Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight (credit goes to Stephanie Meyer) and neither do i own HBO.
My name is Voldemort.
Yes that guy who was killed by Harry Potter.
Jeez do you have to bring it up? Way to be sensitive. Hasn’t your mother taught you not to be rude?
Now you may ask, why the hell is he alive?
Well. It’s a long story.
You see I never really died. I can’t die, even if I want to. According to the wizarding God (yes he really exists) I can’t die until I have learnt to love and accept every being on this planet for who they are.
God is a fucking hippie. Love and accept everyone? No thanks. I’ll pass. Hating on everyone is much easier.
But as a “chance to become a better person” – God’s words, not mine – I have been resurrected.
Now you may be thinking, resurrection? Holy shit, the dark times are here again! Everybody run!
Calm your fucking horses.
I don’t have any magic in me. God, being the mean person he is, took away all my magic. He said that for me, the first step to becoming a “better” person (I’m really starting to hate that word) would be to take away my magic and act like a…a…a
Ew. Ew ew ew ewwww. I just said the ‘m’ word. I shudder. Never ever make me say it again or I will wring your throat.
So now I’m stuck in the ‘m’ world and have to live like those non – magical idiots. I have been alive for what, three weeks and I already want to die. But sadly I can’t, (stupid god).
And let me tell you, this “being a better person” nonsense wasn’t even God’s idea! He was perfectly content with me rotting in hell. You know who’s idea was it?
That blithering old fool. Just because he’s God’s right hand man now doesn’t mean he gives God all these shitty ideas. Fucking idiot.
So now, thanks to Dipshit Dumbledore (oooh that’s a nice name), I currently live in the non-magical world in a dingy old flat, which smells like shit, in the suburbs of London. I seriously hate where I live. I mean honestly? Couldn’t God give me a pent house suite or something? But nooooo. It’s an extra punishment for being the darkest wizard of all time.
Honestly I don’t see why people make such a big deal about me taking over the world.
Yeah yeah you would have lost your freedom of speech and all that jazz, but hey! I would have given you guys free cupcakes if you joined the death eaters but you all decided to support stupid Harry Potter.
Did Harry Potter give you free cupcakes after the war?
Yeah didn’t think so.
Going back to my yucky flat. It smells like cow poop and to make things worse, there is an old lady who lives in the flat above me, who believes that alarm clocks make us forget how the world used to work hundreds of years ago so she keeps a chicken in her flat which starts hooting at 4 am in the morning as a wake up call.
I swear, when I get my magic back, the first thing I’m doing is avada-kedavraing that chicken off this planet. Stupid menace.
The only good thing about my resurrection was that I finally looked like my rather handsome twenty year old before I was defeated by a one year old baby which let me tell you was the most embarrassing moment of my life, and before I was resurrected by Peter Pettigrew.
Wow I have been resurrected a lot.
Idiot Peter Pettigrew made me look like a nose-less male hag. No wonder I didn’t gain support from the people.
First rule of campaigning – always look good.
But now that I look really hot and handsome again – I have some hope in the world.
I am currently sitting in my very disgusting flat, bored out of my mind. What do these people do all day?
I know what you’re thinking.
Why don’t you get a job?
Jobs are for ninnies. I am the fucking dark lord. I don’t do jobs.
But I’m so bored.
Maybe I’ll check the muggle newspaper in the job section and see if there’s anything interesting.
No, you cannot! Working in the muggle world? Blasphemy!
I AM BORED!
You are a disgrace!
Too bad evil side of the brain. I am checking the newspaper for an interesting job which I can do while I wait for God to take pity on me and let’s me die.
So suck it bitch.
I opened up the newspaper and flipped to the ‘available jobs’ section. Hmm let’s see now.
Nanny? Oh hell no. I hate kids.
Accountant in a multinational? Hmm sounds interesting. But I suck at math. I still remember the terrible experiences I had when I attended the muggle primary school I went to.
“Now Tom. Tell me, what is 4 multiplied by 3?” Asked Mrs. Thomas, looking at me expectantly.
4 multiplied by 3? I DON’T KNOW.
“Come on now Tom. We learnt this just yesterday. Were you not paying attention?” Thomas asked, getting agitated.
PATIENCE IS VIRTUE WOMAN.
“I don’t know!” I wailed
“Haha Tom, you’re so stupid!” Nancy, the annoying twit as I liked to call her, cackled.
“SHUT UP!” I roared and I chucked my pencil straight into her eye.
I was quite impressed by the shot I had taken but old hag Thomas wasn’t.
