The Bald One

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything. All copyright and so forth to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter 1

A crackling fire was the only sound that pierced the dim lit study. The seriousness of the situation could be felt throughout the room. The lone man sitting in the chair was not to be disturbed; no-one was to enter until told so. With a flick of his wand images flashed before his red eyes. He laughed maliciously. Entertainment these days, he thought.

The grand doors to his private room burst open, making him spin round instantly, hissing at the disturbance. Snape walked in, his face a pale white from seeing the agitated look on his masters face.

'What?' Voldemort snapped, 'I clearly stated that there was to be not disruption, and yet you walk in here as if the kitchen is on fire! Don't you remember what I said; no-one, not even the president of Scotland is to call for me until Harry Potter is captured and laid before my feet, begging for mercy'

Snape seemed to consider his words and stopped, noticing Voldemort had diverted his attention. Laughing again, Tom Riddle wiped a tear from his eye as the opening scene on the TV sang the theme song, 'Mai-sy, Mai-sy… Maisy, Maisy Mouse!' Tom laughed again; he thought it was a great show, especially Maisy.

'You know Snape? Having eyes like mine-it's like looking through red cellophane'

'Really sir?'

'Yes', Tom shot Snape a quizzical glance, 'have you ever peered through red cellophane before?'

'No sir'

'Not nice, not nice stuff at all. It makes everything seem, well, red. Particularly when you eat peanut butter, and you know how much I like peanut butter!'

'Well yes sir. But isn't red cellophane used for tinted church windows?'

No you idiot it's not. My, my, are all my evil henchmen, excluding Bellatrix 'because she's a girl, wallies. The tinting in the windows are obviously made of sheets of paper that are turned translucent by Crumple-horned Snorkels'

'Oh, of course, I don't know how I didn't realise'

'Well, we can't all be as smart as me, can we?'

'No I guess not'

'Now go away, Maisy is more important than chit-chat!'

'Do you want me to tape Playschool for you as well?'

'No, no, I think I'm a bit old for Little Ted'

'Very well sir'

Harry Potter lay in a hospital wing, his right-hand thumb bandaged thoroughly. He cursed his pet guinea-pig for deliberately nipping it. Even though it had not drawn blood, Harry still wanted Uncle Vernon to drive him to the hospital, just in case.

A nurse walked in, a notebook in her hand. 'How is it feeling?'

'I think I'll live, but shouldn't I get a Tetanus shot?'

'Cases like this generally don't need one'

'But can't I have one anyway?'

The nurse just shook her head as if a fly were buzzing around it and walked away. Just as she left the ward a pale man was carried past on a stretcher. Harry could have sworn it was Voldemort. The doctors were analysing the damage to the front of the ugly man's face.

'What's happened to him?'

'A colleague of his with very sleek hair told us that the man's TV had blown up in his face when he had turned up the volume too loud, apparently singing to the theme song of 'Maisy the Mouse'

To Harry, it sounded very painful.

'It also doesn't help when so much plastic surgery has been done to his face, it's a wonder it didn't melt off and cause more burns'

A nurse carrying the stretcher looked closer to the victim's face, 'What's wrong with his nose? He appears to have squashed it, and how does he breathe with two puny slits for nostrils?'

The doctor answered quickly, 'I don't think we should question a freak of nature. They just happen you know?'