Same disclaimer stands.

All of the sounds and lights surrounding the Dark Lord were starting to be a bit much but he could deal with it because he was going to finally see the only reason he had come to the United States in person. It seemed cliché to think of this as a sort of 'magical' moment, but it was. Growing up around Muggles, he was familiar with what television shows were… And if it were not for the help of the World Wide Web, he probably would have never been able to see this popstar perform before now. The Muggles surrounding him were absolutely irritating. Half of them were pre-teen girls holding signs that said various things proclaiming their love for one of the two singers left in the contest. Lord Voldemort sighed.

It would have just been easier to Aveda Kedevra all of them and just take what he wanted… But then again, that would obviously draw the attention of some of the Order members in the audience. A few rows behind him sat the Weasley clan (including the beloved Harry Potter and the Mudblood Hermione Granger) and a few sections further away sat various Aurors with shirts shouting their love for his love. He narrowed his eyes at this observation. If any of them thought that they could claim the honey-haired star for themselves, they were unbelievably wrong. Those blue eyes would only sparkle for one person tonight: the Dark Lord Voldemort a.k.a. Tom Riddle a.k.a. Thomas Whetherby.

Being a Slytherin had its perks. The Dark Lord was sneaky and he knew exactly how to get what he wanted. The dark-haired young man appeared in the dressing room of a crying and disappointed runner-up. Perhaps it was the first time in his life, but Tom hesitated. Should I really be sneaking into his room in such a time of emotional trauma and shattered dreams? Should I really start the conversation with such a blunt statement such as 'I think that perhaps the fat one should not have won'? Yeah, probably not such a good idea. He decided that it would be best to pretend that he cared…

"Excuse me," Tom said in a soothing voice. "I am aware that this might seem a bit off, however---" He paused and had to hold back a smirk at the reaction that he received from the depressed popstar.

"Who are you? What are you doing in here?" the singer asked quickly, lifting his head from his arms, brushing away tears from his watery blue eyes.

"Have no fear," the Dark Lord said with a slight smirk on his face. "I won't hurt you."

"Are you… British?" the confused star asked.

"Why yes, I am," Voldemort said with a shrug.

"You came all the way here to support me?" the honey-haired singer asked.

"I did. You see," Tom said, moving in closer to the singer. "I've had my eye on you from the start. You are undeniably talented, attractive, and I believe that I can help you."

The singer stared at the dark-eyed, dark-haired, and, well… quite handsome British young man standing before him in a crisp designer suit. 'Help' him? Whatever did he mean by that? He was unsure of him. Who just appeared in someone's dressing room without making a sound or without any sort of warning?

"Like I've said. You do not need to worry about me harming you," Tom said softly, putting a hand on the singer's shoulder. "No need."

"I'm sorry, but---" The singer stopped and turned around to face the Brit. "Who are you? I deserve to know. You've just broken into my dressing room. Who does that?"

Tom Riddle smirked and shook his head. Silly Muggle. "Come with me and I'll show you what I can do for you. I'm in the business," he cooed into the singer's ear. This would surely get this desperate singer to listen to him, at least for the evening. That's all he really wanted. The Dark Lord wasn't one for long-term relationships. One-night stands were perfect, even with the rich and famous. After all… He technically was the latter. With a smirk and a silent Imperius Curse, he and the popstar walked out of the dressing room and into the humid Los Angeles night.