wand_wavers: (voldemort)
[personal profile] wand_wavers
Riddle House, perched on a hill above the village of Little Hangleton, might as well be in another world entirely. Unplottable, as of late, and should any hapless Muggles somehow wander through the Repelling charms, Dementors roam the grounds. The constant cold, clinging mist further obscures the place, much to its owner's pleasure.

The house is empty today, but for two figures, one standing, one kneeling in the cellars. The stone walls drip with moisture as red-tinted, acrid steam rises from a cauldron.

Voldemort leans against the wall, twirling his wand idly. "This had better work, Peverell." There is a sudden flash of light and a rat squeals in surprise as it dies. "Or you'll wish you'd never existed."

"N-no, my Lord, it will work," says the elderly wizard, stooping, chalk in hand, to trace a large triangle on floor. "I've called several demons in this fashion and bound them all to me." He adds quickly, "Or to my master."

"Get on with it then," the Dark Lord snaps, beginning to pace restlessly, tapping his wand against his palm. A demon... this will be most promising. Dementors are all well and good, but to harness the power of Hell's legions? Oh, yes. Voldemort is not, nor ever has been, particularly inclined towards religion - but he believes in power. Be it that of the Dark Arts or of Hell, it will be his.

He watches with glowing red eyes as Peverell traces another shape on the cold flagstones - a circle around the triangle - watches as the salt is scattered, as the rite is performed. The air thickens and sulphur wafts through the cellar.

With growing impatience, Voldemort waits for more power.

Date: 2006-04-11 07:22 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
For a while, there is nothing. The steam swirls in the dank, damp air; there's a draft, as there always is in such places, and it draws little eddies and currents in the mist.

Gradually, however, it may start to seem as though the draft, weak as it is, has a purpose in mind - after a few minutes, there seems to be rather more steam within the circle than without.

It shimmers oddly; yellow light, instead of red.

Date: 2006-04-12 07:09 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
It coalesces, roiling sluggishly - then starts to dissipate, leaving the circle empty. And then just as suddenly, the steam rushes inwards once more, with a long, low hiss.

sssssssssssssssssss

which becomes

fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff

and then a sudden, muffled bang of displaced air.

"ffffFUCK."

Within the circle, there is a triangle, and within the triangle, there is a slowly clearing cloud of steam. And within the slowly clearing cloud of steam, there is a young man, pulling himself into a sitting position. Not particularly demonic-looking, to be honest, he has dark hair, good cheekbones, and - even in the dark of the cellar - a pair of sunglasses. On his feet, he wears snakeskin shoes.

Or at least, presumably those are shoes.

Date: 2006-04-15 03:33 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"Uh."

A little dazed, a little disoriented, Crowley reaches out to take the wineglass more on instinct than anything else. He doesn't take a sip though; rather, when he finally has enough wits about him to focus on Voldemort's face, he goes very, very still.

Shit, says his expression, far more eloquently than his mouth ever could.

Date: 2006-04-15 04:12 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
Crowley visibly Pulls Himself Together, slithering to his feet and dusting himself off with his free hand.

"What would you like to call me?" he asks smoothly. "Caim? Chamos? Carnivean? Carreau?"

These are not his name, but they will suffice; neither are they truly anyone else's. Names give power; he will neither give his real name, nor his true one.

There is, of course, 'Anthony' - but something tells Crowley that a guy called Voldemort might not appreciate that one quite so much.

Date: 2006-04-15 04:51 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"You've come up on the grapevine a few times," he allows casually. "Here and there."

His own wine remains untouched, still - and it's to Crowley's credit that his knuckles are not white around the glass.

Another moment of silence, as Crowley takes in his surroundings, the sight of the archaic chalked and salted symbols on the floor catching him half-way between rolling his eyes and cursing. Ancient and ridiculous, and hardly necessary, in a summoning, but - there are rules. Even for things like him, there are rules.

A shallow bow, careful not to spill any wine.

"I take it," he asks, "that I am here for a reason?"

For better or worse, he's stuck here now, until he is dismissed.

Shit.

Date: 2006-04-15 05:26 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
This garners Voldemort a raised eyebrow, and a sneer.

"There are many evils in this world, Riddle - " deliberately chosen; Crowley will not give him his title, " - and yours is hardly the - "

He stops, suddenly. There is a feeling, a, a - it creeps, icy into your stomach and it's... colder all of a sudden isn't it? and Crowley's, Crowley doesn't, he can see in the dark so why is -

And then it stops. Fades.





His expression never changed, not one jot - and his voice, now, is just as level.

"You have Dementors on the grounds."

It's not a question.

Date: 2006-04-15 05:44 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"They are bound to you?" he asks, to all appearances merely mildly curious.

Dementors have their distant origins in Hell. If the more bestial demons can be bound and controlled - hell, Crowley himself is stuck inside these wards - then...

Date: 2006-04-15 05:52 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (wing)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley


Behind his sunglasses, Crowley's eyes narrow. He doesn't move, however - there is merely a soft, deep whoomph, and suddenly, Crowley is surrounded by huge, dark wings.

When he lifts his chin, he seems very much taller.

"So ask me not; for thy kingdom also after a little time is to be disrupted and thy glory is but for a season, and short will be thy tyranny over us."

Date: 2006-04-15 06:11 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
Shit, shit. His face settles back into neutral. There are

(whips in Hell)

rules, after all.

And other things. Dementors.

"Is that so."

Date: 2006-04-15 06:22 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
Outwardly calm, still - unimpressed, even.

Outwardly.

"And the other thing?"

Date: 2006-04-22 02:56 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"An army. Of Inferi."

He thinks, with a horrible suddenness of a grey-white face he doesn't even know, and Tonks' voice, telling him of dead friends.

And yet, still. There are Dementors, bound to Voldemort. If Crowley could -

"Not an easy thing, you're asking."

Date: 2006-04-22 03:06 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"No," he replies mildly. "I just want to know what's in it for me."

Yes, if he could just -

Date: 2006-04-22 03:14 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
He snorts dismissively.

"I think we're pretty much set for your soul, in the long run. No. I want - "

His eyes flicker up and to the side - no windows, here, but he glances unerringly towards the grounds.

"I want the Dementors."

Date: 2006-04-22 03:43 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
He shakes his head, shaping his mouth into a faintly unpleasant grin.

"No cigar, not even close. All. After you've won, of course," he adds, snakily polite.

Date: 2006-04-22 03:58 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"I'll need a bit of time."

He hadn't been lying, after all; it really won't be easy. And there are other things he needs to do as well - covering his tracks, back home, sending down copies of the necessary paperwork (in triplicate), figuring out how he's going to pull this off. Warning people what it is that's coming.

Behind placid black sunglasses, the demon is thinking frantically.

"This day week. Call me here again."

Date: 2006-04-22 04:31 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
"I'll bring the contract then. And the knife."







"If that's everything..."

Date: 2006-04-23 03:29 am (UTC)
aj_crawley: (sword)
From: [personal profile] aj_crawley
And that's that; no ceremony, no circumstance - just the rules, rules that apply even to things like him, and another quiet bang of displaced air.

Profile

wand_wavers: (Default)
wand_wavers

July 2010

S M T W T F S
    123
45678910
111213 14151617
18192021222324
25262728293031

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 20th, 2017 04:25 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios