A/N: I have the flu, so I wanted a character to suffer like I have to. I'm sure that the wizarding community has a cure for the common cold and flu though, since never in four years have Harry, Ron or Hermione been sick with it. As far as I know, the below fact regarding Hungry Jack's is correct- I doubt there are any outside Australia. Ratsac is a type of rat poison. It's spelt wrong, and I'm too lazy to look up the real name.

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Death Eaters scuttled madly about, visibly wincing every time a sneeze echoed in the ramshackle house. Above, Lord Voldemort was discovering some of the drawbacks to having a body. His ascension to power had been temporarily halted by a nasty bout of the flu. Bed-ridden and irritable, the Dark Lord was cheering himself up by making unfair requests to his minions.

"Oi! (Achoo) Worthlessssss rat guy!" he bellowed.

"Yes, my lord?" Peter Pettigrew asked, appearing in the doorway.

"Go get me a Hungry Jack'sss burger and a ssserving of curly friesss."

"But, sir, the nearest Hungry Jack's is in Sydney, Australia!"

"Thank you (achoo, achoo, achoo) for that uselesssss bit of trivia. Now go get my order or I'll start getting the cook to put Ratsac in your breakfast cereal again."

"Sir, how am I supposed to get to Sydney?"

"Can't you Apparate?"

"No sir. I failed the test twice and I couldn't get anymore lessons because everyone thought I was dead…"

"THAT WASN'T AN OPEN ENDED QUESSSSTION! THERE IS NO NEED FOR YOU TO WASSSTE MY PRECIOUS TIME WITH ANECDOTES ABOUT YOUR PATHETIC, WORTHLESS LIFE!!!" Voldemort screamed. Then he sneezed in Peter's general direction and pointed to a corner. "There'sss a broom. Have a nice flight."

Below him, the Death Eater's had fallen silent. A few of them chuckled at Peter's misfortune.

"Yessss, hilariousssss, issssn't it?" Voldemort shouted down. "You want to hear ssssomething that will really tickle your proverbial funny bones? WHEN I FOUND OUT WHICH ONE OF YOU BAS(achoo)TARDS CAME INTO THISSSS HOUSSSSE WITH THE FLU I WILL CUT YOU INTO LITTLE BITSSS AND HAND FEED YOU TO NAGINI!!" Coughing, he reached into his drawer for a throat lozenge to soothe the burning his outburst had caused in his already raw throat. He glanced at the doorway. "Don't look so smug, Mr Malfoy. You're my prime sssussspect. I know you've got one of thossse horrible, germ-ridden children."

"I do sir, but I assure you that Draco is not to blame. I only have to see him in the summer and at Christmas, and a good thing it is too. Whenever he's home he never shuts up. 'Father, can I have a car?' 'Father, why don't we have any pretty maids?' 'Father, can you teach me the Unforgiveable Curses?' 'Father, where's the key to the liquor cabinet?' Honestly, he drives me insane."

"Why are you telling me thisss?" Voldemort asked. "Do I look like your therapisssst?"

"You do actually. I mean, you're both pale and you've both got the same haircut. The only difference is, Dr Bluxwell has blue eyes and yours are all red and evil…" his voice dwindled away. Voldemort was making a valiant attempt at glaring him to death. "Anyway, Draco hasn't had the flu since he was a baby."

Voldemort screamed and Lucius Malfoy flinched. "What did I sssay about using that word in my presence?"

"You said 'don't ever use that word in my presence', sir." Lucius said. "Sorry, sir."

"It'sss too late for sssorry, the flashbacks are sssstarting already."

"Issss…" Lucius shook his head. The extra ssss's were easy to pick up if you talked to the Dark Lord for too long. "There anything I can bring you? An innocent bystander to kill perhaps?"

Voldemort shook his head. "No. Well, maybe another box of those rose scented tissuesss. And throw yourself off the roof for me, I'm too ssssick to do it."

"Certainly, sir."

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Voldemort pulled his down comforter over his head and hugged his fluffy bunny, Cuddlekins. He'd once been top of the game, the great Lord Voldemort.

**He'd been practising his menacing, floaty walk all week. He drifted up the garden path, past the roses and daisies and gerberas, marigolds, lily pond and honeysuckle.

He tore down their front door, never one for patience. He took a bit of wall and some honeysuckle with it.

It was supposed to be easy. All in a days work. First daddy Potter, then mummy Potter. Then bye bye baby Potter and off home for a cup of coffee and a good night sleep.

Killing Harry was supposed to be easy. **