Yo. You know, I'm honestly surprised you guys think this is funny. Humour is not my strong point. Thank you to all readers so far, and an extra thanks to the two who gave me the ideas for certain bits of this chapter!

Voldemort had no idea what to do. The Furby, the foul, cursed Furby was alive. It was alive, craved his attention, and absolutely hated when anyone came near him, whether they were man or animal. Oddly enough, it behaved like a jealous toddler.

The Dark Lord still had no idea how to get rid of it. With magic not helping him at all, he resorted to Muggle means, though, unfortunately, they didn't seem to help either. Not even the gun!

He'd even apparated to the Canadian arctic, buried the Furby under the snow and ice, and returned to his manor, satisfied. Well, at least until the next day. Upon waking in the morning, he found the blasted Furby sitting in the middle of his throne, hissing menacingly at a cowering Bellatrix.

Everyone feared the Furby.

And with good reason too. How the hell had the toy even made it back to the manor anyway? He'd left the thing across a bloody ocean! Potter had better give him the counter now. A living Furby was the last thing he wanted to deal with. The stupid thing wouldn't stop following him either!

"Yes!" Voldemort was quite pleased when Potter's snowy white owl flew into the room. She landed in front of him, barely passing the hissing Furby a glance, seemingly unimpressed, and he took the sheet of parchment she had clamped in her beak.

'Voldemort,

I'm so sorry! I have no idea what my friends did to that Furby, but it definitely wasn't meant to come to life! I managed to get the counter from them though. They said you have to hug it, and doing so will negate the spells they placed on it. But they also said that if it's really alive now, the counter might not do anything.

Why not try locking it in a room with Wormtail? If anyone deserves the torture of dealing with a sentient Furby, it's that fucker.

No, of course, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?

Harry Potter'

Voldemort stared at the letter, a deep frown on his face. He was going to have to embrace the toy? He wasn't quite sure he wanted to touch the thing. But...doing so would probably help, right? With Bellatrix in the room though, he certainly wasn't going to do it here. He did have an image to protect, after all.

He walked out of the room and the Furby followed him. He led it to his study, locked the door, and turned to the toy, a vein in his temple twitching. This had better work. He had things to do and didn't have the time for this nonsense. He had far too many plans in motion to be ruined by a damned toy!

Glaring viciously, Voldemort steeled himself, grabbed the Furby, and brought it to his chest, embracing it tightly. He held it there for a moment, then dropped it in pure disgust. It didn't move.

Relieved, Voldemort moved to the cabinet at the side of the room and poured himself a drink. He definitely needed one...or three. Still, he was glad. One of his plans needed to be finalized in the next few days, especially as classes at Hogwarts were to begin in the next three weeks or so, and this plan had to be put into motion before then.

He would begin tomorrow.

Settling into bed for the night, Voldemort allowed sleep to overtake him. It took some time, but the drinks he'd had earlier helped. He was finally beginning to fall asleep...

"Daddy!"

Crimson eyes snapped open.

The hug and the daddy were the two ideas given by a reviewer/commentator-no, I can't remember your names right now, and my internet is being weird. Sorry, but thanks for that! Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!