Tom 'Lord Voldemort' Riddle

Tom "Lord Voldemort" Riddle

Chapter One: Mary-sue and the Power of OOCness

Voldemort strode into the living room of the Riddle House, only having to sidestep once in order to avoid the practice duel that Augustus Rookwood and Antonin Dolohov were having. Near the fireplace, Rodolphus Lestrange was prodding a spider with his wand, while his brother Rabastan pored over an old tomb entitled Infamous Curses and Hexes of the Ages. A keen ear could hear Wormtail and Walden Macnair in the kitchen, where the two had dinner duty. In the next room, Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy were playing chess while Avery and Nott looked on. Crabbe and Goyle could be heard somewhere upstairs as Nagini slithered through the halls, looking for rats.

All in all, the Riddle House was adequate for Voldemort and his Death Eaters to stay; they had been doing so since the mass outbreak from Azkaban, when Voldemort had been forced to provide lodgings for a good number of wanted people. (And the problem had persisted after the Death Eaters captured during the Prophecy Fiasco had escaped from Azkaban barely a week after they were placed there.) A Fidelius Charm with Voldemort himself as the Secret-Keeper made it a secure base, and none of the Death Eaters had ventured to ask how Voldemort had come into possession of the house. Still, after Azkaban, many of the Death Eaters did not like being cooped up, though they didn't complain. Bellatrix herself seemed to be making a determined effort to pretend that the Riddle House was absolutely perfect and had taken to redecorating it to be a more fitting hideout for dark wizards.

Still, perhaps it was this that was causing Voldemort to feel so sour that day. He'd had such a queer feeling in his stomach ever since he had woken up. It was similar, yet distinctly different, to what he had been feeling the past year, when he and Harry Potter had been feeling each other's emotions. Though useful, Voldemort was quite sure that he was entirely too old to be feeling moments of random teenage angst.

It was almost, Voldemort realized, as he threw himself churlishly into his armchair, like someone other than J. K. Rowling was writing him. He simply felt different, in a very subtle but undeniable way.

The strange feeling intensified as he stared into the fire. Stuck for something to do, he pulled out a piece of parchment from the drawer that sat by his armchair and began a letter.

Jo,

Hello. You-know-who here. I'm just writing with a bit of a request from a character to his omnipotent author. As you know you killed off Cedric Diggory in book four. In book five, you killed off Sirius Black. Now, it may just be my imagination, but if I'm not mistaken, there appears to be a pattern here.

So, if it isn't too much trouble, could you possibly kill off Dumbledore in book six? I would be ever so grateful, and it would make my life so much easier. Is it too much to ask for you to let me kill Harry Potter in the future? Now, I know I don't have much luck in book six, but what about book seven? I think it would be such a unique end to the series. What other author has ever ended their series by leaving the world at the mercy of a dark wizard? Write back soon.

Forever yours,

Voldy

Satisfied with his letter, Voldemort sealed it up and gave it to an owl, who flew off through an open window in search of a certain cafe.

"Master," Wormtail's voice called from the doorway, "there's a gi-"

"Crucio," Voldemort said cruelly, pointing his wand over his shoulder and glad to have something to channel his emotions into. He gave a sadistic smile when Wormtail lay twitching on the ground immediately afterwards.

"Master," he begged, crawling forward after the curse had stopped.

"Voldemort!" a musical, strong, confident voice challenged. "Come and face me!"

Frowning, Voldemort turned in his chair to find himself facing a teenage girl. Dolohov and Rookwood were too engrossed in trying to hex each other to notice the newcomer in the room, and Rabastan only glanced up briefly from reading to see if there was any threat. Since Lord Voldemort was plenty capable of dealing with a little girl, he returned to his book. Rodolphus, however, had Avada Kedavra-ed his spider, and thus turned from the fireplace to watch the happenings.

"Wormtail," he questioned dangerously, "what is a little girl doing here?" He frowned, wondering how she could be there without his personal invitation.

"I'm not a little girl!" the little girl shouted indignantly. "I'm sixteen!"

"Forgive me, Master!" Wormtail pleaded. "Not one of us knows how she got in! She just appeared in the kitchen, demanding audience with the Dark Lord!"

