A/N: Okay, so here I am again. And this time with a crazy idea I've left collecting dust in my brain for far too long. I was inspired by a list I lifted from the filing cabinet at Mugglenet headquarters-- 50 Ways to Annoy Lord Voldemort or 50 Ways to Greatly Shorten Your Life-span-- to write a fanfic where all the Death Eaters die from getting on Voldemort's nerves. His point of view. I've added a bit to the list, deleted a lot more, but this should be fun. So away we go!
Yours forever, Tsona
Newly improved to leave poor old Nott alone and ridicule and destroy someone far more malicious and nauesating.
Things have not been going well since my return to power. The Death Eaters I left behind have changed some. And for the worst. Ever since my return to my body and their return to me, I've been noticing it. It's terrible! It's like I don't know them anymore! Allow me to show you.
Today I was walking along the hallways of my secret headquarters when I was handed a tickle-me-pink flyer by one of the younger Death Eaters. "What's this?" I asked him.
"Mr. Avery told me to hand them out," he replied before moving off.
I looked down at it. It was a notice advertising a play called "Put That Thing Back Where It Came From," to be put on by something known as the Dark Order Company, which I had certain not planned or indeed even known about. Avery was holding auditions in the basement later that day and was asking people to show up and have a song ready. Songs? Plays? I think not!
I tore up the flyer and threw it to the ground in frustration, stamping upon it furiously. I tried pushing it to the back of my brain, hoping that none of my faithful followers would be fool enough to go to these... auditions.
I stomped off in the direction of my room, looking to have a bit of a lie-down before our meeting tonight. I was thwarted, however, by Rabastan Lestrange, one of my most faithful; he had braved Azkaban rather than denounce me and the old ways. He threw out his arm and caught me in the chest. I stopped, stunned.
"Where are you going?" he asked, his eyes shining.
"To my room, Lestrange," I replied, my bad mood not yet worn off.
"Wait! Let me announce you," he cried excitedly. He ran off and flung open the door to my private bedroom. He began to play a very fake trumpet, using his hand as his instrument. Then played out a drumroll on an imaginary snare. I had caught up to him by this point. Not looking at me, Rabastan yelled to the empty room, "His majesty, the Dark Lord, Thomas Marvalo Riddle the Second, approaches!"
Then he ran off. I stared after him a moment, entirely perplexed by his childish behavior. Having nothing better to do, I entered my room, and collapsed face-down on the bed, willing my headache away.
I had hardly lain down, however, when my most faithful of all-- Rabastan's sister-in-law, Bellatrix -- entered, singing at the top of her voice. "I will survive! I will sruvive! I know as long as I know how to love--"
"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled, rounding on her.
She stopped, looking positively cheerful. "Why, practicing for Avery's auditions, My Lord! Aren't you going?"
"No!" I snarled, furious that she would even consider doing such a thing.
"I've always fancied myself an actress," she continued, as though she had not heard me. "Ever since I was two and I saw my very first musical. It was Sesame Street Live! and I loved it!" Her eyes misted over. "Elmo is simply adorable! He's my idol! I knew from the moment I first stepped on stage for my first ballet recital that that was where I belonged, on stage! The lights so bright that you can't see a thing, the feel of everyone's eyes on you! Yeah..." she sighed dreamily.
I groaned, sensing a long rant.
"You really should come and try out, you know. I'm sure Avery would give you a part! And I heard about the plot through the grapevine and it sounds absolutely hilarious! It's all about how Avery finds this Muggle child in his closet, which turns out to be an entrance to another world-- much like Diagon Alley is to us or Platform 9 and 3/4 -- and how he tries to get rid of it. Only, it won't go away! And when it's discovered, the company head-- why! you could play him, My Lord!-- anyway, he tries to destroy it and Avery is banished for not telling anyone about the child. But his best friend, whose known about the child all along-- it's one of those beautiful relationships where two people share everything-- he vows to return and save the child. And he does! And everyone lives happily ever after, the end! Isn't that great, My Lord?"
