"The Dark Lord Ascending, Falling, Crashing and Burning"

[hedwigs-bane.livejournal.com]

Author: hedwigs_bane 
Beta:  star54kar 
Pairing: None
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3, 210
Warnings: Bad puns, bad jokes, running gags, shameless crossovers and references to Star Wars and LotR, complete disregard for canon and characterizations and total absudity.  Oh yeah, and there's some pretty gross sexual references and language.  You've been warned!

A.N.: An April Fools parody of Chapter One of Deathly Hallows.  A few sentences are straight from the book, but the rest... well, let's just say, it's not!

The Dark Lord Ascending, Falling, Crashing and Burning

 

            The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still, wands directed at each other’s chests. Then, almost as one, two voices rang out.

 

            “Expelliarmus!”

 

            Two wand flew into the air, out of their owners’ hands and into the hands of their opponents.

 

            “Expelliarmus!” Both voices shouted again, with an identical effect as the first time. Again and again, thirteen times in all, the voices shouted and the wands flew, until at last a different word was spoken.

 

            “Severus? Severus Snape, is that you?”

 

            “Of course it is, Yaxley, you troll-brained imbecile,” Snape sneered, now walking up to the other wizard and yanking his own wand out of Yaxley’s hand, while throwing the other to the ground.

 

            “Well, there’s no need to get all huffy,” Yaxley whinged, bending down to pick up his wand. “You’re always wearing so much black, it’s hard to tell if you’re even there in the dark.”

 

            “Black is very slimming,” sneered Snape. “You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t look so much like a Flobberworm that’s been trained to walk upright.”

 

            “That’s not very nice, Severus,” Yaxley sobbed. “You know I have a glandular condition.”

 

            “Yes, and big bones as well,” Snape sneered. “Maybe your glands and bones would shrink a bit if you didn’t have a third pudding after every meal.”

 

            “Never mind my weight!” Yaxley cried. “News?”

 

            “The best,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Oh, and what’s that?” Yaxley queried.

 

            “It’s the superlative form of ‘good’,” Snape sneered. “ ‘Good; better; best’. But that’s not important right now. We’d best get up to the house or the Dark Lord will have our balls for breakfast.”

 

            “Good idea,” Yaxley said as both men began walking. His blunt features slid in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. Both wizards covered their heads with their arms as shards of broken moonlight rained down around them.

 

            “Swine trees,” sneered Snape, shaking fragments of broken moonlight from his cloak.

 

            They turned right into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought iron gates.

 

            “You don’t often see a hedge running like that,” Yaxley said with a mixture of confusion and admiration, as both men watch the hedged disappearing over a rise, scattering small leaves behind it as it ran.

 

            “Where the Dark Lord is concerned,” Snape sneered, “one expects to see the unexpected.”

 

            Both men raised their arms, and Snape stepped through the gate as though the dark metal was smoke. Yaxley, on the other hand, cried out in pain as he walked into the unyielding metal face-first.

 

            “It’s your left arm, Yaxley,” sneered Snape, never slowing his pace. Yaxley raised his left arm and walked through the gate as well, wiping away the blood that was now flowing from his nose.

 

            “Yeah, yeah, I always forget that,” he huffed as he ran to catch up with Snape. Just as he had overtaken the other man, there was a rustle somewhere to their right. “Holy shit!” Yaxley exclaimed, plunging a hand into his pocket and drawing his wand. He pointed it towards the sound and shouted, “Avada Kedavra!”

 

            Both men examined the result of Yaxley’s Killing Curse. On the ground lay a pure white peacock, obviously killed while still strutting majestically, as it’s huge tail was spread out like a fan.

 

            “Malfoy’s a real dick,” Yaxley complained. “What’s with all these sodding birds anyway? Still, he does all right for himself, ol’ Lucius.”

 

            “I suppose,” Snape sneered, his voice showing no interest in either the dead bird or Yaxley’s assessment of Malfoy’s lifestyle.

 

            A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive.

