through his robe and trickling down his temples. His eyes didn’t waver, however, and were fearfully set on Voldemort’s own red slits.

“By the end of the year, Dumbledore must be dead,” said Voldemort quietly. Swiftly, he took his wand out of his robes and Disapparated, leaving Draco in the dark.