Woah I never expected this to be so popular! Seriously, I love you all to death, thank you so much! I'm sorry for the ridiculously long wait, comrades; my computer had a virus for a while. Without further adieu, the newest chapter of The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Mess-Up-The-Plot:
In Which Everyone Involved Is Mentally Scarred
The shade of Tom Riddle gaped at the reckless Gryff who was currently staring down a basilisk. And winning. "H-how the hell... How is that even possible!? You should be dead!" he cried out in outrage.
The basilisk (whom Harry had, in all his brilliant originality and creativity, named Mister Scales) made some sort of snakey whimpering noise as it apparently lost the staring contest before quickly slithering around and retreating back into the statue as fast as possible before Harry answered. "I once saw a house elf, naked," Harry gravely answered the diary's memory. He still remembered the day; not even looking through his entire collection of Playboys had rid him of the horrific image. "Nothing can possibly be worse than that." The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Defy-All-Basic-Laws-Of-Nature stared blankly into the distance, in much the way former soldiers look when having war flashbacks. "...I can still hear the screaming..."
(He would later experience something much, much worse in his fourth year, but we'll get to that lovely bit in a moment.)
In apology for the long wait, I'm posting two related chapters at once.
In Which Obliviators Are Needed
After Wormtail dropped the final ingredient, Voldemort, into the cauldron, the potion began to froth about and the metal cauldron melted away and became a puddle in the grass. That was probably hazardous, but as a rule, Dark Lords don't particularly care about the environment. After the ridiculous amount of magical fog dissipated, the two witnesses saw the results of the ritual.
It wasn't pretty.
"Oh, Merlin, my eyes! For the love of the Founders, someone gouge them out! Ack, quick, someone call a team of Obliviators! Someone please obliviate me!" Harry shrieked as he caught sight of a very naked Voldemort.
The snake-man scowled as he pulled on the robes handed to him by a rather sick-looking (whether from blood-loss or the sight of his master's birthday suit, the world may never know) Wormtail. "Are you done yet?" he asked the still-spluttering Potter brat, an angry vein of anime-like proportions appearing on his forehead..
"—rather be covered in troll snot again! —Just a minute, I still have a few more.— I think I'll be scarred for life, and this is coming from me! Can you imagine what that would do to a small child? It might kill them! Bloody hell, I've faced down a damned basilisk and I'm terrified of what I just saw! Merlin, the sight of you naked might kill a basilisk before it could kill you with its eyes! I mean, that was worse than the time the twins transfigured Dumbledore's robes into a skin-tight leotard and he walked around in it all day, and that is saying something! I'm seriously considering obliviating this whole year from my memory just so I won't have to deal with this, valuable information or not! ...Alright, I'm done."
The Dark Lord just threw the portkey at him.
I'd like to once again ask you all for ideas for new chapters; I only have a few more planned out right now.