(Based on a “Not Too Long Ago” comic by Sarah Noble.  That’s her username.  Check her out.)

Severus Snape stood in front of the telephone, rummaging through his robe pockets and swearing at the operator who was telling him to deposit another twenty-five cents for the next thirty seconds.  Normally, this type of behavior would attract a crowd of curious on-lookers or maybe even a cop, but Snape was in an airport.  (Don’t ask.)  The people here were too weighed down by their baggage and too hassled by the extensive security checks to care that some strangely dressed man didn’t have enough change to make a long distance call to Sacramento.

“Yes, yes.  ‘Please deposit twenty-five cents…’  Argh!  I would if you’d give two seconds to find a quarter, woman!”

The operator, being only a recording, paid no heed to Snape.

Unbeknownst to Snape, a dark shadow was dragging itself across the ground toward the telephone Snape was attempting to use.  Muggles trying to make their flights paid it no mind, but felt a slight chill in their souls as it passed.  An unspeakable evil had arrived at the airport.  And it was coming for Snape.

Snape’s fingers closed around something vaguely quarter shaped.  “Aha!” he cried as he pulled it out.  It wasn’t a quarter.

“A Sacagewea gold dollar?  Crap, what am I going to do with this?  I can’t spend it, ‘cause Gloria knows when I’ll see another one.  But, I don’t want to keep it.  It isn’t worth more than a dollar and it’s just cluttering up my pockets!” cried Snape.  He felt the same way about Kennedy half-dollars.

The shadow was now directly behind the unsuspecting Snape.  It reared off the ground, ready to wrap it’s evil intentions around the man in front of him and damn his soul for all time.

“Hi, Voldemort.”

The chill abruptly vanished and the shadow formed into something vaguely human.  “How did you know it was me?”

Snape rolled his eyes.  “How many people exude evil into the atmosphere?  It was either you or Carrot Top.”

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Making a phone call.  What do you want?”

“Wanna join my evil cult?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“The usual.  Power, money, the fuzzy glow you get when you ruin another person’s life.”

“Eh.  Who else is joining?”

Voldemort pulled out his day planner.  “Lucius, Crabbe and/or Goyle, Nott, the Lestranges, Sarah’s ex-boyfriend, Rick, and I asked Evadne about it, but she started screaming something about the Sorting Hat, so I backed away slowly.”

“You have a day planner?”

“What?  You have to be organized if you want to conquer the world.”

“Do you have a quarter?  I’m getting awfully sick of this operator.”

“I’ll give you a quarter if you join my evil cult.”

“Fine, fine.  Just give me the quarter.”

“Great.  Our first meeting is next Tuesday.  See you then.”

And POOF!, the world went up in smoke.

Moments later, Voldemort, coughing and waving smoke out of his face, said, “That didn’t go quite as I hoped.  Can I try that again?”

Snape had very bad feeling about this.

Voldemort Designs a Multimedia Presentation with PowerPoint

Snape stuck his head in the doorway.  “I’m going to go to the store to get bread.  Is there…what are you doing?”

Voldemort looked up from the computer screen and twisted his lips horrifically at Snape.  It was obvious he was pleased about something and was attempting to smile, but some people just shouldn’t be happy.

“I’m giving a symposium for some graduate students on evil job opportunities in today’s economy.  It’s time we got some younger blood into the Death Eaters.  I don’t mean child sacrifices either.”  Voldemort laughed evilly.

Snape gave Voldemort a “that is the worst joke I’ve ever heard” look.

Voldemort coughed.  “Anyway.  I hope to recruit or coerce some of them into the Death Eaters tomorrow.  So, I’m designing a PowerPoint presentation with some of the pictures we took at the last company picnic.  What do you think?”

“Hey, that’s a pretty good picture of the softball game.  But, what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That.  In the corner.  The pale blob.”

Voldemort leaned forward until his non-existent nose was touching the screen.  “I think…I think…I think that’s Lucius’s thumb.”

“It’s in this picture of you playing horseshoes too.”

“I think his thumb is in all the pictures.”

“I told you, you should have given the camera to Avery.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I can crop that out of the pictures.”

“Anyway, before I forget.  Is there anything you need at the store?”

“Nah.  Wait!  Don’t go.  I want you to see the slide show!”

“Will it be quick?”

Voldemort ignored him and started the program.

“Wait till you hear the dirge I got to play in the background, Severus.”

The hourglass wait icon appeared.

“Argh.  What do you have to think about?  Just start….Why are you starting Windows Media Player?  There’s no reason to start that….NO, I DON’T WANT TO REGISTER!”

Voldemort started clicking through the dialogue boxes that kept popping up.

“What do you mean ‘There has been an error’?  Just play the stupid song!  ARGH!  WHY WON’T THIS THING WORK?!”

Voldemort whipped out his wand and cursed the computer straight through the nearest window, nearly crushing Peter who was gossiping with the rats in the garden below.

“Oookay,” said Snape, “I’m just going to go to the store now.”

“Good thing I backed up my presentation on a floppy disk,” said Voldemort.  “That’s the second time I’ve done that tonight.”

Voldemort Forgets He Doesn’t Like Black Licorice

Voldemort, the Dark Lord, also known as Tom Riddle or the Guy-With-Way-Too-Many-Nicknames, was surprised.  This was pretty unusual, because when you’ve lived as long as he has, and have done as many nasty, evil things as he has, very little surprises you.  Not that it was a bad surprise.  It certainly wasn’t as “Wormtail has tried to bake a Bundt cake again” surprise.  It was more of a “someone has left a box of black licorice on the desk” surprise.  Which is exactly what had happened.  Voldemort had walked into his study, hoping to make some progress in trying to take over the world, and he discovered that someone had left a box of black licorice on the desk.

Voldemort’s surprise quickly turned to suspicion.  Who would leave a box of black licorice on the desk?  Who even knew where he was?  And where the hell did that desk come from?   The Death Eaters knew where his hideout was, but they weren’t around, other than Snape and he wasn’t the thoughtful type.  Voldemort’s only conclusion could be that someone in league with Dumbledore had discovered his location and was trying to poison him with black licorice.

Voldemort snorted.  As if poison could kill him.  He should eat it anyway, just to spite the horrifically stupid person who had left it.  But, did he like black licorice?  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Voldemort had a vague recollection that he disliked black licorice.

Voldemort shrugged.  It was candy, after all.  It couldn’t possibly be that bad.  The warning in the back of his mind grew louder, but he was used to ignoring warnings.  Voldemort popped a small piece of black licorice into his mouth.

Half a house away, Snape’s evening reading was disrupted by a pained scream.  For a moment, Snape thought it was someone being tortured, but he quickly remembered that no one had been captured for at least a month.  Then, who the hell was screaming?  There wasn’t anyone else in the Death Eater headquarters except for…Voldemort himself.  There was a gurgle that sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.  Snape went to investigate.

What he found was Lord Voldemort, Master of Snakes and Moron Who Doesn’t Listen to His Own Warnings, sitting on the floor in front of the refrigerator, drinking milk straight from the carton.

“Hey,” said Snape, “get a glass.  We have to drink from that too.”

Voldemort glared at Snape and purposefully took another swig from the carton.  “Licorice…” he croaked.

“Huh?”

“Black licorice…on desk…burning mouth…”

“Was there something wrong with it?  And what desk?”  What could someone have added to the candy to make it affect Voldemort?

“Noooooo…” moaned Voldemort.  “It just tastes like tar…and salt.  It’s nasty!  I had a recollection that I didn’t like it, but…” Voldemort gagged and drank some more milk.  “I can’t get the taste out of my mouth!”

“So,” said Snape, “it was just licorice?”

“BLACK licorice.  You know, I’ve got a plan to take over the world.”

Snape thought this was a bit of a non sequitur, but Voldemort continued.

“If I leave a box of black licorice on the doorstep of every powerful wizard in the world, they’ll forget how much they hate it.  Then, when they try it and become incapacitated by the horrible taste, we can attack them and clear out the opposition.”

Snape thought this was a pretty stupid plan, but didn’t have the rabbits to tell Voldemort this.  Instead, he said: “Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not important anymore…come on, we have to go to the Netherlands and buy as much black licorice as we can.”

Meanwhile, far away, Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts, wondering if Voldemort had liked the birthday gift he had sent.  He was nearly positive it was Voldemort’s birthday, anyway.  Maybe next year he would get Voldemort a fruitcake.

Tom Riddle Chooses a New Name

“I bet you’re all wondering why I called you here today,” said the Dark Lord to his loyal followers, the Death Eaters.

“Not really,” said Snape.  Okay, maybe not so loyal.

