AN: This chap is for LadyPhoenix68. I know it's not quite what you asked for, but I hope you like it all the same.

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'Dear Tommy,

Hey it's been weeks and you still haven't answered my last letter. Is it about the cookies? Don't worry I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of it.

Please reply if you have the time. I was thinking about having a picnic, and your cookies would be the perfect addition.

Love, Harry

PS. Draco's been quite depressed lately, what with his father's disappearance. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?'

Voldemort had been debating what to do with the newest batch of mudbloods when he got the letter.

He decided right then and there that he would have them partake in a little baking competition. Whoever can make the most foul concoction that somewhat resembles cookies will spend the rest of their life baking for the boy who won't shut up, and the rest will be Bella's new toys.

Pettigrew will taste test as punishment, since he clearly hadn't made the last batch disgusting enough.

Voldemort immediately summons all his followers and has them get started on the preparations. He cackles madly as he casts a bubble around the stage. Don't want the smell to ruin the show after all.

Even when he's giddy as a child about something like a baking competition his followers find him terrifying.

Shortly after it began Bella decided it wasn't interesting enough, and not wanting her master to grow bored, elected herself gameshow host. This pretty much meant she did her utmost to turn each and every competitor into a blubbering mess before they could finish their cookies.

Of course she was told not to physically injure any of them until after a winner had been chosen. That's fine, she has other means.

The winner was found when Pettigrew took one sniff of the last batch of cookies and fell over dead.

He was unceremoniously dumped in the middle of Diagon Alley the next day.

'Dear Potter,

It was the baker. Don't worry, he was suitably punished and a replacement found. Hope you enjoy the fresh cookies that have been included in this letter. There was a lovely competition to decide who would bake for the boy who lived.

Take these to your picnic and make sure all your friends get one. Sadly I am unable to attend, but do send them my regards.

With increasing loathing,

Voldemort

PS. Do you really want to know what became of our dear Lucy?'

Harry stared at the package of supposed cookies that were emanating a literal aura of death. As soon as it landed on the Gryffindor table and the smell hit them, those within fifty feet fled. Many threw up, and poor Neville slipped in a puddle, pulling Ron down with him. It was Ron's sick after all.

All Harry could think was, 'Well played.'