Next Time Around

Dead Men Tell No Tales

Author's note:
We are very near the end of my story by now. In a few thousand words, I will go back over my story, make edits and re-write parts I'm unhappy about, maybe even deleting entire chapters in the process. It's strange to think that the story is almost done, because I could do so much more with it, if I wanted. But I feel like my ending is where the story should end. I'm happy with where it is. Once again, I thank all of you, my faithful readers who have made it past literally more than 150 pages of unedited fanfiction, for all of your support throughout the... six months, by now, that I've been writing this story. So thanks, I guess.

Disclaimer: it is with my deepest regret that I realize and acknowledge that I've spent hours upon hours writing stuff I don't even own, and will never receive any money or credit for. Worse, there is the potential of people stealing my work and placing it on other websites under their name. So please. Don't.

Enjoy!

The galleons made a soft tinging noise as they were, one by one, dropped down on the table. They sounded crystal clear in the mostly empty room. Mostly empty, in this case, meant bare of anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Therefore, in the room was situated one table, two chairs, and on those chairs two men. Tom Marvolo Riddle was one of them. He was easily recognizable by his red eyes and young, intelligent face. The other person though was hooded, their face cast in shadow and their features obscured by a large cloak.

'What would one even do with a hundred galleons cash?' Voldemort enquired, genuinely curious.

'Buy some illegal wares or illegal services, I suppose.'

It was a relatively young voice- someone in their mid-twenties maybe. The voice was bitter though, and sharp. As if it's owner had led a hard life. It was deep too- a man most likely.

'Yes...' the Dark Lord said softly, 'but that's not what you're going to do with it, are you?'

It was quiet for a second. 'No. I'm not.'

'So what then?'

A sigh could be heard. 'Do I have to explain myself to you?'

Voldemort shrugged delicately. 'I suppose not. But please, humor me.'

A longer pauze. 'I need to bribe some people to get my stuff back in order. I've found cash works best in those instances.'

'Really now...' Voldemort said softly, 'of all things that was not what I expected.'

Voldemort could almost feel the other raising an eyebrow, even though his features were still completely invisible. 'And what, if I may ask, did you expect?'

'Oh please,' Voldemort scoffed, 'I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm merely saying that you don't seem like someone who doesn't have their affairs in order.'

'And I generally do,' the voice said accusingly. 'I still would have, if you hadn't given me a job as difficult as this one.'

Voldemort shrugged. 'I knew you could handle it.'

'Ah,' the other said, holding up a hand, 'but you didn't. You merely hoped for the best.'

The Dark Lord stared at the man blankly. 'Well what was I supposed to do then. Send the Death Eaters to assist? Almost none of them are very subtle, and those that are, actually work other cases too.'

The darkly-clad man scoffed. 'As if this mission wasn't one you were adamant to finish as quickly as possible.'

Voldemort pinched his lips together in a tight line. 'There was no guarantee at all that you'd actually pull it off, and quite frankly I made this deal under the impression that you'd never actually go through with it.'