Disclaimer: Alas, I do not possess any rights or claims to the works of JK Rowling

Voldermort's Boggart

On a dark and stormy night, on the outskirts of the village Little Hangleton, stood a manor, old and dark with disuse. The gardens out in front were a shambles, the trees and shrubs not having been pruned in years. The shutters, which normally hung limply, were now swaying to and fro, threatening to wrest themselves from their fixings. In the back a graveyard sad, morose and untended in the dim light. Lightning crashed overhead as a man ran inside to get out of the storm, for the best time to gather Xanthoparmelia is of course on the tenth day of the tenth month at the tenth hour.

The Dark Lord Voldemort, or You Know Who as you may or may not call him, sat in the highest room in the highest tower, hatching pernicious plans. He had decided to attack Hogwarts this coming semester; oh yes, and this time Harry Potter would meet his fate. He plotted he wrote, and hrmed and he humed, throwing sheet after sheet into the rapidly filling waste bin which had once been a giant's skull. After scribbling for several moments, he had produced…. nothing of note. For, in the corner of his room something was daring to interrupt his concentration.

A gentle thump…thump… came from the wardrobe, and no, this was not the sort of wardrobe that young British children staying in the country for the holidays can travel through to escape the horrors of war, no, Dark Lords would never possess something so…sacarine. Lord Voldemort's wardrobe was made of the darkest wood and varnished till it was black, and carved into the doors were scenes of terror; scenes of Hades and dark, mythical beasts, intertwined with roiling knotwork. He was actually quite fond of his wardrobe, indeed, he had once made it in shop class.

So, his plans for the destruction of Hogwarts lying forgotten on his writing desk desk (he really had not plotted near enough, his current top sheet had diagrams scrawled about, a big pool of ink forming where the Gryffindor tower should have been, and notes on digging tunnels with spoons), Lord Voldemort turned to the annoyance that was his wardrobe. After closer inspection, he discovered, as I am sure many readers have already realized, that his wardrobe had caught itself a boggart. Now normally Voldemort found boggarts to be allies of sorts, dark creatures after all, but he could not bear for one to be in his wardrobe, and interrupting his mastermind plans no less!

Of course, in the period of his studies in that infamous school for witchcraft, Voldemort had learned how to deal with boggarts. He had even had to face a particularly annoying one for his OWL exam in DADA, one who had turned into his hated hospital matron, Mrs. Kostova, complete with her favorite willow cane. Oh how he had enjoyed the sight of her cane turning into a snake! Oh yes, Voldemort was quite familiar with boggarts, and he had dealt with quite a number through the years. Yet, if he bothered to stop and think, it had been a rather long time since his last boggart (that rather embarrassing incident with the bunny with nasty sharp pointy teeth), and the past few had been dealt with by lowly lackeys and pathetic peons. This boggart however, had invaded his quarters, seized his wardrobe, and marred his beautiful plans! So he did not think. No, this interloper would not be laughed at by one of his death eaters, it would instead be ridiculed by the greatest of all dark wizards, nay all wizarding kind, himself.

Gathering up his dark robes (black satin silk with snakes appliquéd and embroidered magically in green silk so that they moved; yes, Voldemort appreciated good quality evil wear), Voldermort readied his wand (AN: He drew his snicker snee, sorry could not resist, just watched the Mikado) and approached the darkened corner where his unwelcome guest waited. The boggart, sensing his time had come, intensified his banging, and set up a considerable racket. Voldemort confidently undid the latch and… poof…

There, in front of him, stood a boy, a teenager really. A Hogwarts student dressed in Gryffindor colors, those hated golds and reds. A young boy with irritatingly familiar features, messy black hair, and piercing green eyes stood there, sporting that bloody scar, smiling. Voldermort stood there in shock, he was not afraid of Harry Potter! Not processing the apparition in front of him, Voldemort's usually quick brain, top of his class, could not compute a suitable ridikulus; for how could he make this boy ridickulus, when he did not fear Harry Potter. Perhaps slytherin colours? No…that would not do, better not to sully the pride of his house and heritage. Lying on the floor dying? No…that would not provoke laughter of the right sort, merely maniacal, triumphant laughter. Hmm, what to do?

Then the teen stepped forward, out of the wardrobe, and…smiled. Such a hideously sweet smile, Voldemort had to keep from squealing like the rat; he could handle this, just a happy smile, nothing more, he had dealt with happy people who had the power to kill him before. Hadn't he? A further step forward the boggart came, "Uncle Tom?"

Voldemort could not bear another moment, he fled, leaving a grinning boggart behind. The boggart settled back in the wardrobe, quite content and secure in his new home.

Notes:

This is something I came up with after watching POA today, I wondered what Voldermort's boggart would be. Then I wondered how Voldermort would handle it if his boggart was to be Harry.

I will clean this up later, but I wanted to post it before I moved on to another dead end story.

For any one who wonders at the boggarts behaivior, no, it is not acting like Harry, it is just acting in the way it thinks would most likely scare Voldermort.

Edit 13.2.06

Changed the mispellings in Voldie's name. I'll try to write another later this week, but I have to wait for divine inspiration. I think I may use his death eaters or some'at for the next victim (ooops, did I just say victim? I meant person to be blessed with mine attention.).

Also, if you have any content changes that need to be made (If I use a split infinitive or wrong tense or something), don't hesitate to tell me, and I shall endeavor to change any such mistakes.