This chapter is longer to make up for the more definite lapse in updates coming up, as I am forced to apply myself to things other than fanfic. But the more reviews I get, the guiltier I feel about not updating, and thus, the more I'll update! (coughcough)
DC: So. We're back here again. I just wonder how all the people who write billions of stories for fanfiction can stand to come up with new ones every time. But, to get it over with, here you go, all you merciless, greedy franchises just waiting to sue an innocent kid for the heck of it: I don't own what you see in here, except for the story, punch lines, and a "caring" Voldy.
"Hypocrite reader – my fellow – my brother!" – Charles Baudelaire. (I'm running out of things to say, so I started taking quotes. This one is on here not because I know/care what it means, but because it has that sort of 'gasping' sense to it, which I am quite fond of.)
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Snape limped to Malfoy Manor on crutches, his IV bag swinging behind him on a little wheeling cart. White bandages encased most of his body.
He hobbled up the steps, anticipating his kitchen, fiddled with his keys, and opened the door.
"Welcome home, Snape!" shouted a chorus a voices from the shadows. They attacked him, wearing party hats, blowing kazoos, and throwing handfuls of confetti into the air.
"Mmph…" Mumbled Snape as he was crushed between the hard floor and the Death Eaters.
"We missed you so much!" Lucius exclaimed as they stood up, revealing a semi-flattened Snape and a leaking IV bag.
"Mmph…"
"Voldemort had me doing all the chores around here! Now that you're home, you can finally fix the hole in the roof he's been complaining about."
"Mmph…"
"Yup! You'd better get on it. The ladder's in the basement, so I'd watch out for the homicidal cockroaches." Lucius checked his watch. "Well, The Simpsons is on, so I'm gonna go make some microwavable popcorn." With that, he bounced away with the other Death Eaters, chattering.
Snape was left twitching on the rug.
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"Minion!" Voldemort sang, "Please come up here!"
While waiting, he spun himself round and round in his amazing swivel chair. He had bought it off eBay. Apparently, it was one Bill Gates had sat in at a press conference. Hopefully, the PC/Windows genius of the MIT drop-out would rub off. Superstitiously, Voldemort rubbed the arms of his chair.
"Minion! Snape!" he called again, this time less cheerful.
He did a few more spins on his chair.
"Lucius!" Voldemort barked. "Where is Snape? I thought he was back from the hospital!"
"D'oh!"
"… What was that, Lucius?"
"Homer Simpson, my lord."
"Oh. Anyways, where is Snape?"
"Fixing the roof."
"Weren't you supposed to do that?"
"Don't have a cow, man."
"What did you just say?"
"That was Bart, my lord. What about the roof?"
"… Never mind, Lucius."
"Ehhh – xcellent…"
Voldemort sat looking at the door for a moment. Then he quickly turned to his private blog. Note to Pimp'n Dark Lord: The Pimp'n Dark Lord should check the temperature of the fridge, to make sure it is bellow 40 degrees. This will prevent the hallucinations of his Death Eaters in the future..
Now… He stood up to go get Snape off the roof. The man's first day back and already he was slacking off work.
Downstairs, he found Snape trampled in the foyer.
"Minoin! There you are!"
"Mmph."
"Get back to work! We didn't know how to start a fire, so we've been eating out. Now that you're back, we can have home-cooked meals again!"
"Mmph."
"Don't give me your cheek!"
"… Mmph."
"I expect a big change in attitude, Mister!" Voldemort swept off, forgetting that the only reason he had left his lair was to ask Snape for some tea.
Troubled, the Dark Lord paced his room, wondering why Snape was being so snippety.
Perhaps some present was in order, as his "released from the hospital" gift. What did he want in life?
The answer hit like a mosquito would a bug zapper. Tea.
Eager to please his one useful minion, mainly because Voldemort didn't want to do any work himself, he surfed the glorious Internet, and found what he was looking for.
Due to plot holes, the package appeared next to the laptop, rather than be delivered by a cowardly mailman. Voldemort squealed and stroked it open.
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Snape limped himself to the kitchen. Here was where relaxation lay, with a good, strong cup of green tea and some homemade pastries.
As he looked around, checking that all the mixes were accounted for, he saw a huge chrome contraption taking up the entire counter displaying his collectable tins.
"Isn't it great?" Voldemort appeared only two inches away from his face grinning broadly, so much that the veins on his neck were sticking out.
"Mmph!"
Snape fell over, due to shock, fear, and horror that he couldn't see his 1968 World's Fair Novelty Edition.
Voldemort looked at his fallen minion. "Snape?" he said, bending down, "Snape?"
Snape was curled up into the fetal position.
"Lucius," the Dark Lord called, "come see if Snape's breathing!"
"Why can't you?"
"He might be dead. The Pimp'n Dark Lord does not touch dead people."
Grumbling all the way, Lucius left the TV room and hauled himself to the kitchen.
"No," the Death Eater felt Snape's pulse, "He's alive. But we should probably take him to the hospital again."
Voldemort sighed. "Very well, Lucius. I'd hate to lose my only useful minion."
Completely ignoring the comment, or not even noticing it, Lucius threw Snape over his shoulder and left.
The Dark Lord looked at his automatic tea maker, annoyed that it had been received with near-death, instead of the anticipated cry of joy and shower of thanks.
It was at that moment that for no apparent reason, except to move the story along that Voldemort was struck by a genius idea even more genius than usual.
"The machine gun!" he exclaimed, running back to the foyer. "I can use that to threatened that Potter kid! Brilliant! And this way I don't have to use the GPS tracker that was previously mentioned!"
Lugging the machine gun upstairs, Voldemort reviewed his plan. It was quite simple: Go to Hogwarts, point gun at that Potter Kid. But it was the simplicity that made it so amazing.
Cackling, but quietly so not to irritate his delicate throat tissue, he typed up his plot in his private blog, in the immortal sense of third person.
What he did not see was the small red light issuing from the neglected shadows atop his computer desk.
Ora li ho, "caramella dell'uomo"… (I have you now, "hunk of man candy"…) whispered Bellina the Breathy Italian Video Camera.
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"Hermione!" Harry screeched, but in a singsong fashion.
Hermione and Ron twitched simultaneously. "Yes, Harry?" Hermione managed through cheerily clenched teeth.
"I just got this video in my email…"
"Then watch it, Harry."
"Okay."
Hermione cranked her head mechanically back to her book.
It was the Italian voice that made her look up again. "Is that an international video porn?" she whispered to Ron.
"I don't think so… Lemme listen." Ron cocked his head, trying to hear.
"Since when have you ever been fluent in Italian?" Hermione scoffed.
"'I don't have much time,'" Ron recited, "'So listen closely: Your enemy, Voldemort, is planning to use a machine gun on you. Beat him to the punch. Come to Malfoy Manor and take it before he can come to your school.'"
Hermione looked at him, shocked.
"When did you-"
"Shush!"
But the movie had ended.
"You know what this means, don't you?" Hermione asked seriously.
"Ron must be secretly going to Italy while we're sleeping?"
"NO, Harry. It means we're going to have to go on another traumatic, difficult adventure, and battle Voldemort again."
There was a grim silence.
"Well, if we're going to be off risking our lives yet again, I guess I'll try to refund this." Ron sadly held up an Alitalia Airlines ticket.
Harry stuck his tongue out at Hermione.
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AN: I had originally planned to have the transcript for Bellina's video, but there was no way I was going to translate all that into Italian. By the way, I also don't own the Simpson catch phrases.
