REVIEW ALERT!! REVIEW ALERT!! I got a review for Chapter 4!! A special thanks to J.!! *passes out hugs*

Chapter 5: Hell in Hell

You know those places that are so horrible/torturous/tediously dull/may or may not have once been the residence of one or more kitty litter boxes? People call those kinds of places "Hell on Earth". Well, Voldy had found his Hell on Earth, all right. Except it was in Hell.

Forget his aforementioned potential like of Hell. This really was torture.

Voldy was standing at his work station, giant rubber stamp in hand and conveyor belt before him. He was flanked by hulking figures on either side of him; dead like him doing penance. They clearly knew the drill, because they were going about their work like pros. To his left and right, spirits taxied stamped memos away from the belt and to... other places that he did not know (although according to his schedule he would become familiar with on Tuesday).

The belt itself was annoyingly dysfunctional. It stopped multiple times, made a maddening rattling noise when it was moving (if at all), and was an overall pain. Gregory was no help, in fact; he never seemed to be around. Voldy had no idea where he went after he dropped him off at the belt, but he assumed he was chumming it up over a cup of coffee in the break room with the other consciences, because they apparently weren't required to come either. So much for help.

No matter. He was Lord Voldemort, and he was more than capable of doing it on his own. Just get through arduous task, and then he could go back to his quarters and wait for what the next day would bring, hopefully a better job.

Luck didn't seem to be favoring him today, however. The spirits working around him seemed to have bullying on their sin record in their life, because they decided to pick on him after only a little while of working. Three brutes came up to him with stamps in hand, leering. He didn't recall them stamping with him...

"Look boys," the presumed leader said, "It's a little new boy."

"A n00b, eh? Kinda titchy, isn't he?" another said.

"Oi, let's give him a proper welcome, shall we, gents?" the third spoke up.

A chorus of agreement was heard, and the thugs closed in. Oh, Lord, Voldy thought. Wait—oh, me.

Despite his struggling, they pinned him to the ground and gave him a couple of smacks and kicks, poking and prodding him and calling him mean names. It was true that Voldy had had immense power in life, but without his wand he was not much for physical strength (though he was unbeatable at arm wrestling using his wand hand). His only talent was being able to mass murder whole towns and not feel a thing.

When they strode away triumphant and laughing, Voldy picked himself off the ground with bruised skin, a likewise pride, and a large bold-faced font reading "AUTHORIZED BY SATIN" stamped in red ink on his forehead. It would take only a week for it to come off completely, but the hurt done to his ego would take longer to heal.

Voldy was not used to defeat, however, and so he squared his shoulders, hoisted his stamp and marched back to his station. He was not a quitter, had never been a quitter, and never would be quitter, as long as he could help it (although he had also never been authorized by Satin, and that had happened and he certainly could not have helped that). He stamped like a thing on stamp pills, finished his daily quota early, didn't realize it, and so kept on stamping until Gregory happened upon him a few hours later, his arms like windmills and the stamp a blur in his hand.

"Uh... I see you're adjusting to the work quite nicely, Voldy." Gregory said, watching him.

Voldy didn't answer him. He couldn't hear him over the sound of his stamping.

"Voldy."

No reply. Only stamping.

"Voldy."

Stampstampstampstampstamp.

"VOLDY!!!"

"Can't—talk—working—stamps—zebra--"

Gregory floated over to the stack that was building beside Voldy. He hadn't even let it go down the belt.

"Voldy, stop."

"Can't—must—work--"

"No, you mustn't. You're done, Voldy. You've filled your quota."

"No—I'm--"

Gregory knew that this wasn't going to go anywhere at this rate. At least, not with words. He spun Voldy around with surprising strength for a three foot tall thing and smacked him with his own stamp.

Voldy pouted. "That hurt," he whined, then stopped himself. Oh no. The annoying habit is already setting in.

"Oh, it looks like someone's already done that to you today," Gregory said, inspecting Voldy's forehead ornament.

"Yeah," Voldy sighed, deflated. "I had a rough day."

"Oh, poor thing," Gregory said sarcastically. He studied Voldy for a moment. The guy looked pretty down, and that was saying something for Lord Voldemort. Not being used to being the victim for most of your life made the fall so much worse, he guessed. He supposed he could cut him some slack. They were, after all, going to be spending eternity in partnership.

Gregory rolled his eyes at himself. He was getting too soft. "Well, you might as well tell me about it, then," he said, beginning to float down the hall. "Come on."

"I haven't been so humiliated since the orphanage. They pinned me to the ground, beat me up, then stamped me. AND they called me a n00b," Voldy wailed. He didn't even stop to scold himself for being a wuss.

