His boss was a little strange. Pochis knew that, but rich people had always been like that, hadn't they?
But today, his boss was so strange that Pochis felt like he'd seen a ghost:
He opened the car door, pointed the little wooden stick he often played with in his hand at himself, muttered something, and then vanished into thin air amid the snowstorm.
Yes, Pochis was sure he hadn't seen wrong. His boss had simply disappeared before his eyes, as if he'd never been there at all.
"Crunch... crunch..."
The wind and snow were so fierce he couldn't hear his footsteps landing in the snow, but in his mind, he supplied the sound for the footprints stretching away into the storm.
"What the fuck..."
He murmured, the meaning unclear.
The wind howled, the snow lay thick, and the footprints left behind by someone who'd turned invisible looked bizarre.
But Voldemort had no time to worry about any of that.
His mind was clouded by rage. It was the first time, though perhaps not the last.
A young woman had been right there before his eyes, her legs cruelly blown apart by the villagers with a shotgun.
One of those bullets had nearly hit me, too. These damned Muggles need to learn to respect wizards... With that thought, he walked toward the village in the distance.
When he entered the village, all was silent around him, but a crowd had gathered farther away.
He walked over and saw a church. A massive cross had been bent crooked by the wind and snow, like a faith gone askew.
Voldemort approached, skirted around the crowd, and went inside. Many women had been gathered there.
"Run and die, or stay and live."
The villager who'd fired the gun earlier bellowed at the