20 Feet { Blarry }

chapter 15

Voldemort sat back in his chair as Nagini slithered into the dark room. He'd just concluded a trip to the continent, hoping to persuade the French covens in Marseille - well hidden from the French ministry in Paris - to join his dark forces. The mission was largely unsuccessful, but he had returned with a few like-minded minions who would be joining him in England in a few short weeks. Currently he was on the second leg of the trip home, sitting somewhere in a remote town just a skip away from Rouen in Northern France. He was waiting impatiently for Wormtail to return with the illegal portkey he'd had commissioned, and if the little rat didn't return within the next two minutes he'd find himself missing more than just a hand. The Dark Lord was looking forward to his return to London, so he could deal with his more capable, better smelling followers. Because Wormtail, that imbecilic, whimpering, disgusting excuse for a wizard was becoming more useless each day, and Voldemort was seriously considering feeding him to his beloved familiar.

"Would you like that Nagini," he hissed, laughingly. The snake turned to acknowledge him as his voice sounded, but as he hadn't deigned to speak in her language she only gave him a cursory glance before settling her head back on her coils at his feet. Voldemort snorted and ran his spindly gray fingers over her smooth scales, "No, no it is better I dispose of the nasty creature by myself as he would surely give you indigestion my sweet." The door to the small cottage they had commandeered for the last couple of nights burst open, allowing the evening light to spill forth into the room.

"Milord," Wormtail gasped as he scampered forth and collapsed in front of his lord in a heap that was supposed to be a respectful bow, but only managed to resemble a commoner's collapse from overexertion.

"Get off of me you oaf," Voldemort kicked him beneath the chin and away from his booted feet. "I cannot seem to remember, so do enlighten me Peter. Were you always this revolting?"

"No...yes...milord?" Peter chanced a confused glance up at his lord.

"Merlin give me strength," the Dark Lord groaned.

"Tell me you were able to acquire the portkey before I am forced to destroy you," Voldemort hissed, drawing his wand with a glare. The Dark Lord knew that he was unstable at the best of times, and as such he understood that his patience and tolerance for what he considered utter filth, like the cowering mess of a man before him, was pitifully low. He also understood that in his youth he had much more control over his moods, but he was disinclined to care at all. And, as such, he wasn't surprised at all by the overwhelming surge of hatred, anger, and repugnance he felt overcome him as he stared down at his minion.

"I-I...I ha-" "Crucio!" Voldemort cursed him, leveling his wand at the man's head. He leaned forward and pressed his wand directly against Peter's skin on his forehead. Blood oozed from the connection point, and the rat's screams increased tenfold. Voldemort's head lolled backwards on his shoulders, and he smiled a wicked sick little smile. His screams, anyone's screams, were absolutely delectable. However, screams of excruciating pain were positively orgasmic. He allowed his gray tongue to slip out of his mouth and lick over his thin, practically nonexistent, lips. Now, I remember why I keep this sniveling thing around, he thought to himself as his cock began to twitch and fill beneath his robes. Many thought him unimaginative - though they would never say so out loud - because the cruciatus curse was his spell of choice, and outside of battles he rarely deviated from it, but that wasn't it. This spell was the longest lasting pain inducing spell, he had ever come across, and when handled correctly it hardly did any real damage, so he didn't have to waste time disposing of damaged bodies and acquiring new followers. Wormtail's screams reached a fevered pitch, and the Dark Lord knew that he'd only have a little longer with the rat before he passed out or became more useless than he already was. Voldemort sat back in his chair once more. Severing contact diminished the screams he so loved, but it gave him more time with his precious Peter. His free hand slipped between the folds of his robes, and he palmed his erection, humping his hips up into his hand. "Yessss," he hissed and closed his eyes.