Alright, so this one is dedicated to a friend of ours. He came up with the idea one day when we were talking about weird pairings that somehow have become common. Our fedoras are off to you, good sir.

Chapter Eleven:

Oh, the Sweet Smell of Nothing

The Dark Lord was nervous: very, very nervous. He was actually rather ashamed of the fact since he was the most feared wizard of all time. It was a tough position to hold. The Death Eaters and the Wizarding community expected him to be dark and overbearing and killing people all the time, but here he was, their fearless leader quaking in his Furbie print underwear. Standing before the calendar, Voldemort was finally reminded of a very important fact. It was crucial to his own existence besides that of the Best Sorcerer in the World. Today was his anniversary.

He was not married, but it was not exactly just a dating relationship. Everyone knew that she was enamored with him. However, they all assumed that it was one way. Only his sweet Bella knew that he was madly in love with her as well. And here he was gawking at the calendar. He had almost forgotten that today was their semi-official second anniversary, and he had no gift for her. The Dark Lord was in deep poopy if she found out.

To give him some credit, it had been a difficult past few months. Harry Potter was no where to be found, and the Elder Wand was proving almost impossible to find. He'd even murdered some Bulgarian woman and her two kids in the former house of Gregorovitch on his quest. Murdering people did not bother him, but the fact that the Bulgarian Ministry now had their Aurors out after him and his Death Eaters was annoying and troublesome. If he had known that killing some lady and her brats would cause such uproar, Voldemort would have just wiped their memories instead. The Dark Lord had only returned from his most recent search the night before, and now again he was in a pile of doo-doo.

He shifted his eyes about his room. It was a wreck: dark billowy robes lay spread across the bed, the chairs, his table, and even in the shower. The books that he had left in a pile before his journey now were scattered across the floor, note paper pouring out like jointed insect legs. There was nothing valuable here to give Bella. It was also imperative that he tell Wormtail to clean this room after the next meeting. He found it much more satisfying watching the rat of a man scrub the ebony floors than to see a house elf do the same maneuver with a magic snap.

It would also be impossible to go shopping, seeing as he was still in a sense a wanted mass murderer. The Dark Lord also lacked skills in disguising himself, so that was out of the question. He would have to remind Severus to brew him some Polyjuice Potion in case he ran into an event like this again. "Perhaps I should make a list of these things next time," the Dark Lord said to himself.

Voldemort then slipped on one of his robes; it was time to get down to business. He then summoned a couple house elves he was now familiar with. Going out right now was not an option, for Bella was living in the room at the other end of the hall. If it were not for the fact that the Death Eaters needed to appear good, the Dark Lord would have bought his own flat by now. It figured he was seventy-one and still had yet to own his own place. He grinned: Voldemort now had an idea.

OoO

Somewhere in the world, in a rather peaceful suburb there lived a Muggle boy. This boy loved taking photographs and wearing fedoras, but most of all, this boy loved his nose. It was quite a giant nose that many called a beak and various other names, yet it was his pride and joy. There was no one in the world with a nose quite like his; in fact, several people theorized that an evil alien lived behind it, but that was another story.

One day, this young Muggle boy named Gabe walked happily down his street. He had just developed his most recent photos of a tea party one of his friends had thrown. Gabe whistled as he tilted his black and gray striped fedora to just the right angle; today was a good day. However, he did not know that on this day his life would change. As he reached the hedges in front of his house, a masked man popped out, brandishing a white stick threateningly.

"Put your hands up!" hissed the man in some sort of accent. Gabe did as he was told, not quite sure what to make of the situation. The man was cloaked so it was very hard to determine how tall the man was. From the little skin exposed, the boy could tell that the man was unnaturally pale, almost as much as the skeleton mask he wore. Then Gabe gasped: not because of the blood-red eyes behind the mask, but because the man had no nose. "Give me your nose!"

"No!" exclaimed the boy, rightfully terrified. "Wait! How am I supposed to give you my nose? I can't just take it off my face."

The man lowered the stick for a couple seconds in thought, but quickly raised his stick again. "I-I'll hex it off!"

"You'll what?" asked Gabe. "Look I don't know what kind of game you're playing here-"

But then the man shouted, "Sectumsempra!"

Gabe yelped as his nose came clean off his face. The masked man cackled as he hoisted his beautiful nose up into the air. "Victory is mine!" he hollered, running off. Unknown to the Dark Lord, Gabe had a special power. After crying for a few minutes over his precious nose, it grew back.

"Oh, that was close," sighed Gabe. Shrugging lightly, the boy walked back into his house in order to start pasting his new photos into an album for all of his friends. It was not quite the same, but it was still his nose.

OoO

John Wilson was having a normal day for that of a London real estate agent. He had shown off a few houses earlier that morning and was quite sure that the last one would sell within the next couple days. As he sat in his usual coffee shop sipping a mocha latte, his personal phone began to ring. John wondered who could be calling him now; perhaps it was his boss or his wife, Jaime. But when John answered the phone, someone barked at him from the other end.

