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Fear. It was Voldemort's greatest weapon, and his favorite. He had shaped his new body to draw upon and emphasize the primal fears of humanity, and preferentially designed rituals employing fear as a powering element. There was nothing more satisfying than the range of expressions that could come over a person's face as they went from confusion to true horror.
But inspiring fear was no idle hobby. The Dark Lord was constantly honing his talents in terror, reaching new heights - or else lose the effect.
To that end, he was here, in a quiet London movie theater, to watch a critically acclaimed thriller for the first time. The actor playing the antagonist had been applauded for constructing a persona that scared the audience - it would be inspiring, and he'd brought a fountain pen and parchment for notes.
Voldemort tipped his hat to the unsettled Muggle woman at the ticket counter - he had done nothing to disguise his appearance beyond the hat - and headed inside. Legilimency told him that her discomfort was mixed with self-recrimination: don't comment on it, she told herself, he must have been injured in the War. It was an insufficient reaction, but then, the screams he meant to hear today were onscreen. He moved on.
He ordered a small bag of lightly-buttered popcorn at the snack kiosk, neglecting a drink - he could conjure his own water - in favor of heading into the theater early. The film was nearly seven years old, and it was early afternoon on a weekday. Voldemort had frankly assumed he’d be alone in the theater. He had his pick of seats, and so sprawled out over several in the middle of the row. A couple of Muggles did arrive, and sat further away, tossing wary glances that suggested they were repulsed by his appearance - good - but then. Out of the corner of his eye. Was that..?
"..Potter?" he spat, glad the film wouldn't be starting for a few more minutes.
The Boy-Who-Lived glanced in his direction and jumped up, spilling his popcorn out of his lap and all over the floor with an undignified squeak. Voldemort snorted, stifling further laughter behind a hand. There was something to be said for terrorizing people who knew who he was.
Gryffindor that he was, Potter stood up and stormed over to Voldemort, brandishing his empty popcorn bag. "How are you even here of all places?" the boy hissed, glaring. "Reimburse me for my popcorn, damn it! I spent my last pence on this!"
The Muggles nearby had stiffened in their seats, obviously curious but not daring to look in their direction. Voldemort would bask in the intimidation but the lights dimmed and brightened, indicating five minutes till the film started. "Oh, just share mine," he told Potter, dragging the boy with him back to his section of the seats. "Lord knows I won't be eating all of it."
Lord Voldemort, that is.
"You mean you're here to watch?" Potter questioned, surprised.
Voldemort herded him into the seat next to his, handing the popcorn bag over. "Obviously. Not everything's about you, you know. I'm behind on my research."
"Research? What, for torture methods?" At least Potter had the courtesy to complain quietly. Voldemort approved; he was terrifying; not rude.
"No, no," he shook his head, sprawling out on several seats casually Transfigured to be more comfortable. "One spell is enough for that. I'm talking about fear, Potter. You didn't think this look just happened on its own? I've spent years working on it." He grabbed a handful of popcorn out of the bag.
The lights dimmed, and Voldemort took the opportunity to put up a privacy ward that would let them continue talking during the film without being obnoxious. "I was going to visit the production team this month, but with the annoyances some people are turning out to be," a pointed look at Potter himself, "the country is too unstable for me to take my usual vacation. So I'm watching the film instead."
"You've seen it before, then?" Potter asked, glancing at the blank screen. He didn't dare to look away from Voldemort for very long, which was good, because it meant Voldemort could take more popcorn out of the bag whenever he felt like it. "I just came in because there wasn't much else on."
"I haven't either, as it happens, but I've read the critics' reviews," the Dark Lord told him. “Though you’re the last person I’d expect to see watching a psychological thriller.”
Potter looked up at him. “I don’t know why you’d assume that.” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, as the projector came to life and the screen brightened. “Kind of a weird name for a film, isn’t it? ‘The Silence of the Lambs.’”
Voldemort seized another handful of popcorn, and they watched.