"Yeah," I said unemotionally, stunned that this woman had once been my Number Two. "Listen, I'm tired, I want to rest. Why don't you go practice some more? Maybe Lucius will listen to you for a bit."
"Ooh! Excellent idea, My Lord!" she squealed before scurrying out the door.
At last, peace and quiet. Or so I thought.
There was a small, popping noise and wheezing Amycus Carrow appeared in my room. "Hello," he panted before disappearing again. Good, he's gone. But he wasn't. Pop, he was back. "My," and he disappeared. Pop and he was back again. "Lord." Gone. Pop, here. "Look." Pop, gone. Pop, here. "What." Pop, gone. Pop, here. "I." Pop, gone. Pop, here. "Can." Gone. Here. "Do."
I tried to say, "That's very nice, Amycus," and tell him to go show someone else, but every time I did, he was gone. And then he was back, and I'd try again. But before the words had even reached my mouth, he had Disapparated. At last, I gave up, groaned, and buried my head beneath my pillow, trying to block out the noises of his Apparations, which were starting to make my already spinning head throb.
No amount of goose down was enough to block out that horrible popping, however. I stood up and stalked out the door, slamming it behind myself and leaving Carrow alone, still Apparating and Disapparating into and out of my bedchamber.
Several corridors along, a group of the young Death Eaters were sitting in front of a makeshift puppet theater. A show was going on. I stopped to watch.
Squinting, I realized that the two finger puppets performing were supposed to be myself and my hated nemesis, Harry Potter. The puppeteer was giving us both horribly squeaky voices.
"Bow, bow to death, Harry," my puppet-self squeaked.
"No, sorry, I don't feel like it," Potter's likeness replied. And he hit my puppet over the head with a minute rolling pin.
I glowered as the assembled children burst into laughter, apparently unaware I was standing right behind them. I cleared my throat and they all spun around on their knees, then gasped.
The puppeteer appeared over the top of his stage. It was Avery. Obviously he hadn't noticed me because he spoke first to the fear-filled children. "What?" he asked. "He's all right and Harry gets away. Isn't that how all these shows end?"
When the children did not respond, he said, "What? What's --" But he had followed the children's shocked gazes and his eyes had just fallen upon myself, looking very unpleasant, I'm sure, as I glared at him in fury.
"Er... puppet show's over, kids," he said uncomfortably, his voice trembling slightly. "Remember the auditions later. Now, be off!"
The children didn't need telling twice. Terrified, they all darted off in different directions, not chancing to look back. Two of them ran straight into one another, fell over, got back, and continued running.
"My Lord!" Avery said jovially, stepping out from behind his theater and, I noticed, quickly stuffing the finger puppets out of sight inside his pocket. "How are you?" he asked, snatching my hand and wringing it furiously.
I quickly pulled it out of his grasp giving him a look of revulsion.
He frowned. "Bad day, eh, My Lord?"
"A little," I replied curtly.
"You know," he said thoughtfully. "You should take a yoga class."
"Yoga?" I repeated stiffly, wondering what it possibly was.
"Yeah... it's all the rage in the Muggle World. All about gaining inner peace and relaxation through physical exercise."
"And why exactly would I want to take a yogi class?"
"Yoga," Avery corrected. "I don't know, it might cure you of your evil ways." He shrugged. "Never know, do you? Worth a try, isn't it?"
I glared at him.
"It was just a suggestion," he squeaked hurriedly. "I-- I've got to go... clean out the basement or something." He rushed off, casting one last very edgy glance over his shoulder at me as he retreated.
When he had faded from sight, I put my head in my hand and began trying to massage away my rapidly increasing headache.
A/N: Hmmmm... I think that may be the end of this chapter. I will try to keep this one in my thoughts. It's so funny; I think it'd kind of hurt to drop it. Anyway, please read and review, friends! Chapter two... auditions and someone bites the dust!
Yours forever, Tsona