These are the Moments of Our Lives ii
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
905
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
905
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
These are the Moments of Our Lives ii
http://www.fanfiction.net/u/354380/bledding_black_rose
I found a list at the above site, I don’t think it belongs to this person, but this is where I found it anyway, before I get accused of stealing or whatever… losers
Disclaimer: JK owns the world in which i frequently dwell.
Pairings: none
Characters: Death Eaters, The Dark Lord, She,
warnings: crack, crack, ..., adverbs, adjectives
authors notes: obviously this was written using 103 Ways to Annoy, Harass, Confuse or Generally Scare Lord Voldemort Sure-fire ways to get yourself killed, or at least Crucio'd round the block and back again. i didn't use all 103, and not all the ideas came from the list.
Not one of the Death Eaters know where she comes from, but she is a devil with the knitting needles and they each accept their fluffy woollen socks with bowed heads and mumbles of gratitude. Too bad they were out of wool that doesn’t threaten blindness when she bought her supplies, they think, almost as one, as they examine the florescent green socks with grey skulls and black snakes. Some feel it is a good thing they aren’t animated, some are sorely dissapointed. They warily remove their shoes and replace their old socks as she taps her needle impatiently against her thigh.
As they sit around the long table in the gloom, pondering on where their latest devious plan went wrong, she enters the room with a large bouquet of Vibrant Violets, Fluttering Ferns, and Snap Dragons. Their eyes follow her as she approaches the Dark Lord, mixed are their feelings, of dread, despair and delight. The Dark Lord eyes them warily, and she produces a large vase from behind her back. The flowers are seated in it, hiding the Dark Lord from view. Almost. They all see her pat his head lovingly before leaving the room.
Lucius has the most gold stars. He isn’t sure how to feel about this, as his reward is a lilac muffler, and the Dark Lord has taken to eyeing him in concern. She of course congratulates him frequently and constantly asks the other Death Eaters, “Why can’t you all be more like Malfoy?” Lucius feels it to be in his best interest to lay off Muggle Killing for a few days. Goyle picks up his slack and is soon seen sporting an orange cap and a large grin. Throughout the hide-out she can be heard, “Why can’t you all be more like Goyle?”
The Dark Lord can be found most Wednesday nights at a desk too small for his long bony legs, she stands beside him as he looks over parchments, a quill clamped in his teeth. They speak in hushed voices and occasionally the Dark Lord writes something, and she leans over and makes a mark with her own quill before tucking it back in her hair. Several Death Eaters have seen these pages. They are headed Destroying the Scar Bugger and Devious Battle Plan #596 and The Order Sucks Shrivelfig. They are covered what can only be described as chicken scratch, various words are scribbled out with red ink, corrections are written above, neatly, in the same colour.
There are times when she is not all shiny and happy and helpful. She has been heard yelling at the Dark Lord, often in the wee hours of the morning, mostly she yells about his name, asking him why he couldn’t come up with something that commands more respect, on occasion she has been heard to ask why he doesn’t change his name to Potter or Dumbledore. Once, at three am, they are awoken to screams of, “and Marvolo? What’s that, a washing detergent?!” They don’t know what this means but the Dark Lord looked distressed all the next day.
One day in spring she paints their masks, just before a raid. Needless to say the raid is cancelled, because they have to spend three hours removing florescent paint and flashing glitter from their masks. This is also around the time she starts insisting they all gather in the larger ballroom before bed, where she reads to them from what must be foreign children's storybooks. Every second night it is The Ugly Duckling. She smiles happily when she finishes it, and wipes a tear from her eye before telling them all to “Toddle off to bed.” Goyle always stops by her chair to tell her thank you. She gives him a cookie every time.
It is November when she starts hinting to the Dark Lord about a ‘this great therapist in London’. The Dark Lord is often seen with a squashy yellow ball in his bony fingers. He squeezes it almost all time, and it isn’t long before it is in tatters in his hands. She continues to express her opinions on the therapist in London, and gives him a fluttering fern in a pot. When it dies less than a week later, she bursts into tears and goes hunting for his wand, proclaiming loudly to all who can hear, that she is going to snap it and bury it.
She sits beside him at the breakfast table, almost on top of him, cuddling into his side, telling him all about Star Wars, pausing every now and again to exclaim, ‘oh my, but isn’t that just like you?’ until he gives in and helps her with the Quibbler’s Daily crossword. If by some small chance he manages to avoid doing the crossword she harps on at him all day with questions about the ‘socially acceptability’ of the Dark Mark, and coughs *not gonna work* every time he attempts to detail his plans for world domination. As a last resort she calls him tommy-boy. They soon retreat to the breakfast table to complete the crossword.