 

            “I’ve always wondered how Lucius managed to make a house grow like that,” Yaxley mused. “Do you suppose he planted a seed, or did he need to take a cutting from another house and...”

 

            “I don’t give a damn,” sneered Snape, effectively quieting Yaxley’s incessant babbling.

 

            The two men hurried into the house, across the foyer and to a heavy, oaken door. Snape turned the knob, and then removed his hand from his pants and turned the handle to open the door to the drawing room.

 

            “Yaxley. Snape. You are very nearly late,” a high pitched voice spoke.

 

            “Sorry, m’lord,” Yaxley mumbled repeatedly, hurrying to find a seat at the far end of the long table, around which sat silent figures.

 

            “Yes, well if you didn’t insist on having these little meetings at such ungodly hours,” Snape sneered, “then you might have the right to bitch when people are late.”

 

            “I am the Dark Lord Voldemort, Snape,” the voice said loudly, it’s pitch even higher now. “I’ll call a meeting whenever I like!”

 

            “Well the least you could do is serve coffee or something,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Don’t you sneer at me, Snape,” Voldemort warned threateningly, knowing no other way to warn.

 

            “It’s what I do,” Snape sneered. “It’s what I always do. Get used to it.”

 

            “Just sit your arse down and tell me what you’ve learned,” Voldemort groused, obviously deciding that it was an argument he couldn’t win.

 

            “The Order of the Phoenix is moving the Potter brat on Saturday next, at nightfall,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Saturday. At nightfall,” Voldemort repeated.

 

            “Yeah, Saturday. At nightfall,” Snape sneered. “Is there a freakin’ echo in here?”

 

            “That’s not what I heard,” Yaxley spoke up. “Dawlish told me that they’re moving him on the 30^th. Something about having to wait until his balls drop or something.”

 

            “Now who do I believe?” Voldemort threw his hands up in frustration. As they fell back to the table, a nearby Death Eater helped to reattach them to his wrists.

 

            “No doubt that’s what they wanted Dawlish to believe, Yaxley, you prat!” sneered Snape. “They probably Confounded him or something. You know what a weak minded twit he is. It’s probably some old Jedi mind trick.”

 

            “Wrong universe, Snape.” This time it was Voldemort’s turn to sneer. “We don’t do Star Wars crossovers here.”

 

            “Really? Only there’re a lot of parallels and all,” Snape sneered. “I mean, you’re a lot like the evil emperor, Dumbledore was like Obi Wan and Potter’s sort of like Luke Skywalker. All these Death Eaters of yours in masks remind me of storm troopers. I suppose I’m even like Darth Vadar, the way I wear black and skulk around…”

 

            “Shut up!” Voldemort shrieked, jumping to his feet. “This is nothing like Star Wars! Oh sure, there are some slight similarities – slight, mind you – and there’s the perennial struggle of good vs. evil, and in the end we’ll probably all be brought down by little Ewok type creatures or something, but this is entirely different! I mean, there’s no Death Star or anything, for Yoda’s sake!”

 

            “My bad,” sneered Snape. “But could I still be Darth Vadar? I love the way he dresses.”

 

            “See me after the meeting and we’ll talk about it,” Voldemort grumbled. “Now, tell me why you’re so sure Yaxley’s mistaken.”

 

            “It’s a typical Order of the Phoenix move,” Snape sneered. “They find the stupidest person they can, load him up with false information, and aim him at a prat like Yaxley, since they knew he’d eat up any bullshit they fed him and puke it back out to you.”

 

            “Why you greasy, hook-nosed, bat faced…” Yaxley harrumphed.

 

            “Stick and stones,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Shut up, both of you,” Voldemort ordered. “I’ve had it with you two sniping at each other. Snape, you stop sneering at Yaxley. And, Yaxley, you stop whining like a little girl. You sicken me, for Frodo’s sake.”

 

            “But…” Snape sneered.

 

            “But…” Yaxley whined.

