The Longest Short Story Ever Part VII:
Voldemort had been relieved that Chaos's depressed phase was over, but that didn't mean it was all peachy, of course. It was hard to be peachy when you were the villains. Not because being evil was depressing, of course. Mainly because they lost.
Voldemort's loss was stupefying. To this day, he looked back on the final duel with great shame. It was ridiculous. He'd been killed with a bloody disarming spell? He wasn't sure how to handle the shame. With looks like his, sticking out was inevitable. In the bad-guy world, Voldemort was laughingstock.
Sure, it was better than being Scorpia - they'd been defeated by one measly muggle child. Who was fourteen. At least Harry had been seventeen. And a wizard. With the Elder Wand. That did make him feel better.
But he was still laughingstock. Even Galbatorix had popped in from Eragon-world to laugh at him. Which was unbearable, because Galbatorix was really just a knock-off version of a proper Lord of the Rings villain. Voldemort's original character wasn't sure he could handle the horror of it any longer.
The trouble was, he couldn't even avenge himself! Go after Harry Potter again?
Puh-leez.
He'd spent seven years hunting down that idiot baby. It was bad enough the baby had killed him – kind of – in the first place! Really.
His CV was humiliating.
Voldemort: Darkest wizard in history. Outwitted death. Found the Elder Wand. Talked to snakes. Killed by way of baby.
Returned from the half-dead. Killed again by a disarming charm.
(also, killed by love).
Sirius Black had been killed by drapery. But even he didn't have it as bad as Voldemort.
"Really, Bella," he moaned to her one day, clutching his bald head with his hands. "What did I do to deserve this, I ask you?"
Bellatrix was silent.
"It's so unfair," he wailed. "Harry Potter? Oh, he's the hero. Even though I did all the hard work. Who created seven horcruxes? Who re-opened the Chamber of Secrets? Who took the Elder Wand from the dead Dumbles? Wasn't him, I can tell you that!"
Bellatrix was privately relieved Voldemort was too bald to be emo.
Voldemort's lower lip trembled and he took a look at himself in the mirror. This was pathetic. He needed to cheer himself up. He'd already seen the Twilight movie – "Ssssparkly vampires?" was all he could utter – so that wasn't going to work. What he needed was something epic.
So he did what all people did when they wanted something epic.
He went to Alex Rider.
--
Alex crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Voldemort skeptically.
"You want me to cheer you up?" he demanded. "Do I look like bloody Dr. Phil to you?"
Voldemort bit back a cutting retort and spoke disdainfully. Well, as disdainfully as someone groveling for help could. "I'm just asking if you know someone who knows someone, you know. That's all."
"What's in it for me?" asked Alex shrewdly.
"Does there have to be something in it for you?" whined Voldemort.
"Well, duh," said Alex, rolling his eyes. "I didn't get where I am by doing stuff for free."
"You work for Alan Blunt! How much have they paid you for saving the world seven times, Alex?"
"Hey," said Alex, looking insulted. "Eight times. Crocodile Tears is out."
"Please, Alex?" pleaded Voldemort. Alex eyed him for a few moments.
"I suppose I can recommend you to Smithers," he said at last.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" said Voldemort fervently.
"Don't thank me," muttered Alex. "I'm just doing it because I want to save us all the sight of an emo Voldemort, that's all."
Voldemort hung his head. "I already tried. It's the baldness. It's sad."
---
"Have a cuppa, old chap?" said Smithers kindly, looking at Voldemort's morose expression. "You look like you could use it. You're dreadfully pale."
"Oh, that's just for dramatic effect," said Voldemort with a sigh, accepting the teacup graciously. "Pale is in, you know?"
"Like that Edward Cullen chap, eh?" said Smithers, laughing heartily. Voldemort choked on his tea. He was going tanning, that was for sure.
"So – I was wondering, if you might have anything to help me," he said after a pause, trying to make his freakish slitty eyes look hopeful.
"Oh, a gadget or something of the sort, you mean?" asked Smithers brightly, putting down his own tea. "I was wondering about that ... Alex told me, see. Wonderful boy, he is."
Voldemort grunted.
"... well, I might, but I do want to know why you simply can't use one of your marvelous wand tricks. Those Cheering Charms are something else. I had Harry – "
Voldemort cringed. "Please refrain from using the H word in my presence."
"Oh, sorry," said Smithers hastily. "What I meant to say was, why not use your magic?"
Voldemort sighed heavily. "I don't know. Bella says it's because I've depended on magic so much during my life, doing something normally would be a refreshing change. The other day, I tried walking. You know, without flying or Apparating or any of that stuff. It was exotic, my knees were wobbling, but it was really fantastic."
"Ah," said Smithers wisely. "In that case, I know exactly what you'd need. Unfailing trick, saw it on Grey's Anatomy."
He pushed his hand into his pocket and brought out a very sparkly stick.
Voldemort stared. "What is that?"
"It's the most fantastic pick-me-up ever," said Smithers reverently, looking at it. "I just discovered what a cure it can be. I call it the Smeyer Vampire Wand."
"It ... sparkles ..." said Voldemort stupidly. Indeed it did. The wand had been bedazzled with dozens of precious stones and diamonds and more glitter than the world had seen before.
"Well, yes," said Smithers reluctantly. "But you see, I discovered that sparkles are something of a novelty to villains. You see, villains are usually surrounded in blackness and darkness and whatnot, it gets kind of dull. It's no wonder you're all depressed. Well – apart from the Joker, I suppose. But he's awesome."
Voldemort was reaching out for the glittering wand, entranced. "Can I have it?"
Smithers pulled back. "Wait a moment. You must promise to use this wand for good – not for evil – "
"Give it to meeeeeeeeeeeee!" screeched Voldemort. "WANT. TAKE. HAVE!"
He jumped over – the tea spilled, and snatched the wand away from Smithers, before clutching it to his chest. "Ah, my precioussssssss!"
(and he thought Galbatorix was a Lord of the Rings knock-off).
Then he Apparated away, back to wherever the bad guys were.
Smithers brushed himself off, looking disgruntled. "That's why I hate dealing with the evil ones. So unscrupulous. No manners whatsoever."
He picked up the remnants of his teacup resentfully.
"Good thing it was made in China anyway."
--
Voldemort went back to Bella, waving his sparkly wand triumphantly. "Bella! I have returned! And the bounce has returned to my step! I'm baaaaaaaack!"
Bellatrix's face lit up. "Oh, my Lord, what has made you so happy again? What finally worked?"
"Guess," he said smugly, waving his Smeyer Vampire Wand around pointedly.
"You watched New Moon!" said Bellatrix breathlessly.
"No!" he said in disbelief. "I found a glitter wand! Oh, Bella, you don't know what a shiny object will do for the soul. I always did love those."
Bellatrix stared at the wand. "It ... sparkles."
"It glitters!" he corrected her. "And it is the new joy of my life! Oh, the way spells come out of this one. It's awe-inspiring. Crucio! Avada Kedavra! Oh, Bella, can you hear those screams of joy in the distance? Music to my ears. I would gladly be killed by this wand."
"You're just saying that," she grumbled.
"Well, yes."
Bellatrix looked hopeful. "Did you get me one?"
"No!" he said majestically, looking down his nonexistent nose at her. "Glitter wands are for Dark Lords only, Bellatrix. It would do you well to learn that."
Bella turned to leave, looking disgruntled.
"It's gay, anyway." She muttered under her breath as she left. Voldemort spun around, looking at her departing figure.
Oh no she di'in't!
Or did she?
He looked back down at his Smeyer Vampire Wand and shrugged.
THE END.
