Title: A Pixie Tale
Author: Lucia de'Medici
Prompt: Voldemort, sugar. From![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
sionnain
Word Count: 1,094
Summary: A crack!Voldemort fairytale... of sorts.
Rating: PG-13
---
A Pixie Tale
---
Once upon a time, in a land much like our own, there reigned a price among mortals whose deeds were known across all lands. A god among pigs, they hailed him, Lord Voldemort the Victorious!
It is in such a climate that our tale begins – in the newly reclaimed house of his forbears, where the Prince himself dwells to this day…
---
The Hall of the re-capacitated Riddle House rang with raucous laughter. Throughout the old manor, the Death Eaters revelled day and night – feasting and drinking, playing crude games and enjoying the festivities their Lord afforded them in “The Aftermath”.
Voldemort himself did not usually partake of his brethren’s amusements, choosing to seat himself on the high dais on the north most side of the grand parlour, in a lavishly carved and cushioned armchair and observe the festivities. The Dark Lord’s luxury was to partake of his victory by sipping expensive brandy from an enormous snifter – fashioned from the skull of his most despised, former enemy. It sated him in a manner that could not be matched by the concubines, or the rare and exotic foods lain at his table, nor the strings of interesting performers who strove to amuse his court.
Life was good, he proclaimed – and all who feared to cross him agreed enthusiastically.
Alas, the degenerative manner of play that kept his Death Eaters busy on most evenings would suffer the wear of time… Boredom, wrought of indulgence, makes a sorry bedfellow indeed.
As such, they took to other, plainer methods of decadence.
---
“My Lord! My Lord!” the squat little man with hair tufting from his earlobes scuttled forwards, grovelling before the Great Man.
“What is it Wormtail?”
“If it pleases you my lord, I come bearing tokens from the village – t-to amuse your Death Eaters, sir!”
Lord Voldemort sighed heavily, and set his prized trophy on the back of the nude muggle crouched at his feet.
“Dear Wormtail,” he began, “let us hope this gift is better than the last one. The Lestranges are still most displeased with your antics.”
Before him, Wormtail cowered – sucking in a frightened breath through his protuberant front teeth. “P-please, my lord! It was an honest mistake! Had I know Bellatrix would think the wartcap essence was a useful cosmetic to powder her nose I would have never -
”
“Enough,” the Dark Lord commanded, and snapped his wand to seal the rat’s lips together firmly. “You will present me the box, Wormtail. If it is worthy of my attentions, then it shall be worthy of my Death Eaters. Come now!”
With that, Voldemort’s servant stumbled forward holding the large crate aloft.
The insides of the gift were filled with many a curious thing – some of which seemed to vibrate, or to whiz, or float above the rest. It was a toy wand that captured the Dark Lord’s attention, however, so with long, skeletal fingers he did extract the gadget from the box and set his own wand aside by his brandy.
“Trinkets, Wormtail?” The Dark Lord pressed his lips together and turned his eyes on his most loyal devotees.
Wormtail, however, shook his head violently as the others converged on the box.
“What tawdry baubles – things that whirr and whiz, artefacts of a time long past when Mudbloods and Muggle-Sympathizers reigned in this place. Shameful,” the Dark Lord clucked, and tossed the trinket alongside his own wand and his brandy. “What do you have to say for yourself, Wormtail?” he reprimanded.
In response, the squat little man strained against the silencing charm placed against him, shaking his head furiously and causing little flecks of dandruff to rain on those around him.
The Death Eaters frowned over him as they examined the wares. The only exception, however, was Mulciber – who was floating three feet off the ground, his expression rapturous, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on a bon bon of some variety.
The Dark Lord frowned in distaste.
“Perhaps you thought it would be amusing to see my loyal servants behaving like infants,” he hissed.
Wormtail shook his head with force, and sank to his knees.
“What say you in defence, Wormtail?” Snatching his wand from the table, Lord Voldemort flicked his wand at the prostate man to remove his silencing charm.
Curiously, Wormtail continued to open and close his mouth without a sound escaping. The surrounding Death Eaters stilled, peering over each other’s shoulders at the crouched man.
Then, without warning, there was a loud “BANG!” and enormous pink puff of smoke issued from the Dark Lord’s wand.
Lord Voldemort blinked once, to clear his vibrant red eyes, and stared down at the instrument in his hand.
In the place of a proper yew wand, with a phoenix feather core, there was a long, plastic, pink tube – and from its tip issued copious amounts of a glittering white substance.
“Mulciber!” The Dark Lord bellowed. With as much haste as he could muster, his servant drifted forwards.
“Yes, m’lord?” said Mulciber, hovering at his left elbow and still suckling ecstatically at the candy in his pock-marked gorge.
“What is this witchcraft?” Lord Voldemort hissed, his eyes never leaving the granular powder issuing from his transfigured wand.
“With respect, m’lord,” Mulciber said jovially, “That’s a pixie stick that is. It be sugar!”
With that, Mulciber drifted up another five feet and was lost to the rafters with a loud, “Weeee!”
His disposition soured, Lord Voldemort poked a thin finger into the stream, examined the fine coating, and sucked the digit into his mouth.
“So it is,” he confirmed. His Death Eaters snarled. Wormtail scuttled backwards as if to escape.
With quiet menace, the Dark Lord murmured to the prostrate man at his feet, “So, you seek to amuse others with my humiliation?”
Wormtail gathered his squat self, scrambling forwards and crying soundlessly as he tried to place a number of kisses at the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes. You-Know-Who, however, had drawn back and turned from him to face his throne.
Slowly, he collected his skull of brandy and took a sip, slipping his proper wand into his hand. Then without warning, he swept around –
“AVADA KEDAVRA!” he barked, and thus, Wormtail did fall dead with an audible thud against the lavish Indonesian carpeting.
There reigned a moment’s silence while all sucked in a collective breath – and then the hall rang with cheers.
It was thus that order was restored, and their fervour for violent play renewed.
And they all lived evilly ever after.
~ The End ~
Author: Lucia de'Medici
Prompt: Voldemort, sugar. From
sionnainWord Count: 1,094
Summary: A crack!Voldemort fairytale... of sorts.
Rating: PG-13
A Pixie Tale
---
Once upon a time, in a land much like our own, there reigned a price among mortals whose deeds were known across all lands. A god among pigs, they hailed him, Lord Voldemort the Victorious!
It is in such a climate that our tale begins – in the newly reclaimed house of his forbears, where the Prince himself dwells to this day…
The Hall of the re-capacitated Riddle House rang with raucous laughter. Throughout the old manor, the Death Eaters revelled day and night – feasting and drinking, playing crude games and enjoying the festivities their Lord afforded them in “The Aftermath”.
Voldemort himself did not usually partake of his brethren’s amusements, choosing to seat himself on the high dais on the north most side of the grand parlour, in a lavishly carved and cushioned armchair and observe the festivities. The Dark Lord’s luxury was to partake of his victory by sipping expensive brandy from an enormous snifter – fashioned from the skull of his most despised, former enemy. It sated him in a manner that could not be matched by the concubines, or the rare and exotic foods lain at his table, nor the strings of interesting performers who strove to amuse his court.
Life was good, he proclaimed – and all who feared to cross him agreed enthusiastically.
Alas, the degenerative manner of play that kept his Death Eaters busy on most evenings would suffer the wear of time… Boredom, wrought of indulgence, makes a sorry bedfellow indeed.
As such, they took to other, plainer methods of decadence.
“My Lord! My Lord!” the squat little man with hair tufting from his earlobes scuttled forwards, grovelling before the Great Man.
“What is it Wormtail?”
“If it pleases you my lord, I come bearing tokens from the village – t-to amuse your Death Eaters, sir!”
Lord Voldemort sighed heavily, and set his prized trophy on the back of the nude muggle crouched at his feet.
“Dear Wormtail,” he began, “let us hope this gift is better than the last one. The Lestranges are still most displeased with your antics.”
