AN: My sister is learning to drive, so this one is semi-inspired by that. Cheers!
DC: I don't own Harry Potter. No matter how twisted the characters are.
Enjoy!
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Voldemort limped off the broomstick. He hobbled up the steps to Malfoy Manor and stumbled up the stairs. He collapsed onto his prized swivel chair.
"Minion." The Dark Lord croaked. "I do believe that broomstick has just halted any chance of my future children."
Snape entered holding a steaming mug of mate. (the equivalent of tea to Argentina. It is made by steeping some fancy species of hay. As you can guess, steeped crappy hay is exactly what it tasted like.) To avoid the awkwardness of the statement, he said through forced sips of mate, "But" sip "my lord" sip "you have" sip "never shown any sort of" sip "interest in children" sip "before." sip
"That's not my point, Minion." Voldemort said grimly. "What I'm trying to say is: I hate broomsticks."
"Then you should Apperate." Snape said, nodding wisely. Mate was very good for the brain, according to the nice foreign man on the corner.
"Apperation has severally reduced my chances of children too," The Dark Lord said darkly. "Remember that time-?"
"Yes, yes," Snape covered hurriedly. "No need to go dragging up that incident. Just make sure you're sober when you Apperate, okay?"
"I still have bad memories. I think what I need is some more of that fantastic muggle technology."
"But sir, jet packs haven't been invented yet-"
"I'm not talking about 'jet packs', Minion, I'm talking about a car. Like, taking driving lessons, and such?"
Snape froze, mate mug still to his lips, and the liquid still pouring into his mouth. One cannot for long allow straight mate to remain on their tongue, so Snape proceeded to spit it out. All over Voldemort.
All over the manor, Death Eaters checked the date. Today, they thought gravly, would be remembered as a fateful day.
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AN: Short, right? Funny, hopefully? Continue, should I? I don't know if the story will be long though. Maybe the postman will come back for an encore…