Lord Voldemort Seeks Therapy
He examined the door to the office. On it was a plaque that read 'Frank N. Steinburg: Personal Therapist MD'. His fingers twitched. He realized that this was a muggle establishment, but really he had no other choice. No therapist in the magical world would help him: Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, Tom Riddle, or AHHHH!! WHAT IS THAT HIDEOUS THING!! (Note that anyone who dared call him the last name on this list oddly enough didn't live long enough to make that mistake again.)
Standing up to his full height and summoning all the menacing power that a dark lord such as himself possesses in large quantities, he opened the door and walked in. The unfortunate receptionist upon seeing him started and shouted. Lord Voldemort only heard "AHHHH!! WHAT IS…" before immediately recognizing it as the beginning of his least favorite name for himself. He promptly drew his wand and killed her before she could complete the unwelcome phrase.
The few people in the waiting room stared at him in fear. Although the Dark Lord enjoyed this immensely he had no time to deal with them at the moment. A quick and powerful obliviate and several vanishing charms later and the room was empty. He almost felt bad about what he had done. Almost. Now he just had to wait for the therapist to come looking for the next patient. He hated waiting.
Several parenting magazines and a brochure about teenage pregnancy later he was tired of waiting. There was nothing to do anymore. He had foolishly gotten rid of his source of entertainment when he vanished those stupid muggles. This office didn't have any good reading material. Is it too much to ask for 'Evil Lord Weekly' or 'Destroying Innocent Lives Today', He thought.
Standing up angrily he stormed into the office only to find the therapist sitting behind his desk eating lunch. The man looked up in a bored manner and inquired, "How can I help you sir?"
"I require an immediate session with you." Lord Voldemort said in a way that was much less a request and more so a demand.
After carefully wiping some crumbs from his face the therapist said, "I see. Well, I'm afraid you need to make an appointment at the desk out front."
At this statement Voldemort lost his temper and made several threats of varying severity and vulgarity on the man's life, family, money, and vegetable garden. Upon hearing his vegetables threatened and sensing the sincerity behind the obviously irate man's threats, the therapist wisely scheduled in a session right then.
"So sit right down there." Mr. Steinburg said gesturing nervously toward a couch, "What seems to be the trouble?"
"What's the trouble? WHAT'S THE TROUBLE? Do you realize how hard it is being a Dark Lord such as myself? You have to do everything yourself! I mean of course you have your evil henchmen and all, but what do they really do? Stand by you and look good? Mess things up is what they do. Can't find good help these days. All I ask is for them to follow my every command and kill without restraint. Is that so hard? They still haven't gotten that Potter boy.
"I think that the stress is getting to me. I'm not enjoying my favorite activities anymore. I hardly felt any joy when I killed your receptionist a few minutes ago and I didn't even have it in me to torture the rest of the muggles in the waiting room. You've got to help me!"
By this point the therapist was thoroughly stressed out. He didn't know what to say but he gathered by the way the man in front of him had just banged his fist on the table causing it to collapse that he should say something, "I um.. think that you should…err do something more to relax. You obviously have a very stressful position. I suggest dancing or poetry maybe…"
"Hmm…poetry…" The Dark Lord thought for a few minutes then began reciting some poetry:
There once was a boy named Harry,
His hair looked really quite scary.
People thought he had beat me
But he's yet to defeat me
He is not at all extraordinary.
There once was a man named Dover,
Who went looking for a four leaf clover,
He thought it'd bring luck,
But got hit by a truck
Now his stupid muggle life is over.
Violets are blue, roses are red,
If you don't do what I want
I'll make sure you are dead.
Avada kedavra .
With those last two words the therapist dropped dead on the spot. Voldemort stood up and sighed in relief. "I would like to thank you for your help doctor. That poetry seems to have done the trick. I would say that I was sorry for killing you, but I am back to being myself and don't care at all."