Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; that should have rung a bell. I hate this stupid disclaimer; it should go to…

Chapter 5: The Beginning of the Failed Escape Plans

So, of course, Voldemort did try it. He thought with all his might. And then…

He was doing it! He was feeling his way into nothingness…

Then…

"YEOW!"

Some invisible shield was pushing him backwards, and hard, onto the floor of solid concrete.

"Uhh. My head."

See, reader, even the great Lord Voldemort could not push his way through a shield that Dumbledore had created. Voldemort may have been one of the greatest wizards ever, but that did not prevent him from being incapable of working against certain laws of magic.

Voldemort, as I had previously stated, hated all sorts of Muggles and distanced himself from them AMAHP. But he was compelled to think like a Muggle at this time.

"Hmm. Now, how do Muggles break out of heavily guarded jail cells? Well…"

Lacking in a wand was definitely not the best position for Voldemort.

He, sweating heavily, picked up the heavy bench that stood next to his bed and stood next to the bars on the door…

Crash! Crash! Crash!

"Have—to—get—out."

CRASH! CRASH!

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Security guards were watching little TVs that showed all the prisoners' doings, in case someone was planning something dangerous.

Jerry Stanford looked at a screen in surprise. He called over his friend, who was doing the watch with him. "Hey, Charlie. Look there, at Number one-thirty-nine."

"God, Jerry, what's he doing, then?"

"I dunno. Looks like some crazed idiot to me. What do we do?"

"Get him into a more secure cell."

Jerry pressed a button. "Hey, could you get over here? One-thirty-nine's showing some scary, psychological damage there. Yeah, uh-huh, um, yeah, okay, thanks."

He turned to Charlie. "They're on their way."

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Half an hour later, Voldemort still hadn't loosened the bars on his jail door. There is always a possibility; if not one, then two.

With grim determination, he resumed his banging on the jail door. And finally, finally someone came to release him!

In reality, they hadn't. Voldemort realized this when two large, burly security guards grabbed ahold of his arms and began to march him down to another cell.

"Unhand me, you filthy Muggle fiends. Avada Kedavra!" He then realized he was missing a wand.

"Hm. Jerry was right. He does have some weird disorders. Look at the stuff he's saying to us! And he's saying it so seriously, like it's supposed to kill us or something."

Voldemort was very angry.

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He was led to a massive cell. Only, it seemed to have cushions stuck to the walls. And there were cushions on the floor…and on the ceiling. What sort of cell was this?

"Hmpf." That was such an un-Voldemort thing to say that Voldemort blushed. Which was a totally un-Voldemort thing to do.

"Curses! Curses! How did these foolish Muggle fiends foil my plans! MY PLANS! Created by I, the master of all magic, and the greatest sorcerer in the world! How, how—HOW?"

The security guards who had brought him to this place came to the door.

"Hey, um, dude…"

"My name is not Dude. I am Lord Voldemort."

The guards looked skeptically at each other.

One spoke. "Sure—Voldi-emort—yeah."

The other said, "Anyway, you will be taken down. The doctor will see you now."

They both grabbed ahold of him and dragged him down to an office.

This office was clean and bright. Mahogany shelves held professional-looking books, with titles like, Please Stop Laughing At Me and Becoming more Secure. A long, leather chair was near the shelves. A large desk stood at the far end of the room. Sitting in another chair was a skinny little man in a suit, wearing round glasses, and holding a clipboard and a pen.

Voldemort was, for the first time, confused.

A/N: Okay, so Voldemort is getting to see a shrink. I kind of like that.