by Topaz
Disclaimer: "Flagpole Sitta" belongs to Harvey Danger. Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling or WB. The voices in my head belong to me, although they think I belong to them.
For a moment the students sat still, petrified with fright. Then Dennis Creevey shouted "Cool! It's Voldemort! Can I have your autograph?"
Voldemort looked unnerved. "Of course not, you silly boy. I shall kill you."
Dennis's eyes widened with awe. "Really?" He stared at Voldemort with an expression somewhat akin to that of a pious Christian upon meeting Jesus.
It occurred to Voldemort that he was losing the iniative. "Ahem. I have come to kill you and forever destroy Harry Potter!" he announced. There was a brief pause, and then Voldemort looked down. He was being mobbed by a group of small children, all frantically begging for his autograph.
"Welcome, Tom," Dumbledore said. Somehow his voice managed to beam. "Long time since we've last seen each other, hm? How have you been?"
Voldemort's eyes darted wildly around him. Somehow he had the feeling that things weren't going quite the way he had intended. "I'm here to kill you," he repeated, in case they hadn't heard.
"Yes, yes, we know," Dumbledore said agreeably. "We're in the middle of a sing-along. Care to join?"
Somehow, his feet seemed to walk down toward the microphone while the rest of him screamed for them to stop. Voldemort found himself standing at the mic, before a sea of faces. He feel sick. He'd always hated performing in front of people.
His mouth opened, and his voice box, ignoring his furious commands to shut up, began to vibrate. "I had visions, I was in them, I was looking into the mirror...to see a little bit clearer...the rottenness and evil in me."
The students watched, fascinated. No doubt they were the only people to ever see Voldemort sing.
"Fingertips have memories, mine can't forget the curves of your body."
Hermione choked. Ron looked horrified. Draco looked sick. Harry grinned.
"And when I feel a bit naughty I run it up the flagpole and see who still salutes (but no one ever does)." Voldemort cringed. Hearing yourself sing a humiliating song was bad enough, but when you add in the fact that he had the voice of a frog and couldn't carry a tune if it was glued to his hands...
"I'm not sick, but I'm not well..."
Hermione nodded. That was definitely true, except maybe the "not sick" part.
"And I'm so hot...cause I'm in Hell."
"No, you're in the Great Hall, and anyway, Snape's dungeon is pretty chilly," Harry argued. "Dunno why you'd be hot there unless you're an Eskimo wearing twenty layers of flannel."
"Flannel is nasty," said Parvati. Several people gave her weird looks and edged away.
"Been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding," Voldemort croaked.
Lavender looked indignant. "I'm not stup--" Seamus elbowed her in the stomach, hard.
"That's true," Snape said. "Only an idiot would have children. Nasty little buggers."
Voldemort found that he was blushing. "The cretins cloning and feeding...and I don't even own a TV!"
Ron looked blank. "What's a TV?"
"It's a box that shows a lot of sex and violence interspersed with ads," Harry replied, looking bored.
"Awesome," Dennis breathed. "Can I have one?"
"Put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me," Voldemort trilled. Inwardly, he thought: If they even try to commit me to a mental hospital, they'll...they'll...they'll regret it. "You told them all I was crazy!"
"Er...you ARE crazy," Ron pointed out in a sensible tone.
"They cut off my legs, now I'm an aputee, goddamn you!" Voldemort looked down. Yes, his legs were still there, thank goodness. "I'm not sick, but I'm not well. And I'm so hot, cause I'm in Hell."
Parvati handed him a fan. "Here, this might help."
"I'm not sick, but I'm not well..."
"I believe that's been established," Hermione said tactfully.
Voldemort glared at her, his eyes bloodshot. Well, they were normally bloodshot, but now they were even more bloodshot. Even the red veins were bloodshot and crossed with red veins. "And it's a sin to live so well. I wanna publish zines..."
"Reach for the stars, man," Dean said. "Follow your dream."
"And rage against machines..." Voldemort briefly wondered what a zine was. "I wanna pierce my tongue, it doesn't hurt, it feels fine..."
"No," Lavender said with the certainly of one who has been there, done that, "it does hurt. And you have to be careful what you eat afterward."
"I didn't know Voldemort was into jewelry," Ron said doubtfully.
"Body piercing is a sin!" someone yelled. "You're going to Hell!"
Voldemort rolled his bloodshot eyes. He was going to Hell? Gee, that was a shocker. "The trivial sublime...I'd like to turn off time...and kill my mind."
"I don't think that's possible," Hermione said, looking worried.
"You kill my mind..." Voldemort wondered if anyone there had a video camera and suddenly felt like fainting. "Paranoia, paranoia, everybody's coming to get me!"
"Er," said Harry, "not to, you know, upset you or anything, but it's not just paranoia. Everyone is kind of out to get you. You being Voldemort, and all. You know?"
Ron looked thoughtfully. "Maybe you should try Draco's shrink," he suggested.
"I don't have a shrink!" shrieked Draco.
"Well, you should," Ron said firmly.
"Just say you never met me, I'm running underground with the moles (digging holes)." Voldemort had never liked moles. Nasty little critters.
"Hear the voices in my head, I swear to god it sounds like they're snoring!" Voldemort sang. Now they were all looking at him strangely.
"Lucky," Draco said wistfully. "The voices in my head never shut up."
"But if you're bored, then you're boring. The agony and the irony, they're killing me!"
"Good riddance," someone muttered.
"I'm not sick, but I'm not well..."
"You said that twice," Hermione pointed out, "and anyhow, you are sick."
"And I'm so hot, cause I'm in Hell...I'm not sick, but I'm not well..."
Hermione glared at Voldemort.
"And it's a sin...to live so well..." His voice trailed off, and Voldemort gasped for breath, his unnaturally pale face now crimson with humiliation. Why had he never considered singing as a possible torture for captured Aurors and Muggles?
"That was a wonderful performance, Tom," said Dumbledore, beaming. "I didn't know you were a fan of Harvey Danger. Who wants to go next?"
"I'm here to kill you!" Voldemort repeated, shocked and offended that they would ignore him for so long.
"Yes, you said," Hermione said impatiently. "You know, you seem to have a problem with repeating things over and over again. Perhaps it's a sort of extended stutter."
Voldemort stumbled away from the microphone, cursing. "Everyone here has gone insane!"
"You should talk," Ron muttered.
"Can I plllleeeeeaaaaasssseee have your autograph?" Dennis begged.
Eyeballs bulging with fury, Voldemort whipped his wand out of his robes and tried to point it at Dumbledore, Hermione, and Dennis at the same time. Needless to say, he failed.
(To be continued. Obviously.)