Summary: Voldemort knows it's great being the Dark Lord; it's a position he wants to keep. But even the most malevolent maniac can't stand when the forces of fashion conspire against him! A tale of organized mayhem.
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Book 7 Disregarded, Substance Abuse
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 12
Completed: Yes
Word count: 23621
Read: 100625
Published: 03/30/07
Updated: 04/05/08
1. Prologue: In which Tom Riddle acquires a business card by FinalCow
2. Chapter 1: Snape, The Laundry Boy by FinalCow
3. Chapter 2: Draco, Heir Unapparent by FinalCow
4. Chapter 3: Snape, The Avenger by FinalCow
5. Chapter 4: Draco, Tattoo God by FinalCow
6. Chapter 5: Snape, The Reborn by FinalCow
7. Chapter 6: Draco, Seriously Harassed by FinalCow
8. Chapter 7: Snape, The Psychiatrist by FinalCow
9. Chapter 8: Draco, Nervous Nelly by FinalCow
10. Chapter 9: Snape, The Insomniac by FinalCow
11. Chapter 10: Draco, Still Alive by FinalCow
12. Chapter 11, Snape: The Advisor by FinalCow
Prologue: In which Tom Riddle acquires a business card by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
We don't own Tom or any of the Death Eaters or any Harry Potter Character. Thanks for reading!
Tom Riddle watched his followers disapparate, leaving him alone in the damp graveyard. A storm was coming. Death Eaters, he decided, I’ll call them Death Eaters. It was a good name, a name to inspire fear in both the mind and the heart. Followers. Tom kept going back to that. He was their leader “ they feared him and followed him. It was a sign that he was close to realizing his dream “ complete domination of the world.
A crash of lighting broke his reverie, closely followed by a roll of thunder. Tom flung back his hood and faced the wind, his cloak billowing in the gusts. Rain hurtled down from the sky, but it evaporated with furious hisses before it touched his face.
“I WILL,” Tom roared to the black sky, his figure outlined by lightning, “I WILL BE THE DARK LORD!” A bolt of lightning came down with a crash. With a well-bred chime, a small rectangle of thick paper appeared in his hand. It was a pale blue business card glowing violet ink in the half light.
Violet’s Apparel and Accessories
Catering to the finest dark lords and ladies through the ages.
London
“Always Fashionable”
What the hell? Tom wondered venomously. He noticed the card was ticking faintly. He shook the card experimentally, which did nothing. He flipped it over. A small watch had been drawn in silver ink on the back and the little silver second hand was counting down to zero. What is this?
The second hand reached the zero and the card chimed again. Then Tom was caught in whirlwind dragging him from the graveyard and depositing him “ well, he wasn’t sure. The thing it mostly closely resembled was the waiting room in a high-end doctor’s office. The walls were a tasteful shade of gray, enlivened by discreetly expensive pieces of art. The chairs, including the one on which he was now sitting, were made of a dark wood, softened by plush violet cushions. An aquarium of tropical fish stood on a pedestal in the middle of the room, and there were doors at either end. But if the furnishings were nothing out of the ordinary, Tom had never seen a stranger collection of people “ and other beings. Sitting on his left was a man “ presumably “ entirely covered by a black costume, including a heavy plastic mask that made him look like a preying mantis and distorted his breathing strangely.
Hhhho-per, breathed the man, hhhho-per. He was reading Parenting magazine. Tom tore his attention from his neighbor and glanced at the girl across from him, who was wearing thigh-high leather boots and five “ no, four “ leather straps. He inspected the girl with some interest, then moved on. Sitting beside her was a something completely covered by what looked like a blanket, which swathed it so completely Tom could not discern so much as its sex. On the left of the blanket-creature was a middle-aged woman with pale skin and heavy dark hair worked in elaborate loops. Her dark red velvet dress was cut far too low for someone her age.
The door at the far end of the room opened and everyone looked up. A blonde in her early twenties bounded into the room, projecting an air of impossible cheerfulness. Tom fingered his wand cautiously. He didn’t trust anyone who looked that happy.
“Hi everyone!” she said. “I’m a little bit short-staffed today, so I’m going to be talking to you myself. Do we have any new customers with us?” She looked and immediately spotted Tom.
“You there!” she pointed. “Are you new?” He nodded. Something about this woman made you comply, even though she didn’t act menacing and wasn’t carrying a wand. Everyone in the room switched their attention to him.
“Wonderful!” said the girl. “I’m Violet and I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’ve joined us! Someone will be with you in just a second to conduct your basic start-up survey. Now, who was here first?” the creature in the blankets raised a hand from beneath the fabric. Violet’s look changed to one of good-natured chagrin as she bounced towards him.
“Mr. S., how many times have we discussed this?” she asked, hands on hips. Mr. S. shrugged. Violet adopted a lecturing tone. “This hiding is not good for your image,” she said. “I know you think your eyes are your best features, and they’re lovely eyes, but by neglecting the rest of your look and never appearing in public you’re creating a very bad popular opinion!”
Mr. S. squirmed. “My eye occupies the top of a very tall tower all week and alternate Saturdays,” he protested. “How much more public can you get?”
“That’s not an answer and you know it!” said Violet.
“Excuse me,” said a quiet voice in Tom’s ear. He jumped and whipped out his wand, jabbing it into the cheek of an attractive, dark-haired girl sitting on a low table beside him.
“If you could just answer a few questions, sir?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon,” Tom said, “What is going on?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, I was standing in the graveyard “ and there was this lightning crashing everywhere…and the card appeared in my hand…and then it took me here. Was it a portkey?”
“Yes, sir. Did you say anything before the card appeared?”
“Just that I would be the Dark Lord of the world.”
“That would be the reason, sir. Violet’s cards always appear to prospective clients. It’s part of her new aggressive recruiting program.” Tom understood the words she was saying, but all together the meaning of the sentence eluded him. Questions popped out of him.
“Who is Violet? Clients for what? What is this place?”
“Violet is the owner of this establishment, sir. She is a professional outfitter. She designs looks for dark lords, dark ladies, evil kings, queens, princes, councilors, you know. This is her corporate headquarters. Now if you would answer some questions, sir?”
“Why does she do that?”
“Why did she do what?”
“Become an outfitter.”
“Someone has to. The questions?” Tom waved a feeble hand. He was too bewildered to protest.
“Right.” The young lady looked down at a clipboard on her lap and became very professional.
“What is your favorite color?”
“Green.” She marked something on the clipboard.
“Do you have many close friends?”
“No.”
“Followers?”
“Yes.” Tom grinned triumphantly.
“Do you often pretend to have the best interests of the world at heart?”
“No.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six feet, one inch.” She looked him over doubtfully.
“Just because you’re an upcoming Dark Lord doesn’t give you the right to lie.” Tom blushed.
“Five feet, eleven,” he muttered.
“Do you prefer business suits, robes, or casual clothes?”
“Robes.”
“What is your greatest weakness?” she asked.
“I don’t have one.” Tom retorted.
“Over-confidence,” she murmured. “What is the secret source of your power?”
“Horc…why would I tell you that?” She looked up and smiled.
“Good answer,” she said.
“Choose the one that best describes you: evil head of large corporation, corrupt leader of a nation, deranged psychopath with a gun and/or wand, secret ruler of the universe, corrupt councilor, or other.”
“Deranged psychopath with a wand?” Tom guessed wildly.
“Thank you, sir,” said the girl, producing a bright smile. “Violet will be with you shortly.” She handed the clipboard to Violet, who was measuring the hhhho-per guy for a new helmet and disappeared through the door.
Violet descended on him in a whoosh of blonde hair and floral scent.
“Oh my God, I’m so glad you can be with us today,” she said, smiling widely. “I just love new clients. How about you tell me a little bit about yourself?”
“Well, my name is Tom Riddle, but I am Lord Voldemort now…” Tom began.
“Nice,” Violet interrupted. “Snappy title. Unusual, but menacing.”
“Er- thank you,” said Tom. “I killed my father and my grandparents a few years ago because they were disgusting muggle fools, and now I’ve gathered a band of followers “ I’m going to call them Death Eaters “ to help me conquer the world.”
“Any close friends, trusted councilors, or sexy teenage daughters?”
“No,” Tom said, deciding not to point out that twenty-two was somewhat young for teenage daughters.
“So you’re alone,” she mused. “We could play that up. You’re not a bad-looking guy. Dramatic black velvet robes, some stubble, this could work. You have definite possibilities.”
Tom was silent “ he wasn’t sure what to say.
“I don’t have time for a full fitting just now,” said Violet. “Are you free next Thursday at two-thirty?”
“I guess so,” said Tom, racking his brain.
“Wonderful!” Violet tapped the business card he was still clutching with a long nail. “Just keep hold of that and it’ll bring you right here, see you soon, sweetie!”
Who calls Dark Lords ‘sweetie’? Tom wondered.
Chapter 1: Snape, The Laundry Boy by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Snape holds a side job for Voldemort
“Hey, Sunshine!”
I looked down at my black robes, wondering, not for the first time, how anyone in their right mind would call me that. Then again, it was Violet and I had long stopped wondering about her sanity.
“Lord Voldemort had a… package,” I said gruffly, silently trying to ward off the cheerful waves that were radiating from the chipper blonde in front of me. She frowned for a moment; I reveled in the break of happiness. Shuffling some papers on the desk, she pulled out a list which brightened her back up.
“Of course,” she said joyfully, glad to make my day hell by simply smiling. “He ordered some new black satin boxers. Right this way please.” Was that what I had trudged in from the damp depressing day at Hogwarts to do? Fetch underwear for a Dark Lord? I couldn’t believe it. I scowled at Violet as we headed to one of the back rooms.
“I’ve tried to get him to take a difference pattern,” Violet prattled along cheerfully. “But it’s surprising how touchy Dark Lords can be about their undergarments. Those that wear them anyway.” She looked down at the list in her hand and scanned the shelves. “Here it is. Anything else?” She handed me a box. Surprisingly non-descript for something so strange.
“Was there anything else on the list?” I asked bluntly. Surely she would be more aware about her own clients’ orders than that.
“No, but,” she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in. “Maybe you would consider something for yourself.”
“Madam, I am no Dark Lord.” I retorted coldly, stepping back from her. She didn’t seem bothered, but inched toward me again.
“Ah, but you could be,” she whispered, her sweet violet perfume permeating my personal space. “You could have the power, the infamy, the control. I can put you into that position, Severus.” I must confess I thought about it for an instant. I could send someone else to get the Dark Lord’s underwear, because I would be the menacing Dark Lord.
Then I thought that I couldn’t stand to have people like me as my followers. Plus I wouldn’t have the opportunity to torment students every day. And Dumbledore would be upset. The offer was tempting to be sure, but I was unmoved.
“Not today,” I said, sliding toward the door. “How much do I owe you?”
“What’s your currency?” she asked. I let out a mental scream. The woman knew my first name, but couldn’t remember the currency from the Wizarding World. Incredible. Ridiculous.
“Galleons,” I said. She scribbled for a second on her list; and showed me the number. I wanted to scream again. Reluctantly I pulled out my money and handed over far too many Galleons than I would have ever thought I would pay for underwear. And I had no hope for a reimbursement. Violet beamed at me as she took my money. No wonder she was always happy if she charged these prices and got away with it.
“Thanks, Sunshine!” She led me back up to the front. “Now you don’t forget my offer,” she whispered to me. “I don’t make it often; you have potential, you could go far. You have the look.”
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. She rolled her eyes at me.
“Tom is so last season. He doesn’t take any of my advice; and he looks awful.” She shook her head. “The older you are the more image conscious you must be. If you don’t look the part; absolutely no one will believe you.”
“He’s still the Dark Lord,” I pointed out. She rolled her eyes.
“That’s because no one’s brave enough to face him. It’s stupid. But Severus,” she sidled close to me again. I was beginning to feel violated. My personal space had rigid boundaries that she insisted on breaking. “Severus, you are strong and smart and brave. You could stand up to him.” I thought again of the detrimental consequences of this. Violet was clueless beyond this building.
“Probably not,” I said. “I can’t think of anyone that would prefer me to Lord Voldemort.” She shrugged.
“Well, if you change your mind….” she smiled at me, blinding dazzling whiteness. Smiles like that should be banned from functioning society and locked up in a nice gleaming hospital. “By the way, tell Tom that he needs to come in for a refitting.” I nodded and headed out the door.
“See you, Sunshine!” She waved at me as I made my exit. I resolved to find a darker shade of black for my robes.
The damp gray of the sky was an infinite improvement. I looked around for any astute Muggles and Apparated back to the caverns. Lord Voldemort would want his….erm…purchase. Not that it was his money that was forked over. I straightened my robes and entered the main hall.
As much as I hate to admit it, Violet was right. Voldemort was losing his diabolical touch. He was old school; it was like being afraid of last year’s bully. I was still mindful of him though; just because ‘the look’ was gone didn’t mean his brain was as well. I sighed and bowed to the sinister man in his self made throne.
“I have done what you have asked, Master.” I held out the brown package. Those red eyes never left my face but he nodded to Lucius Malfoy at his side. Lucius took the box and smirked. I barely controlled myself and kept my wand in my pocket. I could deal with him later. He too, bowed to the Dark Lord as he strode off, presumably to place them in the Dark Lord’s quarters.
“Is there anything else, Master?” I asked. I just wanted to go back to my room and finish that potion I left simmering. I could only pray that Dumbledore wasn’t expecting a report after this.
“No, Severus. You are free to leave.” I hated it when he said my name. He dragged the‘s’s out so Severus sounded like a long sigh. It was annoying. I bowed once more and made my escape. Lucius was just outside the door.
“So, Severus,” he dragged the name out like Voldemort. I should have stunned him. “How did laundry duty go? Our Lord would never send me; I….”
“Would get lost trying to find the front door.” I finished for him. He made a face very similar to his son’s antics toward Potter. You’d think that a Malfoy would grow out of such things. Pathetic.
“Shut up,” he snarled.
“Anyway, I’m going to borrow some Galleons from you,” I continued. “I think twenty Galleons would do the trick.” If I couldn’t get a refund from the Dark Lord; there was always the blonde, rather insipid Malfoy.
“What’s the matter?” he sneered. Someday his nose was going freeze in that snarl. Then we’ll see how attractive everyone thinks he is. “Teaching not paying well enough?”
