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Voldemort and the Horrible Flatmate by Cassius Alcinder
Chapter 1 : Voldemort and the Horrible Flat Mate
 
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Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters or situations are the property of their respective authors.  No copyright infringement is intended. 

In a dark abandoned forest, as the wind howled through the trees and the creatures of the night made their very spooky sounds, a group of teenagers huddled closely around a campfire.  They felt as if they were being rebellious by coming to this abandoned campsite, and they smugly congratulated themselves on their rebelliousness.  Illuminated only by the firelight one of the youths began to tell the dark tale behind their current setting.

“In 1845, this was an important mining town in the Industrial Revolution.  One day, a miner walked away from work, and wandered into these woods to have a poo.  But before he could finish, he was attacked and killed by a band of robbers, struck by lightning, and eaten by a bear!”

One of the kids let out a scream as the others shivered.  The storyteller continued. 

“Right before he died, he put a curse on these woods, that whoever came back here would suffer the same fate!”

“What a load of rubbish, that’s just a stupid story,” objected one of the kids.

A boy called Steve then brought up a good point, “Has anybody seen Reggie?”

The other kids murmured, Reggie was nowhere to be seen.  

“Well I am going to go look for Reggie by myself.  I am leaving the group and not telling any of you where I am going.  It is perfectly safe and rational for me to do this and obviously nothing bad can possibly happen to me,” Steve pronounced. 

Steve slowly and nervously walked into the dark woods, gradually getting more and more lost until he was confronted by a bald snake- like figure.

“Lord Voldemort!” he exclaimed.  “But I thought you were dead! Harry Potter killed you!”

Voldemort laughed maniacally, as he pointed his wand in Steve’s direction.  “You clearly thought wrong; Avada Kedavra!”

A streak of green light shot out of Voldemort’s wand as Steve dropped to the ground. 

“Noooo! Cut! Cut! Stop the cameras!” screamed the director, waving his arms wildly.

He charged up to Voldemort and got right in his face.  “Are you an absolute idiot? How many times do I have to tell you? This is a bloody film! Those are actors! You are not supposed to actually kill them!”

Voldemort shrugged sheepishly; some habits were hard to break.

The director stormed off in a huff, “Well we’re done until tomorrow then.  We’re already over budget and behind schedule, and now we need to find new actors and do this whole scene over again!”

Voldemort sulked away and began his journey home, slightly disappointed, yet satisfied after another long day at work.  It had been a massive struggle for Voldemort to find new employment after his defeat by Harry Potter.  He would have never guessed that having so many crimes on one’s record in addition to a distinct lack of marketable skills would make it so hard to find a suitable job.  But now, after he had caved in and agreed to hire Rita Skeeter as his agent and publicist, things were finally beginning to change.  Skeeter had invested a lot of time and energy into rebranding Voldemort’s image, and it was finally starting to pay off.

First of all, he had landed a role as the villain in the new Wednesday the 17th series, which he was currently filming.  It was a horrible plot with horrible dialogue, but he was glad to finally have work to do, even if it did seem to be box office poison.  He was reminded nearly daily that the tops of the movie and book charts were completely owned by his old enemy Harry Potter, who told their story from his own perspective and obviously got everything wrong.  And to make matters worse, Cedric Diggory, who was somehow still alive, had made yet another absolutely horrible vampire movie. 

Despite his floundering film career, Voldemort had recently received his true big break when Rita Skeeter had finally convinced a television network to purchase the first episode of Britain’s Next Top Death Eater, a reality show in which ordinary muggles competed for a chance to join Voldemort’s elite inner circle.  The network had denied Voldemort’s request to avada kedavra the losing contestants, instead insisting that he look at the camera with a cheesy grin and say “You’ve been sacked.”  However, aside from that minor annoyance he was quite pleased with his new show. 

The best part of all for Voldemort was that now that he was making a steady pay check, he was no longer forced to live on the streets, and could now afford to rent a small flat in London.  However, in order to afford the rent, he was forced to take in a flat mate.  With most of his old friends and acquaintances either dead or locked up in Azkaban, finding a suitable flat mate was no easy task.  Draco Malfoy had turned down his generous offer of sharing a flat, opting instead to have his own penthouse in a trendy neighborhood.  That entitled little punk. 

One recent night while journeying home, Voldemort was completely stunned to see a blue police box seemingly blocking his path, out of which walked Barty Crouch Jr., his most loyal follower whom he feared was gone forever.  Of all the people to share a flat with this was surely his number one choice!

“Barty, I can’t believe it’s you!” he called out.

Crouch looked at him quizzically, “Who is this Barty you speak of?”

Voldemort was stunned, “You’re Barty Crouch Jr., the most loyal and accomplished of my death eaters!”

“But I’m not a death eater, I’m a Doctor!” Crouch protested. 

“Doctor Who?” asked a very confused Voldemort. 

Crouch quickly scanned the area and looked down at his scanner, and then he hurriedly ran off, mumbling something about cyber men and a Tardis, whatever that meant. 

