A/N: So. Sorry. Back to school time is always hellish, and even more so this year (one of my good friends was seriously injured in a car crash two weekends ago), and my muse hadn't returned from summer break. However, I have VERY, VERY GOOD NEWS.
Good news: I'm going to be posting a NEW STORY! And it ACTUALLY HAS A PLOT! –dies of shock-. It's quite good so far, IMO. Go read it, please!
I'm so sorry about how long this took. Blame the beta, if you must.
Disclaimer: Don't own the Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller, the Blues Brothers, Roger Rabbit, or Back to the Future. But 80's movies rock.
The Death Eaters Are Very, Very Sophisticated.
Everyone stared at Voldemort.
"What the hell are you wearing?" asked Rodolphus incredulously.
"It's a suit," the Dark Lord explained. "That's what it's called when you wear a blazer with nice pants and a tie."
"I know it's a suit," Ro said. "But why?"
"Because, faithful minions," Voldemort said, adjusting his monocle, "we're going out to someplace fancy. When you go to a nice place, you're expected to dress up, as I have done. And where we're going –"
"We don't need roads," Peter interjected.
Draco blinked. "Pardon?"
Peter sighed.
"Back to me," Voldemort continued. "Everyone, go put on your most expensive clothes, and be back here in fifteen minutes. Any questions?"
"Yeah, I've got a question," Lucius said.
"Does Barry Manilow know you raid his wardrobe?" Peter supplied.
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"Barry Manilow?" asked Bella.
Peter rolled his eyes.
"Anyways, yeah, my question. Where exactly are we going?"
"Well," Voldemort began, "have you ever noticed how mature the other big organizations are? Like the Order - man, they have weekly dinners at fancy restaurants in London. So I decided it's high time we added some sophistication into our lives. I mean, sitting around watching Star Trek in our underwear all day is hardly posh. So, we're going to add some culture into our lives - we're going to the theatre!"
Bellatrix looked nauseous.
"Don't all get excited at once," Voldemort muttered.
An hour later, Voldemort sat in the driver's seat of the company car, honking the horn noisily.
"We've been waiting for Draco for forty-five minutes," he grumbled.
"I knew it was going to be a while when I passed by his room and I heard him muttering to himself about whether to wear Prada or Versace," Narcissa added unhelpfully.
"DRACO!" Voldemort screamed.
Draco leaned his head out of an upstairs window. "What?" he whined.
"The show starts in an hour!" Voldemort yelled. "We need to go!"
"So apparate! I'll meet you there!" Draco shouted, pulling his blonde head back inside the house and slamming the window shut.
Voldemort blinked.
"This has got to be like, the tenth time we've forgotten about apparation," Snape said.
"Sometimes I wonder about us," said Narcissa. "It feels like we're doing drugs half the time, the way we act."
'It's like we're on crack," agreed Ro.
"It's like we're on acid," agreed his wife.
"No, not acid, we're on -"
"A mission from God," nodded Peter.
"So," whispered Snape, seated next to the Dark Lord in the theatre, "what play are we seeing, exactly?"
"I'm not sure," replied Voldemort. "It's very sophisticated, I'm sure. I'm told that it's intensely dramatic, and filled with stylish people."
"All right," Snape muttered. "Hey! You! Across the aisle!" He leered at a small kid staring at him.
"What's with the kid?" Snape asked. "You said this was an adult play."
"It is."
The child smiled toothily. "My mommy says that after this, we can go to the carnival. We can go on the carousel, and the ponies, and the Ferris -"
"Bueller, you're my hero," Peter finished.
"Shh- it's starting," Ro whispered.
The curtain rose.
This is so exciting - a real, mature play, Voldemort thought.
On stage, a woman in a bathrobe arose from bed, and grabbed a cup of coffee.
"Wow, I'm nervous for my first day at work. I'll watch some T.V.,' she said.
All of a sudden, twenty kids poured of her television and began to sing.
"Well every person you can know,
And every place that you can go,
And anything that you can show,
You know they're nouns - you know they're nouns."
Voldemort glanced down in horror at his playbill:
SCHOOLHOUSE ROCK: LIVE! Junior!
He screamed.
"Let's go," Snape said numbly.
"I'll be back!" Peter cried.
Fourteen hands smacked Peter simultaneously.
"I'm not bad," Peter said, on the verge on unconsciousness.
"Yes, you are," Snape said.
"I'm just drawn that way!"