Winning Ways

Winning Ways

Chapter 3- The Solution...Or Is It The Question?

Many thousands of miles away from Privet Drive, on that very same night, another dark figure was gradually losing their patience.

The man who was once known as Tom Riddle was poring over volume after volume of ancient texts, in search of The Solution. The particular Solution that he was looking for was the one he had devoted his entire existence to finding; the elusive secret of how to gain immortality.

The 'man' was Lord Voldemort, and the texts that he was searching through were filled with the darkest, most evil spells ever recorded by any witch or wizard.

These must be the last books left, Voldemort thought to himself, I have searched through so many...and yet it is all to no avail. After all of my efforts, all I have done, all I have accomplished, it has made little or no difference. I am simply back where I began. Whenever I near my goal...he ruins it all. Hate reverberated through Voldemort's body. I, the great Lord Voldemort, defeated by that boy, Harry Potter. A child no less! Anger swelled up inside of him, and with an inhuman roar, he hurled the book at the wall of his study.

A few rooms away, his servant Wormtail winced at the sound of his master's rage, clutched his cloak tighter around him with the silver hand that Voldemort had given him and fought his way to a fitful sleep.

In the study, Voldemort had regained his calm, and was resuming his examination of the texts.

All of a sudden, he gave a violent involuntary shudder, and collapsed on the floor as he suffered an agonising pain, not unlike something being ripped from his body. The pain lasted only for a few moments, and once it had gone Voldemort stood shakily up, supporting himself on a bookcase. He was about to call on his servant, but something stopped him. He noticed an unusual sensation of emptiness, almost as if something was...missing.

Most unusual. Voldemort thought, Most unusual indeed. He was unable to determine exactly what it was that he was feeling, and before he could give the matter much thought, he became aware that he was not the only being present in the room.

"Hello" said a calm female voice.

Voldemort whirled around to face the intruder. How dare they interrupt me! His anger had returned full blast, and he needed some way to vent it. This foolish girl, whoever she was, seemed as good a target as any.

Voldemort reached for his wand...but found it was missing.

He looked up to see the stranger holding his wand firmly between her both hands, as if to break it.

"Someone once said something to me that I took to heart: The Only Way ToWin A Fight Is To Not Fight At All." the stranger stated calmly, a slight smile crossing her face. "I do doubt, however, that the person who told me that meant it in quite the same way that I do."

She crossed the floor and layed the wand on top of the pile of books on the table. "But I also doubt that that actually matters."

Voldemort looked to his wand, and then to the girl. He was unsure of exactly why he was simply standing there and not just killing her.

"You're wondering why you haven't killed me already, aren't you?"

"A mind reader?" asked Voldemort, still pondering his first question.

The stranger laughed, not a cold laugh, but a genuine one.

"No, no, I'm nothing like that. I can just read people. And in answer to your first question, you are a smart man. You haven't killed me, because you realise that someone who could find you, someone who could get in here without detection, someone like me, could be a very valuable asset. And also that were I an enemy, I would have killed you the moment I arrived." she added with a smile.

Voldemort looked at her suspiciously, and then finally nodded his agreement. What she spoke was sense. However...

The girl's smile broadened, pressing her advantage, and she stepped forward, her hand outstretched.

"Lara Evelyn Mortimer." she stated, "It's absolutely fascinating to meet you at last."

Voldemort took her hand, and wrenched her closer to him.

"And it's a pleasure to meet you Miss Mortimer. A young witch with such power...and such gall to threaten me with it." his anger had, apparently, returned.

"I assume that you are as yet unable to ascertain the precise reason for the ripping agony that you felt moments before my arrival?" Lara continued, unfazed by the behaviour of the Dark Lord.

"What do you know of this?" Voldemort dragged her closer still to him, the front of her robes gathered in his fist, his wand (now back in his possession) pressed against her throat.

"That? That was merely the removal of the thorn from your side." she was smiling, but her eyes were not.

Voldemort loosened his grip on her robes.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean," Lara said, with that empty smile still on her face, "that Harry Potter is dead."

Voldemort dropped hold of her completely, and she attempted to readjust her clothing.

"Do not jest of such things..." he trailed off. At the same time, however, some part of him knew it to be true.

"Why not? I thought you of all people would find it terribly amusing. So, now that we have worked out that we are both on the same side, can we please stop all of these silly little power games, and get down to business?" Lara was still attempting to smooth her robes as she spoke. Finally satisfied with her appearance, she gave Voldemort an inquisitive look. "Well?"

Voldemort dragged himself far enough from his own thoughts (of the victory that seemed now more than ever to be possible, of his joy at Harry's death, and of his anger that it was not he who ended the boy's life), and asked "Was it you?"

"Of course."

"But how exactly-" Voldemort was cut off by Lara.

"Shhh. Too many questions. It all merely distracts from the REAL Question."

"And what would the REAL Question be, exactly?

"The Question of the Solution, of course."

"What solution?"

"The Solution to the Question"

"The Solution to WHAT Question..." Voldemort was really beginning to lose his patience by now.

"The Question of immortality." Lara said simply, smiling.

"It is useless," Voldemort turned towards the table, gesturing towards the decaying old books. "They were the last volumes where I could ever have hoped to find the secret...but it is not there. I may as well concede defeat, at least for now"

"You're not really considering...giving up, are you? Are you?" Lara stared at him in disbelief.

"The only known path to immortality was the Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort felt a shudder of hatred as he spoke, "and the only one in existance has been destroyed, thanks to that boy..."

