AN: If you read the AN for iVoldy's abosolute last installement, you might know I've had some trouble with this fic, so I introduced a whole new plot line, as I figured what this story lacked were fresh jokes with familiar characters. You may not understand what I mean by that with this chapter, but you will in time to come.

DC: Wow… Warner Bros…. I think this one you actually could sue… I'm not even going to try to weasel my way out of this one…

"Jumbo!"

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Mud sucked at Voldemort's feet. Dismayed, he thought how difficult it would be to get all the slime out of his loafers. If there was even a dry cleaners close by. He looked skeptically around. And unless behind the fog there was Zip Clean, it didn't seem likely.

Ahead, Billy Jane seemed to have an endless amount of energy, and a knack for avoiding all the dangerous parts of the bayou, which seemed to take up at least 95 percent of the swamp.

The Dark Lord was so far having a very un-enjoyable time. His duffle had been completely submerged in mucky water at least three times, the vines hanging down from the trees were constantly trying to strangle him, and the large punctures in numerous places all over his body were still oozing cottonmouth venom. The rather pitiful attempt to speak parseltounge with the snakes had failed, as his accent was unacceptable.

"Well hurry up, Uncle! Bob and Beau won't feed 'emselves!"

"Beau?" Voldemort inquired. "That's rather…" he flipped through his mental dictionary, "…sophisticated…"

"Yup!" Billy declared proudly, "We here in the South have French roots! We're dang near good cooks!"

"I hope so…" the Dark Lord muttered, "after all that prison gruel."

Billy, who's mood seemed to be completely waterproof, continued to explain in minute detail all about her family and their plantation.

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Warner Bros. Headquarters…

"Hate to tell you this, sir, but the court has ruled it as unnecessary conduct."

The president of Warner Brothers Entertainment Incorporated gnashed his teeth angrily on his nicotine gum. A sign to continue.

"They say that Mister Voldemort Voldemort did forget to pay his taxes, and as such, must serve six months, no ifs, ands, or buts."

"Can't we pull him out?" the president demanded, "Pay his taxes plus bail? For God's sake, I'd even be willing to donate money to some sissy children's shelter: anything to get Voldemort outta prison! Our replacement is bringing the movies down, and our income with it!"

"We – we have a replacement for Mister Voldemort Voldemort?" the lowly secretary quavered.

"Yeah, but that JK women keeps telling us a white bowling ball on top of a broom handle ain't gonna cut it. So we need the real Voldy back." The president taped one of his chins.

"Where's he being held?" he asked eventually.

The secretary fumbled through several reams of paper before coming up with a single sheet. "Er… He just got transferred to a plantation in southern Louisiana…"

The president nodded slowly. "And how'd Paris Hilton get out?"

"She didn't, sir."

"Damn." the president muttered. "We want Voldemort out now. I guess we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way."

"Wait for him to be freed legally?" the secretary asked hopefully.

The president laughed, making the room shake. " Of course not! Always the joker, Whimsley, always the joker..."

Whimsley smiled weakly. "Just like you, sir," he managed.

"See, we're going to do this the fun way."

The secretary's smile stayed fixed, but lost the little happiness it had previously possessed. "Er… The fun way, sir?"

"Yes, Whimsley. The fun way. Now get me Danny Ocean on the closed circuit line. What the NSA doesn't know won't hurt 'em."

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A house, Voldemort had always thought, included a floor. One did not typically consider four wooden walls and a tin roof placed on a relatively solid square of bayou to be inhabitable.

But even so, the Dark Lord waded across the living room, following Billy.

"Ma! Baby sitter's here!"

A large black shadow detached itself from door to the kitchen entrance and enveloped Voldemort in a bear hug. Billy opened a window, revealing the shadow to be a huge lady with hair the same swampy blond as her daughter. Her heavy brow and numerous scars gave off the immediate impression that this was not a woman to be messed with.

"Welcome, stranger!" Billy's mother said. "When you're here, you're family, dang right! And as a family member you'll address me as 'Ma' or 'Ma'am', and your pa as 'Pa' or 'Sir'. Ya'll hear?"

"I hear." Voldemort muttered, still muffled by Ma.

"Ma'am" Billy whispered.

"Ma'am." Voldemort repeated.

"Good. Now run along, and go find your brother, and make sure he ain't eat'n all the crawdaddies for himself."

"Okay!" Billy smiled brightly, and dragged the Dark Lord outside again.

Two miles across treacherous swamp later, Billy finally found Barb leaning over the muddy stretch of sludge, as seen from the plane. Upon closer inspection, Voldemort realized it was in fact a river.

"Barb!" Billy shouted gleefully. Her brother turned around, with mud smeared all over his face, and up to his elbows. Beside him, a bucket rattled.

"Hey, Billy." Barb said. "You gonna help with these crawdaddies or what?"

"I had to find the new baby-sitter." Billy pouted. "But I'll help now. Ya see," she turned to Voldemort, "ya just stick your hand in the water, feel around, and pull it out!" She demonstrated, and held up a squirming shell, dripping algae.

"That's a crawdaddie?" the Dark Lord asked, surprised. He thought it was some kind of bird.

"Yup! Now c'mon, and give it a try!"

Tentatively, Voldemort rolled up the sleeve of his robe and forced his arm through the water. Six inches below the surface, he could not longer make out his hand.

Carefully, he searched around, dreading the touch of anything slimy. Unfortunately, the only qualification for living in the Mississippi river was a self-sufficient slime generator. Eventually, he happened upon something that felt like a shell.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "I think I got one!"

"Well pull it out!" Barb said.

The Dark Lord began to drag the object through the silt on the river's bottom. Suddenly, the shell popped out of the water and landed on the shore next to Voldemort.

"Whoa…" Billy said. "That's a big crawdaddie…"

A wrinkled head appeared through the gap in the shell the size of a bowling ball. It glared at the three, then whipped around and snapped a considerable amount of flesh off Voldemorts hand, which was still latched on to the turtle's leg.

"It's Snappy!" Barb cheered.

"Yay!" Billy joined in. "Snappy, we've missed you!"

The two hugged the snapping turtle, as Voldemort tended to his mutilated head. He assumed this was an experience similar to getting your hand caught in a bear trap, and solemnly resolved to never again play "Guess which Chair Is Booby-Trapped" with Snape ever again.

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AN: Yup… Snape's coming back, along with the rest of the Death Eaters. Prepare yourself, good readers.