 

            “I mean it!” Voldemort bellowed. “Stop your snarking and shake hands! G’on now, shake! Yeah, that’s good. Now give each other a hug. You heard me. Hug! Good, good. Okay, now a little kiss. Just a little peck on the lips. Yeah, yeah, just like that. Mmmmmm.  That’s nice. Now Snape, go ahead and nibble on Yaxley’s earlobe a little…”

                      

            “M’lord,”

 

            “Quiet, Lucius.”

 

            “But, my Lord. Potter…”

 

            “Fine, fine,” Voldemort huffed. “All right, you two, break it up. I’ll want to see you both after this meeting, though. Now, what’s your problem, Malfoy?”

 

            “I just thought,” Lucius Malfoy spoke tentatively, “that perhaps we should be making plans to capture Harry Potter. The sooner the better, right?”

 

            “What’s your rush, Lucius?” Voldemort asked suspiciously. “Tired of having me as a houseguest?”

 

            “No!” Malfoy said quickly. “Of course not, my lord. It’s just…”

 

            “Just what?” Voldemort asked dangerously.

 

            “Well, there are all those long-distance Floo calls you’ve been making,” Malfoy said sheepishly.

 

            “Of course,” Voldemort said defensively. “How else am I supposed to gather followers from abroad?”

 

            “It’s just… well, the bill last month was pretty darned high, and you did say you’d help out…” Malfoy’s voice trailed off.

 

            “Yeah, yeah,” Voldemort sighed. “I told you, as soon as my benefits check comes in…”

 

            “And for the last four mornings, you’ve used up all the hot water and all the clean towels…”

 

            “Well, that’s for Nagini!” Voldemort rebutted. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to shower with a snake?”

 

            “Yes, about that,” Narcissa Malfoy spoke up. “Could you maybe not leave the old snake skins in the bath? I stepped on one the other day and nearly had a heart attack!”

 

            “And he keeps walking in on me when I’m in the bath!” Draco Malfoy, who had been quiet until then, piped in. “He always says it’s an accident, but…”

 

            “Don’t listen to them, my lord!” Bellatrix Lestrange spoke up, desire dripping from each syllable. “It is an honor to have you staying in our family home!”

 

            “Family home, my arse,” Narcissa hissed at her sister. “This is my house, you skank. You’re only staying here because you’re hot for the Dark Lord!”

 

            “Cissy!” Bellatrix blushed. “You promised you wouldn't say anything!”

 

            “Oh, for Tolkien’s sake,” Narcissa heaved a heavy sigh. “She’s warm for your form, my lord. And Merlin knows you can’t be getting any with that snake face of yours! Why don’t you give my slutty sister a meat injection and have done with it?”

 

            “I—I… what?” Voldemort stammered. “I never…”

 

            “Yeah, I know,” Narcissa said in frustration. “That’s the problem! She’s not gonna be happy till your worm is in her apple, and frankly, I’m sick of her pining all about the place. Half the house-elves have begged for clothes, they’re so sick of her stealing the cucumbers and walking in on her stuffing them up her snatch and screaming ‘Tom! Oh, Tom! Riddle me this!’.”

 

            The discussion was immediately interrupted by something of a communal heave all around the table. A flock of house-elves came running quickly into the room, armed with mops, buckets and rags, working quickly to clear away all traces of sick that had been spewed onto the table and floor. When they left, Severus Snape cleared his voice.

 

            “Could we possibly get back to the matter at hand?” Snape sneered. “I believe we were talking about killing Harry Potter.”

 

            “Yes, yes!” Voldemort agreed quickly. “Let’s have a few less distractions and a few more good ideas. Now, who was in charge of taking over the Ministry of Magic?”

 

            All heads turned towards Yaxley. Voldemort rested his elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his face in dismay.

 

            “You, Yaxley?” Voldemort said in disgust. “I put you in charge of taking over the Ministry? What in the hell was I thinking? What have I told you all about listening to me when I’m high?”

 

            “You seemed so sure, my lord,” sneered Snape.

 

            “I’m always sure about everything when I’m fucking high, you smarmy…” Voldemort stopped and took a deep breath. “Oh well, no point in crying over spilt milk. So talk to me, Yaxley. Have you made any progress?”

