Mustn't Call Him Voldy

Our beloved author, the revered creator of the Potterverse, the splendiferous J. K. Rowling has decreed that no man, woman, child or elderly may refer Lord Voldemort as Voldy (alternate spelling: Voldie).

The reason for this goes back to Tom M. Riddle's post Hogwarts days, when he went off to become an evil wizard under the name of Lord Voldemort. As he traveled far and wide, he eventually ended up in Transylvania because he had heard bad things about it. Aspiring villains all pay at least one visit to Transylvania, for that is the generally accepted place to become a villain.

When our friend He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy arrived in Transylvania, one of the first places he stayed was a hot spring resort with their most famous pool called 'The Dark Arts'. He spent a month sitting, sunk deeply into 'The Dark Arts' contemplating on how he will be prove to a villain. He plotted deeds most foul, as he felt the rejuvenating energy of the springs begin to wreak changes upon him. When he emerged from the underground hot springs a month later, he was about ten times pale as he went in, which he thought was splendid. Splendidly villainous, he dared to think.

Continuing his travels around the infamous land, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy ended up in a tavern in a small village near a foreboding castle called 'Castle Dracula'. Our antihero got into a conversation with a strangely accented wizard gentleman who introduced himself as 'Just call me Mr. Bicycle'. Mr. Bicycle and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy were busy comparing stories of cruel and unusual hexes when the tavern closed and Mr. Bicycle offered to let Tom Riddle stay in his spare room.

"Are you sure, kind stranger?" He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy asked, plotting to relieve his host's house of all its magical items.

"Quite sure, my good sir, I live just up the road. Plenty of room," replied Mr. Bicycle, plotting to relieve his guest's body of all his blood. True enough, the house was just up the road, and wasn't so much a house as it was a castle. Castle Dracula, at that.

As Count Dracula Bicycle invited He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy into his lair, Tom was amused by the little plaque on the door 'Bless this nest...of evil' and made a mental note to get one for himself. As they retired to the drawing room for some more spine chilling conversation, the topic of animals arose.

"I rather like snakes," Tom said to his host. "I can talk to them, you see. Special gift. All the way from Salazar Slytherin himself."

"I myself prefer bats. Vampire bats." His host smiled a smile that most people would have found terrifying but Tom found rather comforting. That's not say that it didn't tip him off. You don't become any sort of villain by not studying other villains. Tom, too, began to smile.

"Why, unless I am much mistaken, you must be the Count!" Bicycle looked mildly crestfallen at being figured out so fast.

"You are quick, young Riddle."

"I can only try, good Count. Tell me, as a vampire you have immortality, do you not?"

"Indeed I do. Would you like some?" He offered He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy some 'Immortality' chocolates. Tom groaned. Terrible literal things, vampires were.

"I meant the gift of eternal life."

"Certainly. However, it can only be given to the few who have a rare mix of qualities."

"Try me." Count Dracula stood up and loomed over a sitting Tom. Tom steepled his pale, pale fingers and wait expectantly.

"Firstly, you must be devoid of all sympathy, kindness, ethics and morality."

"Done."

"Secondly, you must have suitable ambitions to take over the world."

"Check."

"Thirdly, you must never be involved with a woman or ever have any children. You must always be the last of your line, alone, a brooding bachelor."

"Consider it done."

"Fourth, you must consort with 'The Very Worst Of Our Kind'"

"Why do I get the feeling that was said with all capitals and quotation marks?" Bicycle grinned and flourished his hand.

"Tom Riddle, meet 'The Very Worst Of Our Kind'!" From the door behind him, in trooped a gaggle of various monsters carrying musical instruments. Behind them came a very beautiful woman. Suddenly, stipulation three seemed to be in great danger as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy was tempted to grab the girl, run off and forget everything else. That beautiful.

"Ah, Tom, meet my daughter Professor Draculetta Bicycle. She teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts at the Transylvanian Academy of Magic"

"Eep."

"Sorry?" Tom cleared his throat hastily and tried again.

"Pleased to meet you, Professor Bicycle." Professor Bicycle (Tom couldn't bring himself to think of someone so beautiful as Draculetta) smiled and Tom had sudden urge to kidnap her again.

"Delighted, utterly, Mister..."

"Lord. Lord Voldemort. But, uh, you can call me...Voldy."

