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On a still night, within neutral ground, in a dimly lit room, a girl and a monster sit opposite of each other. Identical copies of a contract meant to end a war sit between them, untouched by one and obsessed over by the other. The shadows at the edges of the room claw at the flickering candle light, waiting to snuff the life from the room.
A long spindle form towers over the desk, on it's lipless mouth a cheshire grin splits.
"The one before you is no different than the copy we negotiated over owl. Your hand in marriage, for peace,” The monster says, “Very simple. Is there really need to worry over it for a third time, Holly?" The monster’s cruel grin widens with every word out of it’s mouth.
A terribly long claw hooks an inkwell, drawing it towards the girl across the table. "Sign the contract,” The monster demands with a sugared tone, tapping at the page, “This war could be over. I don’t want any more magical bloodshed than you do."
The air in the room stands still. The girl's jaw drops, baffled by the ego, the pretension, the gall to say that to her. The energy of the encounter shifts. "Really? No way! That's such great news! Hold on, let me send an owl to my mum and dad telling them that the bloody ‘Dark Lord’ doesn't want any bloodshed."
"Holly-"
Her hands clasp her cheeks as she gasps. "Oh no! I happen to be out of anything to write on! I’ll just pop down to Diagon. What?! The man that sold me my school supplies got killed in an attack, so I don't seem to have any parchment?!"
She snaps her fingers. "I guess I'll have to go to his competitor down the street."
"Are we really doing this?"
"What?! That shop is closed?! It seems that his wife was raped and killed by a Death Eater?! How could this have happened?!"
Voldemort's first lands on the table in a violent crack that would silence any mortal man. "We were having a conversation here!"
Holly, long since used to his pointless dramatics after years of surviving a grown man having beef with a child, continues all the same, "It appears I can't send that letter about this vital new information of Voldemort's unwillingness to commit bloodshed to my dead parents!"
His outburst of emotion vanishes as fast as it arrived. He tilts his head in a way that would be endearing if it was from a dog instead of a malformed psychopath. "You seem really caught up on that."
"You killed my fucking parents!!"
For the first time since she entered the room, Voldemort's slimy gaze breaks away from her. His slit eyes lazily rest on the exhausted Dumbledore who stands behind her. "Your attachment to dead men is a weakness Holly."
“I'm not arguing with someone with a foot fetish-”
Voldemort interrupts her with a statement, "You've never cut your hair."
She pauses. "Why do you know that? Better question, were you dropped as a child?”
Voldemort leans back, his face once again enveloped by shadow, "It was your first piece of accidental magic, wasn't it?"
"You're so weird."
"When I was not yet who I am, someone stole my shoes. I had to walk to church barefoot. And yet- Voldemort's feet stayed perfectly warm, no rock I trampled ever cut my soles. It was the moment I knew I was different. Better.” His hands folds open, revealing his open palm to her, "That happened to you too, didn’t it? You knew you were better the day your hair refused to cut. To this day you don't cut it because it reminds you of what you are. Better. Lying to yourself does you no favor, Holly." Her name rolls on his tongue for far too long.
Her shoulders shake, her hands tremble. Holly Potter laughs.
“You-," A snort is hidden behind hands shaking in laughter, "You almost had me at the start. When I got here I almost saw you as something inhuman, sorry, ‘beyond humanity’ or whatever bollocks you want to dress it up as. The atmosphere really did it for me. The location, the time you agreed to, the meek candlelight, and this chair!”
Holly rocks her short chair back and forth. She looks to the silent Death Eater standing behind Voldemort. “I have to ask, did Dickless have you come in early today so you could trim a few inches off my chair? Wow. You really liked it more when you could strike fear into an eleven year old, huh?”
She gets no answer.
Holly pushes away from the table. ”This was a mistake. I wish you the best of luck in growing back that nose. But that is as far as my good wishes go. Eat shit and die."
"Oh but Holly we were making such lovely progress."
"Sorry. But I think I'm just going to kill you."
Dumbledore ushers her out the room with a relieved smile, his exhaustion left behind clings to the barren cabin.
Voldemort calls out to the girl, just steps away from her pushing through the doors of neutral ground, "Holly."
She stops.
"There is a reason you accepted this meeting. Deep down you know you have no chance. You are just a scared little girl, propped up by an old goat and expectations that you will never meet. You will come back to me." His voice is cold, his words are emotionless. To him this is not a threat, but an eventuality.
She doesn't even bother to face him. "Wow that is- You know, maybe I was wrong! You sure are husband material!" she snarks. Holly steps out into the world, shepherded by an old teacher who stands as protectively as he can between her and the shadow of a man inside.
Voldemort stands, and in long strides stalks towards the open door. "You will come back to me, and I will welcome you with open arms. After you get on your knees and beg."
Holly Potter looks over her shoulder at the man masquerading as a monster. "Suck my dick Tom."
The door closes.