Fluoro Pink Braces and Black Tampons
Not a Happy Chappy
No, I do not own Harry Potter?
A/N: Hello everybody reading this! This is my first ever story, so… don’t be so harsh. Keep in mind that this is a crack fic, and it contains some very strange content. Also, I am not an author to expect great things from (if you can actually call me an author, I am truly dreadful XD), but I’ll try my best.
A lot of thanks to Cheyenne (aka shrieking_minties51) for editting this chapter! Warning: May contain mild homosexual-ness, swearing, mild adult themes and a very out-of-character Voldemort (but hey, this is FanFiction). This chapter is just the beginning of the wild adventure.
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In a small dark room, the floor cemented and dusty, and walls peeling and cracked, was none other than Lord Voldemort himself.
Beside him was the only source of light in the room; a small candle with wax gradually dripping onto the floor, flickering softly in the darkness. A few inches from the candle was what appeared to be a small, but very realistic voodoo doll, leaning upright against the wall.
It was split in random places, emitting what seemed to be a black steamy gas. Behind broken, shattered glasses, was one brilliant, shining green eye (the other eye appeared to have been stabbed repeatedly; red liquid resembling blood rolling down a slashed cheek, until dripping onto the ground). The doll’s forehead had several gashes on it, some of the “blood” was dried up, and some was still moist and glistering. One particular gash looked like it had always been there – scarred there.
Harry Potter… thought Voldemort. He had his back on the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His toes curled up, allowing the sound of his toe nails to scratch audibly on the floor underneath his feet.
He began to rock backwards and forwards, his eyes transfixed on the candle.
I’ll get you… And with that, he let out a soft groan; the sound echoing in the composed room. He reached out his arm leaning forward slightly, and curled his long pale fingers around the miniature Harry Potter.
His other hand slipped into his cloak, and he pulled out a long, sharp metal object, the point of it actually glowing in the moon light.
He held it in front of his face closely, as though inspecting it. His eyes then cautiously moved to the doll.
Without any hesitation or warning, he plunged the metal object into the doll’s twinkling eye – the only eye that was not demolished. Of course, he didn’t stop there. No. He began to twist the metal forcefully, driving it into the eye, “blood” spurting out in different directions.
A small area of the floor and Voldemort’s cloak was shimmering with the realistic “blood”. Voldemort merely smirked, but then suddenly let out a tremendous cackle.
He threw the doll effortlessly across the room, causing the doll to explode with a pop. Everything seemed to have disappeared – gone; nothing left but smoke emitting lightly from a small pile of black ashes.
His laugh faded away slowly, and he let his head flop down. Holding his knees securely to his chest, he began to make plans – plans of killing Harry Potter; this time, hopefully succeeding.
After a few minutes of silence, the room was suddenly filled with wailing.
Voldemort had broken down into hysterics, sobbing and sniffing and occasionally wiping his nose (if you can call it a nose) with his sleeve.
“Haaaaarrrryyyyyy!”
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Picturing the room Voldemort was in, anyone would’ve thought the place was in ruins.
But, what was revealed when the rough, dull, splintered piece of wood called a door was opened – was something completely different: what people would’ve imagined being a large, dim, dungeon-like scene - was an enormous, spacious corridor.
The patterned, tiled floor was glowing with fluorescent colours: pink, blue, yellow and green. On each side of the floor, were flower petals littered at the edge, right to the very end of the corridor. The roof, well, the roof did not appear to look like a roof at all. In fact, it was enchanted to give the illusion of making it look like there wasn’t a roof – but a beautiful night sky with twinkling stars shining down from above, much like The Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
There were great chandeliers; all aligned perfectly. Not only were they hovering above, but they were slowly twirling around in circles, occasionally showering the delicate floor with glitter, making it glow even more.
The walls were painted pink; not just one shade of pink, but ALL shades of pink. The colours contrasted fittingly with each other, but what would’ve caught anyone’s eyes, were the pictures on the wall. Hmm, a moving picture of Voldemort casting the Cruciatus Curse on someone? Or maybe, the Avada Kedavra Curse? Definitely not! The pictures were framed with elegant patterns and swirls – if observed carefully, the frames changed colours.
White, dazzling unicorns were galloping in and out of the picture frames – their manes ruffling in the wind. Some doors on the walls increasingly got brighter and brighter, until they completely vanished. At the other end of the long corridor, was a magnificent, black marbled stair case; wide at the foot, and then gradually narrowed.
