One: Finding Love

It was a dark and stormy night. Voldemort swept across the grassy hill, his cape billowing out behind him like waves of darkness. He was busy contemplating the many ways he could fully and brutally eradicate the tick in his hair that was Harry Potter. He had come up with many ideas already, but none seemed quite right. They weren't perfect or flawless. And they lacked a certain something.

The wind swept through the tall grass, making it whip and slash around him frantically. Above the Dark Lord, rain lashed the air and lightning split the night. Thunder rumbled ominously as the waves crashed against the jagged cliffs. Voldemort breathed deeply, the smell of wet decay in his nostrils, and ran one long, thin hand over his head. The skin was smooth and faintly damp beneath his fingers. Voldemort's bare feet swished through the swaying grass, picking up drops of cool dew. The mud squished beneath his toes feet and he paused to pick a pebble out from between his toes. He took another step forward and something that wasn't mud squished beneath him with a sickening crunch. Voldemort paused and looked down; lifting his foot to see what he had stepped on.

It was a greenish brown toad. One of its hind-legs was crushed and blood speckled the ground where the bone had broken the skin. The toad let out one mournful croak before falling silent, its eyes blinking slowly, barely moving.

Something stirred within Voldemort's cold dead heart. Something he could not identify. He felt a pang of sympathy for the poor creature. It was alone, like he was. It was hurt, like he was. It was also slimy and cold, like he was.

Voldemort bent down in one dramatic movement and carefully laid a pale finger on the quivering amphibian's back. It let out a feeble croak. Voldemort instantly withdrew his finger. He had to end this poor creature's suffering somehow! The lord of evil drew his wand and pointed it at the frog. Anyone watching would have suspected to see a flash of green light. Instead, Voldemort swished and flicked his wand, muttering something under his breath. The beautiful, injured frog rose smoothly into the air.

Now to get his precious somewhere safe. Voldemort stood up, taking great care not to jostle his cargo, and took off across the grassy hill. He didn't dare Apparating for fear that it would hurt the frog even more than it already was. Luckily there was a small fisherman's house down at the base of the hill. Voldemort would brutally kill the man and steal his boat. It was the only way to save the amphibian. He could see the house; it was barely a hundred meters away and there was a light burning in one of the windows.

Voldemort paused before the door and carefully lowered the frog so it was sitting in an empty flowerpot. He needed his wand and he didn't want to risk having the frog get hurt. With a flourish, Voldemort made the door open fly open and crash against the way. He began to sweep inside…

Only to get hit in the face by the rebounding wood. Inside the dirty hovel, someone snickered. Voldemort's face flared bright red; they would pay for that.

Voldemort kicked the door open and strode inside, his robes flaring out behind him in an awe-inspiring way. The snickers quickly turned to frightened gasps. Voldemort allowed a small smile to creep across his cold face; they were right to tremble in fear before him.

There were three people inside the house. A man with weather beaten skin and a mangled hat on his head; the fisherman. A short woman with dirty blonde hair and pallid looking skin; the fisherman's wife. And a young boy of seven who looked so scared that Voldemort thought he might faint; the fisherman's son. None of them would survive the night.

"Aveda Kedavra!"

The house lit up with brilliant flashes of green light. Screams rent the air and made Voldemort smile. He left the hovel as quickly as he had entered it and picked up the flower pot with his beautiful frog in it. The dark wizard followed a narrow dirt track down to the water's edge where a dingy looking boat was waiting. The paint was peeling and the sail was tattered, but Voldemort supposed that it would do. He carefully placed the pot beneath a bench and made the sailboat begin to move with a wave of his wand.

He glanced down lovingly at the clay pot that he could just barely see poking out from beneath the wooden bench. His acute hearing could pick up the frog's distressed wheezing. "Hold on, my precious," he whispered to the animal. "We'll be back soon and I will make you better."

The portly boy looked high and low for his missing pet. He checked flower pots and beneath the bushes and up in the trees; he even stuck his head in a gnome hole. He received a nasty bite on the nose for that trick. But his pet was nowhere to be found. The boy couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen it. They'd been having a picnic up on some high hill top, he knew that, and he'd brought his pet with him, but after that the boy couldn't remember. Was it possible he'd left the animal back there by accident? The boy shuddered at the thought; his pet wouldn't last long in the storm that was raging outside.

The hilltop wasn't far. Maybe he could nip out, go take a look, and be back before his grandmother ever noticed that he was gone. The boy quickly grabbed his coat, a hat, and a pair of rain boots. He snuck one last look back into the kitchen where his grandmother was chatting away with some other old lady, then dashed outside into the rain.

The boy grimaced and burrowed deeper into the collar of his coat. He had to find his pet before it drowned! The boy raced down dirt road that was quickly turning to mud that sucked at his boot and threatened to pull him to the ground. He tripped and nearly tumbled into a menacing pool of mud, but he managed to right himself at the last second and continue on his way. It took him an hour to reach the hilltop where they had taken lunch that afternoon. And so the boy began his search.

He looked everywhere, parting the grass and picking up rocks. He couldn't spot his missing pet anywhere. Had it somehow hopped off the cliff and was now lying in smithereens on the rocks? The boy dropped to his hands and knees and crawled over to the edge of the hill. He peered down at the jagged rocks below, his mind filled with gruesome images of what had happened to his precious pet. Finally, he had to accept defeat. He leaned back on his feet and raised his face to the sky, his face a picture of distress. "Trevor!" he wailed. "Where are you?"

Enia (knee-uh): Yes, you are totally allowed to ask 'what the hell'. This is just some random idea I came up with awhile back during P.E. while I was talking to my friend Onyx. I only recently finished this chapter 'cause I got bored. We'd been looking at Schnoogle (I think that's what it's called) the other day and we saw Voldemort/Trevor under the pairing list. It's supposed to be very overdramatic. Expect randomness and sporadic updates. Also, I have no idea if I spelled some of the words right 'cause I'm too lazy to go look it up, so if I did, please let me know and I'll change it!

Please leave a review! Bye for now!