Voldemort walked away in dejection, reminding himself to never get kissed by a dementor. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone, one of the new technologies that he had reluctantly embraced at Rita’s insistence.  He logged on to check his Twitter feed, and was excited to find several new messages.  He squinted closely to read:

@Harry Potter New Harry Potter movie breaks more box office records.  Suck it Riddle, I win again #boywholived”

Greatly disappointed, Voldemort read on:

“@GeorgeWeasleyWizardWheezer Don’t you love the smell of freshly baked cookies? When you can smell them with your nose? Oh wait, never mind #burn #you got owned

Voldemort threw the phone on the ground in disgust, wondering why he had ever given in to that stupid muggle technology in the first place. 


***

After a long walk, Voldemort arrived at the tiny flat and opened the door.  He badly needed some time to himself, but as the door creaked open, he could hear the familiar deep mechanical breathing of his new flat mate.  It’s not that he didn’t like the new flat mate; they actually had a lot in common.  It’s just that he was so weird. 

Voldemort walked in the door to find his new flat mate sitting in the living room, looking at him in the same creepy way he always did.  Not that he knew for sure what he was looking at, it was impossible to see his eyes through the black mask and visor he always wore.  His strange wardrobe was just one of the many quirks of the man who only referred to himself as “Darth Vader.”

“Your rent money is behind schedule,” Vader reminded Voldemort in a deep powerful voice. 

“I get paid in two days, I’ll get you the money then,” pleaded Voldemort.

“I hope so, for your sake.  The landlord is not as forgiving as I am,” replied Vader. 

It was basically the same routine every night for Voldemort, trying to avoid his flat mate but never succeeding in doing so.  There was always an underlying tension between the two.  On the surface, they had much in common; two defeated dark lords being forced to find their own way in the world.  Both of them had once had unprecedented powers, and there was much they could learn from each other. 

However, they had both been trying to be number one for so long that they found it very challenging to coexist.  Although their relations seemed cordial on the surface, they often tried to kill each other, if for no other reason just to maintain their edge and keep each other on their toes.  First Voldemort had placed a deadly curse on Vader’s tub of ice cream.  Then Vader had planted a thermal detonator in the shower.  Things had escalated from there, but they found that as long as they could dodge each other’s amateurish assassination attempts, they could make their tense relationship work. 

On most nights, Voldemort was content to yield full control of the television to Darth Vader.  Voldemort had stopped watching the telly altogether when Harry Potter’s movies starting coming out, and he was constantly bombarded with previews that told the story completely wrong.  But on this particular night, the first episode of Britain’s Next Top Death Eater was going to be aired, and Voldemort absolutely had to watch it.  However, Vader came charging in at the same time, demanding to watch a new scientific documentary on the destruction of Alderaan.  Voledmort pulled out his wand and exclaimed, “Accio remote!” at the same time that Vader attempted to force pull the remote in his direction, leaving the remote suspended in mid air. 

“I sense much anger in you Voldemort,” said Vader in his deep mechanically enhanced voice. 

“I let you have the telly every night, and just this once my new show is on and you won’t let me have it, let me watch the damn telly!”  Voldemort shouted, straining to maintain his summoning charm.

They both released their respective powers and the remote dropped to the floor.  Voldemort felt all of his pent up frustrations with the new flat mate boil to the surface as he began to rave, “I work hard all day and all I want is to relax when I get home, but I can’t because of you! Not to mention, you always eat my groceries, you never clean up after yourself, and for Merlin’s sake close the bloody door when you’re using the toilet!”

Vader laughed, “Your anger makes you stronger, it draws you closer to the dark side.”

Voldemort became even more agitated, “And you think you’re some sort of powerful dark lord.  Well Riddle me this, no pun intended, how come your all-powerful battle station got destroyed by your mud blood son blowing up a ventilation shaft? And how come you went back and built the same exact station all over again?”

Vader reacted calmly, “Good. Give in to your anger.  Feel the power of the dark side.”

Voldemort screamed, “Shut up Anakin!”

Vader shot back, “Why don’t you, Tom?”

That was too much for Voldemort to take, and he quickly reached for his wand and shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Anticipating this move, Vader drew his pink light saber and deflected the green killing curse into the nearby bookshelf, which exploded on impact. 

Voldemort sat down, frustrated and exhausted, as he watched the smoldering remains of the bookshelf burn away. 

“Don’t you feel better now?” Vader asked.

Voldemort paused, “Yes, I guess I do.  Good thing I gave in to the dark side, right?”

Vader walked uncomfortably close to Voldemort, “Now hug it out.” 

Voldemort rose to his feet and gave Darth Vader an embrace that was twenty times more awkward than the one he had once given Draco Malfoy at the Battle of Hogwarts.   

Sitting awkwardly close together on the couch, Voldemort and Darth Vader turned on the television and began to flip through the channels, all of which seemed to be showing advertisements.  One channel was advertising a video game in which Harry Potter vanquished Voldemort, another was showing more Harry Potter movie trailers, yet another was showing a Harry Potter themed amusement park.  Voldemort threw the remote on the ground and stormed out of the room, disgusted with what his life had become. 

He ran into the dining room to find a snack.  Rifling through boxes of old and decaying food, he finally found a suitable box of cereal.  He checked the back of the box to make sure the nutrition facts were adequate, when he noticed that the box was emblazoned with Harry Potter’s face.  Yet another product he had to endorse.  Voldemort angrily threw the box on the ground, spilling its contents everywhere.  He could never win. 

 
 
 
 
 




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