The Fearsome-One-Once-Known-As-Tom ignored him.  “I just wanted to let you know that I’ve chosen a new evil name after someone,” at this moment he looked at Lucius, “told me that ‘Master Overlord’ was a stupid name.”

“You can’t string two titles together to make an evil name,” whined Lucius.  “You need a title and then some imposing noun or verb form.”

“Yes, yes,” said He-Who-Can’t-Be-Named-Because-He-Hasn’t-Thought-of-One-Yet.  “But, I’ve done your stupid little rule one better.  I’ve come up with the perfect evil name.”

“Uh-huh?  And it is…?” asked Snape.

“From now on, I will be known as…LORD VOLDEMORT!”

There was a long silence.  Each of the Death Eaters looked at each other and then turned to stare at “Lord Voldemort.”  Somewhere, a cricket chirped.

“What?” asked Avery.

“Crucio!” commanded Voldemort.

“That’s your new name?” asked Snape, ignoring Avery’s screams.

“Yes,” said Voldemort.  “Why, what’s wrong with it?  It’s more than an imposing noun or verb.  It’s an imposing sentence!  It means “Flight of Death.”  It’s French, for godssake.”

“Oh,” said Nott, “I thought it was ‘Flight from Death.’”

“Yeah,” said Snape, “and it sounds like the name of some cheesy illusionist.  ‘Tonight, one night only, LORD VOLDEMORT performs the most mind-defying magic of the mystics!’”

“Ooooh!” cried Lucius. “Is he going to do linking rings?!”

“No, I am not going to do ‘linking rings!’” said Voldemort. “And I don’t think it sounds like an illusionist at all!”

“I mean,” continued Snape, “how did you even come up with this name?”

Suddenly, Voldemort looked embarrassed.  “It just…came to me,” he said.

This made everyone else extremely suspicious.  “’Came to you?’” asked Pettigrew.  “Like, in a dream?”

“Noooooo…I actually…rearrangedthlettersinmyname.”

“What?” asked Avery.

“Crucio!” commanded Voldemort.

“What?” asked Snape.

“I rearranged the letters in my name!  There, are you happy?”

There was another stunned silence.  Again, a cricket chirped.

“It’s an ANAGRAM?!” demanded Snape.

“Aw, that’s so cute,” said Lucius.

“That’s not cute!  That’s ridiculous!  Your name can be rearranged to spell a French sentence?  That’s…unlikely, at best.  What’s your middle name?”

“Marvolo,” said Voldemort.

Snape paused a moment to think things through.  “’Tom Marvolo Riddle’ does not make ‘Lord Voldemort,’” said Snape.  “There are some extra letters.”

“Well,” said Voldemort, “it technically makes ‘I am Lord Voldemort,’ but that would be a really stupid name.”

“Because the one you have now is pure brilliance.”

“Silence!  You will call me it, whether you like it or not.”

“So,” said Travers, “your first name is Tom?  Not Thomas?”

“Just Tom,” said Voldemort. “So, are we all reconciled to my new name yet?”

Snape sighed.  “Hell, if it makes you happy.”

“It does.”

“All right.  But that is one convenient middle name you have there.”

Evadne Validates Professor Snape’s Parking

(Author’s Note: BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS)     

“Evadne, would you please come here?  I need you to validate this man’s parking.”

Evadne gathered the rubber stamp and the validation book and went to Professor Marcus’s office.  The department faculty always had visitors, so it was not unusual for her boss to ask this. When she entered, Prof. Marcus was speaking to a man facing away from her.  He wore all black, unusual for even the most solemn professor.  Inexplicably, Evadne felt a sudden wave of inferiority pass over her.

“Ah, Evadne.  This is Professor Snape.  He’s visiting us from England.”

Evadne stared in shock.  She had not just heard what she thought she’d heard, had she?  But it had to be.  The lanky black hair, the hook nose, the unexplained anxiety…it was Professor Snape.

“I…er…hello…” she barely said.

“Here is my parking ticket,” Professor Snape said, dispensing with formalities.  “If you would please?”

Evadne quickly stamped and signed the ticket and opened the validation book.  Just don’t look at him, she thought as she entered the date, his name and his ticket number.  Don’t stare, don’t talk, and for godssake, whatever you do, don’t laugh.

This plan came crashing down when Evadne suddenly realized she had to ask him who was sponsoring his visit.

“Um…sir?”

“Yes, what is it?” he replied shortly.

“I need to know who your cost center is.”

“Professor Potter.”

You’ve got to be kidding me, thought Evadne.

As Evadne carefully recorded this information, she started to smirk, as a thousand jokes passed through her mind.  This desire quickly faded, however, when she handed Professor Snape his validated parking ticket.  He was glaring at her with such force that it could have stopped a moving truck.  Go ahead, the glare said, I dare you to.

Evadne’s mama hadn’t raised no fool.  The desire to crack a joke warred with the desire to run away as fast as humanly possible for all of two seconds.  It ended with Evadne skittering away and throwing herself under her desk. 

“Please don’t take fifty points from my house!” she screamed fearfully, curled up next to her CPU.

“Wretched child,” muttered Professor Snape, as he left to get his broom from the garage.

(A/N: Department of Backstory:  I work for the Institute of Materials Science, and they are always hosting foreign professors for conferences and such.  The other day, my boss asked me to validate the parking of Prof. William Snape of England.  I thought this was the funniest thing since Anna Kornikova, but it didn’t end there.  The sponsor of Prof. Snape was Prof. Donald Potter of my department.  I almost died.  Sadly, however, I didn’t get to make any of the jokes I wanted to because I probably would have lost my job for sassing my boss and his guest.  Instead, I have to settle for this.)

Sirius Bitch-Slaps Peter (for Sarah)

Peter was losing at chess to Lucius when the door flew open.  Sirius Black loomed in the doorway.

“S…Sirius,” stuttered Peter, “This…this isn’t what…”

*SMACK*

The End

Voldemort Catches a Severe Case of “Anime Villain Laugh”

“Do you see the simplistic brilliance of my plan?” asked Voldemort to his three most loyal Death Eaters, Snape, Lucius and Wormtail.

“Um…” said Wormtail, “could you run this by me one more time?”

Voldemort sighed.  “Alright.  Peter, that’s you, will talk to his friends, the rats, and convince them to storm London and freak out every Muggle that lives there.  That’s when Snape will show up with his magic pipe and…”

“No,” said Snape.

“What?” asked Voldemort, with flashing eyes.  You know, like Dumbledore and his twinkling eyes, only evil.

“I said ‘no.’  Did you even look at the costume you gave me?  I am not wearing green tights.  Nor that Robin Hood feathered hat.”

“Snape…” said Voldemort, warningly.

“Kill me.  I would rather have the Killing Curse performed on me than wear that outfit.

“I’ll do it!” shouted Lucius, coming to the rescue.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” asked Voldemort.

“Absolutely!  All I have to do is wear green tights, play the flute and make the rats follow me, right?”

“Fine.”  (“Hooray!”)  “Then, Lucius will then lead the rats out of London.  Are you following this, Wormtail?”

“Um…yes?”

“Good.  The Ministry will know something is up, so Lucius, you will Apparate the hell out of there.  While the Ministry is distracted trying to find you, Snape and I will storm the Ministry offices and take the Minister of Magic hostage.  They’ll be forced to turn control of the magical world over to me.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!”

“But, what if…” started Lucius.

“…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…!”

“Um…My Lord?” asked Wormtail.

“MWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Voldemort, snap out of it!” shouted Snape.

“HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!”

Snape, Lucius and Wormtail just stared at Voldemort.  “Maybe if we wait a second,” muttered Wormtail.

“BWAHAHA!  BWAHA!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“I don’t think he’s stopping anytime soon,” hissed Lucius.

“HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

“Oh, for godssake,” said Snape.  And they left.

“AHAHAHAHAHA…ahahahahaha…aha…aha…ha.”  Voldemort looked around as the echo of his manic laughter died down.

“Hey, where did everyone go?”

The Death Eaters Terrorize the Potters

“I don’t get it,” whined Peter.

“You never get it,” mumbled Snape.

“Look, it’s very simple,” said Voldemort.  “One of us sneaks up to the front door and leaves it on the doorstep.  Then, he…”

“Or she,” said Mrs. Lestrange, who should probably get a first name.

“Or she,” added Voldemort, “rings the door bell and runs.  Potter will open the door, see our ‘gift’ and stomp on it.  And…SUCCESS!”

“But why will he stomp on it?” asked Peter.

“Because it will be on fire, of course.”

“But, I don’t see how that accomplishes anything,” said Peter.

“It doesn’t accomplish anything,” said Snape.  “It’s just annoying.  Which is why I think it’s such a horrible idea!”

