Harry Meets Lord Pauldemort, by Salix Ardens
Rating: G
Summary: Yay! Harry Potter fic! There's pretty much no point, it's just a silly fic while I try to figure out how to keep my other story from becoming a bit too "Wild".
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related entities are most likely the property of J. K. Rowling, or possibly that guy who does the movies. Chris Columbus, I think. I'm too lazy to get up, walk 10 feet to my DVD shelf, and check. Oh well. ANYWAY. Lord Pauldemort is mine, and also Kat's, because I can't remember which one of us came up with it and she writes about him too. AND yay for the real Lord Pauldemort for letting himself be used in this horrifying, traumatizing manner. Also, "Chicago" and "Tommy" are not mine. People who get insulted in this, I'm sorry, but I find it amusing.
*****
Harry Potter had had a long, hard day at Hogwarts. Double Potions with the Slytherins was pure torture, and then there was the fact that both Ron and Hermione were in the infirmary (along with half the students and faculty of the school) with bad colds, which for some reason couldn't be cured by magic.
"I guess the Muggles were right- there is no cure for it," he muttered to himself as he climbed into bed. His silk duck pajamas were soothing against his sore muscles. Malfoy had framed him as the person who had knocked over a cupboard full of potion supplies, and while the jars had been magically shatter-proofed, Professor Snape had made him haul the entire cabinet upright again. And it was a very large cabinet.
Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep, when suddenly his scar began to hurt. "Oh no!" he yelled as he felt himself yanked out of bed by unseen hands and whirled through the air. His insides felt like they were being torn apart, and he screamed as everything went black.
*****
When Harry woke up, he was lying in what seemed to be his bed, but his bed was on a stage, surrounded by showgirls who were dancing and singing an upbeat jazz tune. The audience sat three to a table, nursing drinks and ogling the girls appreciatively. As the song neared what seemed to be the end, the girls gathered around him and fell on his bed, singing, "And all…that…" Their arms thrown in wide gestures in Harry's direction, it seemed to be his line.
"Um?"
"AHHH! No! You don't know the song yet? It's a good thing this is just a rehearsal, Potter!" A young man, clad in pink hot pants and a tight white tank top, got up from among the groaning audience and started yelling at Harry. "You sing, 'Jazz!', then stand up and do this: step, snap, step, snap, hands through hair, snap! We've been over this! Ugh!" The man slumped down into a chair. "I think you should talk to the manager."
"Manager?" was all Harry could squeak out.
"Yes! You were supposed to go right to him, but I guess he thought you needed some more practice. Not like it helped! Now go!" He pointed to stage right and glared at Harry. "GO!"
Harry jumped out of his bed and ran backstage. The dimly lit area suddenly went completely dark. Harry tripped on something and fell to the ground. When he raised his eyes, he saw a tall cloaked figure silhouetted in a spotlight. The figure walked towards him, and Harry felt his scar throb. He cowered on the ground and whispered, "Who are you?"
The figure laughed. In a voice smooth as silk, it replied, "Who am I? I am Lord Pauldemort."
There was a pause.
Harry burst out laughing. "Don't you mean Voldemort?"
"Voldemort? Who is this Voldemort of which you speak? I am Lord Pauldemort, the deadliest showman in history! When I sing, people are drawn to me in adoration, and then I crush them with my dancing. None survive Lord Pauldemort!" Lord Pauldemort drew nearer to Harry and knelt down. Pauldemort had a handsome face, but his eyes were alternately mild and full of a glaring anger. "Watch this!"
Pauldemort stood and another spotlight lit him from the front. He commenced to sing. His voice was thick as honey, and he put a bit of a growl in all the right places. It was the best singing Harry had ever heard.
"Come on babe, why don't we paint the town"
Harry was fixated on Pauldemort's eyes as they blinked. His whole face seemed to close as his eyelids lowered, and when he opened them again his face opened too. It was like the entire focus of the world was on Pauldemort's eyes.
"And all that jazz
I'm gonna-"
"Wait, this song doesn't make sense. I'm a man, and a very manly man at that. Why would I rouge my knees?"