The Death Eaters cringe when she attends meetings. Her greatest input is telling the Dark Lord she’s heard of cheese with more cunning plans, and does he think Salazar would approve? She sings songs none of them have heard, and attempts to engage them in games of poker. She drums out tunes with cutlery, summons house elves to supply her with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and chocolate milk, both of which she uses to create bubbles. Loudly and with much “would you look at that one!” before attempting to pop the gum bubbles by jumping on them. To little result, except slightly misshapen bluebell colour bubbles bobbing around the ceiling for days.
The Dark Lord walks into the Breakfast room with round glasses drawn around his eyes in thick black marker. Silence reigns. She stands and introduces him, as “Your Dark Lord, everyone,” pelts him with rice and confetti, mentions that he is looking ‘particularly menacing this morning,’ before breaking down in hysterics and running out of the hall. The Death Eaters politely excuse themselves en mass and make sure they are far away when he next goes near a mirror. When they next hear the two of them together she is ranting something about making him look more like the scarhead bugger, and if he would just let her give him a matching scar, why, they would be practically related.
There are passing conversations in which she is talking and the Dark Lord is brooding. She wants to know how he can be afraid of dear old ‘dumbers’, “okay, sure he had a beard the size of a beehive, but that’s nothing a razor can’t take care of” and why he would possibly wish to harm a single hair on the head of ‘that sweet, innocent, cute little boy”. She laughs after this and comes up with increasingly ridiculous ideas of how to defeat the ‘Scarhead Bugger’, all seem to involve a murderous rabbit, and Rita Skeeter, the latter as a ritual sacrifice.
There is much yelling the night before The Dark Lord disappears forever. All the Death Eaters manage to make out is, “isn't this whole evil-maniac-out-for-power-and-revenge thing getting a bit old?” The next morning The Dark Lord is gone, and she rouses them all with proclamations of ‘early retirement’ and ‘disbandment’. When they look dazed she tells them to go home to their families and grow up. “playing war is for children,” she tells them, and they never see her again. They take her advice though, and they all live happily ever after.
Various sighting of the dark lord are reported to the Ministry over the years, in places sunny, with golden white sand and sparkling blue seas. He has with him a muggle woman, countless reports, filed in the darkest cellar of the ministry state, she sits beside him on a beach towel and together they knit scarves, socks, hats, mittens, you name it, they knit it. One wouldn’t think there would be much need for clothes of wool on a tropical island, but for some reason everyone own something in florescent wool. All this is purely fictitious, of course, because after all, the ministry’s middle name is denial.
~END~
I found a list at the above site, I don’t think it belongs to this person, but this is where I found it anyway, before I get accused of stealing or whatever… losers
Disclaimer: JK owns the world in which i frequently dwell.
Pairings: none
Characters: Death Eaters, The Dark Lord, She,
warnings: crack, crack, ..., adverbs, adjectives
authors notes: obviously this was written using 103 Ways to Annoy, Harass, Confuse or Generally Scare Lord Voldemort Sure-fire ways to get yourself killed, or at least Crucio'd round the block and back again. i didn't use all 103, and not all the ideas came from the list.
Not one of the Death Eaters know where she comes from, but she is a devil with the knitting needles and they each accept their fluffy woollen socks with bowed heads and mumbles of gratitude. Too bad they were out of wool that doesn’t threaten blindness when she bought her supplies, they think, almost as one, as they examine the florescent green socks with grey skulls and black snakes. Some feel it is a good thing they aren’t animated, some are sorely dissapointed. They warily remove their shoes and replace their old socks as she taps her needle impatiently against her thigh.
As they sit around the long table in the gloom, pondering on where their latest devious plan went wrong, she enters the room with a large bouquet of Vibrant Violets, Fluttering Ferns, and Snap Dragons. Their eyes follow her as she approaches the Dark Lord, mixed are their feelings, of dread, despair and delight. The Dark Lord eyes them warily, and she produces a large vase from behind her back. The flowers are seated in it, hiding the Dark Lord from view. Almost. They all see her pat his head lovingly before leaving the room.
Lucius has the most gold stars. He isn’t sure how to feel about this, as his reward is a lilac muffler, and the Dark Lord has taken to eyeing him in concern. She of course congratulates him frequently and constantly asks the other Death Eaters, “Why can’t you all be more like Malfoy?” Lucius feels it to be in his best interest to lay off Muggle Killing for a few days. Goyle picks up his slack and is soon seen sporting an orange cap and a large grin. Throughout the hide-out she can be heard, “Why can’t you all be more like Goyle?”
The Dark Lord can be found most Wednesday nights at a desk too small for his long bony legs, she stands beside him as he looks over parchments, a quill clamped in his teeth. They speak in hushed voices and occasionally the Dark Lord writes something, and she leans over and makes a mark with her own quill before tucking it back in her hair. Several Death Eaters have seen these pages. They are headed Destroying the Scar Bugger and Devious Battle Plan #596 and The Order Sucks Shrivelfig. They are covered what can only be described as chicken scratch, various words are scribbled out with red ink, corrections are written above, neatly, in the same colour.
