Disclaimer: I own nothing, except maybe Voldemort's dressing gown. Yup.
A/N: Uh, I guess this would be my version of a crack fic. So I wouldn't take Voldemort seriously if I were you...or any of these characters come to think of it. I know the killing curse is instant death but I tweaked it slightly. Shush.
"That's it, I'm done!" Lord Voldemort snarled stalking into his private chambers. "I am sick and tired of that Potter boy ruining all my plans." Oh, how he loathed that Potter brat. He ripped off his rainbow clown wig in a fit of fury and threw it against the wall.
"B-but my Lord," Wormtail stuttered trailing after his irate master, "it was such a good plan. I thought for sure it would work this time."
"Well it didn't!" Voldemort snapped walking behind his embroidered snake changing screen. "One again those meddling kids and that Headmaster of theirs foiled my plans." A polka dot clown suit was flung over the screen followed by a red puffy nose.
Wormtail scurried over and picked up the clothes to hang them neatly in his master's walk in closet. "I'm sure you'll do better next time oh Master of Evilness." He could hear a grunt as he gathered up the toiletries for his master's soothing bath. "The way you decided to disguise your Death Eaters as circus folk to infiltrate Hogsmeade was pure genius." He ran the taps to the giant silver bathtub in the master bath, using his real hand to test the temperature. "How were you supposed to know that Potter had a deep rooted fear of clowns?" He added a cap full of the lilac scented bubbles to the bath that his master liked before gently tossing in Mr. Snuggles, a yellow rubber duck.
"Well it made me the laughing stock of the town," Voldemort grumbled wrapping a towel around his waist and heading towards the bathroom. "I have never seen Bellatrix laugh so hard when her husband was hit with a bat-bogey hex that tossed him into the water fountain." He slouched down into the bath until the bubbles reached his chin. "Those costumes are ruined now and you know they're on rental. I suppose I'll have to AK the shop owners because we have no more money in our Death Eater funds." He had spent the last of it on a collar and expensive toys for his Nagini. She only deserved the best and unfortunately he couldn't just torture wizards to get what he wanted. Merchandise tended to be on the shoddy side if he threatened them, go figure.
"We could always raise the money at our annual bake sale," Pettigrew offered. "We made a lot of money last year off of Malfoy's baked goods."
"That's probably because the little ponce bought them off of someone. Still," he mused, stroking the smooth beak of Mr. Snuggles, "they were delicious. Remind me to demand Malfoy to buy me more to please his lord."
"Yes, Master of Dastardly Deeds," Pettigrew agreed readily setting out his master's fluffy pink dressing gown and bear slippers.
"You know, I've always wanted to be a painter," Voldemort said suddenly, absently making shapes out of his bubbles.
"A painter, Lord of Things That are Very Scary?"
Voldemort nodded stroking his chin. "A painter, Wormtail. I wanted to be a famous wizard painter leading a simple life and enjoying it to the fullest."
"What happened, my master?" Pettigrew asked interested, absently snatching up an apple from the decorative bowl on the side table.
"The woman at the orphanage said I had no talent and boxed my ears for painting on the walls," he said flatly, squeezing Mr. Snuggles that let out a high-pitched squeak. "So I vowed if I couldn't be happy to do what I want then no one would."
"A very reasonable plan, He Who is Feared By All." The sound of a tub drained and Pettigrew politely turned his back as his lord got dressed and pulled on the dressing gown.
"It was," Voldemort replied grumpily, yanking open the mini fridge by his bed and pulling out a carton of Rocky Road ice cream. He flung himself onto his very cool throne room chair with painted on flames licking up the side and stuck a spoon into the dessert. The pink dressing gown pooled around the throne and the wide sleeves hung off the armrests nearly to the floor, looking a bit like a sugary waterfall. "I think I might open up an ice cream parlor," he said around a mouthful of chocolate and cream. "It could be called 'I Scream Ice Cream' with flavors like 'Crucio Chip Swirl' and 'Avada Kedavra Sorbet.'"
"I do like chocolate," Pettigrew piped up, looking at the tub of ice cream with longing in his beady eyes.
Voldemort hugged the container to himself, sending a glare at his most faithful servant. "And we'd have better costumes," he continued, shoving another spoonful into his mouth. "None of these black robes and tacky white masks. It looks horrible. Remind me to use an entrail-expelling curse on the idiot who ordered them."