“Or I could see how much your wife would pay for some juicy information concerning a red-headed man?” Malfoy swallowed and became a repentant being. I tried not to appear too smug.
“How much did you want?” he asked sullenly.
“Twenty Galleons,” I replied. He shoved the money in my hand and walked off. “By the way, your roots are showing again.” He turned and grabbed his blonde locks.
“No!” he gasped.
“Idiot,” I muttered and Apparated to Hogsmeade. It was so inconvenient not being able to Apparate into Hogwarts; but it was the price of security.
I managed to get to my quarters without any students, monsters or runaway spells. I considered it a lucky day. I was about to say my password when an old man appeared out of the corner of my eye. I wondered if I still had time to run. Dumbledore spied me and it was too late. My heart sank. Now I wouldn’t finish that potion for an hour. It wasn’t in immediate danger; but leaving open flame unattended did tend to…cause problems.
“Severus, my dear boy!” When all this mess was over, I was going to change my name. The only people that used it were ones I would rather remain anonymous. “I’ve been looking for you!” I was clapped on the shoulder and wheeled to his office before I could come up with some reply.
“Sit down, sit down,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. He and Violet should get together sometime. Though that would imply strange things… I tried to imagine Dumbledore in menacing dark robes and waving a wand about shouting Unforgivable Curses. It was impossible.
Chapter 2: Draco, Heir Unapparent by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Crisis over. The first chapter is up and all. Thanks for your patience.
I was not having a good day. It started off badly with Transfiguration. McGonagall returned my essay with a failing grade and a note telling me that I was required to attend remedial sessions once a week starting tomorrow. It’s not the grade I mind - it’s the sheer waste of my time. Then there was Defense of Dark Arts and Snape - who is supposed to be on my side - was a jerk about the Death-Eater thing. Flitwick and Sprout both assigned piles and piles of homework. Then there was the Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match and Slytherin lost 30 to 210. I got a letter from my father categorically refusing to give me any more money for the next six months. Basically, not my day. And now this. The Death-Eater scar burned on my arm and I apparated reluctantly. Why the hell had I been so keen to join the Death Eaters before I left school? I wondered. Had I thought it would look good on university applications, or something? Extra-curriculars: two years as a sworn follower of a power-crazed megalomaniac, organization “Death-Eaters,” see Lord Voldemort, address unknown, for further information. Yeah, that would be good.
I arrived in the graveyard and overbalanced, knocking into a vicious-looking angel who clouted me over the head with a marble hand. The bleak landscape of brown and gray swam before my eyes. And why do we always have to meet in graveyards? Honestly, does he think it’s chic, or something? ‘Cause if he does, he’s wrong. I mean, an old, unkempt graveyard on a dark night may provide all sorts of atmosphere, but what happened to comfort? What happened to coffee and complementary doughnuts? What happened to employee satisfaction? Come to that, what happened to wages? The landscape steadied and the Dark Lord appeared before me. I knelt with the rest of the Death Eaters, kissed the Dark Lord’s cloak with them, and then the meeting progressed fairly normally from there. He berated individual Death Eaters for failing in their assignment, praised others, performed a few Unforgivable Curses and finally turned to dishing out new assignments. I zoned out - I never get assignments; I knew what was coming. I concentrated on working out where my father was. Maybe I could corner him before the Dark Lord decided to pay attention to me and wring a couple of Galleons out of him.
“And now, my friends, it is time for us to turn to our separate tasks,” he said. “Remember- loyalty always!”
There were the quiet poppings of highly skilled apparition taking place. He hadn’t said anything to me about remaining after, so I closed my eyes and concentrated on making the jump to Hogsmeade.
“Draco!” the voice was a hissing shout. My eyes opened and my head snapped towards it involuntarily. Everyone else was gone, and he was coming right to me, his snake-like face fixed on my head (seriously, what is up with the snake look? I mean - snakes are his pals, and that’s okay, but does he have to take it to such an extent?).
“Yes, my lord?” I asked quietly, eyes on the damp ground.
“Draco, my youngest friend, I wish to discuss your little job with you. Several months ago I told you that you had the rest of the year to kill a certain muggle-loving fool. You have not made much progress, have you Draco?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t. For one thing, I didn’t much want to kill the old god-help-us.
“The rest of the year,” he repeated. “However, there has been new development since we spoke last. The killing must be moved up. Do you understand?” I understood all right. I understood far to well. How the hell did he expect me to kill Dumbledore on such short notice? I mean, the big V himself couldn’t kill Dumbledore and that’s with the benefit of years to plan the act.
“When, my lord?” I asked, masking my panic.
“As soon as possible of course, fool. I shall expect a two-page report on my desk by Sunday.”
“Yes, my lord,” I bowed, and because that was clearly a dismissal, closed my eyes to apparate,
“And Draco,” I opened my eyes slowly. “Don’t fail me. It will go very much the worse for your mother and father if you do.” He chuckled, a sound like a snake trying to swallow a pig that’s a bit too big for it, and vanished. Definitely not my day.
“I mean, who does he think he is, anyway?” I asked Crabbe and Goyle later that night in the Common Room.
“Well, uh, I don’t know, maybe the Dark Lord?” said Crabbe. Which is why I really can’t stand Crabbe. He’s always making comments like that.
“Shut up,” I said, “and come on.”
“Where are we going?” Goyle asked.
“I’m going to McGonagall’s office. She told me to see her at nine in class today.”
“Well, why are we coming?” Crabbe asked.
“Because it takes a good ten minutes to walk to McGonagall’s office and I haven’t finished complaining yet.”
“Oh.” They followed me out of the wall.
“He’s ugly, too,” I continued, sweeping up the stairs. “He’s taken that snake look way to far. Doesn’t he realize that keeping your face fresh and natural is the newest look?”
“Erg,” said Goyle.
“Exactly,” I said. “And he’s really dreadful at time-management. Death Eater meetings could be much better organized. If he would just appoint a secretary and offer complementary doughnuts, meeting could be half as long!”
“Oh look, there’s Snape,” said Crabbe.
“Greasy git,” I said automatically. “Anyone could do the Dark Lord thing better than him. I could do it better than him. As a matter of fact, I think I will.”
“Mr. Malfoy, what on earth are you babbling about?” Snape asked.
“Oh shut up,” I told him, which was really stupid, “I’m going to be a Dark Lord.”
There was a sort of chiming sound, and rectangle of thick paper appeared in my hand. I bent my head down to look at it. It was a business card for someone named Violet. It was ticking.
“Let me see that,” Snape snapped. I held my hand and he grabbed my wrist and twisted it upright with what seemed unnecessary violence in a student-teacher relationship. His eyebrows, greatly in need of plucking, twisted in concentration as he glared at the card. Then flew up and his greasy hair seemed almost to stand on end. His whole countenance took on an expression of great alarm.
“Drop it!” he cried, trying furiously to pull it from my fingers.
“What? No!” I said, pulling furiously back.
“Drop it you stupid boy, before it goes off!”
“What do you mean, goes - ,” the words stopped dead in my throat as I felt myself being spun wildly around in a whirlwind. It was, without question, a portkey.
We landed on identical wooden chairs in lobby. The thick violet cushions on the chairs made identical whooshing sounds as we landed. I turned to glare at Snape, and then noticed that we were not alone. Standing at the far end of the room was an attractive blond girl, probably in her early twenties.
“Sunshine!” she cried. “You’re back!” I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but Snape seemed to recognize her. He sort of shriveled in his chair, as though trying to present at small a target as possible.
“Not again,” he moaned. “Isn’t once in a day enough?”
“Do you know where we are?” I asked. Snape didn’t answer. He was concentrating on the blond girl, who was crossing the room in swift strides.
“Decided to take me up on that Dark Lord offer, huh?” she chirped. “I knew you would!” she smiled dazzlingly.
“Guh,” I said. She glanced at me and smiled even more broadly, if that was possible. “Who’s your friend?” she cooed.
“I’m - uh - Draco Malfoy,” I said.
“How nice! I’m Violet!”
“Oh. Uh. Is this your business card, then?” I proffered the card, still clutched in my right hand.
“Why yes, it is! How did you get that?”
“It just appeared in my hand,” I said. “With a chime.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you said before the card appeared in your hand?” she asked. Her tone was as cheerful as ever, but somehow practiced, like she had said those words a thousand times before.
“I said I was going to be the Dark Lord,” I said.
“Of course!” Violet squealed. “How wonderful!”
“Why is it wonderful?” I asked.
“Because - ,” Violet began, but Snape cut her off.
“That will be quite sufficient, miss, thank you very much. My pupil and I will be leaving now. He swept to his feet.
“Oh, but you can’t leave already!” Violet cried.
“I absolutely agree,” I said quickly. Snape shot me a filthy do-what-I-say-or-you-will-fail-my-class look. I winced but stood firm.
“This young man is perfect Dark Lord material,” Violet said. “I want to fit him right now!”
“No!” Snape cried.
“What?” I asked.
“Don’t be such downer, Sunshine,” Violet said, shaking a finger.
“What do you mean, fit me?” I asked.
“For your costume. You do seriously want to be a Dark Lord, right?” I was beginning to have doubts about that, but Violet’s eyes had fixed on mine and they stared pathetically and beautifully at me.
“Er, yes, of course.” I stammered.
“Wonderful!” she said. “Follow me. You just wait there, Sunshine.” she pinched a fold of my robe between two fingers and pulled me across the room through the door. The small room within was stacked with bolts of fabric, unfinished robes, unusual head gear, half-empty coffee cups, and miscellaneous objects.
“What is going on?” I asked.
“Oh, stand there.” She shoved me onto a low stool and began taking my robes off.
“Hey!” I yelled, grabbing at my clothes.
“It’s all right; you can keep your underclothes on,” she said.
“But what are you even doing?” I persisted.
“Oh, haven’t you figured it out yet? I outfit Dark Lords. And Dark Ladies, evil kings, queens, princes, councilors, etc. I design their look. I make their clothes, as well as shoes, and accessories. I’m thinking of starting an interior design branch.” She grabbed a bolt of dark blue fabric and threw it across me.
“Oh,” I said.
“Of course, its very complicated work,” Violet continued. “Every Dark Personage as their own look, but sometimes they don’t realize it. Contributing to the creative process is all very well, but some people take it too far. I don’t think they realize that I’m an expert. I know what I’m doing; I do this for my living. Normally, I would have you speak with one of my employees and take a survey so I could get a feel of your style, but it’s past closing time and I think it would be easier if we just talked and got to know each other. What’s you favorite color?”
“I don’t have one,” I said. “Anything but red.” Violet clicked her tongue.
“Red’s a good color, you know,” she said. “And it’ll be really dramatic with your dark hair.”
“I have blond hair,” I said.
“Not for long.” I gulped. Why hadn’t I listened to Snape.
“Hold still,” Violet ordered.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“This and that. Close you eyes.” I closed them. She rapped my scalp with her wand, turning my hair dark, I guessed, with an inward shutter.
“How do you feel about horns?” she asked. I could hear her moving around the room, taking things down, throwing them on me, adjusting the drape, and occasionally murmuring a spell.
“On me?” I asked.
“Well, yes.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Oh, all right then. Open your eyes.” I opened them cautiously. A flash of white light blinded me and my eyes began watering frantically.
“What was that?” I yelled.
“Just a standard color-and-sparkle charm. The sting should have worn off by now.”
“Are they’re any mirrors in here?” I asked once I’d decided it was safe to re-open my eyes.
“Absolutely not. I never permit mirrors in the fitting rooms until the look had been completed. Close your eyes again.” I kept them closed for at least five minutes that time, answering Violet’s occasional questions and fighting a growing sense of panic.
“All right,” she said at last. “That’s pretty good for now. You wait right here while I go and get Sunshine.” She left the fitting room, and I promptly ransacked the place in search of a mirror. There wasn't as much as a fragment of glass. The door creaked, and I flew back to the stool.
Violet entered, followed by Snape, who was looking unusually poisonous. She’d probably been calling him ‘Sunshine’.
“Ta-da!” Violet sang, presenting me to him. Snape gasped.
“Merlin, he looks like bloody Potter!” I choked on nothing and began hacking up my appendix.
“Who’s Potter?” Violet asked.
“He’s a hero-in-training,” Snape said. “He’s fated to defeat the Dark Lord. I can’t have my student looking like a hero.”
“Well, this Potter can’t be a real hero,” Violet said firmly. “He’d have been to see my sister if he was, and I would have heard of him.” I swallowed hard and forced all my internal organs back into their usual places.
“Really?” I asked.
“Absolutely. Now just what part of his appearance do you take issue with?”
“For a start, the eyes,” said Snape.
“What’s wrong with his eyes?”
“Could I see a mirror please?” I asked.
“They’re green. Also his hair.”
“His hair looks good dark!”
“Dark is okay,” Snape said. “Messy is not okay. Draco is a smooth hair kind of person.”
“I’d really like to see a mirror now,” I said.
“Hush, honey bun,” Violet said. “Is there anything else?” she asked Snape.
“The robes. Red is not an acceptable color. Dark blue or green would be acceptable. Black or silver would be preferable.”
“All right, all right,” Violet sighed. “But I’m not sure you’re making the right choice. Out.” She pushed Snape out of the fitting room.
“Eyes open wide,” she ordered. I blinked and was hit with the white flash and accompanying pain. “Sunshine can be so picky sometimes,” she complained. “Open your mouth. Really, I’ve been doing this for quite a long time; I think I might have picked something up” she rapped me over the head with her wand. “Shut your eyes again, honey bun.” I hoped fervently that “honey bun” was not destined to become my pseudonym with Violet. I feared my hope was in vain.
Violet kept up a constant stream of complaints about “Sunshine” - I was never going to be able to look at him the same way again, honestly - as she redid my appearance. It didn’t take as long this time.
“That’s you done, honey bun,” Violet announced. I opened my eyes and glanced about hopefully for a mirror. No such luck. Violet stuck her head out the door.
“He’s done,” she called. Snape’s head poked cautiously into the room.
“Better,” he said, coming all the way into the room. “I told you green wasn’t a good color for his eyes.”
“Can I please see a mirror?” I growled, feeling that if I had to ask one more time I was going to explode.
“Oh, very well,” Snape said. He conjured a mirror in front of me with a wave of his wand.
