I cannot, I repeat, absolutely cannot, believe that I wrote it. I have never written any parody/humour kind of fic before, and so please excuse my rather poor sense of humour (it is after all, after midnight), and REVIEW.

Oh yes. Enjoy.

The Robe, the Patronus, and The Tombstone

It was a stormy night. Dark clouds hung menancingly, huge raindrops battered the earth endlessly, and the sky would occasionally be lighted up in a white flash of lighting that jagged across the wide expense of sky.

In the midst of it all, Lord Voldemort was having a meeting with his inner circle.

"So Potter and his friends will do this, and that... and then we shall capture them and..." Lord Voldemort was in one of his long-winded rants, again, and the Death Eaters tried to look as it they were paying attention rather than risk a bout of torture if their master knew that their thoughts had long wandered far away... very, very far away. Some of the more inept Death Eaters, like Goyle and Crabbe Senior, had utterly failed, and were now staring off into space and drooling.

"Thank goodness for impervious charms," Lucius muttered, out of the corner of his mouth, to the dark, hooded figure beside him.

"Yes, or else we would all be soaking wet right now." McNair replied, and he discreetly renewed the charm on himself again.

"My robes would have been ruined if it wasn't for that nifty charm- you know I just got it from this exclusive boutique in France? Look at the pure silver buttons, hand-made, of course, and the silk that it's made of. The owner informed me that it's Grade A acromantula silk, but I believe it's Grade A2 instead... look at this wrinkle!" Lucius whispered, smoothing one wrinkle out of his otherwise perfect robes. "You have no idea how glad I am that it doesn't get wet- the house-elves would never be able to restore it to its original condition."

McNair opened his mouth to reply, but Bellatrix, who was on Lucius's other side, had heard everything, and cut in sharply.

"You should be glad to get drenched in the rain for our Lord, the two of you, you –achoo!- should be glad to do anything for our Lord- achoo! If he asks you to come to a graveyard at midnight, especially a stormy one, you should be honoured- achoo!- that he wants you in his presence! Look at me- I am so loyal to my Lord- achoo!" Lucius snickered.

"Getting soaked for our Master isn't such a good thing then, Bella?"

"Well, at least the storm does add to the dramatic effect, Lucy," she hissed, though her tone was rather sullen.

Unfortunately, they had forgotten to keep their voices down, and Lord Voldemort had heard them talking. "What is going on here? Bella, Lucius? McNair?" he roared, and lighting chose to strike at that time, illuminating his face with a ghostly pallor. He had never looked so frightening, and everyone unconsciously shivered. Even Goyle and Crabbe, though their shivering was not caused by fear, but by more mature thoughts.

"Nothing happened, my Lord," they chorused together, and Voldemort bestowed a ferocious glare at them before he continued.

"Now, as I was saying, we will defeat Potter and his motley crew, because our knowledge of spells is much more extensive then them... BUT THERE IS ONE SPELL THAT THEY CAN DO BUT WE CAN'T!" The entire Inner Circle broke into hushed murmurs at that sentence.

"With all due respect, my Lord," Avery asked, "What is that spell?" He was promptly struck by Crucio, and lay on the ground screaming and crying. "You forgot to kneel when asking me a question, Avery! Do not do that again- or Lord Voldemort will not be so kind again."

"Anyway," he continued, "That spell is the Patronus. I am sure that you know what it does- not only does it act as messengers, but also frightens away Dementors." At that d-word, all those who had been in Azkaban trembled with fear. "I have heard that most of Potter's friends can produce a corporeal Patronus- but none of you can! Except me, of course." With that, he pointed his wand at a nearby tree, and a giant misty snake slithered out of it and curled around the tree before disappearing. "You see," said Voldemort smugly, "I am able to produce a Patronus- even if I do not have any happy thoughts. So I fabricate my own happy thoughts. That, of course, was caused by me thinking of Potter and the old coot Dumblydork hanging in front of me like trussed chickens."

"So," the most maliciously evil Dark Lord said, "I want you to practice the spell now, and anybody who doesn't succeed in producing something gets a private torture session with me."

Soon, the graveyard was filled with hooded people aiming their wands at random things, trying at least to get something out of their wands.

Bellatrix succeeded first. A light, misty vapour in the shape of a tall, skeletally-thin figure emerged from her wand. "Look, Master! I've done it!"

"Very good, Bella," said Voldie, "But naturally there is room for improvement. What is your patronus, anyway?"

"It's you, Master- I was thinking that you made me your queen, and we had many cute, red-eyed children together-" Bellatrix's eyes had become glazed, and Wormtail hastily choked back a hoarse sound that sounded like a sputter, while Lucius, ever the picture of supreme superiority, raised an elegant eyebrow in disdainful disgust.

"Erm... Very well, then. Continue practicing," For once, even the usually eloquent (mostly at gloating at others, though) Voldemort was lost for words.

Lucius was next. He thought of wearing the lost cloak crafted by Morgana le Fay, rumoured to be so beautiful that anyone who saw it would faint immediately, and then a proud silver peacock strutted across the graveyard.

Most, like Wormtail, had utterly failed to produce even an indistinguishable mist from their wand, and had slumpedagainstaslightly more comfortable, moss-covered tombstone, resigned to that private night of torture. Avery, sitting on theground with his back resting against a tombstone, had conjured a large picnic mat, ahot cup of tea and an éclair, and was sneakily munching on it when Lord Voldemort wasn't looking in his direction.

Surprisingly, Goyle and Crabbe did manage to turn out a blurred, misty shape that looked suspiciously like a Veela. Of course, being well-cultured, well-mannered, well-bred, and refined people, no Death Eater commented on that, choosing instead to snigger hide their sniggers behind their long, voluminous robes.

Lord Voldemort sighed. So far, less than ten Death Easters (sorry, Eaters) had even made anything come out of their wands. He banged his bald head against a tombstone, the one which Avery happened to be resting against on the other side, and immediately yelped. What else do you expect when bone meets granite? Suddenly, his eyes narrowed- was that an éclair beside Avery? He glanced down, and met said person's sheepish eyes.

"Tea, my Lord?" he asked meekly, holding up a big, steaming mug of tea right up to Voldemort's non-existent nose, conveniently blocking the half-eaten éclair,and Voldemort sniffed. That smelled so good-

"I've added a Calming Draught to it, my Lord," added Avery helpfully. "You certainly looked like you needed it."

Lord Voldemort snatched the mug from the man, gulped the whole thing down, and then tried not to shriek as the boiling tea burnt his mouth and throat.

REVIEW! And tell me which part you liked/disliked most- Lucius's robes, Bella's patronus, Avery's tea or Voldemort's bald head banging on the tombstone. I rather like that image myself.