Ordinary

Jennifer sat up, rubbing her eyes. She winced as a sharp white current of pain shot through her back and right shoulder. She collapsed back, eyes clenched shut, panting slightly, swallowing hard against the dryness that rasped her throat. Her left leg twitched five times in succession before she realized it was cramping something terrible.

It hurt to move too quickly, but Jennifer managed to sit up again and open her eyes. She saw the castle high up on its hill, gleaming mysteriously in the moonlight. The Forbidden Forest glowed silver, the leaves rustling, not from wind. Jennifer caught a glimpse of starlight on fur, then two glowing eyes before the creature disappeared into the darkness. It was only then when she completely realized where she was.

The dew-dappled grass winked gently at her, cradling in its midst the still lake marred only by a few ripples from the squid's snoring. She was lying on a chaise longue the color of a deep blush in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds at night. She strove to remember how she came to be there.

She squinted her eyes in the effort. The last memory that came to her mind was that of dinner. She had been talking to her best girl friend about her Charms essay. Apparently, Jennifer had made quite a few errors. How awful to be in Ravenclaw and to still not be able to spell to save her life. She could talk fine, and her pronunciation was impeccable in all incantations; Professors Flitwick and McGonagall absolutely loved her in their practical lesson, but they despaired when they had to read her essays; even the simplest overnight assignments were almost too difficult for them to bear. They had employed Jennifer's girl friend Tina to proof-read everything that would be handed in. Tina was a wonderful speller, but she was too abysmal at pronunciation to be much use in any other way. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall made them work together at least five times a week to mutually benefit from each other. It had so far been a good plan, though each sometimes grew impatient with the other's shortcomings in their own expertise.

This had been one of those times. Tina had tried to get Jennifer to spell the word 'inexorable,' but despite the fact Tina repeated the spelling a dozen times, Jennifer still could not spell it correctly; she would even repeat a previous spelling. In Tina's frustration, she called Jennifer a name she would rather regret later, seeing as it was this that made Jennifer, choking back tears, push back her chair sharply and storm out of the dining hall. She had been rushing through the halls when a thin hand reached out and had pulled her through a wall.

From here, she couldn't remember a thing.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" someone behind her.

Very carefully, Jennifer turned. She saw a dainty wooden table set for an intricate afternoon tea. And in a rather old leather chair that looked comfortable enough to curl upon was Lord Voldemort, watching her lazily out of half-closed, languid eyes.

Had her limbs not been so stiff, she would have jumped up and run, but one attempt at doing just that and all her muscles seized up, causing her to fall off the chaise and into the wet grass before she could complete her motion. The first thought that came to her was These stains are never going to come out.

The second was Oh, lordy, I'm going to die.

Voldemort did not bat an eye, but continued, "One might not believe I could appreciate a cool, clear night, Hogwarts shining in the dim light, an almost full moon, a young girl at my feet in the proper decorous position, but I can. I've yet to meet anyone with intelligence who couldn't."

Jennifer pushed herself gingerly until she was kneeling on all fours.

"I attended Hogwarts, you know, a student of Slytherin. I don't suppose anyone's very surprised at the result. They all probably say, 'Well, that's the result of being in Slytherin House.'" Voldemort suddenly pounded the table. "I made myself what I am. Slytherin didn't make me this. And who's to say that what I've become isn't better. So simple-minded they all are. Pah!" He spat at the school in disgust.

Jennifer had finally sat herself onto the chaise again and was looking out at the castle, calculating the distance and wondering if she could make it in her weakened state.

"Don't bother running, child. I have a Shielding Charm around us. I sent an envoy owl to Dumbledore telling him of your kidnapping. It should be only a matter of time before he comes out."

"You're asking for Harry Potter, aren't you?" Jennifer managed to rasp out through her scratchy throat.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Harry Potter, you say?" he asked softly, almost a whisper. But his voice kept growing. "Everything is about Potter, isn't it? Even when you're grabbed from the so well-protected Hogwarts, even when you're kidnapped by the great Dark Lord himself, even when you know you're going to die, you still speak first of the Boy-Who-Lived. Do none of you mindless idiots have anything else to inquire about? Does nothing else strike your fancy other than some boy who has only been lucky time and time again? Have you no depth? You sit before Lord Voldemort, and you have no deep question you think he might deign to answer, if it is to his amusement? And I am in a mood where I might answer."

Jennifer cringed, but plunged on rather bravely, "I do want to know whether you're trying to ransom me for Harry, because Professor Dumbledore wouldn't give him up just for me."

Voldemort smiled slowly, relaxing back into a more indulgent mien. "Precisely, child. And that's the beauty of it. Dumbledore himself will eventually know this as well. You actually put it perfectly, child. You said he wouldn't give up Potter just for you. You, in the grand scheme of things, are insignificant. You are small in Dumbledore's sight where he worries more of the warriors and traitors rather than those ignorant innocents such as yourself. Just think of it, child: You weren't chosen for a pretty face, for any petty revenge, or because you were necessary to the cause. No... no, you were chosen because you were ordinary, with few features or traits that distinguish you from the norm; you were chosen at random. Wait, that's not true. I made sure my spy selected a Mudblood child. A Mudblood child to whom he had never thought of paying attention."