At the end of the steps was a space. There were two small staircases leading up - one on each side – to two identical doors. They had all the characteristics of a Pensieve – except of course, the doors simply just sucked the person in when they walked up to it. If the left door was to be opened (or sucked you in); one would discover an even more spectacular scene.
A gigantic, high-roofed, black room was filled with colourful lights shining in every direction – it was big enough to fit two ice skating rinks.
Broken, royal blue pieces of shattered glass were lingering about in the air. The room was echoing with the sound of techno/dance music, blasting off the gleaming walls.
In different corners were different things. In one corner, there were two fairly young transparent men with pleading looks in their eyes. They were whimpering and often let out soft shrieks of fear.
In another corner was a large rectangular picture frame suspended in mid-air – It was large enough to fit a picture of a life-size man. Inside the picture frame was a distinct moving picture of Bellatrix Lestrange; frantically searching around looking petrified - pushing her hands against the clear glass framing her - attempting to break free. Her yells and cries were drowned by the sound of the pumping music blaring through the 6-inched gold-plated cylinders that now decided to whiz about in circles around Bellatrix Lestrange’s picture. Each yell caused the cylinders to release brown gas that remained there – visible and reeking.
But evidently, nothing stood out more than the great dance floor that was positioned accurately in the centre of the room. The vibrant colours of the floor were sparkling and changing shades every so often. About 20 gold-plated cylinders were circling the dance floor; some were even bopping to the beat of the riveting music.
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“Severus?”
“Lucius” came the indifferent respond.
“Don’t you think…” he lowered his voice into a whisper. “Don’t you think he’s been in there long enough?”
“The Dark Lord will come out when he wishes to” he mumbled drowsily.
“Maybe I should go check—“
“No, Lucius! Just – just leave him alone for now. By all means, go if you want to die. Everyone knows not to bother the Dark Lord when he’s having his emotional breakdown.”
Snape’s lip curled slightly at his reply. Voldemort usually had emotional breakdowns (or “his Emo Time” as Bellatrix stated accusingly after being told to “Fuck off, you skanky hoe!”) if he was ever reminded of Harry Potter.
Snape stood with his back on the left wall in the colossal corridor, waiting with an impatient Lucius who kept glancing at the darkness at the end of the corridor. Darkness seemed to engulf the splintered door to the room in which Voldemort still settled in. It gave the impression that if someone were to walk towards the door; it’d go completely black as if someone switched off the lights.
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Maybe I should get out.
Voldemort shifted uneasily from his crouched position; steadying himself up properly as he got up on his two bare feet.
They better not me waiting for me, he thought anxiously.
As he trudged out from the darkness and into the vivacious light, his two most devoted Death Eaters hastily straightened themselves from their slouched positions.
“You spend a great deal of time in there, My Lord.” Lucius whispered uneasily.
“I’m fully aware of that, Lucius” and with that, he strode off past the two Death Eaters and headed towards the black marbled staircase.
“W-would you-”
“Lucius shut it!” Snape interrupted.
“-like a house elf to bring food up for you?” Lucius finished louder for Voldemort to hear, despite Snape rudely interrupting him.
Voldemort stopped in his tracks. Food?
He turned around to face the two cautiously, making sure he kept an impassive facial expression. He tilted his head slightly to the side and replied with an amused tone, “Most definitely.” He smirked and swirled around elegantly, allowing his cloak to ripple behind him, leaving two stunned Death Eaters gaping at his figure moving gracefully towards the staircase. As Voldemort walked up the right-hand staircase, Lucius craned his neck left to get a better view of— Whack!
“FUCKING HELL, SEVERUS!” shrieked Lucius, rubbing the back of his head where Snape backhanded him – making his slick, long white-blond hair mess up.
Severus gripped Lucius’ arm firmly, and roughly pulled him closer until their noses were only inches apart.
“How many times have I told you, huh?!” Severus now grasped Lucius’ shoulders with his hands and whispered hoarsely, “Do. Not. Check. Out. His. Arse!” shaking him violently with each word said.
They both continued arguing quietly, throwing rude insults at one another and occasionally slapping each others face just for the hell of it. Little did they know; that Lord Voldemort stood at the last step leading to the right door, fascinated by the scene in front of him.
How cute. After permitting himself to let out a soft chuckle, he opened the door and stepped inside.
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Everything in the room seemed to glow with feminine colours. Such a spectacular bedroom - it would’ve been any girly girl’s dream bedroom.
A great sparkly chandelier dangled in the centre of the room; the light shining so brightly it was amazing that Voldemort wasn’t blind.