Harry looked confused. "Was that a rhetorical question?"
"Silence, Potter! I did not ask you to speak. Observe my dance." Pauldemort drew himself up and threw off his cloak, revealing diamond-studded tap shoes. He sucked in a breath, blew it out, then began a very involved, very beautiful, perfectly executed tap dance. He whirled round and round, did flips and spins, and never broke a sweat. As his dance ended, Pauldemort ran at Harry and slid on his knees, coming to a stop directly in front of him. His facial muscles were jumping all about as he screamed, "I'M A GYPSY! THE ACID QUEEN!"
As Harry's face began to twist into an expression of confusion yet again, the man with the hot pants ran in, yelling "Step, snap, step, snap, hands through hair, SNAP! You're doing it all wro-"
He was cut off by a piercing note sung by Pauldemort. The man fell backwards and lay twitching on the ground. "Thanks for that," said Harry. "He was really starting to annoy me."
"SILENCE! Tommy can you hear me?"
"What?"
"Tommy can you see me?"
"Stop it!"
"It's a boy! In out in out in out! AHHHH!" Pauldemort go up and ran around the room, waving his arms. "I tire of your presence, boy! Your singing and dancing talent doesn't even approach mine! I can't believe that Ron boy still likes you!" Pauldemort's face took on a thoughtful look. "Slash?"
"I am so confused."
"SILENCE! Return to whence you came!"
"I can't! You brought me here! You have to send me back. Someone will notice I'm missing, because nearly the whole school is down with some flu contag- conta- what's the word?"
Pauldemort looked thoughtful again and stroked his chin. "I'm going to write a book."
"What?"
Suddenly, Harry was seized by the same tearing feeling he had felt before. He blacked out and woke up some time later in his dormitory, in his bed. He sighed with relief.
"Thank God everything's back to nor-"
Harry realized just how much of a jinx his statement was as a large quantity of soap suds, refried beans, and chocolate pudding came sloshing out of the canopy of his four-poster and fell directly onto his head.
Rating: G
Summary: Yay! Harry Potter fic! There's pretty much no point, it's just a silly fic while I try to figure out how to keep my other story from becoming a bit too "Wild".
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related entities are most likely the property of J. K. Rowling, or possibly that guy who does the movies. Chris Columbus, I think. I'm too lazy to get up, walk 10 feet to my DVD shelf, and check. Oh well. ANYWAY. Lord Pauldemort is mine, and also Kat's, because I can't remember which one of us came up with it and she writes about him too. AND yay for the real Lord Pauldemort for letting himself be used in this horrifying, traumatizing manner. Also, "Chicago" and "Tommy" are not mine. People who get insulted in this, I'm sorry, but I find it amusing.
*****
Harry Potter had had a long, hard day at Hogwarts. Double Potions with the Slytherins was pure torture, and then there was the fact that both Ron and Hermione were in the infirmary (along with half the students and faculty of the school) with bad colds, which for some reason couldn't be cured by magic.
"I guess the Muggles were right- there is no cure for it," he muttered to himself as he climbed into bed. His silk duck pajamas were soothing against his sore muscles. Malfoy had framed him as the person who had knocked over a cupboard full of potion supplies, and while the jars had been magically shatter-proofed, Professor Snape had made him haul the entire cabinet upright again. And it was a very large cabinet.
Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep, when suddenly his scar began to hurt. "Oh no!" he yelled as he felt himself yanked out of bed by unseen hands and whirled through the air. His insides felt like they were being torn apart, and he screamed as everything went black.
*****
When Harry woke up, he was lying in what seemed to be his bed, but his bed was on a stage, surrounded by showgirls who were dancing and singing an upbeat jazz tune. The audience sat three to a table, nursing drinks and ogling the girls appreciatively. As the song neared what seemed to be the end, the girls gathered around him and fell on his bed, singing, "And all…that…" Their arms thrown in wide gestures in Harry's direction, it seemed to be his line.
"Um?"
