Things Much, Much Worse than Death
By: Knucklehead McSpazatron
Summary: Voldemort finds out what exactly Dumbledore means by "things worse than death".
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and her affiliates. He doesn't belong to me and that alone should make him thank his lucky stars. If I did own him, I'd drag him along with me to the happy house for show and tell.
Voldemort was relatively happy. He'd pulled off several successful raids, tortured 3 impudent new recruits, and Lucius Malfoy had given him a nice new pair of bunny slippers for next to no reason at all. He'd named them Larry and Joe. Said bunny slippers were currently on his feet, wondering what they had ever done to deserve being so close to him and his foot fungus. Sadly, it doesn't seem they'll ever get their answer.
Lord Voldemort was currently in his private bedchambers, wearing silky purple pajamas, and humming 'I feel pretty' around his toothbrush. Soon, he decided that he needed something to compliment his humming, so he started dancing. Unfortantly, his dancing reminded him of muggles, muggles reminded him of mudbloods, mudbloods of blood traitors, blood traitors of Dumbledore, and Dumbledore (for some reason) of dancing.
It was a vicious cycle.
His happy mood thus evaporated, Voldemort climbed into his large sleigh bed, downed a glass of warm milk left for him by Wormtail, and settled in for a good night's rest, all the while trying to prep his sleep for good dreams about torture, and not irritating ones about lemon drops.
Unbidden, a phrase floated through his brain as he was about to fall asleep. It was one he'd heard Dumbledore say to Potter, one that made him snort with suppressed laughter. "There are many things much worse than death." As if. And with that, Voldemort, Dark Lord, Terror of the Wizarding World, drifted off. It's probably a good thing he didn't notice that someone had charmed his bed sheets a bright yellow, with large unicorns and bunny rabbits prancing about.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Voldemort's Dream - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He was standing in a room. This room wasn't big, but it wasn't quite small either. It had a single door across from where he was standing, a couch and armchair in a muted burgundy, a shag rug, and a crackling fire. It was, all in all, a rather cozy room, and he was getting sick to his stomach at the sight.
The door opened and he turned his attention back to it.
The most surprising form stood in the frame.
Messy black hair, emerald green eyes, and a lightning bolt scar met his eyes. He growled at the thought that Potter had infiltrated his dream. Potter's face broke out in a happy grin. The Gryffindor walked across the room saying "Voldie-Poo". Before he could react, Potter hadthrown his arms around his neck, closed his eyes, and leaned in, lips puckered, for a large, wet…
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -End Dream- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
For the first time in nearly half a century, Voldemort woke up screaming.