Just like the long, brilliant corridor, Voldemort had moving pictures of beaming unicorns bordered with elegant gold frames with striking crafted swirls. A small beautiful tea set was placed in the left hand corner of the room in front of large bed. The eye-catching qualities of the tea set gave it a delicate impression. It looked as if if one were to touch it, it would’ve made the cup dissolve into fine dust.
Letting out a stifled yawn, Voldemort plopped himself heavily onto the large four poster bed. He glided his long fingernails up and down the blood red velvety sheets, while humming quietly to himself. His pillow case had moving pictures of his fellow Death Eaters stitched on; the only Death Eater that was not included - was Bellatrix. Instead, a moving picture of Bellatrix was pinned to a wall with white-hot darts attached everywhere.
Feeling exhausted, he swung his legs over onto the bed and pulled close the hot pink, silk curtains. He reclined down on the bed, staring blankly at the canopy above him.
Off he said in his head, and the great chandelier turned off, leaving the room in complete darkness.
After tossing and turning in his bed for over five minutes, waiting for a house elf to bring his food, he gave up and allowed himself to drift off into a deep sleep…
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Voldemort’s body was shaking from head to toe. His back was pressed hard against the dark alley way’s wall. His eyes were sealed shut and his breath was ragged and fast.
He took a deep breath and slowly, very slowly, shuffled to the left and poked his head around the corner.
Voldemort took a sharp intake of breath after hearing a twig snap a few metres away.
“Voldy… Voldy Voldy Voldyyyy…. Come out; come out where ever you are…” the soft sing-song voice sent chills down Voldemort’s spine.
He was on the verge of breaking down and surrendering himself. He couldn’t do it. He was defenceless and trapped. He had no wand, no powers – no nothing. And there he was, Lord Voldemort, running away like a dim-witted muggle from Harry Potter.
He could see the gliding silhouette of Harry against the wall, creeping closer and closer towards him.
And there he was.
There was such a murderous air about the teenage boy standing inches away from him, he was petrified. Harry Potter did not look like the young boy in his dreams at all. No, this boy appeared to be insane, uncontrollable – unstoppable.
His malicious eyes glowed red, a smirk so visible, even in the darkness.
This was very unlike the pleasant dreams he had about Harry Potter. About The Boy Who Lived bowing down to him, sacrificing himself and finally giving Voldemort another chance to defeat him; to destroy him.
This was that very dream all over again, but this time, Harry Potter was the one who was going to kill…
Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra he repeated desperately in his head.
Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, “AVADA KEDAVRA!” he bellowed, his chest risen up and down rapidly.
This caused Harry to let out a shout of laughter.
“You can’t do anything, Voldy. You’re going to die. Right. Now.” He sneered.
Harry slid his hand in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a soft piece of cotton the same shape and size of a finger.
The whole thing was drenched in blood, the rounded tip actually dripping. Harry was holding it by a thin piece of string attached to it.
He cautiously swayed it from left to right while laughing merrily, being careful not to get the blood on himself. Voldemort tried to back away even further, but it was impossible to get away from the ghastly odour.
“Do you know what this is?” Harry asked, now rocking it back and forth and standing aside. Voldemort’s teeth were clenched tightly shut.
“Do you know where this has been?” Harry asked, his smirk widening even more.
“I think you should run,” Harry said quietly, “Run as fast as your filthy muggle feet can take you!” Harry shouted at Voldemort who was now frantically running and occasionally tripping on his long cloak.
Voldemort looked over his shoulder briefly while still panting heavily to check if Harry had followed him. Harry stood there, holding the piece of string with a blood-drenched piece of cotton at the end. Why is he still smiling?! thought Voldemort anxiously. Harry’s voice suddenly boomed in his ears as if he was running right beside him.
“You know I’m gonna get you, Voldy. You’re just a muggle.”
Voldemort gasped and stopped abruptly, turning on the spot, looking for Harry. But Harry was still standing where he was before, swaying the cotton slowly.
Muggle… he thought. I’m just a muggle… he’s nightmares had become reality, and now he really was having an emotional breakdown.
“I’m going to defeat you the muggle way, Voldy! The muggle way!” yelled Harry.
Harry thrusted his other hand into his pants pocket, took out his wand and threw it aside.
Harry had stopped swinging it, and looked as if he was about to launch it in Voldemort’s direction. Harry obviously used magic to throw it, because it soared through the dark sky, getting closer and closer to the stumbling Voldemort.
Voldemort ran as fast as he could. His fists were clenched and he was breathing deeply, his cloak rippling about behind him. As he ran, he could still hear Harry.
“Run, Voldy, RUN! It’s a tampon, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAM—“
Crack.
