Nine Lives

Three

"BUTTERPAW?!" Voldemort yelled, but the only human voice he heard was Jerry's. At the exact moment, the boy had shouted the same word, and what came from the Dark Lord's mouth was nothing but an angry noise.

"Yes," said Melanie, folding her arms petulantly. "It's a very nice name. Look, even he likes it!"

"I don't like it, you silly girl!" Voldemort tried to say, but again, the only sound he produced was a hiss.

"This is a stupid name!" exclaimed Jerry.

"Really?" Melanie put her hands on her hips. "What d'you suggest we should call him, then?"

"I dunno," muttered the boy thoughtfully. "I was thinking about calling him Tom - after the cat on the TV, you know?"

Oh, the irony..

The name he had always hated and run away from had managed to retaliate at last. And now, although it was hard to believe it, his filthy Muggle father's name sounded like a pleasant melody compared with something as humiliating as Butterpaw.

"Tom?" scoffed Melanie. "And I suppose you are Jerry the rat, and Butterpaw - see he likes his name so much! - is going to chase you all day?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "We are not gonna call him Butterpaw!"

"We are!"

"Are not!"

"We are!"

"Are not!"

Voldemort couldn't stand the bickering of the kids any longer. He deeply wished he still had his wand so that he could torture the deuce out of them, then murder them in the most painful way possible. Their existence irritated him sublimely, and what irritated him more was what they were arguing about. His name.

Had they known that the most powerful wizard was at their house...

Had they known that the one who spread fear and terror in the whole world was sitting upon their floor...

Had they known that this cuddly kitten with its fluffy fur and adorable little paws hid horrors they could never imagine...

Had they known all of that, they would have never dared discuss his name. Had they known all of that, they wouldn't call him Butterpaw.

"I have an idea," Jerry said irritably as his argument with his sister didn't seem to have an end. "You call him Butterpaw and I call him Tom."

"Deal!" Melanie clapped her hands. Then she turned to Voldemort, who had been on the floor all this time, and cooed, "You must be really hungry, little Butterpaw."

"Yeah, Tom, you must be thirsty too," said Jerry gently. Here Voldemort couldn't help but murmur something that would have been so inappropriate for kids their age to hear, but fortunately, he only let out a soft purr.

"I'll get you something to eat, then!" said Melanie, then she bolted out of the room.

"Not if I do first!" Jerry followed his sister.

The Dark Lord was left alone in the room, fighting the urge to hit his head into the nearest wall. He looked around, trying to find a way to escape, but much to his dismay, the children had already shut the door. He glanced around again and saw that the window was also closed. He meowed in frustration.

The kids came back after a few minutes, each one holding a bowl in his or her hand. They put the bowls on to the floor so that they were within Voldemort's reach. He saw that each one contained milk.

In his former days, Tom Riddle's stomach never tolerated lactose. But since he was now completely fatigued and needed energy in order to escape, he hoped as he lowered his mouth to the warm drink that the cat didn't have the same problem. Luckily, it didn't, and Voldemort felt refreshed when he finished his drink.

Now it was time to put a plan.