“Why do you always have to disagree?” asked Voldemort.  “Do you just enjoy criticizing me?”

“I just think it’s a dumb idea to risk the lives of one of our men…”

“Or women,” added Ms. Lenore Lestrange, which is what I’ve decided to call her.  Someone gets it.

“Or women,” continued Snape, “just so you can pull a juvenile prank on the Potters.”

“I thought you hated Potter!”

“I do.  Which is why I want to KILL him, not annoy him!”

There was a long silence.  The other Death Eaters shifted uncomfortably in the hedges surrounding the Potter’s house.  It was a good thing the Death Eaters only operated at night, because it was not supplying near enough cover.  The first cop who drove by would probably catch them.

Voldemort sighed.  “How about if we terrorize them now and kill them later?”

“Promise?” asked Snape.

“On my honor as evil incarnate.”

“All right.  But I am not running that up to the door.”

“Good, good.  Now, which one of you boys…”

“Or girls,” said Lenore Lestrange.  Yes, I realize it’s alliterative, but so is everyone else’s name.

“Or girls, wants to have the honor of ringing the doorbell and running away?”

No one moved.

“You have five seconds before I Imperious Curse someone into doing it.”

There was a brief tussle as the Death Eaters pushed each other forward in an effort to stay out of Voldemort’s wand range.  Peter ended up in front.

“Why, Peter!” exclaimed Voldemort, “I didn’t know you had it in you!  And if you get caught, why, I bet James Potter will kill you!  Being one of his former friends and all.  Here take this.  Wait, I need to set it on fire before you go.”

Peter snuck up to the Potter’s door.  Well, he thought, if you get caught, you can always turn into a rat.  With this confidence inspiring thought, he rang the doorbell.  Wait! thought Peter, James knows I can turn into a rat!  CRAP!  Peter scampered like hell.

This was fortunate, as James Potter opened the door a moment later.  “What the hell?” he asked as realized what was on his doorstep.  He quickly stomped it out.

Voldemort, still hidden in the bushes, was pretty darn pleased with himself.  He gave one of his high, cruel laughs.

“Honey,” called Lily Potter from inside the house, “what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” called back James, “There was a flaming Chia Pet on our doorstep.”

“A what?”

“Flaming Chia Pet.  Don’t worry, I stomped it out.  And I think I hear some girl in our bushes.”

“Or…” started Lenore from the bushes, “Wait, he already said girl, didn’t he?”

“That was not a girl!” shouted Lord Voldemort.  “It was I!  LORD VOLDEMORT.  Know me and know fear”

“GET OFF MY LAWN!” shouted James Potter.

Voldemort and Sauron Get in an Argument Over Who Has More Euphemisms

“All I’m saying,” said Voldemort, “is that while your franchise ended with the death of your creator, my franchise is still growing.  There are still three more books left to come out.  I could gain any number of new names.”

A giant Eye, wreathed in flame, glared at Voldemort.  An uncomfortable silence followed.

“Um.…” said Voldemort, “You want to add something?”

The giant Eye turned on a man sitting not too far away from two of the most evil beings ever to come into fictional existence.  He, however, showed no signs of fear.  In fact, he yawned in boredom.  The eye glared more intensely, if it is possible for a flaming, lidless eye to become more menacing.  The man suddenly noticed and jumped up with an “Er…sorry.  How may I serve you, my lord?”  This was the Mouth of Sauron.

The Eye stared intensely at the man for a moment.  “My Lord Sauron says that he has had thousands of years and several ages to rack up many euphemisms.  You’ve had, what, fifty years?”

The flames around the Eye increased dramatically.

“Oh, right.  I’m not supposed to use your real name.  But then, how do I tell people who I am?”

The Eye looked slightly shocked at this oversight.

“Oh please!” cried Voldemort, getting back to the subject.  “What does time have to do with it?  The amount of evil you create is far more important.  The amount of fear your real name inspires is more important.  The amount of screen time you get is more important.  I actually menace my main character personally.  You’re an Eye at the top of a tower!”

The Eye contracted with insane anger.  The Mouth of Sauron gulped and continued, “My Lord respectfully wonders what the main character has to do with anything?  After all, in three years, you will be defeated by a child.”

“And being defeated by a Hobbit is something to be proud of?  Please, you were destroyed by the epitome of ‘cute.’  Besides, how do you know the Potter brat will kill me?”

The Eye and the Mouth of Sauron exchanged incredulous looks.  “Please,” said the Mouth, “you live in a children’s book!  Of course you’re going to lose!  And it dilutes your evil!”

“How does it dilute my evil?  I kill, I torture, I maim.  What did you do?  Create some jewelry?  OoooooOOOooooh!”

The Eye would have narrowed if it had had any lids to do so with.  The Mouth of Sauron continued, “Those pieces of ‘jewelry’ turned nine humans into some of the creepiest henchmen in literary history.”

“So you created henchmen.  So what?  I’ve got the Imperious Spell to do that for me.  Much less work than forging twenty rings of power.”

“Your henchmen are just evil men, not supernatural beings.  The unknown causes more fear.  You know that.  Why else would you put your Death Eaters in masks?”

“Whatever.”  Voldemort looked at the clock.  “Look, I have to get back before everyone thinks I’ve died again.  But I’m warning you.  In the end, Lord Voldemort will have more people scared to say his true name than Sauron.”

The Eye dilated imperiously.  The Mouth spoke, “Maybe, maybe.  If you don’t get destroyed by another incredible plot contrivance in the meantime.”

Voldemort rolled his eyes.  “Uh-huh.  Now get out of here before I get a fire extinguisher.”

The Eye and Mouth Sauron disappeared with a flash of anti-light and a puff of black smoke.

“Show off,” said Voldemort.  “And he singed my guest couch again!”

The Death Eaters Buy a House

 I am so going to die, thought the real estate agent. 

She turned and fake smiled at the group of masked, black robed men standing in a semi-circle behind her.  What she said, however, was, “The next house on our tour is a nice split level colonial from the early ‘60s.”

The man next to her smiled back evilly.  His face was pale, his nose was non-existent and his cruel red eyes glittered evilly.  “I just love the landscaping,” said Voldemort evilly.  He went to the door and unlocked it.  Evilly.

“I feel so stupid,” said one of the Death Eaters.  It was Snape, naturally.

“Shut up,” said Voldemort.  “All right.  Listen up!  I want you all to spread through the house like a plague, destroying everything that moves…wait, no.  Those were your instructions for the raid last night.   What I want you to do now is spread through the house like a plague, checking for defects in the architecture.”

The Death Eaters, other than Snape, took off like winged bats throughout the house.  Which is really the only type of bat, so let’s move on.

“Okay,” said Snape, “tell me again why we’re buying a house when you have a perfectly serviceable mansion?”

“It’s not mine,” said Voldemort.  “My father never actually recognized my existence, remember?  Plus, I loathe and despise everything having to do with him, so I wouldn’t live there if I could.”

“Loathe and despise mean the same thing.”

“Shut up.”

Lucius’s voice rang from the top of the stairs.  “Wow!  Check out all this closet space!”

Voldemort turned to the real estate agent.  “So, tell me about this place.  Does it have a basement?  And is there enough space down there for captured prisoners and maybe a torture chamber?”

“Um…it has a semi-converted rec-room.”

“That’ll do.”

Lucius appeared at Voldemort’s side.  “Guess what?!”

“What?”

“The inlays on the fireplace are gorgeous!”

“Excellent!  The fireplace at our previous dwelling was extremely inadequate!  Is there anything else to report?”

“There are lovely bay windows at the front, sufficient dining room space and enough bedrooms if we all don’t stay at the same time.  On the down side, the water heater will need to be replaced within five years, but the septic system is in excellent condition.”

“How do you know that?” asked the real estate agent.

Lucius smiled at her.  “I had Crabbe and Goyle dig it up.  I hope you didn’t want the rhododendron in the backyard, Voldemort.”

“No.  I was thinking of starting a rock garden.”

“Oh, that’ll be lovely with the gazebo we just bought.”

The real estate agent stood rooted to the spot in horror.

“Well,” said Voldemort, “I think we may take it.  Oh, and your life too.  Unless of course, you agree to join my evil band and sell houses at whatever cost I see fit.”

I am going to die, thought the real estate agent.  I am going to die and I am going to be buried under a rock garden.

The Death Eaters Start a Betting Pool

(BASED, SADLY, ON ACTUAL EVENTS)

(A/N: No spoilers, as I wrote this [and had this conversation] before I finished OotP.)