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Voldemort flinched and suddenly sat upright as if he’d just been struck by lightning. Sweat was trickling down his temples and his breath was fast and uneven.
It was just a dream… he thought reassuringly… Just a dream…
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A small creature clothed in shabby, ragged pillow case staggered up the left hand stair case, using its hands for support.
Stumbling at the top step, its bat like ears flopped back and forth as the creature moved watchfully, closing the gap between it and the door until –
WHACK!
The creature let out a high-pitched cry as it was flung backwards as if there was an invisible barrier there to stop anyone reaching the door.
“Who’s there?” demanded the distinct voice of Voldemort behind the door.
“D-Dobby, my L-Lord” squeaked the house elf.
The silence stretched on until Dobby attempted to walk towards the door once again, and this time, actually succeeding. It seemed that Voldemort took of the enchantment and allowed the elf to enter.
Dobby wide tennis-ball-like eyes shifted frantically around the castle before he slowly pushed the door open…
Voldemort sat cross-legged on his four poster bed, picking the hem of his sleeve with an undistinguishable expression on his face.
“I’ve been waiting 10 minutes for you to bring my food” he said quietly, while still continuing to fidget with his sleeve.
Dobby stared dumbstruck with his mouth hung open. Food? He thought.
Deciding that he’d go along with what Voldemort said, Dobby answered slightly more confidently, “Dobby apologises, My Lord. Dobby had his period, My Lord”
Dobby bowed down low very graciously until his nose brushed the hot pink, sparkling tile floor. His idea of getting a period was thanks to the help of Harry Potter. He and Harry had been reading a book called Witches and What Comes out of Where a Wizard Sticks his Wand a couple of years ago.
Voldemort, on the other hand, had no idea what a “period” was. Not wanting to sound ignorant, he just grunted in response. Perhaps it was a “period” of time where an elf would be unconscious for a few minutes?
Dobby raised his head up defiantly and spoke. “Dobby is knowing that you is planning to kill Harry Potter!” As his voice grew higher, he started to sound hysterical.
Voldemort instantly stopped picking his sleeve and looked up.
“Of course I am. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past few years? Baking cookies? You stupid elf!”
His fury was evident, but inside, Voldemort’s heart gave a great jolt. He’s going downnn…
Dobby had backed away, his eyes swimming with tears again, but he attempted to sound courageous.
“D-Dobby… is here… to – to stop you from h-harming Harry Potter!” he squeaked, wiping away his tears hastily with the back of his hand. Dobby stepped forward and lifted his chin up.
Voldemort stared at the elf for a moment- and then the spacious room was filled with hysterical laughter…
After his laughter died down, Voldemort shifted his eyes awkwardly to the window, and then back at the elf. He got up, walked towards him and looked down at the creature before him.
“Yes…?”
Dobby looked up into the red gleaming eyes with his mouth open stupidly.
Dobby must get this over and done with for Harry Potter…
He stepped back and gave Voldemort his best grin.
“Mediocris Hominis!”
For a few moments, Voldemort looked as if he had been stunned, but soon reacted horrendously. He appeared to be having some kind of spasm; his body shook fiercely as his knees crashed painfully onto the polished, tiled floor.
His nails dug deep into his pale cheeks, his teeth were clattering violently as he curled up in a ball and started rolling about in pain. His groans shortly became cries of agony.
The excruciating pain was evidently confirmed by the expression etched on his repulsive face. He continued to do this for a few minutes while Dobby stood there, dumbstruck.
Dobby had absolutely no suspicion that he could do such powerful magic. His dream was to protect and astound Harry Potter, but not to actually do powerful magic that succeeded on the darkest wizard of all time.
His expression was indefinite; it was a mix between excitement, disbelief and shock. Uncertain of what to do, Dobby disapparated with a deafening crack, leaving Voldemort squirming on the floor.
After another five minutes, Voldemort abruptly stopped his squirming and looked much more composed. He looked extremely exhausted, his breathing deep and slow as his chest rose up and down slowly.
He felt weak and drowsy. He felt completely empty, as if all the magic in him had been suck away. Sucked away… Voldemort let out a soft frightened gasp and attempted to push himself off from the ground but failed immensely. His eyelids drooped sluggishly as he fell silent once again.
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A/N: Done! For all of you who know what ‘Mediocris Hominis’ means, good for you! However, I apologise if I got it wrong somehow. If you don’t know what it means, you’ll find out in the next chapter if you decide to continue reading this story. All reviews will be greatly appreciated, so please review!