My hair was definitely darker than the last time I saw it. It hung in a thick shag across my forehead. My eyes were, thank Merlin, blue, though they had more silver in them than I remembered. My skin was no longer pale - I had somehow gotten a nice tan it the last ten minutes. I smiled, and the glitter of my teeth nearly blinded me. I was dressed in tight-fitting black outfit, complete with a cape and hood. Basically, I looked good. Hell, I looked sexy.
“Nice,” I said.
“Now that you’ve had a good look,” Snape said, and flicked his wand at me. Instantly, I looked normal again.
“Hey!” I said.
“It is only an illusion,” Snape said. “It can be removed when necessary. But it will prevent awkward questions.”
“All right,” I said, seeing his point. “Oh…no.” something had just occurred to me.
“What is it, honey bun?” Violet asked.
“I don’t have any money,” I admitted. Violet laughed.
“Oh. That’s all right. Young villains are often short of cash. I’ll give you a job here until you’ve repaid me.”
“A part-time job, right?” I asked.
“Of course! You can just work after school,” she said. I sighed. That meant more sneaking down to Hogsmeade in the afternoon to apparate from there. Still, at least she wasn’t calling the law enforcement.
“I’ll just need to give you the company tattoo,” Violet said.
“What?” I cried.
“Don’t be silly,” Violet said. “It’ll barely sting. Close your eyes.”
“No!” I said. “What tattoo? And where? And why?”
“A tattoo of a violet,” Violet explained patiently. “Wherever you like. For two reasons: the tattoos carry a very strong protection charm. My customers tend be a bit short-tempered with the staff. Also because the tattoo is a portkey that brings you to the shop when it’s time for your shift.”
Well, I wouldn’t have to sneak in Hogsmeade, at least. She gave me the tattoo. I won’t say where.
Chapter 3: Snape, The Avenger by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Draco messes with Sunshine once too many and ends up in a sticky situation.
I was furious with Draco and despite all his pleading, didn’t give him a pass from Mrs. McGonagall. He would have to learn the consequences of his own actions. Finally, I made it back to my quarters without Dumbledore, Draco or any other horrors interrupting me. I half expected Potter to pop out of nowhere and ask for tutoring. I stepped into my room and into a land of peace and solitude. I desperately wanted a shower and to bed; but the turn of events needed pondering. I had no idea where my Unbreakable Vow fit into all this. I was supposed to help Draco kill Dumbledore, but what if Draco was now going to kill Voldemort? Did Potter’s prophecy doom Draco to failure before he started?
Then again, the prophecy never mentions names. Harry could be fine if Draco kills Voldemort and becomes the Dark Lord; but does that mean Draco will have to face off with Potter? The outcome of that would be disappointing for good ole Dumbledore. “This Potter can’t be a real hero,” Violet had said. I would never be able to look that boy in the face again. I sat on my bed and sighed. If things worked out like Violet wanted, Draco would somehow overcome Voldemort in a battle of coolness. How that was going to be possible, only Violet knew. That blasted woman seemed to have everything under her control. It scared me. She was raising up young men to become dark, villainous creatures of destruction and carnage simply by giving them the right look. Or was there more? It was certainly would explain why she was so willing to let Draco work for her. Maybe he’ll be learning about how to actually keep his new found title. I was going to have to talk to him tomorrow. Tonight, I was… I smelled something faintly. Oh merlin, my potion! I raced over to turn the heat off. It was beyond repair: nothing is meant to spend an entire day simmering.
The next morning was horrible; I had to spend two hours cleaning my potion out of the cauldron last night plus grade terrible 2nd year essays. Of course I would have Potter and his friends for class. I still couldn’t think of Potter the same. The hero of the Wizarding World. Violet was convinced that he wasn’t a hero; and strangely enough, I believed her. I saw him struggle with keeping up with jinxes from the Weasley, and she wasn’t hard to believe. Maybe the prophecy was completely off and ole Sybil was off again. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Tonight, I mused, I would remake that healing potion. It was always useful to have around so I didn’t have to go to Madame Pomfrey every time some Slytherin bumped their head. I hated escorting anyone to that woman; she was always very keen on checking everyone that entered. I wasn’t ever sick and even if I was dying I would prefer to die in peace than have people hovering over me and shoving unknown potions down my throat. Speaking of untold tortures, I had completely forgotten about the fitting Voldemort was supposed to have at Violet’s. Blast, I would have to go back and tell him. Last time I had forgotten Violet came checking up on Voldemort herself. Think of it: blonde cheerful versus the whole Death Eater company. It would have been amusing to watch them all shrink away from Violet except I received a nasty Crucio later that night. I didn’t want to go through that again. I’d owl Voldemort. It was surprising that I could send anything to him by owl but the Ministry had somehow figured out that no one in their right mind would actually send a letter to the Dark Lord such a common way so they wouldn’t ever have to check owls for those messages. Strange. That was the best way to get messages to him without getting a Crucio in return. Might get a Howler though.
Mercifully, the class ended quickly and I signed the letter addressed to Voldemort for later owling.
“Mr. Malfoy, please stay after class; the rest of you are dismissed,” I said calmly. The class shuffled out as fast as they could and left me with Draco. I had to talk to him about this Dark Lord business.
“Mr. Malfoy…” I began. He waved his hand at me and gathered up his books.
“Later, Sunshine,” he smiled brilliantly and left me stunned at my desk. New plan. I had a hex to hone down; or should I say, honey down. Two can play this game and I will always win.
The rest of the day was spent either feeling guilty for acting like a 1st year prankster and feeling satisfaction from Draco’s plight. From what I heard, his pens had inexplicably started writing in honey rather that ink. At lunch his steak and potatoes became a nice, round honey bun. His chairs were slightly sticky and tended to collapse with a breaded oomph! Despite this, he still manage to seek me out between classes.
“Oh look, it’s Professor Snape,” he said, approaching me in the hall. “I needed a ray of sunshine to brighten my day.”
“Watch it H.B.” I retorted. “You hate for it to be your bed next.” He paled but still maintained the ridiculous grin on his face. I had decided beforehand that there was no way in the Wizarding World anyone was going to catch me calling Draco Malfoy ‘honey bun.’ It implied strange things.
After dinner, I was accosted in the hall by a blonde worried child who was apparently suffering from a peculiar hex. Draco looked exhausted; I don’t blame him. He had resigned to standing in all of his classes and I’m sure dinner looked suspiciously like lunch.
“Take this stupid hex off,” he muttered. Typical Malfoy. Serious problems and can’t even act humble about it.
“Are you ordering me to do so, Mr. Malfoy?’ I asked. I glared at the pathetic boy. “Somehow you don’t instill me with fear quite like I expected.” He glared and then reached out and grabbed my hand.
“Based on personal experience,” he panted as he grimly hung onto my hand. “Your hand will start oozing a nice honey substance.”
“Mr. Malfoy, release my hand immediately!” I snarled, tugging my hand from his grip. I could feel my fingers release a gooey mess and watched in horror as our hands melded together into a honey bun.
“Take the hex off and I will, Sunshine,” he said. I ground my teeth and tried a different approach.
“You know that we’ll be stuck here until you release my hand,” I said.
“Then you’d better know that reversal spell,” he replied. Honey started to drip down our arms and into the floor. I glanced around; making sure that the corridor was empty. This would be very…awkward to try to explain away. Well you see Dumbledore, Malfoy and I had a little spat…oh no sir it’s perfectly under control. Yeah, I’d rather not.
“I don’t have to do anything, Mister Malfoy,” I hissed. “Unlike a certain boy, I don’t have curfew.”
“Technically I’m with a professor and therefore excused.”
“Speaking of such, how did explaining last night to Professor McGonagall go?”
“Shut up,” he muttered. We stood there for a long moment in silence wondering how to outdo the other and get this over with. I looked down at our hands. The honey was dripping off our robes and arms up to the elbow. We would both be toast if we stood here all night.
Well, we’d be pastries anyway.
“I’ll cut you a deal.” I said finally. Draco looked up.
“You’ll stop the hex?” he asked hopefully.
“Only on my conditions,” I warned. “First you have to stop referring to me as Sunshine.”
“As long as you stop calling me H.B.” Draco replied. “People are starting to wonder.”
“And you start studying for your tests.” I continued.
“Are you crazy?” Draco sputtered. “Then I’ll be like bloody Granger!”
“And she is doing exemplary in my class.” I retorted. “How would that look that the great and terrible Dark Lord failed his classes?”
“I’m doing that bad?”
“Yes, you are, in fact.”
“Oh.” He thought about it for a moment. In that moment, I reached cautiously into my pocket for my wand. I was going to stun Draco so I could extract myself from his sticky hex. Just when I opened my mouth to say Stupify; but just then Draco’s other hand shot up and grabbed my arm. The spell bounced into of the paintings who grumbled mightily. I glared down at him. Draco grinned.
“Now we are at an impasse, aren’t we?” I said drily.
“So…” Draco began; but he stopped when we heard voices coming down the hall.
“Give up now, Draco.” I said, struggling against the puny grip of the boy in front of me. He held on desperately. I realized that we probably couldn’t let go even if he did release my hand, the honey was too sticky. Why had I thought this was a good idea?
“Stop acting like a greasy git and I will,” he hissed back. The voices grew louder. The two of us watched in dazed silence as The Golden Trio walked into the hall. I barely regained composure. Its quite a feat while being held by a boy who was slowly turning you into a honey bun.
“Mr. Potter, ten points from Gryffindor and get out of this corridor.” I said as calmly as possible. The Threesome backed up and headed in another direction. We both breathed a sigh of relief. Then we heard giggling.
“Deal,” Draco said quickly. I aimed my wand as best as I could and removed the hex. The resulting magic blew us apart and into nearby walls. I hurriedly got up and strode off to my bedroom. I glanced down at my arms. They were normal, well they had five fingers each but I was caked up past my elbows in honey. I was never eating sugar again.
“Gross, gross, gross…” I muttered as I started wringing my sleeves and my arms off.
“Severus! What happened to you?” I turned in dismay. Dumbledore.
“Oh, nothing.” I stumbled over my words. “Just a…a student’s potions went awry. I’m heading back to my quarters to clean up.”
“Oh my,” he said. That was an understatement. “Oh well, carry on then.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said and quickly walked off before he could ask me anymore questions.
----------------------------------------
“Did you see that?” Harry whispered to Hermione and Ron. “That was just weird.”
“And was on their arms?” Hermione asked. “Looked like honey.”
“They obviously weren’t expecting company.” Ron chuckled. Harry frowned.
“Ron, that was unnecessary,” he said.
“Well, what do you expect me to think, Malfoy and Snape alone in a abandoned hallway…” he trailed off.
“Please, Malfoy has much better sense than that,” Hermione said. “Besides, couldn’t you tell that they were in some massive argument.”
“But with honey,” Ron pointed out. “That has to have been the weirdest argument ever.”
“So what were they doing?” Harry asked. The Trio thought about this for a bit.
“I don’t know…” Hermione said. “Professor Snape did look distracted today in class.”
“Not a clue, but I intend to find out,” Ron grinned. “Even if the answer does scar me.”
“Ron!”
Chapter 4: Draco, Tattoo God by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
I don't own Emperor Zhark but I do own his outfitter.
That tattoo hurt. Seriously, seriously, hurt. Hurt in a way that made it practically impossible to concentrate. And in addition to worrying about my aching b- never mind, I also began secreting honey onto everything I touched “ a little problem that could doubtless be put down to Snape. He was mad at me about something. The honey thing started off relatively mildly “ just my quills or wand being a little sticky at the end of a lesson. Then I began leaving great honey-scented handprints on everything I touched, even just for a second. My chairs first began turning into oversized honey buns in Transfiguration, but luckily McGonagall assumed that I had performed a brilliant if misguided bit of transfiguration and gave me twenty points. Flitwick was not so impressed.
I began to fear that soon I would start leaving a trail of honey on the floor behind me wherever I went, like a massive, blond, honey-scented snail. That was the vision that prompted me to confront Snape, a meeting that actually went more pleasantly than I had expected.
“Now I just have to worry about Potter spreading rumors about me. At least Snape had kept his word and took the spell off “ I haven’t oozed any honey for over an hour now,” I said.
Violet nodded sympathetically. “I’m really glad you aren’t oozing honey anymore,” she said. “It would have gotten all over the stock, and that would have been bad. I still don’t understand why Sunshine chose honey buns, though.” I tried to decide whether or not she was serious.
“Er “ I don’t know either,” I said.
“Sunshine has so many issues.” She shook her dazzling blonde head sympathetically. “I need you to unload a few crates that arrived this morning. The crates are marked to show what section they belong in. If you need help finding something, just ask anyone!”
I made my way to the back of the store to the cargo deposit area, where I assumed the crates would be. Sure enough, stacked in the grubby little room were several crates of astonishing size “ they took up most of the room. I sighed and took out my wand.
“Locomotor Crates,” I said. I floated the crates ahead of me into the Men’s Casualwear department, the final destination of the contents of the top crate.
Unloading the crates was boring, but I didn’t know a spell to do it for me. Was this how Muggles felt all the time? How utterly intolerable. To pass the time, I listened to fellow employees helping the customers.
“I would venture to suggest, sir, that sir would do better with an XX large size.”
“All black is so last century. The hand-embroidered tie-dye would really suit your eyes, though.”
“Miss Violet says that I’m not to let you have any more of the velvet-lined ascots on credit.”
“Die, scum!”
“I’m afraid we don’t carry flannel shirts.”
“Cashmere is just the thing for the Dark Lord on the go!”
“Ah, Mr. Voldemort, right this way please.”
Gahhhhh! Oh Merlin, I couldn’t be found here! I crawled through a rack of silk blazers and emerged in the trouser area.
“No, fluttering white dresses are in the ladies section. I’ll send someone to go and get one,” one of Violet’s employees was saying. “Hey, you!” I realized he was addressing me.
“Yes,” I said, rather stiffly.
“You’re the new guy, right?” I nodded. “Go to the ladies formal area and bring an option one and an option four in the Sacrificial Victim dresses. Size small.” He had a pin declaring him an under-manager, so I decided to do what he said.
The Ladies section was on the other side of the floor and what interested me primarily about it was the lack of middle ground; the outfits it sold were composed of either a few cubic centimeters of material or a few cubic decameters. I was pondering whether all women aspired to dress like this or just the evil ones, when I caught sight of a familiar figure approaching me on the left.
“Honey bun!” Violet cried. I turned, gritting my teeth.
“Yes?” I asked.
