Ignore this, pls
Nervous hands smoothed down the front of her nicest robes, and her mother was hovering, fretting a bit. "Too small for you, oh, we should have picked up some new ones...well, it's too late now, he'll be here any moment."
Melissandre shifted uneasily, her eyes following her mother. Her mother was dressed in her finest robes as well, though hers were newer and fit better. But her mother's nerves were rubbing off on her, and she was certain she was going to make a fool of herself.
Gabriel swept into the room, a pleased smile on his lips. "Whatever he asks of you," he said to his daughter. "You'll do it." Though he smiled, his words held an edge, one she knew better than to defy.
She couldn't help but wonder what she was going to be asked though. What could the Dark Lord possibly want with her?
"Master," came the gravelly voice of their elderly house elf. "Your visitor is arrived."
Meli jumped a little as she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, propelling her toward the door. She thought about pointing out she could walk just fine on her own, but she thought silence would be the better part of valor in this case.
She listened as her father greeted the Dark Lord, and then they were introduced. Meli stepped quietly into the sitting room, her eyes shyly downcast. The Dark Lord was in their sitting room.
She offered a curtsey as a sign of respect before she dared to lift her pale blue eyes to him. She met his gaze only briefly, and she had the oddest feeling that he was inside her head, rummaging around. She very nearly lifted a hand, but what good could that do, really?
Her heart was thumping hard and fast in her chest, and her breath hitched a little as her parents were dismissed from the room. They raised not a word of protest, but simply retreated, leaving her alone.
"You're a lovely girl," he said quietly, his voice smooth, almost slippery in a sense. Serpentine, she thought. His hand was cool - almost cold - as he cupped her chin, lifting her eyes to his. "You know your father is my man, I'm sure," he continued, his eyes boring into hers. "And I trust one day you will be mine as well, at his side with the rest of your family?"
"Yes, my lord," she breathed, barely aware of the words leaving her lips.
"Good," he murmured. "I have a task for you then. Only for you. You'll be in your fifth year, correct?"
"Yes, my lord," she repeated, because nodding seemed ...uncouth in his presence. "I'm only a --"
"A Hufflepuff, I know," he soothed her. "That is why I chose you," he continued. "No one suspects the sweet, innocent Hufflepuffs, do they?"
He watched her face, then answered his own question. "No, they don't. And they won't suspect you, either, will they? When you recruit them for me. When you speak my praise, when you use your ways to bring them to me. You will scout them out, the ones my Slytherins cannot reach. And you will bring them to me. The Gryffindors with their bravery. The Hufflepuffs with their steadfastness, and the Ravenclaws with their cleverness. You will bring them to me," he repeated.
Meli wondered if you knew when you were hypnotised. She found herself agreeing with everything he said. She could - and would - follow his instructions. She'd find the ones in other houses who should belong to the Dark Lord, and she'd bring them to his attention. "Yes, my lord," she repeated for a third time.
Voldemort nodded as he drew back from the girl. He watched as her blue eyes bilnked, and he watched the haze of confusion lift away. "I will come to you over the holidays, and you will tell me then what you have learned."
Once he'd secured her agreement, he turned away to show himself out.
Melissandre stood numb for a moment before she lifted her hand to her still cool cheek, pressing her warm palm where his hand had been. When she heard a noise behind her, she glanced over her shoulder toward her father. He looked anxious, she realized, and she wondered if he'd heard anything. Or what he knew. Or thought of it.
"He gave you a task?" her father inquired.
"He did," she agreed. A smile curved her lips in response to his own proud beam. Any way they could serve the Dark Lord ... they would.