Nothing Else Can Possibly Go Wrong, Right?

Author's Note: It may help you to get the full benefit of this chapter if you listen to "The Old Landmark", which was sung by sung by the late, great James Brown in The Blues Brothers.

*****

This was going too well. He knew it.

Mind, he was pleased. Despite the numerous disasters which had befallen the Dark Revival before it had begun, the rest of the first day had gone well. After the botched recital of the motto, he had given his Death Eaters a three-hour sermon about the superiority of Purebloods and the disasters which awaited the wizarding world if they let more Mudbloods in. After the most recent meeting at the Chief Secret Meeting Place he had even written a Death Eaters' Prayer. He was actually very proud of it, as simple as it was. Still, although he hoped to someday have a professional writer re-write it, preferably at wand-point...one must have the appropriate tone of fear and trembling, after all...he believed that "Show us thy mercy, great and powerful Dark Lord, for we have offered thee this day a delicious egg-and-sardine-salad sandwich on dark rye bread" would suffice for the moment.

Yes, Voldemort was pleased, but with the strange sort of pleasure which one feels when one knows instinctively that it won't last. And almost precisely on cue, Peter Pettigrew approached his Master with his typical rat-like nervousness.

Voldemort sighed. "What is it, Wormtail?"

Pettigrew cringed. "We need music, Master."

Voldemort glared at him. "What did you say?"

Pettigrew grimaced and kissed the hem of his master's robe. "My Lord, music is generally a part of these affairs. It brings up the mood a bit, gets people enthusiastic..."

If he'd had any eyebrows left, Voldemort would've arched one. "I suppose that you have a selection prepared, then?"

"Of course, My Lord. Er, I've got something special in mind, actually, though it's still got to be polished a bit, My Lord."

Voldemort, tired of the cringing, waved a grey hand at his most pathetic sycophant. "Get on with it, then, Wormtail. I eagerly await this...music."

Wormtail flicked his wand at a piano that was suddenly and conveniently there. Rather unexpectedly, it started playing music. The astonished Animagus almost forgot to sing. The others glared at him as they were compelled to sing along with him.

Let us kneel (kneel and bow)

Let us stay in the service of our Lord!

(Several of the Death Eaters started tapping their feet as well as singing, much to their chagrin.)

Voldemort, ohh! (He's my Lord, oh, my Lord)

Praise Our Lord, well!

(Looking absolutely horrified, Snape stood up and took over the lead vocal.)

Let us kneel (kneel and cower)

At the old (Old Dark Mark)

(Bellatrix and Rodolphus were the first on their feet, but everyone else soon joined them. Macnair jumped up onto some folding chairs and started tapdancing, knocking most of them over and landing in an undignified heap behind Voldemort's lectern after a botched hands-free flip. Snape started dancing, too. Or at least Voldemort thought it was dancing. That, or he was having a seizure.)

Do it, know it, feel it, (Death Eaters)

Kneel and cower at the old (Let us kneel, Old Dark Mark)

(BONGGGGGGG! Dolohov, dancing with great enthusiasm but not paying any attention to where he was going, hit the central pole and knocked himself unconscious. Oddly enough, he kept singing.)

Death Eaters,

Voldemort

(Narcissa and Lucius took turns tossing each other up in the air. The last time Lucius went up he somehow failed to land, and Narcissa, still dancing madly around, gave herself neck strain trying to find him.)

Let us all (all go back)

Killin', cursin', learnin', burnin'

(Crabbe and Goyle drew their wands, setting of fireworks inside the marquee. The entire place filled with smoke, but to their horror, nobody could stop singing or dancing.)

Gonna go back, ahh (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Let us stay in the service of of our Lord!

When the dust had settled and the smoke had cleared, the marquee was still standing. Except for Voldemort, it was the only thing that was. Lucius was clinging to the top of the central pole. Dolohov was still unconscious. Bellatrix and Narcissa were huddled under a table and Snape, the Lestrange brothers, Avery, Macnair, Rookwood, Mulciber and Nott were apparently trying to untangle themselves from each other's robes. Wormtail was cowering behind Voldemort's throne and the Carrows were nowhere to be seen; they would later be inexplicably found in the same barn where the central pole of the marquee had been found on the previous day. Crabbe and Goyle were unconscious on the ground, having apparently headbutted each other in their fervour after setting off the last of their fireworks. Greyback was rolling on the ground and howling, and Yaxley and Jugson were trapped under a heap of folding chairs.

"I don't think we're going to try this again," said Voldemort, his shrill voice sounding oddly strained.

*****

That night at dinner, the Death Eaters were strangely quiet. Nobody wanted to admit it, but they were starting to wonder if this Revival thing was possibly a bad idea. Sure, their fervour had increased in the past day or so, but they were all really sore from their unexpected song-and-dance routine. Several of them refused to look at anyone else in the eye, except for Snape, whose facial expression clearly said, "Mention this to anyone ever again, and you may live to regret it...or then again, maybe you won't!"

Finally, apparently unable to stand the unnatural silence emanating from the others, Rabastan Lestrange took a deep breath and asked, "What have you got in mind for tomorrow, Master?"

