A Counter-Reality Series

Title: Make An Appointment

Author: Recto-Bella

Summery: Seven days before the end of August, Voldemort received a parcel, containing...

Give one glance into the deserted Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton, and one could almost see the sinisterly ecstatic aura of triumph radiating off the house. The sole residence of the house was elated to the extreme.

After all, who won't be whooping with exhilaration when they had just finished off their mortal enemy? Moreover, Albus Dumbledore (yes, that'd been his enemy's name) was killed by his now dear Death-Eater-turned-spy-who-then-came-back. Aha! Hilarious.

The Dark Lord found everything hilarious these days, if not a little boring.

Now, spare another look against the silhouette of the house, and one went on to perceive that there was a certain amount of curiosity and suspicion in the air. Said resident was surprised by something inside the house.

Such unstable emotion, made by this resident, disturbed the small animals, such as mice, spiders, ect., to no end, making them twist with drunken grace as they scuttled around searching for food.

The Dark Lord, resting leisurely in one of the dusty rooms, had been gazing cautiously at a heavy envelope/parcel sent to him less than two hours ago by a snowy owl.

Caution did not come with fear of danger for this dark wizard. In fact, it was the obvious harmlessness and randomness of this object that irked him to the extreme--he had absolutely no idea how to deal with something that did not need to be broken with a few well-chosen curses.

The thing inside the envelope was hard and had a near rectangular shape. "And what could a mundane rectangular shape do?" the Dark Lord wondered.

The helpless situation described above led to his ultimate indecision.

"Maybe I will just open it," he muttered to himself. He made to touch the fat envelope, but retreated in the last second. "When I find out who sent this... this harmless stuff..." he lingered vehemently.

Recent weeks, he had grown tired of security in war. Security on his side. The death of Albus Dumbledore had rendering the rest of the wizarding community useless. (Maybe Harry Potter excluded, but the Dark Lord decided he didn't want to think about him right now and give himself a headache.)

And now, with the lack of competent opponent, he was quite bored. Which explained why he craved for more dangerous things.

Anyways, enough of the Dark Lord's boring past activities, for time flew quickly and action started.

For a moment, music startled the well-placed silence inside the room. Wait... wasn't that tune, the Wedding March?

The Dark Lord jumped. Looking around, he found that the music came from the envelope.

"Aha? Somebody is stupid enough to send me a music box?" he mused, almost laughing out loud.

Leaving all the hesitancy behind, he ripped open the cover. Inside was a brand new muggle-made cell phone, and the ringtone indicated that someone was calling him.

It had been 50 years since the Dark Lord had contact with muggle technology. And he marveled at how fast it grew. (The ringtone sang happily all the while.)

He flipped open the cover. The button, "Talk", painted bright emerald green jumped out at him. And he pressed it.

"Lord Voldemort speaking?" he said automatically, raising the small thing to his ears.

The other side drew a sharp, determined breath. 'Aha!' thought Voldemort savagely, 'Learnt to be defiant eh? You are lucky we are on the phone, or else I'd have long cursed you into 100 years oblivion.'

"Hello, Voldemort. This is Harry Potter."

Silence. The Dark Lord had absolutely nothing to say. Did Potter have some sort of head injury to first send him a cell-phone and then call him?

"I know you are there, Voldemort," whispered Harry on the other side.

"What if I am?" whispered Voldemort back with caution. This could not be happening. Was the world listening? This was impossible! Harry Potter was muggle-calling him!

"Listen, I can't stay here long," said Harry again in that same urgent voice. "If my uncle finds out I'm using the phone to call you, he'll go buts."

"What is it that you request of me?"

"O.K. You killed Dumbledore," said Harry. "And now, I want you dead."

The brat was too brave he was a blunt idiot.

"Really?" said Voldemort silkily, "So that is why you send me a filthy muggle device and prepare to give me a heart attack. Should I go into hiding now? With no forwarding address?"

"Let me make something clear, Voldemort-" said Harry through gritted teeth.

"Okay~" whispered Voldemort easily.

"-First of all, I did not in the least expected that you are scared out of your wits by a 'filthy muggle device'-"

"I am not scared! You simple-headed nitwit!"

"-Secondly, heart attack is not the right word because you did not make yourself a heart two years ago. If you die unable to breathe, it's your nostril got stuck or something."

"Excuse me! My nostrils do not have boogers, so it won't get stuck."

"Thirdly, I sent Hedwig to you without address, so if you want an owl free-day, like my uncle does, you'd better put on some dark spell to chase them away."

"Good idea, Potter! I will do that. And I'll get rid of your annoying owl if it's the last thing I do."

"Oh no, that won't be the last thing you do. Actually, I am here to discuss the last thing you do," said Harry smugly on the other side.

"You get my attention," replied Voldemort sarcastically. What wouldn't he give to Legilimize the brat.

"I'm here to make an appointment with you," explained Harry. "To a duel, if you please. If I lose, you can take my life. If I won, I want something in return."

"Oh? And what is that?" a sneer in place.

"Your Horcruxes."

"So, Dumbledore guessed," Voldemort said quietly.

"Of course," replied Harry proudly. "So will you do it?"

'Is this some sort of extraordinarily sweet dream?' pondered Voldemort. 'No matter what, I am going to remember this one forever. Potter's here. On a muggle cell-phone. Want a duel with me. ME, the best dueler in the world. And I am here, seriously considering his terms, without any bit of worry that he discovered my secret. The world is truly mad.''

"Your life, or my Horcruxes. Excellent," he said aloud finally. "What time? What place?"

"Hogwarts. The highest Astronomy Tour. If I die, I want to be flung of the highest tower like Dumbledore. If you die, I'll flung you off the tower," came the teenager's voice. "As for time, what time is convenient for you?"

'Oh, Slytherin's soul above,' thought Voldemort with a slight shudder. 'What is happening to the world? The-Boy-Who-Lived, asking when it is convenient for me to kill him.'

"I would make it Halloween, but it's a long time. I'd say the first hour, first day of August, seven days from now." Voldemort sneered triumphantly.

"The day after my birthday... " breathed Harry quietly.

"Exactly. A fair duel. No mother's blood to protected you now," said Voldemort.

"O.K. Got it," said Harry. "Deal."

"Deal."

A moment's pause granted the two speakers.

"My uncle is coming downstairs now," said Harry, breaking the silence. "I've got to go."

"Have a very, ah, nice day, Harry," replied Voldemort unable to believe the ways of the world.

"Right. Thanks," said Harry in the same sarcastic tone. "Oh, and Voldemort?"

"Yes?"

"You are calling with the cell-phone."

"I know I am."

"You'll also need to pay me for that. Bring the money with you to the Tower," a pause. "And I want it in pounds." The connection died.

"Of course, Harry Potter," whispered Voldemort, with surprise, with triumph.