FicWad

Many stories deal with Harry’s ‘reward’ after he dies, but what about Voldemort?


I Own nothing froim eitehr Harry Potter or Full metal Jacket

(This is a repair to the posted story.)

Lord Voldemort woke to find himself sitting in a plain metal chair amidst many of its kind. They were all lined up with military precision in an empty room…empty but for the old man sitting at the desk. The man was worn and aged, but in his eyes, was a fire. An inextinguishable fire, nurtured in adversity and deprivation.

The old man called out. “Tom, Marvolo Riddle! You have been judged and you have been found wanting. Is there anything you can say in your own defense?”

“How dare you address me by that filthy muggle name!?!” Voldemort snarled, reaching for his wand. “I shall take great delight in torturing you to death!” Voldemort reached for his wand only to find it missing. More, his robes were gone as well. To his shock, his skin was no longer scaly. No. Instead he looked like he had before he’d been banished by that filthy mudblood’s sacrifice. He was also quite naked.

“No then?” The old man frowned, shook his head, and made a notation in his book. “You will spend the next thousand years in the second circle under the supervision of a guardian angel. Depending upon his report, your case may come under review after that. May God have mercy on your soul.”

Voldemort sneered and leaned back in the chair. “There is no god! I…”

“ON YOUR FEET, MAGGOT!” Came a harsh bellow from somewhere around his right ear. At the same time, a beefy arm entered his vision, and hoisted him by the neck to his feet. For the firsty time, he saw his assailant. The man appeared to be in his fifties, with very short cut hair and a flat brimmed, brown hat, bearing a silver device.

“How dare you…!” He sputtered only to be cut off once more.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU SLIMY LITTLE HALF-BLOOD, HALF-ASSED, TWINKLETOES COCKSUCKER! YOU WILL ANSWER WHEN YOU ARE SPOKEN TO! FROM NOW ON, YOU WILL ONLY SPEAK WHEN A REPLY IS DEMANDED! YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS SIR! IN FACT THE FIRST AND LAST WORDS OUT OF YORU FILTHY SEWER WILL BE SIR, IS THAT CLEAR?

“What?” Voldemort hissed.

Now, the man was nearly nose to nose with him. His dark brown eyes flashed with anger and the yelling continued.

“I ASKED YOUR WORTHLESS FAGGOT FUCKING ASS, A FUCKING QUESTION! I ASKED YOU IF YOU UNDERSTOOD! DO YOU ARE DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND MY VERY SIMPLE QUESTION? CAN YOU IN FACT UNDERSTAND AND FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS, OR SHALL I USE SMALLER WORDS?”

Lord Voldemort, once named Ton Marvolo Riddle, glared at this foul-mouthed…muggle. For there was no possible way any wizard would dare to speak to him in such a manner.

Unfortunately the muggle, who was wearing a stiffly creased olive jacket with bright red chevrons on each arm and many decorations over the left breast pocket, was long used to such defiance, and bellowed; “ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME, YOU FILTHY, DISGUSTING PIECE OF SQUID SHIT? WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO LOOK AT ME?

Voldemort couldn’t help but see the metal tag on the man’s perfectly creased class A’s. Engraved there in block letters, was the name, HARTMAN.

Now for the first time since he was seven, Tom Marvolo Riddle was afraid. He answered; “Erm….”

BULLSHIT, I CAN’T HEAR YOU! YOU LOOK LIKE YOU WANNA FUCK ME! DO I MAKE YOU HOT? DO I MAKE YOU HORNY? DO I GET YOU EXCITED? I BET YOU’RE THE KIND OF GUY THAT WOULD FUCK A MAN IN THE ASS AND NOT EVEN GIVE HIM THE COMMON COURTESY OF A REACH-AROUND!


YOU MAY HAVE THOUGHT YOU WERE SOME KIND OF HOT SHIT IN THE WORLD, BUT YOU ARE NOT, YOU ARE A PUKE, A PILE OF VOMIT. A LITTLE MURDERING COWARD THAT WAS TOO AFRAID OF PUSSY, TO GO OUT AND GET LAID. YOU COULDN’T FUCK ME IF YOU TRIED. FROM WHAT I CAN SEE, YOU’VE GOT THE SAME EQUIPMENT AS G. I. JOE!


YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SOEMTHING. YOU COULD HAVE MADE A DIFFERENCE, BUT INSTEAD, YOU WENT AROUND INFECTING THE WORLD WTH YOUR PERSONAL BRAND OF UGLY! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A GRABASTIC PIECE OF AMPHIBIAN SHIT! YOU MAKE ME WANT TO VOMIT!


It was official. He was in hell.