“Are you done unloading the crates already?”
“No. An under-manager asked me to get some of the Sacrificial Victim dresses for a customer.”
“Which ones, honey bun?”
“Option one and Option four, in a size small.”
“I’ll get them; you go back to the crates. Where was the manager?”
“In the Men’s Casual Trousers area,” I said, scooting thankfully away back to the crate.
“All right then, honey bun.” I winced. I really wished she wouldn’t use that word.
I hovered around the line dividing the Men’s section from the Ladies. Voldemort was in there somewhere, and if he saw me here there would be hell to pay. Literally, I feared. I couldn’t go in there. But if Violet caught me lurking here, apparently dodging work, she’d be pissed, and might fire, and then I would have to ask my dad for money to pay her back, and there would definitely be hell to pay. What to do, what to do…Hesitating only slightly, I turned my back on the Men’s and walked firmly toward the Sacrificial Dress section.
“What is it, honey bun?”
“It’s just “ Voldemort’s here, in the Men’s section.”
“Voldemort?”
“Yes. Client of yours. Absurdly tall, red eyes, face like a snake with constipation?”
“Oh, of course, Voldemort. I call him Sweetie-pie. I forgot he had a fitting scheduled for today, I should probably go check on him. Is he a problem?”
“Well,” I said. “I guess. It’s just that if he sees me here, he’ll probably kill me.”
“He can’t, honey bun. The tattoo repels all that,” she said.
“Well, still. It’ll cause problems. And it’ll totally ruin my surprise attack thing. Does the tattoo repel dementor attacks?”
“What attacks?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Well, I guess I see your point. You can tidy up the fitting room “ Mr. S just left and he always makes such a mess. That’ll keep you out of the way.”
“But I thought Voldemort came here to have a fitting!” I protested. “Won’t he need the fitting room?”
“Different rooms, honey bun. I have several that I keep in z-space on rotation so I don’t have to clean them between every customer. Come on.” She grabbed my robes and strode swiftly across the floor, dragging my behind her.
“What’s z-space?” I asked, trying not to trip over my robes.
“It’s a theoretical space. All the space that could be there but isn’t, because it’s somewhere else. Zharkie make them for me as payment for designing his wardrobe. Now there’s a man who understands the importance of clothes! Nothing but the best for him, and lots of it, too. Here we are.” She opened the door of the fitting room, threw me in, and slammed the door, so I never did get a chance to ask her who Zharkie was. I didn’t mind cleaning the fitting room really, because while I was in there, I thought of the perfect way to get revenge on Sunshine.
My shift ended at nine that night, and I returned to the bathroom near my dorm, which was where I had been when the portkey took me to the shop in the first place, not thinking it would be a good idea to vanish and reappear five hours later in the middle of the Slytherin common room. I stayed in the bathroom to take a shower because, unlike Snape, I think hygiene is important and showering every day is a must.
When I got out of the shower, I stood in front of the mirror to brush my hair. Maybe dyeing it black wasn’t such a good idea, I thought. It looked good this way.
“Malfoy,” a voice drawled. “What the hell is that?”
“What?” I jumped. It was Blaise Zabini and a few of his cronies
“That thing on what for politeness’ sake I shall call your lower back,” he said. I repressed a screech of utter horror. I had forgotten about Violet’s tattoo.
“Er “ it’s nothing,” I said. “Wart got out of control.”
“That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a purple wart,” Zabini said, leading me to remember how much I disliked him and always had, ever since we were 1st years.
“It’s none of your business,” I said, edging carefully towards the rack where I had left my towel, keeping my backside well out of sight. “So just “ oooph!” I had slipped in a puddle and landed face first on the tile floor. I felt like I had broken my jaw.
“It’s a flower!” Zabini yelled. “Merlin, it’s a pansy!”
“No, it isn’t, it’s a violet,” I said, or tried to. It came out sounding like “niisinvertel” and Zabini ignored me completely.
“It’s a symbol of his undying love for Pansy!” he yelled, his voice reverberating around the room. “Someone should tell her!” I was so alarmed by this that I actually picked myself up off the floor and said “Nooofff! Don’tf tellf herf! Pleaffsef!” At least it was intelligible, though there were quite a number of extraneous f’s.
It was too late. Zabini’s cronies had left the bathroom at a sprint, leaving the door open, and I could hear them announcing to everyone in the common room “Draco Malfoy’s got a tattoo of a pansy on his BUTT!” Girls were laughing and screaming. This, I knew would probably be the end of my life, or at least my social life. I cursed Zabini heartily, pulled a towel around myself, and collapsed onto the floor.
Chapter 5: Snape, The Reborn by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
I don't own Herbal Essence but I do owe them thanks.
“You promise to tell me as soon as he gets here?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t let you miss this; it was your idea.”
“Thanks, do you have any idea when he’ll be here?”
“Probably Saturday. Don’t worry; I have it under control.”
“Well, if you’re sure. Bye then.”
“Bye-bye honey bun.”
---------------------
I had to spend my next off day doing laundry duty. Turns out Voldemort actually went to his fitting and got some new robes. Merlin, I hoped I didn’t have to pay for them out of pocket again. I Apparated by Violet’s shop and trudged in.
“Sunshine!” Does that woman have nothing better to do than sit here and wait to make my life miserable? It’s bad enough I’m surrounded by the optimistic employers at work; can’t there be some good old fashioned pessimism on my off days? Apparently it was too much to ask.
“I’ve simple been dying to see you again!” She grabbed my elbow and dragged me back through the building.
“I’m just here for Voldemort’s…er…clothes.” I protested. She looked back at me.
“Of course,” she said. The way she said it reminded me of someone planning my demise. I gulped. She must have seen my apprehension; she smiled brightly and continued the trek. Where we were going was anyone’s guess. She pushed me into an empty room.
“I’ll be right back for the clothes,” she winked at me before she closed the door behind her. I felt a chill go down my back. I heard a tiny click. I whipped out my wand. This was not comfortable. A strange woman with even stranger ideas had locked me into an empty room. I started pacing the floor, part out of anxiety and part for lacking anything better to do. After what felt like forever but a probably four or five minutes, Violet came back. Draco was with her, carrying several rather ominous boxes.
“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t get the boxes and Draco was so good as to get them for me.” Draco set them down dutifully at the door. I still had my wand out and I waved it threateningly. I still smelled foul play. Draco smirked.
“Accio wand,” he said quickly, whipping his wand out from where it had been concealed in his robes. My own wand was whisked from my grasp. I paled and backed away from the pair. Violet advanced.
“Serverus dear,” she crooned, like I was some distraught child. I kept backing away. “Sunshine, honestly, we’re doing this for your own good.”
“No thanks?” I said weakly. Violet got her wand out and made some strange motions around the room. The walls shimmered and reclining chair with a sink appeared behind me. Before I could retaliate, Draco rushed forward and shoved me into the chair.
“Excuse me?!” I struggled to get out of the chair but Violet come over, shaking her finger at me.
“Now, Sunshine, you don’t want to do that. Sit down.” She ordered. I stared at her.
“What,” I asked, “is going on?”
“Relax, Sunshine,” Violet glanced over me. I had seen that look over the years. She was doing an appraisal, seeing what would go well with what. What was Dark Lord material and what wasn’t.
“I didn’t expect you to be so troublesome,” she told me, ignoring my question. “I thought Draco told you about this.”
“Told me about what?” I sputtered. “Draco…”
“He told me that he wanted you as his advisor!” Violet said cheerfully. “That would be just perfect for you. Draco takes care of the public image and you take care of the plotting. It would be perfect. But you do need image help,” she said sadly. “Draco can’t afford you looking like a country bumpkin; you need to look commanding!” At this she waved her wand over me.
“You need to look stunning.” Again the wand waved. I began to understand Draco’s desperation for a mirror when this had happened to him.
“And your hair style has got to go.” She turned on the sink and I realized what she was about to do.
“No! Don’t you dare!” I tried to get up but Draco pushed me back down. It was disconcerting to find that he was a lot stronger than me.
“Look, Sunshine,” Violet started messing with my hair. It scared me more than Lord Voldemort did. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but if you don’t cooperate, I’ll be talking to Tom about this.”
“And what are you going to tell him?” I demanded. “That I refused to let some woman wash my hair?”
“That you’re trying to overthrow him.” She winked at me. “He’ll believe me over you, I sure.”
“Blackmail…” I muttered. Now I was stuck. I was going to kill Draco later.
“Hum?” Violet turned back to me. “Don’t worry, I won’t cut off more that a couple of inches. I like it this length.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“Do you have a preference on shampoo?” she asked. I thought about it. I hadn’t noticed that there even were different kinds of shampoo.
“No…” I began. Draco cut me off.
“Herbal Essences?” he suggested.
“You use that too?” Violet gasped. Draco nodded. “That is like my absolute favorite! I use the Break’s Over, you know, with coco mango?” He grinned.
“Yeah, I like that one,” he said. “My favorite’s the Hello Hydration, with lilac and coconut.”
“Wait, you use girl’s shampoo?” I asked him. “Isn’t that slightly odd?” Draco rolled his eyes.
“I prefer shampoo that actually cleans instead of simply slicking the hair to the head.” He stroked his blonde locks. “I have delicate hair. So Violet, which one are you using?” I was trying to focus on the woman lathering my scalp.
“Drama Clean, with berry tea and orange flower,” she replied. “Isn’t that so Sunshine?”
“Of course.” He smiled down at me, his smile widening when I glared at him.
“Remember Sunshine, we’re doing this for your own good.”
“I think we have a deal about that particular nickname, H.B.” I reminded him. He grimaced.
“Violet, do you need anything?” he asked. She thought about it for a moment.
“I’ll need my bolts of fabric from Room 4C, the cologne set from the middle cabinet and that box of wands in the basement. Can you manage all that?”
“No problem,” he said, walking out of the room.
“We’ll get you fixed up in no time,” she reassured me cheerfully. “Okay, you can sit up now.” Before I could sprint off and damn the consequences, she whipped a long bib-like thing around me, buttoning it in the back.
“What is this?” I demanded. As far as I could tell, there weren’t any sleeves. It made me feel vulnerable.
“It’s to keep the hair I cut from going down your neck and all over your robes,” she said absently. “Honestly, haven’t you ever had a haircut?” I thought about it. The last time I remember getting a haircut was right before I came to Hogwarts. I was eleven. The idiot had clipped my ears and my hair had stuck out in all directions. Not a great first impression with my teachers and my peers, I can tell you. We sat there in silence for a while. It was easier that way; I tried not to focus on the woman who could cut my ear off with the mighty scissors she was wielding.
“I’m back.” Draco was at the door, pulling a large cart with all manner of strange things. I looked over the collection critically.
“Great! Get that box of wands out first will you?” Violet asked. “I’m almost done here.” I looked around for a mirror that I knew I wouldn’t find. Draco smirked at me. Then, he snapped my wand. I was shocked.
“Hey!” I yelled, irritated. I tried to get up; but I almost got scissors in my eyes for my pains. “That was my wand.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Violet said calmly, eyeing her handiwork. Taking the cape off me, she put the scissors down and opened the box. Rows upon rows of wand cases were inside. “What you had was called a stick. Dark Lords and those who work for them do not carry sticks.”
“But it was mine!” I snarled. “You had no right!”
“It was ugly. You had no right defiling my shop with it.” She rummaged in the box and selected a box. “Here, try this one.” She handed me a wand made of ebony. I waved it a bit and to my surprise, it gave off some black and green sparks. It was unusual for the first wand you tried to work.
“See?” Violet said. “Isn’t that one so much better?”
“I still liked mine.” I muttered. Violet smiled at me and helped Draco put the wands up.
"Now let's see," she said. "I guess the next step is your attire."
"What's wrong with it?" I asked warily. I had seen what she had done to other people.
"Everything!" Violet exclaimed. "You have the worst fashion sense in history!”
I was offended. I dress in black - all black. You can't go wrong in all black. So what was she complaining about? Violet looked me over.
"What's your favorite color?" Violet asked me. "And stand up; I can't possibly get measurements with you sitting down." I held my new wand out but Draco snatched it. Damn kid. I stood up, because Draco looked like he might have killed me if I didn't.
So what's your favorite color?" Violet asked again.
“Green.”
Violet threw a measuring tape around my neck and pulled it tight. "Eeergh" I said.
Violet looked me over. "I don't know if green's your color," she said.
Of course it is," I said, thinking that if it wasn't I had wasted most of my life. "Though black is acceptable as well."
"Black makes you look pale," she warned me.
"Good," I said. I would hate to be mistaken for one of those hearty people who run about in the sun and get all tan. Pale makes me look intelligent.
"What do you think we should do for his eyes?" Violet asked Draco.
"Put them out," Draco said. "He doesn't really need them."
"Couldn’t you leave my eyes as they are?" I suggested.
Violet stared at my eyes for a moment.
"We could make them darker," she said. "Like bottomless orbs.”
“If you insist.” I said. I was happy to have eyes at all. I had a feeling Draco wasn’t kidding.
“There.” She rapped me on the forehead and for a moment I was blinded by an intensely bright light.
"And of course you have to have a signature scent!" Violet squealed.
"How about fresh corpse?" I asked.
"Don't be gross, Sunshine," said Violet, rapping me over the head with her wand.
"I'm a potions master," I pointed out. "No one's going to be able to detect another scent"
“That's why you use soap," said Draco. "I know it's a foreign concept to you, but please, make some effort." I glared him. All he did was wave my wand at my face.
"Now Honey bun," Violet admonished. "You need to encourage Sunshine. This is difficult for him." I turned to glare at her. She seemed oblivious. Honestly, what a waste of a good glare. I longed for a couple of first years I could terrify into wetting themselves just by glancing at them.
"Of course," Draco said graciously. "Sorry, Sunshine." I itched to grab him by his long, gross, blonde hair and bang his head against a passing elephant, but of course, I couldn't. For one thing I didn't have a wand. For another, there was a distinct shortage of elephants. But I’m sure Violet had one stored away somewhere.
"Who's paying for this?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"Oh, Honey bun is paying," said Violet, "he's using his employee discount. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?"
"Sweet as honey," I said. Draco grimaced
"What do you think?" Violet swept her hands over me.
"Needs cologne," Draco pointed out.
"I'm still here you know," I said.
“Yes, do be quiet," said Draco.
"What scent?" Violet asked, perusing through her selection.
