Yo! Sorry about the wait. Things have been a little difficult lately. Anyway, thank you to all readers so far!
Voldemort wasn't sure if he had ever been more irritated before in his life. The damn Furby was hovering by his head, blinking and making eerily disturbing clicking* sounds with its plastic beak.
He'd used spell after spell, jinx after jinx, hex after hex, curse after curse, and absolutely nothing had worked. Not even a furious avada kedavra. He had no idea what Potter had done to the thing, but the toy appeared to be immune to all magic.
Speaking of Potter, there was another thing bothering him. The casually mentioned signs of what could only be abuse.
Each letter had a vague statement, and each only increased his suspicion. What was happening while the boy stayed with those Muggle relatives of his? What were they really doing to him? Did the old fool Dumbledore know? Was he ignoring it? Knowing the old man, it was likely. He'd done so before. More than once, too.
Why was Potter fighting for him then? Was he really that foolish? Surely not. So then, why? Despite the questions, the Dark Lord had no answers. ...He wondered what Severus knew, and why he'd never mentioned the abuse to him. He, of all people, was well aware of just how much the Dark Lord Voldemort despised child abuse.
But, just as he was about to summon the dour Potions Master-
"HOOOOOOT!"
"What the-!?" Voldemort whipped around just in time to see a small, puffy ball fly straight into the wall opposite the open window. Eyes narrowing and hoping it wasn't another Furby, he took a step forward. Before he could take a second, the tiny owl ("Thank Salazar!") shot back up into the air like the newest broom on the market and began whizzing about over his head.
"Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! Hoot! HoooOOOOT!"
"Get down here!" Voldemort demanded.
"...Hoot." The small bird froze, before hooting meekly and lowering down so Voldemort could access the letter tied to its leg.
"Sit over there!" he ordered, pointing at his throne, upon which the Furby was now resting. The owl released a sullen-sounding hoot, before doing as told. He was used to being put into timeout.
'Voldemort,
Well, broken noses are the least painful things I have to deal with around here. Honestly, it doesn't even matter anymore.
Wormtail, by the way, is fucking weird. Why the hell do you even keep him around? He's a total idiot. I bet he hasn't even told you he owes me a Life Debt, has he?
...Did it hurt you to be polite when you wrote that last letter? Either way, sorry, but I have absolutely no idea how to get rid of the Furby. Some friends of mine were the ones to charm it, not me, and the two of them are evil geniuses when it comes to this stuff. But I'll ask them for the counter if you ask nicely again!
Oh, and I'm sorry about Pig (the owl). I swear it's like he's high or something. ...Maybe Ron's a secret drug lord and Pig keeps getting into his stash. ...Actually, that would explain so much!
Have to go interrogate a friend now!
Harry Potter'
"Hiss..."
Voldemort didn't hear the sound at first, too focused on the letter he was reading. Needless to say, he wasn't very pleased that his Furby problem wasn't about to be solved just yet.
"Hiss..."
"H-hoot!?"
Now he looked over. Eyes widening, Voldemort dropped the letter, jumped back, and pulled out his wand. "Dear Mahal and sweet Yavanna, it's hissing!" The Furby was hissing-hissing-at the tiny fluffball of an owl.
It was terrifying.
Miles away, Harry Potter looked up from his essay (read: boredom-induced stupor). "...Why do I suddenly feel like hexing someone and reading the Lord of the Rings?"
Ron Weasley, who had been at the other end of the house, burst into the room abruptly. "Did someone just say onion rings!? I'm hungry!"
*If you've ever played/watched The Last of Us, think Clickers. Yeah. That's the noise the Furby's making. ...I don't even know. Don't ask. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!