"Y-your spy?"

"Oh, I think you may be acquainted to him. His name is Severus Snape."

Jennifer gasped. "Professor Snape? But why would he--?" Professor Snape! And she had actually liked him! He was such a focused teacher, and despite all the horrid rumors she had heard for all five of her years at Hogwarts, she found that he did not mind teaching Ravenclaws as much as Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs; he preferred the profundity of thought during some of the more intricate seminars. She couldn't think of anything scathing enough to express her displeasure at finding herself proven wrong, so she muttered weakly, "I'm not that bad in Potions."

"No, you're just not incredible, or even good. You're ordinary. If you hadn't been walking through that hall, he would have grabbed some other Mudblood brat, and you'd be safe in your own bed. Baffling, don't you think?"

Jennifer found it hard to breathe. It could have been Tina. She's Muggle-born, too. If I hadn't...

"Don't you think it's a perfect plan, child? I send Dumbledore a letter that says a little girl named Jennifer Brown (even an ordinary name), and he says to himself, 'Who's Jennifer Brown?' Ah, the cruelest cut of all. Then, after a few inquiries, he will know who you are, but he won't know what to do. You're not important to him, but you are his responsibility. Potter is his first priority, but he knows that to your parents, you are their first priority. He won't be able to give up Potter, and he won't be able to save you. Imagine his utter guilt as he watches you die, undistinguished you, who never did anything to make yourself noticed, which, ironically, made Snape notice you. And I must say, he selected remarkably well." Voldemort settled back in his chair and appraised her shamelessly.

Jennifer looked away. She knew she didn't look ravishingly gorgeous, beautiful, or even pretty. She was pleasant. That's all. That's how her father described her anyway. Nondescript dark hair that looked best in curls, but it was too much trouble, and she more often than not just put it up in an elastic band. Plain brown eyes. Rather high cheekbones, but her mouth was thin and her neck was too thick. Her body was nothing notable, good hips, but nothing extraordinary. It hurt that she was destined to die because no one would think to look twice.

"Would you like some tea, child?" He stood and began pouring steaming hot water into the cups. It would have never occurred to Jennifer that the Dark Lord would have learned the most proper way of pouring water, but his style was perfect.

"Why are you--?" Jennifer began tremulously, but then she changed her mind. "I mean, aren't you going to torture me or something like that?"

Voldemort raised an eyebrow, passing a plate of cookies to her. She took one, aware of a nervous hunger talking in her belly. "Do you want me to torture you? I'm sure I would oblige if you asked." He quickly unsheathed his wand and pointed it at her.

Jennifer shook her head quickly. "No, but... why not?"

Voldemort sighed. "I'm bored with torture. They all seem to sound the same after a while. If only I could break the weak with my bare hands. I only just begin to understand the dark pleasure the Examiners used to feel during the Inquisition, turning the screw, tying the rope, or administering the water. It must be thrilling for direct contact, rather than the impersonal gesture of a spell. A potion, that is better, more intimate, grasping even the marrow of a person, but I have not the patience for brewing. Besides, your death requires no torture, and despite anything you may think, I am a practical man. And you seemed to have been hurt enough in my eyes. You fought, oh yes, you fought, but Snape gave you enough bruises that I am satisfied."

He handed her her tea and sat down next to her. Jennifer edged away. She did not fancy being less than a decimeter from the most evil wizard since Grindelwald.

"It's been ages since I've properly spoken with anyone whose mouth wasn't to the floor," Voldemort mused. "It's a rather interesting experience, one I don't intend to repeat, so I might as well live up this one. What are your parents' occupations?"

Jennifer stared, and had to force herself to look away, to peer out to the lake. "My dad's a... well, he's a mechanic, actually. And mum's a real estate agent. I don't see her much. But I love my dad. He's always so fundamentally honest."

Voldemort muttered under his breath, "A father... yes, it would be the father, wouldn't it?"

Jennifer didn't notice.

"For my fifteenth birthday, he got me a cat. Mum was out all that night, but she had provided a lovely dinner for us."

"You're only fifteen?" Voldemort asked.

"Um-hm. But I hope Professor Dumbledore tells Mum first, I don't think... I don't think Dad could stand it..." Jennifer suddenly dissolved into tears.

Lord Voldemort had a pained look on his face. "Child, I cannot tell you how much I detest tears. If you don't stop, I shall be obliged to curse you."

"You're heartless..." Jennifer sobbed. "You're going to kill me, and I'm never going to see my family or my friends again, and you expect me to take it without any tears."

Voldemort laughed, not nicely at all. "Of course. Who do you take me for? Your Muggle father? Do you forget that I am Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? People fear my name, and you expect me to give you a handkerchief and comfort you?"

"At least be sensitive!" she cried at him.

This only augmented his laughter. "If I wasn't going to kill you, I might actually keep you. You're so naive, you're amusing. Have you ever been in any kind of trouble? Besides this, I mean," he said, catching his breath, red eyes glittering with bemusement.

