|The Cleverest Demon
Author: Simplicity Is Bliss PM
Voldemort sought a demonic helper. He got the "demon" part all right.Rated: Fiction K - English - Humor - Voldemort & A. Crowley - Words: 1,334 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 80 - Follows: 8 - Published: 12-21-09 - Status: Complete - id: 5599766
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Voldemort was certain he had done it correctly. Candles made from human fat, a circle of baby's blood, the finest French wines Lucius could find...and he was pretty sure he said all the words right, too. How hard was it to mess up a chant that went, "Omec ot em, ho emond! I allc heet ithw atf, loodbeh, nda inweh! Omec! Omec! Iser!"? It was far from ancient Babylonian or Akkadian. How could he mess up?
In retrospect, he would decide that spells in Pig Latin were probably not was he was looking for, even if it promised to summon the cleverest demon in existence. Which he was quite certain he had not gotten.
A tall, slim figure stood in the middle of the circle that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had created. He wore a crisp muggle black suit with a white dress shirt and a skinny tie. Some part of Voldemort resented the idea of skinny ties but that was secondary to the yellow muggle sunglasses that the being wore.
Looking resentful, the creature looked at him over the glasses and lowered the wineglass he had been drinking from. "What did you do that for? I was having a nice drink."
Voldemort paused and stared at it for a moment in the flickering candle light before demanding, "What are you and where is my demon?"
It looked offended. "I am a demon." The creature looked down its nose at him, "Who the heaven are you?"
"The greatest wizard of all time," Voldemort bit out. "And—"
"Ah, one of those sort," interrupted the demon, looking a little weary, "I'm Crowley," he introduced himself as he walked to the edge of the circle and extended his hand.
Voldemort forced himself not to step back; you heard stories about what happened to people who touched a demon, even when they seemed friendly.
Crowley proffered his hand again and when Voldemort refused, he seemed to sulk a little. "What, is hand shaking alien to your great and majestic wizardliness?" he asked, peering again over the sunglasses. Voldemort noticed the demon had yellow eyes, the color of a basilisk's.
When he remained silent, Crowley sniffed. "It must be," he said as he stepped out of the circle and went around Voldemort, and wineglass in hand, he headed for the nearest chair. Which happened to be Voldemort's throne.
"You can't do that!" one of his followers yowled at the demon, moving forward and then shying away from Voldemort's murderous glare.
Crowley gave the Death Eater a confused look as he lounged in the chair. "Can't do what?"
"Step outside the circle," Voldemort stated coldly, glaring at the creature in his throne but unsure what to do with it.
"Oh," Crowley said and waved a hand vaguely. "That. Circles are good for summoning. Not for holding." The demon examined their circle absently and pointed out the flaws. "And anyway, you've got no salt to contain me and that fellow on the south west perimeter has steel somewhere on his person, which weakened the circle as a whole. Your demons here must be quite sad creatures to be held by this, actually." He looked up at Voldemort curiously, "What did you want with me?"
"To help me take over the world!" Voldemort exclaimed proudly, throwing up his arms with his wand held aloft. "I will be the greatest, the most powerful—"
"Wizard ever, I get it," interrupted Crowley, now looking bored as he swirled his wine and examined it in the candle light. "You've got both the wrong demon and the wrong dimension. Other forces work here and I'm not interested in helping you anyway; I only just saved my world from coming to an end so why would I help you? There's nothing you can offer me, really."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "What about a way back?"
"Hm, well there is that." Crowley looked up again and studied Voldemort. "I can give you a sigil that should be useful if you help me get home. I mean, I'll get back anyway, but it'll take longer that way." He paused and a wicked, pointy-toothed smile crossed his lips. "On the other hand, I could just ask one of your enemies to send me home. No sigil involved."
Voldemort weighed his options; get sigil, loose useless demon : no sigil, loose useless demon. Get sigil. "I shall send you home, then, in exchange for a sigil."
"Righto," the demon said disinterestedly. " A standard banishing ritual should suffice."
"And the sigil?" Voldemort asked pointedly, shuffling his followers out of the room.
"Of course." Crowley waited until Voldemort had shut and spelled the door silent. As the wizard walked towards him, he ripped apart the spell on the door with the bored tap of a finger and indulged in a small smile.
"It's called the Summoning Darkness and must be written in blood. Preferably your blood as the caster." The demon proceeded to explain the sigil in detail to Voldemort, leaving the man in the dust as he used demonic jargon and nattered about the mechanism. "What it will call to you is a sort-of demon itself, except it's not intelligent in the same way, really. Different, more focused than your average demon. It's concentrated vengeance in spirit form and..." he kept going and Voldemort felt out of his depth for the first time since he was eleven.
"Got it?" Crowley asked finally, a sunny grin on his face.
"Indeed," said Voldemort with a nod. Pride superseded knowledge here and he could always figure things out as he went along.
Crowley gave him a somewhat condescending smile and nodded back. "Good. So here's what we're going to do. I'm going to draw it for you—in ink of course—and leave it here on your lovely chair. You will take the south side this time as the banisher and your minions can come in then; the basic circle must stay the same for this to work like we want it to. If you try to cheat me," the demon warned, "I will incinerate the paper and wreck havoc on your pitiful little movement until I get bored and arrange other transport home."
Voldemort nodded, narrowing his eyes at the term 'pitiful.' The sigil, from what he had gathered, would be the key to victory over the Potter brat and was worth a bored demon's condescension. "As you say."
He called his Death Eaters into the room as Crowley scratched out a symbol on a roll of parchment. When Voldemort informed him they were ready, the demon dropped it on the seat, grabbed his wineglass, and after studying the circle again he stepped into it. A few moments later, the demon was gone in a rush of air that blew out the candles and shook the walls.
After he picked himself up, Voldemort retrieved the scroll from the chair and examined his prize. It was a circle with a smiley face in it and a pointy, curly little tail. This had better be worth it, he thought to himself as he puzzled over the smiley face. It did have fangs, so maybe?...
As he studied the shape, he noticed in tiny, curly writing on the bottom which said, Gotcha
The part of his mind that was never anything but rational told him he never should have trusted a demon.
As Crowley sauntered up from Hell towards his apartment, he snickered to himself. The Summoning Darkness. Pretty good for something he made up on the spot.