Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, cough drops, or the place where the scene is about to unfold. I do not own some of these puns, the settings, or Voldemort. I don't own the potions mentioned, either. The plot is based on books 1-6, starting at the end of book 5. I do, however, own most if not all of the plot for the drama about to unfold... this disclaimer goes for the rest of the chapters as well, mostly because I don't want to keep re-writing it.

A/N: read and review!

Chapter 1: Cough Drop, Anyone?

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A deep-voiced narrarator said, "Harry Potter, aged 15 years, had just faced off with Bellatrix Lestrange, an escaped Death Eater who murdered Sirius Black, Harry's godfather. Bellatrix is now weeping over the smashed prophecy about Harry Potter and her master, Lord Voldemort. No one thus so far knows what the prophecy was, as it was just stolen and destroyed from the Ministry of Magic, Department of Mysteries."

Harry looked around to see where the deep voice came from. The Ministry of Magic always had that sort of mystical weirdness to it that Harry had become used to in the wizard world. He was puzzled about the whereabouts of the voice for about 2 seconds, and afterwards, he regained his composure. Harry looked around him; however, there was not much time to look since a cloaked, dark figure who Harry knew all too well was approaching him...

This figure was Bellatrix's master, Lord Voldemort. He would have made a very powerful entrance, if it were not for his shaking figure. Harry thought that he heard muffled coughing and sniffing coming from underneath that cloak. Voldemort was obviously trying not to let his coughs echo around the vast room.

"Bellatrix, go, I need not hear your whimpering to me now," he said sharply, but in a wheezy voice. Bellatrix left, too scared of what could happen to her since the mission had failed to notice the difference in her master. He walked slowly, as if in pain, towards Harry.

"Harry," said Voldemort between coughs. His usually high-pitched voice was gone, and was replaced with one of asthmatic breathing and laryngitic symptoms; however, the coldness remained. "We meet again, fo-" Voldemort let out an extremely bronchial sounding cough, and finished with an extremely long sniff. He then resumed, "for the-" only to be interrupted by a severe coughing fit.

Harry, seeing the murderer of his parents in such a state, derisively laughed. Harry did not know what came over him... but somehow, even with his scar burning, he felt that Voldemort was no threat in his condition. The worse Voldemort could do to him was utter the killing curse, Avada Kedavra, but Harry knew that Voldemort could barely speak to do so.

"Stop laughing, b-" Voldemort was again interrupted by a coughing fit.

Harry looked at him. "The great and mighty Voldemort, succumbing to a common Muggle illness? Oh, how the mighty have fallen! Would you like a cough drop?" Harry laughed again. His sickly opponent could not even reply in his state.

Harry continued, "Of course you wouldn't, how silly of me. You hate Muggle anything. But you know, it really would help your case."

Voldemort finished hacking and looked Harry in the eye. Though Harry could not see Voldemort's features, his white-hot burning scar told him that his enemy was staring him down.

Voldemort walked his painful, slow walk towards Harry. "Shut up, boy, or you'll be joining your-" Voldemort stopped, trying to suppress a cough, though the cough was reluctant to be held.

"Ha, ha, good one, Voldy!" said Harry, who, for some reason unknown even to himself, continued to poke fun at his sickly nemesis. "How many times have I heard that 'you'll be seeing your parents soon' threat from you? And how many times has it been carried out? You'd think that perhaps you're never going to make me kick the bucket, as they say."

"You fool!" Voldemort had said this so vehemently that he exploded into another severe coughing fit.

"Yeah, I guess so. Makes me stupid I guess. But, hey, Hermione's the smart one." Harry observed his enemy. Voldemort was coughing so hard that the fit brought him to his knees.

Harry, stupidly, continued. "Oh, yeah, you are pretty old, considering that 50 years ago you were what, 16? You're like, 66 now. But still, you have a cold! ...or the flu... have you ever? Oh, I can't wait to tell Ron!" Harry giggled, still unknown to what force made him do such things.

"HARRY!"

Dumbledore.

"Dumbledo-"

Yes, it was Dumbledore, the famed headmaster of Hogwarts. With a cold fire in his eyes, he looked straight at Voldemort, who, after he attempted to say his name, continued hacking away. "I see that you are not doing well. Then again, you always were ill... ill at heart. Perhaps now it's finally getting to you physically. So, Tom, I ask, before we duel, are you sure that you do not wish a cough drop?"

Voldemort hated his real name, and he could not stand the fact that the only wizard he ever feared used it. But who was he kidding? He was not afraid of Muggle-loving weak-hearted sees-the-best-in-people Dumbledore! He stood up, wand in hand, eying Dumbledore with utmost loathing. Voldemort wondered, though, subconsciously, what the heck a "cough drop" was for some time afterwards.

"Right, then," said Dumbledore calmly, and cheerfully added, "but you know, they're quite soothing to one with a dry or irritated throat. Well, carry on, Tom."

And so, they dueled. It was over in a matter of seconds. Dumbledore won; however, Voldemort had not been brought to his knees by Dumbledore, but by the microscopic virus that had decided that he had made an excellent host. Spells had barely been cast.

"I told you, a cough drop would've done wonders... I particularly fancy the lemon ones...the honey ones are also quite good... not to mention cherry... too bad you won't take one..."

Voldemort picked himself up and held up his wand to Dumbledore, but he heard footsteps and voices in the distance... the distance not too far away. Voldemort knew that staying would risk exposure of himself and his weakness to the wizard world if he stayed, which to him would mean almost worse than death. So, in deep loathing of his weakness, he glared at Harry, whose scar erupted in pain, and then Voldemort, still wondering what the heck a "cough drop" was, Disapparated from the premises, just in time to escape the oncoming crowd.