Jennifer shook her head.

"Pity," Voldemort murmured. "If you had, you might have been more interesting, and you might have been passed over. So many ways you could have unconsciously avoided such an encounter. I wager you feel a fool."

"Only a fellow fool would know the fool," Jennifer retorted, fisting her tears angrily.

"So the eagle shows me her talons. Well said, child. The proverb is true: the flower does blossom in adversity. But that does not make your death any less appropriate."

"My lord," interrupted a low voice, "the owl has arrived in Dumbledore's study."

"Traitor!" screamed Jennifer, hurling herself at him, the cup of tea in her lap flying off forgotten. Yet again, her muscles seized up, and Jennifer screamed for real at the fire that enveloped her body. The cry was cut short by falling flat on her stomach directly at Professor Snape's feet, her mouth against the toe of his boot.

"You know, Miss Brown, that appellation may have been more scathing had you not flung yourself down to kiss my boots. I had no idea I had such a faithful and desperate admirer."

Jennifer tried to move, but her rash action had its nasty repercussions, and she could only squirm from his boots.

"I never did anything to you," she whispered. "How could you betray us all? I defended you!"

Snape shrugged, crouching down to pick her up. "Your folly, not mine." He lifted her and laid her gently back down on the chaise longue.

"Let go of me," Jennifer said through clenched teeth. Snape immediately withdrew his hands, more because he had completed his task than at her command.

"My lord," Snape murmured, ignoring Jennifer completely, "was all this" --he gestured to the chaise, armchair, and table-- "really necessary? It seems arbitrary to me."

Voldemort shook his head, absentmindedly stroking Jennifer's leg. "My dear Severus, it creates the effect that I have been lazing around Dumbledore's domain without exerting much energy. As well I have. I will reward you for opening the barrier for me."

"My goal is to serve, my lord." Snape bowed, then left.

Voldemort smiled at Jennifer. "And the beauty of it is that Dumbledore thinks Snape's on his side, spying for him. He should have known that it is Snape's nature to both destroy and deceive, and only I provide the freedom to do both."

"You're both rotten, rotten to the core," Jennifer spat.

"And you haven't even seen me at my worst. I'm flattered, child. Ah, I think your 'rescue party' has arrived. And they can only hear my voice in here, so any plea you insist on making under the influence of hysterics will not be heeded by those on the other side of this barrier. Hm, there are more of them than I thought would come. Even some students... well, well, what are they doing out of bed at such an hour? Come to see the show, I would think. Good evening, Dumbledore."

Professor Dumbledore looked like someone who had just been hit by a brick wall after having bad eggs thrown at him. His face was so downcast that Jennifer almost wanted to pass through the barrier and tell him it was all right, and she would not mind dying of he would only smile. That face and those teary eyes made her realize Professor Dumbledore wasn't going to make it better, that he was fallible, and that she was really going to die tonight.

"Stand up, child."

"I can't, my--"

"I said 'stand up.' So he can see your anguished face." He wrenched her roughly to her feet, slipping an arm around her waist to hold her steady. Then, in a louder, more commanding and impressive voice, Voldemort said, "Do you have Potter, Dumbledore? At this point, this girl has amused me so, I might actually make you the fair exchange instead of just killing them both."

"I-- I-- I can't. I can't give you Harry, Voldemort. I-- I'm so sorry, Miss Brown, but I-- I just can't." Dumbledore closed his eyes wearily and lowered his head, absolutely beaten. Professor McGonagall stood beside him, tears streaming down her face. Professor Flitwick, her Head of House and kindest man she had ever met, couldn't look her in the eye, and he seemed to be swallowing a lot. They were all white as a sheet.

Voldemort tsked gleefully. "That's it. No back-up plan, no exhibition of Gryffindor stupidity, just 'you can't.' It can't be this easy."

Dumbledore said nothing, but the tears were now fogging up his glasses and his moustache was moist.

"You're just going to let me kill the child!" Voldemort laughed scornfully. "I can't believe it. This is going to eat you up, old man. I won't even have to kill you myself. I just let you kill yourself. How will you be able to sleep at night, knowing that you weren't able to save a completely innocent girl with whom no one had a quarrel. I'm extremely disappointed in you, Dumbledore. Maybe now, you will extend your favor beyond the minority orbiting Potter. Here's your punishment, oh white wizard."

Jennifer shook her head, beginning to swallow tears herself as it finally hit her that she was never going to see anyone again. "Please... please don't do this."

"Have to, child. I'll forget you, don't worry. You'll fade out of everyone's mind, until your gravestone is as insignificant as a grain of sand in a vast desert. Cheer up, you'll be a statistic in just a second."

Jennifer, stung by the apathetic venom of his words, clenched her eyes shut, forcing the tears to hold back. "Will it hurt?"

He stroked her face in a cruel parody of tenderness. "I wouldn't know. I've never died."

Then she felt the blunt tip of a wand against her cheek.

"Avada Kedavra."