Death's Horcrux

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine. Anything you don't is. I'm not giving any more hints - basically, anything that does not belong to me is the property of Terry Pratchett, and whoever wrote the pantomime version of "Cinderella", and there's even a slight reference to Tolkien. I kid you not - there is a near-quote from the "Cinderella" pantomime in here. Also, I have quoted two sentences from the story on ffn.net that started this craziness (see "Author's Notes")...

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Lord Voldemort was growing worried. The niggling little feeling at the back of his mind was not going away, and as much as he would have liked to blame it on Potter, the subtlety of the attack was not at all Potter's style. More than anything else, it was irritating. Potter's attempts at mental attack, after the fashion of true Gryffindor idiocy, were more comparable to fireworks than itching powder. Mostly show. And sometimes quite pretty to watch from behind his shields, not that he would ever admit that... save maybe to Potter. It might goad him into doing something rash.

Potter

Thank you for the so-called show last night. It was, however, not anywhere near as spectacular as I had hoped. Some green flashes would liven it up to great effect. I would be happy to demonstrate for you if you would be so kind as to show up tomorrow afternoon without your wand...

He shook his head sharply and brought his hands to his temples. It didn't help.

*

Far away, in a tiny hovel that could perhaps be called tumbledown, filthy and unloved if the words themselves hadn't objected to being associated with something this despicable, a small sliver of sequestered soul began to shiver with fear. The ring shook and shuddered behind the strongest protections that Lord Voldemort himself could conjure. It knew its enemy was the very definition of patience.

In the far corner, Death sipped his hot chocolate and watched with interest. Absentmindedly, he dunked a marshmallow and offered it to another skeletal figure clinging to his shoulder, which accepted it and spoke.

"SQUEAFTH?"

"WELL, IT'S ONLY POLITE TO WAIT FOR HIM."

*

Two hours later, the niggling little feeling had acquired a pulse and was rapidly approaching the final stages of an All-Consuming Painful Headache. Remedies had not helped; his pet Healer had been at a loss. Bellatrix had tried to kiss it better. Severus had flatly refused to consider the notion, even with the added incentive of the Cruciatus Curse. Lord Voldemort had sworn.

Extensively.

In Irish.

*

"NO, I SEE NO REASON TO SIMPLY DO IT IN HIS ABSENCE. BESIDES, THE ENSUING CONVERSATION SHOULD BE... FUN."

*

The large niggling feeling was making itself felt to a quite distracting level. Lord Voldemort realised, with a horrible sinking sensation, that it was not going to slink away without assistance. It could hardly even be called a "niggle" now. What it could be called was the state of being on the wrong end of a tug-of-war.

Something inside him was stretching. And it was stretching straight towards Little Hangleton.

My Horcrux!

*

"NO. WE WILL WAIT FOR HIM AND THAT IS FINAL. EAT YOUR MARSHMALLOW."

*

I need backup. If the Order has found a Horcrux, I will be too concerned with rescuing it to fight. But if they have not, if this is just an... aberration... I will not reveal my secret to anyone and therefore need someone who will not ask questions and do exactly what I say.

Unfortunately, the only one who fits those requirements is Wormtail. And Crabbe and Goyle, I suppose, but I'm not yet that desperate.

Lord Voldemort cautiously raised his head and tried to ignore his headache.

"Wormtail! Come here - don't sneak up on me like that!"

"S-s-sorry, m-my Lord."

Lord Voldemort bit his tongue. As satisfying as it might be to disembowel the rat, the situation called for him to be alive. It also called for him to be conscious.

He mustered his patience.

"You will do exactly as I tell you and no more."

"Y-yes, my Lord."

"First command: You are never again to approach me from behind."

*

"AH."

"SQUEAK?"

"HE HAS ARRIVED. BE VERY QUIET."

*

"I order you to stay in human form, Wormtail. If anybody arrives, kill them. If you mistakenly try to kill me when I reappear, your life will be painfully short in every sense."

As Wormtail edged behind a clump of sickly, spindly nettles which blended almost perfectly with his complexion, sending nervous glances at the snake skeleton nailed to the door, it twitched, raising its head to eye level with his master and prompting Pettigrew to almost wet his robes. Lord Voldemort stroked the skeleton possessively under the chin, hissed, and entered with ease. The door groaned shut behind him and the skeleton made itself comfortable for a staring match.

