The Misadventures of Voldie the Muggle: Voldie goes shopping

Voldemort was a very unhappy villain; and knowing how incompetent his Death Eaters were didn't help his mood at all. Voldemort couldn't help musing that his foolish Death Eaters - that group of mask-wearing ghouls - could spend as much time as they liked claiming to eat death itself, but his stomach needed real sustenance, and that meant eating normal, human food. After all, he might well be a snake-like being with no nose, but Dark Lords still had to eat, and unfortunately that entailed dealing with Muggles. Obviously, he couldn't curse or do and other magic around Muggles, not openly anyway; there was too much risk of being discovered. Having to do his grocery shopping amongst such inferior creatures as Muggles was certainly not Voldemort's idea of a pleasant chore, but he positively couldn't trust his idiotic Death Eaters to get the task done; they had proven time and again that they were incapable of carrying out even the most meagre instructions. So Voldemort raised himself from his throne-like seat in Riddle Manor, picked up his wand, transfigured his robes into Muggle clothing, and collected a handful of the - tasteless, in his opinion - Muggle money from it.

Usually, for Voldemort, a trip amongst the Muggles would be filled with the harmonic sounds of screaming, terror accompanying him throughout his journey; not for him, of course, but for the thousands of Muggles that he had slaughtered over the years, either directly or vicariously through his Death Eaters. There would also normally be an array of tasteful green lighting adorning the skies, emanating from the scores of Dark Marks shot into the air above those who had been killed. However, today was different; today, the sun was shining, the birds were chirping, if not singing, and the Muggles seemed generally happy, although they did give him rather a wide berth. Voldemort despised the scene. His transfiguration spell had resulted in his form being squeezed into an uncomfortable pair of denim jeans and a tight shirt, which, for some unfathomable reason, had the words 'If found, return to Neverland' emblazoned on the back.

In the journey along the four short streets between the hidden entrance to his hiding place and the supermarket, he was almost hit three times by moving chunks of inefficient metal, all of which refused to stop for him. It was bewildering; what were these irritating Muggles thinking? After all, he was the Dark Lord, and they should necessarily stop and bow to him, not emit a spew of vulgarity and raise their middle finger - of which action Voldemort failed to see a point; it hardly bore the same resonance as brandishing a wand.

Voldemort made it to the supermarket and stepped inside, immediately being confronted with aisles and aisles of food, among other things. There was also a stockade of yet more metal contraptions, more flimsy than those which had almost hit him before, and much smaller; from observing the Muggles around him, these ones were made to hold the groceries rather than the Muggles themselves.

Voldemort glared, his red eyes blazing, and untangled one from the rest of the clump, beginning to pull it along behind him before a combination of irritation and observing the Muggles around him led him to push it in front of him instead. He stopped at an area where the shelf before him held five different types of mustard. He stood in the aisle and looked at the shelf, a scowl adorning his features.

"Who, in their right mind, would need this much variation in one type of product?" he grumbled to himself, wanting nothing more than to whip out his wand and blast a hole in the shelf; whichever bottle was left standing would subsequently be selected. However, he managed to contest his whims, knowing that, if he caused pandemonium now, there would be nothing to eat later.

Eventually, he made it to the till and - after several strange looks and some difficulty - he paid for his products and was able to leave with his goods bagged up. He had bought an array of things in the end, including four rolls of toilet paper, several tins of macaroni and cheese, a pack of hot dog sausages, a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs and a cosmopolitan magazine. However, as he replaced his shopping cart, the bags at his feet, a young girl was on her way into the store.

She was no more than three feet away from him when she stopped and stared at him, then turning to the woman beside her, eyes wide.

"Mummy," the girl started, her voice loud, as children's voices are wont to be before they say something inappropriate or embarrassing. "That man has funny skin and no nose; is he related to Michael Jackson?"

The mother's eyes grew wide, almost matching the child's but for the fact that a combination of shock and embarrassment appeared in hers, whereas the child's had been full of wonderment. She grabbed her daughter by the hand and walked swiftly into the supermarket, shooting Voldemort an apologetic look.

Quite possible, the only saving grace for the supermarket at this point was that Voldemort had no idea who Michael Jackson was. Instead, he inconspicuously used magic to shrink his bags, put them into his pocket, and walked back to his hiding place, swearing never to set foot inside such an establishment again.