"Get over here quickly!" snapped a man's voice on the line.

"Who are you and how did you get this number?" questioned John, a bit nervous.

"It was on your sign, you twat!" sneered the man. He then gave the address of a flat that John had been trying to sell for the past year. John thought about asking someone to go with him, but a customer was a customer. He would just be extra careful.

When he pulled up in front of the building, John saw one of the strangest sights in his life. It had not been a man on the line, but instead an extremely ugly woman. She had bright orange hair styled in a messy perm. Her face was painted with obnoxious pinks, reds, and blues. Horn-rimmed glasses sat on top of a beak of a nose. She had even mixed a plaid coat with a floral printed dress! Mr. Wilson had to remind himself, 'A customer, is a customer.'

The woman looked up at him as he shut his car door. "Mr. Wilson?" she asked in her very manly voice.

"Yes, and you are?" asked Mr. Wilson.

"Mrs… Malfoy…" stated the woman hesitantly, red eyes roving the pavement. She then stood there for three minutes before jutting her hand out.

Mr. Wilson shook it reluctantly. "Well then, Mrs. Malfoy, let me show you the flat." He led her up a flight of stairs to the second floor and then to the flat in the corner. It was a bit of a fixer-upper with all the peeling paint, so it was no surprise that it hadn't sold yet. However, it only took five minutes before Mrs. Malfoy spoke up.

"IT'S PERFECT!" she shouted in strained excitement. John Wilson jumped several feet before he registered what she had said.

"Oh.. well then, I shall bring the paperwork by your place tomorrow," he began saying.

Mrs. Malfoy cut him off. "That's alright. We can just fill it out now."

"But Madame-"

John could not remember what happened after that. All he knew was that when he went back to the office that afternoon the flat was sold and the legal process done. He was glad to be rid of the place.

OoO

Bellatrix Lestrange could not understand why the Dark Lord had called her out to this part of town. It was very out of the way of the Wizarding section of London, but he was the Dark Lord. She took out the piece of parchment that had appeared on her bed. "Flat 12B," she read to herself. She burned the note before entering the building. When she reached the door she noticed the sign on it read, 'Malfoy.' Bellatrix knocked tentatively.

To her astonishment and relief, one of her sister's house elves opened the door. "Tilly will take Mistress Bellatrix's cloak if she wishes," said the elf. She thrust the robe at the creature and then strode into the main room. The place was larger than it looked from the outside, and cleaner than the lobby. Fresh paint had been enchanted on the walls and the décor was in a sense oddly fashionable.

As she walked into the dining room, she gasped. Candles floated around the high ceiling and at the other end of the room sat her master. "My Lord!" she exclaimed. "What is going on here?"

"Sit with me," he ordered. Bella almost swooned into the chair; his orders made her do that. The meal was quite good: roast hippogriff thigh, tentacula leaf salad, mead, treacle tarts, and a flaming pudding among other things. Voldemort snapped at the elves to leave after the dishes were done and led her off through the rest of the flat.

The last room they reached was the bedroom. Bella forgot that the Dark Lord had no sense of décor. Bright pink paint graced the walls, fuchsia carpet lay on the floor, and under the countless heart pillows and unicorn plushies and Furbies was a magenta floral bedspread. Merlin, this room was ugly.

"My Lord," inquired Bellatrix once more, "what is this?"

He had gone to lie among the overly cutesy bed decorations. "Why, this is my gift to you."

"Unicorn dolls?" she asked. Anger was welling up within her. "And those creepy Muggle toys?"

"DON'T CALL FIFI CREEPY!" he bellowed, grasping one of the toys and stroking it protectively.

"Well it is!" she hollered back. "Why do you insist on decorating your room like this?"

"It's not just my room," he explained menacingly. "It's our room."

"Our room?" she questioned, obviously surprised.

"Yes," he said, rubbing his temples. "I bought this place for the two of us to share until I dominate the world. Then we shall have our own castle with Muggle slaves serving our every whim."

Bellatrix blushed deeply. The Dark Lord- her Master- had bought this apartment to spend time with her. She was about ready to faint. Sure the room was less than desirable, but it was something that they could share together. She sat down on the bed next to Voldemort and held his cold, bony hands.

"Happy Anniversary, Bella," the Dark Lord whispered into her ear.

"Happy Anniversary," Bellatrix murmured back.

"Kah may-may u-nye."1

"I love you too, Fifi."

And that is why VoldemortxBellatrix should never happen. It's just creepy. While we admit Bella has an unhealthy obsession for her master (Seriously, what's up with people named Bella who have unhealthy obsessions for pale freaky people?) Voldie just doesn't like her back, folks. He only has eyes for Fifi—We mean Nagini. Yeah, Nagini. On a side note, sorry about your nose, Gabe. It just had to happen.

1: I love you in Furbish. We're not even kidding.