Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, etc, etc.

Chapter Eight

"Ah, Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore from behind his desk. "Do have a seat."

"I received your letter."

"So I presumed," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Biscuits? Lemon drop?"

"No," scowled Lord Voldemort.

"Ah, well. Then I suppose I should start at the beginning. Mr. Riddle, allow me to be quite frank. Your daughter stinks."

Lord Voldemort jumped from his seat. "You dog! How dare you cast aspersions on her magical abilities! Why, she is more pure of blood than—"

"I meant quite literally, Mr. Riddle, I assure you. You see, she has given up bathing."

"Oh." Lord Voldemort sat down. "I wondered what that smell was."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "Her stench has quite overtaken the school and her classmates are quite at their wits end. They have tried, quite unsuccessfully, to convince her to take a bath or a swim in the lake at the very least, but it is all quite in vain."

"I see."

"I and the faculty were hoping you could have a word with her? You are, after all, quite persuasive."

"Yes," said Lord Voldemort, "I might be persuaded to do so, if you would quit saying quite, you blithering idiot!" Lord Voldemort had jumped from his seat again, waving his wand wildly and with a mad gleam in his eye.

"Yes," said Dumbledore calmly, "but that is not the only reason I requested this meeting with you."

Lord Voldemort sat back down again, calm once more. "Oh?" he said conversationally.

"You see, she is doing exceedingly poor in Hufflepuff house—"

"Good. Serves the wretch right, getting into such a putrid house."

Dumbledore ignored him. "—and has been ostracized by her fellow housemates. Not to mention, that she has not been able to form a pleasant relationship with her head of house at all and has instead driven the poor woman mad!"

"Mad, you say?" said Lord Voldemort, perking up. "Perhaps there is hope for the girl after all."

"At any rate, though it would be breaking protocol, it has been suggested that your daughter be resorted. I have taken the liberty of sending for her, so that she may be resorted posthaste."

Voldemort was paying no attention whatsoever and was instead outlining the rim of his mouth with a pale finger while muttering to himself and staring at a corner of the rug. There was a knock at the door.

"Ah, that will be Anne now. Come in!" called Dumbledore.

"Hallo Headmaster," said Anne pleasantly as she stepped through the door.

Voldemort gagged as the strengthened smell of her stench wafted over him and Fawkes fainted dead away. Only Anne and Dumbledore seemed unperturbed.

"Miss Smith," said Dumbledore. "Do sit down."

Anne sat in one of two chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. She chanced a glance at who was in the other chair, but beyond the trench coat, fedora and ridiculously large sun glasses, Anne could not make out any features which would allow her to guess the person's identity.

"Miss Smith, you of course know Mr. Riddle," said Dumbledore when neither person said anything.

Anne gasped happily. "Daddy!" she yelled and threw herself into his arms.

Being brought out of his reverie so suddenly, Lord Voldemort screamed and flailed about magnificently, nearly poking Anne's eye out with his wand. Mistaking her father's screams for screams of joy, Anne only screamed louder with a large grin on her face. This continued until McGonagall burst into the room in a flurry of robes. Father and daughter were silenced into surprise and both looked at her with mouths agape.

"Good heavens," said McGonagall, "what the devil is going on here?"

"Why, nothing at all, Minerva," said Dumbledore blithely. "Merely a family reunion."

"A fine how-do-you-do," said McGonagall. "The first years were scared into hysterics!"

"I assure you, Minerva, it will not happen again," said Dumbledore.

"See that it doesn't!" Minerva exited swiftly.

"Oh Daddy, I'm so happy to see you!" exclaimed Anne once the deputy headmistress was gone.

"Yeah, well—" said Lord Voldemort eloquently.

"I mean," said Anne backing up and trying to put on her best scowl, "I suppose I could be happy to see you if I have to." Then she sneered.

Lord Voldemort sniffed.

"Are you alright, Daddy?" asked Anne, concerned.

"I'm fine," he growled. "I just—I just have something in my eye."

"They do grow up quickly, don't they?" said Dumbledore.

"Shut up!" snarled Voldemort. He turned his head away and began surreptitiously swiping at his eyes.

"Well my dear," said Dumbledore, "let's get you resorted, shall we?"

"I'm to be resorted?"

"Yes, yes," said Dumbledore as he grabbed the hat. "Sit down."

Anne sat and Dumbledore placed the hat on her head.

"Hmphf," began the hat, "resorted indeed. Why, this has never happened in all my days. Why bother sorting in the first place, if no one will abide by my decision? I ask you! Well, if Hufflepuff isn't good enough for you, better be RAVENCLAW!"

"Goodness, no need to shout," reprimanded Dumbledore. "We're not in the Great Hall, you know."

If the hat had a face, it would have glared at the headmaster. As it was, it merely rippled its brim angrily and shouted, "I QUIT! IS THAT LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU?! TELL ME HOW TO DO MY JOB, WILL YOU? I QUIT!"

Then the hat burst into flames, it was that angry. Unfortunately, it was not a phoenix and it burnt to ashes, never to be reborn.

"Good heavens," said Dumbledore. "However shall we sort now? Ah! I have it! We'll have a Sorting Sock! Yes, the alliteration fairly gives me tingles! Why, it sounds almost as good as Severus Snape, Rowena Ravenclaw or Helga Hufflepuff! Not to mention Filius Flitwick, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor or Dudley Dursley."

Dumbledore bustled off, presumably to his own quarters to find an appropriate sock. When Dumbledore was gone, Lord Voldemort rose from his seat in all his trench-coated glory.

"Walk with me," he commanded his daughter.

A/N: I've had problems getting Dumbledore's character right in previous chapters, but I think I finally got him right... or at least, better.