 

            “Oh, yeah,” Yaxley bounced in his seat, causing the table and most of the room to vibrate. “We’ve managed to put an Imperious Curse on Pius Thicknesse!”

 

            “And that’s good news becaaause…” Voldemort prodded.

 

            “Well, he’s the head of Magical Law Enforcement and all,” Yaxley explained, a little less enthusiastically. “He’s got the Minister’s ear, and if rumours prove out, a few other parts of him as well.”

 

            “You’re daft,” Snape sneered. “You’re suggesting that Rufus Scrimgeour lifts shirts?”

 

            “Biggest poofter since Dumbledore,” Yaxley said smugly. “Since he’s been in office, he’s shagged half the apprentices at the Ministry.”

 

            “Well, if he likes the young stuff,” sneered Snape, “then what chance does someone like Thicknesse stand? He’s a bit long in the tooth, and he’s got a forehead you could hide under in a storm!”

 

            “Yes, Scrimgeour likes his dalliances with the youngsters,” Yaxley agreed. “But word around the Ministry is that he does appreciate a bit of experience as well.”

 

            “Seems a round-about way of achieving our ends,” Voldemort mused. “Still, I suppose it shows promise. After all, the way to a man’s heart is through his balls.”

 

            “Oh, yes, my lord!”

 

            “Relax, Bellatrix. I wasn’t talking to you,” Voldemort said, his voice heavy with disinterest.

 

            “Oh, I love it when my lord speaks harshly to me,” Bellatrix oozed. “Perhaps I should be punished, my lord. Perhaps a sound spanking is called for?”

 

            “Oh. Oh! OOOOHHHH!” Voldemort said in disgust. “For Anikan’s sake, Lestrange, control yourself!”

 

            “I can’t, my lord,” Bellatrix sighed loudly. “I am helpless in your magnificent presence.” Leaping to her feet, Bellatrix Lestrange began to stride about the room dramatically, punctuating her words with hyperbolic sweeps of her hands. “Yes, I don’t care who knows it! I love you, Lord Voldemort. I want feel your bony, albino body pressed against mine. I want to gaze into your red, slanted eyes forever. I want to make mad, passionate love to you while Nagini wraps around us both!”

 

            Again the room echoed with heaves and splatters as whatever remained in the stomachs of most of the Death Eaters was deposited onto the floor, while the house-elves again performed their duty.

 

            “Yeah, that’s… real nice,” Voldemort said uncertainly, as Bellatrix fell on the floor beside his chair and rested her head in his lap. “Look, you’re a good Death Eater and all, but, really, Bella, couldn’t we talk about this later?”

 

            “Seriously, Bellatrix,” Snape sneered. “Take a lesson from your little sister and show some restraint! She might be frigid, but at least she doesn’t make an arse of herself in public.”

 

            “Frigid?!” Narcissa Malfoy shot to her feet. “Who the hell told you I was frigid!”

 

            “Oh, please,” sneered Snape. “One look at Lucius’ face tells everyone that he’s not gotten any since Draco was conceived!” The entire room burst into laughter, which was only fueled by Narcissa’s lividly angry expression and Lucius’ red face.

 

            “I’ll show you frigid!” Narcissa shouted, working to untie the neck of her robes. “Lucius! On the table! NOW!”

 

            “Narcissa!” Lucius Malfoy moaned, obviously mortified. “Draco is sitting right next to you!”

 

            “Oh, yeah,” Narcissa said contritely, re-tying the drawstring of her robes. “Draco, darling, this is just how mummies and daddies talk.”

 

            “Right, Mother,” Draco drawled. “You do know that my room is right next to yours, right? I’ve been listening to Dad beg for years. Hell, if it wasn’t for dirty magazines, I would have thought that all foreplay started with ‘Oh, c’mon, pleeeease? It’s my birthday’.”

 

            “Well, if we’ve finished this episode of Backstairs at the Malfoys,” Snape sneered, “could we, perhaps, make a plan to kill Harry fucking Potter??”

