It all started during a raid. It was the usual burning, pillaging, massacring of a muggle village in the dead of night. Voldemort stood in the middle of the chaos pointing his wand towards the sky, cackling. Adding his signature to the attack, he slung out a morsmordre. The flames made his practically translucent bluish-white skin glow. Muggle screams bathed his ears.
Still cackling, he turned in a circle to survey the damage, humming in approval at the wreckage of a prior lovely town. His death Eaters were finishing wreaking havoc, torturing the remaining living muggles. They would have to clear out very soon before the aurors appeared, but for now Voldemort soaked in the beauty of the destruction they created.
That is, until something warm and soft brushed against his barefoot.
Looking down, Voldemort took a moment to register what was happening.
A black and white cat had just rubbed its furry body against him and Voldemort was struggling between the urge to avada it at its audacity and gaze at the creature in wonder. He had known cats were beings that existed, but never had one approached him. Such a small creature, so unaware of the danger it was in. Or maybe it was manipulating him with its cuteness, he thought as the cat gazed up at him with round, innocent eyes that gleamed sometimes in light of the spellfire.
Voldemort did not know how long the staring contest went on until Bellatrix came careening towards him, laughing maniacally while something exploded behind her.
“My Lord, there are some straggling vermin and small vermin that I was thinking we could keep in the dungeons and have some fun with. Please my Lord, they could be of much use for stress relief.”
Voldemort, still distracted by the creature by his feet, nodded absentmindedly. “Yes Bella, you can take them to the dungeons.”
Bellatrix threw herself at Voldemort's feet, kissing the hem of his robes in appreciation and murmuring adoring nonsense, knocking the cat out of the way. The kitty hissed at Bellatrix in agitation and Voldemort felt a strong urge to turn her into a puddle of flesh.
“Rise Bella and finish what you have started,” Voldemort hissed, kicking her away while she laughed and laughed. She ran back towards the other death eaters who gathered in a circle around the remaining muggles, tying them up to be transported to the dungeons.
But Voldemort couldn’t be bothered with whatever his followers were doing. He returned his attention to the cat that was winding between his legs, looking for attention. Entranced by its swishing tail and sleek fur, he bent down and picked it up. He cradled the creature in his arms, scritching its chin. He sighed as it started purring and cooed when it batted at his hand.
He heard a crack and glanced around, realizing that his Death Eaters had apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
Hugging the furball to his chest, he apparated to the meeting room that held a long dark-wooden table. His servants were already at their assigned seats, and he took his seat at the head of the table.
“Sublime slaughter, my snakey sisters. Let us celebrate this success with a scrumptious supper. Elves! Serve us succulent subsistence!” Voldemort ordered. Food was rushed into the room by stressed elves that bowed low enough to touch their heads to the floor. Everyone dug in in the most socially respectable way possible.
Still high on their successful siege, the death eaters did not register at first the now slumbering cat on Voldemort’s lap. Lucius noticed first and reacted in a very appropriate manner for the situation.
“Is that a cat?” Lucius exclaimed, forgetting himself and pointing directly at their Lord. Slowly taking his focus away from his meal of a strange elbow shaped noodle with an orange sauce none of the pureblood wizards around the table recognized, Voldemort used his most vicious and deadly glare to make Lucius turn to metaphorical stone.
“SUCH A LOWLY CREATURE SHOULD NOT BE TOUCHING OUR MOST BELOVED LORD. I WILL REMOVE IT FOR YOU MY LORD, KILL IT, MANGLE IT FOR TOUCHING YOU WITH ITS FILTHY UNDESERVING PAWS!” Bellatrix screeched, misreading the situation completely. She shot up, aiming her wand to hex the beast out of existence. The cat, agitated from the crazy lady’s human noises, meowed in indignation at being pointed at with a stick.
A flash of green light shot at Bellatrix, hitting her in the sternum and sending her flying backwards to sprawl on the ground, dead.
Voldemort slowly lowered his wand. His non-existent lips somehow thinned even more. Sending a dark look to his other followers, they all tensed waiting to be hit as well. But, he continued lowering his wand, returning it to the holster on his wrist.
