T'was Hallowe'en...

Lord Voldemort was pale, near-soulless bloke, with little to do when he received a tea party invitation from the Potters.
"Kay", he said, sending a voice-owl back to the Potters.

He had become a Lord when his Uncle Morfin died and left him a will. Inside was a small fortune and a piece of paper that read:
'The rock is charmed so only a Lord may be able to pick up the orange rock...'
As Morfin was dead, the charm lifted itself; underneath the paper was indeed a small orange rock. Voldemort picked it up.
"Guess I'm a Lord now...", he muttered. Skid-mark Riddle and Thomas the Wank Engine were bad enough titles, he thought; this'll do.

So Lord Voldemort left his socks in the wash, so he put his shoes in his fluffy pink satchel he received last Christmas from Ally, who preferred the name Albus, but none the less, Lord Voldemort called him Ally. He then set off out the door, with a charmed angel halo around his head and a fake 70's porno moustache and down the road where he came across a small wooden bridge. With a small child on that very bridge.

The child turned and said:
"Nice costume, sir!"
Voldemort chuckled at this and flipped open his robes when he felt a pigeon nip his foot, exposing himself to the child. The child then screamed; Voldemort screamed; the Lord slipped back, his robe got caught under his own foot and fell to the floor and he caught a tiny splinter in his pinky toe and once more screamed then he, too, fell to the floor of the bridge, where another splinter joined onto him, but in Voldemort's seventh testicle (7 is lucky). In sheer rage, he started firing curses everywhere and when he stopped, the child was on the floor: dead.

"Fuck", Voldemort muttered. A pale 56 year-old, naked none-the-less, with a halo hovering over his head, an enlarged 7th bollock and a dead child did not look good. The Lord threw on his robe and ran up to the Potter's doorstep.

Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong, dingdongdingdongdindindindidnidnidnidndindindindobneibneobne.

A 'wtf' look on his face, James Potter opened his door to Skid-mark Riddle - no, Voldemort.

"Ya cock's hangin' out, mate," James muttered, nodding towards the latter's knob.

With one slick swing, Voldemort flipped his Basilisk back into his see-through robes - wait...see-through? He now hated Anne Summers.

And so, the Pale Lord entered the Potter House, noticing the absence of a ginger and an overgrown foetus.

"Where's ginge and babz?"

"Mai ho be puttin' tha little fucka to bed :P" James answered.

Voldemort pulled out his wand and conjured a chair and, without putting away the wand, he moved to sit down, but stepped on a Lego brick and accidentally killed James in retaliation. Then his robes disappeared again.

"Fuck." Voldemort said, trying to remeber the something of life to get people up again...

"The Piss of Life! Where one adapts the Piss to one's mouth...dafuq?" and the Pale Lord proceeded to empty his bladder into James' mouth.

It didn't work, so Voldemort, still naked, clambered up the stairs after a sip of Vodka, to tell Ginge and the Foetus what happened.

"Oi Ginge! Foetus! I got summat ta say!" A white, naked entity, with 7 bollocks, knocking about like a Newton's Cradle, frolicked into the bedroom. The Fetus cried.

"It's Lily and Harry, twat. By the way, ya dick's hangin-" but it was too late.

The naked mass stepped on the unplugged plug by the door. And, you guessed it, killed Lily. And set off a CO curse, and thus Voldemort collapsed due to Carbon Monoxide poisoning and baby Harry survived. Possibly because of his skill with da 420 blazing, he could handle a bit druggin' here and there.