Thanks for reading. Seriously. :D
(I may edit this again, sorry D=)
A/N: Hello everybody reading this! This is my first ever story, so… don’t be so harsh. Keep in mind that this is a crack fic, and it contains some very strange content. Also, I am not an author to expect great things from (if you can actually call me an author, I am truly dreadful XD), but I’ll try my best.
A lot of thanks to Cheyenne (aka shrieking_minties51) for editting this chapter! Warning: May contain mild homosexual-ness, swearing, mild adult themes and a very out-of-character Voldemort (but hey, this is FanFiction). This chapter is just the beginning of the wild adventure.
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In a small dark room, the floor cemented and dusty, and walls peeling and cracked, was none other than Lord Voldemort himself.
Beside him was the only source of light in the room; a small candle with wax gradually dripping onto the floor, flickering softly in the darkness. A few inches from the candle was what appeared to be a small, but very realistic voodoo doll, leaning upright against the wall.
It was split in random places, emitting what seemed to be a black steamy gas. Behind broken, shattered glasses, was one brilliant, shining green eye (the other eye appeared to have been stabbed repeatedly; red liquid resembling blood rolling down a slashed cheek, until dripping onto the ground). The doll’s forehead had several gashes on it, some of the “blood” was dried up, and some was still moist and glistering. One particular gash looked like it had always been there – scarred there.
Harry Potter… thought Voldemort. He had his back on the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His toes curled up, allowing the sound of his toe nails to scratch audibly on the floor underneath his feet.
He began to rock backwards and forwards, his eyes transfixed on the candle.
I’ll get you… And with that, he let out a soft groan; the sound echoing in the composed room. He reached out his arm leaning forward slightly, and curled his long pale fingers around the miniature Harry Potter.
His other hand slipped into his cloak, and he pulled out a long, sharp metal object, the point of it actually glowing in the moon light.
He held it in front of his face closely, as though inspecting it. His eyes then cautiously moved to the doll.
Without any hesitation or warning, he plunged the metal object into the doll’s twinkling eye – the only eye that was not demolished. Of course, he didn’t stop there. No. He began to twist the metal forcefully, driving it into the eye, “blood” spurting out in different directions.
A small area of the floor and Voldemort’s cloak was shimmering with the realistic “blood”. Voldemort merely smirked, but then suddenly let out a tremendous cackle.
He threw the doll effortlessly across the room, causing the doll to explode with a pop. Everything seemed to have disappeared – gone; nothing left but smoke emitting lightly from a small pile of black ashes.
His laugh faded away slowly, and he let his head flop down. Holding his knees securely to his chest, he began to make plans – plans of killing Harry Potter; this time, hopefully succeeding.
After a few minutes of silence, the room was suddenly filled with wailing.
Voldemort had broken down into hysterics, sobbing and sniffing and occasionally wiping his nose (if you can call it a nose) with his sleeve.
“Haaaaarrrryyyyyy!”
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Picturing the room Voldemort was in, anyone would’ve thought the place was in ruins.
But, what was revealed when the rough, dull, splintered piece of wood called a door was opened – was something completely different: what people would’ve imagined being a large, dim, dungeon-like scene - was an enormous, spacious corridor.
The patterned, tiled floor was glowing with fluorescent colours: pink, blue, yellow and green. On each side of the floor, were flower petals littered at the edge, right to the very end of the corridor. The roof, well, the roof did not appear to look like a roof at all. In fact, it was enchanted to give the illusion of making it look like there wasn’t a roof – but a beautiful night sky with twinkling stars shining down from above, much like The Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
There were great chandeliers; all aligned perfectly. Not only were they hovering above, but they were slowly twirling around in circles, occasionally showering the delicate floor with glitter, making it glow even more.
The walls were painted pink; not just one shade of pink, but ALL shades of pink. The colours contrasted fittingly with each other, but what would’ve caught anyone’s eyes, were the pictures on the wall. Hmm, a moving picture of Voldemort casting the Cruciatus Curse on someone? Or maybe, the Avada Kedavra Curse? Definitely not! The pictures were framed with elegant patterns and swirls – if observed carefully, the frames changed colours.
White, dazzling unicorns were galloping in and out of the picture frames – their manes ruffling in the wind. Some doors on the walls increasingly got brighter and brighter, until they completely vanished. At the other end of the long corridor, was a magnificent, black marbled stair case; wide at the foot, and then gradually narrowed.
At the end of the steps was a space. There were two small staircases leading up - one on each side – to two identical doors. They had all the characteristics of a Pensieve – except of course, the doors simply just sucked the person in when they walked up to it. If the left door was to be opened (or sucked you in); one would discover an even more spectacular scene.