“This beloved creature is not to be harmed. Touch them and forfeit your life.” Voldemort gave them all a final scathing look before returning to his orange noodle dish.
Cautiously, the others returned to their food and gradually the mood returned to celebratory. They all tried to ignore the content looking cat snoozing in their Lord’s lap, but most could not help some surreptitious looks.
Voldemort was enjoying his meal and the concerned glances his followers cast him as he started to pet the cat in his lap. The more this cat gave him affection, the more a strange, warm bundle of emotion grew in his chest.
The celebratory success supper ended with everyone in good spirits and desperately ignoring the furry ball in the room. Voldemort dismissed them to do whatever they did when they weren’t in his magnificent presence.
Voldemort, bringing his new companion to his quarters, thinking of what he could steal from the Malfoys to create a luxurious enough bed for his beloved.
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The cat was now an established part of the dark side and her name was Sam. She wandered the halls, attacking Lucius’ extravagantly trailing robes and dashing past peoples’ feet making them trip. On one memorable occasion, she ran right in front of Rabastan making him trip down the stairs and break an arm. Voldemort forced him to not accept healing from anyone for inconveniencing Sam. He had to figure out how to heal his own arm, resulting in a badly set arm that looked crooked and made too many noises to be normal. And there was no chance for revenge because the day after Sam appeared she was equipped with a collar that had so many protections the death eaters could feel the dense magic from six feet away. Rabastan now looked both ways before going anywhere near the stairs.
Sam had a nest of the Malfoy’s best and softest robes near the fireplace in Voldemort’s quarters. She was treated like a queen and the death eaters learned to accept this.
It was just when the others appeared that they started questioning their lord.
The next one was a brown tabby named Sally, then an orange tabby called Steve, and a siamese titled Slinky. After every raid, one or more cats appeared in the house. They were all to be treated like the death eaters’ betters.
And they just kept coming.
Solomon, another brown tabby; Star, a black cat with a white star shaped blob on her back; Salad, a long-haired grey cat; Sharon, a long-haired white cat; and Squid, a black cat with pink toe beans joined the crew. The death eaters were becoming concerned.
Clothes were stolen, curtains and furniture were torn to shreds, valuable vases were pushed off tables, and throw-up ruined priceless carpets. The house was becoming covered in cat hair and hair balls. A whole ballroom was converted to the cats’ playroom. A bedroom was filled with litter and made into the cat’s bathroom. Whoever had disappointed Voldemort the worst that week had to clean it (even though Voldemort definitely knew a charm that could automatically freshen the room on a timed basis). Cats were taking over the dark side and no one knew how to feel about it.
Voldemort was in a seemingly calm mood when Lucius, the victim chosen by the other death eaters, was sent to ask him about the recent fuzzy development. Voldemort was in the library reading a book titled ‘Speaking to Creatures with your Soul.’ He seemed to be in the cat section.
“My Lord, I had noticed recently some changes to the progress the dark side is making. There has not been a strategy session in many weeks and I was curious if there is a project that you need help with that has been keeping you.” Lucius bowed and kept his eyes lowered.
Voldemort bookmarked and closed his book. “Just because your puny mind can not comprehend the importance of the recent strategies I have been implementing does not mean we are slowing down progress. You have questioned above your station. You are on litter duty this week.” Voldemort hexed him and pushed him out of the library with his magic. Lucius scowled at the eavesdroppers outside the door and strode away in a huff, off to clean the litter room.
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A month passed and the Death Eaters were getting antsy. Raids had all but stopped, 28 cats inhabited the manor, and their Lord was exhibiting odd behavior. Carrow had spotted their lord crouching on the ground and meowing at a cat, seeming to try and communicate with them. Rookwood had seen sketches Voldemort made of a new symbol which had a cat with a snake wrapped around its neck. One of the house elves when cleaning Voldemort's room had seen a well worn muggle-made adult cat onesie. Further plans to take over the wizarding world had not been strategized. The dark side was in a dire state and it seemed like they would all have to express their increasing concerns with their Lord this time instead of just sacrificing Lucius.
Cornering Voldemort was hard because he spent all his time with the cats, including meals, except for dinners on Friday when all the death eaters ate together. It was there they all banded together to get some answers.
