Disclaimer: It's all in the Rowling, despite what Lord Tutu expects.

John Solart had seen his death approaching quite a few times. Most of the times it had been old age or a well-placed curse from some pissed wand-waver. A couple of times he'd finished himself off just to get it over with. Then there was that memorable time when a man dressed up as Bugs Bunny had sliced his neck. He'd never seen it coming and to this day had no idea why it had happened.

This was one of those times, John could tell. He was weak from blood loss and even though most of his assailants, wearing ridiculous masks as always, were down for the count, the remnants still kept attacking. Sooner or later they'd wear him down. John pondered briefly if publicly comparing the current Dark Lord -hopeful to a troll ballerina with a homoerotic passion for dresses had been a bad idea in the end.

The sound of apparition roused him from the pleasant thought of ballet leotards to take a look towards his opponents from behind his cover. The masked marauders had ceased their curse slinging and seemed to be giving space to someone entering the fray from behind.

"Oh, lovely, the ballerina is here! I've been waiting!" John yelled, sending a blindingly powerful spell at the new arrival. The spell sapped nearly all of his remaining power but was well worth it. The Dark Lord was wholly incapable of casting a shield strong enough to hold the spell. As the spell hit his midsection the Dark Lord's eyes went wide from fear of being blasted to orbit and then even wider from surprise when his outfit transfigured to a pink tutu, complete with matching ballet shoes.

Not even waiting for the spell to hit John proceeded to morph his own clothes to a matching male ballet uniform and started bouncing towards the Dark Lord with graceful leaps while calling out his final wish: "Let us dance the Swan Lake!"

Hoping against hope that his opponent was a fan of ballet John was most disappointed when he saw his opponent's face morph from surprise and confusion to pure rage. Within a fraction of a second the Dark Lord's pointed his wand at John's chest and yelled: "Avada Kedavra!"

Just as John was finishing his entry and was about to bound next to the Dark Lord to join him in the finale of Swan Lake the spell hit him square in the chest. Instead of dropping like a fly John simply landed next to his dance partner with a confused look. Noting that he had not died and had his being copied onto the next in line John decided on his best course of action.

After a couple of heated minutes of dancing a ballet choreography of sorts, only with less dancers and more curses, John finally found himself pinned down by a tutu-wearing Dark Lord seething in rage but unable to ignore the temptation of knowledge on surviving the Killing Curse.

"Tell me before I torture you into insanity, why won't you die?" the Ballet Lord demanded from John, spittle flying from his mouth in a way not fitting of a fine lady.

"I find myself just as baffled as you, but may I say it was a delight to dance with you!" John smiled. All of the Dark Lord's attempts at untransfiguring his robes had been in vain so far and John hoped things would be so for quite a while. He'd charmed them with a rather powerful permanent sticking charm during their dance routine.

"Don't lie to me! Crucio!"

John simply stared lazily at his torturer as his body began to smoke. Physical pain was, well, painful but for some reason since he gained immortality his soul had been totally disconnected from the pain of the Cruciatus. In time the Dark Lord let go of the spell and stared at John quite unable to speak.

"I'm sorry but I honestly don't know, Lord Tutu, this has never happened to me before. I wish I could get an explanation but I doubt anyone here knows either." A small silence followed. "I didn't really think so. Probably the only one to know would be Death himself and I'm not sure how to summon him. I do have an idea though."

The Dark Lord, ears a little red from his new title, regarded John silently for a moment and then asked the important question: "You think you can summon Death?"

"Yeah, I think so. He's not quite so adverse to making house calls, after all."

"Show me."

A few minutes and some unavoidable deaths later John was placing the finishing touches on a soon-to-be magical artifact, currently just an old rusty spoon. The rusty spoon in question had been used to kill a man, to destroy a soul and to feed a Dementor, now the only thing that remained was for it to house a soul. The soul in question would come from MacKinnon who'd been dumb enough to raise his hand when John asked for a volunteer.

"If you would, please," John offered to Lord Tutu.

"Avada Kedavra," was the only response, and John whipped his wand towards the now-corpse, catching a wispy form and fed it into the spoon. An eery glow began to emanate from the object.

"Now I think this should be attuned enough to make the call," John explained, picking up the object. He noted it felt quite similar to the skin of a rotten banana, which made quite a lot of sense in the end. Nobody liked rotten bananas. Raising the spoon to his ear with the fat end close to his mouth, John spoke out: "Hello, Mr. Death, would you be available for a quick talk?"

He patiently waited while next to him Lord Tutu's jaw had slackened to a mouth-open-wide face of bafflement. "You are? Great, we're at… Oh, you know already? Yeah, I guess I did send quite a few idiots your way. Yeah, sorry about that, always keeping you busy. Thanks, I appreciate that. You too, see you soon, bye!" He hung up the spoon and turned to Tutu: "Death said he'll be here in a jiffy."

As the Dark Lord was about to answer a flash of light alerted both of them to Death's arrival. Death looked just as one would expect, a bored looking man measuring in at just barely 3 feet, slowly nibbling on a carrot. He had high cheekbones with bright red cheeks and a potato-like nose above a small mouth. He was wearing saggy old pants and a hand-me-down jumper with the text "New Jersey 1947 Outdoors" on it.

"Sorry about the wait. And the carrot, I guess. I was just snacking when you called." Death explained, looking boredly at Lord Tutu, then turning towards John. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, Tutu here tried to kill me with the Killing Curse a few minutes ago and I didn't die, like I've usually done. It just kind of tickled a little. Now we were wondering why on earth would that be, I've never been immune to the curse before." John explained, animatedly waving his hands as a kind of pantomime of what had transpired.

"Oh, well that's easy. Your soul is not in your body anymore so of course the curse does nothing," Death said exasperated. "How daft are you, really?"

"Oh. Where has my soul gone off then?"

"Last I heard of him he was taking a vacation in Bali. The annoying bugger keeps calling me all the time."

"What?" Lord Tutu had finally gotten his voice back.

"Like I said, you dumb broad, he's in Bali!" Death spat.

"But what, how's that possible. And can you tell me how to become immortal?" Tutu continued, oblivious to the annoyed look Death was giving him.

"Yeah, sure, let me show you how. Dumb broad..." Death muttered, taking the Dark Lord by the hand and disappearing just as John raised his hand to wave goodbye.

Looking around him John saw that quite a few of Tutu's henchmen were staring at him, expecting some kind of explanation or at least reassurance that their Lord would be coming back. John simply shrugged: "He really shouldn't have asked Death for immortality. Really, what did he expect to happen?"

As no answer was forthcoming from the now lordless sheeple, John shrugged again and apparated his way towards Bali. He had some soul searching to do.