 The Death Eaters’ inner circle was sitting around the living room of their Headquarters, wondering why Voldemort had called this meeting, and where the hell he was.  Each of them had received an owl the night before, telling them to meet at their recently acquired house at 2:00 p.m. the next day.  This annoyed many of them, as the fifth Harry Potter book was coming out that day, and they needed to buy a copy for their children (and themselves, truth be told).  But their master, Mr. Do-As-I-Say-Not-As-I-Do, had yet to show up.

 “I have places to be!” cried Snape, cueing an obvious character introduction point.

 The door flew open, and a hideous shape composed of pure Darkness (with a capital D) stood outlined in the doorway.  “My loyal minions, I…” started Voldemort, as he stepped into the light, “…am really sorry I’m late.”

 “Eh?” came the reply.  I mean, how often does Voldemort apologize?

 “Yes…BUT I HAVE THE FIFTH BOOK!” he cried, holding the book over his head triumphantly.

 “Eh?”

 “YES!  And I have…er…brought one for everyone!”

 “Wow!” cried Lucius, “That’s nice.”

 “Yeah,” said Snape, “but uncharacteristic.  Where did you get them?”

“Er…I stole a pallet while no one was looking.”

Snape rolled his eyes.  “Why did you call us here?”

 “Well,” said Voldemort, “I heard that someone important dies in this book.  I think that we should start a betting pool on who it is.”

 “My money says that it’s Dumbledore,” said Nott.

 “That would make sense,” agreed Lestrange.  “I mean, we know he’s going to die, right?”

 “Yes,” said Snape thoughtfully, “but it might be too soon.  There are still two more books to get through.”

 “YES!” shrieked Voldemort.  Everyone turned to look at him.  “The little punk is finally losing that preternatural patience of his!”

 “Stop reading the book, Voldemort!  That’s not fair!” cried Lucius.

 “It was only the first chapter,” said Voldemort, looking chagrined.

 “Now, I bet it will be…” started Lucius, “…Snape.”

 “What?!” cried Snape.

 “Think about it!  In the last book you were proven to be a good guy.  Now that the question has been removed, they have to martyr you!  Plus it’ll make Potter really guilty!”

 “Oh, man,” groaned Avery, “I hope it’s not Snape.  Do you realize how much angsty fanfiction will be posted if it’s Snape?”

 “It’s not me,” said Snape defiantly.

 “Hey,” said Bellatrix Lestrange, who has sadly been given a real first name (I like Lenore better), “does anyone else find it slightly odd that we’re reading about our future?  And we know Snape’s a traitor?”  Snape felt a drop of cold sweat run down his back.

 “Don’t worry,” said Voldemort, “I’ve got it covered.”  He pulled out his day planner.  “See, right here: ‘Kill Snape before he betrays you.’”

 “Well, if it’s not you, then who do you think it is, Snape?” asked Lucius.

 “Oh, it’ll probably be Hagrid or Lupin or someone like that.  Someone Potter loves, but the story can move on without,” said Snape, glad to change the subject.  “I hope it’s Black.”

 “I think it’ll be whoever the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is,” said Wormtail.

 “Umbridge,” mumbled Voldemort.

 “STOP READING AHEAD!” shouted Lucius.

 “I just want to see what I’m up to!”

 “Anyway,” said Wormtail, continuing on, “the DADA teacher always has to leave at the end of the book.  Why not kill him…”

 “Her…” said Voldemort.  “Ha!” said Bellatrix (“Beata Bellatrix”?).

 “…her off?”

 “I thought it was supposed to be a well-liked character who dies?  Can’t rightly like someone we haven’t met before,” reasoned Snape.

 “Remember Goblet of Fire, though?  It was supposed to be a well-liked character then too.  But who was it?  Cedric,” said Wormtail.

 “She wouldn’t pull that twice, though.  Would she?” asked Nott.

 “And it would be a good way to get rid of DADA teacher.  You know, so Snape can not get the job the next year,” said Avery.

 “Shut up!  I will get that job!” said Snape.

 “And that,” said Mr. Ridiculous-First-Name Lestrange, “will be the book you die in.”

 “Wow, Potter sure does a lot of yelling in this book,” said Voldemort.

 “That’s it!” cried Lucius.  “Give me the book!”

(A/N: Hey, if anyone gets the “Beata Bellatrix” joke, email me with info on what it means [campuspolice@hotmail.com].  First person to get it right will get a “Once Upon a Freakin’ Time” written for them about anything they choose, no matter how dumb.)

The Death Eaters Hold a Bake Sale

(partially based on a “Not Too Long Ago” comic by Sarah Noble)

 “Just bring it over here, Goyle,” said Avery to the hulking mass of none too bright human flesh.  Goyle tottered forward uneasily, holding a folding table over his head, looking for the source of the voice.

 “Over here!  Here!  On your left.  OTHER LEFT!”

 Goyle swung all the way around, and CRASH!  The table banged straight into Avery, sending him flying across the rented hall.

 Snape sighed.  “Voldemort!” he called across the room.  “Goyle knocked Avery out!”

 “What?” asked Voldemort.  “That the second Death Eater he’s put out of commission today.”

 “No, no,” said Snape, “Lestrange was knocked out by Crabbe.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Very nearly.”

 “Maybe we should put those two on a less dangerous task.”

 “We could have them open the Tupperware containers and place the food on the tables.”

 Voldemort considered this arrangement.  “I think they could handle that.”

 Snape sent the two indistinguishable henchmen to open boxes of apple crisps and eye-of-newt squares.  “And don’t eat them!” he called after.

 “I will be so glad when this is over,” said Voldemort.  “Hopefully, this event will raise us enough money to buy those masks and cloaks.  And, we’re still paying off those tattoos.”

 Snape shook his head.  “I told you we shouldn’t have bought them from Ludo Bagman.”

 “How was I to know they were temporary?”

 Snape rolled his eyes.  “Hey.  Wormtail didn’t make a Bundt cake, did he?”

 “Of course he did.”

 “Great, we’ll be eating that for a month.”

 Voldemort frowned.  “Where’s Lucius?” he asked.

 “Narcissa’s dropping him off after his piano lesson.  He should be here any…”

 “Hello, everyone!” called Lucius, running into the room.  “I made it!”

 “Did you bring anything to sell?” asked Voldemort, glaring slightly.

 “Yes, I did….I….where did I put it?”

 Narcissa Malfoy glided serenely into the room, carrying a plastic container.  “Sweetie, you left this on the broom.”

 “Thanks, honey!”

 “I’ll be by at six to pick you up.  Be bad.”

 “I love you!” said Lucius, cheerily.  Narcissa left as calmly as she had arrived.

 “That woman has the patience of a saint,” hissed Voldemort to Snape.

 “I made lemon poppy seed muffins!” said Lucius.  “What did you guys bring?”

 “I made my famous Deadly Nightshade Truffles,” said Voldemort.  “Which reminds me, I have to go make a sign warning everyone that my truffles may contain wolfsbane.  Don’t want one of the werewolves eating one, and then complaining of food poisoning like last year.”

 “What did you make, Snape?” asked Lucius.

 “I brought a coffee cake.”

 “Brought?”

 “I don’t bake.”

 “What?  You’re the Potions Master and you can’t cook?”

 “Shut up!  You made lemon poppy seed muffins!  That’s a little girly, don’t you think?”

 “At least my contribution didn’t come courtesy of Sara Lee!”

 “Oh, geez!” shouted Voldemort as Crabbe took the cover off a container with such force that Travers, who was standing unfortunately close, was flung out the window.

Severus Snape Decides to Join Dumbledore

 Late one Saturday night, Severus Snape was at home, reading his favorite book (101 Snide Comments to Drive Your Insane Boss Insaner), minding his own business.  Sadly, this could not last because it wouldn’t make for very interesting fiction.  Just as he was finishing the chapter on what to say when your employer decides to trust incompetent employees with complicated tasks (something Voldemort was famous for), Snape heard a phone ring.

 The hell? Snape thought.  I’m a wizard.  Why would I have a phone?

 Snape looked around the room quickly.  Desk.  Chairs.  Piles of potions books.  A skull with a candle melted on top of it.  Martha Stewart’s Living.  No phone, though.  Maybe if I just ignore it, it will go away, thought Snape.

 That never works.

 “Dammit, where is that ringing coming from?!” shouted Snape.

 Suddenly, there was a flash of green sparks from the fireplace, and a bald, pasty, slit-eyed, snaky face appeared among the ashes.  Voldemort, natch.

 “Snape,” said the head of the most evil entity alive, “would you just answer the stupid phone?  I have to talk to you.”

 “But, you’re right here.  And I don’t have a phone.”

 “Yes, you do.  I had one installed in all the homes of my Death Eaters so I could talk to them through non-magical means.  The Ministry won’t suspect a thing.”

