Chapter Text
Voldemort summoned his Inner Circle for two of the greatest challenge they had yet to face- Muggle politics and comforting people. The Dark Lord was willing to admit he had little faith in humans. However, he felt he made up for this by having high standards and a willingness to punish incompetence through liberal use of Unforgiveable Curses. Therefore, despite most of humanity being incompetent fools, he was certain he could motivate them to achieve dizzying heights of mediocrity and, in some cases, occasional strokes true adequacy.
His Death Eaters took turns crawling forwards, kissing the hems of his robes, crawling backwards, and arranging themselves in a circle. Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black spent a little longer than was strictly necessary kissing his feet and the hems of his robes. And she slobbered most unbearably. Voldemort only put up with it because he did enjoy shows of loyalty among his followers. However, he could do without the drooling.
After a minute or two, seventeen-year-old Barty Crouch Jr., who was next in line, got impatient and hexed Bella out of the way, sending her crashing into the stone wall with a sickening crunch. Normally, it was frowned upon to hex one’s own teammates without being ordered to do so by the Dark Lord, but Lord Voldemort really hated the drooling. Besides, Barty had been waiting a long time for his turn.
Like Bella, Barty tended to take a long time greeting his master. However, the boy always seemed to arrange things so that he was the last Death Eater to greet the Dark Lord, which allowed him plenty of time at Lord Voldemort’s feet without cutting into any of the other Death Eaters’ turns. As sadistic as Voldemort was, he felt that consideration for his fellow Death Eaters was a good quality in a servant. Even better, the boy always cast a silent, wandless spell to clean up any drool or slobber from the Death Eaters who were in line ahead of him. Voldemort always rewarded the boy by running his fingers through the boy’s blond hair and stroking the boy’s smooth, freckled cheek. It was important to reward good work, after all, and Voldemort really loathed having Death Eater drool on his person.
Voldemort’s touches invariably caused the boy to blush a fetching shade of pink before bending down and pressing kisses to the hem of Voldemort’s robe and to the tops of his feet. Voldemort sighed contentedly. It was so good to experience the reverent kisses of a devoted servant without the drooling.
Eventually, Barty considered Voldemort sufficiently greeted and crawled backwards to his place in the circle. For some reason, it was next to Bellatrix (he really should look into assigned seating- well, standing…). The two engaged in a sneaky and silent elbow war before Voldemort cast a quick Hex, blasting them apart. The two glared at each other before quickly turning their attention to the Dark Lord, anger immediately melting away into ridiculously soppy expressions at the sight of him.
“My Death Eaters. My Inner Circle. My Dark and Dangerous Posse. The time has come,” Voldemort announced dramatically, “for our most difficult mission yet.”
Everyone leaned forward expectantly, eager to hear their master’s orders- or at least desperate to appear eager to hear their master’s orders. Damn it, was Bella drooling again?
Voldemort cast a holographic image of a short, white-haired lady in a blue dress and a distinctly Muggle hat. “THIS woman,” Voldemort announced, pointing his thirteen-inch wand at the image, “is our Queen!”
Bellatrix gave a banshee-like shriek which Voldemort interpreted as a heartbroken cry before fainting in anguish. She gave an impatient huff when none of her fellow Death Eaters paid the least bit of attention to her performance. Next to her, Barty stood rooted to the spot, staring at the floor with silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Bella kicked Barty’s ankles, trying unsuccessfully to get his attention so that he would help her up. Voldemort realized that his last sentence came out wrong and hastily stowed his thirteen-inch wooden rod in his robes.
“I mean,” he clarified. “She is the English Muggles’ Queen.”
Barty sagged in relief, and Bella stood up off the ground, a puzzled expression on her face. “Why should we care about her then?”
“SILENCE!” Voldemort roared. Really, these meetings always took at least three times as long when people asked questions. He cast a quick Crucio for good measure.
Voldemort waited for Bella’s screams to fade away before continuing. “This woman, Queen Elizabeth, has recently lost her husband, Prince Philip. Despite being a filthy Muggle, the Royal Family remains a key ally. We must endear our side to her in order to expedite our conquering of Great Britain and the commonwealths thereof. In my years of experience with killing people, I have found that funerals are highly effective ways to bring people together, which usually allows us to kill more people.”
“Is that what we’re gonna do then?” Barty asked eagerly. “Kill all the Muggles at the funeral?”
“Crucio!” Voldemort cried out, cursing the boy who dared interrupt him.
Barty fell to his knees, screaming. Once the curse had ended, he gazed adoringly up at his master, a look of almost orgasmic bliss spreading across his young face. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered, climbing shakily to his feet.
“We will NOT be killing ANYONE for the time being. We will be using this opportunity to make nice with the Queen in order to guarantee an alliance (before we eventually betray her and kill the entire Muggle populace). But for now, we will play nice! To convince the Queen of our sincerity, we will attend Prince Philip’s funeral, and, Merlin help us, we will be… comforting.”
“Our mission involves blending in with Muggles during the funeral, at which NOBODY will make a scene or call attention to themselves in any way. We will then join the Queen for tea. At this tea, she will meet my most trusted servants, the members of my Inner Circle, and she WILL be impressed with their manners and ability to comfort a grieving elderly widow, or you shall FACE MY WRATH! Is that understood?”
“Yes, My Lord!” the Death Eaters said as one.
“Very well,” said Voldemort. “To minimize the chance of screw-ups, you will work in pairs.” Voldemort waved his wand, and Death Eaters who happened to be standing next to each other found themselves slamming into one another. “I have now assigned your partners. Each of you will help your partner refrain from screwing up. The funeral starts in six hours, and I expect you all to be ready to leave in four. You will use the rooms of my manor to prepare yourselves and don appropriate Glamours and Muggle attire- one room for each pair. Dismissed.”
The assembled Death Eaters bowed and hurried upstairs to fulfill their Lord’s command. As Bella and Barty hurried up the stairs together (while subtly pushing, shoving, and tripping each other), Lord Voldemort realized too late that he had paired the two of them together. He really should look into assigned seating.