*

"SQUEAK."

"HE DOES NOT LOOK VERY MUCH LIKE HIS PARENTS AT ALL. NOW SHUSH."

*

Lord Voldemort stared blankly at the corner. He could have sworn by the life of Albus Dumbledore that he had heard something, but he could see nothing alive and searching with his wand had also revealed nothing. Nothing alive, at least. A mug of sweet-smelling glutinous brown liquid and a half-eaten bag of marshmallows, however, were sitting smugly on the table. On the mug were painted the words "To the world's greatest Granddad". There was a teaspoon in it.

Somebody had been making hot chocolate in the chosen resting place of his Horcrux!

Albus Dumbledore, I am going to kill you. Slowly.

But the Horcrux seemed to be intact. The magic was flowing as it should, and he could feel that it was definitely still there. In fact, no attempt at all seemed to have been made to steal it. However, something was definitely wrong. Lord Voldemort blinked and looked again. No, it was still happening. He stared, eyes wide and shocked, at the wriggling ring. It was obviously terrified out of its mind.

"All right, precious, calm down. I'm coming."

*

"SQUEAK?"

"DO NOT ASK ME. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT HE SAID, BUT IF HE CONTINUES SAYING IT HE WILL SOON BE SOAKED WITH SPITTLE."

*

Lord Voldemort held his Horcrux in the palm of his left hand, examining it closely. It was quiescent now, which was a relief. Again, he could neither see nor sense anything wrong with it. It was a perfectly normal Horcrux, if more skilfully crafted and more cunningly hidden than any Horcrux belonging to anyone else ever had been, or would ever be. That was only right. He was, after all, the most powerful and cunning Dark Lord the world had ever known.

An exceptionally bony hand reached over Lord Voldemort's shoulder, plucked the prized Horcrux from his hand, and crushed the stone to dust between its thumb and forefinger.

"THANK YOU."

Lord Voldemort whirled, an Avada Kedavra already at his lips.

And froze.

Mildly perplexed, a voice said, "WHATEVER IS THE MATTER? I CREATED IT. IT WAS MINE TO DESTROY."

It was a skeleton. It was robed in black. It held a scythe. Fairly typical, even clichéd.

It had blue eyes. It was grinning in an unamused, serious fashion. More unusual.

It was taller than he was. This was a new experience.

To make matters worse, Lord Voldemort could now distinctly hear a "SNGH. SNGH. SNGH" noise coming from the vicinity of its left elbow.

Nobody granulates one of my Horcruxes, laughs at me, and lives to tell the tale! Not even Death himself!

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light illuminated the room, the vibrant colour of murder almost alive in the moment of impact. Death blinked.

"WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU HOPE TO ACHIEVE BY DOING THAT?"

Lord Voldemort stared mutely. The skeleton was between him and the door.

"OH." Death hesitated, then added in a comforting tone, "YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO MISTAKE ME FOR A MORTAL WEARING A COSTUME. ACCIDENTS HAPPEN. IT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU BEFORE. I REMEMBER. OF COURSE IT IS NOT QUITE THE SAME, BECAUSE YOU ARE MORTAL AND I AM NOT."

There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before Death spoke again, clearly wanting to help the person in front of him overcome his nerves.

"DO YOU REALISE THAT YOU HAVE GOT A PERSISTENT TIC UNDER YOUR LEFT EYE?"

"Get out! Get out right now, stay out, stay away from me and stay away from..." Lord Voldemort bit off the last words of the sentence, terribly aware that he was frightened and, even worse, was showing it. Hopefully Death wouldn't notice.

"ARE YOU FRIGHTENED OF ME?"

Lord Voldemort leaned close, suppressing his shudder and telling his insides to be quiet. "No! I am not frightened of you! You are a hallucination."

"YOU SOUND LIKE EBENEEZER SCROOGE."

Oh Merlin, a literate skeleton. Lord Voldemort desperately wanted to deny the accusation, but he did not want to get into a meaningful conversation about the merits of this or that book. Death's posture had shifted and he was even looking eager.

He wants to have a discussion with me. About literature, of all things. And then I suppose he'll wax philosophical about the meaning of life and immortality and how all beings have to die so he won't lose his job - no. I think not.

