"I will not give you piggyback ride," responded Bellatrix snottily.
Voldemort stared at her. "There is no room for idscussion on that matter."
"Yes there -"
"- Nuh uh."
"Volde -"
"- Nuh uh."
"Oh my -"
"- Shut up."
(61 tries and nuh uh's later)
"Bella, let's just pack some party clothes. I may have a few garmets for you," exclaimed Voldemort excitedly.
He trotted happily to his bedroom, and swung open the closet doors.
"Voi-la!" he announced with florish.
Bellatrix raised her right eyebrow.
Voldemort's face dropped. "Well?" he said dissapointedly.
"I'm trying, I'm trying... I don't see anything spectacular. It's all nice... and... black."
"Well," Voldemort said impatiently, "There's dark black, light black... and black and black stripes!"
"O... kay."
"Anyways, that's not my party attire. Now... here-" Voldemort pushed the clothes aside, revealing sparkley, tie-dye garmets. "- are the groovy, hip clothes!"
Bellatrix snorted. "Yes, they were hip like 50 years ago!"
"I still think they are extremely chic. Very... a la mode. Tres jolis. Muy... cool. So..."
"Okay, I get the point. I still think they are horrendously... ugly," said Bellatrix coolly.
"...Shut up, dipshit."
"Fine, asscap."
"Stop being a craphead."
Bellatrix was sputtering, trying to think of more insults, but failing.
"I win!" cried Voldemort triumphantly, "This means you get a ... kick in the ass!"
"What the... fucking fuck?!"
Voldemort kicked Bellatrix's ass. Bellatrix punched Voldemort in his non-existant nose.
(severed limbs, bloody noses) (pow pow) (insert fight scene)
"Let's... pack..." gasped Voldemort. Limping, he took his Louis Vuitton knapsack and stuffed in some brightly colored, very "picturesque" clothes. He also left some on the side for them to wear on the journey.
"Dude, I'd be so ... embarrassed wearing those," muttered Bellatrix, "What if there are hot guys there?!"
Voldemort replied annoyed, "You can... either... wear these, or go naked. Your choice on which one is more embarrassing."
There was a thoughtful pause.
"Do you have a size M, womens?"
Hogwarts, Gryffindor common room
"...Let's just... go to bed."
"Okay, not with you, though, Drake."
"Stop thinking like that, Harrian," muttered Drake. At least not yet, he thought, smirking.
Hermione giggled nervously. Her story was coming along well, if a bit perverted. This story better stay secret, though, she'd be so embarrassed if anyone found out she was writing it. The most embarrassing thing in the world, probably. She was wrong.
One mile from Hogwarts
"I am so embarrassed," wailed Bellatrix. She looked down, picking at her huge, tie-dyed shirt, her ragged, neon purple bellbottoms, and zebra-striped stilletto boots. Her hair was crimped and in a pink and yellow polkadotted hair band. Her makeup- done by Voldemort himself - made her look like a run away, amateur circus clown.
"You look pretty good, I think," retorted Voldemort. "The makeup looks stunning, the outfit is just plain sexy."
"You look like an ugly rock star," sneered Bellatrix, wrinkling her nose at Voldemort's selection of a green leather jacket, tight tie-dyed shirt, and terribly tight leather pants. He was wearing also an oversized pair of sunglasses, to hide his glaring red eyes.
"Thanks Bella."
They trudged on to Hogwarts, and again, slipped into the castle unnoticed. Or so they think. Dun dun dun....!
As soon as they entered the Great Hall, hoards of students started to rush towards them.
"Oh my god, we've been recognized," whispered Voldemort, terrified, "What do we do, oh dear god, what do we do?!"
"Stay calm, my Lord," Bellatrix whispered back.
One of the faster students rushed up to them, and peered at Voldemort closely. "Oh my gosh!" she shrieked, "It really is Mortimer from the Trash 'N' Wizards band!!"
The other girls shrieked with delight, and rushed up to him, trying to touch him.
"Mortimer! Trash 'N' Wizards!" the students chanted.
"Fine, don't give me any attention," muttered Bellatrix with jealousy.
One of the girls turned to Bellatrix. Voice dripping with envy, she said, "Are you the one he's dating, you old hag?"
Bellatrix gasped. "I am totally not a hag!"
"So you are the one he's dating?" asked another girl rudely.
"Of course n -"
"Of course she is," cut in Voldemort smoothly. "We're getting married, actually. Soon."
Bellatrix looked horrified, and when looked at expectantly from the girl, nodded painfully.
"Okay, girls," announced "Mortimer" smugly, "I'll be signing autographs later, but for now, we must get our rest."
"Bye Mortimer! We love you!" the girls chanted.
Bellatrix and Voldemort hurried away. When they were out of earshot, Voldemort whispered, "Whew, that was close."
"By the way, if you were confused, we are not getting married. Dipshit," said Bellatrix.
Slytherin common room
Draco sat glumly on his bed, quill poised above a blank parchment. How do you convince someone to go with you to the dance? Maybe he should bribe her or something. Or threaten her. Or ... he sighed.
Dance. You. Me.
Got it?
- Drake.
(Oh yes, I do know about your book.
Think about it as another reason why you would want to go with me. Wink wink.)
That should do it, smiled Draco evilly. Blackmail was one of his favorite pasttimes.
*****
Sorry for the slow updates. But like most of you, I do indeed have a life. Uh, well hopefully if was sufficient, and review or else I will hurt you.