A gigantic, high-roofed, black room was filled with colourful lights shining in every direction – it was big enough to fit two ice skating rinks.
Broken, royal blue pieces of shattered glass were lingering about in the air. The room was echoing with the sound of techno/dance music, blasting off the gleaming walls.
In different corners were different things. In one corner, there were two fairly young transparent men with pleading looks in their eyes. They were whimpering and often let out soft shrieks of fear.
In another corner was a large rectangular picture frame suspended in mid-air – It was large enough to fit a picture of a life-size man. Inside the picture frame was a distinct moving picture of Bellatrix Lestrange; frantically searching around looking petrified - pushing her hands against the clear glass framing her - attempting to break free. Her yells and cries were drowned by the sound of the pumping music blaring through the 6-inched gold-plated cylinders that now decided to whiz about in circles around Bellatrix Lestrange’s picture. Each yell caused the cylinders to release brown gas that remained there – visible and reeking.
But evidently, nothing stood out more than the great dance floor that was positioned accurately in the centre of the room. The vibrant colours of the floor were sparkling and changing shades every so often. About 20 gold-plated cylinders were circling the dance floor; some were even bopping to the beat of the riveting music.
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“Severus?”
“Lucius” came the indifferent respond.
“Don’t you think…” he lowered his voice into a whisper. “Don’t you think he’s been in there long enough?”
“The Dark Lord will come out when he wishes to” he mumbled drowsily.
“Maybe I should go check—“
“No, Lucius! Just – just leave him alone for now. By all means, go if you want to die. Everyone knows not to bother the Dark Lord when he’s having his emotional breakdown.”
Snape’s lip curled slightly at his reply. Voldemort usually had emotional breakdowns (or “his Emo Time” as Bellatrix stated accusingly after being told to “Fuck off, you skanky hoe!”) if he was ever reminded of Harry Potter.
Snape stood with his back on the left wall in the colossal corridor, waiting with an impatient Lucius who kept glancing at the darkness at the end of the corridor. Darkness seemed to engulf the splintered door to the room in which Voldemort still settled in. It gave the impression that if someone were to walk towards the door; it’d go completely black as if someone switched off the lights.
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Maybe I should get out.
Voldemort shifted uneasily from his crouched position; steadying himself up properly as he got up on his two bare feet.
They better not me waiting for me, he thought anxiously.
As he trudged out from the darkness and into the vivacious light, his two most devoted Death Eaters hastily straightened themselves from their slouched positions.
“You spend a great deal of time in there, My Lord.” Lucius whispered uneasily.
“I’m fully aware of that, Lucius” and with that, he strode off past the two Death Eaters and headed towards the black marbled staircase.
“W-would you-”
“Lucius shut it!” Snape interrupted.
“-like a house elf to bring food up for you?” Lucius finished louder for Voldemort to hear, despite Snape rudely interrupting him.
Voldemort stopped in his tracks. Food?
He turned around to face the two cautiously, making sure he kept an impassive facial expression. He tilted his head slightly to the side and replied with an amused tone, “Most definitely.” He smirked and swirled around elegantly, allowing his cloak to ripple behind him, leaving two stunned Death Eaters gaping at his figure moving gracefully towards the staircase. As Voldemort walked up the right-hand staircase, Lucius craned his neck left to get a better view of— Whack!
“FUCKING HELL, SEVERUS!” shrieked Lucius, rubbing the back of his head where Snape backhanded him – making his slick, long white-blond hair mess up.
Severus gripped Lucius’ arm firmly, and roughly pulled him closer until their noses were only inches apart.
“How many times have I told you, huh?!” Severus now grasped Lucius’ shoulders with his hands and whispered hoarsely, “Do. Not. Check. Out. His. Arse!” shaking him violently with each word said.
They both continued arguing quietly, throwing rude insults at one another and occasionally slapping each others face just for the hell of it. Little did they know; that Lord Voldemort stood at the last step leading to the right door, fascinated by the scene in front of him.
How cute. After permitting himself to let out a soft chuckle, he opened the door and stepped inside.
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Everything in the room seemed to glow with feminine colours. Such a spectacular bedroom - it would’ve been any girly girl’s dream bedroom.
A great sparkly chandelier dangled in the centre of the room; the light shining so brightly it was amazing that Voldemort wasn’t blind.
Just like the long, brilliant corridor, Voldemort had moving pictures of beaming unicorns bordered with elegant gold frames with striking crafted swirls. A small beautiful tea set was placed in the left hand corner of the room in front of large bed. The eye-catching qualities of the tea set gave it a delicate impression. It looked as if if one were to touch it, it would’ve made the cup dissolve into fine dust.
