Ordinary
"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."
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