A Snake Named Voldemort

EXTRA 1

A/N this is set right after the last chapter

In what appeared to be the bank of a calmly flowing river, an old man dressed in odd clothes sat on a blanket with his back propped against a gnarled Elder tree, eyes closed and looking for all intents and purposes asleep.

The environment around him, a vast field, seemed to go on forever under a soft evening sun...

A shadow suddenly fell over the man's face, and he immediately opened his eyes—perhaps not having been asleep after all—and found himself to no longer be alone. Unconcerned, he shut his eyes once more and resumed his peaceful expression.

"Well?" the old man asked, voice a bit rough with age, though warm in tone. The shadow across his face moved to the side as the darkly-clothed and hooded second individual sat down against the tree as well. If one looked closely, there was something strange about the second figure—something about the way he moved, or how light never chased the shadow under his hood out, or the way it appeared he wasn't really touching the grass he sat on or the tree his back rested against.

Though the old man had asked a question, the cloaked figure did not respond verbally, but merely gracefully held out with his spindly hand a velvet bag towards the other. Eyes open once again, the old man grinned excitedly and took the bag from his companion. "I knew it," the man said. As he placed the bag on his lap, there was no sound of metal clinking against metal, as would indicate the bag was filled with monetary coins of some sort.

"Yes, yes, you won," the cloaked figure spoke for the first time, voice harsh and smooth at the same time. "That is the last time I will gamble against you."

"You always say that," the old man said good-naturedly, patting his dark companion on a very thin shoulder.

"I don't know why I bother. It's not like you ever bet for anything of real interest," the skinny figure groused. The old man—who appeared to be a friend and used to the other person's grumbling—only chuckled lightly.

"You know me," he said, pulling on the string that kept his bag of winnings closed. Reaching in, he pulled a small object out.

It was a Chocolate Frog.

"I can't see how you don't like these. Ingenious, they are. Are you certain you don't want one?" He held the confection out, but the other refused.

"I'd rather not."

The old man shrugged and opened his sweet, expertly catching the animated chocolate before it could jump away. He took a bite and sighed in appreciation. Reaching again for the package the chocolate came in, he pulled from it what looked like a rectangular card.

"Blast. Another Dumbledore." He frowned at the card before tucking it away in a pocket. Pulling out another Chocolate Frog, he opened it and ate that too. He laughed when he looked at that one's card. "A Harry Potter! How amusing."

"Hmm, yes," the hooded figure told his friend in a dry voice. "You know, he does remind me a bit of you."

"He's far more exciting than I am," the aged man said dismissively. "And what of the other? I can never keep straight what he goes by these days. I do like your nickname for him, though."

The cloaked man made a noise akin to a snort. "The Cheater of Death is protected by the Master," he said in reply. "They are far too tied together. Perhaps someday, if they wish, you will be able to meet them."

"A rather unique love story, it seems. You should tell it to me sometime." The hooded man shook his head.

"I will tell you when I figure out how it happened."

The old man chuckled knowingly. "Never bet against Fate, either. Or perhaps it's Lady Luck?"

The darkly robed figure huffed.

The two sat in comfortable silence for quite some time. The sun, however, never moved an inch further down the horizon.

Eventually, the dark figure rose, not a spec of dirt or grass on his clothing. "I must be going."

"Always busy, you are," the old man said with a fond smile.

"Farewell, Ignotus."

Ignotus Peverell waved to Death, watching as his friend disappeared from this current existence before he once again closed his eyes and peacefully listened to the gurgling of the river as it flowed by.

Somewhere on the island of Great Britain, Harry Potter opened his eyes to a dark room, awaking in a state of mild curiosity as often occurs after a strange dream. By morning, the intrigue would have been forgotten, as would the memory of the thing that summoned the feeling. Sighing, the boy rolled over, sleep once more tugging incessantly at the edges of his consciousness. With his face pressed into the warm side of his lover, Harry fell back into sleep just as the first rays of dawn lightened the horizon.