I probably should be adding another chapter to "The Infinite Mystery of the Force" or be finishing up "The New Shadow", but I'm just not in the mood to write them tonight. Just a little writer's block. :) As for now, I will regale you with various short stories on how the supremely arrogant yet desperately lame villain Tom Riddle, AKA "Lord Voldemort" repeatedly gets his ass kicked from better, sometimes even muggle, villains. Enjoy!
"Loathe as I am to admit it, I read the muggle newspapers. I keep up on things, which is why I'm writing in this journal right now. You are a regular, cheap muggle diary, meant to be inconspicuous to the naked wizard's eye, and totally invisible to everyone else. I also keep you locked up in my personal vault, a chest that is part of my bed. I am about to visit New York City in the United States. There seems to be a unique form of muggle there with strange powers that I'm vaguely aware of. Mutants, or something they are called."
Tom drank the polyjuice potion, and flew on his own accord to London. He needed some time to study a growing menace. Various people who are biological abnormalities have been popping up with alarming frequency in the last few months. A writer named Mohinder Suresh published articles in the small newspaper "The Daily Bugle" about the abnormalities and how he was very close to isolating and replicating the variations responsible. There was supplemetal scientific articles available cheaply or freely online, but Tom says that he'll be damned before he learns to how to use the internet.
The airplane ride was uneventful and rather boring. His seat mate was quite an annoyance, asking stupid questions such as who made his suit("Brooks Brothers, now leave me alone"), whether he preferred the Iphone or the Blackberry("Any mobile phone is suitable, and I think the internet is for uneducated plebeians such as yourself"), and if he liked the in flight movie, which happened to be 'Twilight".
"No! I think it sucks! The acting is something a third year could improve on!"
"Thanks for the input, pal."
"Who are you anyway" demanded Voldemort.
"Documentary television maker" said the annoyance.
"Bullshit, you're probably just making some reality show" said an American man one seat behind Voldemort.
"They are NOT the same thing" said the American man.
"Alright, it is. OK? What the hell do you do besides start arguments?"
"I'm a lawyer."
"Bloodsuckers" said the documentary/Reality TV maker.
"You're one to talk."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Sorry. Sorry to you too." He patted the beat of the seat Voldemort was sitting in.
The plane landed in JFK, and Voldemort was glad to be off. He cast a Supersensory Charm on himself in the bathroom, just to be careful. He exited as quickly as possible, as he couldn't stand the dopey grin of the muggle he killed and borrowed a piece of hair from.
This was supposed to be a secret mission, so he was surprised when he accidentally bumped into another wizard. Good old yank Humphrey Cunningham. Tom was momentarily stunned, performed legilimancy, and affirmed that this was merely a very passable lookalike.
Voldemort left the airport, and went to the nearest place he could find that wasn't being monitered, which he discovered to be very difficult in a city like New York. Especially near an airport. He shot out several security cameras he sensed, and apparated away to a more familiar location. After some sleuthing, he thought he had discovered Mohinder Suresh's place of work. He found a bench to sit on and contemplated how he should approach this. This was The Company. Suresh's article had said that he was based in Chennai, India, but that the further research was done in this very building he was sitting in front of. It didn't take very much effort or Imperius' on muggles working for this "Company" to know where all the bruhaha went on. Suddenly, Voldemort sensed someone behind him. Someone invisible. Using the supersensory charm, he knew that the phantom was a human. He could sense his heartbeat.
Or was it?
Sylar's sound manipulation fooled Voldemort into complacency. Whoever this guy was, Sylar's been thinking about him for months. Courtesy of enhanced parallel reality knowledge from his latest victim, Delaware University researcher Adam Colbert. He never suspected that he had powers. This guy though, who is obviously a shapeshifter at the very least, in one possible parallel world took over the United Kingdom after killing some kid named Harry Potter. Sylar wondered if he should go after him too. Maybe...
Since this was a very public area, it was very prudent to do this fast. Sylar waited inside the doorway, and as Voldemort walked across the street, Sylar went into the nearest bathroom.
Um, excuse me, I have an appointment with a Mohinder Suresh.
The secretary, imperioed, obliged, and told Tom that he had an office on the very first floor, just twenty doors down. Appearently, Primatech was also moonlighting as a think tank for green energy.
What was that?
"Oh, the bathroom", Tom said to himself.
He sometimes forgot to go the bathroom, since he was technically a golem in a very loose sense of the word. Still, that was a loud toilet. These automatics are distracting, he thought. The much preferable method were the latrines found at Hogwarts. Everything was better at Hogwarts.
Tom opened the door to the bathroom, and his legs were frozen solid. Courtesy of James Walker's powers, now Sylar's. He made an immediate attempt to apparate out, but Sylar was quicker as he saw this happening two weeks ago and shot him with a simple pistol.
"What? You don't die?"
"No, you f*cking muggle. Avada Keda-"
Sylar used his telekinesis to grab Voldemort's wand.
"Nice piece. Wizard, huh? I hope your brain works the same way a mutant's does."
And eventually, Sylar did eat Voldemort's brain. His least satisfying meal yet. Especially since this guy couldn't die. But he has all his powers now, and experimented with a few spells. He had a holster for this thing. Now that he inherently knows magic, he'll also probably be under the jurisdiction of whatever kind of government magical people had. Sylar wished he had telepaty. Voldemort was now an invalid, wiggling on the floor.