Lord Voldemort would not succumb to a skeleton. He would not. He pressed his lips together and glowered. Unfortunately, the skeleton was still situated between him and the door. He tried to unobtrusively edge to the side. Death spoke again, taking a sidestep of his own.

"AT LEAST EBENEEZER SCROOGE COULD BLAME HIS PARENTS FOR HIS FAINTLY RIDICULOUS NAME. OR, AT THE VERY LEAST, HIS AUTHOR. YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, REJECTED A PERFECTLY SENSIBLE NAME GIVEN TO YOU BY YOUR MOTHER FOR A TITLE WHICH YOU YOURSELF ARE CONTINUALLY MISPRONOUNCING."

Lord Voldemort, in that one instant, forgot his fear. "What on earth are you talking about? I know how to pronounce my own name!"

"VOL-DUH-MORE. THE 'T' IS SILENT. FLIGHT OF DEATH. EVEN WHEN CORRECTLY ARTICULATED, IT IS A RATHER PRETENTIOUS NAME AT THE VERY LEAST. AND INACCURATE."

"What?"

"I MUST INFORM YOU THAT YOU WOULD BE HOPELESS AT MY JOB. YOU ENJOY KILLING FAR TOO MUCH AND WOULD CHEAT PEOPLE OF THEIR ALLOTTED SPAN OF YEARS. THE GODS WOULD BE DISPLEASED, AND I IMAGINE THAT THE AUDITORS WOULD BE AS WELL. EVEN I HAVE NEVER MANAGED TO ANNOY ALL OF THEM AT THE SAME TIME. BESIDES, I REFUSE TO LEND YOU BINKY. IT IS STRICTLY A FAMILY BUSINESS."

All right, that's it. Nobody says that I'm hopeless at anything! Since Avada Kedavra doesn't work on Death...

"Crucio!"

Death twitched, and tried to speak, but Lord Voldemort spoke first.

"Crucio! You don't enjoy that, do you? Crucio!"

"PLEASE DESIST. IT TICKLES."

Lord Voldemort lowered his wand in defeated disbelief.

"I REALISE THIS HAS BEEN A SHOCK. TRY KITTENS."

Shock didn't even come close.

"WELL... THEY ALWAYS CHEER ME UP."

"Look..." Lord Voldemort was almost beside himself. "Just... leave. Stay away from me. Far away. I won't mention this to anyone if you don't..." He was almost pleading, and hated it.

"I WILL GLADLY LEAVE. I HAVE SAID WHAT I CAME HERE TO SAY AND DESTROYED WHAT I CAME HERE TO DESTROY. HOWEVER, I WILL BE SEEING YOU AGAIN SHORTLY."

"What!!! Why?"

"I COULD TELL YOU WHEN, IF YOU LIKE. MOST PEOPLE PREFER NOT TO KNOW."

Lord Voldemort tried to appear calm. "Tell me." Surprisingly, he succeeded.

Death sighed. "YOU ARE DUE TO DIE..." He extracted an hourglass from his sleeve. "OH. PAST TENSE. YOU WERE DUE TO DIE SIXTEEN YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS, FOUR DAYS AND FIFTEEN SECONDS AGO... TO THE SECOND."

Lord Voldemort blinked.

Death blinked.

He tapped the hourglass, examining it minutely, wearing a faintly puzzled expression. Finally, he uttered a single word.

"BUGGER."

Lord Voldemort hid a smirk. Death pretended not to notice.

"IT WILL ALL WORK OUT PROPERLY IN THE END, I'M SURE. IT ALWAYS DOES." He patted Lord Voldemort kindly on the shoulder.

The good mood of Lord Voldemort vanished instantly. Death noticed, and hid a smirk of his own.

"THAT SHOULD SET YOUR MIND AT REST."

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Author's Notes: This little story is a result of me reading another little story on ffn.net and thinking that it was a fantastic basic premise which was sadly underexploited. Here is my variation, exploiting the idea to the best of my ability. It came to me in the middle of the night and refused to leave, after I'd read "The Boring Job" by Translucent Darkness on ffn.net the previous day. It's been stuck in my head for the past seven months.

It came to a natural close before the ending I had originally planned, which was that Pettigrew and the Death of Rats would also encounter one another and the Death of Rats would very ominously utter the single word "SQUEAK" directly at him...

And yes, I am delightedly poking fun at the films' pronunciation of "Voldemort".

Please review. You'll make my day.