Disclaimer: J.K's, not mine. If mine, book 6 would have been a whole lot less reminiscent of a soap opera.

Crucio!!!

A normal day, reflected Amycus Carrow. Well, as normal as a day gets when you're an inner-circle Death-eater. Normal enough that he could actually reflect while the person next to him was being tortured into insanity, anyway.

The Dark Lord had once again sent an envoy to the vampires. And once again, the vampires had chosen to spurn Voldemort's offers of blood and power and whatnot. The only difference this time, was that the envoy, a relatively new recruit, had been returned, completely drained, with a note attached to please stop bothering them, as they were becoming quite irritated, and that although they were quite happy with the home delivery meals, Wizard blood was just too rich for regular consumption. For some reason, the Dark Lord had not reacted well to that, even though he shouldn't have understood the muggle joke.

The whole thing was an exercise in futility, in Amycus' opinion. Not that he would ever dare to offer that opinion. He enjoyed living too much.

Crucio!!! Crucio!!! Crucio!!!

Yep, just a normal day…

Until Harry Potter walked in the front door.

The Dark Lord blinked.

And the Death Eaters, supposedly the most deadly terrorists in the magical world… stood there looking somewhat nonplussed.

"Huh. 5 seconds and not one curse thrown. Hermione owes me a Galleon."

That of course, was the catalyst for the most rabid of the group, Bellatrix Lestrange to fire off a particularly nasty Bone-breaker curse.

Without a change in expression, Harry raised a shield not dissimilar to the one created by Voldemort at the department of mysteries. The likeness was most probably intentional.

Bellatrix snarled, the first word of the killing curse on her lips when she was hit by a cruciatus powerful enough to stagger the dark witch into near-unconsciousness.

All present turned their gaze to the Dark Lord, who lowered his wand slightly

"Potter!"

Voldemort's tone surprised all those present. While it was somewhat aggressive, the main emotion present seemed to be curiosity.

"Lord Voldemort"

The timbre the Boy-Who-Lived used to reply was even more of an astonishment. Instead of fearful, angry, or simply disrespectful, his tone was calm, and polite.

The Dark Lord noticed this, and his facial expression and body language changed subtly.

"Why have you come here, to stand before me? Are you that willing to die?"

"…No. I'm not here to die," came the reply. At this point Harry's neutral expression acquired a smirk, and he continued,

"I'm here to make a deal."

Silence reigned for almost a full minute, until it was broken by a newly recruited Death-Eater, who giggled nervously.

It was the last sound he ever made, as Voldemort, gestured with his free hand, and the afore-mentioned rookie was magically thrown towards the nearest wall at blinding speed. A loud crack indicated his neck breaking on impact.

The servants of the Dark Lord did not giggle. Ever.