Disclaimer: And for your reading pleasure, Lord Voldemort will now be giving the disclaimer!
Lord Voldemort: I didn't agree to that!
Sarah: No. I did. Come on, it'll be fun!
LV: I doubt that.
S: Come on, Volders! I'll give you a cookie.
LV: ...What kind?
S: Chocolate chunk!
LV: Fine. Grabs cookie Anyway, Moonshade doesn't own anything but Sarah. Not that she can control that girl either, but...leaves the room grumbling and chewing on his cookie
A/N: Thousand thank yous to Amie for giving me the idea for this. You rock, my friend. Voldemort will be coming to your house soon with a bouquet of flowers. But don't worry, Sarah stole his wand again, soyou need not worry.
The Danger of Muggles
"Hey Volders?" Sarah called, walking out of the kitchen. The Dark Lord cast her a sidelong glance.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I think I found a problem." She raised a charred, half melted piece of metal.
"And what is that?" Voldemort asked.
"I think it's what happens when you leave a frying pan on the burner too long. Or it could be a piece of modern art. But I didn't think Peter was the artsy type."
"That much is true," Voldemort said dryly.
"Yeah. You know, I was wondering if stir fry was supposed to have that much iron in it."
"Clearly not."
"But how would you know, Volders? You didn't even know what stir fry was until I told you!" Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes uselessly.
"Because you didn't look nearly as excited as usual."
"Oh. Well, whatever. We need to get new pots and pans and stuff."
"Pots, too?"
"Yeah. The only usable piece of equipment left in the kitchen is a spoon. And I think it used to be a fork." The Dark Lord raised one eyebrow. Talking to Sarah, though exhausting, was never boring.
"That is mildly disturbing. So I assume you want me to take you to Diagon Alley?" he asked. Sarah looked thoughtful.
"Well, yeah. But I just like going there. It's fun. But I don't think it'll be the best place for kitchen stuff."
"They have enough shops there. One of them should have what you're looking for."
"I know. But you know me. Even if I could find it, it'd only be after a good three days of looking." Voldemort was about to add a snide comment, but he reconsidered. He was hungry, and Sarah was his only link to the Muggle's Fast Food.
"So what do you intend to do about it?" he asked. Sarah pulled a bright orange flier from her back pocket.
"I picked this up the other day. It says that a huge mall opened not too far from here a couple of days ago. And where there's a mall, there's going to be at least one kitchen supply store. Or something."
"And you won't be too easily distracted, I hope?"
"Most likely."
"Wormtail," Voldemort hissed wearily. "Stay here. And do not break anything."
"He's not coming?"
"Of course not. That bumbling fool would only cause disaster in a Muggle store." He hissed something at the snake, and after a thorough 'that's so cool!' from Sarah, they left the house.
The trip was a slow one-- Sarah's bizzare immunity to magic meant that she couldn't be apparated to the nearest muggle store, and Voldemort didn't want to admit that he knew nothing of cooking or kitchenware, and couldn't effectively go on his own. In the end, he was forced to accompany her to the Muggle mall on foot.
But Sarah did succeed in making the trip interesting. She started by humming an annoying song. Within two blocks of the house, the hum became a lively whistle. Soon after, she burst out singing. It was a cheerful tune, complemented by insanely morbid lyrics about a frog that blinked, was hit by a truck, and was eventually devoured by a dog. As disturbing as the song was, Sarah seemed to adore it, and nothing Lord Voldemort said or did could convince her to stop singing.
"Ooh!" she cried suddenly as the mall came into sight. "We're here! Vo—I mean Tom! We're here!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, pointing excitedly at a large mass of color and odor and motion that was apparently the mall.
Lord Voldemort gave a resigned sigh and allowed himself to be dragged through the crowd, careful to keep his head down, so nobody would recognize him through the hood. Whether this was from mortification or the need for secrecy was no longer clear.
He raised his head slightly when Sarah stopped. He saw more light and color, hundreds of people, but nothing that looked like it belonged in a kitchen.
"What is it, exactly, that you wanted?" he asked dryly, half afraid to hear the answer.
