Shut your beautiful piehole dude!

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a somewhat angry Darth Wader stamped around in the stormy night. Nah, I'm just pulling your leg, it was not a long time ago, and nor was it in a galaxy far, far away. In fact, there was no storm either, it was actually unbearably hot outside. And to be totally honest, Darth Wader was not the one stamping around, it was Lord Voldemort. And to be absolutely, totally, and obnoxiously honest, he was not even angry. He was stamping around in extreme boredom. After the whole killing of Harry Potter, Voldemort had nothing to do anymore. He had tried several things to fill his days with, such as wizarding chess, Gobstones, Quidditch and professional Tango.

The problem was nobody really wanted to have a murderer with sever anger issues on their team. Which he by the way could not understand, he only killed one teammate, well maybe two. But it was their own fault, they basically asked for it when they spat mean comments about his feet. And Ron, his best friend, refused to talk to him. He had gotten so angry at Voldemort after he killed that Potter-Boy. With no Ron Weasley on his side, Voldemort had become a friendless idiot, with less life purpose than Hagrid's blast ended skrewts.

And so, it was decided, there was nothing left to do. Voldemort had to find a new enemy. It was the only thing he knew how to deal with. He needed a new human to be uncontrollably furious at for absolutely no reason at all. But not a baby this time. Voldemort had greatly underestimated children. And was not sure he could win against another one of those supposedly called "bundle of joys".

"More like bundle of stinky-evil-poopy-diaper-heads" a low and mysterious voice from behind whispered at the exact same time as Voldemort. He rapidly turned around, maybe too quickly. He spun around four extra rounds before he was able to stop.

There behind him stood a tall man in a brownish, greyish, with a hint of elephant blue, suit. Almost like the shade of a sick man's faeces. He had a pipe in his mouth and a magnifying glass tucked in his front pocket. His face had a weird but smart grin. And his sharp and piercing grey eyes looked like they were studying him neatly. "What iz thiz witchcraft? How did you know I waz going to zay that?" Voldemort hissed snakelike at the stranger. "Wait, zorry, that waz a bit mean. Please let me try again" He straightened his back, cleared his hoarse throat, and continued to slightly curl his lip simultaneously as he sexily raised one eyebrow. "Not to zound mean deary. But love, do you mind telling me how you knew what I waz going to zay?"

"Firstly, my name is not Love. I am Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. Secondly, I think you are to incompetent to understand-"

"I'm not the incompetent one, Harry Potter iz… Well, waz."

"I'm not going to tell you"

"Yez, you are"

"No, I'm not. Now if I may, I have something more important to tell you"

Voldemort's lips tightened and vertical wrinkles between his eyebrows became visible. He felt anger towards this mad man. To be honest he really wanted to punch him in the nuts like he did with Harry. But something was stopping him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though. Maybe it was the fact that this man was actually truly hot. And Voldemort did not want to be the man responsible for ruining Sherlocks chances of passing his hotness onto a new generation. So, he forced his face to turn back to its original snakelike state.

"Fine, you may tell"

Sherlock let out a relived sigh before he spoke in his annoyingly mysterious voice. "I've got an offer for you mate" Voldemort rolled his eyes and repeated the sentence just to tick his companion off. In return he got a shut-up-and-listen-or-else-I-will-kill-you-with-my-bare-hands-look. "As I was saying before your little cheeky interruption. I've got an offer for you. Well, more like a gift from me to you" Voldemort's eyes were rolling uncontrollably again.

"Lucky your hot"

"What did you say?"

"Oh, nothing Love"

"Anyway, I want to help you find your lost father" Imaginary water unexpectedly came splashing out of Voldemort's mouth. Half of it conveniently hit Sherlock right in the face. Voldemort wasn't sorry though. «You can't help me find my father. He'z been gone since I turned one. I've been zearching for him for yearz" Sherlock lazily spat out his pipe and pressed his firm finger on Voldemort's chest. It felt very good. "That's because you did not have a Hufflepuff on your team"

"What in the great wizarding world iz a Jigglypuff?" Voldemort asked, trying to not sound stupid. "Hufflepuffs are particularly good finders!" Sherlock glared of in the distance as he said this, he sounded very proud of himself. "Zo, you're zome kind of animal or creature?" Sherlock was dragged out of his thoughts because of this sickening comment. "What? No. A Hufflepuff is a-. Well, it is when-. No, that's definitely not what a Hufflepuff is. You know what? It doesn't matter what a Hufflepuff is. What matters is that I am an amazingly handsome Hufflepuff, and I am going to help you find your father."

