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.
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