Voldemort stared in surprise at the snowy owl perched beside his chair. How the thing had managed to make it through the wards was beyond him.

The owl, which looked rather haggard, held out its foot impatiently, waiting for him to take the offered letter. After quickly scanning it for curses (one can never be too careful) He accepted the rather crinkled looking letter. He tore open the seal and began to read:

To My Snake-faced Stalker,

How has your summer been? Filled with nefarious plotting and infinitely more interesting things than mine, I'm sure. Dumbledore, in an effort to keep my location a secret from evil ole you, told me I wasn't allowed to write any of my friends this summer, nor were they allowed to write me. I'm not even allowed to contact him.

So, in an effort to stave off the boredom and the hunger pangs, I'm contacting the one person that he didn't say no to. That's right. You.

Obviously, he didn't believe I would be mental enough to contact you, so he didn't put you on the list of No No's. Serves him right if you were to use this letter to track me down and finish me off in my sleep. Of course, I wouldn't be sending the letter in the first place if I believed that you didn't know where I was. Then again, at this point, death at your hands looks infinitely better than starvation.

Speaking of starvation, how do you eat with that creepy forked tongue thing you've got going on? And how did you get your eyes that particular shade of red? I've experimented with a few charms, but it just doesn't look the same.

Ahh, forgive me, I ramble. Oh, and I do believe I hear my aunt bellowing for me to come fix dinner for her walruses she refers to as husband and son. I suppose that's all for now, I don't even know if this letter will make through your no doubt extensive wards, but it staved off insanity for another day anyway. I'll write again I suppose, not that you'll read it most likely. Someone who sticks himself to the back of the head of someone like Quirrel can't have much taste in postal acceptance. Then again, maybe that means you aren't that picky...hmm...bloody hell, I've gotta go or they're not going to feed me again...how long can one go without food anyway...I thought it was two weeks...but apparently I'm wrong.

Sincerely,

The Boy Who Lived (in infinite boredom and malnutrition)

P.S...how do you keep bugs from flying up your nose when your nostrils are all big and slitty like that?

A wave of anger rolled over him, but then, in spite of himself, Voldemort chuckled slightly. The child had a wicked sense of humor, he had to admit. But the letter's contents bothered him. It seemed his young nemesis was starving, and he couldn't have that. After all, he had to be the one to finish him off, not eventual starvation. Tapping a quill against his lips thoughtfully, Voldemort grinned and began to write.

Voldemort was once again startled by the appearance of the same blasted snowy owl perched by his chair. It was once again bearing a letter, and once it realized it had been noticed, immediately held it's foot out for him to take it. He did so, only bothering with a cursory scan beforehand. Opening the seal, he began to read:

Dearest Moldyshorts,

I regretfully must thank you most sincerely for the care package that you sent to me. Without it, I doubt I would have been able to write this letter, although I resent being called the small one with horn-rimmed glasses.

It's good to know you no longer retain your snakelike appearance. That would be bothersome when attempting to disguise ones self in public, I'm sure.

In response to your inquiry, I don't know if Dumbledore is aware of my situation here. I haven't informed him specifically, only told him that I was very unhappy here and that my relatives hate me. Honestly, I really don't want to know if he knows or not. Because, If he does and he has sent me back anyway, then he is almost as bad, or even worse than you (depending on his reasons). And, If he doesn't know..then at the least he is impossibly stupid..and at most he is criminally negligent.

Thankfully though, I really don't have to worry much more this summer, as school starts in a few days. I can't wait to get away from my relatives again, though I'm not especially looking forward to failing my summer homework. My relatives didn't exactly give me time to work on it..

Well, I won't take up anymore of your time, I'm sure you have Deatheaters to harass or muggles to torture, or some other such activity to keep you occupied.

Until next time,

The Boy with a sugar high (your fault)

P.S. I wouldn't be adverse to keeping up our correspondence while I'm at Hogwarts.

Voldemort shook his head, then grinned. Yes, this was definitely one of the more interesting pieces of mail that he had ever gotten. He picked up his quill and quickly began to scratch across the parchment.

Voldemort looked in surprise at the letter awaiting him by his bedside table. How in the hell had that bloody owl managed..he would figure it out later. At the moment, he was more interested in finding out what Harry had to say. He tore open the letter and began to read:

Dearest Snake Snogger,

Has Binns ever been interesting? Is there a point to History of Magic, or should we relabel the course 'An Intensely Devoted Study of the Inside of my Eyelids?' Is there a way to inform a ghost that he's already dead? Would Binns even care?

Oh, I'm glad you still wanted to correspond over the school year, as Ron, Hermione and I currently aren't speaking. Can you believe they're mad at me for not writing them over the summer? Oh well, that's life, yeah?

By the way, did you tell Snape to be more difficult this year, or has he become even more fun to be around for no particular reason? Did you know he wrote a Hufflepuff up for breathing too loudly? The poor kid had an anxiety attack and started to hyperventilate. Ahh, well, gotta go. Homework and all that.

I'll write again soon, But until then stay all evil and stuff...On second thought...don't. I would rather not die if its all the same to you. This is where I leave off, before a certain camera toting Griffyndor takes a picture of my letter. We wouldn't want to scare the masses with our correspondence, now would we?

Tolerantly Yours,

The one chosen (to be picked on by Snape, apparently)

Oh, the child would pay for that one. Snake snogger indeed. With a vicious smile, Voldemort picked up his quill and began to write.