A high, cold voice whispered in the gloom: a voice of shivers, a voice to raise the dead. "Come here," it said to something that lurked unseen in the room. "Come close to me, my pet. Tell me where you have been—what you have seen and done this night."

As if in response, a sinuous form emerged through the shadows. Silently it approached the owner of the voice, then climbed up to rest near his shoulder. Lord Voldemort's slitted eyes regarded those of the animal. As always, his eyes showed cruelty and purpose—yet now they also harbored something like fondness. He scratched the creature's chin with his long, sharp fingernails, and in moments a gentle purring emerged from the animal's soft throat.

"Nothing to report, Delilah?" said Lord Voldemort, his thin grey lips curved in a twisted grin. His gaze penetrated that of the small cat at his shoulder. It bent its chin into his palm, arched its back, and rubbed against his skeletal wrist, purring loudly. "Nothing to say, as usual. Stupid creature," he said, but the softness of his gaze belied an uncharacteristic lack of malice. "You are half the conversational partner Nagini was." His expression turned sour. "How I miss her," he said, gazing into the darkness. "But she shall be avenged. Yes, sorely avenged."

A figure appeared in the doorway opposite the place where Lord Voldemort sat. "Good morning," it called cheerfully, then moved swiftly through the room. Lord Voldemort glowered at the intruder as she passed, his eyes widening in threat. She was a teenage girl dressed in Muggle clothing, with a pale complexion, handsome features, and long, dark hair. She gazed back at him with a placid, slightly defiant expression, and walked through to the kitchen. "The Dark Lord hasn't had his coffee yet today, I see," she said. Voldemort's eyes widened even more, then he let out a snort of disgust and sprawled back on the throne. "Such insolence," he snarled, turning again to Delilah and continuing to scratch her chin. "At least you do not openly defy me." At that moment she turned her tail toward his face. He sniffled and spat out a mouthful of fur.

All at once another creature emerged from the door and raced toward Voldemort with blinding speed. Almost before he could respond, it burst into the air and landed on his chest with a deafening squeal. "Daddy!" it screamed, clinging to the front of Lord Voldemort's robes. "Give us a cuddle," the creature said, laying its head on his smooth, gray face. She was small and sprightly, the size of a house elf, and wore a bright yellow dress and a bow to match. Lord Voldemort's lip curled in an expression of bemusement and revulsion, but his hands slowly enfolded the girl's narrow back. "Good morning," the Dark Lord grunted. She popped up, put a finger to his nose—which was little more than a pair of slits—and stuck out her lip in a truculent expression. "You haven't forgotten your promise, have you?" Voldemort looked confused for a moment, then remembered something and turned his head away. "No, I haven't forgotten," he said, sinking lower in his chair. The small girl climbed down from his knees and ran toward the kitchen. "Good!" she said, and tossed her golden hair as she looked back at him. "I knew you wouldn't. I knew you'd keep your promise."

"You little liar," said the older girl. "You fretted all night. ‘Daddy won't forget will he?' ‘I just know he'll forget.' ‘He never keeps his promises.' Little whiner. I barely slept a wink."

"You're the liar," said the smaller one, taking a bowl from the cupboard. "I knew he'd remember. How could he forget? You're just jealous."

"Jealous of what?"

"Jealous ‘cause you know he loves me best," said the little one, smiling smugly.

The older girl's reply was cut off by Voldemort. "Silence!" he hissed, sitting forward in his chair. The kitten, startled, leapt down. Voldemort growled for a moment before calming himself. "Your squabbling annoys me," he said at last. "Tabitha, fetch me my coffee."

"Get it yourself," said the older girl, not bothering to look at him. Lord Voldemort's pupils grew large as he watched her pour milk into her cereal. His lip trembled, and his right hand twitched as if grasping for some object it dearly missed. At last Voldemort fell back once more, covering his eyes.

A small dog skittered into the room. It panted its way over to Voldemort and placed its paws on his leg. Then it spied the cat licking itself nearby, barked sharply and gave chase. Voldemort gave no sign of having seen the dog, but re-adjusted his robe—which resembled a velvet smoking-jacket—and crossed his legs. The cat soon climbed where the dog could not reach, and the dog lay down beneath it. The only sound was the occasional clink of spoons from the kitchen.