Letting out a stifled yawn, Voldemort plopped himself heavily onto the large four poster bed. He glided his long fingernails up and down the blood red velvety sheets, while humming quietly to himself. His pillow case had moving pictures of his fellow Death Eaters stitched on; the only Death Eater that was not included - was Bellatrix. Instead, a moving picture of Bellatrix was pinned to a wall with white-hot darts attached everywhere.
Feeling exhausted, he swung his legs over onto the bed and pulled close the hot pink, silk curtains. He reclined down on the bed, staring blankly at the canopy above him.
Off he said in his head, and the great chandelier turned off, leaving the room in complete darkness.
After tossing and turning in his bed for over five minutes, waiting for a house elf to bring his food, he gave up and allowed himself to drift off into a deep sleep…
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Voldemort’s body was shaking from head to toe. His back was pressed hard against the dark alley way’s wall. His eyes were sealed shut and his breath was ragged and fast.
He took a deep breath and slowly, very slowly, shuffled to the left and poked his head around the corner.
Voldemort took a sharp intake of breath after hearing a twig snap a few metres away.
“Voldy… Voldy Voldy Voldyyyy…. Come out; come out where ever you are…” the soft sing-song voice sent chills down Voldemort’s spine.
He was on the verge of breaking down and surrendering himself. He couldn’t do it. He was defenceless and trapped. He had no wand, no powers – no nothing. And there he was, Lord Voldemort, running away like a dim-witted muggle from Harry Potter.
He could see the gliding silhouette of Harry against the wall, creeping closer and closer towards him.
And there he was.
There was such a murderous air about the teenage boy standing inches away from him, he was petrified. Harry Potter did not look like the young boy in his dreams at all. No, this boy appeared to be insane, uncontrollable – unstoppable.
His malicious eyes glowed red, a smirk so visible, even in the darkness.
This was very unlike the pleasant dreams he had about Harry Potter. About The Boy Who Lived bowing down to him, sacrificing himself and finally giving Voldemort another chance to defeat him; to destroy him.
This was that very dream all over again, but this time, Harry Potter was the one who was going to kill…
Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra he repeated desperately in his head.
Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, “AVADA KEDAVRA!” he bellowed, his chest risen up and down rapidly.
This caused Harry to let out a shout of laughter.
“You can’t do anything, Voldy. You’re going to die. Right. Now.” He sneered.
Harry slid his hand in his pocket and pulled out what looked like a soft piece of cotton the same shape and size of a finger.
The whole thing was drenched in blood, the rounded tip actually dripping. Harry was holding it by a thin piece of string attached to it.
He cautiously swayed it from left to right while laughing merrily, being careful not to get the blood on himself. Voldemort tried to back away even further, but it was impossible to get away from the ghastly odour.
“Do you know what this is?” Harry asked, now rocking it back and forth and standing aside. Voldemort’s teeth were clenched tightly shut.
“Do you know where this has been?” Harry asked, his smirk widening even more.
“I think you should run,” Harry said quietly, “Run as fast as your filthy muggle feet can take you!” Harry shouted at Voldemort who was now frantically running and occasionally tripping on his long cloak.
Voldemort looked over his shoulder briefly while still panting heavily to check if Harry had followed him. Harry stood there, holding the piece of string with a blood-drenched piece of cotton at the end. Why is he still smiling?! thought Voldemort anxiously. Harry’s voice suddenly boomed in his ears as if he was running right beside him.
“You know I’m gonna get you, Voldy. You’re just a muggle.”
Voldemort gasped and stopped abruptly, turning on the spot, looking for Harry. But Harry was still standing where he was before, swaying the cotton slowly.
Muggle… he thought. I’m just a muggle… he’s nightmares had become reality, and now he really was having an emotional breakdown.
“I’m going to defeat you the muggle way, Voldy! The muggle way!” yelled Harry.
Harry thrusted his other hand into his pants pocket, took out his wand and threw it aside.
Harry had stopped swinging it, and looked as if he was about to launch it in Voldemort’s direction. Harry obviously used magic to throw it, because it soared through the dark sky, getting closer and closer to the stumbling Voldemort.
Voldemort ran as fast as he could. His fists were clenched and he was breathing deeply, his cloak rippling about behind him. As he ran, he could still hear Harry.
“Run, Voldy, RUN! It’s a tampon, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAMPON, TAM—“
Crack.