"Crucio," Voldemort hexed half heartedly, not bothering to give his full attention. As Wormtail once more writhed in pain, he turned his attention to the girl.

"Who are you?" Voldemort demanded, not bothering to get up, "And what are you doing here? I did not invite you. The Fidelius Charm was not performed improperly. You cannot be here."

"My name is Abigail Belle Black! I'm Sirius Black's daughter!" Abigail shouted defiantly. "And I flew in on a Hippogriff!"

"Bella!" Voldemort yelled. "Bella!" Voldemort paused and turned to Wormtail. "Wormtail, would you kindly fetch Bellatrix Lestrange and have her come and collect her cousin's daughter?"

Wormtail gave a whimper and scuttled out of the room. Ignoring Abigail, Voldemort pulled out another piece of parchment and began to write.

Sirius Black,

My condolences on your death. And by your own cousin as well! Not that I'm particularly sad that a member of The Order of the Phoenix bit the dust, mind you.

I'm currently having an audience with your daughter at the moment. Truth be told, I wasn't aware that you had a daughter. Which brings me to my point. As cool as it may have been for the readers to have you escape on a hippogriff, I'm a bit vexed with you. You seem to have set a trend and this could become quite a nuisance to me in the future. So kindly write an article for the Daily Prophet discouraging people from riding Hippogriffs in the future. And no, I don't care if you are currently dead.

Sincerely,

You-Know-Very-Damned-Well-Who

Voldemort had just finished sending another owl off with the letter when Abigail coughed pointedly.

"Excuse me, but I was talking to you," she said in an annoyed, but nevertheless beautiful, voice.

"So?" Voldemort asked, half his mind going over various ways to kill Harry Potter. (Perhaps a knife in his back?) He looked at her and found himself inexplicitly compelled to give a boring and tedious five-minute description of her.

She had long black hair, darker than the night. Her eyes were bluer than the ocean and her skin was as pale and as soft as moon beams. She wore a light, silk, pure white dress that skimmed her figure beautifully, flattering her lovely figure while maintaining the chaste beauty of innocent youth. Her lips were full and as red as fire, et cetera, et cetera.

Abigail gave Voldemort a glowering look and began trying to lift a ridiculously large sword she had been dragging behind her.

Voldemort gave her an inquisitive look. "What are you trying to do?"

She glowered at him, somehow managing to do so without looking ugly. "I told you! I'm Abigail Belle Black and I have come to slay you!"

"Slay me?" Voldemort asked with cool amusement. "And what makes you think that you can slay me?" Rodolphus let out a cold chuckle, surveying Voldemort and Abigail with interest.

"I will slay you!" Abigail vowed. "And then Harry and I will live happily ever after!"

Sighing and pulling out another piece of parchment and owl, Voldemort began his third letter, Abigail having had reminded him of something he had been intending to do for a while.

Harry Potter,

Hello. I know that you don't receive many owls during the summer, and being a half-blood myself, I know just how you feel, so I thought I would send you a death threat. You know, just so you don't get lonely over the summer.

HARRY POTTER! I WILL DESTROY YOU! YOU WILL DIE BY MY HANDS, JUST LIKE YOUR PARENTS DID!

Well, enjoy your summer and don't let the muggles get you down. (It's a wonder why you don't understand me when I say we should kill them at random.)

With hate,

Lord Voldemort

P. S.: Sorry about killing your parents. Plot purposes and all. Nothing personal.

P. S. S.: If you could choke on a piece of broccoli and drop dead over the summer, I would be most pleased. Yes, I know this would create a huge, gaping plot hole when it comes to the prophecy, but Jo can manage, don't you agree? Or perhaps I could curse the broccoli?

Voldemort gave the letter to a third owl, and Abigail began to positively glare at him.

"Are you still here?" he asked when he looked back up, annoyance written on his face.

"Yes," she snarled, "and I'm going to slay you-"

"And live happily ever after with Harry," Voldemort finished. "You said that already." Voldemort watched in bemusement as she continued failing to raise the sword.

"Master, I go-" Wormtail began, walking into the room.

