Dark Lords and their Obsessions with Power
The day was quiet, almost too quiet, as Crookshanks lounged lazily by Nagini, his fur gleaming in the dim, candlelit cavern. The smell of incense lingered in the air, a pungent combination of strange herbs and the ever-present scent of damp stone. He had long since given up on trying to understand Voldemort’s complex schemes, preferring to relax in the company of Nagini, whose hissing was strangely soothing, despite her occasional cryptic remarks.
It was then that the heavy wooden door to the chamber creaked open. Crookshanks barely lifted an eyelid. Voldemort’s entrance was hardly a new occurrence. The Dark Lord was, as usual, draped in his flowing robes, his pale skin almost glowing in the flickering torchlight, his red eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.
Nagini raised her head, her tongue flicking in and out in curiosity. “Ah, Master,” she hissed softly, her voice full of respect and a hint of amusement. “I see you have returned.”
Voldemort’s gaze swept over the room, his eyes lingering on the snake and the lounging cat. His lips twisted into a faint, almost imperceptible sneer. “Nagini,” he intoned coldly, before turning his attention fully to Crookshanks. “And what is this… creature?”
Crookshanks blinked slowly, his sharp amber eyes locking onto Voldemort’s crimson ones. There was something almost comical about the way Voldemort’s gaze fell upon him, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of this unruly cat. Well, well, well. The Dark Lord himself, startled by a simple cat, Crookshanks mused internally.
He rose to his feet with deliberate slowness, stretching out his limbs, unfurling his tail with a nonchalant flick. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed at the movement, but Crookshanks paid him no mind. He wasn’t about to lower himself to a confrontation with a man so obsessed with power that he barely seemed to notice the little things—the details, the subtlety. But still, this was an opportunity. An opportunity to assert his presence, to make sure Voldemort knew who was truly in control of his surroundings.
With a single, dignified glance at Nagini, Crookshanks padded closer to Voldemort, who instinctively recoiled, stepping back slightly as if unsure whether the cat might attack. Crookshanks stopped just in front of him, his face inches away from the Dark Lord’s.
Voldemort’s nostrils flared in distaste, his lips pulling back in a sneer. “Do you dare approach me, creature?”
Crookshanks let out a soft, almost imperceptible purr of amusement. Dare approach you? I’m practically your superior, he thought, his gaze unblinking. He stood tall, his fur bristling in a display of regal indifference.
Nagini let out a low chuckle, watching the interaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “He has a certain… charm,” she hissed, flicking her tail in delight at the scene. “Perhaps, Master, he’s here to remind you of what you’ve overlooked.”
Voldemort shot Nagini an irritated look but didn’t speak. His attention was still fixed on Crookshanks, who was now rubbing against his dark robes in a gesture of mock affection. It was almost too much to bear—the notion that this cat had the audacity to treat him with such a lack of fear. Voldemort was the most feared dark wizard in the world, and yet here was this creature, making itself at home in his presence.
For a moment, the room was filled with a strange silence, only broken by the soft rustle of Crookshanks’ fur brushing against the Dark Lord’s robes. Voldemort’s sharp gaze flicked downward, his thoughts clearly racing. There was something disconcerting about the cat’s audacity, something that seemed to mock him in a way no human ever had.
Finally, Voldemort let out a low hiss of frustration. “You… insolent creature,” he murmured, his voice like ice, before turning away in a swirl of his robes. He snapped his fingers, and a burst of green light flared briefly around him. “Leave my sight. You are beneath me.”
Crookshanks merely yawned in response, uninterested in Voldemort’s theatrics. He turned, his tail flicking dismissively as he padded back to Nagini, who was watching the exchange with a barely contained laugh.
Voldemort paused just before leaving the room, casting one last, venomous glance at Crookshanks. “Mark my words, cat,” he sneered. “Do not think for a second that your antics will go unnoticed. I will remember this.”
But Crookshanks, in true fashion, didn’t care. He didn’t bother responding. He simply flopped back down next to Nagini, content with his unspoken victory. There was something amusing about the Dark Lord’s frustration. It made the cat wonder: What if I decided to have a little more fun with him?
Nagini, sensing his thoughts, gave him an approving glance. “You are bold, little cat. Perhaps too bold for your own good.”
Crookshanks rolled onto his back, his paws waving in the air as he sighed dramatically. “Let Voldemort stew. He’s probably forgotten that I’ve already conquered more important things—like that annoying rat in Gryffindor Tower.”
Nagini chuckled again, her scales shimmering. “And I thought I was the master of mischief.”
But in Crookshanks’ mind, it was all quite simple. As long as he had his freedom, a good nap, and Nagini’s company, the rest of the world—including the Dark Lord—could try their best to keep up.