"Voldy," Professor Bicycle murmured and smiled. Tom stopped himself swooning just in time.

"Lord Voldemort?" Count Dracula Bicycle seemed angry. "You told me your name was Tom Marvolo Riddle!" Tom fixed him with a steely glare.

"You're not the only one who can make up names, Bicycle!"

"But bicycle is our real name!" Professor Bicycle seemed offended. Tom winced. Open mouth, insert cauldron...

"A thousand and one apologies, my dear lady, I only meant that none of my research indicated that Count Dracula had a last name." And now I know why, Tom thought to himself. A name like 'Bicycle' almost makes Tom Marvolo Riddle tolerable.

"Well, Tom or Voldy or whatever you call yourself, are you ready to abandon morals, goodness and all other things liked by the weak to join the ranks of the immortal, the feared, the damned and the tone deaf?"

"Tone deaf?"

"Are you?" Tom shrugged.

"Yep, why not."

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy-Unless-You-Are-Draculetta-Bicycle always knew that to become who he was destined to be, the most feared and loathed wizard of all time, he would have to consort with the worst of his kind. He never expected it to be so terribly literal. He knew it would be difficult, painful and would many times drive him to near madness but he never expected to be forced to make terrible music with rusty saws and nails on blackboards and other instruments too terrible to mention. He also never expected to fall in love the lovely Draculetta Bicycle.

The years passed, and Tom grew stronger, colder and more evil with each passing day. He learned to make ear drums explode, skin crawl right of the body, music that penetrated the membrane of sanity and to drum a sound that is so hypnotic, it could convince a Ford Anglia to fly. He also made up his mind. When he graduated, when he gained powers of immortality, he would propose to the beautiful Draculetta Bicycle and they would go away together, he to take over the world and she to sit next to his throne.

The day came and all Castle Dracula was alive with the sounds of Tom passing his final examination. Count Dracula Bicycle was listening with a satisfied smile.

"Well done, young lord," he congratulated Tom as the final eye popping note faded and the student laid down his ultrasonic rusty saws. "Well done indeed! Tonight, you shall join us! Tonight, we shall give you the gift of eternal life!"

"Tonight," murmured Tom under his breath, "I shall take Draculetta Bicycle to be mine."

In what was once a holy chapel, a stone room with high vaulted ceilings, stained glass windows and candleholders so tall that only a man Hagrid's size could comfortably change the candles of, the dark ritual was set up. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy stood perfectly still in the center of an arcane shape (a dodecahedron, if you must know) as around him the soul rending notes of his soon to be fellow immortals wove his soul into the very fabric of reality, inextricable from his body. As it was over, Count Bicycle greeted him like a son. Tom bowed in turn to each of the other band members and headed off to speak to Draculetta Bicycle, whom he caught a glimpse of on the balcony with rickety railing on this stormy night...

"Miss Bicycle," he called to her above the gale. She turned, black cloak fluttering behind her to reveal the standard white dress worn by beautiful women on precarious balconies.

"Lord Voldy!" she called, her face delighted. There's that pesky swoon again, Tom thought and smiled back.

"Voldy, just Voldy." He crossed the treacherous, ancient balcony to meet her. "Beloved Miss Bicycle, I must leave tomorrow. I will go to take over the world and destroy the muggles so wizards and witches may rule. I ask you to...come with me, be my queen." Professor Bicycle smiled radiantly.

"Oh, my dear Voldy..."

"You!" Tom whirled, wind lashing at him. Framed in the doorway was Count Dracula Bicycle. "You broke the laws! You try to take my daughter! For this you shall pay!"

"Eep."

"Father!" But the predictably enraged Count was beyond talk. He raised his hands and screeched to stormy sky, his eyes glowing manically. "I curse you to be a snake for all eternity, for as long your snake body lasts!" Power flared and Tom was knocked backwards. Stumbling, blinded, he felt the searing magic of the vampire wizard rip through him.

He came to himself minutes later, lying on the stone balcony. He dragged himself to his feet and looked about. He saw the Count kneeling on the edge of balcony. Tom reached for his wand to finish off the fool, not thinking entirely clearly about how he would kill an immortal being, when said being looked up, his face wretched.

