Chapter 34¾

The Forest Again

"No sign of him, my lord," said Antonin Dolohov as he rejoined the circle of Death Eaters in the clearing.

"I thought he would come," said Lord Voldemort softly, casting his serpentine eyes down in disappointment, "I expected him to come. All this waiting has bored me. Someone amuse me."

The Death Eaters shifted uneasily amongst their ranks. None of them had ever quite understood the Dark Lord's sense of humour and his unreliable moods almost always guaranteed a horrible end for anyone who tried and failed to entertain him.

"Rowle," Voldemort turned to the huge blond wizard crouching near the fire, "tell me a joke."

As Rowle clambered to his feet and began to slowly approach the Dark Lord, the other Death Eaters felt both relieved for not having been selected for a comic round of sudden-death and sorry for the imminent fate of their colleague, whose magical abilities and capacity for cruelty were legendary, but whose repertoire of japes would fail to amuse even a child.

"Knock, knock," Rowle began tentatively.

"Who's there?" asked Voldemort, his expectations low.

"You-Know," Rowle continued the routine.

"You-Know-Who?" the Dark Lord played his part.

A few seconds of absolute silence followed as the Death Eaters waited apprehensively for Voldemort to realise that he had just uttered the joke's punch line. Rowle held his breath and surreptitiously curled his fingers around the wand in his pocket, preparing to try to defend himself against the Dark Lord's displeasure. As the tension built to an unbearable crescendo, Voldemort's voice broke the silence. It was not an incantation for a horrific curse as they had all expected, but rather a shrill laugh that reverberated around the clearing, ruffling the trees. The Death Eaters joined in with their booming cackles and Rowle, his fears alleviated, slumped back onto the grimy ground next to the fire.

As the laughter died down, Voldemort turned and pointed a long bony finger at the wizard holding Hagrid's leash. "Yaxley," he commanded, "it's your turn."

The oft-attention-seeking Yaxley bowed his head and was grateful for this opportunity to impress his master. He was both confident in his comedic faculties and eager to move up into the higher echelons as the demise of Severus Snape had recently left a position vacant.

"A wizard, a goblin and a centaur go into a pub," he began, "and each orders a butterbeer. Somehow a fly lands in each of their mugs. The wizard waves his wand and the fly disappears. The goblin drinks the fly with his beer. And the centaur picks the fly up, shakes it and shouts, 'Spit it out, you bastard, spit it out!'"

The Death Eaters burst into another booming round of laughter, but it was cut short when they suddenly noticed that Voldemort was not laughing. Indeed, the Dark Lord, his face stern and unforgiving, had the Elder wand raised and directed at Yaxley who was gradually shrinking away from the circle, but too terrified to actually make a run for it. Before Voldemort could kill this failure of a sycophant, however, a voice thundered from behind him and his mood was elevated immediately.

"I thought that was funny," said Harry Potter courageously, stepping from the shadows.

The Death Eaters fell silent as Voldemort turned to face his nemesis.

"Harry Potter," he rasped, "the boy who lived. Come to die."

Harry closed his eyes and stood with his arms wide open, welcoming death. He was ready. But after half a minute had passed and Voldemort had made no move to kill him, Harry opened one eye for a peek.

The dark wizard was standing there, in the centre of a circle made up of his followers, casting his eyes wildly about as if looking for something. The truth was that Voldemort had been so excited about finally getting to kill Harry Potter that he had temporarily forgotten the incantation for the killing curse. As his Death Eaters eyed him confusedly and began muttering amongst themselves, he knew he had to act.

Desperately trying to remember the incantation, he raised the Elder wand, pointed it at Harry Potter and roared, "ABRACADABRA!"

Harry was flabbergasted. Floating in front of him in the cold damp air, inches away from his face, was an old playing card with slightly torn edges. Harry reached out a trembling hand and plucked it out of the air. He examined it closely and saw that it was a seven of spades.

"I meant to do that," said Voldemort defensively. "Is that your card?"

"Yes it is," Harry replied, "but can we please get to the part where you kill me?"

The hilarity of the situation was too much to bear for Dolohov and he started sniggering uncontrollably. His timing could not have been worse, for at precisely that moment, the Dark Lord remembered the killing curse's incantation and a flash of green light lit up the clearing. Dolohov's lifeless form collapsed onto the muddy forest floor, a grin still visible on his face.

Having punished the insolence of his follower, Voldemort turned his attention back to his archenemy. Now the boy would die. At last.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he roared and a second flash of green exploded from his wand.