After a few minutes, a short, middle-aged woman came into the room, her head to one side as she fiddled with an earring. "Good morning, honey," she said to Lord Voldemort, then paused and looked him from head to toe. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"I only just arose," he replied.

She rolled her eyes. "Another late night, I guess?" she asked, and began collecting mismatched shoes from the floor.

Lord Voldemort grimaced and looked at the ceiling. "Violet, you have no idea the importance of this research in which—"

She interrupted. "Yeah, well we need to get a move on. Your suit's in the laundry room. I pressed it last night."

"Slytherin's Beard! I abhor these Muggle clothes you insist on donning—" Voldemort began.

"Don't curse, dear. If you want to look like some kind of hippy you can wear whatever nightclothes strike your fancy. But if you want to look respectable, I'd suggest you—"

Lord Voldemort's voice emerged at a shrill pitch. "You dare speak so to the Dark Lord? I have killed children for less offense than I have borne this morning in my own castle."

Violet looked taken aback, then cocked an eyebrow and said, "This is no castle, Your Deviousness. News Flash: We live in a terraced house in Islington. And you need to get ready now or we're going to be late."

"The Death Eaters would never have spoken so to me," said Voldemort, slumping his shoulders and staring into his lap.

"Your Death Eaters all bit the dust, as I recall, and your various other toadying lackeys moved on to greener pastures. We're the best you've got now, Your Worship, and the best you've ever had, some might say. Anyway, stop sulking and go shave your head. We have to be out the door in ten minutes."

Lord Voldemort continued to fume as Violet hurried the girls off to finish brushing their teeth. After a few moments, she reemerged carrying a small baby. "This one's done the dirty," she said, placing the child into his unwilling hands. "Why don't you hoover it up with your little wand thingy—makes a quick job of it. And get a move on!"

Lord Voldemort slowly lowered the baby onto its back, drew his wand and placed it on the floor while he fetched a fresh diaper and wipes. By the time he returned, the baby had picked up the wand and was using it to shoot small flowers across the room. Voldemort smiled as he began changing its diaper. "That's my boy," he said, admiring the spell. "Not a filthy Muggle like the rest of them. You'll be a true wizard like your old man, won't you?"

He wiggled the baby's nose, and its giggles erupted in a volley of daisies and dandelions. Voldemort laughed as well—a cruel, mirthless sound, like bricks being rubbed together—then let out a long sigh. "How did I ever get myself into this—mess?" he asked the baby, who responded by dimpling his cheeks.

"By saying, ‘I do'," said Violet, reemerging from the hallway. "Or don't you remember—the candles, the cake, the vicar with the hip flask?" Voldemort looked up at her and saw her expression soften. She knelt beside them and helped clasp the little overalls. "Strongest magic ever made—isn't that what you said?" she asked.

"‘Till death do us part'," Voldemort said, looking into her eyes, his expression unreadable. "‘Let no man put asunder'. What madness overtook me?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," said Violet, lifting the baby and standing up. "Come on, we need to go! You can put your suit on in the back seat."

Voldemort stared blankly for a moment, then rose and followed her toward the door. Violet turned. "Come on, girls!" she called, then looked urgently at Voldemort. "You haven't forgotten you're taking Jenny to the fun fair after church, have you?"

"Church?!" Lord Voldemort spat.

"Yes. Church. That place we go on Sundays?"

"Sunday?!"

"Are you daft? If you wouldn't stay up till all hours you might have enough brain left over to remember what day it is. You do remember that pastor asked you to say the opening prayer this morning?"

Voldemort stopped, looked to the sky for a moment, then let his face fall into his hands. His voice, when it came, was a gurgling wail like the sound of a drowning banshee. "Oh God!" he cried.

"That's the spirit," said Violet, and strode off to unlock the car. The baby over her shoulder swished the wand back and forth a few times, then babbled something indistinct. With a flash of sparks, a small viper sprang from the end of the wand and landed at Voldemort's feet. He regarded it for a moment as it writhed over his patent leather wingtips, then picked it up and looked it eye-to-eye. It hissed menacingly, baring its fangs, then lashed out in a futile attempt to bite his face. The Dark Lord's bitter expression lifted as a gleam came into his eye. "Perhaps all is not yet lost," he murmured. Looking quickly up and down the street, he placed the snake in his pocket and drifted down toward the car.

Labels: fiction, writing