A cat was perched behind Voldemort’s head on the top of his chair, one on either arm of the chair, and two curled up together in his lap. A kitten also was hiding up on his shoulder. Voldemort’s robes were coated in cat hair, but he did not seem to care.
Yaxley bravely began the intervention. “My Lord, all of us are becoming concerned. We have not made much progress with the Ministry, mostly because we have not had a planning session in so long. Do you think those will resume soon?”
Selwyn piled on, “I was wondering as well my Lord. And raids have almost completely stopped recently. How will we continue to eradicate the muggles without raids?”
Rowle joined in, “And you have been so distracted lately, we have not been progressing any of the dark side’s goals.”
“And what’s with the cats everywhere? If this is a plan to enslave cats to help fight in the battle against the light side, you could have told us and would have helped you.”
“I would not have helped, the cats are nuisances. They have been destroying everything in the manor along with all the progress we could be making!”
“One of the cats peed in my shoes. My shoes!”
“The wretched furballs have been stealing my best robes and getting cat hair all over my clothes!” Lucius yelled.
“I try to make coffee and every mug ends up broken on the ground!”
“Every evening I return to my room and there is a hairball on my pillow!”
“It all went downhill when these blasted furry menaces appeared! We are better off without them!” This prompted the death eaters to cheer in agreement.
Voldemort was trying desperately to hold onto his restraint so every one of his loyal followers would not become piles of organs and bones sans skin. Breathing deeply, he listened to these idiots insult his most precious confidants, his most beloved creatures.
“WE SHOULD ERADICATE THE MENACES, THEY HAVE RUINED OUR LIVES!”
And with what everyone had been thinking said aloud, they took action. The death eaters jumped out of their chairs, each heading for the closest cat who was enjoying their fish dinner. Voldemort heard the beginnings of curses being vocalized and snapped. Each death eater rose into the air, gasping for breath as seemingly nothing strangled them. The pressure around their throats became more and more until it sliced through their necks. Heads floated blank eyed as decapitated bodies flopped to the floor.
Breathing harshly, Voldemort stood up suddenly and meowed to all the cats to come to him so he could check to see if they had been harmed. Luckily, they were all healthy, without a scratch. He lay down and let them walk over him to check if he was ok, and slowly his breath calmed down. With one unfortunate dinner, the dark side was no more. But Voldemort could not bring himself to regret his actions. Over the past months he had found the people around him more and more annoying, causing him to become very curse-happy. They did not understand the purpose of his triangle-nosed companions. They did not understand. And they had lived long past their usefulness with his change in priorities.
Getting up slowly for the cats to jump off him, he surveyed the massacre around him. Some cats were inspecting the mess, playing with limp hair, their paws getting covered in cooling blood. He sighed. Oh well, now he could set his other plans in motion without the responsibility of his imbecilic followers.
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In a cottage in the middle of the English countryside, surrounded by the darkest and most impenetrable wards that could exist, Voldemort magically set out bowls of specially designed food for the over 100 cats that swarmed him. He had designed potions specifically for cats to enhance their strength, intelligence, and senses that he had added to the food. The cats were becoming more powerful by the day from the supplements.
The house was settled in the middle of a large deciduous forest filled with critters the cats could stalk and hunt. There was a stream that wove through the land that was abundant with fish.
The cottage Voldemort resided in was equipped with a very modern potions lab and workshop where he would work on his new inventions to improve the cats’ lives and turn them into, hopefully, the most powerful beings in the world.
Voldemort rarely went to Diagon Alley. He only visited every once in a while in disguise to buy books, food, human things for him, and materials for his creations. The only other time he went away from the cottage was when this unshakeable urge struck. An urge to find another furry friend and bring them to a better life in his home. Most often he would sneak into a muggle’s home to save his next companion, but other times he stole them from their lives starving on the street.
Life was peaceful. He worked, lay on the ground outside basking in the cat's warmth that smothered him from all sides, ate, slept, and planned world domination with his super-cats. Honestly, who cared what that brat Harry Potter was doing. He would be wiped out soon enough by Voldemort’s army of enhanced furry assassins. But for now, Voldemort enjoyed the pile of warm fuzzy bodies on top of him as he drifted off to sleep.