And so, their adventure began. Apparently, they were running late for the underground. Hah, nonsense. Voldemort was never late to anything because he was The Dark Lord, and everything obviously waited for him. The teacher, his Death Eaters, the buss, even his mother waited for him when he was not ready to leave the comfort of her dark and narrow womb.

Sherlock was an absurdly fast walker, and Voldemort had to run to keep up with him. Normally, Voldemort would prefer to take the lead, because after all, he was the greatest and darkest lord. But he had perfect view over Sherlocks gorgeous but. It went from left to right in a smooth and macho way. In fact, his butt was so perfectly round and firm, it could qualify to be in one of those oddly satisfying videos on MeTube. Voldemort looked back at his own bum. His eyes widened, almost to the size of two bowling balls.

"MY BUTT! MY BUTT IZ GONE!" he yelped. He spun around in terror, searching all over the place for his missing body piece. Sherlock had turned around and was now watching with raised eyebrows "I find this to be very disturbing" Voldemort was too busy to even look at him, he just continued to look after his back end until- "Never mind, I got my butt. It waz here all along, very zmall, but ztill there"

"ARE YOU FREAKIN' KIDDING ME?" Sherlock looked very frustrated. His normally loose and open hands had turned into angry fists, and red-hot smoke was flushing out of his ears. "DID WE REALLY JUST MISS THE UNDERGROUND BECAUSE OF THAT?" His eyes were bulging out and his nostrils were moving in sync with the screaming. "I'm zorry hot stuff" Voldemort proudly apologized. "Aren't you a Creampuff. Why don't you find another way?"

Sherlock started pacing back and forth while almost pulling out all of his gorgeous hair. "How could you do this? I mean, who could possibly be so uttermost incompetent." He started to aggressively hit his own handsome face until it turned red. "Couldn't find my butt. Hah, nonsense! I would have found my butt quicker than the blink of an eye" An evil laughter came bubbling out of his throat. "And you're claiming to be the dark Lord? I find that very hard to believe" He continued talking gibberish and pacing the ground for a long time.

Voldemort bent down and started to stroke his lucky toe passionately. Just to help him think better. He was about to pick the nail of his sluglike toe when it hit him. He knew exactly what he had to do. "Shut your beautiful piehole dude!"

To Voldemort surprise, it worked, Sherlock stopped pacing and shut his mouth. "We can juzt call Profezzor McGonagall and azk her to pick uz up in her Catmobile. Now that she can't zit in her office and force bizcuits on Harry Potter anymore, she might az well make herzelf uzeful." He fumbled around in his pockets for a moment before he was able to find his phone. Voldemort had just gotten a new pink, and very expensive manicure, so it was with great difficulty he dialed Minerva McGonagall's phone number. It rang for about 0,035689632695 seconds before she picked up.

"Mysterious Catwoman to your service" a robotic voice from the other end said.

"Uhm hello? It'z me, The Dark Lord."

McGonagall's voice changed from an automatic robot to a voice of someone who's been your neighbour for over thirty years.

"Oh, hi there, Darth Wader. Long-time no see!"

"Wrong Dark Lord, mate. I'm the one without the badazz cape."

"Who?"

"LORD VOLDEMORT! I AM LORD VOLDEMORT, YOU UNNLOVED AND FORGOTTEN ZTREETCAT!"

With all his might, Voldemort threw his phone across the pavement in anger. It landed in the middle of the street and the Knight Buss conveniently drove right over it, shattering the rectangular talking-box. Voldemort's shoulders moved up and down, and his hands where fisted. He was breathing so heavily that he could have been the main source of energy to a damp locomotive. "I hate catz" he ended with.

"What do we do now? You literally just threw away our only hope" Sherlock said from behind. Voldemort did not give him an answer, so he kept on talking. "If only there existed a violently coloured emergency bus that could take any stranded witch or wizard to any destination. Except for under water of course." Voldemort rolled his eyes and turned around facing Sherlocks face. "I guess we just have to walk then" he said and started walking towards the direction that made the most sense. Unfortunately, it was the wrong direction, so he had to shamefully turn around and walk the other way. After a while he realized he didn't actually know where they were going, so he let Sherlock take the lead.

Sherlock led him through the darkest and narrowest backstreets of London. Voldemort felt like pissing his pants because he was secretly afraid of the dark. But then he remembered who he was, he was The Dark Lord. The Dark Lord could not be afraid of the dark. Or could he? No, his mind must be playing a trick on him. And frankly, he was too cool to be afraid of the dark, so he straightened up and continued walking.

