Chapter 1
Girl's Night In
"It's as 'bout as bad as it could be," Voldemort sang, "Seems everybody's buggin' me..."
He danced in a circle to Shania Twain's deep, powerful voice belting from the CD player, picking up random bits of clothing strewn around the room which looked suspiciously like a bedroom in Malfoy Manor. It had a huge bed at one end, a wardrobe with the doors thrown open and a vanity mirror, with lights twinkling round the edge.
He perched himself on the stool, slicking on mascara and smearing rose-red lipstick where there should have been lips. He pouted at his reflection.
"I look so hot," he blew a kiss at the mirror and giggled like a schoolgirl.
He mixed and matched rings, a different colour stone on every bony finger, fixed on diamond and pearl earrings and slid bracelets up each arm, although his arms were so thin they slid up to his shoulders every time he moved.
"Now," he said to himself, "le piece de la resistance!"
He went to the wardrobe to change.
When he came back, he wore a lacy, black silk nightdress, which stretched uncomfortably across his chest, the straps hanging limply across his arms. It barely covered him, coming down to a few inches above the middle of his thigh. It looked as though it should be worn by someone a lot smaller.
He posed, and the music still played. He waved to imaginary crowds, taking photos and cheering loudly.
"My Lord?" asked a dazed voice behind him.
Voldemort froze, a look of horror on his face. He turned slowly.
"Please don't let it be true," he wished, "please, please, please!"
If he had a look of horror on his face, it was nothing compared to the looks on the faces of Bellatrix and Severus.
"Up, up, up, can only go up from here-" Shania Twain was cut short as Severus clicked off the CD.
There was an uncomfortable silence, far too late broken by a realisation from Bellatrix.
"My Lord...is that...my nightdress?" she gulped, as though swallowing something unpleasant.
"Um...well, yes. I have a lot of your things, actually..." Voldemort went to the wardrobe, flung open the door and showed them. It was bursting with dresses, shoes, boxes containing hats and jewellery, too, "you can have them back if you want...?"
"No, no, please, keep them..." she seemed to beg.
Voldemort sat down on the bed, and his two servants averted their gaze and the nightwear strained to let the wearer sit. It rose unpleasantly. The Death Eaters understood that if they took away their commitment to staring at the wall, they would be blind by the end of the day.
"Oh! I...I don't suppose you want these back?" Voldemort walked over to his chest of drawers, opened one and took out a red pair of women's knickers.
This was too much for his most faithful servant. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed to the floor, out cold.
Taking her sudden departure from the conscious world as a resounding 'No', Voldemort turned to Severus.
Severus looked how he most likely felt – sick. But, putting on a brave face, he avoided tripping over Bellatrix and staggered out of the door.
"I saw nothing, my Lady-I mean, my Lord..." he gulped, closing the door behind him.
But, listening carefully, Voldemort heard the awful sound of Severus Snape throwing up violently over the floor.