________________________________________
Voldemort flinched and suddenly sat upright as if he’d just been struck by lightning. Sweat was trickling down his temples and his breath was fast and uneven.
It was just a dream… he thought reassuringly… Just a dream…
________________________________________
A small creature clothed in shabby, ragged pillow case staggered up the left hand stair case, using its hands for support.
Stumbling at the top step, its bat like ears flopped back and forth as the creature moved watchfully, closing the gap between it and the door until –
WHACK!
The creature let out a high-pitched cry as it was flung backwards as if there was an invisible barrier there to stop anyone reaching the door.
“Who’s there?” demanded the distinct voice of Voldemort behind the door.
“D-Dobby, my L-Lord” squeaked the house elf.
The silence stretched on until Dobby attempted to walk towards the door once again, and this time, actually succeeding. It seemed that Voldemort took of the enchantment and allowed the elf to enter.
Dobby wide tennis-ball-like eyes shifted frantically around the castle before he slowly pushed the door open…
Voldemort sat cross-legged on his four poster bed, picking the hem of his sleeve with an undistinguishable expression on his face.
“I’ve been waiting 10 minutes for you to bring my food” he said quietly, while still continuing to fidget with his sleeve.
Dobby stared dumbstruck with his mouth hung open. Food? He thought.
Deciding that he’d go along with what Voldemort said, Dobby answered slightly more confidently, “Dobby apologises, My Lord. Dobby had his period, My Lord”
Dobby bowed down low very graciously until his nose brushed the hot pink, sparkling tile floor. His idea of getting a period was thanks to the help of Harry Potter. He and Harry had been reading a book called Witches and What Comes out of Where a Wizard Sticks his Wand a couple of years ago.
Voldemort, on the other hand, had no idea what a “period” was. Not wanting to sound ignorant, he just grunted in response. Perhaps it was a “period” of time where an elf would be unconscious for a few minutes?
Dobby raised his head up defiantly and spoke. “Dobby is knowing that you is planning to kill Harry Potter!” As his voice grew higher, he started to sound hysterical.
Voldemort instantly stopped picking his sleeve and looked up.
“Of course I am. What do you think I’ve been doing for the past few years? Baking cookies? You stupid elf!”
His fury was evident, but inside, Voldemort’s heart gave a great jolt. He’s going downnn…
Dobby had backed away, his eyes swimming with tears again, but he attempted to sound courageous.
“D-Dobby… is here… to – to stop you from h-harming Harry Potter!” he squeaked, wiping away his tears hastily with the back of his hand. Dobby stepped forward and lifted his chin up.
Voldemort stared at the elf for a moment- and then the spacious room was filled with hysterical laughter…
After his laughter died down, Voldemort shifted his eyes awkwardly to the window, and then back at the elf. He got up, walked towards him and looked down at the creature before him.
“Yes…?”
Dobby looked up into the red gleaming eyes with his mouth open stupidly.
Dobby must get this over and done with for Harry Potter…
He stepped back and gave Voldemort his best grin.
“Mediocris Hominis!”
For a few moments, Voldemort looked as if he had been stunned, but soon reacted horrendously. He appeared to be having some kind of spasm; his body shook fiercely as his knees crashed painfully onto the polished, tiled floor.
His nails dug deep into his pale cheeks, his teeth were clattering violently as he curled up in a ball and started rolling about in pain. His groans shortly became cries of agony.
The excruciating pain was evidently confirmed by the expression etched on his repulsive face. He continued to do this for a few minutes while Dobby stood there, dumbstruck.
Dobby had absolutely no suspicion that he could do such powerful magic. His dream was to protect and astound Harry Potter, but not to actually do powerful magic that succeeded on the darkest wizard of all time.
His expression was indefinite; it was a mix between excitement, disbelief and shock. Uncertain of what to do, Dobby disapparated with a deafening crack, leaving Voldemort squirming on the floor.
After another five minutes, Voldemort abruptly stopped his squirming and looked much more composed. He looked extremely exhausted, his breathing deep and slow as his chest rose up and down slowly.
He felt weak and drowsy. He felt completely empty, as if all the magic in him had been suck away. Sucked away… Voldemort let out a soft frightened gasp and attempted to push himself off from the ground but failed immensely. His eyelids drooped sluggishly as he fell silent once again.
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A/N: Done! For all of you who know what ‘Mediocris Hominis’ means, good for you! However, I apologise if I got it wrong somehow. If you don’t know what it means, you’ll find out in the next chapter if you decide to continue reading this story. All reviews will be greatly appreciated, so please review!
Thanks for reading. Seriously. :D
(I may edit this again, sorry D=)