"Are we there yet? I'm very hot. And I'm bored of looking at your inferior backzide" Voldemort prompted out with sweat running down his face. "I'm wearing my nicezt pair of leather pantz today, and it'z making my thighz moizty and yucky" Voldemort was indeed very hot, the outside temperature was reaching 86°F and the sky was completely cloud free. And it did not exactly help that he had chosen to put on the thickest leopard fur cloak on the marked.

"Almost there" answered Sherlock. He walked half a step before he spun around and flung his arms out. "Here it is" he said excitingly.

"Here iz what?" Voldemort sassily spat out.

"Here is me!"

Voldemort let his eyes slowly fall up and down the body of the man standing in front of him. He wasn't impressed. "Turn around" he said firmly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Did I ztutter?" Voldemort's snakelike voice was taking a scary turn, he was almost frightened of himself. Sherlock lost his smile and unwillingly turned around with his arm's still stretched out. Voldemort's gaze found Sherlocks gorgeous butt.

"That'z more like it" he said while nodding his head slowly, a grin began to form on his face. They stood like this for a quarter of an hour. Sherlock had repeatedly tried to turn around and speak, but Voldemort had threatened him by saying he was going to transform his arms and legs to tiny bananas. Eventually Sherlock had gotten enough, he turned around to face Voldemort.

"I have something important to tell you." He spoke.

"Honeztly, I don't think anything coming out of your beautiful piehole could be of any importance." Voldemort started. "I mean you have a nize butt and all, and your mouth iz perfect for pie eating. But come on! You've got the brainz of a knicker-sniffing-mongoose"

"Hey!" Sherlock let out offendedly.

"Oh what? Like you don't know it."

"What I use my spare time on is none of your business" Sherlock argued. "And so what if I sniff knickers? What if I like it? At least I don't have nasty feet like you!"

Voldemort gasped and put his hand to his chest. "You didn't"

"Looks like I did mate"

"Where not matez" Voldemort's hands turned into fists and his whole body was tense. "No one inzultz my feet and getz away with it!"

Voldemort fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, searching for his wand. He was determent to not break the eye contact, it was the best power move he knew. When he lost the wand to the ground and accidentally kicked it 10 feet away, he kept the eye contact. When he bent down to pick it up again but lost balance and fell over, he kept the eye contact. When he stood up with a bleeding nose and started walking shamefully back to Sherlock, he kept the eye contact. When he realized he had forgotten the wand on the floor where he fell and had to walk back and get it, he kept the eye contact. When he bent down to get the wand a second time, and his leather pants could not hold the pressure of his nonexistent butt anymore, so it burst along his butt crack, he kept the eye contact. And even when he realized his knickers were in his butt crack and he had to pull them out, he kept the eye contact.

Finally, Voldemort was back in his spot in front of Sherlock. He had pointed his wand at Sherlock's chest and was ready to say the only spell he knew. His hands were trembling in time with Sherlock's shivering body.

Suddenly, Sherlock started screaming like a girl in 6th grade when someone threw water on her.

"Shut up! I'm trying to kill you! I can't conzentrate, you're too loud!"

"WHAIT!" he yelled back. "Let me tell you something important first"

"Didn't we agree that nothing important comez out of your mouth?"

"Just four words, please?"

"Ugh, fine."

Sherlock took a deep breath and blinked slowly once. He straightened his back and lifted his chest forward.

"Tom," he took a dramatic pause before he continued. "I'm your father…"

"No. That'z not true."

"Yes, Tom, it is. I am your father!"

"My name iz not even Tom"

"Well who in the name of the great wizarding world are you?"

"My name iz Jeff. And besided, I could never, and I mean never, be related to a marshmallow-puff"

Sherlock looked shocked. He looked around for support, but there was no one there to help him. "B-B-But I saw you with my own eyes when you were born"

"Yeah, but the thing iz, that wazn't me. That waz my couzin Tom, he'z your zon, not me."

"W-W-Where is he now? Where can I find him?" Sherlock had a little sparkle of hope in his eyes, Voldemort almost felt sorry for breaking it. Almost.

"Well, you see, people always mistook us for being the other person. It was funny in the start, but when people started thinking that my name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, I had to do something" Voldemort casually studied the inside of his hand and then the outside. "So, I killed him"

"And now I'm killing you" He pointed his wand at the ground and yelled out the words "Lavaus groundus comeus!" A hole in the ground, full of lava, appeared right underneath Sherlock's feet. He fell down with a sticky splash. "I Shall Destroy Your Happiness If It Is the Last Thing I Do!" Sherlock yelled from the burning lava-pit.

Voldemort walked out as though no one had spoken. And then he left the building the way he always did, by wiggling his butt more than anyone else could possibly manage.