"Who is now dead." Lara interrupted Voldemort. "There are other ways, though...".

"What other ways?" broke in Voldemort, his interest aroused.

"Well...you've known me a good...fifteen, twenty minutes, right? In that time I feel we've got to know each other pretty well, don't you think? We've...bonded."

Voldemort did not take his eyes off of her. "I suppose you could say that..."

"Well, actually, that's a complete lie and you know that. You don't know me from Eve. I could be anyone, and were I just anyone, you shouldn't trust me as far as you could throw me, but on this occasion, you do. And why is that you're wondering?" her flat black eyes sparked into life as she spoke. "It's because some part of you knows that I am telling the truth. That I may just have the perfect Solution to the Question of the Solution of the Question of immortality." Lara announced, her dark eyes shining.

"What does this Solution involve?"

"It will only take a few moments, and then," She was positively grinning now. "All you have to do is...trust me."

"Trust you," Voldemort repeated, thinking it over in his mind.

"Oh come on!" Lara exclaimed, "In all the time you've known me-"

"That would be the very little time I have known you." Voldemort interrupted.

"It was quality time though," she added, smiling. "anyway, as I was saying, in all the time you've known me, have ever I been anything less than truthful to you? Have I not, in fact, been nothing but helpful to you, even before our meeting? Did I not destroy your most obstructive foe? Do I not now come to you with a Solution to your Question? The Question of immortality!"

"That is what I am attempting to ascertain at this very moment." Voldemort stated with a calm manner, though inside his head, a million little voices were screaming his thoughts at him, shrieking a hundred different suggestions a second.

"And," she continued, ignoring him, "afterwards, I have a little surprise to send to the Ministry." Her grin had returned.

"Surprise?"

"You'll see..." she smiled mysteriously, "Now...you just have to relax, close your eyes, and concentrate on your goal," she said calmly. "That's all you have to do."

"And I will be immortal?"

"No-one will even be able to touch you."

"And why is it, pray tell, that you know of this...this Solution, when no others, not even myself could find it?"

"Because you have all been looking in the wrong places. I obviously can do things that others cannot, as I found you here, and I can do things that you cannot, as I was able to kill Harry Potter, something which you appeared to have some difficulty with."

"Be mindful of what you say, Miss Mortimer, for you do not wish to anger me." Voldemort almost growled.

Lara merely smiled. "I simply mean that this Solution has always been obvious to me, but not to others. Therefore...you need me. So," she turned to address him eye to eye, "Do you trust me?"

There was a pause. Then finally Voldemort said:

"Enough. I trust you enough."

And he closed his eyes.

Chapter 4- Special Delivery

Ailsa Goodall stood in the middle of Minister Fudge's office with her hands over her mouth, a panic stricken look on her face.

The young witch had managed to drop every one of the Minister's files all over the floor of his office, then drop an entire batch of Carlos Candlewyk's Conjuring Coffee over them all, and then she had somehow managed to confuse a simple stain removal spell with the spell to remove all information from a document (tabula rasa), and was now standing in a sea of coffee-stained blank sheets of parchment that used to be important files and documents.

This is it, she groaned inwardly, there's no way out of this one. I am so completely and utterly fired, I'm practically at home circling Help Wanted ads in the Daily Prophet.

Ailsa sighed, her shoulders sagging.

This was her third job in two months.

First of all she had got a job in Honeydukes, but there had been a mix-up with the labelling of a batch of acid pops, and then some very important customers arrived just in time to see the children running around screaming and...she shuddered just thinking about it.

Then it had been off to Manchester to work in Enchanting China, a delightful little shop that sold the rarest, most delicate china in all the world, available only to members of the magical world who were willing to pay a very high price for quality. That was where the unfortunate incident involving the untimely transfiguration of a chair into a bull, right when Mrs Malfoy arrived to collect a rather large order she had placed. The less said about that occasion the better, in Ailsa's opinion.

But this time...this time she thought it would be different. Working for the Minister of Magic (she was just a tea girl, but at least she was an important tea girl) was an honour she could have never even imagined...and now she had ruined it all. Again. As always.

Ailsa had just started to pick up the blank documents off of the floor, trying to remember if the wiping spell had a counter-charm, when she heard a knock at the door.

"Hello?" she asked timidly. It was after hours, and not many people were still about. There was no response.

"Hello?" she asked a bit louder this time. Still no answer.

Ailsa gathered her courage (what little there was of it) and said more loudly, walking to the door "If you're looking for Minister Fudge, I'm afraid he's-" she stopped as she opened the door to find...a box.

An intricately carved wooden chest, quite small in size, only about three feet by two feet, and roughly two feet in depth, but it was one of the most beautiful things Ailsa had ever seen.

Attached to it was a small note written in elegantly curled handwriting with silver ink, addressed-

To The Ministry

Ailsa was never a very clever young witch, and did not know when it was best to take the initiative, and when it would be more prudent to inform her superiors. This was clearly a case to be handled by those ranking above her (ie. almost anybody), but Ailsa was not aware of this, and so thought simply to herself- I suppose I could count as the Ministry...

Ailsa lifted up the box and carried it over to the desk to open it. She did not notice that the box appeared to be leaking somthing, something that was dripping a trail across the blank parchment that covered the floor, all the way up to the desk, where it began to create a small puddle.

She took out her wand and aimed it directly at the lock.

"Alohomora!"

The lock snapped open and the lid of the chest burst backwards, revealing its contents to the foolish young witch.

And Ailsa screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

Inside the box was Voldemort's head.