“PRINCIPLE’S OFFICE. NOW.” She yelled.
I shuddered thinking of that memory. No way in shit I was going to be an accountant.
There had to be something else.
Window cleaning? That would completely throw my self-esteem down the drain.
Then an ad caught my eye.
‘THINK YOU HAVE WHAT IT TAKES TO BE IN THE MODELLING BUSINESS?
WELL THEN SIGN UP NOW.
AUDITIONS WILL BE HELD SATURDAY, 7TH JUNE IN THE IMPERIAL AUDITORIUM, CENTRAL LONDON.
MAY THE BEST MODEL WIN.’
Deadline: 27th May. If you wish to participate, please fill up the form below.
I looked at the form. Just basic stuff. Nothing that I had to make fake documents for.
Thank God, (not really) I still haven’t figured out these muggles make their parchment and shit.
Modeling? That sounds interesting. I think I have a shot. Scratch that. I do have a shot. After all, I am the hottest dark wizard of all time. They had to accept me.
I am so filling up this form.
Wow. I just sounded like a teenage girl.
Let me clarify. I am not a girl. I am a man. The manliest one you’ve ever seen. MANLY.
I checked the date on the newspaper. Shit! It was already May 26th! I needed to send this form in ASAP.
I frantically looked around for this weird thing muggle people call a pen. Where was the wretched thing? Didn’t God give me a goddamn pen when he arranged this flat for me?
“GOD!” I cried out to the ceiling.
I really don’t know what I was expecting.
“I NEED A PEN!” I yelled some more.
It’s official. I’ve gone insane.
Suddenly a pen appeared on the chipped wooden table ahead of me.
“THANKS.” I hollered at the ceiling.
I quickly filled in the form, filled it out in an envelope, which thank god, was there in the flat and I ran down to the nearest post office and sent it off to the modeling agency.
Now it was time to wait.
It was finally June 7th. Today was the day to shine.
Do I look like fucking Edward Cullen to you?
I watched the movie on HBO the other day. I think that should tell you how bored I was these past couple of days.
I was standing outside the Imperial Auditorium with a bunch of blokes waiting in line to get my ticket number which they would call out when they were ready to see me.
I had been standing in the line for nearly a half hour.
I am the dark lord. Why fuck do I have to stand in line? I should be given some VIP treatment right now.
“Hey.” I tapped the bloke standing ahead of me.
Ew I just made muggle contact. Remind me to disinfect myself.
“Yeah?” He turned around.
“Can I stand ahead of you?” I asked him as nicely as I could.
Why do you look so surprised? I can be nice.
He frowned. “Why?”
I was about to tell him I was the dark lord when I realized that he wouldn’t understand what I’m saying.
See! Another reason to hate the muggles!
“Because I’m awesome-r? And better looking?” I suggested instead.
“Fuck off mate.” He said, slightly angry and turned around.
Guess I was stuck here then.
UGH. THIS IS TAKING TOO LONG.
What’s the point of being the dark lord if I can’t even cut the queue?
After a grand total of 1 hour and 37 minutes I finally I reached the front of the queue.
“Name?” Asked a red headed middle-aged woman in a bored voice.
I had given my annoyingly common name to the modeling agency because face it, when I become a famous model after this audition, ‘Voldemort’ isn’t exactly going to look good on posters and billboards.
And I don’t just need to look good.
I need to look fabulous.
“Okay. You’re number 34. You’ll be called upon in a couple of minutes. You can wait in the waiting room now.” She said in the same monotonous tone.
I entered the dim-lighted where a bunch of muscled men were all waiting to be called out.
Seriously?! I had to wait again?
I tolerate way too much shit considering I’m the fact that I’m the dark lord.
HOLD UP BITCH.
DID YOU, KIND READER SAY THAT I WAS THE DARK LORD?
I STILL AM. OKAY? I STILL BLOODY AM.
Ah. I see you look a little scared now.
Suddenly, a lady with a clipboard popped her head into the room.
“Tom Riddle?” She asked, looking around.
“Me!” I jumped up immediately.
I am way too excited for this gig.
Act natural Voldy. Act natural.
Yes my nickname is Voldy. Got a problem?
Yeah didn’t think you did.
“You’re in next. Follow me.” The lady said, walking out the door leading to audition room.
See you on the billboards bitches.
A/N: Hello! Well this idea just popped into my head so i decided to put it down and i came up with this! So what do you guys think? I tried to bring out Voldemort's aspects in a humorous manner - i really hoped it worked!
Please please please leave a review - i'm a new writer and some feedback would be greatly appreciated! Positive or negative!
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