Dancing 'The Funky Chicken'
By Greenfly
Disclaimer: I also don't own The Funky Chicken
"My Lord." A Deatheater swept into the almost abandoned hall and knelt before his seated master, head down and billowing cloak settling gracefully into a fan around him.
"Ah, Severus. I believe you have some news for me?" Voldemort liked this chap. Sure he was little too close to the Bumblingbore for Voldemort's liking… but with that billowing charm Severus Snape was onto a definite winner.
Voldemort had caught wind that something was amiss in Potterland and was hoping that Sevvy here could fill him in. Actually now that he thought about it, all day today he had been in a particularly good mood. In fact, having good company from his favourite Potions' master, not having to baby-sit Wormtail for the day and hearing woeful tidings about Harry Thickhead had put the Dark Lord Voldemort into an exceedingly good mood. And that Odgens' he'd been drinking earlier had loosened him right up…
"My Lord."
"Ahhh…. Severussss…." Voldemort was quite chuffed out how mystical he could sound.
"My Lord."
"Ahhh… Severussss…." Nope, it wasn't fluke; Voldemort just had skill.
"My Lord."
Sweet Grindewald! They could go on like this all day.
"Ahhh… Severusss… Tell me about the Boy-Who-Will-Die." Voldemort paused for a second. "Severusss…"
"The boy is dying my Lord."
"Really?" Voldemort couldn't help himself. He knew that UglyBoy had got into some sort of trouble, but he hadn't expected this. A gleeful tone enveloped that single incredulous word.
"Well," Severus continued. "The boy is seriously injured my Lord. That Pomfrey woman does not believe that there is much hope."
Voldemort's spirits rose dangerously near breaking point. This day was just far too good. He liked that Pomfrey, agonisingly caring she may be but she was generally a good judge of things.
But he just had to double check.
"Really Sevvy? You're not just pulling my leg?" Where had that nickname come from? heh heh heh…
Severus' head snapped up briefly but he quickly refocused his gaze on the floor. Good lad he was, Voldemort noted.
"No my Lord. The boy is fading as we speak."
Voldemort steepled his fingers. 'Excellent…' he had the urge to say in his creepiest voice. He indulged himself and suddenly it became too much. That was it; he could contain his ever-mounting glee no longer. The dam had burst and Lord Voldemort thought no more. He expressed his delight in the most obvious way.
Slowly, slowly, Voldemort rose from his chair. His headed twitched slightly to the side in time to an unheard rhythm and soon his right foot was tapping too. The image of a kneeling Severus faded from his vision as he raised and bent his arms, flapping imaginary wings. He skipped twice around his throne before flapping again.
Voldemort was dancing. He was dancing a very special dance – his victory dance. The Funky Chicken dance. He sang, hmm-ed, ha-ed and wiggled his booty like he hadn't done since his Hogwarts days. He was completely in a world of his own.
Snape couldn't help it; he looked up and was soon mesmerised. They were alone in this room; there was no one to help him, no one to save him from this hideous fate. He could stay and be traumatised beyond cure, or leave without permission and risk death; but when Voldemort clasped his hands about his head and started to pirouette, Snape's decision was made for him.
He fled.
At the sound of the heavy double doors snapping shut, Voldemort's all-out bellowing and boogying came to an abrupt end. Slowly Voldemort regained his composure and re-seated himself with grace, subtly readjusting the tiara that rested on his hairless head; he'd heard that they were popular among muggle rulers.
Snape had left to save Voldemort the trouble of obliviating him.
Smart boy.
He had always liked that guy.
A/N
If you're at all worried about Harry (don't you trust me?), please refer to 'Concise and To the Point Extended' (aka 'Oh the Oxymoron') though that may cause you to worry after his health even more…
Also, thanks as ever to my beta Miraen, she really is a wonderful gal.