"Crucio!" Voldemort jinxed, pointing his wand at him. Wormtail let out a whimper as pain flooded his body, jerking as he fell to the floor.

"Master..." he pleaded, "what was that for?" Voldemort shrugged but didn't answer. He didn't really know himself. There was just something so satisfying about torturing underlings. Wormtail staggered to his feet. "Master... I have Bellatrix."

"Ah, Bella," Voldemort greeted, "kindly take your cousin's daughter and do...something with her."

"Who is she, My Lord?" Bellatrix inquired, peering at the girl.

"Sirius's daughter, apparently," Voldemort supplied with a yawn.

"My Lord," Bellatrix responded, looking rather confused, "Sirius never had a daughter. Perhaps a couple of Cruciatus Curses will do the trick of discovering the truth?" She fondled her wand absentmindedly.

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Voldemort said. "She must be a mary-sue. I suspected as much, actually. In that case, I can deal with her. You're dismissed."

Bellatrix started to leave the room when Rodolphus caught her eye. A significant glance was exchanged between the two, and he got up and followed her as she headed upstairs to the spare bedroom, where they expelled Crabbe and Goyle.

"I am too Sirius Black's daughter!" Abigail protested Voldemort's statements. "Mum died giving birth to me, and Dad had me sent to live in America. But this last summer I returned to England and met Harry. He's my true love. And now I'm going to kill you and live happily ever after!"

Voldemort let out another yawn, thoroughly bored with the mary-sue. "And let me guess, you had a horrible childhood that you ripped off from Harry Potter?"

Abigail looked startled. "Well... yes..." she admitted. "By my Uncle. He raised me, you know."

"Uh huh," Voldemort replied skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"I did too have a horrible childhood! It was even worse than yours! But I overcame it with sheer will, a sense of moral direction, and plucky determination!" Abigail yelled. "And if you are not a coward, come and face me, Voldemort."

Voldemort gave her an icy glare, and she blanched. "Since when do annoying little brats like yourself dare say my name?"

As she stuttered to find an answer, Voldemort angrily grabbed a hapless passing owl that was fluttering about the house and began to write his fourth letter.

Hermione Granger,

While we are all ever so impressed with your new found habit of calling me 'Voldemort', I'm going to have to ask that you desist immediately. You are setting a standard, don't you know? The mary-sues are copying you, and if you keep it up, every mudblood in the country is going to think that it's okay to call me Voldemort. And we can't very well be having that, now can we?

Sincerely,

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

Voldemort chucked the owl into the air, where it righted itself and set off. Then he sighed. Fair was fair. He pulled out yet another piece of parchment and began to write once more.

Severus,

Well, I just thought I would drop you an owl as a little thank you. I'm rather please at your effort to remind the readers in the fifth book that my name is not to be said. Now, don't take this to mean I'm not going to kill you if you end up betraying me, because I will. But that's beside the point.

Actually, if truth be told, when I was rereading the fifth book, I was quite moved in the chapter about your worst memory. Snivellus...I know just how you feel. I can still remember being called Tommy Ritalin in my Hogwarts days. Don't let James' brat get you down; I plan to kill him soon enough. You were a great Death Eater; and I hope you ultimately end up on my side.

Inspiring fear,

The Dark Lord

"Hello?" Abigail interrupted rudely as Voldemort sent off the letter.

He blinked. "Why are you still here?"

She pulled out her wand. "My name is Abigail Belle Black. You killed my father. Prepare to die!" she shouted dramatically.

"You know," Voldemort began, "you are really starting to annoy me."

Abigail Belle Black looked at him with all of the fury a mary-sue could muster, with not a hair out of place.

"I'd like to see you try!" she shouted. Her hair billowed out behind her as if blown by a storm and her eyes glowed with passionate determination. Thunder seemed to cackle in the background, showing the unimaginable extent of magical powers that Abigail possessed. With no effort at all she lifted the mighty sword and-

"Enough already," Voldemort replied simply, halting the prose. "Avada Kedavra!"

There was a pleasant sounding thud as Abigail fell to the ground, unblemished but quite dead.