"Typical playground soap. Tragic," Gregory said impassively, though not sarcastically. "Well, the good thing about being the n00b is, novelty wears off. Nobody's the n00b forever. Of course, time is on a much slower scale when you're talking about eternity, but hey! Soon, YOU'LL be beating the next n00b up and stamping their forehead."

"Oh, I'll never be accepted into their gang," Voldy sniffled. "I'm too scrawny."

"And the next n00b will be scrawnier. Maybe. If not, well, another good thing is that you're moving work stations every day. There's so many jobs to do, you'll barely do them twice over the next two weeks."

"But what if there are more bullies at the next station?" Voldy whined.

Gregory was not known for his patience, and despite his trying to cheer Voldy up, he was getting irritated at the sniveling creature beside him. Why is the right thing to do usually the harder thing to do? he though exasperatedly. (As we all know, another thing Gregory was also not known for was his work ethic.)

"Oh for god's sake, Voldy, are you going to stop whining or do I have to smack you with a stamp again? You're Lord Voldemort! Are you going to let a couple of thugs and a lousy conveyor belt get you down after one day of dealing with it?" Gregory snapped.

Voldy took well to being slapped around, Gregory observed, because he pounded his stamp into his hand and said, "You're right! I'm Voldemort, dammit! Those thugs can leave well alone or else face the raging fury of my wand!" He pointed his wand what he thought was in a threatening manner at Gregory, but really looked rather silly because it wasn't a wand, it was a stamp.

"Uh, right," Gregory said, gingerly pushing the rubber away from his face. "Why do you still have that, anyway?"

"What, my--?" Voldy looked at the object in his hand and realized it was just a stamp. "Oh." It dropped to his side anticlimactically. "I miss my wand," he sighed. "In my quest for the Elder Wand, I never really realized how much worth it was to me."

"Well, that stamp might be some worth to you now, because I think trouble is heading our way," Gregory said in a low voice, looking over Voldy's shoulder.

Voldy turned to see the three thugs from the conveyor belt advancing toward him menacingly. His forehead burned, and it wasn't from blushing. This reminded him of someone he knew. Oh, god, I am turning into my mortal enemy. Only his scar was much cooler.

"Show him what you've got, Voldy, wand or no wand," Gregory whispered. "You don't want another stamp, do you?"

Voldy bared his teeth. "No."

"That's good, because this time it might not be in such an agreeable place."

Voldy gave him a weird look. "Are you possibly gay?"

"Trust me, I wouldn't want to see that."

"Well, you're lucky, because apparently I don't have it anymore," Voldy said, gesturing to the haze at his waist.

The thugs were on them now. "Well, look what we have here, boys!" the leader sneered. "It's the titch from before, now authorized by Satin!" His cronies guffawed appreciatively.

"Oi, look, 'e's got 'is li'lle sidekick wif 'im," the third one said, eyeing Gregory.

"I beg your pardon?" Gregory muttered under his breath.

"And his authorization seems to have worn off a bit since our last visit, eh, gents? And Titch here's conveniently got a stamp. Shall we give him a fresh blot and maybe get his friend in the deal?"

Another chorus of agreement, and the thugs began to close in again.

Voldy gripped the stamp and held it before him. "Excuse me, gents, but there seems to be a bit of a problem with that," he said, his voice strong.

"Oh? And what's that?" the leader chuckled, humoring him for sport. I am not a sport. I am Lord Voldemort, armed with a stamp, and it will have to do.

"Well, you seem to lack authorization as well. May I?" Without waiting for an answer, Voldy charged at them full speed and slammed into the biggest one, knocking the wind out of him. He pounded repeatedly on his face with the stamp, leaving no ink but definitely a bruise. The other thugs were upon him in an instant, but Gregory came up behind them and began to bite them with his pointy teeth. They endured it, however, but only enough to grab Voldy and throw him to the ground, then back away.

"You think you've won this round, titch, but the battle's just begun. We'll see you around. Count on it."

Voldy watched with a growing sense of triumph as they went off to their own sect. He, Voldy, had defeated three opponents singlehandedly with no wand.

"Not singlehandedly, you twit," Gregory growled, tuned in to his thoughts. "And you only really took out one of them. I did the rest."

"Well, fine, I guess you're right," Voldy conceded, but not grudgingly. Their partnership was starting to work out quite nicely.

Gregory gestured to the stamp. "You going to return that, then?"

Voldy looked down the hallway where he could vaguely see the conveyor belt, moving as slowly as ever. He palmed the stamp in his hand. "No," he said. "I think I've found it's worth."

"You're keeping it? As a weapon?" Gregory said skeptically.

Voldy grinned wickedly. "Well, it isn't any Elder Wand, and it certainly isn't my wand, but it will do."