A sharp rap echoed against the manor door. The Death Eaters stiffened, hands sliding to wands.
“Who is it?” Voldemort hissed.
“The pizza guy, sir,” came a lazy drawl.
Voldemort’s crimson eyes narrowed. “Again?”
“Mr. Pizza Guy, sir,” the voice repeated.
With a flick of his pale hand, the door swung open. A lanky youth in a pizza uniform sauntered in, cardboard box balanced on one hand. Sun-bleached hair, half-lidded eyes, and a grin that reeked of California beaches.
“Uh, who ordered the double cheese and sausage?” he asked.
Biff shot up. “Right here dude!” He grabbed the box like treasure, flipped it open, and inhaled. “Finally—food!”
The pizza guy looked oddly familiar.
“Hey, don’t I know you?” Biff asked, squinting. “You went to Ridgemont High in California?”
“Totally, dude,” the delivery boy replied. “Spicoli. Jeff Spicoli.”
The Death Eaters stared as though a ghost had entered the room. Lucius looked murderous. Snape’s lips twitched—just once. The Carrow siblings exchanged a glance of puzzlement and bewilderment. Yaxley barely managed to stifle a laugh, coughing into his elbow. Avery looked as he swallowed an unpleasant flavor, as he tried not to laugh.
“Yo, sorry, dude.” Spicoli told Biff. “This place is like, so confusing and all. Took a wrong turn in Staffordshire. And this dude Mundungus wanted to sell me a stolen cauldron. Wanted twenty gallons or something. I said Gallons of what, dude?”
Biff paid him a few pounds. Spicoli then pocketed the cash and drifted toward the door, pausing to glance around the sinister gathering with mild curiosity.
As Biff reached for a slice, Voldemort loomed over him, face twisted in fury, his voice icy.
“Have I been confunded here? Just what in Slytherin’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Biff grinned, unfazed. “Learning about Death Eating… having some food.”
Gasps echoed around the room. Nagini hissed, rising slightly from her coils.
Voldemort’s gaze cut like a blade. “Mr. Tannen, you are on dangerous ground. You are causing a major disturbance… on my time.”
Biff shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about this, My Lord. If I’m here and you’re here, doesn’t that make it our time? Certainly, there’s nothing wrong with a little feast on our time.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“You’re absolutely right, Mr. Tannen,” Voldemort said at last, his voice silken and terrible. “It is our time. Yours, mine, and everyone else’s in this room. But it is my meeting.”
With a flick of his wand, the pizza box tore from Biff’s hands and floated across the chamber. Voldemort gestured lazily. “Avery. Malfoy. Yaxley. Snape. Crabbe. Goyle. Step forward.”
The named Death Eaters obeyed at once, masks gleaming in the firelight. Voldemort’s voice was almost mocking. “Mr. Tannen has been kind enough to bring us a… snack. Be my guest. Help yourselves. Take a good one.”
The masked figures exchanged uneasy looks. Then, one by one, they reached into the box. Malfoy’s pale hand snatched a slice with stiff precision. Crabbe and Goyle tore at theirs with clumsy eagerness. Yaxley sneered behind his mask but did not hesitate.
At last, Voldemort himself plucked a slice, lifting it delicately between his pale fingers. Without breaking eye contact with Biff, he took a slow, deliberate bite, the grease smearing faintly on his lipless mouth.
Then, with a cruel flicker of amusement, he reached back into the box, drew out a second slice, and crouched. Nagini rose at once, jaws parting. Voldemort extended the pizza to her like a communion offering. The serpent swallowed the greasy triangle whole with a hiss of satisfaction.
Biff’s jaw dropped. “Hey, that was my pizza!” he sputtered, fists clenching at his sides. “You fed a slice to Linguini?!”
Voldemort’s gaze cut Biff like a knife. “Nagini,” he whispered, his voice cold with fury.
Spicoli’s eyes went wide, then glazed over with horrified recognition. “Dude… this is totally like that time Mr. Hand stole my pizza at Ridgemont High. He was like, ‘Mr. Spicoli has been kind enough to bring us a snack…and he like…gave my pizza to other kids in class.’” He jabbed a finger at the Death Eaters, who were gnawing nervously on their slices. “And now it’s happening again, man. History’s like—repeating itself, only way gnarlier.”
Biff scowled. “You’re seriously comparing Voldemort to your history teacher?”
At once, the Death Eaters hissed, low and serpentine, a chilling chorus that slithered through the chamber like venom. The sound made even Biff flinch.
Spicoli just blinked at them. “Whoa. Chill, reptile bros. Nobody hissed when Mr. Hand’s name came up.”
Voldemort’s crimson eyes narrowed, though a trace of cruel amusement curled at his lip. “Consider it… a lesson in obedience.”
The Death Eaters froze mid-bite, not daring to laugh or swallow.
Spicoli’s pager buzzed. He squinted at the tiny screen like it was some ancient rune. “Whoa. Looks like I got another delivery—Dursley residence, Privet Drive.” Slinging the empty pizza bag over his shoulder, he gave a lazy shrug. “Gotta bounce, dark dude. No refunds.”
Voldemort and Snape exchanged a knowing glance.
He gave Biff a slow salute. “Catch you later, bro.”
“Later, dude,” Biff grumbled, still hungry.
The California surfer slouched out of the manor as if it were the most normal place in the world to deliver a pizza.
The Death Eaters ate in silence, unsettled by the bizarre intrusion. Voldemort’s red eyes glowed brighter, his fingers drumming on the arm of his chair.
“Lucius,” he said at last, his voice as thin as smoke. “I will require your assistance soon. Dumbledore must be discredited. Entirely.”
Lucius inclined his head, though his pale face flickered with unease. For just a moment, the memory of an old diary weighed on him. He quickly lowered his eyes.
The pizza grease stained their fingertips, the firelight danced on the walls, and the Dark Lord’s gathering pressed on, stranger and darker than before.
⸻
As the chamber quieted, Snape glided to Biff’s side, his black robes whispering across the floor. His voice was soft, but it cut like a blade.
“Do not speak the Dark Lord’s name so casually again,” Snape murmured, eyes fixed on Biff with cold intensity. “The hiss you heard was mercy. Next time, it may not be given.”
He let the words hang, then leaned closer, his tone lower still. “And another thing, Tannen. Never summon deliveries during a meeting. The Dark Lord tolerates no distractions—least of all yours.”
Biff swallowed hard, fists loosening at his sides. “Yeah… got it,” he muttered, suddenly less sure of himself.
Snape’s gaze lingered a moment longer before he turned away, his expression unreadable.
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