"How about 'Candies for men'?" Draco said
"No," I said. "Absolutely no."
"He needs something more sinister," Violet mused. I relaxed slightly. Sinister was more my style. She looked through her stash, bottles of all sorts of shapes and colors. I imagined the tray falling and all those lovely glass bottles crashing to the floor. The resulting smell would be overpowering.
“This one’s perfect.” I was squirted with an amber liquid.
“What was that?” I asked.
“The less you know; the less you can complain,” Violet informed me. “You’re done. I think this was one of my greatest accomplishments.”
“Why?” I demanded.
“Because for so long I feared you were a lost cause,” Violet patted me on the cheek. “I’ll go get a mirror. Draco, pick up all this stuff and take it next door would you?” She and Draco left me alone in the room I was coming considering my private hell. Wandless, my chances of escape were slim and I wouldn’t be able to change whatever Violet did to me. I’d have to wait. I hate waiting. Draco’s days were numbered, that was certain. Rules or no rules, I was going to kill him, and string up his limp body in the dining hall. He deserved it. The door opened.
“Hey Sunshine!” Violet came back in with Draco, who was carrying a full-length mirror. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I muttered, unwilling to give away how desperate I was to see my own reflection. Most days I avoid it. Draco was about to turn the mirror around, but Violet put out her hand.
“Wait a second, Honey bun,” she said. Turning to me, she placed her hand on my shoulder.
“I want to warn you first,” she explained. “You’re going to look different and I want you to promise that you’re not going to break the mirror.”
“I will not break the mirror.” I reassured her.
“And you won’t try to change anything about your appearance for 24 hours.”
“Are you crazy?” I yelled, stepping back. “I have to teach tomorrow! People will see me!”
“That’s usually the point,” Violet said condescendingly. I resisted the urge to growl and stomp out of the room. Violet was probably capable of hexing every mirror I’d look into.
“Can I ask for change?” I asked weakly. She nodded, and smiled.
“Fine,” I muttered and Draco set the mirror down and flipped it around.
I looked at the man in the mirror. I assumed it was me, because when I ran my fingers through my hair, the figure did the same. I half expected him to wave and wink. It would have made me feel better at rate. I was now in some black trench coat /turtleneck getup that though assuredly would pass for ‘cool’ was not up to my standards of menacing teacher. I did, however, approve of the boots.
My face was smoother and less haggard than when I had saw it last, and if I had thought my eyes were black before, I was wrong. They went beyond black, edging nearer on bottomless pits of pitiless evil. It was neat effect. I’d like to see Potter stare me down now.
If I was keeping this, I mean. I smirked, and even though I knew it was my face, it was still disturbing. I could definitely use that.
“So Sunshine,” Violet asked cheerily. “What do you think?” I opened my mouth to issue some snide comment, but reconsidered. Would I want to change back?
“Fine,” I muttered. “But the nose has got to go.” Violet frowned.
“Completely or just change it back?” she asked.
“No!” Both Draco and I said. We glared at each other.
“Not completely gone,” Draco said. “I refuse to work with a Voldemort look-a-like.” Violet looked affronted.
“I would never make someone look like him,” she declared. We just looked at her. “He did that himself, okay? Without professional advice!”
“The nose is fine,” I said hastily. On second thought, I didn’t want her to touch it. “By the way, what time is it?” Violet shrugged.
“Probably around four-ish. Why?”
“Because I’m going to be late,” I said dryly. “Voldemort doesn’t take kindly to tardiness.”
“Don’t worry, I already sent his garments to him yesterday,” She said. “I wanted to make sure we had time to get everything accomplished with you.”
“Right,” I said. So if she could just send to Voldemort, why had I been getting his purchases for the last two years? I wasn’t going even start to think about the implications of that.
“Now,” Violet said, rubbing her hands together. “I’ve got to teach you how to keep up this image.”
“What?” I asked.
“First, shower,” Violet continued
“With shampoo and conditioner,” Draco threw in.
“Thank you, honey bun. After that, shave…”
“And put on clean robes,” Draco interrupted again. Violet frowned.
“Actually, I never want to see you in robes again,” she said. “They’re not flattering to your figure. We’ll have to get you a couple more like this set.”
“Didn’t we get a new shipment of trench coats?” Draco said.
“That’s all well and good, but I really got to get back,” I interrupted. “Dumbledore will get suspicious.”
“Then wait right here,” Violet told me. “Come on, Draco.” She left the room, taking Draco and my new wand. I was never getting out of this place.
Chapter 6: Draco, Seriously Harassed by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
I don't own Draco but that tattoo is mine
“Draco!” the dreaded voice came from the far end of the hall, freezing my blood and giving me a severe case of what I can only describe as the screaming heebie-jeebies. Escape was my new top priority; for I feared I would not survive a direct engagement with the opponent.
I ducked around a corner and wedged myself behind a statue of Boris the Bewildered, pulling myself in so as to take up as little space as possible. Pansy rounded the corner, her head turning this way and that as she scanned the hallway for me. I crouched to the floor silently.
“I could have sworn I saw him,” she muttered, and, much to my relief, walked on. I remained frozen in place for several seconds to ensure that she was truly gone, then stood and eased myself out from behind the statue. I blew out a long sigh of relief and leaned back against Boris.
Pansy had been impossible since the Tattoo Incident (all thanks due, you remember, to that fiend in sub-human form, Blaise Zabini, may-he-be-boiled-in-blackberry-jam-and-left-on-the-top-shelf-of-a-cupboard-to-gather-dustbunnies-for-all-eternity). Pansy, never one of the world’s deep thinkers, had accepted the afore-mentioned fiend’s words about my eternal love for her at face value. Now she pursued me from class to class, trying ceaselessly to catch me alone so she could declare her undying love for me and, probably, start planning the wedding. Already I had been caught once, but that had been the day before yesterday, when I was young and foolish and unskilled in the art of eluding girls. The conversation had gone basically like this:
“Draco! My heart! My life! My reason for being! My strong, stunning, blonde SAVIOR!”
“Er, hello.”
“I love you, Draco; if love is the word. For my part, I think love cannot truly capture the soul-plumbing, heart-throbbing depths of my feelings. You are everything to me.”
“Oh, Merlin, is that the time? I should have been in bed hours ago! Good night, Pansy.”
But it’s only half-past seven.”
Exactly! Far too late. Bye!”
And after that I have so far managed to avoid coming face to face with the girl, praise Merlin. I just wish I could say the same about Snape. The man had been swooping about the halls seemingly without rest since we had returned from Violet’s. Of course, it’s normal for Snape to swoop about the halls, its just that before this he always looked like a half-dead vampire bat who the cat had brought in after spending a few years playing with out in the local dump. He still looked like a vampire bat, but now it was a sleek and well-groomed vampire bat who had spent the night at an elite club for gentleman bats and has just got time to grab a few z’s before flying off to meet with Dracula about an underwear endorsement. In short, the git was showing off his new look. He had noticed that many female students (and, sadly, some of the male ones) had suddenly developed a tendency to pay strict attention when he lectured and trail about behind him when the saw him in the hallways. A surprising number had asked for private tutoring. The thing that really pissed me off, though, was that he still found time to harass me. You’d think he’d be grateful, but clearly in Snape’s book the end did not justify the means. He was out for blood.
“Mr. Malfoy,” I jumped. Speak of the devil and he shall appear indeed. The bat himself had slunk around the corner and was now glaring at me with malevolent pleasure evident in his eyes.
“What?” I asked sullenly.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Mr. Malfoy. And kindly remove yourself from that statue. It is very old and extremely valuable and delicate. If you have damaged it in anyway you will be responsible for repaying the school.”
“Shut up, Sunshine,” I said. “You know it’s not broken, and if it was, I could fix it.”
“Now, now, Malfoy. We would not like to suffer a relapse of the mysterious condition that cause you to secrete honey everywhere you went, would we?”
I grumbled something.
“And remember that your essay is due today. I trust you will be receiving an Outstanding grade?”
I grumbled something further.
“Apparently you do not have confidence in your work. Get along to the library and polish it up.” He swept off, his black robes swirling dramatically. I could have bit him.
I didn’t go to the library, as for all I knew Pansy could have been lurking in there, ready to leap upon the Malfoy chest at the slightest provocation. I went back to the Slytherin common room and sulked in the dorm until it was time for my next class.
“Pass your essays along the rows,” said Snape. “I will collect them at the front.” I handed my essay to Crabbe, seated in front of me, and tried to ignore the passionate look Pansy shot at me from two rows to the left. Did this, I wondered, constitute sexual harassment?
Snape placed the stack of essays on his desk and moved behind the lectern, where he began to drone on about something or other. I ignored him, that being about all the revenge I was in a position to take. There were risks “ he might have decided to call on me without warning and reveal that I hadn’t a clue what he going on about, but he didn’t. I think he was afraid that I would call him Sunshine in the middle of class. Considering my mood, I might have.
The lesson ended after an interminable wait. Swinging my bag onto my back, I rubbed the strap against the tattoo on my inner forearm. It was sore and painful. Great, on top of everything else, there was a Death Eater meeting tonight. I, of course, had made no progress on the killing-Dumbledore thing, so old red-oculars would have a field day raking me over the hot snake-scales for this.
Same grave time, same grave place. The familiar vista of the graveyard popped into place as I Apparated. Shooting a dirty look at the marble angel that had smacked me over the head the last time I had been here, I went to take my place in the circle. The big V himself Apparated into our midst in a column of mist. It dispersed and drifted around at head-height, making us all even more uncomfortable that we were already. When I’m the Dark Lord, I thought, I’ll hold meeting in nice dry conference rooms in hotels. I’d provide complementary donuts too. Also Christmas bonuses, health insurance, and retirement packages. I’d hire some decent-looking girls, too. Someone blonde and cheerful, but efficient…
“Draco!” I jumped back to reality. I was alone in a graveyard with Voldemort in the dead of night. Always a slightly uncomfortable situation.
“Yes, my lord?” I asked.
“About your little assignment, Draco, tell me about your progress.” I shifted nervously and mentally prepared some serious bullshit.
“I have investigated routes into and out of the castle, my lord,” I said.
“Don’t waste my time, Draco. We all know there is no way to sneak anyone into Hogwarts, not so long as That Fool is there, anyway.”
“I’m not so sure, my lord. There is in the castle a vanishing cabinet. Its mate is not present. If the other half of the pair is discovered, it could be used as a route into Hogwarts.”
“Hmmm,” said Voldemort. It was disturbing to discover that he could hmmm sinisterly. “And you have ideas of where this mate might be.”
“I do, my lord,” I said, lying my little head off.
“In that case,” he said. “You have made progress, Draco; but you must move more quickly now. I will expect to hear from you in four days.”
“Yes, my lord,” I said bowing deeply, barely concealing my relief.
“You are dismissed,” he said. I apparated immediately, not waiting for him to discover, in whatever mysterious way he uses, that everything I had just told him about the Vanishing Cabinet had been the hottest rumor in Slytherin House last year after that thing with Montague and the toilet.
I pushed a first year out of an armchair by the fire in the Slytherin Common Room and sat down to mentally tally up my problems.
Voldemort is pressuring me to kill Dumbledore
But I don’t know how to kill Dumbledore, nor do I very much want to just now.
I’m supposed to be overthrowing Voldemort and I haven’t got a clue how to start.
Oh, wait, what about those Horcrux things my father told me about? He told me that Dumbledore says that there are six Horcruxes, each one containing a piece of Voldemort’s soul, and all six must be destroyed before the Fearless Leader can be destroyed.
This is just a side note, but it’s really pathetic that powerful Death Eaters have to rely on penetrating the enemy’s intelligence so they can find out about their own leader.
Anyway, Horcruxes: the diary Potter destroyed back in second year, the ring that Dumbledore destroyed, Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, something that used to be Ravenclaw’s, something that used to be Gryffindor’s, and one that nobody knows about, or that’s what Dad said.
There’s no way I can destroy all those. I don’t even know where they are, and even if I did, I couldn’t get to them.
Back to my other problems, I’m apparently failing my Defense of Dark Arts class.
Pansy thinks I’m in love with her.
There was really only one thing a man of action could do: go see Snape.
Chapter 7: Snape, The Psychiatrist by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Sorry this was so long in coming, I'll post quicker I promise!
Thanks a ton to our Beta, cto10121!
I grimaced. This Draco thing was escalating far too quickly to be dealt with rationally. Draco looked small and pale compared the problem in front of us.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asked miserably. “I mean, I’ll probably kill Dumbledore in the end, but I’d rather do it on my own terms.”
“I don’t know why you’re bringing your problems to me,” I snapped, annoyed. What you’ve agreed to do is not my responsibility.”
“But you made that Unbreakable Vow!” Draco protested. “You’re supposed to be my advisor! I need help; I don’t know what I’m doing!” He sighed, helplessly. “And I still haven’t gotten Pansy to leave me alone.”
I worked hard to force my grin into a smirk. “Well, Mr. Malfoy,” I began. “I would recommend telling the truth to Miss Parkinson…”
“I don’t want to get near her!” Draco protested.
“In that case, a nice hex would be appropriate, wouldn’t it?” I suggested, smirking slyly. “A Langlock ought to do it.”
“What’s Langlock?” Draco asked, curiously. I pulled out my wand.
“I can show you.” He jerked up and scrambled out of his chair.
“NO! No thanks.”
“Anyway, that’s a minor problem compared to Voldemort.” I said, putting my wand back in my pocket. “We need to deal with him first.”
“We could go to Violet’s,” Draco suggested. Sitting back down, he added, “I bet she knows a lot of information we could use against him.”
“Draco, this isn’t some girl you can make cry by bringing up their dark and dirty past,” I warned him. “This is a Dark Lord who killed many, many people and has no problem adding you and me to the statistics.”
“We should still go talk to Violet,” he insisted. “She’ll be able to help us.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “Let me change and we’ll Apparate.”
“Why do you…oh,” Draco, grinned, in understanding. I glared at him. I didn’t like to be reminded of the fact that Violet was in charge of my wardrobe. She had excellent taste, but it was the principle of the thing. A woman was in charge of my appearance; that was just wrong.
“Mr. Malfoy, if you have any dwindling hope of surviving the next two weeks, I would recommend for you to keep on my good side. And by the way, your essay was simply unacceptable.” Draco bowed theatrically as I got up and walked to the door of my office.
