Author's Note: The prompt was "anything goes, but Tom has to eat a taco off the ground at some point." I don't know what happened here, I'm just the author, don't blame me for this. Also, please note that I am not accepting prompts currently, so please do not leave them as comments/reviews.
He was convinced that this punishment was not, as Potter had put it, meant to be "humane," but rather served as a humiliating way to add insult to injury. Having lost the battle, lost his followers, lost his Nagini, and lost 7/8ths of his soul was not enough, he had to be turned into a monster now too. Doomed to live the remainder of his life as the companion pet of a mudblood.
The worst part about this body was, surprisingly, not that it did not have magic. Of all the bodies he had possessed for this long before - Quirell, Ginerva, the Boy-Who-Should-Have-Died - all of them had magic. Limited or weak as the magic may have been, it was still there. He had always been able to utilize it somehow.
While the newfound lack of magic certainly was an adjustment that took getting used to, it was not the worst part. Neither was it that he was forced to eat canned tuna, or that he had suddenly developed a fear of vacuum cleaners.
The worst part was that this hideous feline form did not even have claws.
Surprisingly enough, it was his new, filthy mudblood of a mistress who had argued his right to keep them. He remembered overhearing that argument very well, even if he had been locked in the bathroom at the time.
"You told me you were giving him to me because I could be trusted not to torture him, and now you're expecting me to just hand him over so you can chop his little kitty paws off? Over my dead body!"
From where he watched the crack under the door, he could see Potter's feet shuffle back a bit - Granger could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be, Voldemort had learned.
Still, it was Weasley who spoke up first. "Come off it, Hermione. He's not really a cat and you bloody well know it!"
"He's been a very good boy!"
At that, Voldemort could not contain a disgusted sneer.
"A 'good boy'? And that's why he shredded Ginny's arm? You heard the healer at Mungo's - a muggle'd have needed six stitches! He's not a good boy!"
"He's learning!" Granger hissed in response. "And regardless - declawing? Absolutely not! Did you know it's the equivalent of removing the top knuckle of a human finger? That it can cause pain, anxiety, aggression, litter box issues -"
Potter cut in, trying to diffuse the tension. "He's already aggressive, he can't get much worse, can he? He uses the toilet, not a litter box, and if his paws hurt, maybe he'll stop trying to get the collar off. I know you hate this idea, but we probably shouldn't have let him keep the claws in the first place. I'm sorry, but Ron's right."
In the end, Granger had lost that argument, and Voldemort had to say goodbye to the last real weapons he had.
At least he could still talk.
"And just where do you think you're going?" He looked up from where he was elegantly perched on top of the extravagant cat tower that she had bought for him(shortly after Weasley had dumped her, he noted).
Granger gave him a sympathetic glance from where she stood by the door. "I need to go over a few papers at the Ministry. It should only take a few minutes - I'll be back before dinner."
She didn't give him time to argue before she slipped out of the door. He collapsed back against the tower with a huff. He was bored. This was, by far, the most pathetic situation he had ever gotten himself into.
As the hours passed, he had destroyed a few fake birds, found a new patch of sun, knocked everything off of Granger's desk, and pulled all the blankets off her bed onto the floor. He could theoretically turn on the television, but without his claws he found he lacked the precision necessary to use the remote buttons.
Just as he was about to consider flooding the bathroom, he heard the clock chime.
Dinner. Finally, it was time for dinner.
As he waltzed up to his bowl, somewhat ashamed by his own excitement at the promise of food, he realized something: Granger still wasn't home.
As a cat, there was very little he could do for himself. He could not use magic. He could not leave the apartment. He could not grab things with his paws that lacked both claws and opposable thumbs.
He could, however, scream.
Starting with the usual yowls of a cat, his frustration progressed quickly and it wasn't long before he was pacing back in front of the door. "Granger?" When that didn't work, he tried again. "Hermione?" Still, nothing. "Mudblood?"
At the complete lack of response, he came to an alarming conclusion: she was starving him.
Frantically running through the apartment, he jumped across every piece of furniture he could find with no regard to what he knocked over in the process. "Tell me, brightest witch of her age, did you think that Lord Voldemort, left to his own devices would simply perish under your filthy muggle rule?" He knocked a lamp off the end table. "You thought you could abandon me and leave me to starve?"
After he had tired himself out with tearing up the house, he leaned against the kitchen counter. He smacked his lips. He was, tragically, still hungry.
With a glance to the rubbish bin, he made the decision that desperate times called for desperate measures. In his rampage, he had already knocked it over. All he would have to do is go through it - surely, there were some half empty cans of tuna in there. It would give him energy just long enough to come up with a better plan.
Left with no other option, he began to rummage. Had he been human, he may have felt the urge to weep. Lord Voldemort, reduced to dumpster diving. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.
The cans he found were unfortunately not half, but entirely empty. There was, however, a single crispy taco, untouched, discarded in the trash. It was still wrapped. Surely, that meant it must be safe to eat, the part of his brain that was still human reasoned.
Just as he dug his teeth into the first glorious bite, the door opened.
"I'm sorry! I know I'm late, but you won't believe what Ronald had gotten himself into at work."
Though he heard the sound of keys being deposited on the counter, he made no move to remove himself from the taco.
"What the fuck, Tom? You haven't been this bad in months. What happened?" She looked down to where he was crouched on the floor. "Oh my god, are you eating garbage?"
"You were starving me!" He argued, placing a protective paw over his meal and hissing as she stole it away from him anyways. The cruel mistress she was, she deprived him of both the taco and his dignity, leaving him with only his shame.
"For Merlin's sake - I was ten minutes late!"