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Voldemom

So yes, I know all about Voldemort’s tragic backstory(TM)1, I’ve read the books. But think how much more interesting it would have been if, at the beginning of book four when you-know-who is about to murder hapless Frank Bryce, the Voldemom comes shuffling out of the shadows in a floral print housecoat and carpet slippers, curlers in her hair and a cigarette dangling from between her lips.

TOMMY. What are you doing?

Um. Nothing mom. Just going to kill this muggle.

Tommy, you’re being too loud. Why does there have to be so much screaming? My soaps are on. I can barely hear them.

It’s just going to be another minute, mom.

But Steve is about to propose to Angelica, and all I can hear is you hissing and spitting at this–whoever he is.

It’s called parseltongue, mom.

I’ll parseltongue you. And put your snake out. She’s shedding scales all over my carpet.

Nagini is a very clean snake. She’d never do that.

Fine, then you do all the vacuuming.

Why do I have to do all the work around here?

All the work? All the work? Fine, then you can start washing your own robes. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood stains out? Well, do you?

But mom–

And what thanks do I get? A sink full of skulls and half-full cups of coffee. Why can’t you empty your bloody coffee cups out and put them in the dishwasher like everyone else?

Mom, I have more important things to do.

Well I’ve got lower back pain and my eczema is acting up, but does that stop me from doing everyone’s dishes? No.

Okay fine, I’ll just be another minute.

 

It’s always another minute with you. I’m still waiting for you to go to the store and buy more kitchen towel.

Mom, you’re embarrassing me.

No, you’re embarrassing me, I can’t even tell the neighbors what my son does any more. Who ever heard of “Dark Lord” as a profession. I wanted you to go to accounting school, but no–

I’m not going to be a bloody actuary.

Actuaries make good money. You’d have a pension. And promotion prospects! And you always were so good at numbers. If you’d just applied yourself…

I hated maths. Just like I hate muggles.

Now you’re just being dramatic.

I am not being dramatic! This is why I tell everyone I’m an orphan!

Don’t you take that tone with me, young man!

I’ll do whatever I want. Avada–ow! Ow! Mom, stop it!

You might not have a nose any more, but you’ve still got two perfectly good ears.

 

Then the book would have ended very quickly.

And these are the things I think about when it’s one in the morning and I’ve been driving for ten hours. Goodnight.

 

1: Cool story, still murder.

Originally published at Rachael Acks: Sound and Nerdery. You can comment here or there.

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