After learning that one of my readers is also a southerner, I almost turned the prologue into a oneshot, for fear of offending. But I decided I could just get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness, should I receive any complaints.

DC: The only commercialized product in this fic is Botox. But whatever. I don't own the Pimp'n Dark Lord, though it would be pretty sweet if I did. And just saying in advance, I don't own the stereotypes of the "South" either, as they are typically wrong. Typically. See my AN at the bottom for more detail.

(gulp) So here goes.

"Wait one cotton picking minute!" – Southern saying. The sad thing is that I actually use this some times…

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As the plane crossed over the Louisiana border, steam pressed against the windows. Voldemort looked fearfully out. Below, thick green Cyprus trees loomed threateningly, and a rather threatening looking monkey swung itself on top of the canopy to bear its teeth at the aircraft.

"Now see down there, that's the Mississippi. Spelled M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I." The pilot pointed to a muddy, greenish trail of sludge that folded it's way through the swamp. "Ya'll be good to her, ya hear?"

"Um," Voldemort said tentatively. "I'm the only one in the plane."

"So?"

"Well, you said 'y'all', meaning 'you all'. But it should just be 'you'."

The pilot stared at the Dark Lord. "What kinda weirdos do they make across that pond?"

"… What pond?"

"Y'know, the ocean? Crazy, I tell ya. Must be that tea…"

The word tea. It brought back memories… Good ol' Snape…

"We're here!" the pilot announced, suddenly landing the plane.

Voldemort peeked out the window.

"Where exactly is 'here'?" he asked.

"Why," the pilot looked surprised, "the Brown's household!"

"Which is…?"

"The bayou!"

"And…?"

"What else is there to say?"

"The middle of nowhere."

"That's no way to treat this place!" the pilot scolded. "Now, I don't want none of this here attitude round Mr. and Mrs. Brown, ya hear?"

"Yes." Voldemort muttered.

"That's a 'Yes sir.'" The pilot said sternly.

"Yes – Sir." Voldemort managed. He wished he were still in his prison lunch line.

"Good. Down here in the South, we value manners. Ain't nunt'n better. Now you get your things and get outta here. The plantation's a mile north of here. Get on!"

Voldemort climbed out of the plane, which rocked precariously, pulled his small duffel bag out from underneath the seat, and watched the place take off.

It was only after he had stood alone in the swamp for five minutes that he realized he had no idea which way north was. He decided it wasn't worth the gray hair, and stood about for another minute or so, to enjoy the view.

Well, the view wasn't very promising either. It was mainly vines, steam, mud, and Cyprus trees. Beginning to walk in a random direction, Voldemort remember vaguely that Cyprus tress had been around since the dinosaurs.

Somehow amused by this trivial fact, he trudged through the boggy mess that turned out to be a bayou for quite sometime.

Suddenly, a pair of braids with a pink ball in between them appeared upside-down in front of his face. The ball smiled brightly, revealing two missing teeth. Voldemort clutched his heart, frightened nearly to death.

"Well howday-diddly-doo-dang-diddly-dan-doo-do-diddly-"

Voldemort got over the shock.

"-diddly-dang-doo-diddly-day-dan-"

He checked his watch.

"-dang-diddly-dan-doo-do-diddly-"

Flicking a fly away from his face, Voldemort waited impatiently.

"-doo-dan-diddly-doo!"

"About time." The Dark Lord muttered.

"You must be our new babysitter!" the pink ball exclaimed, and dropped down from the vines above. "Ma said y'alled be coming soon!"

Again with the use of 'y'all' in a singular phrase, Voldemort thought, irritated.

The ball turned out to be the head of a small girl, wearing overalls and not much else. Her hair was dirty blond. Voldemort looked a little closer. Make that swampy blond.

"Well c'mon!" the girl took his hand and started pulling him across quicksand. "We'd better get going!"

"Um, little girl?" Voldemort said as he grabbed a vine to save himself from suffocation.

"Oh! M'names Billy Jane!" the girl hopped easily over the quick sand.

"So you go by Jane?" the Dark Lord asked, realizing the vine he was clinging to was an overweight cottonmouth.

"Jane?" Billy Jane looked disgusted. "No, 'course not, silly goose! I go by Billy!"

"Oh." Voldemort said weakly, while dodging a pair of fangs dripping venom. "Well, um, Billy, do you know where the Brown Plantation is?"

Billy's face lit up. "That's my Ma's and Pa's plantation! You are that new babysitter!"

"Oh…" the Dark Lord said with a smile about as real as Botox, "That'll be-" he leapt desperately from the snake to the quicksand, "-fun."

"Oh, it is." Billy assured him. "What with the baby twins, and my brother…"

"Are they trans-gender too?" Voldemort asked feebly.

Billy laughed. "You're a silly goose! My brother's Barbra Joe!"

Dragging himself from the quicksand, the Dark Lord looked up inquiringly. "And he goes by…"

"Barb, of course!"

"That's very nice…" Voldemort met the girl on land. Getting down to her eye level, he said, "Billy, you seem like you're a very sweet little…" he struggled for a moment. "…child, so I'm not going to lie to you…"

"Good! 'Cause down here in the South, we value honesty. You can tell me anything!"

"Uh-huh… well, how do I put this…" Voldemort tried to think of a more gentle way of saying it, but having none, continued. "I hate all children."

"Oh, that's no problem. See Pa said 'that goddamn criminal better be coming away from this place with some character!' that's what he said. And doing something you hate builds character!"

Voldemort was at a loss for words.

"So you com'n, Uncle Goddamn Criminal?"

"I do have a name."

"Well let's hear it!"

"I am," he threw his arms wide with great flourish, and in the background tympanis began a crescendo, "Lord Voldemort!"

Billy looked at him.

"Lord what?" She asked.

"Lord Voldemort!" the Dark Lord repeated, now feeling like an idiot for hiring those timpanists.

"That's way too long." Billy decided. "I'll just call you Uncle."

"But that defeats the whole purpose of-"

"Oh, blah blah! If we don't hurry, Ma'll let Barb catch all the craw-daddies!"

"Craw-daddies?" Voldemort asked weakly, and followed the bouncing girl through the bayou, now utterly horrified.

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AN: True and false. True: they do call crawfish "craw-daddies". False: I doubt catching them is fun. True: Dinosaurs did walk among the Cyprus trees. False: I'm not sure if there are actually Cyprus trees in Louisiana. True: Cottonmouths do live in the bayou. False: Monkeys sure as hell do not.