“My humble apologies for the stress my actions have placed upon you, I beg for forgiveness.”
“If it wouldn’t cause my immediate death by at least three extremely powerful people, I would kill you where you stand,” I growled and slammed the door in his face.
Ten mintues later, we were standing where this whole mess had started, in the waiting room of my private hell. Even those te place was fairly crowded, Violet rushed to meet us. Of course, Violet drops everything to help her “Project,” and of course, she’ll tell us everything we need to defeat Lord Voldemort. So much for customer privacy.
“So what do you need to know?” Violet asked Draco as she led us to an empty room. How many rooms does Violet’s shop have, anyway? It seemed like we were always in a different one everytime. Draco shrugged and looked around in case he saw Voldemort or something. I doubt that our Dark Lord woud spend anymore time than necessary in this cheerful place.
“We need to know about Horcruxes,” Draco said once we were in the safety of a quiet room. “Voldemort has seven and we need to….” Violet frowned at him.
“Tom made seven of those nasty things?” she asked sitting down in a chair. We followed her example. “Are you sure?”
“Well, that’s how many Dumbledore said were made,” I replied. “Why, are there more?” She shook her head.
“That’s too many,” she said. “He only made three.”
“Three?” I repeated in disbelief. After all this time, Dumbledore was wrong? Incredible.
“Three. I told Tom that if he made any more, they’d distort his features. They’re bad for the complexion, too.”
“What about that locket?” I asked. “Dumbledore was sure Voldemort created a Horcrux out of it.”
“That was the first one he tried,” Violet said. “He screwed up the spell somehow and it didn’t take. The only real Horcruxes are that diary of his, the ring, and Rowena’s tombstone.”
“What?” I almost shouted. That meant our job was over half done. “Did you say tombstone?” I asked, in a lower voice. She nodded.
“Of course, why do you think you have all the Death Eater meetings in the graveyard? He’s making sure that Horcrux is safe.”
“He hasn’t made anymore?” Draco asked.
“No, why bother? People won’t come after him until they think he’s mortal again. They’ll search forever and never find the last three because there are no more.”
“Why the tombstone?” I questioned.
“Rowena was paranoid about her possessions,” Violet explained. “Just before her death she had all her possessions burned or destroyed. And using anything of Godric’s would be disgusting for a true Slytherin.”
“So all we have to do is go to the graveyard, crumble a tombstone, and he’s vulnerable?” I asked in disbelief. This seemed too easy after all the years of spying and tiptoeing and reporting all sorts of nasty rumours. It didn't seem like him. But of course, if Violet had insisted, he probably didn't stand a chance.
“It’s a big tombstone,” Violet said, spreading her arms wide for emphasis. “More like a monument. It’s Rowena Ravenclaw we’re talking about. She’s important.”
“Is she buried there?” Draco asked, curious. Violet shrugged.
“I don’t know; she died in the eleventh century. It’s a little before my time. But enough about that.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a pad of paper. “We’ve got to get you ready for your takeover.”
“Takeover?” Draco wailed. “I haven’t killed Voldemort yet!”
“That’s the easy part,” Violet said. “You’ve got to manage to keep those Death Eaters from stabbing you in the back. You’ve got to make service attractive.”
“Nicer meetings,” I said. “With more atmosphere.”
“And better benefits,” Violet put in. “Honestly, I’m surprised anyone would go with Tom. It’s worse being a Death Eater that not being one.” We both looked at her.
“It has life insurance,” I said dryly. “That’s important to me.”
“But that’s not even guaranteed,” Violet protested.
“They pay for your funeral,” I objected.
“If they find any body to have a funeral with. It’s probably been brutally dismembered, ripped to shreds, burn to ash, exploded, or that one time when he turned that…” Violet looked over at Draco.
“Is he too young for that story, Sunshine?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Anyway, Tom has absolutely no concept of MO,” Violet said.
“What’s MO?” Draco asked, confused.
“Modus operandi.”
“And what’s that?” Draco asked, still peeved about being called young. “I don’t speak foreign.”
“It’s Latin. What do they teach kids these days?” Violet asked, to nobody in particular.
“Oh, you know, Potions, Defence of Dark Arts, basically nothing useful,” I replied.
“Never mind. Back on topic.”
“So, where should we have Death Eater meetings?” Draco asked. Violet shook her head. Honestly, I sometimes wondered if she was really taking over Voldemort and we were both just pawns. It felt like it sometimes.
“The first thing that has to go is the ‘Death Eater,’ it’s so last year.” Draco opened his mouth to protest but was cut off. “It’s okay for now, but both of you are going to have to work on that name. That’s homework.”
Great, I’m being assigned homework by a… what do you call Violet? A fashionista? A psychotic megalomaniac? Both?
“Now, the meetings. Sunshine, do you know of any places that would be good for this?” Violet asked. I thought for a moment.
“Not at the moment, it’s I don’t think about all the time,” I said.
“How long do we have until your next Death Eater meeting?” Violet asked. I shrugged.
“I don’t know, we aren’t usually informed about these things until the day it happens,” I explained. Violet frowned.
“Honey Bun, you will definitely need to bring your followers under some semblance of order. Uncertainty leaves room for doubt. Doubt leads to dissension, and dissension will get you overthrown.” She smiled, encouragingly. You two are going to do marvelously. Just come up with that name and where you’re going to meet, and the next time you have a Death Eater meeting…” She drew a manicured nail over her throat. The action itself wasn’t as scary as the fact that Draco was the one going to be doing this killing.
Chapter 8: Draco, Nervous Nelly by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Thanks eternally to my beta, you are my hero.
I settled into a chair in Snape’s office, a place rapidly becoming my home away from home.
“Draco’s dangerous dare-devils?” I suggested. Snape snorted.
“How about ‘Draco’s dangerously dull dimwits'?” he said. I scowled at him.
“It was just my first thought,” I said defensively.
“What, this is the first time you’ve ever thought? That would explain a lot about you.”
“For this I’m skipping breakfast?” I grumbled.
“For this I’m missing sleep?” he countered. “The Freedom Fighters'?”
“'The Secret Rulers of the World'?”
“'The Party'?”
“'Harry Potter’s Bane'?”
“'Dumbledore’s Bane'?”
“'The Bane of England'?”
“'The Conquerors'?”
“'Draco’s Purebloods'?”
“'The Last Chance'?”
“That sounds like a pub. 'Prince Charming and the Fearsome Purebloods'?”
“That sounds like a band from the fifties, Draco.”
“Yours are just as bad.”
“No, not quite.”
“Hello? Sunshine? Honey bun? Can you two hear me?” The voice came from behind me.
I screamed and jumped, twisting around in my chair as I did so. Violet’s head was sitting in Snape’s fire. Her long hair flowed out of the grate and pooled onto the hearth.
“Can you hear me?” she repeated. Snape cleared his throat.
“Yes, we can hear you. Is there something you want?”
“I just had to tell you!” Violet chirped. “I found the perfect place for your meetings! It’ll need some work, but when I’ve gotten through with it, it’ll be to die for!”
“I thought we would just meet at The Hogshead,” Snape said.
“The Hogshead?” I said, “No way! That place is gross! I was thinking that trendy new cafe in Knockturn Alley...”
“But everyone meets in the Hogshead,” Snape argued. “It’s traditional.”
“Neither of those places has the right atmosphere,” Violet said dismissively. “You want something more exclusive, something with a bit more class.”
“And you have something?” I asked, rather skeptically.
“Not just something,” Violet said. “I have it.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Well, right now it’s nothing. It used to be a London gentlemen’s club-,”
I coughed and choked. “A gentlemen’s club? You think we should meet in a gentlemen’s club?” Violet scowled. “That’s not what it means! God, your mind is so dirty! A gentlemen’s club in a more old-fashioned sense. Gentlemen would go there after dinner or during the day just to hang out, read the paper, play pool, and eat lunch. It was big in the twenties. They were very expensive and exclusive. It needs re-decorating, but that’s not a problem. You want to see it?”
“Not now,” I said. “I have class in half an hour and McGonagall will skin me if I skip. Tonight, around eight?”
Violet brightened. “Okay, I can have it decorated by then. Meet Sunshine here at eight and I’ll bring you to the place. Remember to think up a name. Bye!” Her head popped out of existence. I looked at Snape.
“Do you ever get the feeling that Violet is the one who’s in charge here?” I asked. He nodded grimly.
“Anyway, I’m going to go and get breakfast before it’s gone,” I said. “See you later.” I exited his office and went to meet Crabbe and Goyle in the Great Hall.
I took a seat beside Goyle.
“Pass the toast,” I said.
“Draco!” Oh, damn. I had forgotten about Pansy.
“Draco my love, come sit by me!” she called, smiling in what was probably meant to be inviting but was mostly just scary. I braced myself. This had gone on for far too long.
“Pansy,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“Talk? Talking is boring. We can do so much more than just talk, lover boy.” She smirked. Ugh. Which was worse, I wondered, lover boy or honey bun? Probably honey bun, but that was all academic at the moment.
“Pansy, you know that tattoo?”
“Not personally, but I would very much like to,” she said.
“It’s not a tattoo of a pansy. It’s a violet. And I’m not in love with you.”
“What?” she cried.
“I’m not in love with you,” I repeated. “And I don’t want to date you or anything. Sorry.” Pansy gaped at me for a moment, eyes growing wider and wetter with every second that passed.
“I c-can’t believe you,” she gasped. Then she burst into tears and sprinted out of the hall, absolutely howling. The Slytherin table sat in respectful silence for a moment.
“It’s the passing of an era,” said Terence Higgs, sitting across from me. “That was pretty harsh, man.”
I shrugged. It had been harsh, but I couldn’t think if an easier way to let her down. At least this way it was completely over, and I could revenge myself on Blaise Zabini at my leisure.
“Pass the bacon,” I said.
The doorway was tucked beneath an impressive stone arch. I rather liked it.
“Once you’ve worked out what your name is, you can have it engraved on the arch,” Violet said. “Speaking of which, have you two got any ideas about that?”
I shot a glance at Snape. “No,” I said.
“You need to get to work,” Violet said. She opened the door with a wave of her hand, revealing a lobby-type area. I got a blurred impression of dark wood and deep red velvet, but couldn’t look properly because Violet shooed the two of us through into the vast main room.
The floor was silver-grey. The furniture was low, modern, comfortable, and mostly black, with some silver accents. Although the decoration was dark, the room was very open because the ceiling arched high and was made of tinted glass supported by thin steel struts. One wall was taken up with a large fireplace in which a blue fire was burning. Through the archway in the far wall, another room, perhaps a dining room, could be seen. The real eye catcher, though, was the wall on my right, which was one vast aquarium populated with dark green plants and black fish with gracefully trailing fins. An unusually tall grandfather clock stood in a corner, black wood with intricate carvings and whorled spires. The elegant silver hands ticked ominously.
“Nice,” I said. I was inwardly calculating the bill for all this and wincing. I would be working for Violet until the day I died at this rate.
“It will do,” Snape sniffed.
“About the bill,” I began, but Snape cut in.
“Look at it this way,” he said. “If you manage to overthrow Voldemort, then you’ll have all the money you could want. If you don’t manage to, it won’t matter. So in a few days, you’ll either be fabulously wealthy or dead.”
He was right. I grimaced, but said nothing.
“The ceiling’s reversible,” Violet enthused, “Look, you just point your wand up and say Ateralux.”
I craned my neck upward and watched the dark tint fade and disappear, leaving clear glass. Warm light from the setting sun drifted into the room.
“Nice,” I repeated. “Sinisterly peaceful.”
“The aquarium goes through to the dining room,” Violet said. “I arranged the table so you can look at it while you eat. Library, billiard room, and the small parlour are on the left; rooms for members are back through the lobby on the right.
She took us on a tour of the place; all decorated in much the same style as the main room, with minor variations. At last, we returned to Violet’s masterpiece where, to my horror, the menacing grandfather clock claimed it was eight forty-five.
“I have to get back,” I said. “I have detention with McGonagall in ten minutes.”
“What did you do?” Snape asked.
“Don’t ask,” I said. It had involved Potter, Crabbe, and a rather large spider. Yes, it was immature. Hey, even dark lords have to relax sometimes.
“I’ll send you back in a sec,” Violet said brightly. “When are you two planning to destroy Ravenclaw’s tombstone?” I exchanged a glance with Snape. I hadn’t thought about it at all, and judging by his expressing, neither had he.
“Before I kill Voldemort, I guess,” I said.
“What, at the beginning of the meeting? Right under his nose?”
“Ye-es,” I said slowly, trying to gauge whether or not this would be a good answer by her expression. It was a game I often played in Charms. This time I lost.
“I don’t think that would work out very well, Honey bun,” she said. “You should destroy it first, and create an illusion until you’re ready to depose him. He might try to stop you if he sees you beginning to destroy part of his soul.”
“But won’t he know?” I asked. “I mean, can’t he feel it when one is destroyed?”
“I don’t think so,” Snape said. “I don’t think he knows yet that Dumbledore destroyed the ring. Possibly being stripped of your body, reduced to a wisp of vapour, and reincarnated thirteen years later has a numbing effect on the soul.”
“When should we do it?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” Snape said. “I hear there’s going to be a meeting the day after that. So you can depose Voldemort the day after tomorrow and be the Dark Lord by Saturday.”
“Tomorrow,” I sighed. “I can just fit it in between writing Sprout’s essay and my next detention with McGonagall.”
“Why do you write essays for Sprout and not for me?” Snape asked sulkily.
“Because once I didn’t turn one in, and she gave me detention and made me bottle five pints of undiluted bubotuber pus.”
I had never been to the graveyard except at a DE meeting. I didn’t even know really where it was.
“What if he’s got protections on it?” I asked Snape. “I mean, do you really think he’s going to leave one third of his soul stuck in a lump of rock out in the middle of nowhere with nothing to guard it?
“Yes,” said Snape. “Protections would be far more trouble than they’re worth. Experienced wizards can sense spells on things, it would attract attention from the Death Eaters. It’ll be unprotected. He’s relying on no one knowing or guessing.”
“If you say so,” I said. “Do you have what we need?”
“Yes.” He hefted a bag that jangled and clanked.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go, then.”
We Apparated together to the graveyard, trying to Apparate quietly, if such a thing were possible.
