The Issue With Tissues
There were days when even the most powerful witches and wizards fell ill. No one, not even Voldemort himself, was immune to the common cold. Which always lead to some interesting conversations between him and his darling Bellatrix when she was trying to take care of him.
"Bella," he said, his voice thick and nasally. "Bring me a tissue. My face is running."
"Yes, my lor - " She stopped in mid sentence, her hand hovering over the box of tissues. "What did you say?"
"You heard what I said. I said my face is running."
She blinked and looked at him in confusion. When she took a moment to think about it, she supposed it made sense. The man didn't have a nose so what else would he call it? But then she was curious, wondering how he blew his face when he had a cold. The thought made her laugh, as she imagined all the ways in which he might blow his face.
"What's so funny?" he grumbled.
"Nothing, my lord. Nothing at all." The crazed witch plucked a tissue from the box and handed it to him. 'Go on then,' she thought. 'Let's see you blow your face.'