"Pots and pans," Sarah chirped. "But we're taking a detour first." Voldemort dreaded the answer before he asked the question.
"What kind of a detour?"
"Here!" Sarah squealed, pointing at the large, sickeningly colorful sign that loomed over them. It read Old Navy. Inside the windows were mannequins displaying increasingly more ridiculous clothing.
"You already bought nightclothes," he said.
"This isn't for me, you silly goose." Voldemort wondered how he had ever managed to be classified as a goose. He dearly hoped that all of the people in this forsaken shopping center would die before he came to power. "It's for you!"
"Wha—" before he could protest or ask, Sarah shoved him inside the shop, dragging him by the wrist to through dozens of aisles. She stopped suddenly, nearly sending him plummeting into one of the displays, and started attacking a nearby shelf. She seized nearly two dozen pairs of blue pants and threw them at the Dark Lord, then grabbed him again and dragged him to another aisle, where she repeated the assault with a number of shirts, all the while babbling incomprehensibly. Voldemort tried to flee the obviously rabid girl, but she grabbed him again and forced him to the back of the store.
"Put those on," she said excitedly, practically throwing him into one of the dressing rooms. "See which ones fit." And with a goofy grin on her face, she closed the door in his face.
Lord Voldemort seriously considered apperating out of the store.
Then he realized with a groan: his wand wasn't among the overwhelming pile of clothes. Sarah had stolen it again.
Muttering disdainfully, he threw off his robes and grabbed one of the pairs of pants.
Nearly an hour later, Voldemort emerged from the dressing room stall, still muttering.
"Cheer up, Tom," Sarah said cheerfully, examining his sleeves. "Yup! A large will fit you just fine. And do those jeans fit?" The Dark Lord nodded grudgingly. "Are they comfy?"
"Comfortable enough."
"Good! You can change back, then."
Why am I being dismissed by a little muggle girl? Voldemort wondered vaguely to himself. But he brushed it aside, taking relief at least that he was allowed to wear his robes again. When he finished dressing for what seemed to be the thousandth time, he left the dressing room at last. Sarah was waiting for him, a shopping bag in her arms. Evidently, she had been busy while he was struggling with the muggle clothes.
"What is in that?" he asked.
"Your new disguise," the girl chirped. "I noticed that you were getting funny looks on the way here. Your clothes are really cool and all, but they attract a bit too much attention."
"Are you sure it had nothing to do with your singing?" Voldemort asked.
"Positive," she said.
"Sarah, what in the world is this?" Lord Voldemort hissed, storming from the bathroom.
"What is what?" she asked innocently, cocking her head to the side in mild confusion.
"THIS!" Voldemort nearly shouted, pointing a shaking hand at his new 'disguise'. Beneath his finger was a large black sweatshirt, the hood of which fell low over Voldemort's head, obscuring his face. Sunglasses covered his crimson eyes, and he wore a pair of plain blue pants. He looked, in short, like an ordinary, if eccentric, muggle.
"A hoodie, jeans, and sunglasses. Nothing unusual about that. In fact, it's the perfect disguise!" Sarah announced proudly.
"And what about this?" he asked, plucking disdainfully at a line of sequined silver lettering on his shirt, spelling out the word 'Sexy'.
"That's positive stereotyping. I'm getting you new fans."
"What are you talking about?"
"Simple." She took off her backpack and ruffled through it, pulling out a handful of papers. "Observe:" she pointed to one of the papers, which showed a picture of a cartoon boy. "This is a typical stereotyped villain. He is also known as a bishie, because he's driven, determined, and dang cool. In fact, he has more fangirls than the three main characters put together. That's good. You want fangirls. This, however," she took out another picture, "is another villain on the same show. He's the super-uber-villain. Nobody likes...well, he does have a fanlisting online, but it's really small. Everybody has a fanlisting online. But that's besides the point. The point is that most people hate him because he's stupid and couldn't do anything right if his life depended on it. The difference? One is is hated and constantly beaten into the ground, the other popular and loved throughout the show. One is stupid, the other driven. One looks like a chimpanzee, the other is drop dead sexy. You can guess which one gets all the sympathy and support."