Macnair snickered. "Probably some kind of Dark Healing, right? It'll start out as another sermon against the Mudbloods and when people start confessing that they've got some Mudblood ancestry, you'll start cursing them left and right to cure them of the stain, only it won't go right...instead, they'll start praising the Potter brat!"

"You'll pay for that remark, Macnair," Voldemort said in a high-pitched growl. He drew his wand with a menacing swish.

"I'll handle this, my Lord!" shouted Yaxley, inexpertly brandishing his wand in an attempt to demonstrate his revitalized enthusiasm. "Croutio!"

Everyone stared in amazement as Macnair turned into a crouton.

Voldemort glared. "Take note, my Death Eaters, that the next time that one of you is stupid enough to dare to speak so presumptuously, you may share your Brother's fate! Now, somebody pick him up so he doesn't get crushed, we don't have so many members that we can afford to lose an expert torturer. Oh, and Yaxley, I expect you to milk Nagini for me for a month when this is all over with. As Wormtail couuld tell you, this is neither a pleasant nor an easy task."

With one last glare, Voldemort swept away. The effect was quite ruined when his robe caught on one of the stakes of the marquee and brought half of it crashing down.

*****

Augustus Rookwood carefully approached his Master's throne after the marquee had been put back up with a surprisingly minimal amount of trouble. The Crouton Macnair (as they had taken to calling him) had been secured in a hastily-erected "medical station"...really a magically-enlarged crate charmed against any rodents, birds, ants or other miscellaneous creatures who might be tempted to take a bite. Several hours later he still had not returned to his usual self, and Voldemort was considering additional punishments for Yaxley...perhaps a week locked up with the Umbridge woman and her saccharine pinkness would do it. Much more than that and Yaxley would probably start acting like her himself, and there was nothing more pathetic than a Death Eater in pastels.

"Master, might I have a word with you?" he asked, falling to his knees and kissing the hem of Voldemort's robe.

Voldemort eyed the Death Eater warily. "Rise, Rookwood. This isn't going to be one of your marvellous ideas again, is it? I believe we've already had our Disaster of the Day."

"Er, yes, actually, My Lord...wait, My Lord, this one might actually work!" Rookwood barely managed to stop himself gibbering in terror as Voldemort moved to draw his wand.

"It had better work, Rookwood, or you may find yourself in a very embarrassing predicament...much as you did when you organized that ridiculous vodka-tasting night. Speak!"

"Well, My Lord, since Macnair hasn't turned back into himself yet, so to speak, I thought that maybe we could work this into the Revival somehow. I mean, sometimes revivals like this include healing the sick, or at least making it look like they do...perhaps you could come up with some sort of spell to heal him? After all, My Lord, you are most creative when it comes to the creation of new spells..."

Voldemort thought for a moment. "Your idea has merit, Rookwood, which goes to prove that even a blind squirrel will find a nut once in awhile. However, my creativity normally extends only to the more...painful aspects of spell-casting."

"Er, then, My Lord, perhaps you could create a healing curse? After all, the fact that it's a healing spell doesn't necessarily mean that it has to be nice."

Voldemort glared. "I'll keep that in mind, Rookwood. Now leave me, unless you want to be my test subject for this 'healing curse'!"

"Yes, Master." Rookwood bowed and then ran away, paying no attention to the concepts of dignity, courage and not tripping over his own robes.

*****

Author's notes: I'm sorry I've taken so long to post this...a full month afer the chapter was promised. Between being unexpectedly busy (job interviews, band competitions and doing most of the housework, rather than my usual half, because my mom's sick at the moment) and accidentally locking myself out of my computer for a week, I've gotten a bit behind. I can honestly say, though, that I now have some good advice for those who would care to listen: never use punctuation in a password. It took me about a week to figure out how to activate the System Administrator account on my laptop, and because of a mistake I made when I'd almost figured it out, I now have an accidentally-created account named "Clamav User" that I can apparently neither use nor delete.

The Blues Brothers has been one of my favourite movies since I was a child. I was watching it one day early in the writing of this story, hence the presence of "The Old Landmark". This was actually the second scene I wrote, which is probably fortunate as it's also the scene which has been revised the most.

The mention of Umbridge and her saccharine pinkness (and the results of spending too much time with her) are something of a tribute to ubiquirk's brilliant "Back in Black". There are few things more ridiculous than the thought of a Death Eater who has started Thinking Pink!

The "vodka-tasting night" referenced by Voldemort was taken from the movie Calendar Girls. While it's not depicted there either, one character makes a reference to it and from the tone of her voice, it was something of a disaster.

Finally, Rookwood's comment that "the fact that it's a healing spell doesn't necessarily mean that it has to be nice" is a slight reference to one of my favourite passages from Terry Pratchett's Interesting Times. The passage in question talks about miracles in Pratchett's usual style, which means it's a bit silly but somehow you can't stop yourself from thinking that maybe he has a point:

Whatever happens, they say afterwards, it must have been Fate. People are always a little confused about this, as they are in the case of miracles. When someone is saved from certain death by a strange concatenation of circumstances, they say that's a miracle. But of course if someone is killed by a freak chain of events : the oil just spilled there, the safety fence just broke there : that must also be a miracle. Just because it's not nice doesnt mean it's not miraculous.