There are times when she is not all shiny and happy and helpful. She has been heard yelling at the Dark Lord, often in the wee hours of the morning, mostly she yells about his name, asking him why he couldn’t come up with something that commands more respect, on occasion she has been heard to ask why he doesn’t change his name to Potter or Dumbledore. Once, at three am, they are awoken to screams of, “and Marvolo? What’s that, a washing detergent?!” They don’t know what this means but the Dark Lord looked distressed all the next day.
One day in spring she paints their masks, just before a raid. Needless to say the raid is cancelled, because they have to spend three hours removing florescent paint and flashing glitter from their masks. This is also around the time she starts insisting they all gather in the larger ballroom before bed, where she reads to them from what must be foreign children's storybooks. Every second night it is The Ugly Duckling. She smiles happily when she finishes it, and wipes a tear from her eye before telling them all to “Toddle off to bed.” Goyle always stops by her chair to tell her thank you. She gives him a cookie every time.
It is November when she starts hinting to the Dark Lord about a ‘this great therapist in London’. The Dark Lord is often seen with a squashy yellow ball in his bony fingers. He squeezes it almost all time, and it isn’t long before it is in tatters in his hands. She continues to express her opinions on the therapist in London, and gives him a fluttering fern in a pot. When it dies less than a week later, she bursts into tears and goes hunting for his wand, proclaiming loudly to all who can hear, that she is going to snap it and bury it.
She sits beside him at the breakfast table, almost on top of him, cuddling into his side, telling him all about Star Wars, pausing every now and again to exclaim, ‘oh my, but isn’t that just like you?’ until he gives in and helps her with the Quibbler’s Daily crossword. If by some small chance he manages to avoid doing the crossword she harps on at him all day with questions about the ‘socially acceptability’ of the Dark Mark, and coughs *not gonna work* every time he attempts to detail his plans for world domination. As a last resort she calls him tommy-boy. They soon retreat to the breakfast table to complete the crossword.
The Death Eaters cringe when she attends meetings. Her greatest input is telling the Dark Lord she’s heard of cheese with more cunning plans, and does he think Salazar would approve? She sings songs none of them have heard, and attempts to engage them in games of poker. She drums out tunes with cutlery, summons house elves to supply her with Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, and chocolate milk, both of which she uses to create bubbles. Loudly and with much “would you look at that one!” before attempting to pop the gum bubbles by jumping on them. To little result, except slightly misshapen bluebell colour bubbles bobbing around the ceiling for days.
The Dark Lord walks into the Breakfast room with round glasses drawn around his eyes in thick black marker. Silence reigns. She stands and introduces him, as “Your Dark Lord, everyone,” pelts him with rice and confetti, mentions that he is looking ‘particularly menacing this morning,’ before breaking down in hysterics and running out of the hall. The Death Eaters politely excuse themselves en mass and make sure they are far away when he next goes near a mirror. When they next hear the two of them together she is ranting something about making him look more like the scarhead bugger, and if he would just let her give him a matching scar, why, they would be practically related.
There are passing conversations in which she is talking and the Dark Lord is brooding. She wants to know how he can be afraid of dear old ‘dumbers’, “okay, sure he had a beard the size of a beehive, but that’s nothing a razor can’t take care of” and why he would possibly wish to harm a single hair on the head of ‘that sweet, innocent, cute little boy”. She laughs after this and comes up with increasingly ridiculous ideas of how to defeat the ‘Scarhead Bugger’, all seem to involve a murderous rabbit, and Rita Skeeter, the latter as a ritual sacrifice.
There is much yelling the night before The Dark Lord disappears forever. All the Death Eaters manage to make out is, “isn't this whole evil-maniac-out-for-power-and-revenge thing getting a bit old?” The next morning The Dark Lord is gone, and she rouses them all with proclamations of ‘early retirement’ and ‘disbandment’. When they look dazed she tells them to go home to their families and grow up. “playing war is for children,” she tells them, and they never see her again. They take her advice though, and they all live happily ever after.
Various sighting of the dark lord are reported to the Ministry over the years, in places sunny, with golden white sand and sparkling blue seas. He has with him a muggle woman, countless reports, filed in the darkest cellar of the ministry state, she sits beside him on a beach towel and together they knit scarves, socks, hats, mittens, you name it, they knit it. One wouldn’t think there would be much need for clothes of wool on a tropical island, but for some reason everyone own something in florescent wool. All this is purely fictitious, of course, because after all, the ministry’s middle name is denial.
~END~