Before him, Wormtail cowered – sucking in a frightened breath through his protuberant front teeth. “P-please, my lord! It was an honest mistake! Had I know Bellatrix would think the wartcap essence was a useful cosmetic to powder her nose I would have never -
”
“Enough,” the Dark Lord commanded, and snapped his wand to seal the rat’s lips together firmly. “You will present me the box, Wormtail. If it is worthy of my attentions, then it shall be worthy of my Death Eaters. Come now!”
With that, Voldemort’s servant stumbled forward holding the large crate aloft.
The insides of the gift were filled with many a curious thing – some of which seemed to vibrate, or to whiz, or float above the rest. It was a toy wand that captured the Dark Lord’s attention, however, so with long, skeletal fingers he did extract the gadget from the box and set his own wand aside by his brandy.
“Trinkets, Wormtail?” The Dark Lord pressed his lips together and turned his eyes on his most loyal devotees.
Wormtail, however, shook his head violently as the others converged on the box.
“What tawdry baubles – things that whirr and whiz, artefacts of a time long past when Mudbloods and Muggle-Sympathizers reigned in this place. Shameful,” the Dark Lord clucked, and tossed the trinket alongside his own wand and his brandy. “What do you have to say for yourself, Wormtail?” he reprimanded.
In response, the squat little man strained against the silencing charm placed against him, shaking his head furiously and causing little flecks of dandruff to rain on those around him.
The Death Eaters frowned over him as they examined the wares. The only exception, however, was Mulciber – who was floating three feet off the ground, his expression rapturous, and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on a bon bon of some variety.
The Dark Lord frowned in distaste.
“Perhaps you thought it would be amusing to see my loyal servants behaving like infants,” he hissed.
Wormtail shook his head with force, and sank to his knees.
“What say you in defence, Wormtail?” Snatching his wand from the table, Lord Voldemort flicked his wand at the prostate man to remove his silencing charm.
Curiously, Wormtail continued to open and close his mouth without a sound escaping. The surrounding Death Eaters stilled, peering over each other’s shoulders at the crouched man.
Then, without warning, there was a loud “BANG!” and enormous pink puff of smoke issued from the Dark Lord’s wand.
Lord Voldemort blinked once, to clear his vibrant red eyes, and stared down at the instrument in his hand.
In the place of a proper yew wand, with a phoenix feather core, there was a long, plastic, pink tube – and from its tip issued copious amounts of a glittering white substance.
“Mulciber!” The Dark Lord bellowed. With as much haste as he could muster, his servant drifted forwards.
“Yes, m’lord?” said Mulciber, hovering at his left elbow and still suckling ecstatically at the candy in his pock-marked gorge.
“What is this witchcraft?” Lord Voldemort hissed, his eyes never leaving the granular powder issuing from his transfigured wand.
“With respect, m’lord,” Mulciber said jovially, “That’s a pixie stick that is. It be sugar!”
With that, Mulciber drifted up another five feet and was lost to the rafters with a loud, “Weeee!”
His disposition soured, Lord Voldemort poked a thin finger into the stream, examined the fine coating, and sucked the digit into his mouth.
“So it is,” he confirmed. His Death Eaters snarled. Wormtail scuttled backwards as if to escape.
With quiet menace, the Dark Lord murmured to the prostrate man at his feet, “So, you seek to amuse others with my humiliation?”
Wormtail gathered his squat self, scrambling forwards and crying soundlessly as he tried to place a number of kisses at the hem of the Dark Lord’s robes. You-Know-Who, however, had drawn back and turned from him to face his throne.
Slowly, he collected his skull of brandy and took a sip, slipping his proper wand into his hand. Then without warning, he swept around –
“AVADA KEDAVRA!” he barked, and thus, Wormtail did fall dead with an audible thud against the lavish Indonesian carpeting.
There reigned a moment’s silence while all sucked in a collective breath – and then the hall rang with cheers.
It was thus that order was restored, and their fervour for violent play renewed.
And they all lived evilly ever after.
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