"It is as you command, Lord of Taking Candy from Children," Peter responded, taking out his Day Planner of Evil and penciling it in.
"I'm thinking something in pastel," Voldemort mused, idly licking the back of his spoon. "Something in yellow, don't you think it suits my coloring?"
Privately, Peter thought it was an absolutely horrible color for his lord and that pink was a much better color, but he didn't want to be on the receiving end of a confringo. As Peter was nodding his head and assuring his master that 'yes, yellow would look absolutely lovely on you' and 'no, having puce stripes would not make him look fat', the door burst open.
"Voldemort, I have come to stop you!" Harry roared, leaping through the splintered door and billowing smoke with his wand raised in a heroic gesture. He almost tripped over the prone form of Peter Pettigrew who had been knocked unconscious from the blast.
Voldemort took one look at the atrociously messy hair, the smudged and cracked glasses, and ratty oversized clothes in one glance before he sighed and slouched in his seat. "Great, as if my day couldn't get any worse," he muttered, completely ignoring his rival's no-doubt written out speech about 'saving the innocent, you're bad and I'm good' blah, blah, blah and all that nonsense.
He morosely stirred his soupy ice cream that had melted sometime during the first fifteen minutes of Potter's tirade. "Look, what do you want?" Voldemort interrupted after awhile as the be-speckled boy was taking in another lungful of air to talk lavishly about his heroic deeds and being the savoir of the wizarding world. Ch. As if there was another one around to be a constant annoyance to him; like Rodolphus' insistence on singing during brunch meetings or Snape's greasy hair.
The boy paused, wand faltering slightly. "Didn't you hear a word I said? I've come to kill you." He blinked as he finally noticed what his enemy was wearing "Is that a fuzzy pink dressing gown you're wearing?" he asked, looking faintly ill.
"You've caught me at a bad time," Voldemort snapped. "Look, why don't you come back tomorrow when I'm feeling better?" he waved his hand around at the various comfort items in his room. "I'll make sure to dress in black and laugh manically into the night while I gloat over every evil deed I've done. Then we'll have a battle of epic proportions with flashing lights and cool sounds like those actions movies you kids watch these days."
Hmm, well that was tempting but-. "No!" Harry shouted, stalking towards the man… snake…thing. He was on a quest; this was his moment of glory. He couldn't go back to the Order and say, 'well, Voldemort's a little depressed right now. Could he do it again tomorrow?' "This ends once and for all!"
Voldemort grumbled about the assertive teenagers of today as he fumbled around for his wand, coming up empty handed. Ah yes, he had left it back on the edge of his bathtub. Why did he even bother getting up in the morning? "Couldn't we just settle this with an apology?" he asked at the advancing teen. "I'm sorry for forcing my correct views of life on people and you're sorry for wearing those tragically hideous glasses. Believe me, what I've done is nothing compared to the crime of wearing those things."
A bolt of blue energy zinged right by his head and ate through his very expensive steel chair of doom. "I'll take that as a no," he said, quickly getting out of his rapidly deteriorating chair. "Okay, what about a public apology and I'll donate all my ill-gotten gains to one of those Mudblood orphanages." He ducked as another jet of light was pointed at him. "Wait, wait!" Voldemort said desperately, grabbing up something from his 'Little Murderess' Vanity Table' in pretty princess pink. "I made cookies. As a peace offering." He held up a plate of steaming chocolate chip cookies before the boy's nose. "They're good," he said temptingly. "It's just the way mother made them."
"You killed my mother," Harry said flatly, his lips pressed in a thin line. The wand pointed at Voldemort's heart never wavered.
Well shoot, he forgot about that. "… no I didn't," he denied while holding out the cookies.
Green eyes flashed angrily behind those Merlin awful glasses and Voldemort prudently took a tiny step backwards. "Yes, you did. You murdered my entire family right in front of my very eyes. You've killed everyone I've ever loved all because of a prophesy."
"At least I gave you a life's goal to work towards," Voldemort said snippily. "And what's the thanks I get in return? One sniveling, self-centered intrepid teen with bad hair."
"Oh, I'll show you a thanks," Harry said with a grim expression on his face.
In his effort to get away, Voldemort had tripped over his other rubber ducky, Mr. Snuggles Jr. and fell right in the way of the killing curse. His last thoughts as he lay dying in a pool of melted Rocky Road (for of course the Potter brat couldn't even put enough feeling into one simple curse), was that today just wasn't his day.