"She fell," he said hoarsely. "My daughter, fell." Tom felt his stomach sink and rushed over to the edge and peered into darkness. "It was the magic," continued the bereaved father. "And your flailing. She tried to grab you but the wind and your strength...she slipped." I'll never forgive myself, Tom thought, eternal life is one thing but eternal life without Draculetta Bicycle is...unthinkable. He barely heard the slight pop behind him. He turned to see Draculetta Bicycle had apparated there and was just standing, look drenched but none worse for the wear. She was laughing.

"Oh, Voldy, what are you whimpering about? I am immortal, you numbskull." He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-Voldy staggered to his feet, trying to comprehend this...event. "Oh, this is hopeless. Lumos!" Professor Bicycle muttered and the stereotypically precarious balcony was bathed in light. Tom lifted his head to look at her. Professor Bicycle blanched.

"Father! What have you done to him?" For the first time, Tom realised that something was not right. He lifted his pale hands to his face and felt the changes...slits, skeletally thin, bald...Count Dracula was looking at him with a worried expression.

"Ah, yes, well, that wasn't supposed to happened. What, uh, was supposed to happen is that you turn into a snake...see Draculetta plunge to her 'doom'. I transfigure you back, she comes back, we have a laugh. It was little joke because I knew you liked my daughter and, uh, well, um...I didn't know you spent so long in 'The Dark Arts' hot pools!" he finished, wailing. Tom realized that the long soaks in the aforementioned hot pools had given his body a special resistance to curses...except his face, which he had submerged only a few times. Professor Bicycle looked at him, horrified. Tom felt hot anger rising within in him. He walked up to Count Dracula Bicycle and looked him in the eye.

"Reverse it." The Count tried. And tried. And tried. The curious mix of magics refused untwine.

"Look, Tom, I'm real sorry, we'll go talk to that Transfiguration master in Britain, what's his name, Dumbledore- " Tom lost his patience.

"Avada Kedavra!" he screamed and brandished his wand. Dracula's eyes went wide with shock as he fell down, clearly dead. It wasn't the curse that killed him, oh no, it was the fact that Tom was standing far too close to brandish his wand.

So close, in fact, he accidentally shoved his wand through Bicycle's chest.

His heart, as a matter of fact.

For readers behind on their vampire mythology, wooden stakes (or in this case, wands) can kill vampires. Most of them.

It killed this one.

Tom yanked his wand out of the chest and turned to face a gawking Draculetta Bicycle.

"Voldy, please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I think you look stunning. Radiant. Devilishly good, in fact." He continued stalking towards her. "Please, Voldy..." Lord Voldemort smiled at her, and raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus!" Professor Bicycle, a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, shouted. Tom's wand went flying. She grinned and blew him a kiss. "Farewell, dear Voldy."

"I am Lord Voldemort!" Tom roared, outraged that this pretty little thing could mess with him so. The pretty little thing smirked, (despite everything, Tom nearly swooned at this), and took a running leap off the edge of the balcony before he realised what she was doing. He ran to the edge and roared into the blankness his message: "I'll find you, Draculetta Bicycle! You cannot hide from me forever, you cannot hide from Lord Voldemort, I will kill you!"

"Catch me if you can, my dear Voldy..." Her reply seemed to echo all around him in her dulcet tones, music as beautiful as his was terrible. She was gone. Tom Riddle scooped up his fallen wand, pulled himself to his full height and screamed with a passion to the night sky,

"As 'The Very Worst of Our Kind' is my witness, I will kill you. I curse you that henceforth the only word to escape your lips, the only word to be written from your quill, the only words spelled out by your wand, the only word you will ever know will be 'Voldy'!" His wand flashed, lightening flashed, spooky music echoed from within where 'The Very Worst Of Our Kind' agreed. A split second later he realised, he probably should've given some other codeword since he really didn't like being called Voldy.

"Oh, bother it," he muttered and went inside to dry off, ask 'The Very Worst Of Our Kind' to hunt down anyone who calls him Voldy and then get on with his plan of wiping out muggles and taking over the world.

So, my dear readers, take heed! Take heed! If he catches thee calling him Voldy, he shall have revenge so terrible, so terrible I dare not speak of it. Thou shalt be accosted in the night time by a pale, leering face, one of 'The Very Worst Of Our Kind'. He shall hold in his hands the instruments of the damned and will play thee music to take thine wits and leave thee a hollow, frightened shell.

Let ye not incur Voldy's wrath.

Let ye not call him Voldy.

(long pause)

However, nobody said anything about not calling him Moldy...