I appeared on the stretch of bare ground where we usually gathered, Snape a few feet to my left. We stood and surveyed the labyrinth of tombstones and monuments that surrounded us on all sides, backlit by the setting sun. For a moment neither of us spoke. I wasted a few moments trying to count the graves, and then gave up.
“Where the hell is it?” Snape asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Violet said it was big, right? And old?”
“Yes,” Snape said.
“Then it’ll probably be towards the back, with the other old graves,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said icily, “But which way’s back?”
I groaned. It was cold and damp here in this graveyard, although we were well into April. My nose was running, and even when we got back to the nice warm castle, I still had detention with McGonagall to enjoy. I wanted to get this over with quickly. But he had a point “ there was no way of knowing which side of the cemetery was the oldest.
“You go along the north and east sides,” I said. “I’ll go south and west. Send a messenger if you find it.” I swung on my heel and strode off to the south without waiting for an answer. My cloak swished around my feet and I could feel it floating behind me, supported by a convenient wind. It was probably a very dramatic exit, but I ruined it by tripping over a low tombstone and falling flat on my face. I cursed softly.
“Nice move, HB,” Snape said. I heard his quiet footsteps move off in the opposite direction. I got wearily to my feet.
“Lumos,” I whispered. My wand flared to light as the sun sank below the horizon. I raised it high so I could examine the monuments, but none of them looked very big.
They continued to not look big all the way to the southern end of the graveyard, so I concluded that the old graves were all at the other end of the cemetery, where I had sent Snape. Good, that way he could do all the work.
Something struck my back. I jumped and whirled around, clutching my wand in front of me, thoughts of Voldemort pounding through my head. I saw no one.
“Who’s there?” I whispered.
It struck my shoulder. I looked down slowly, afraid of what I might see.
But it was only a rock, glowing slightly and hovering level with my shoulder. I relaxed. This was obviously Snape’s messenger.
“What is it?” I asked. The rock did not respond, which shouldn’t have surprised me but sort of did. Instead it drifted out in front of me and hovered some more.
“Do I follow you?” I asked. The rock glowed briefly in the gloom. I must have said the right thing.
“All right then,” I said. “Lead on.”
The rock took me back the way I had come, through the meeting area and northward, where the tombstones and monuments grew steadily larger. And creepier, many of them featuring many-headed dragons and triple-tongued snakes. Honestly, if any of my descendants tried to have one of those put on my grave, I’d probably have to come back from the dead and throttle them.
The rock stopped at the extreme northern end of the cemetery, where the gravestones gave way to forest. Snape was standing at the base of the largest one I had seen yet, a marble statue of an angel doing battle with a demon. The angel was female and she was hitting the demon over the head with a hefty book. Deeply carved into the marble beneath this scene was the name ‘Rowena Ravenclaw'. This, then, was Voldemort’s last Horcrux.
Snape didn’t speak, but reached deep into the sack he still held and withdrew two hammers. One he handed to me, the other he kept for himself. The hammers, I knew, had spells for strength and force on them.
“One,” Snape whispered, holding up one long, pale, finger in the gloom.
“Two.” The second finger. I raised my hammer behind my shoulder.
“Three.” I scrunched my eyes shut and swung the hammer with all my strength. Snape was doing the same, our hammers creating matching hisses as they passed through the air.
The impact of the magic hammers with the third Horcrux sent me flying backwards until I struck a statue of an angel with arms upraised. A rain of stone particles hit my face and I raised my arm to ward them off. When I at last dared to lower the arm and glance cautiously towards the final resting-place of Ravenclaw, the monument was almost completely destroyed. Only the figure of the angel, now minus its left hand, remained. I watched as a thin fissure pushed through the marble, like watching a crack move through ice, till the statue collapsed into a pile of dust. Snape, half-lying, half sitting on a dry fountain several yards to my right, wolf-whistled.
“All right then,” I said, after the pressure of the silence grew too much, “old snake-face is vulnerable.”
“If Violet is correct,” Snape said dryly.
“She is,” I said.
Chapter 9: Snape, The Insomniac by FinalCow
A very wild-eyed Draco burst into my office screaming something about a tombstone. I picked my head up from the desk and hoped I didn’t have ink on my face. I must have fallen asleep while grading essays. Small wonder, they were awful. Draco was ranting about something, I guessed. I didn’t really hear the individual words, but he sounded panicked. He came over to the desk and leaning in, placing his palms on the papers in front of me.
“Did you hear me, Snape?” he shouted in my ear. Well, I could hear him now. “Voldemort’s going to find out about the crushed tombstone! We are going to be killed!” So that’s what’s he worried about. I yawned and stretched, and then looked at him with startled eyes. If he was going go around screaming, I give him something to really worry about.
“I forgot entirely about that!” I bemoaned. I put my head in my hands. “And Voldemort goes to the graveyard every night. Our plan is ruined.”
“WHAT!?” Draco leapt back.
“We’ve failed.” I slumped in my seat. “But I’ll Apparate to Violet’s to see if she has a contingency plan.”
“He’ll murder me,” Draco moaned. “I know it. He’ll find it was us and we’ll be dead.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “He’ll be able to tell who it was by magical residue.”
“Should we run?” Draco asked hopefully. I shook my head.
“And have Dumbledore and Voldemort after us? No, we have to stay here.” I glanced at the clock. “Draco, you’ve got to get to class. We can talk about this later.”
“Are you kidding me?” he yelled. I stood up and gathered papers.
“Bye Draco.”
“Yeah, see you in the afterlife,” he said miserably. With that, he turned and slumped out the door. Good. That should significantly deflate his ego. Stupid boy, to even think I would forget something that important.
Well, actually, I had. I had gotten a cheery message at two this morning; just after we had gotten in and I had fallen asleep. Violet’s head had popped up in my fireplace.
“Hello? Sunshine! Wake up!” she had yelled at my prone form. “You need to get to that graveyard IMMEDIATELY!” Why? To fix an illusion on that dumb massive piece of rock. Oh, yeah and while I was at it; if I would be a dear and clean up the rock remains all over the area, “I’m sure dear Honey Bun didn’t mean to forget,” that would be just peachy.
So at three thirty I got back and graded papers from second years until the ink and words ran together and I was going cross-eyed with the effort. I was not running on much sleep. I usually don’t need much, but all this taking over the Dark Lord position and dealing with a Malfoy for longer than I’d like to see him let alone talk to him.
True, he wasn’t as bad as his father, but he was borderline right now. Someday I’d have to ask Draco if he’d bleached his hair.
It was hard not to laugh at the paranoid blonde. Draco jumped at every sound and I thought he was going to die of fright when The Golden Trio accidentally walked up behind him. In DADA class, Draco was stumbling around hazardously waving his wand around and all together looking like Voldemort was about to pounce on him at any second. I can’t say I felt compassion for him, but I didn’t want him to wet his pants in the middle of class. Once all the duelling was going on around me, I called Draco up to my desk.
“Have you found out anything?” he asked me.
“About?” I prompted. He rolled his eyes and then looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Nothing like a death threat to make you paranoid.
“You know, the tombstone?” he whispered. “You said you’d talk to Violet.”
“Oh that?” I said nonchalantly. “I dealt with that late last night. I forgot about it this morning. We’re fine; no one knows a thing.”
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Draco all but screamed. Everyone look toward the desk. I glared at them and murmuring, they returned to zapping each other with minor hexes.
“I should give you a detention for that, but seeing that you are under a lot of stress I’ll let it fly this time.”
“You knew the whole time?” he said. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“We’ll go to Violet’s after your classes,” I continued, ignoring him. “I have a feeling we’ll have a meeting tonight.”
“How do you know?” Draco asked. I raised an eyebrow.
“When you’ve been a Death Eater as long as I have; you just know.” I said. “Go back to your duelling. I’m sure you have some unresolved business with Mr. Zabini.” That thought pacified him for a while and class resumed normality. I sighed. Tonight would be another perfectly good evening gone to waste. For deposing Lord Voldemort of all things.
-------------------
“What do you think we’ll do after Voldemort’s dead?” Draco asked. I shrugged. We were sitting in an empty fitting room at Violet’s. Well, Draco was sitting. I was pacing up and down, trying to work out everything that could go wrong. And there was so much that could go wrong.
“We’ve got to kill him first,” I warned Draco. “That’s not an easy task. We’ll have some Death Eaters after us and we’ll have to deal with the Order.” Speaking of which, I was going to have to resign from that.
“But putting all that aside, what if I kill Voldemort and what if I gain all the Death Eaters as followers and allies; what are we going to do?”
“Potter’s got to go, that’s one thing,” I said. “Maybe Dumbledore too.” There was a knock on the door and Violet came bursting through.
“Hello!” she said cheerfully. “I brought some coffee!” She gave Draco and me a steaming mug and sat down on one of the chairs next to Draco.
“Why Dumbledore?” Draco asked. “He wouldn’t try anything.”
“What about Dumbledore?” Violet asked.
“We’re coming up with our hit list,” Draco explained. Violet gasped.
“You can’t kill Dumbledore!” she said. We both just looked at her.
“Why not?” Draco asked cautiously. “He’s in the way of World Domination.”
“He’s my grandson,” Violet said. I looked up and she winked at me. I choked on my swig of coffee.
“What?” Draco yelled. “That’s not possible. He’s old and you’re…” he floundered a bit. “You’re married?” he asked incredulously. Violet smiled.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I will be.” She noticed our bewildered looks and elaborated. “My shop doesn’t work like the rest of the world. Time’s kind of an option in here.” Things began to make sense. Well, except the part where she winked at me.
“So… you aren’t exaggerating when you say ‘throughout the ages?’” I asked. She nodded.
“But how…” Draco trailed off and looked down at his arm. I could feel the pain rising from the spot on my arm. He looked at me.
“It’s time,” I said, setting the coffee mug down. Violet clapped her hands delightedly.
“Wait right here; I’ll be right back.” She ran out the door and slammed it shut. We looked at each other again.
“Won’t we be late?” Draco asked. I shrugged.
“Guess it won’t really matter.” I replied. “By the way, we need to get that spell off you.” I rapped Draco over the head. In a moment, he was dark haired Dark Lord. He smiled. Violet did a good job with him. The door opened, Violet was back, holding a small box.
“It’s a Grand Entrance,” she explained, seeing our bewildered expressions. “You just have to throw it down and poof! There you go.” She gave it to Draco who held it like it was some sort of small bomb. “You two have fun now.” I sighed.
“Ready?” I asked, as I prepared to Apparate. Draco shook his head.
“No, but let’s go anyway before I puke from the stress of it all.” He pulled out his wand.
“One, two, three!” I said.
Then blinked.
“You still here?” I asked, still looked at Draco.
“You chickened out,” he accused.
“If you hadn’t have done the same thing you wouldn’t have known,” I pointed out. “Try again. We’re going this time.”
“All right. I’m ready.”
“You got the box?” Violet asked.
“Yes, I’ve got the box,” Draco said.
“Alright, one, two three!”
I Apparated, praying to any listening god that Draco wasn’t still back in the fitting room.
Chapter 10: Draco, Still Alive by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
yay for Leanne, the fastest mod in the west!
Many years had passed since Tom Riddle had first entered Violet’s shop. He was now far older, far more powerful, and much uglier. He stood motionless in the middle of the graveyard “ the same place he had stood so many years ago at the first Death Eater meeting. That had been a monumental night, yes, but this meeting would be even more momentous! Tonight he and his followers would crush that pitiful Order of the Phoenix. Voldemort laughed quietly. He almost rubbed his hands with malicious glee, but stopped himself in time. Just because you were evil didn’t mean you had to go totally off the deep end. With an effort, he turned his thoughts to smaller business to be taken care of at the meeting. Bellatrix Lestrange must be rewarded “ she was the one who discovered how to penetrate the Order’s headquarters. Goyle and Macnair would need to be reassigned to collecting information in the south. Draco Malfoy would need to report on his progress. A private meeting with Snape to discuss why he had been unable to provide them with information relevant to the Order. That was all Voldemort could think of. The rest of his Death Eaters were functioning smoothly. He glanced at the sky. The sun was setting; it was time for the meeting to begin.
“Come here, Wormtail,” he ordered. The little man hurried into the circle, scurrying like a rat.
“Arm,” Voldemort said curtly. Wormtail extended his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his robe, revealing the Dark Mark glowing scarlet. Voldemort pressed his finger against the tattoo. Wormtail’s skin hissed, and the Mark turned black. Wormtail gasped; Voldemort knew he was repressing a scream of pain. He thrust the man back and waited for his Death Eaters to appear.
The tattoo on my arm burned black and I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to hiss with pain.
“All right, I’m ready,” I said rubbing my forearm.
“You got the box?” Violet asked. I picked it up off the table and tucked it under my arm. “Y-yes,” I said, and cursed my voice for betraying with me. I shouldn’t be so frightened. After all, I was only on a mission to overthrow the evilest, most powerful Dark Lord of all time with nothing but some cool clothes and a trick Horcrux, knowing that the aforesaid Dark Lord would happily chop me up into itty-bitty pieces and feed me to his pet snake before going off to play miniature golf with my head, or any other parts of my anatomy he might have saved from the snake.
All right, maybe I should be frightened.
“Yes, I’ve got the box,” I repeated firmly.
“Time to go,” said Snape, and disapparated with a bang. I hesitated a minute before following him.
“You think I have a chance in hell?” I asked Violet.
“Honey bun, I don’t work with hopeless causes. Now you should go, before Sunshine gets scared.”
“Okay,” I breathed. “I’m going.” I steeled myself for the jump.
“Just don’t forget the box!” Violet called as she faded from sight, to be replaced by the bleak graveyard. As soon as the earth was firm beneath my feet, I hurled the box to the ground and screwed my eyes shut.
Suddenly it was a lot darker. A thick layer of fog wafted out of the small crater where the box had landed and draped it around Snape and myself. Ominous, threatening music was playing. It wasn’t raining, but a bolt of lightning came down out of the sky and struck the ground behind me, doubtless producing a neat back-lighting effect. This was Violet’s complete Dark Lord Grand Entrance package. I had to hand it to her, the woman knew her melodrama.
Snape grabbed my arm above the elbow. “Thought I was going to have to kill you for a second there,” he hissed. I strove to work up a sardonic smile.
“Now, Sunshine, you didn’t think I wasn’t coming, did you?” I asked.
“Shut up, you idiot, and look around,” he said. “We’re completely surrounded by some very curious Death Eaters. If you want this revolution to happen, you’d better get going.” And he shoved me forward with such force that I nearly stumbled.
