Despite its size, Malfoy Manor was packed. Between the Death Eaters, Greyback and his followers, and Voldemort himself, they had managed to fill every available inch of space. Things were especially cramped now that everyone had gathered around a table to listen to their Dark Lord, who sat at its head.
One man stood out from the rest. Rather than the dark robes favoured by the other attendees, he wore Muggle clothes and stood beside Voldemort, attracting all sorts of curious glances. With a small gesture, Voldemort motioned for Lucius Malfoy to begin.
"Now that we are all gathered here," he began, "I would like to introduce you to a visitor from the United States of America."
The portly man, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, nodded and offered a small smile.
"Mister Calhoun represents a number of American wizards who share our views on blood purity and how wizarding society ought to function. We hope that, by cooperating, we can benefit one another."
"That's right. Thank you, Mister Malfoy, for the introduction," Calhoun replied cheerfully, speaking with a thick Texan accent that this ESL author won't even attempt to render phonetically. "In America, we don't have the longstanding tradition of dark magic you guys have over here, but for the last few decades, some of us have taken exception to-"
The man launched into a tirade about everything he found unacceptable regarding skin colour, ancestry, and who was and wasn't supposed to be a wizard. The Death Eaters largely agreed with him, even if they privately considered his upbringing little better than a Mudblood's. Still, they all understood that overseas support would greatly strengthen their position, at least until the day they no longer needed it.
When the American finally finished, wiping sweat from his reddened forehead after working himself into a frenzy over African wizards having children with European witches, Voldemort rose and placed a cold hand on his shoulder.
"Narcissa," he called, "show Mister Calhoun to his quarters and make sure he has everything he needs during his stay. We expect to see a great deal of him until our cooperation with his people is firmly established."
And so Calhoun became Malfoy Manor's newest squatter.
Days passed, and soon most of the Death Eaters were beginning to wonder whether American support was worth the trouble. Compared with the traditions and behaviour of the old families, the newcomer talked and acted almost like a Muggle. He shook hands and patted people on the back. He talked about Muggle sports, since Quidditch apparently wasn't a thing across the pond, and he rarely used magic, preferring to ask the Malfoys' house-elves to perform most tasks. When he wasn't talking about baseball, he was ranting about race, genetics, and the good old days.
At the same time, Calhoun seemed to be growing increasingly frustrated with his stay. Whenever more serious matters came up, he would frown and shake his head at the Death Eaters' plans and proposals. He seemed to dislike Bellatrix Lestrange most of all, sometimes rudely walking out of meetings whenever she showed up. The feeling was mutual, and only the possibility of incurring Voldemort's displeasure stopped Bellatrix from cursing the American every time she encountered him.
By the end of the week, things finally came to a head when Voldemort summoned everyone to discuss their progress.
Before even half the Death Eaters had arrived, Calhoun got right up in the Dark Lord's face.
"I joined you so I could be racist, not to chase a teenager all over Britain, Voldemort!" he shouted angrily. "I don't give a flying fuck about this Harry fella, and neither do any of my associates!"
Bellatrix sprang forward before Voldemort could even open his mouth.
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO THE DARK LORD THAT WAY!" she shrieked, her wand already pointed at him. "It's about time someone taught you some manners, you foul excuse for a wizard!"
A deafening bang erupted through the room.
Calhoun stood with a smoking revolver in his left hand, a fresh hole in his pocket, and his wand drawn in his right. The Death Eaters closest to him could barely hear him shout a spell before their hearing suddenly returned.
"Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screamed, his face red with rage, as Bellatrix collapsed to the floor, clutching her stomach with both hands. "This bitch I swear! I knew this was a fucking mistake! I'm fucking leaving!"
"No, you are not," Voldemort stated calmly, drawing his own wand.
Calhoun pointed the revolver at Voldemort, but a slight flick of the Dark Lord's wrist caused the gunpowder inside the weapon to explode, mangling the American's hand. No one else dared intervene as Voldemort and Calhoun engaged in a duel.
The American was hopelessly outmatched. Within seconds, he made a mistake and left himself open to an Avada Kedavra that sent him dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
"It seems our negotiations with the Americans have failed. Someone, see to Bellatrix."
Narcissa Malfoy rushed to help her sister, who was bleeding out, all the while cursing the man for daring to hurt her with a filthy Muggle weapon.
Then dark smoke began pouring from Calhoun's corpse.
A few cries of shock alerted Voldemort, who had already begun leaving the room. When he turned around, the smoke had coalesced into something resembling a Dementor or a ghost.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," the apparition cursed in Calhoun's voice. "Now I have to glide all the way back!"
"How is this possible?" Bellatrix muttered, blood seeping from her mouth.
"What do you mean? You guys don't have Horcruxes? What kind of amateur dark wizard organisation is this?! How are you going to war without Horcruxes? Every dark wizard worth his salt in America has one!"
The shade then turned towards Bellatrix and gasped.
"Oh, shit! Someone get her some medical attention, or she'll die for real!"
Voldemort rubbed his temples in frustration as he realised that Calhoun's current form was beyond his ability to destroy, unless he somehow managed to find and destroy the man's Horcrux, which could be hidden anywhere in America.
He also disliked how casually Calhoun talked about Horcruxes, which were supposed to be his own secret trump card.
"No self-respecting wizard would lower himself to using one of these," Voldemort snapped, nudging the revolver aside with his foot.
"You kidding? Muggles wear shoes and underwear. Am I supposed to run around barefoot with my dick out? Back in the U.S. of A., every Muggle has one of these nowadays. Of course we use them too! Shit, I don't even know how to cast Avada Kedavra! Why bother learning it when you've got one of these?"
Calhoun paused for a moment.
"Wait, you tried to kill me for real, Voldemort?!" his soul exclaimed as he pieced everything together. "Man, you're a real asshole. I'm going back home, and I'm telling everyone that Britain is done for. The boss is a snake-looking weirdo obsessed with a teenager who beat him as a baby, you pure-blooded inbreds are all insane, I knew what you thought of me because you're all shit at Occlumency, and you've got filthy werewolves running around everywhere!"
A Death Eater approached Calhoun and removed his mask, revealing a dark-skinned face that bore a striking resemblance to Paapa Essiedu.
"If you have nothing else to add, I-" Snape began, only to be interrupted by the shade.
"Okay, that fucking does it. Mail me back my wand, or I swear that next time, instead of a revolver, I'll Apparate a nuclear bomb right onto your sorry asses. And Voldy? If you had a gun, you wouldn't have lost to a baby. A fucking baby, for the love of-"
With that, the shade flew away due west, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
"Fucking Yanks," Voldemort muttered. "You heard the man. Someone get an owl or something to send his wand back."