A nice little one shot songfic to 'My Name' from 'Oliver!' Voldemort worries about his lack of toilet paper in the midst of wondering why he spent so much time working out such a good name when no one ever uses it.
Disclaimer: All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K Rowling, as I'm sure you know, poke my eye out and cut off my arm if I'm wrong.
Disclaimer disclaimer: Most of the above disclaimer belongs to Blackadder.
The Song 'My Name' belongs to Lionel Bart, with all probability – but to make it fit I made a few tiny miniscule not-ever-so-important changes. To see the original and changed versions in their completed forms, skip to the bottom. Charmin Ultra belongs to... a toilet paper making company.
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Lord Voldemort was not having what he would call a good day. Peter Pettigrew had failed all the tasks the Dark Lord had set him, which included fixing the drains, so the castle smelt completely unsavoury, Lucius Malfoy's snotty little son had turned out to 'actually really like the Light side' and hadn't been seen for a week, there was a kink in his back, the stone throne was really rather uncomfortable after days of sitting in it, none of his robes were properly ironed and to top it all off, they'd run out of toilet paper in the Non-Gentleman's Loos. His Majestic Darkness was Not Amused.
Strong men tremble when they hear it!
They've got cause enough to fear it!
Also,
for a while now he'd been pondering the fact it was pretty damn useless to have
spent years working out a really bad-sounding nickname (even if in the end all
he'd had to do was mix around the letters in his real name – so
unoriginal and Dumbledore-ish but it had worked, even if he'd been left with
'Lord Voldemort Mia' – which he'd managed to sort out to suit his purposes) if
no one except himself and Dumbledore used it! What a complete waste of valuable
time! Every other Dark Lord got mentioned by their names in the books at
least, but all the books even remotely connected to him used 'You Know Who'
or 'He Who Must Not Be Named' which was totally and utterly out of character
for him anyway.
It's much blacker than they smear it!
Nobody mentions...
My name!
He wanted to be named. Mind, he supposed that having a name that made people run away at a thousand miles an hour screaming was pretty cool by Dark Lord standards. No one had been too afraid of saying Grindlewald.
His
Death Eaters were pretty submissive about the whole thing, which in a way was
annoying – they never used it either. Well, in front of him that is. He
supposed it had the same effect, if you chanced to meet someone on a dark
night, as hitting them over the head with something heavy, performing certain
indiscriminate rites on the prone body and then tying it up, which after all
was pretty low even for Death Eaters – The Dark Lord personally was of the
opinion that it was much more sensible to tie them up before performing
the indiscriminate rites. He had no doubt that during his reign of Rabbit-Hutch
forest (the name was embarrassing, but no one had thought to mention it yet –
if they did they'd be Crucioed pretty damn quick) various members of the
'Ex-Minions of The Dark Lord rehab' group had resorted to the old "Hey, Mister!
Voldemort! Now hand it over!" routine in order to gain a bit of well-deserved
and long-awaited cash.
Rich men hold their pots of gold out --
Saves me emptying their robes out.
They know I could kiss their soul out
Just to live up to...
My name!
"Master?"
Oh great. That imbecile of an executioner was back.
"I sent you on an errand, McNair." Stating the obvious was one of the Voldemort favourite hobbies. It really put people on edge – or at least, irritated them beyond the point of actually being funny. It was particularly effective if he twirled his wand between his fingers slowly – an art he'd perfected even before he'd bought his first ever copy of My First Unforgivable by A Complete Bastard.
Wiv me
Wand in me hand,
Lemme see the man who dares
Stop me.
Taking what I may
He can start to say his prayers!
"Y…yes, My Lord…"
"Were you successful?"
"My Lord… I…"
"When I ask 'were you successful', McNair, I expect the response to begin with a Yes." Ah. Satisfaction. He'd been dying to try that one out for ages.
"Yes, My Lord… ah…"
"Did you get it?"
"Ah.. yes… my Lord?"
"Was it exactly what I wanted?"
"Well, my… my Lord… I apologise most deeply… but Diagon Alley was all out of Charmin Ultra…"
"WHAT?" This was not merely terrible. This was a dent in the toilet-paper using community (everyone except birds and farmyard animals). "HOW CAN THEY BE OUT?"
"We got the regular sort, My Lord…"
"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"
"My Lord… I crave your pardon…"
"Too bad. You can't have
it." Voldemort leant back in his throne and rubbed the space between his eyes
with his long spidery fingers. He sometimes wondered why this area hurt him
when he was frustrated – having never taken an Oxford biology course, he didn't
really know about the science of sinuses. He had always imagined it was because
his brain could only take too much strain, but recently he'd been toying with
the possibility that his brain was the most advanced in the world at the moment
(with the possible exception of Albus Dumbledore, who didn't count because he
was nice) so it had to be something else. He supposed he could blame it on the
fact that he used to do a lot of wrestling in his younger days, when he was
good looking and not a living skeleton. Ah yes, the old one-two… the fact that
he'd been hit in the head a lot could perhaps account for his headaches. Of
course, being a potential Ruler of Darkness and Horror, he'd done quite a lot
of hitting of his own.
Biceps like an iron girder,
Fit for doing of a murder,
If I just so much as heard a
Bloke even whisper...
My name!
Voldemort…
"Get out of here, McNair," he said eventually. "I'll deal with you later. Don't leave the castle. See how you like using crappy toilet paper all the time on wooden toilets."
"Yes, My Lord..." stuttered McNair, obviously relieved that he hadn't been ordered to have his head flushed.
