I've been thinking about this for a while now, and so I've decided to go through all of my old stories again. Perhaps that will rekindle my love of writing these, and I'll be able to actually finish off a plot. Read and review, especially if you read the first version.
And so, without further ado, I present the reposted, edited, copy of A Deadly Game of Phone Tag.
A Deadly Game of Phone Tag
Chapter One: Voldemort
Harry Potter sighed heavily as he twiddled a broken pencil between his thumb and fore finger. Now that the hype of returning to Number Four Privet Drive had died down, the Dursleys settling into a groove of ignoring their wizard relative, he had rediscovered the boredom of the quiet Muggle neighborhood. It seemed unfair that so soon after he watched his godfather fall through the veil in the Department of Mysteries he would be stuck inside again for the whole summer.
He watched little Mark Evans chase a big Labrador down the street enviously. What he wouldn't give to just go outside, to be so carefree! Even for the chance to just do something. Sirius wouldn't have sat idly by while a whole summer stretched out ahead of him. But here was Harry, slumped unceremoniously over his old broken desk, the pencil roving endlessly between his fingers.
If only Ron knew how to use a telephone…he thought. Voldemort would never bother to tamper with those; too "Muggle" for him.
It was as if a light suddenly burst to life in Harry's head. In that very moment, he knew what he wanted to do that summer.
The Dark Lord Voldemort lazily shot another curse at Peter Pettigrew and ignored the squat man's yelp as his nose twisted up like putty. He had had quite enough of plotting for the day, and was now simply enjoying Wormtail's company before Snape came to collect him as his new "assistant."
Like he's fooling anyone, thought Voldemort as Wormtail clawed at his face with twitchy fingers. He just wants his own little dose of vengeance, but who am I to deny him? He has been so helpful to me, that slippery Potions Master.
He was just about to see what shapes he could make Wormtail's ears morph into when a large snowy owl swooped into the Manor's east window. He looked at the creature in confusion. Harry Potter had a snowy owl, did he not? And what self-respecting Death Eater would use anything but his favored Eagle owls to deliver him messages? Perhaps one with a death wish, but I digress.
The owl had a small box wrapped in brown paper clutched in its talons, and just before he could stun the thing (more out of boredom than anything else), it dropped the package directly on top of his head before soaring back out of the window. Enraged, he grabbed the parcel, and made to take aim at the beast, but was unfortunately diverted by Wormtail's sudden decision to climb to his feet and block the darkening sky from sight. Wormtail's nose took a turn for the worse while Voldemort quickly examined the package. There was no name.
He tore off the brown paper, revealing a small black box with no markings. Curious, he made to peel off the tape sealing it inelegantly shut when a noise suddenly erupted from inside. He would never admit how much it made him jump.
"BOOTY, BOOTY, BOOTY, BOOTY, ROCKIN' EVERYWHERE! BOOTY, BOOTY, BOOTY, BOOTY, ROCKIN' EVERYWHERE!"
It was horrid, despicable, and almost intangible as human words. He blasted open the box with his wand at arm's length, only to discover what he thought was a "cello-phone" inside, vibrating with the noises it was emitting. Taped on the back of the phone was note which read: "Push the GREEN button."
Anything to make the noise stop; he did so, gingerly picking up the device. He thought he heard breathing coming out of the receiver of the phone, so he carefully held it closer. "Hello?"
After a moment's hesitation, he heard a loud and obnoxious voice call out from the phone, "PHONE TAG, YOU'RE IT!"
There was a click, and the call ended.
Though Voldemort knew he was dealing with an unworthy Muggle device, he felt anger surge within him. How dare they? I demand attention be paid to me!
With the aim of launching a counter attack, Voldemort started exploring the phone. By randomly hitting buttons and reading the small screen, he eventually located the "Recent Calls" section. He assumed that the only number on the list would be his target. He hit the GREEN button once more, and in moments it was ringing.
"Hello?" asked a man's voice on the other end. "Vernon Dursley speaking."
"Yes," said the Dark Lord, placing the name with that of the brat's idiot Muggle guardians. "I would like to speak to Harry Potter." Of course it would be Potter.
"There is no Harry Potter here!" Vernon sputtered angrily, but Voldemort could tell he was lying.
"I know you are lying, Muggle," he said silkily, "and I…must have a serious talk with him about a phone call that I just received." Voldemort smirked at his own brilliance. Now he had him.
No doubt thinking that Potter was in serious trouble (for he knew that the Dursleys had no love for the boy), the man disregarded the fact that Voldemort was obviously a wizard, and he started yelling: "BOY! THERE'S SOMEONE ON THE PHONE ABOUT YOU! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!"
"FINE, I'M COMING!"
There was a thump on the other end of the line, and Harry Potter's voice spoke quietly, without a hint of fear, "Hello, Lord Moldy Shorts."
Voldemort was surprised, and then angered. "What? How dare you call me that you insolent little—"
"Now, now, there's no need for name calling. What do you want? I was right in the middle of tormenting my whale of a cousin." He sounded annoyed, if anything.
"Why did you send me this cello-phone?" demanded Voldemort, not being one to beat around the bush.
There was a pause, lacking even of breath. And then, out of nowhere, a burst of laughter erupted from the other line. "CELLO-PHONE?" Harry shouted, laughing, gasping for breath.
"What are you laughing at? What's so funny?" asked Voldemort, his pride a tad hurt.
Potter did not answer, but continued laughing himself into hysterics until the Dark Lord heard a woman's voice on the other end. "What in God's name is so funny?" she shrieked.
Finally, Potter calmed down. "Oh, uh, The Dork Lord's on the other line. I sent him a cell phone yesterday and he thinks it's a…" there was another pause, and Voldemort braced himself yet again. "CELLO-PHONE!" And with that, Harry fell back into his fits of laughter.
"And what is so very funny about that?" Voldemort snarled. "And my name is not 'The Dork Lord.' I am The Dark Lord Voldemort! Master of the Earth! Ruler of all wizards! The—"
"Yeah, yeah, just get on with your complaint," said Harry, sobering instantly, as though he had grown bored with the conversation.
Cut off from his rants, Voldemort found himself to be at a loss for words. "Yes, well. Umm, what was that? I mean to say that…you were like—"
"PHONE TAG, YOU'RE IT!"
There was another click, and Potter had hung up once more.
Fuming, the self-proclaimed Master of the Earth called again. He could not escape, he would get him this time!
Harry had no idea if he had done what Dumbledore or even Hermione would call "the right thing," but it sure was fun. He was nearly overjoyed when the phone rang again. With electronics between him and Voldemort, he had no fear of the narcissistic snake. Plus, Voldemort would be receiving the bills at the old Riddle house (where he assumed the Death Eaters were still based). What could possibly go wrong?
He picked up the phone with a smile. "Pizza Hut, how may I help you?" said Harry in a business-like manner, holding back his snickers.
"Uh, yeah, I'd like a large pepperoni and olive—hey, wait! I want to talk to Harry Potter!" His composure was quickly deteriorating.
"I'm sorry; we can't come to the phone right now. Please leave a message after the beep."
"Wait a second! You just answered the damn phone! Why do I have to leave a message now?"
"BEEEEEP!"
"Oh, Merlin…call me back when you get the chance, Potter. I have some unfinished business with—"
"PHONE TAG, YOU'RE IT!"
"What? NOOO!"