A Meeting of Dark Minds

A meeting of Dark Minds

This was the last time he was going to allow that total imbecile, Wormtail arrange anything beyond his black roses.

His normally clammy skin was dry. Dry! And the heat was nearly unbearable. But that wasn't the worst part. It was sunny. The sun shown against the fine white sand of the beach, and the only thing that kept his chalk pale skin from frying to a color that matched his eyes were a row of straggly palms outside the bungalow.

His eyes squinted in pain before turning back to the relative darkness of the room. It was nearly set.

A large table filled the room, with heavy wooden chairs all around. Each had armrests, but that was so he could charm them to hold the person sitting there if he found it necessary. There was no honor among thieves; he believed the old muggle saying went. Course, that was because the muggles took it from the wizards sometime in the 1700's.

In either case. He swept his dark wand over the table, and had chilled glasses before each seat. He himself reached for the Tequila sunrise. It reminded him of bloody revels, and the tequila had just the right sort of bite.

Then began the series of pops. Each of his inner circle of Death Eaters brought a guest with them. No one but the Death Eaters knew the location of this place, other than it existed in some god-forsaken stretch of Caribbean island.

Dolohov brought with him a rather elderly gentleman. They must've been somewhere cold, for they had on full fur coats that they shed rather quickly in the intense heat.

His name was Aravirta, and he had been working on dark magic that involved the Aurora Borealis. Lived somewhere in Northern Lapland or some such, and had much of the far north of Europe in the grips of a fear that rivaled his own in Britain.

"Welcome to the armpit of the planet, my sordid colleagues," Voldemort said archly.

Then there was the tall dark woman who was said to be the direct descendent of Marie LaVoe.

"Still practicing the true voodoo rituals, Madame, I see." He smirked. Goyle Sr. may have always been a stupid arse, but he never licked toes without having the crucatius on him.

She smiled darkly at the red-eyed man.

"I see you still have a penchant for snakes, Voldemort." She smiled, though her eyes narrowed. He jerked in response to his name being used, but shrugged it off.

"We are still waiting for Nabumbu. I never should have sent Crabbe to get him. The useless fool could get lost in a water closet."

"It is funny you mention that. Good lackeys are getting so hard to find. No one seems to have a proper sense of ambition any more," the fourth dark wizard supplied. He was a slight man, of Asian descent, though no one seemed to be quite sure which country could claim him. His English though, had the brogue of upper crust British, which made Voldemort think that he must have spent some time in Hong Kong.

It was then that two other wizards showed up, this time being brought by Nott and Crabbe.

Crabbe had hold of a tall man, one of which towered over all the rest of the assembled, by nearly a foot. His skin was not the chocolaty color of African American but the deep black color of a Native.

The last was a very diminutive woman, who looked as though she belonged in catholic mass, rather than a convention of the evilest wizards on earth. She was dressed in the style of a Portuguese grandmother.

"Please everyone take a seat. I don't know how most of you deal with this extraordinary heat," he nearly whined.

"This is a momentous occasion. Thank you for inviting us." Nambumbu nodded to his host graciously but continued to eye him specatively.

"You all have specialties. And I think you will notice I have invited only those who deserve to be the overlords of muggles as well as all wizards and witches on this planet. I think it is fair to say we have a fairly reasonable split of our world?"

Madame Croix spoke up, "I assume America, Canada and the Caribbean is mine?"

"Certainly. Signora Baptista, South and Central America and Mexico for your pursuits?"

She smiled cautiously. "That would be more than acceptable."

It ended with Voldemort taking Britain and southern Europe, Hiyeshi taking all of Asia. Nambumbu had Africa. Aravirta took Northern Europe and Russia. No one bothered to come from Australia. The aboriginal shamans weren't to be messed with, so they just left it out of the equation. Once the agreement was reached, a parchment appeared on the table that everyone put their wand signature on. Such a signature could not be disavowed, even with dark magic.

After they settled the agreement of who was in charge of what areas, they began to compare recent dark art developments.

Signora Baptista had found records from the Spanish Inquisition; it seemed a few of the revered priests were actually dark wizards. She had found journals that included many torture spells. The wicked glee that shown through her face proved to the rest of the group that she had tried them out with great success.

"Have you found any luck finding a new second in Command, Voldemort?" asked Aravirta with a thick accent.

"You see what I have had to choose from. What do you think?" he snorted indelicately. "Why is it so hard to find intelligent followers? No one appreciates what it means to be a dark wizard anymore," he finished in disgust.

"I know what you mean. My last second in command tried to stop me from torturing a follower who displeased me."

"I have not had that problem. But then, I have had luck with turning followers into zombies instead of outright killing them. Seems people are tend to be more afraid of becoming one of the undead than being dead. Not to mention Americans seem to be the closest related to sheep that I've ever seen," Madame Croix finished, sipping her Hurricane. "Perhaps a trade is in order?"

The Dark Lord's long fingers tapped against his chin. "That might be useful. Very well then. Shall we meet in one month's time? We can exchange followers, as well as indigenous ingredients?"

They all nodded their agreement and raised their mostly empty glasses in salutation. One by one, the wizards and witches apparated back to their own homes, leaving a very overheated Voldemort to kick some sense into his own minions. Sometimes the physical was just more satisfying.