 “Telephones?” said Snape, gearing up to use one of his new snide comments.  “That’s…” Snape paused, “…a pretty good idea, actually.  The Ministry doesn’t monitor Muggle communications like it does WizardComm.”

 “That, and the fact that firelight creates a glare on my head.  Temporarily blinded Lucius the other day.  Now answer the damn phone!”  The head disappeared.

 Wow, thought Snape as he sifted through piles of National Geographics to find the source of the ringing, Voldemort came up with a pretty good idea.  Of course, there’s the issue of paying the Muggle phone company, but that’s not monumental.  The Ministry’s disdain of all things Muggle could be it’s undoing.  Maybe he CAN take over the world.

 Finally, Snape found the phone Voldemort had installed behind a hidden panel in the desk.  Snape thought this was a bit overkill, but Voldemort did have a flair for the overdramatic sometimes.

 “Hello?” ventured Snape as he answered the phone.

 “Excellent!” said Voldemort.  “I have come up with a brilliant idea that will put the Death Eaters on the pedestal of greatness.  When this is implemented, we will be stronger, smarter, and work better as a team.  Then we will be ready to decimate the Ministry and subjugate the wizarding world!”

 Snape found himself getting excited about Voldemort’s plan for the first time in years.  He had always been skeptical of Voldemort’s crazy schemes in the past, but the telephone strategy had inspired him.  Voldemort was thinking.  He did know the Ministry’s weaknesses.  He was a capable leader.  “What is it?” asked Snape.

 “We will create…”

 Yes?  Yes?

 “A company softball team!”

 It was about this moment Snape decided to join Dumbledore.

Voldemort Feels Really Dumb Upon Finishing the 5th Book

(AGAIN, SADLY BASED ON ACTUAL EVENTS)

(Does contain spoilers for OotP.  And a lot of ranting.)

 “Wait…” said Snape, “so the whole premise of the 5th book was Voldemort attempting to make Potter get a prophecy that really didn’t tell him anything new?”

 “Apparently…” said Voldemort.

 “And why did you have to make Potter get it?”

 “I…I couldn’t risk going to the Ministry and being seen…”

 “Well,” said Lucius, “you didn’t have to go during the day!  You could have gone at night.  You know, like you ended up doing!”

 “Yeah,” added Snape, “besides, you managed to get twelve Death Eaters into the Ministry without causing an incident.  Why not one more?”

 “Look, guys,” started Voldemort, “you don’t understand.  My going to the Ministry could have only caused trouble.  I didn’t want to risk it.”

 “I smell a rationalization!” cried Lucius.

 “What’s your real problem, Voldemort?” needled Snape.

 “I haven’t got a problem!  I’m all-powerful!  I never have problems!” announced Voldemort.

 “LIAR!” shrieked Lucius and Snape.

 Voldemort sighed.  “It’s…it’s the spinning room,” he admitted.

 “The spinning room?  In the Department of Mysteries?”

 “Don’t laugh!” commanded Voldemort.  “Look, when I was really young, I went on this Tilt-A-Whirl, and I hurled all over the place.  Now whenever the room spins, I feel really sick.  I didn’t want to break into the Ministry and then vomit all over the prophecy!”

 “How would it have mattered if you had?” demanded Snape.  “I mean, did you hear that prophecy?  One of you has to die.  Any wizard in Diagon Alley could have told you that.  You were planning on killing the Potter brat anyway.  How does this change your plans at all?”

 “What kind of useless weapon was that?  How could it have helped?” asked Lucius, getting indignant.  “If you had gotten that information, would it have instantly led to your conquering the world?”

 “Guys,” said Voldemort, “I’m already feeling pretty dumb about this whole plot; don’t make it worse.  I wasted all that time, invading Potter’s mind, tricking him into believing I was torturing Sirius…”

 “And can I just say,” interrupted Snape, “that Black had the lamest death of all time?  He fell through a freakin’ arch!”

 “Never mind how annoying Bellatrix is!” added Lucius.  “Shut up, woman, and let me do the talking!”

 “Anyway,” continued Voldemort, “I am pretty annoyed at my future self.  I should write this in my day planner so I can keep myself from making these dumb mistakes.”

 “And,” stormed the still-not-calmed-down Lucius, “what is up with the sealed room full of Love?  Is it the Love Shack?  Are they keeping the B-52s in there?”

 “’Folks lining up outside just to get down,’” sang Wormtail from the other room.

The Death Eaters Go to the Beach

 Voldemort slathered a sixth layer of SPF 100,000 suntan lotion over his ridiculously pale skin.  There was no way he was going to take any chances this year.  Last year, he had paid too much attention to Lucius’s taunting.  “I come in two colors,” Voldemort had explained, “Pasty and Boiled Lobster.”  But Lucius had kept bothering him: throwing the Frisbee into the little tent Voldemort had brought; kicking sand into his egg salad sandwiches.  Voldemort had no idea Lucius could be so cruel.  So, he had finally come out of the shadows to join in a Death Eater touch football game.  BIG mistake.  His skin had been redder than his eyes for about a week after.  This year, Voldemort was taking every precaution.  Satisfied that he was painted an inch thick, Voldemort put on his floppy straw hat, and joined his Death Eaters on the beach. 

 “So,” he called to his loyal minions, who were currently struggling to put up the volleyball net, “is everyone here?  I don’t see Snape.”

 “I think he’s stealing a cooler from some people down the beach,” said Lestrange, holding up his hand to shade his eyes as he peered down the stretch of sand.  He let go of the stake he was pounding into the sand to find his sunglasses.  The volleyball net bent precariously, pulled out of the ground, and promptly clonked Macnair in the head.

 “There’s Snape,” said Lestrange, once his sunglasses diminished the glare.  “And he’s got lunch.”

 Snape staggered toward the Death Eaters, carrying a giant red cooler, and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself.  “I bewitched a family of Muggles into thinking a cluster of washed up jellyfish was their cooler.  I do NOT want to be there when they decided to do lunch.”

 “All right!” said Voldemort, “Let’s eat.  Wormtail, stop building that sandcastle and get over here!”

 “’Sand pile’ is more like it,” hissed Dolohov.

 Wormtail stuck out his tongue and used a scallop shell to add some decoration to his, um, masterpiece.  “I’ll be there as soon as I finish the moat,” he called.  Just then, a larger than average wave rose up and rendered all discussion of Wormtail’s castle a moot point.

 All the Death Eaters chortled merrily and set to work devouring the lunch the Muggle family had packed.  All except Lucius, who was staring at Snape with a look of disgust so apparent that Snape could help but feel he had grown a tail or something.

 “What?  Like you care if a couple of Muggles end up eating dead jellyfish.”

 “It’s not that,” replied Lucius.  “Snape, you are the only person I know who wears a solid black shirt to the beach.”

 “It’s not solid black.  This is my Hawaiian shirt.  See?  The background is coal, half of the flowers are dusky gray, and the other half are pitch.  The adornments on the flowers are midnight.”

 “A monochrome Hawaiian shirt?”

 “What?”

 “You have no sense of style, Snape,” sneered Lucius, as he bit into a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich.

 After lunch, most of the Death Eaters worked at putting the volleyball net up.  When it was finally up (no thanks to Crabbe and/or Goyle), Bellatrix wanted to play a game, but most everyone else was too tired.  She and Narcissa started volleying the ball; they were warming up so they could effectively trounce the guys once they got off their rear ends. 

Wormtail went back to trying to build the most excellent sandcastle in Death Eater history.  He was likely to succeed, as his was technically the first sandcastle in Death Eater history.

“So,” said Voldemort, lounging in the safety of his super-powered suntan lotion, “I think that we should raid the Bones family next Wednesday.  Is Wednesday good for everyone?”

“Good for me,” said Snape, Lestrange, Macnair, and others.

“Ugh,” said Crabbe and/or Goyle.

“Er…I’m going to take that as an affirmative,” said Voldemort.

“Sorry,” said Lucius, “but I’m meeting the Minister of Magic for a bribe session.”

“Well,” said Voldemort, “since that’s Death Eater related, I won’t punish you.  How about you Dolohov?  Are you going to risk my wrath?  Dolohov?  Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm?” said Dolohov, looking blankly at Voldemort.

“Well, Dolohov, it seems you have found something more interesting than your Dark Lord and Master.  Care to share with the class?” asked Voldemort through pursed non-existent lips.

Dolohov pointed at Bellatrix and Narcissa playing volleyball, and said with a stupid grin, “Death Eater or Alive Beach Volleyball.”

Lestrange’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Lucius just frowned and asked innocently, “Huh?”

“I’ll explain later.  Bellatrix!” called Lestrange.

“Yes, honey?”

 “Dolohov!  Kill!”

