HE SLIPPED ON THE SOAP!
Disclaimer: I don’t own this…as a matter of fact, I’m not sure She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Infringed-Upon, would want to own it either.
A/N: As with all my fics, this is dedicated to the memory of my sister FireLemming, who used to be my beta. She didn’t even follow the Harry Potter fandom, preferring TLK instead, and yet, would take time to offer much needed (and often unappreciated) critical advice. She was also responsible for the more esoteric touches. Having an expert in English literature, anthropology and mythology standing over your shoulder and making snide comments about your writing can be a pain, but it also makes research much easier.
Lord Voldemort, the vilest dark lord for the past half millennium, woke to find a brightly wrapped box on his nightstand. On the box was a small envelope.
Calling his two guards from outside the door, he threw Cruciatus after Cruciatus at them for allowing it to get into his sanctum without checking it first. Soon enough, they were gibbering idiots…well, more than normal, anyway.
When the two were puddles of drool on the marble tiles, he turned to the box. Opening the note he read;
Happy birthday, mate.
I couldn’t think of anything really special, as
I understand you pretty much have everything
anyway, so I got you this lovely selection of
lavender bath soaps and care products.
Voldemort’s eyes actually teared up. Nobody had ever given him a birthday present before! Not even his loyal Death Eaters.
Well, he supposed the puppy Bellatrix had given him was a present, but really, did she have to barbeque it?
Feeling the sudden need for a long warm shower, the dark lord took his new collection to the bath, where he turned on the spray.
Lathering up he reveled in the flowery scent. He did so love lavender. It had such a light ‘summery’ scent.
Putting the oval cake of soap into the silver holder, he leaned over to rinse his scaly head. Unbeknownst to him, the soap didn’t quite make it into the shallow bowl, and with his head under the spray, he missed the thump as it fell into the tub.
Rinsed and refreshed, he decided he needed to start his day, after all, he had a full schedule of torturing people to get through and time waits for no man…so to speak.
Turning off the tap, he pulled the curtain aside and reached for his towel.
Unfortunately for him as he stepped forward, he slipped on the missing cake of soap, fell backward and struck his head on the old cast iron tub, breaking his neck.
His death was immediate.
All around Britain, Death Eaters gripped their left forearms in agony as they burst into flames.
In the room of requirements, Hermione Granger was breathing heavily as Harry Potter teased open the buttons of her shirt while kissing that 'special spot' on her neck
Thus endith this inanity.
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