"AHHH! No! You don't know the song yet? It's a good thing this is just a rehearsal, Potter!" A young man, clad in pink hot pants and a tight white tank top, got up from among the groaning audience and started yelling at Harry. "You sing, 'Jazz!', then stand up and do this: step, snap, step, snap, hands through hair, snap! We've been over this! Ugh!" The man slumped down into a chair. "I think you should talk to the manager."
"Manager?" was all Harry could squeak out.
"Yes! You were supposed to go right to him, but I guess he thought you needed some more practice. Not like it helped! Now go!" He pointed to stage right and glared at Harry. "GO!"
Harry jumped out of his bed and ran backstage. The dimly lit area suddenly went completely dark. Harry tripped on something and fell to the ground. When he raised his eyes, he saw a tall cloaked figure silhouetted in a spotlight. The figure walked towards him, and Harry felt his scar throb. He cowered on the ground and whispered, "Who are you?"
The figure laughed. In a voice smooth as silk, it replied, "Who am I? I am Lord Pauldemort."
There was a pause.
Harry burst out laughing. "Don't you mean Voldemort?"
"Voldemort? Who is this Voldemort of which you speak? I am Lord Pauldemort, the deadliest showman in history! When I sing, people are drawn to me in adoration, and then I crush them with my dancing. None survive Lord Pauldemort!" Lord Pauldemort drew nearer to Harry and knelt down. Pauldemort had a handsome face, but his eyes were alternately mild and full of a glaring anger. "Watch this!"
Pauldemort stood and another spotlight lit him from the front. He commenced to sing. His voice was thick as honey, and he put a bit of a growl in all the right places. It was the best singing Harry had ever heard.
"Come on babe, why don't we paint the town"
Harry was fixated on Pauldemort's eyes as they blinked. His whole face seemed to close as his eyelids lowered, and when he opened them again his face opened too. It was like the entire focus of the world was on Pauldemort's eyes.
"And all that jazz
I'm gonna-"
"Wait, this song doesn't make sense. I'm a man, and a very manly man at that. Why would I rouge my knees?"
Harry looked confused. "Was that a rhetorical question?"
"Silence, Potter! I did not ask you to speak. Observe my dance." Pauldemort drew himself up and threw off his cloak, revealing diamond-studded tap shoes. He sucked in a breath, blew it out, then began a very involved, very beautiful, perfectly executed tap dance. He whirled round and round, did flips and spins, and never broke a sweat. As his dance ended, Pauldemort ran at Harry and slid on his knees, coming to a stop directly in front of him. His facial muscles were jumping all about as he screamed, "I'M A GYPSY! THE ACID QUEEN!"
As Harry's face began to twist into an expression of confusion yet again, the man with the hot pants ran in, yelling "Step, snap, step, snap, hands through hair, SNAP! You're doing it all wro-"
He was cut off by a piercing note sung by Pauldemort. The man fell backwards and lay twitching on the ground. "Thanks for that," said Harry. "He was really starting to annoy me."
"SILENCE! Tommy can you hear me?"
"What?"
"Tommy can you see me?"
"Stop it!"
"It's a boy! In out in out in out! AHHHH!" Pauldemort go up and ran around the room, waving his arms. "I tire of your presence, boy! Your singing and dancing talent doesn't even approach mine! I can't believe that Ron boy still likes you!" Pauldemort's face took on a thoughtful look. "Slash?"
"I am so confused."
"SILENCE! Return to whence you came!"
"I can't! You brought me here! You have to send me back. Someone will notice I'm missing, because nearly the whole school is down with some flu contag- conta- what's the word?"
Pauldemort looked thoughtful again and stroked his chin. "I'm going to write a book."
"What?"
Suddenly, Harry was seized by the same tearing feeling he had felt before. He blacked out and woke up some time later in his dormitory, in his bed. He sighed with relief.
"Thank God everything's back to nor-"
Harry realized just how much of a jinx his statement was as a large quantity of soap suds, refried beans, and chocolate pudding came sloshing out of the canopy of his four-poster and fell directly onto his head.