 Bellatrix grinned wickedly as Narcissa set the ball.  She watched it rise carefully, set her feet, and at the precise moment, WHAM!, spiked the ball directly into Dolohov’s head.  He crashed backwards in his lawn chair and lay, dazed, on the sand.  “I assume I did that for a reason, honey?” Bellatrix asked.

 “He was making crude jokes,” her husband replied.

 “He was?!” asked a suddenly angry Lucius.

 The ball, after having easily sent Dolohov sprawling, bounced off his head and flew through the air.

 “And a pretty seaweed flag for the keep,” said Wormtail, smiling at his recently completed sandcastle.

 PFFT! The castle went up in a spray of sand and salt water as the ball landed smack in the courtyard.

 “Awwwww…”

Voldemort Is Thwarted by London Underground Ltd.

 A small man who probably would have fit in nicely at a Rodentia family reunion scuttled up the cold, grey path leading to the colonial split level.  Night was closing in, with a rippling of fog drifting across the well-manicured front lawn.  Maintaining appearances was quite important to the safety the Death Eaters.  However, it was not merely the clipped hedgerow and paved driveway with a faded basketball hoop in the turnaround that kept the curious away.  Voldemort’s special wards would fry anyone who approached with less than a devious heart.  (Which was kinda inconvenient when the Death Eaters brought back prisoners for interrogation…but, anyway.)  But magic could be breached, so much more mundane methods were also employed at Death Eaters’ International (read: only) Headquarters.

 The small man rapped briefly on the bright orange front door.  A painting mistake last fall had resulted in the hideous color, and while Voldemort kept declaring he would have it fixed, nothing had been done yet.  A hidden panel opened in the door, and a pair of steely eyes carefully measured the small man up.  “Password?” demanded a voice to match the eyes.

 “If Darkness is King, then Voldemort is God,” the small man (Peter Pettigrew by name, and Wormtail by actions) replied.

 The door opened.  “I’m not even going to pretend I know what that means,” said Snape as he shut the door behind Peter.

 “I have news for the Dark Lord,” said Peter.

 “You and everyone else in the 80s.  Get in line behind Karkaroff.”

 Two hours later, after ignoring Karkaroff’s attempts to start a conversation and Lucius’s attempt to get a sing-a-long going, Peter was allowed into the inner sanctuary of Voldemort.  He fell to his knees before the overstuffed chair with hideous upholstery that Voldemort insisted on doing all of his audiences from.  “Rise,” hissed Voldemort, “You coming with news?”

 “Yes, my Lord.  I have received word from our real estate agent that Dumbledore has recently made a purchase in London.  She suspects it may be headquarters for their resistance movement.”

 “The Order of the Phoenix…” whispered Voldemort.  “I shall have them soon.”  Voldemort rose from his chair.  “Snape!” he called, “bring me a map of London.”

 Snape entered the room, carrying a large map.  “Yeah, yeah.”  Snape spread the map over a large table while Voldemort and Peter joined him.

 “What does our agent say about the purchase?” Voldemort snarled at Peter.

 “She says, and I quote, ‘A charming four BB flat with two full/two half bath, breakfast nook.  Overlooks quaint former country road, now major thoroughfare.  Convenient to the Central Line.’  The address is on this spec sheet,” finished Peter.

 Voldemort looked it over carefully.  “Very nice.  Dumbledore will have to redecorate, of course.”

 “Of course.”

 “So…” started Snape, “now that you know where they are, what are you going to do about it?”

 Voldemort frowned.  “We’ll have to be careful.  We were too rash when we attacked their last hideout.  They managed to flee without casualties.  We shouldn’t have Apparated in.  They will have some warning ward.  We’ll have to come in through non-magical means.”

 “We could take the Underground,” suggested Peter, “It does say ‘convenient to the Central Line.’”

 “I don’t think so,” said Snape.  “The Central Line is down.”

 “What?” asked Voldemort, “Why?”

 “A train derailed, you know that.”

 “But that was a month ago.”

 “Yeah, but they’re still running safety checks.”

 “We could always take another line…”

 “It’s not in Zone 1,” interjected Peter.  “It’s really on the other side of the city from us.”

 “We could take a replacement bus,” said Snape.

 “Oh yes, sure.  Let’s take a bus down Oxford Street,” said Voldemort.  “I’d like to raid the Order sometime this decade, Snape.”

 “Fine!  Then wait!” cried Snape, throwing his hands over his head and leaving.

 “I will!” shouted Voldemort.  He crunched up the map with his left hand, while gesturing wildly with his right.  “Stupid Central Line.”

The Death Eaters Play Softball With the Order of the Phoenix

(A/N: Remember, Snape works for the Order, but plays for the Death Eaters.  Peter works for the Death Eaters, but plays for the Order.)

 “Hey batter batter.  Hey batter batter.  NO BATTER BATTER!  Especially no evil, stinking, traitors to wizardkind batters!”

 “Alastor!” shouted Dumbledore from the Order of the Phoenix’s bench, “Stop that!”

 Mad Eye Moody grumbled quietly behind his catcher’s mask as Severus Snape approached the plate, carefully swinging his bat.  Snape wondered how in hell he had managed to get himself involved in this.  Ever since Voldemort had started the Death Eaters’ softball team (sponsored by Knockturn Alley Supermarket: The Convenient Place to Fill All Your Dark Supply Needs), Snape had wondered whom exactly they were going to play against.  Stupidly, he had mentioned this to Dumbledore when reporting to the Order two months ago.  Dumbledore had thought it was a fabulous idea, quickly formed a team of his own, and challenged Voldemort to a game.  Snape rolled his eyes as he took a ready stance in the batter’s box.  Insanity, he thought, everywhere I go.  Oh well, at least I get dental in the Order.

 “I see a hole out there, I see a hole out there.  I see an H-O-L-E, hole out there,” sang Lucius from the sidelines.

 “Hey, Snivellus.  How’s it going?” sneered James Potter from the pitcher’s mound.

 Oh, wonderful, thought Snape.  Maybe I can hit him with a line drive.

 Snape was not going to get the chance, however.  James’s first pitch was straight at Snape’s head.  Snape jumped back a little, but the ball still smacked into his shoulder.  Snape rubbed the stinging red mark as James feigned concern, “Oh, sorry Snape.  Didn’t see you there.  Guess you better take your base.”

 Snape jogged to first base, glaring all the way, and trying to think of something particularly nasty to shoot back at Potter.  Lily Potter saved him the trouble, however.  “JAMES!  If you do that again, you will be sleeping on the couch!  You hear me?”  Every single word was perfectly clear to every person on the field, even though Lily was all the way in left field.

 “Busted…” said Sirius Black from shortstop.

 “Shut up,” snapped James.

 Voldemort watched the Order bicker amongst themselves, smiling ever so slightly.  He was glad he and Dumbledore had agreed to be the coaches, and not players.  It was pretty difficult to catch a fly ball while wearing a Death Eater mask.

 “Bellatrix!”

 “Yes, my lord?”

 “You’re up next.  Remember to try and hit the ball to Wormtail in right field.  I have instructed him to miss anything that comes his way.”

 “Batter up!” shouted the umpire.

 “We want a single, just a little single.  S-I-N-G-L-E.  Single, single, single,” sang Lucius lustily.

 Bellatrix Lestrange glided up to the plate, and positioned herself in the batter’s box with the greatest of care.

 “Hey, Bellatrix!” shouted Emmeline Vance from second base, “Today, please!”

 “Patience, peons!” Bellatrix shouted back, “Do not rush an artist.”

 “Yeah, Bella,” said James, “I’ll take it easy on you, since you’re a girl.”

 “Fool!  Such a thing will be your undoing!

 James grinned a little as he theatrically wound up the ball and pitched it, ever so gently, to Bellatrix.

 Big mistake.

 CRACK!  The ball took off like shot, straight over first baseman Sturgis Podmore’s head, all the way back to Peter Pettigrew.  Yes! thought Bellatrix as she raced toward first base, I have served my master well!

 Peter watched the ball come toward him while Voldemort’s voice echoed through his head.  You must pretend to work for the Order, Wormtail.  But make sure you do not actually help them in any way.  Do not catch that ball or I will make you very sorry…

 Meanwhile, Remus Lupin rushed toward Peter from center field, attempting to back him up.  “Back!  Back!  BACK!” he shouted.  Peter felt a rush of guilt about betraying his friends, and took several steps backward.

 Wormtail…warned the memory of Voldemort’s voice.  “Further back!” shouted Lupin.

