Summary: 14 lucky contestants will be locked into the Room of Requirement for 2 weeks. Who will be the last one remaining, winning 1,000,000 galleons? The rules are simple…

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters/places are copyrighted to JK Rowling, and I own absolutely nothing.

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"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK!"

Lucius Malfoy glared daggers at him. "Shut the door before you wake someone up, you horrid cloaked little man. Quickly!"

Stunned, Voldemort did so, not even bothering to punish Malfoy for referring to him as a 'horrid cloaked little man'. After all, he was still in disguise.

"B-b-but- w-what? Why? What have you done to yourself?" Voldemort blathered, now on the verge of hysteria.

For sitting on the side of the bathtub was none other than Mr. Lucius Malfoy, clothed in a pink terry bathrobe. His face was covered in a mysterious, gooey green substance, save for circles of skin around his eyes. Cucumber slices lay in abandon on the floor. His hair was rolled around many strange-looking plastic torture devices. Curlers, Voldemort noted dazedly.

"It's a facial," Lucius sniffed. He snatched the suitcase from Voldemort's fingers. "I'll take that."

"Lucius, look…"

Lucius took no notice. "I used to have four ponytails when I did ballet," he said wistfully. "Two on the top and two on the bottom. Wish I still knew how to make them." He pulled at a silky blonde curl hopefully.

Voldemort dimly recalled a time fifteen years ago, right before his own plans had been temporarily set back by that stupid prophecy, when Lucius had been terribly interested in taking up the Muggle sport of ballet.

-Flashback-

"It's an art, really it is," Lucius continued. "You put the toe shoes on- see, they lace up with pink silk ribbons, wouldn't that look lovely with our Death Eater robes? –and then there's a fluffy pink tutu with bows and rosettes. Just think of the twirling, My Lord, and all the spins and leaps, it would be excellent for honing our reflexes in order to smash Muggle houses and send curses with grace and ease," he added helpfully. He proceeded to demonstrate this.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said flatly. "I am not going to make ballet classes an essential part of Death Eater training."

-Flashback Over-

Of course, a couple months after that, he'd made his own school diary into a Horcrux and told Lucius to set up Plan B: 'The Opening Of the Chamber of Secrets' in case anything ever 'happened' to him. Apparently, this instruction had slipped Lucius's mind for some twelve years. Malfoy had probably forgotten it because he'd left for a ballet lesson immediately afterwards. Git.

Lucius fixed his eyes upon the tall figure before him worriedly. "Don't tell anyone, please. I'm not sure how Draco would react to this… I mean, I'm the father figure, I'm supposed to be the very essence of manliness."

"And I'll stop making fun of your cloak. Who are you, anyway?" Lucius added distractedly. Cloaked figures had become so run-of-the-mill in these 'dark times' that hardly anyone thought it unusual.

Voldemort shrugged. "It's not important, fool. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

He was the dark lord. He could afford to be generous.

Voldemort returned to his sleeping bag and tried vainly to put all the images he had just collected in the past five minutes out of mind. He fell asleep dreaming of himself leaping gracefully on a stage as he blasted Potter with hexes while the boy cried like a baby and the audience, comprised mainly of Malfoy and his family in curlers, cheered.

It wasn't a bad dream, in all consideration.

Actually, it was rather satisfying.

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Harry woke up feeling unexpectedly refreshed and definitely a little bit like someone was hedging in on his personal space. He blinked and noticed that sure enough, Ron's arm was tossed over his chest in a manner that implied implicit relations, of which there were definitely none.

Definitely none.

Harry shuddered out loud and pushed him off, wondering, why couldn't it have been Ginny?

Harry amused himself for several minutes by picturing himself and Ginny dashing through a field of daisies… playing Quidditch one-on-one… dancing over Voldemort's grave… having a picnic in the countryside while little freckled, green-eyed PotterWeaslettes ran about…

A loud snore, courtesy of none other than the aforementioned girl's brother, broke him out of the reverie.

The snore was so loud that it woke Ginny, Hermione, George, Fred, and Snape (who had fashioned hospital-style curtains around his sleeping bag). They started to shout at a sleepy and disgruntled Ron. Which in turn woke up everyone else in the room.

After that, there was really no point in staying in bed any longer, so they all got up.

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"How are we supposed to cook?" Harry stared stupidly at the counter and oven. No one had eaten last night.

Rita sniffed. "Miss Perfect should know." Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who turned a bright shade of pink.

"I… well, I've never actually…"

Fred stared incredulously. "You've eaten the house elves' cooking all this time, you mean! Weren't you the one who said-"

"Oh, shut up, Fred, as if you've ever cooked," Ginny said impatiently. "It can't be that hard." She gazed at the oven door expectantly, as if willing it to pop cakes out of thin air.

Lucius inspected a banana from the fruit bowl on the table. "Is this wax?"

"Cool, muggle cooking devices." Draco peeled a few bananas and dropped them into a blender he had found without putting the lid on. He jabbed at a few buttons experimentally, and jumped back with a yell when it started spitting gooey banana chucks at everyone.

"Turn it off! Turn it off!"

"Malfoy, you sodding-"

"My hair!"

"I foresaw this, you should have heeded my warning!"

Finally, Snape had the good sense to stop the blender with a well-placed "Stupefy!"

Later, they made Draco clean up.

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Everyone sat listlessly in the living room. It was 3:00 pm, and they were all bored out of their minds.

Harry stared, glassy eyed, at a spot about two feet to the right of the cloaked person's head and yawned. "So," he said dully. "Who are you, anyway?"

To his shock and abject horror, the person in question gave a truly maniacal laugh and flung his robe off. Everyone screamed and ducked for cover.

"Ohmygod," breathed Ron, terrified. "A strip show? Please, don't… I mean, Ginny's only sixteen…"

Harry had squeezed his eyes shut and was chanting, "I am a tragic hero… I am a tragic hero…" under his breath. It seemed to have become a mantra of sorts.

"Really, this is ridiculous." Hermione was staring embarrassedly in the opposite direction. "Some of us are underage, you know."

Voldemort rolled his eyes impatiently. "I'm still dressed, you imbeciles."

The others looked up cautiously and saw that he was indeed fully dressed. They also noticed that he happened to be the Dark Lord.

Fred voiced what they were all thinking. "RUUNNNN!"

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A/N: I've upped the rating to T under the advice of a friend, since there are several drug references. Sorry for such a long wait, I assure you that it won't take so long next time. Thanks to:

XcrimsonxBlackxBloodx (why thank you, glad you enjoyed. Please don't hunt me down), Adrianna Ashke (thanks for the review, alas, parodies are my true love), ivan the terrable (Snape is innocent. Read HBP again, he is!), SlytherinCreep (description next time, I swear; I couldn't fit it in properly)