Voldemort stood before me, tall and menacing in his black robes. The fog from Violet’s Grand Entrance kit obscured his face so I couldn’t make out his expression. I couldn’t decide which would be worse: fury or amusement.
“So good of you to join us, Draco,” he said, his voice a hiss. “We were beginning to worry.”
“Eurgf,” I said.
“I beg you pardon, did you wish to say something?” his icy tone was telling me that I had better say no. I tried to speak, but my voice was sticking in my throat. So I kicked Snape’s ankle and pointed to the distant spire of Ravenclaw’s grave.
“Look,” I sputtered. He turned, looking in the direction I had indicated. I sneaked a look at his face. Was that just the smallest flicker of fear there?
Snape swished his wand and the grave disappeared. I turned back to Voldemort. He was looking at me, his face completely expressionless. A poker face.
So that’s how you’re playing it? I thought, trying to pretend nothings changed.
“There’s more to me than horcruxes, boy,” he said, laughing his creepy, high laugh.“I’d kill you this instant if this wasn’t so amusing.” I tried to think of something to say. This was the point where I should kill him, quickly. I pointed my wand him.
“Av- ava “ avada k-atishoo!” An inopportune sneeze destroyed any momentum I might have had and convinced me of what was rapidly becoming obvious: I wasn’t a killer. I looked towards Snape, my expression pleading.
*****
Snape
I could see Draco staring at me, begging me to take care of Voldemort for him. I wasn’t going to, for several reasons. 1.) If Draco was incapable of pulling off this revolution by himself, then he wasn’t worthy of being the Dark Lord. He couldn’t keep leaning on me forever, and 2.) I was having major last minute doubts as to whether I even wanted him to succeed. If he did, it would give Violet practically complete control over the Dark Forces here, and Violet was dangerous. I couldn’t quite believe she had done so much for Draco out of the goodness of her heart. Surely, she had an ulterior motive. Draco was far too close to her, maybe he was better off dead, as he was about to be. Voldemort was still taunting him, but soon he would grow bored and finish him off, and maybe it was better that way…A blinding thought struck me: the tattoo! That tattoo Violet had given him was supposed to protect him from all harmful magic. Normally I would assume that it would be insufficient to block a death curse from Voldemort himself, but this was one of those moments of perfect premonition. I knew it would work; Voldemort would try to kill him and fail. I knew it with a cold, perfect certainty. That tattoo changed everything, dammit! If Draco couldn’t die and also couldn’t kill, everything would be in a dreadful deadlock. I had to do something.
*****
Draco
Snape was no use, he seemed to be lost in contemplation. Great, my only helper here is busy pondering the mysteries of the universe while I prepare to be killed. Thanks, Snape, I thought. Voldemort was talking to me in his awful voice, taunting me with something about being weak and unfit, the Death Eaters on the sides were sniggering. Luckily, the blood pounding in my ears blocked their voices from my mind. Think, Draco, think.
Something kicked my leg. I whirled around. It was Snape. How had he gotten behind me?
“Wait till he tries to kill you,” he whispered.
“What?” I hissed.
“Tattoo,” he replied. “Blocks the spell. Then when he’s distracted, take him.”
“But I can’t do it,” I whispered desperately. “I can’t kill him! I just can’t!”
“Then do something else, fool! Transfigure him, anything!”
I racked my brain for a suitable spell. One that McGonagall had taught us last week “ how to transfigure things into badgers “ came up. I slipped my wand out of my pocket and brought it up to chest level. All the adrenaline racing around my bloodstream was making it a bit hard too speak, but I needed to get Voldemort to stop gloating and get on with it.
“Hey,” I yelled. “Not that this isn’t fascinating, Voldie, but if you’re going to kill me, could you get on with it? Time’s a’ wastin’, buddy.”
He stopped speaking, shocked. Then he drew himself up and smiled grimly.
“Your wish is my command,” he said. “AVADA KEDAVRA!”
A wave of green light issued from his wand and engulfed me. For half a second I was utterly terrified, tattoo forgotten. Then the light disappeared, leaving me very much alive. Voldemort stared at me speechless, wand dangling loosely from his fingers. In that split-second opportunity, I gathered all my nerve and acted. It was badger time.
“Ansotaxideo.” I yelled. A jet of lavender light pulsed out of my wand and hit him just under the breastbone. He collapsed, shrinking, because badgers are significantly smaller than people. But he shrunk much too far and in the wrong directions, until he was left lying on the wet ground as what I can only describe as a doorknob. The badger spell hadn’t been totally wasted, the doorknob was elaborately worked to look like the head of a snarling badger, teeth agape, but beyond the ears it was rounded and smoothed and doorknob-like. I picked it up off the ground and stared it.
“You’re hopeless,” Snape said. “I suppose you were intending to make him a badger?”
“Yes,” I admitted. “But this works, too. I think the Death-Eaters are the more pressing issue right now.
I hopped on top of a convenient monument and held the doorknob high so the Death Eaters could see it.
“Hey people,” I yelled. “I have a few announcements to make!”
“Draco, get down from there before you fall and break your neck,” said my father. I ignored him.
“First, I have defeated Voldemort. He’s a doorknob now, and I’m sure you all agree that a doorknob is not a fit leader for this august organization. Second, as he was defeated by me, it is now my right to assume the leadership. Third, if you would all like to re-locate to my private headquarters in central London, we can celebrate the beginning of my term. Fourth, drinks will be provided in abundance.”
They might have been skeptical about the first three announcements, but the fourth was a universal hit. After a very short discussion it was decided that the leadership-thing could be worked out later, at the moment we might as well celebrate. I gave the coordinates and the party Apparated into the lobby of my as-yet-unnamed headquarters. An inspiration struck me. I went to the front door and carefully unscrewed the doorknob. It was a rather nice one, silver with an elegant D engraved on it. I pulled Voldemort out of my pocket and screwed him in tightly, so the snarling badger was perfectly centered. I dropped the old knob in my pocket; it would look good on my door at home. Then I went to grab something alcoholic before it all disappeared.
Chapter 11, Snape: The Advisor by FinalCow
Author's Notes:
Thanks you Bridget, for being understanding of our strange ways.
Snape and Draco awoke to the same thought: Please, please, tell me that was a dream. The pounding headaches of both provided an instant negative. Snape crawled out of bed and swallowed several gallons of hangover potion, after which he threw up several times and arose bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and as close to cheerful as Snape ever gets. Draco, stranded without magical hangover aid, took a shower, dressed, and crawled down to Snape’s office to beg for resuscitation.
***
“Please,” Draco pleaded with me. “I have classes today. I don’t want to fall asleep in them.”
“As your professor I don’t think I’m supposed to award students who spend their nights drinking,” I said, trying not to smirk at the boy in front of me. “Hangover potions are reserved for those who can make them.”
“But as your new Dark Lord I can order you to,” Draco said without conviction. Pathetic, really. “Violet wouldn’t be happy with you.”
“Speaking of Violet and her meddlesome ways, what have you decided to do with your hair?” I pointed at the dark mess on his head. He must be feeling awful if he didn’t take time to primp.
“I’ll keep it this way,” he said wearily, but with pride. “It’s still sexy even if I feel like I’ve been hit by stampeding dragons.”
“Here, pathetic child,” I pulled out a small vial from my desk drawer and plunked it in front of him.
“Drink this and don’t drink any water or eat anything other than dry toast. Got that?” He nodded and reached for the green potion. I grabbed the vial again.
“Nothing but dry toast or a hangover will be the least of your problems.” He nodded again, took the vial from me, uncorked it and downed the whole thing. He started to perk up.
“Coffee?” he asked me hopefully. I shook my finger at him.
“Only dry toast until lunch,” I retorted. “Now get to class and stop pestering me.”
“It’s not class time yet.” He said, yawning a little and running his fingers through his hair. I still couldn’t get used to it being black. His eyes, well, they looked like they were smarter than they really were. They were also piercing; it made me uncomfortable when he stared at me for a moment.
“Then go and look at yourself in the mirror somewhere,” I added. “You look like you slept in a cardboard box.”
“I feel like I slept in a box,” he muttered, but to my infinite relief he wandered out of the room.
For me, the day was uneventful despite the fact I had drunk more hangover potion than I have since New Year’s. I mostly occupied myself by worrying that Dumbledore knew, that Dumbledore would find out, or that Draco would open his mouth. He wouldn’t have to say much; just enough to make them nervous and go looking for answers in places we wanted them to stay out of.
By the time Draco had my class, he was complete wake and cheerful. The stupid grin on his face widened when he saw me. Oh joy. I walked over to his desk.
“Mr. Malfoy, is there a particular reason you’re grinning like a complete imbecile?” That dampened it a little but Draco was still flying in the skies. He wouldn’t be so happy when he realized that he had this World Domination bit to do while still at Hogwarts. That smile would most certainly not be there when he had to rally his new Death Eaters (or whatever) and talk dirty business. Draco didn’t have it in him to perform the Cruciatus Curse just willy-nilly.
And I wasn’t about to do it for him.
Fortunately, Draco gave me reason to give him a detention after his classes. Ridiculous boy, acting up in class; talking loudly, and being altogether annoying. I wasn’t sure if I could give him a detention on the basis of being annoying, but that wasn’t going to stop me. This way I could deal with his inflated ego and remind him that the easy part of this mess was over.
But first I needed to do a little research. And there was that nasty business of my Unbreakable Vow.
I remembered it clearly, I was to watch over Draco, keep him from harm and finish the job if he wasn’t able to. But Lord Voldemort wasn’t a factor anymore. If Draco was the Dark Lord now… what did this mean? I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The only thing I could get from it was that I wasn’t going to be taking that holiday in the Bahamas or anywhere for that matter. I had to baby-sit Draco and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. I debated whether it was worth my time to look up a loophole to get out of this mess. On second thought, I doubted Unbreakable Vows contained loopholes. That would defeat the point. That left me with this Dark Lord wanna-be, looking over his shoulder and being in harm’s way.
I would have thought my job would get easier when ole Voldie bit it, but it was getting worse. Maybe I should have taken Violet’s offer and just usurped the Death Eaters myself.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked. I looked up from my books.
“It was extotaxideo,” I said. “You didn’t say the prefix correctly.”
“So?” Draco asked, pulling a desk close to mine to sit on.
“So basically you called Voldemort a door-badger,” I explained. “Personally, I wouldn’t have believed it was possible.”
“I did it,” he said smugly. I raised an eyebrow.
“You, Mr. Malfoy, are too lucky for your own good,” I said.
“How so?” he asked, looking pleased with himself.
“You waltz into Violet’s shop, get a new look, cash loans and a job,” I said. “You end up with the position of Dark Lord, loyal minions and the best advisor money can buy.”
“I don’t remember buying an advisor,” Draco said.
“Well, I don’t particularly care about your memory but I do expect a pay check,” I replied.
“I don’t think Lord Voldemort paid anyone,” Draco protested.
“And that got him turned into a doorknob,” I said. “Do you want to be a doorknob?” I brandished my wand.
“No.”
“Good.” I put my wand away. “Now we have one more problem to deal with.”
“What?” he groaned. “Why do I have to deal with it?”
“If you keep calling them Death Eaters you’ll be living in Lord Voldemort’s shadow,” I said.
“Would you stop calling him that?” Draco said, annoyed. “Honestly, he’s not the Dark Lord anymore; as you said, he’s a doorknob.”
“Fine. What are going to call the Death Eaters then?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his temples. “I keep thinking about it, but nothing comes to me. Death Eaters was a great name.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “Voldie did a good job with that.”
“So what does that leave us with?” Draco asked.
“With a whole lot of nothing,” I said. I looked down at my books. “That is unless you like Latin.”
“Depends.” Draco grabbed one of the books off my desk.
“Gramen,” he read. “Means grass. I’m thinking that’s a bust.”
“You don’t have to read every word would come across,” I said, grabbing a book myself.
“But it sounded cool,” he shot back. “Think of it; The Gramen.”
“I’d never be able to take us seriously if we were called The Grass.” Though even I would admit; The Gramen sounded better that most of the things we’d come up with.
“How many wizards are fluent in Latin?” he demanded. “No one has to know.”
“Dumbledore is,” I said. “And he’d tell everyone else.”
“Oh,” Draco wilted a bit. “Maybe Latin is a bad idea.”
“Just find something menacing.” I told him. “We’ll find something…eventually.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Cruori,” I said, flipping through my Latin book.
“Sceli,” Draco added.
“Sounds like a pasta,” I commented.
“What about Veneni?” he asked. I thought about it.
“Rhymes with Zabini; I think that’s a no go.”
“Zabini Veneni!” Draco laughed weakly. “It means poison.”
“Fits him perfectly then,” I turned back to the front of the book.
“I still think The Gramen was the best one we’ve come up with,” Draco complained.
“And I still refuse….” I trailed off. A word stuck out to me on the page. “Atrox.”
“What?” Draco scrambled up to look at it.
“The Atrox.” I repeated. “Fierce, savage, bloody, cruel…. It works. It has possibilities.”
“The Atrox,” Draco tasted the word, smiling. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
***
“I just realized something,” I said to Hermione and Ron. Ron looked up from his homework he was trying to work on.
“What?” he asked. “Did you find out how to counter-act lovage? I can’t find it in our books.”
“No,” I replied. “Bigger. I’m going to have to be a hero.” Hermione rolled her eyes at me.
“Brilliant, Harry,” she said. “When did you have this revelation?”
“Seriously, I had never really thought about it before. If I decided right now that I’m going to leap from the window and I die; there’s not a plan B. I’m it. Don’t you see what that means?”
“What?” Ron asked. “That we have to keep you away from open windows?”
“Hey!” I said, irritated.
“All right, all right, sorry.”
“I’m going to save the world. There’s no other w….” With a little chime and a puff of smoke, a little mauve card appeared in my hand.
Rose’s Select Boutique
Customizing clothes for Heroes throughout the centuries
London
“Always fashionable.”
“What it the world is this?” I asked, turning the small card over. There was a set of numbers counting down from 10.
“Put it down!” Hermione demanded. “It could be dangerous!” I looked at the little card with disbelief.
“It’s a business card,” Ron said. “How is that dangerous?”
“It looks like a…” she began; but I was caught up in a whirlwind and could barely catch the last word “Portkey.” A little too late for that.
Finīvimus
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