 Frankly, Voldemort really hadn’t needed to warn Peter to drop the ball.  It wasn’t like Pettigrew had good coordination, or any coordination whatsoever.  While mentally torn between betraying his best friends and the thought of getting the smackdown from Voldemort, the ball arrived in left field and conked him on the head.  Peter went down hard, still trying to figure out which side he really wanted to be on.

 “CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” shouted Moody, throwing off his catcher’s mask in anger.

 Lupin snatched up the ball and threw it to second, moments too late for Emmeline to tag out Bellatrix.

 “Home, Snape!” shouted Voldemort.  “HOME!”

 Snape wavered.  Since Peter was secretly working against the Order’s team, Snape figured he should secretly work against the Death Eaters’ team.

 “Gimme a ‘S!’  Gimme a ‘N!’  Gimme an ‘A!’  Gimme a ‘P!’  Gimme an ‘E!’” shouted Lucius.  No one gave him anything.

 “What’s that spell?” Lucius continued, unheeding.  “SNAPE!”

 On the other hand, Snape considered, someone has to shut Lucius up.

The Death Eaters Start a Band

 “No, Rodolphus,” said Bellatrix, rolling her eyes, “you can’t join the band.”

 “Why not?” demanded Lestrange, “You let Barty join!”

 “Barty has never been in one of these shorts before…”

 “Even Karkaroff has had a cameo,” mumbled Crouch.

 “Besides,” continued Bellatrix, “he can play the drums.  You can’t.”

 “I can play the bass,” wheedled Lestrange.

 “I’m playing the bass, darling,” said Bellatrix with flashing eyes.  “And don’t give me any of that ‘girls can’t play bass’ crap.  Now, beat it so we can practice.”  Lestrange stormed out muttering something about not being willing to get dinner started on time that night.

 “If it makes you feel any better,” shouted Voldemort after him, “your name wouldn’t have fit on the bill anyway!”

 “Hey,” said Lucius, wandering up to the stage where Bellatrix’s argument with her husband had taken place, “speaking of instruments.  What do I get to play?”

 “Nothing,” said Voldemort.  “You’re just the pretty-boy front man to get women to come to our shows.”

 “But, I want an instrument,” complained Lucius.

 “Want my guitar?” asked Snape, coming from the backstage.  “I think I’m going to quit.”

 “You can’t quit,” said Voldemort definitively.  “You’re the only one who knows more than four chords.”

 “Nice pants, Snape,” snickered Bellatrix.

 “Shut up.  We are not going to mention my pants again.”  Snape was wearing – “I said no talking about the pants!” shouted Snape.

 “I waaaaant an innnnnstruuuuuument,” whined Lucius.

 “Fine,” said Barty.  “Here.  Take this tambourine.  You’ll be Grace Slick, and we’ll be Jefferson Airplane.”

 “So long as we’re not Starship,” muttered Snape.

 “Yay!” shouted Lucius.  “I love them!  ‘One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small…’”  Barty sighed as Lucius wandered off, singing.

 “All right, now that we all have our instruments worked out,” said Voldemort, “we need a name.”

 “I’m telling you,” said Snape, “we should just call ourselves The Death Eaters.  It’s the perfect death metal band name.”

 “But then everyone will know it’s us!”

 “Voldemort,” said Barty Crouch, “it’s not like no one is going to know who you are.  You’re a pretty…unique…guy.”

 “I’m not going to perform,” snapped Voldemort.  “I just write the songs.  Which reminds me, I brought two new ones to practice today.  They’re called ‘I Shall Subjugate the Earth’ and ‘Tapioca and Rye.’”

 “You know, Voldemort,” said Bellatrix.  “We’re going to need a ballad eventually.”

 “What?  Why?”

 “I think it’s required.  All heavy/death/punk metal bands have to release one sentimental ballad just for the hell of it.  That way, we’ll get played on Top 40s radio stations.  Then, no one will ever hear from us again, and we’ll end up on one of those ‘One Hit Wonder’ shows.  Or maybe get our own reality television show.”

 “I am NOT writing a ballad,” said Voldemort.

 “Well, we can do a cover then.  ‘Ordinary World’ did pretty well.”

 “Who do we cover?” asked Barty.

 “’Don’t you want somebody to love?” sang/shouted Lucius, asking one of the most important questions ever.

 “…not that,” said Snape.

 “Oh!  Oh!” cried Bellatrix, “We could do ‘The Joker.’  Steve Miller’s made a comeback.”

 “What?” asked Voldemort.

 “Don’t you know?” asked an astonished Bellatrix.  “’Some people call me the space cowboy…’”

 “Do you really think,” said Snape, crossing his arms across his chest, “that I’m going to say that I’m called the gangster of love?”

 “You just did,” put in Voldemort.

 “Dammit.”

 “’Some people call me Maurice…’” picked up Barty.

 “Wah!  Wah!” sang Lucius.

 “’…’cause I speak of the pompatus of love,’” finished Crouch, getting down.

 “And what the hell is a pompatus?” asked Snape.

 “Uh…huh…” said Voldemort.  “Maybe we should do someone British?”

 “Like who?” asked Bellatrix.  “Morissey?”

 “No,” came a collective answer.

 “Okay.  The Eurhythmics?”

 “Already done,” said Barty.

 “The Rolling Stones?  ‘Satisfaction!’”

 “Britney Spears,” said Snape.

 “How about Joan Jett and the Blackhearts?  ‘I Love Rock and Roll’ is an old standard.”

 “Also Britney Spears,” said Snape.

 “Man…is there anything she hasn’t ruined?”

 “We need some…disaffected 80s hit,” mused Barty.

 “’Stay,’” said Bellatrix.  “Lisa Loeb.  Yes, it’s the 90s, but that’s the last one I’m coming up with.  I’m doing all the work here.”

 “That’ll do,” said Voldemort.  “Now…are we finally ready to practice?”

 “Can’t,” said Barty, “I’ve already been gone too long.  Dad or Winky will start wondering.”

 “I should go after Rodolphus before he gets hit by a bus,” apologized Bellatrix.

 “I need to take these pants we’re not discussing off,” said Snape.

 “Fine, fine,” grumbled Voldemort.  “We’ll have one more practice before Saturday.”

 “Hey,” said Snape, as they walked out the door, “we didn’t come up with band name, did we?”

Voldemort Discovers the Intrinsic Unfairness of the Universe

 Voldemort entered the room quietly, not wishing to disturb his concentrating Death Eaters.  He had an important announcement to make, but he felt the need to observe his steadfast henchmen first.  He had been deep in meditation for days, and had been unable to give them proper instructions beforehand.  Voldemort wondered exactly what his men did when he wasn’t around.

“Go fish,” stated Lucius proudly to Lestrange across the table.

 “Lucius,” sighed Snape, “we’re playing gin rummy.”

 “Oh,” said Lucius, “gin, then.”  Lucius lay out his cards on the table: three fives; the eight, seven and six of clubs; and the King, Queen, Jack and ten of hearts.  He had won.  Again.

 Voldemort frowned.  Maybe he needed to come out of his inner sanctum every once and a while.

 “That is just not fair,” pouted Avery.

 “No one ever said life was fair,” drawled Voldemort.

  Voldemort felt a little bit of boyish glee as Lucius, Lestrange and Avery jumped out of their chairs and made a desperate attempt to hide the playing cards.  He quickly tamped that emotion down however, as boyish glee is not appropriate for would-be despots. 

Snape sat still and waved his cards at Voldemort.  “Can we deal you in?”

“No thanks.  I only came out to tell you of my fantastic plan.”

“Wow.  Already?”

“Yes.  After that debacle in the Ministry of Magic…you know, when twelve of you completely failed to kill a handful of teenagers and I had to bail you out of Azkaban?”  Lucius had the good common sense to blush.  “Uh-huh,” continued Voldemort, “Anyway, I decided some good reconnaissance would be necessary before attempting to kill Potter again.”

Snape stood up and stretched his arms over his head.  “All right,” he said, “I’m going.”

“Not you.  Me.”

Snape goggled a bit.  “Don’t you think that might be a little…obvious?”

“I’m not going personally, moron!  I’m going to invade Potter’s head again.”

“Oh man,” said Avery, “Are you sure about that?  That’s how we got into the whole breaking-into-the-Ministry situation in the first place.”

“I’m not going to make him see things that aren’t there this time,” explained Voldemort.  “I’m just going to look through his eyes for awhile, without his knowledge.”

“Like he always does to you?” asked Snape.

“Right.  Only, on purpose.  And without the ridiculous dramatics.”

“How long is this going to take?” asked Lestrange.

“Not more than a few hours,” replied Voldemort, “but I’ll need complete silence out here.  So I want you all to play ‘The Quiet Game.’”

“What?” came four voices in unison.

“Yes.  If any one of you talks, makes a noise or thinks about talking or making a noise, they will lose.”

