What was this again?
A loud, creepy and sibilant voice emanated throughout the Hogwarts' grounds and the ancient building itself.
"You have one hour to come to the forbidden forest, Harry Potter. One hour to surrender yourself without any resistance, and everyone else shall be spared, I promise. Dark Lord's honor. The clock is ticking. Tick tock."
'Quietus,' Voldemort thought and the voice enhancing spell was nullified immediately.
"Well, that should do it. Potter is too much of a noble hero to pass up an offer to save the lives of the others, even at the expense of his own," Voldemort told his amassed Death Eater lieutenants, grinning sadistically.
"Of course the plan shall work my Lord. After all, you devised it, and you never are wrong," Bellatrix said with a loving tone in her voice. The dark-lord-obsessed witch was kneeling at Voldemort's feet, her arms thrown around his right leg possessively.
Voldemort considered cruciating her so that he would be left alone to his evil plotting, but then thought better of it. Anything that kept Bella quiet and happy was worth the trouble. So, he would withstand her fanatic worship for a bit more.
As long as she did not start humping his leg of course, like the other night…
Everyone went quiet as they waited for the boy who lived to show up. Voldemort made an idle flick with his wand, and a large magical bonfire that everyone could sit around appeared. Of course, while his minions simply sat down on the ground, he conjured a golden throne for himself.
Everyone positioned themselves in a perfect circle, in the same order as the night they had appeared before their master in his freshly rebirthed state, three years ago. Crabbe and Goyle sat at the furthest point from the Dark Lord, grunting and mumbling between them. Walden Macnair had a large double edged axe in his lap, which he was petting dutifully. Closer to the dark Lord sat Lucius… who was busy brushing his long, immaculate blond hair. Hair knots were the real source of evil, after all.
So they waited. And the time went by, but no Harry Potter showed up…
"One minute left, my lord." Dolohov finally said.
Voldemort had his eyes closed, displaying a façade that was the epitome of calmness. "I know, Antonin," he said as he stood up. "And I must confess that I am very disappointed in him. I was so sure that he would show up. So very sure... Alas, I was mistaken. We will simply have to…"
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
The loud sound of a small, round item rolling towards the dark lord echoed in the otherwise silent forest clearing. Every single eye, masked and unmasked, took note of its trajectory until it ended up at the Dark Lord's feet.
Voldemort, perplexed, picked up the green metallic sphere and brought it close to his eyes to give it a better inspection. He scrunched his face in confusion as he tried to remember where he had seen it before.
"What is this muggle trinket?" He finally asked himself.
At that exact moment, the grenade went off with a loud BOOM BOOM BOOM, rendering everything within a ten meter radius into blood, fire, and red, raw flesh. When it was finally over, all that could be seen was a number of burning bodies. Amongst them, one was headless; Voldemort, being right in the epicenter of the explosion had taken the brunt of it. If anyone looked any closer, they would also discern the burning remains of a huge cobra snake nearby.
"Wow, it actually worked," a raven haired teenager said as he entered the clearing. He whistled in appreciation as he took note of the devastation that the small item had wreaked.
Harry grinned. Everything had worked out fine. After getting hit by a stray killing curse on his way to the forest, he had found himself in a train station, alone with a baby. The baby was so ugly, that he had decided to throw it to the rails, just as a train arrived to run over its head with a loud squelch.
In an even more unvelievable turn of events, Dumbledore had disembarked that train. He had started to deliver a doubtlessly well-rehearsed speech to Harry, before noticing the bloody, headless baby body below the train.
He had finally said, "Aha, now there is a nice idea. Harry, once you wake up, you will go back to my office, and open the third drawer. Inside you will find…"
And thus Harry Potter ended up using a grenade that was a relic from World War 2, and a heirloom of Dumbledore - a bitter reminder of all that he had once lost- , on Voldemort.
And then, as the wise saying goes, splat.
On a completely unrelated note, that was the day that the legend of the boy-who-bombed was born.
The grease he knows not
Lord Voldemort was bored.
It was no surprise, really. He had been cooped up in Malfoy Manor for too long. His last outing had been a resurrection ceremony in a dark graveyard, and ever since then, all he had done was hide in the spacious mansion, biding his time and bemoaning his lack of Trelawney's prophecy. Of course, that was not what he told his underlings. According to them, he was 'strategizing'.
The dark lord sighed once again. No matter how much he looked around, there was nothing interesting to do in that place. Sure, Lucius kept a stock of young boys imprisoned in his cellar, but even that got boring after a while. He had tried muggle board games, and even resorted to video games. The latter option had been a success somewhat - at least, until he got beaten in a multiplayer game from one of his underlings, which caused both the console and said Death Eater to fly off the nearest window.
So, Voldemort was once again sitting on his expensive throne, watching as his minions moved around performing their assigned tasks. He wracked his brain for an idea, for something new to do.
And it was at that moment that Severus Snape entered the room in all his greasy glory.
'Now that's an idea,' Voldemort thought as he took notice of the potioneer's abnormally shiny hair.
"Severus, come over here at once," he commanded.
The greasy spy did as his lord commanded. He reached the throne at once and kneeled in subservience.
"What does my lord need from me?
Voldemort furrowed his invisible eyebrows in thought.
"Tell me Severus, that grease in your hair, is it flammable?"
"Pardon me, my lord? I would not presume-"
"So, you've never thought about it either. Hmm," the dark lord pondered. "How about we test that theory then?" He said in excitement, adopting that mad scientist's look as the wand in his hand emitted shiny sparks.
xxx
Lucius Malfoy and his wife apparated at the edge of their manor's wards.
"What a nice, productive day," Lucius told his wife happily.
And it had been such a day, indeed. They had decided to take a break from playing hosts to the Dark Lord, so they'd visited Diagon Alley. First, they had gone to the most expensive hair salon and had their hair tended after. Then, they had visited a pedicure salon, where a nice lady had taken care of both their cosmetic needs. Lucius sighed happily again as he buffed his freshly manicured fingernails against his chest.
Finally, the day had ended excellently, as Lucius had visited Borgin and Burkes and managed to procure a rare polishing kit for his pimp cane. Really, the only thing he was missing now were the hoes.
He embraced his wife lovingly, and muttered, "I feel as I nothing in the world can go wrong now."
As if on cue, it was at that moment that an almighty detonation went off inside the manor, destroying it completely. The force of the explosion threw both of them on their asses.
Narcissa looked at the huge mushroom of flames that formed above their home, which was accompanied from a loud rumbling as the complex structure went down.
"Wha- ah?" She tried unsuccessfully to form a coherent sentence.
Lucius, next to her, said, "Don't worry. We can fix this easily."
And fix they did. Somehow, Lucius managed to convince the Wizengamot that the dark lord, whose body was found inside the rubble, had been lured in a trap by him; as a model civilian, he had done what he could to bring him down, even at the expense of his own home. He was hailed as a hero and a dark lord slayer, his feat remaining in the annals of history next to those of Harry Potter.
Later on, the unspeakables that processed the scene would claim that the cause of ignition was an undocumented greasy substance, pretty much like a mix reminiscent of muggle uranium and trinitrotoluene.
And thus the story ends. Unfortunately, our favorite potions professor never got any credit for his achievement. Well, at least, not washing his hair proved to be good for something.
Well, there you go. I won't hide it; I love killing Voldemort with explosions, so you get two of those.