 

            “Quite right, Severus,” Voldemort agreed. “Bellatrix, get out of my lap and sit in a chair like someone with at least a shred of self-respect!” He waited till everyone had resumed their seats before continuing. “Now, it’s become clear to me, after this little bit of cabaret, that killing Potter will fall to me personally. Merlin knows the rest of you have fucked it up enough times.”

 

            “Beat your arse four times, as I recall,” sneered Snape under his breath.

 

            “What was that, Severus?”

 

            “Nothing, my lord,” Snape sneered.

 

            “That’s what I thought,” Voldemort said dangerously. “I’d hate to have to feed you to Nagini, Severus. You know I don’t like her eating greasy food.” He allowed the laughter to die down before continuing. “Now, I know many of you have noticed how I’ve decorated Lucius and Narcissa’s drawing room this evening.” He waved his hand in the air to indicate the witch floating above the table.

 

            “I’ve seen more attractive chandeliers,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Yes, I must apologize, but this was the best I could do,” Voldemort smiled. “For those of you without a programme, this is Professor Charity Burbage, who, until recently, taught Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

 

            A prolonged series of boo’s and hisses met this announcement, each Death Eater trying to outdo the other in vehemence until several were actually standing on their feet bellowing “BOO!”

 

            “Yes, yes, I appreciate your enthusiasm, as kiss-arse as it might be,” Voldemort shouted above the din. Waiting until order had been restored, he continued. “Now, I’ve requested Professor Burbage’s presence because she has something I’ve desperately wanted for some time.” He flicked his wand, and immediately the body floating above the table came to life and began struggling against its invisible bonds.

 

            “Severus, help me,” Burbage begged in a ragged voice. “He wants… he wants my…”

 

            “My lord,” Snape sneered. “Do we really have the time for this?”

 

            “Oh, I believe so,” Voldemort replied. “The nights are long, after all.”

 

            “But couldn’t our energies be better spent on capturing and killing Harry Potter?” sneered Snape.

 

            “Perhaps,” Voldemort nodded pensively. “But what’s another day, more or less. This is more immediate. Now, Professor,” Voldemort said, turning his eyes back towards the floating body. “I will ask once again, where do you keep the moving pictures of the mating habits of British Muggles?”

 

            “Never!” Burbage shouted bravely. “Those pictures are for educational purposes only! I’ll never give them to you, you sick, perverted…”

 

            “Oh, come now,” Voldemort said silkily. “Surely you don’t want to die over some dirty pictures.”

 

            “Die?” Burbage asked, clearly shocked. “You’d kill me for some porno—educational photos?”

 

            “It’s been a long time,” Voldemort smiled. “I’d kill my father for some really good porn. Oh, wait! I already did! Get it, Snape? I already did kill my father!”

 

            “Yes,” Snape sneered. “Very good m’lord.”

 

            “Well, screw that!” Burbage said suddenly. “You let me go, and I’ll owl you the photos in the morning!”

 

            “That’s all I ask,” Voldemort smiled. “Finite.” The binding and hovering charms holding Burbage being withdrawn, she fell face down onto the table. “Now, on your way, Professor. I’ll be watching for your owl.”

 

            Everyone watched as Burbage climbed down from the table and ran from the room.

 

            “Now, about the Potter boy,” Voldemort said. “It seems simple enough. On Saturday, we’ll gather over Little Whinging and wait for them to try and fly him out. One simple curse, and the Boy Who Lived will be the Boy Who Dropped Like a Stone. What could possibly go wrong, eh?”

 

            “Nothing, my lord,” sneered Snape.

 

            “Exactly!” Voldemort smiled. “So, meeting adjourned. Nagini, dinner time!”

Comments

[hedwigs-bane.livejournal.com]

:-) Why, thank you! Glad you enjoyed this little bit of absurdity.

I'm really glad you caught the "knob" line. That one seemed to slip past a lot of readers. You're also the only one who's mentioned Draco's little rant about the unfortunate goings on in his parents' bedroom! No wonder the poor boy is so screwed up!

Thanks again!