“And if we lose?” ventured Snape gingerly.

“I kill you.”

“Sounds like fun,” “Yes, let’s start now,” “I’m game,” “Wait, I don’t get it.”

Voldemort smiled calmly as he shut the door to his inner sanctum behind him.  That should keep them out of his hair long enough to invade Potter’s mind.  Voldemort settled down cross-legged on a comfy pillow before attempting to start.  Okay, thought the Dark Lord, now how the hell do I go about this?  I’m not attempting to control him so I can’t use that spell again…

Voldemort started with some chanting and some light yoga.  While it did loosen that crick he’d had in his back for the past 40 years, it didn’t accomplish much else.

Next, he tried to visualize a white light around his body and a hole in the top of his head through which his soul could fly out of.  Then he remembered that Masters of Darkness very rarely have White Lights around them.

Then, he rang a sacred bell and…

Two hours and five attempts later, Voldemort was still in square one.  Screw this, thought Voldemort, I’ll just take a nap and tell my Death Eaters I didn’t find out anything important.  It’s not like they’ll complain…Well, maybe Snape.

Voldemort yawned as he closed his eyes.  It would be really nice to have a few hours of sleep while his incompetent lackeys stared at each other in complete silence in the other room.  As he drifted off, Voldemort smiled to himself.  Maybe he would teach them to play “Graveyard” next time.

He was flying through space and time.  Blue and white lights flashed at him from all directions.  Rod Sterling talked about giant mutant tarantulas.  A grandfather clock drifted past.  Somewhere, a rooster crowed.  Voldemort frowned.  …the hell?, he thought.  I haven’t had a dream this trippy since the sixties.

Voldemort came to an abrupt stop in a void of darkness (as opposed to those voids of redness one is always coming across).  “Harry?” asked a voice from far away.

No way.  NO WAY.

“Harry?” demanded a female voice.  “Are you paying any attention whatsoever?”

Yes!  Yes!  Voldemort reveled in his triumph.  He had done it.  He was privy to Potter’s every movement.  But…why couldn’t he see anything?  Had there been an accident?  Had Potter gone blind?

“Hermione,” Voldemort said (albeit in Harry’s voice), “what’s there to pay attention to?  Let me sleep.”

Oh.  That was it.  Potter wasn’t blind.  Voldemort was just looking at the back of his eyelids.

A sudden sharp jab in his arm brought Voldemort/Potter fully to his senses.  The world suddenly came into focus for Voldemort as he turned to the person sitting next to him with an “Ouch.  What’d you do that for?”  Voldemort attempted to glare at the bushy headed girl wielding a quill, but was dismayed to discover that it had no effect on her.  I guess my Look of Imminent Destruction isn’t as useful from a teenaged hero’s body.

But on to business.  Now that Voldemort inhabited Potter’s body, he needed to pay close attention to discover any vital information that could help the Death Eaters.  After all, every time Potter popped into Voldemort’s body, he had gained some useful insight.

“Now, on page 712, we see that Moribund the Lesser was King of the Goblins from 1432 until 1451, when he was beheaded by Goblidy the Bloody-Minded in the Goblin War of 1300-1673,” droned a voice.

You’ve got to be kidding me, thought Voldemort, is that Professor Binns?  Man, he’s as boring as when I had him.

“I swear he teaches the same information every year,” said Voldemort/Harry.

“No,” said Hermione, “last year we learned about the Goblin Wars of 1123-1299.”

“Whatever,” said a male voice on Voldemort/Harry’s other side, “it’s all the same.”  Voldemort turned to take in Ron for the first time.  “I’m just going to go back to sleep,” continued Ron.   Is this Potter’s second in command?, thought Voldemort.

Voldemort/Harry grinned at Ron, and put his head back on the desk.  No!  No!, thought Voldemort, You can’t go back to sleep!  I haven’t learned anything important yet!

 “Goblidy the Bloody-Minded was King of the Goblins from 1451 until…” was the last thing Voldemort heard before he came to an abrupt awakening back in his room at the Death Eater Headquarters.

 “So Potter gets vital Death Eater plans, and I get Goblin Wars?” shouted Voldemort.  “That is SO not fair!”

(A/N: I realize that this is not “Once Upon a Freakin’ Time” as much as it is “Whenever I Freakin’ Feel Like It.”  Sorry.)

Voldemort Attempts to Revenge Himself on Sauron

 “Okay,” said Voldemort, “everyone line up and get your ticket.  Snape.  Snape!  Get in line!”

 “I am not standing in line like a five year old.  Just give me the damn ticket,” snapped Snape.  “I can’t believe you’re doing this anyway.”

 Voldemort glared viciously at Snape.  Snape couldn’t possibly understand the insult that had been offered to him.  This other Dark Lord, this Sauron character, had told him he was a second-rate villain.  This giant eye had accused him of being an ineffectual evil just because he had lost to a child four…no, five times now.  AND, Sauron had burnt his couch to a crisp!  It was time for some revenge.  He started handing out tickets.  “We are going to see the movie, and that’s that,” said Voldemort.

 “I can’t believe you spent all that money, money we all earned from the 5k race fundraiser, I might add, on tickets to a movie.  Just so you can watch the downfall of your rival,” said Snape, crossing his arms.

 “He’s thwarted by a Hobbit, Snape!  A Hobbit!  And I may have been defeated multiple times by a child, but Potter hasn’t killed me yet!  And he may not!”

 “That’s unlikely,” said Lucius, taking his ticket.  “It is a children’s book.”

 “So is ‘Who Killed Cock Robin,’” retorted Voldemort.

 Snape took a ticket and sighed.  There was no reasoning with Voldemort when he was in a mood.  Snape looked carefully at the ticket, frowning slightly.  “Hey,” he said, “these tickets are for a theater in New Zealand.”

 “Yes.  They’re for the premier of the movie.  If everyone has their theater ticket, please line up for your magic carpet ticket,” said Voldemort calmly.

 “You rented a magic carpet to take us to New Zealand!” shouted Snape.  “What’s wrong with Apparating!”

 “We have to take a carpet because Sauron and his Nazgul will be at the premier.  We have to make a good impression.  Plus, it will make mocking him after the movie all the more fun.”  Voldemort laughed his girly, high-pitched laugh.  “Man, I love being me.”

* * * *

 After the premier of “Lord of the Rings: Return of the King,” Voldemort sashayed out of the cinema, looking infinitely pleased with himself.  His Death Eaters had caused quite a stir when they had disembarked from their magic carpet, dressed entirely in black, their masks newly polished.  Yes, the Death Eaters had looked much more impressive than the Nazgul, with their inferior numbers, shabby black cloaks, and weird, nail-accessorized ponies.  Now, the Death Eaters flanked him in classic diamond formation, parting the crowd, and making everyone aware that there was still a Dark Lord who had not been taken down.  Now all that was left was for Voldemort to “congratulate” Sauron on his theatrical triumph.  Voldemort smiled, faux-graciously, at the giant, flaming, lidless eye that was chatting, via the Mouth, to Saruman, who was whining about being cut out of the third movie.

 “Why, Sauron,” simpered Voldemort, “how wonderful to see you again.”

 Saruon merely glared as the Mouth stepped forward, “Why Voldemort,” he said, “how did you ever get all the way to New Zealand?  I thought you were having money troubles after the temporary tattoo scandal?”

 Voldemort gritted his teeth, and hissed, “Oh no, it was no trouble to see one of my old friends in his hour of glory.”

 “Well, I’m glad you came out,” said the Mouth through equally clenched teeth.  “I’m sure it was a useful vision of your future.”

 “Yes, I shall be glad to learn from your…errors in calculation.”

 “I suppose you might actually be able to avoid letting that wretched child interfere with your next plan-of-the-year.”

 “Oh,” said Voldemort, “I suppose you heard I got a majority of my Death Eaters back.  The Daily Prophet had quite a spread on it.  I’m sure you must have seen it; it was carried by a number of prominent magic newspapers.  I think I gained quite a few new euphemisms this year as well.”

 “Yes, congratulations.  I’m sure you’ve created quite an…army, I suppose you would call it?”

 “I’m not trying to conquer, you know.  Very 15th century.  I’d rather terrorize them into cooperation.”

 “Well,” said the Mouth, as the Eye of Sauron flamed with the intensity of a thousand suns, “My Lord and Mr. Saruman here are late for an after-party with the Horned King.  I’m sure you understand.”

 “Of course,” said Voldemort smoothly, “be sure to stop by for another little chat.”

 “Whatever you say,” smiled the Mouth, as he followed the imperiously dilated Eye, “…Lord Thingy.”

 “DAMMIT!” shouted Voldemort.

End.