"What?"
Sarah put the pictures back in her pack.
"Anyway, I wouldn't necessarily call you a villain, but the whole 'dark lord/take over the world' thing...it's a bit of a classic villainous thing to do. And if you're going to go down that path, you want a good sized army of fangirls to back you up."
"What are fangirls?"
"Just what they sound like. Girls, ranging anywhere between ten and thirty years old, who are devoted fans and would gladly tip a semi-truck for you. They tend to be rabid, though that isn't a requirement."
"I already have the Death Eaters."
"Yes. But they would only jump in front of the Semi. I've seen them, and I'm sorry to say, they're not the most capable bunch. What you need is fangirls. And the only way you're gonna get those is with fan appeal." Lord Voldemort rolled his eyes behind the sunglasses.
"And how do you expect to do that?"
"Just keep doing what you're doing, but remember to add a couple of sinister smiles now and then, and stare into the distance when you can't think of anything clever to say. Trust me, you'll get a huge fanlisting in no time."
"But I don't want a...whatever it is. I'm trying to maintain secrecy."
"I know. But trust me, fangirls will help. You just have to have enough duct tape to keep them quiet." She started walking.
"Duct tape?"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Anyway, we're here." She pointed cheerfully at the window of a nearby shop. Dozens of pots and pans blinked back at them, the multihued light bouncing off the polished metal. Voldemort followed Sarah inside, eager to finish this nightmarish trip and get back to the hideout.
He wondered whether to be intrigued or frightened.
Hundreds of devices hung from polished metal racks and rested on wooden shelves, looking like they were better suited for a torture chamber than a kitchen. Lord Voldemort could name precious few of them, much less guess what they were designed to do, though most of them looked quite vicious.
"Eeeeexcelent," Sarah said, rubbing her hands together menacingly.
"I'll leave you to it, then," the Dark Lord said, turning to examine something that looked like a particularly menacing fork. The girl needed no further invitation, and she walked knowledgeably through the aisles, picking up a few of the metal goods as she passed.
"Excuse me," she asked one of the cashiers, after a half hour of shopping. She had accumulated a large quantity of supplies, ranging from several pots to a sushi mat. "Do you have any themed plates?"
"Of course we do," the man said pleasantly. "Is there a specific design that you're looking for?"
"Actually, yes," Sarah said, sounding quite sane. "Do you have any snake themed plates?"
"Snake?"
"Yes. You know, serpent, viper, legless lizard. Snakes."
"Ah...I'm not sure..."
"Snakeskin print, maybe?"
"I'm sorry, but I don't believe so..."
"Oh," Sarah said, sounding rather disappointed. "Do you have any Halloween themed plates, then?"
"They're not in season at the moment. I'm sorry, you'd have to come by in October. Or September, at earliest. But maybe I can help you find something close. What exactly are you hoping to find?"
"Sculls."
"What?"
"Or maybe bones. Hey, I know! Do you have any pirate stuff? I bet that'd work." The cashier looked slightly frightened now."
"I'm sorry...no."
Sarah eventually settled for something else. Lord Voldemort stared at the selection with something short of horror.
"What is that?" he asked.
"Bunnies," Sarah replied simply. "I wanted snakes, but that didn't work out. So I figured, 'if you can't have them, why not get their favorite food?'"
"They prefer mice."
"I thought so. But you'd be amazed. These people are really reluctant to even talk about rats in here. It's crazy. But boa constrictors eat bunnies, don't they?"
"Yes."
"Then I guess it'll work. Hey, will you help me get this stuff back home?" She widened her eyes, apparently trying to make herself look as cute as possible. Voldemort withheld a frustrated sigh.
"Are we leaving this pit now?" he asked.
"Yep."
"Will you give me back my..." he faltered. He couldn't say 'wand' in this muggle infested trap.
"This?" Sarah asked, holding up the wand in question.
"Yes."
"Yup!" She piled several large pots into his arms. "Let's go."