Disclaimer: Isn't it a surprise that my name is not J.K. Rowling, thus indicating that I don't own Harry Potter?
Chapter 7: How Do You Feel About That?
The skinny little man smiled at Voldemort, who glared right back at him. You see reader; Voldemort did not appreciate appreciation from unworthy Muggles.
The little man smiled gently. "My name is Doctor Winkler. Why don't you have a seat, Mr. umm—?"
"Lord Voldemort."
Dr. Winkler looked very confused. "Lord whom?"
"I—am—Lord—Voldemort."
The doctor turned to one of the guards and whispered, "You were right. The prisoner does seem to have several behavioral issues."
"I heard that, Muggle filth. And I am lord Voldemort."
"Of course you are."
"Hmm. If I were properly armed, Muggle, you would be nothing more than a pile of dust at the moment. Or I would torture you with a Cruciatus Curse, and you would be reduced to a useless, gibbering being. Ahh, the Cruciatus Curse; one thousand years of pain!"
Winkler scribbled away on his clipboard. "Takes—pleasure—in—suggesting—violent—methods—of—dealing—with—pressure—from—those—who—want—to—help. Possibly—result—of—child—abuse—from—wealthy—parents."
"What's that, Muggle fiend?"
"Erm, nothing, Mr. Lord."
"Lord Voldemort."
"Of course, Lord, Voldy-emort."
"Not too bad, for a Muggle fool."
Voldemort was feeling powerless without his wand. He'd gone too long with it.
"So…erm, sir, tell me about your childhood."
"Childhood?"
"Erm, yes, your time as a child."
"I know what childhood is, you stupid, filthy Muggle fiend!"
"Shush, shush, no need to get violent. So?"
"Grew up in a filthy Muggle orphanage, hated Muggles, Muggle woman stupid, realized powers at eleven thanks to Dumbledore, still hated my childhood…that's all?"
"Okay, we're getting somewhere. And how do you feel about that?"
"Oh you Muggle fiends are truly stupid. Did I not indicate how much I hated that filthy Muggle place?"
"Yes, yes, kinder language will be more welcome."
"Shut up, Muggle fiend."
"Now, what does 'Muggle' mean to you? Is it your own word? It's quite charming, but it seems to have a rather negative connotation."
"Oh, stupid Muggle fiend, of course its connotation is negative. You are a stupid Muggle fiend, I was brought here by stupid Muggle fiends, et cetera."
"You still have not defined what you mean by a, um, 'Muggle-fiend'."
"You are a Muggle fiend, you fool. Now shut up, before I pull out your windpipe."
Winkler was scribbling away again.
"And—how do you feel about using this language?"
"Don't know, don't care."
"How do you feel?"
Stony silence.
"You don't want to tell me?"
Silence.
"Come on."
Silence.
"Now, now, the nice doctor's here to help you."
"Isn't that what Healers say before they force nasty-tasting potions down your throat?"
Winkler tore his hair in frustration and yelled loudly.
"AAAAAHH!"
A security guard burst in. "Everything okay?"
"NO IT IS NOT OKAY! THIS IS THE MOST ORNERY, OBSTINATE, PIG-HEADED PATIENT THAT I'VE EVER COME ACROSS!"
"Well, if you…"
"NO IF!" The clipboard narrowly missed Voldemort's head as the skinny little doctor flung it across the room with amazing force. "I QUIT!"
He stomped out of the room, looking very, very angry.
The security guard had to smile.
A/N: I based Voldemort off one of my friends, because she's extremely amusing and she's in pretty much all of my classes, so I hear her talk—a lot. Not that that's bad, Tailia, but it is a little disconcerting to hear you threaten to pull out my windpipe, or various other methods of torture when I take my seat in classes. :) Thanks to those who have reviewed; your reviews mean a lot.