Ah, this was the life. If
you put aside the less-than-adequate lavatory facilities, he had quite a thing
going on here. Yes, just like the old days. Except he was older and the methods
were slightly more sophisticated.
Some Toff, slumming wiv his valet,
Bumped into me in the alley
Now is eyes'll never tally
He'd never heard of ...
My name!
Time was he just used to smash people into walls with either his fists or the occasional Reductor curse. Ah, curses. Yes, he'd known more curses in his first year than all the seventh years put together, or so he boasted. In any case, he was well ahead of all his first year courses, and had spent most of his time doodling on his books – usually rather suggestive cartoons of himself and all the pretty girls in his year at one time. The orphanage lady had often said that he had quite a creative mind for an eleven year old.
"Master?"
Oh god, what is it now?
"Pettigrew, what do you want?" Damn. Too late he realised that it should have been – "What do you want, Pettigrew?" Oh well. Too late to change that now.
"M….m…m…m…."
"You know that I despise people who stutter, Wormtail. Speak up before something very unpleasant happens to you."
One bloke
Used to boast the claim
He could take my name in vain...
Poor bloke...
Saw a flash of green
Never was 'e seen again!
"Um… Lucius wishes to inform you that last nights 'Bring-Your-Own Muggle' party went splendidly…"
"Ah, good. Anything exciting happen?"
"Well… all the Muggles died, My Lord."
"What a shame. I'd care if it wasn't for the fact that my sole purpose in life is to destroy the entire population of Muggles on the planet, even if they do outnumber us by about a hundred thousand million to one."
"Yes, My Lord."
That's rather irritating, Voldemort thought. Yes, My Lord – all the bloody time! Not 'No, My Lord' or 'Three Bags Full My Lord', no that's way too original for anyone with a semi-formed brain cell to come up with. 'Yes, My Lord' is all they've got. Let's test that theory.
"Though…"
"Yes My Lord?"
There it goes again. They can even modify it to form a question. How dashed clever – not.
"I suppose Muggles aren't really all that bad, really."
"My Lord?"
Wow, new stuff. He left out the 'yes' part. "I mean, I'm pretty sure they've got ready access to decent toilet paper."
"Yes, My Lord."
"Are you sure about that?"
"My Lord?"
"You agree with everything I say, is that correct?"
"Ah…"
"Oh dear. We appear to have lost the momentary conciousness that occurs between gaining a little intelligence and loosing it again, don't we, Wormtail?" Damn damn damn! Should have used YOU not WE. Not good for the self-image, putting oneself down like that, he thought. "Are you insane? If I really decided to like Muggles all of a sudden, would you follow me?"
Once bad -- What's the good of turning?
In hell, I'll be there a-burning
Meanwhile, thing of what I'm earning
All on account of...
"I would follow you anywhere my Lord…"
"Yes, all right, I think I've established your idiocy rating at the moment, Pettigrew, and it's off the charts. Congratulations. Now, I think I shall have to obliviate you for the fun of it."
Voldemort whipped out his wand without aiming it, knowing that it was pointing straight at Wormtail's chest. He couldn't miss.
"Obliviate!"
At the last moment, Pettigrew gave a little squeak, which meant that the Dark Lord put a little more power into the spell than he'd meant to. Also, he suddenly realised that while his wand had been aimed perfectly at his fat little minion, it had in fact been the rear end of his wand. The right end had been pointing right at… himself…
My name!
What is it?
What is it?
What is it?
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
Gosh, wasn't that fun. Ok, here's the original and altered versions of the songs.
Original:
Strong
men tremble when they hear it!
They've got cause enough to fear it!
It's much blacker than they smear it!
Nobody mentions...
My name!
Rich men hold their five-pound notes out --
Saves me emptying their couats out.
They know I could tear their throats out
Just to live up to...
My name!
Wiv me
Jemmy in me hand,
Lemme see the man who dares
Stop me.
Taking what I may
He can start to say his prayers!
Biceps like an iron girder,
Fit for doing of a murder,
If I just so much as heard a
Bloke even whisper...
(spoken) My name! Bill Sikes...
(sung) Some Toff, slumming wiv his valet,
Bumped into me in the alley
Now is eyes'll never tally
He'd never heard of ...
My name!
One bloke
Used to boast the claim
He could take my name in vain...
Poor bloke...
Shame 'e was so green
Never was 'e seen again!
Once bad -- What's the good of turning?
In hell, I'll be there-a-burning
Meanwhile, thing of what I'm earning
All on account of...
My name!
What is it? What is it? What is it?
Altered Version:
Strong
men tremble when they hear it!
They've got cause enough to fear it!
It's much blacker than they smear it!
Nobody mentions...
My name!
Rich
men hold their pots of gold out --
Saves me emptying their robes out.
They know I could kiss their soul out
Just to live up to...
My name!
Wiv me
Wand in me hand,
Lemme see the man who dares
Stop me.
Taking what I may
He can start to say his prayers!
Biceps like an iron girder,
Fit for doing of a murder,
If I just so much as heard a
Bloke even whisper...
My name!
Voldemort…
Some Toff, slumming wiv his valet,
Bumped into me in the alley
Now is eyes'll never tally
He'd never heard of ...
My name!
One bloke
Used to boast the claim
He could take my name in vain...
Poor bloke...
Saw
a flash of green
Never was 'e seen again!
Once
bad -- What's the good of turning?
In hell, I'll be there-a-burning
Meanwhile, thing of what I'm earning
All on account of...
My name!
What is it?
What is it?
What is it?
Compliments
~*Laterose*~