DRABBLE: Fluent in Charisma (Voldemort/Gilderoy)
Title: Fluent in Charisma
Pairing: Lord Voldemort/Gilderoy Lockhart
Rating: G
Word Count: 432
Summary: He clears his throat, and begins to recite: "Welcome, Death Eaters."
Author's Notes: Be warned: THIS IS CRACK. Some liberties are taken with canon, obviously, and I reworked Voldemort's speech from GOF for the purposes of this fic. I got the idea for the pairing from the Number Game Ficathon way back when (someone else generated it, not me), and inspiration for the story came from playing The Sims and a really crazy conversation about Sim!Tom Riddle with peskywhistpaw. Er... yeah. xP
The Dark Lord steps before the ornate, antique mirror - its glass is fogged and cracked, but will still serve its purpose well enough.
He clears his throat, and begins to recite: "Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen years it has been, and yet you still answer my call." He falters, stroking his chin and wrinkling his forehead in thought, trying to recall his next words.
"Ah, yes," he says, smirking, remembering. "We are united under the Dark Mark, still! No, no, that's not quite right... we are united - still we are united... under the Dark Mark, still. I mean, then. Now."
Shutting his eyes, he rocks back on his heels, licking his lips in frustration. "WORMTAIL!" he roars. "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY SPEECH?"
Soft footsteps approach, and he whips around, ready to admonish Wormtail for his faulty speech-writing. But it is not Wormtail who stands before him - no, it is the highly esteemed, the singularly magnificent - Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Tom," Lockhart mumurs, putting an arm around Voldemort's shoulders. The Dark Lord flinches in disgust. "Oh, Tom. You really shouldn't have someone else write your speech for you. You see, dear boy, it just isn't wise at all, not at this early stage of your career."
Voldemort stands aghast at these words - which are thoroughly disturbing on so many levels. Meanwhile, Lockhart chuckles in a fatherly manner.
"You just haven't quite reached the status that I have," he continues smoothly, "That is, being an internationally acclaimed wizard and five times winner- "
"Of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, I know, you imbecile," hisses Voldemort.
"Precisely. My speeches are written for me, and the acts of absolutely hideous strangers - not my own doings, mind you - are the content for my highly successful published works. I'm afraid simply being a 'Dark Lord' isn't quite enough to have such luxuries."
The Dark Wizard grabs Lockhart by the collar of his robes, shaking him angrily. "I - can - have - anything."
Remaining oddly calm, Lockhart wags his head morosely and sighs, "This is all my doing. False hope, I've given you - dear me."
At this, Voldemort releases him, and turns to gaze into the mirror, examining his distorted features for some sign. Confidence and energy courses through his veins - he can feel the right words bubbling in his throat, and so he begins his speech anew.
"Still we are united under the Dark Mark, then. Or are we?"
Both men stand in silence, only briefly, listening to the echo in their respective minds.
"Well, it's a start," the blond wizard finally admits. "Though you should reconsider- "
"Silence, fool. I'm practising."
Pairing: Lord Voldemort/Gilderoy Lockhart
Rating: G
Word Count: 432
Summary: He clears his throat, and begins to recite: "Welcome, Death Eaters."
Author's Notes: Be warned: THIS IS CRACK. Some liberties are taken with canon, obviously, and I reworked Voldemort's speech from GOF for the purposes of this fic. I got the idea for the pairing from the Number Game Ficathon way back when (someone else generated it, not me), and inspiration for the story came from playing The Sims and a really crazy conversation about Sim!Tom Riddle with peskywhistpaw. Er... yeah. xP
The Dark Lord steps before the ornate, antique mirror - its glass is fogged and cracked, but will still serve its purpose well enough.
He clears his throat, and begins to recite: "Welcome, Death Eaters. Thirteen years it has been, and yet you still answer my call." He falters, stroking his chin and wrinkling his forehead in thought, trying to recall his next words.
"Ah, yes," he says, smirking, remembering. "We are united under the Dark Mark, still! No, no, that's not quite right... we are united - still we are united... under the Dark Mark, still. I mean, then. Now."
Shutting his eyes, he rocks back on his heels, licking his lips in frustration. "WORMTAIL!" he roars. "WHAT DID YOU DO WITH MY SPEECH?"
Soft footsteps approach, and he whips around, ready to admonish Wormtail for his faulty speech-writing. But it is not Wormtail who stands before him - no, it is the highly esteemed, the singularly magnificent - Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Tom," Lockhart mumurs, putting an arm around Voldemort's shoulders. The Dark Lord flinches in disgust. "Oh, Tom. You really shouldn't have someone else write your speech for you. You see, dear boy, it just isn't wise at all, not at this early stage of your career."
Voldemort stands aghast at these words - which are thoroughly disturbing on so many levels. Meanwhile, Lockhart chuckles in a fatherly manner.
"You just haven't quite reached the status that I have," he continues smoothly, "That is, being an internationally acclaimed wizard and five times winner- "
"Of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award, I know, you imbecile," hisses Voldemort.
"Precisely. My speeches are written for me, and the acts of absolutely hideous strangers - not my own doings, mind you - are the content for my highly successful published works. I'm afraid simply being a 'Dark Lord' isn't quite enough to have such luxuries."
The Dark Wizard grabs Lockhart by the collar of his robes, shaking him angrily. "I - can - have - anything."
Remaining oddly calm, Lockhart wags his head morosely and sighs, "This is all my doing. False hope, I've given you - dear me."
At this, Voldemort releases him, and turns to gaze into the mirror, examining his distorted features for some sign. Confidence and energy courses through his veins - he can feel the right words bubbling in his throat, and so he begins his speech anew.
"Still we are united under the Dark Mark, then. Or are we?"
Both men stand in silence, only briefly, listening to the echo in their respective minds.
"Well, it's a start," the blond wizard finally admits. "Though you should reconsider- "
"Silence, fool. I'm practising."