Guess what? Today I was bored, tired, and I had writer's block. So what do I write? This. Enjoy; I am willing to justify or disclaim any misgivings you form about me as you read this.

Speaking of which: Harry Potter does not belong to me. I am not J. K. Rowling.

Voldemort was supremely angry. In the past twenty minutes he had yelled at nine people (actually, there were only two people: he yelled at Wormtail eight times, but I see no reason to let him in on this fact) for stupidity, ranted about the asinine qualities of modern Death Eaters, and refused every offer of kindness.

"Milord? Are…are you okay?" Lucius said worriedly, the trembles in his voice coming from frets over, perhaps, the sanity of his Lord, but quite possibly his own safety.

"Shut up, Lucius, and go get me a sandwich," Voldy snapped, making Lucius flinch dramatically.

"Y-yes, milord," Lucius mumbled, hurrying off.

"No crusts!" yelled the most evil wizard of the century.

While halfway through devouring a sandwich, which Lucius had so conveniently left the crusts attached onto, he was approached by Barty Crouch, Jr. "Milord…Narcissa would like to ask if she may go out—"

"Shut up!" roared Voldemort. "No, she may not. Now get out of my sight!"

"Well, then, how may I help you get over your anger, milord?"

"I have writer's block. It cannot be helped. Now go away."

As Barty scrambled to get out of Voldemort's sight, a brilliant plan formed in his mind. He frantically whipped his head from side to side, searching for the nearest Death Eater, who happened to be Bellatrix. "Bella!" he yelled theatrically. "Fetch me some Muggle authors! Now!"

"Yes, milord." There was nothing Bellatrix enjoyed more than a nice Muggle hunt. Well, torturing Wormtail was pretty enjoyable, but…hmmm. She would have to think about that later.

By two o'clock the next morning, there were no less than twenty authors strung up against the blank, south-facing wall of Headquarters. Voldemort, who was looking immensely satisfied with himself, licked his lips in anticipation and addressed his authors. "Now, you will give me ideas for my latest story or suffer the wrath of the Cruciatus Curse!" He finished with a dramatic flourish of his brandished wand, most of which was greeted by blank stares.

"Hey, isn't that the guy from Harry Potter?" one author commented.

"Yeah…what's-his-name…" another trailed off.

"Voldy…Voldy-something," a third mused.

By now, Voldy-something was fuming. How dare they speak about him like that? How dare they remember precious Potter rather than him? "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"

Listening to the shrieks of several hysterical Muggles, Voldemort despaired. He still had writer's block.