“—Is the camera—? Oh, hello! Welcome everyone to my baking show,” said Harry. He stood behind a kitchen counter full of utensils and nondescript multicolor multiform baking supplies. “Today I’m going to be making a cake. Now, this isn’t really a cake, but a sock. We’ll get into the details later. So about this sock cake, it’s going to be made with chocolate. It’s a brown sock. Okay, then, let’s bake this!”
The clip cut.
“Alright,” said Harry. The cake was finished. “The cake is finished, take a look at this!”
He showed the cake to the camera. It looked like shit.
Suddenly, the door banged open. It was Hermione, and she was angry. “Harry, what color do you reckon Cassiopiea’s hair is?”
“Err, red?” said Harry.
“No, Harry.” Hermione shook her head, smiling. “It’s like ox blood.”
“O…kay?”
She glared at him. “Who’s that?”
Harry turned to where she was pointing. Behind him was Tom Riddle, who’d left a hand on Harry’s shoulder in support. Harry struggled not to take out his wand and kill Tom Riddle where he stood. This was the future dark lord, after all. But he was nice enough to hold Harry’s shoulder as he baked. Did that mean he was just a regular person? What if Harry was the future dark lord?
“This is Tom Riddle,” introduced Harry. Tom Riddle smirked.
Hermione’s eyes suddenly glazed over, her mouth falling into a dopey smile. She giggled. “Tom Riddle? Isn’t he just the best? So handsome and smart…I can’t understand why you don’t like him, Harry!” She was mad.
“I didn’t say I don’t like him.”
But Hermione was a menace. “Really , Harry, it’s unconcise of you to be jealous like this.” She huffed. “Don’t even think about looking at me in the changing rooms in tomorrow’s game. I don’t care that you’re gay.”
Harry was confused. “I don’t play for Hogwarts? I’m not at Hogwarts anymore, Hermione.”
Hermione had walked away too fast to hear him. Beyond the open door, Dumbledore suddenly walked fast-paced across to the other side. His eyes were twinkling and he was smiling as he snuck on his tiptoes.
Harry looked over his shoulder. “Any idea what that’s about?”
Tom Riddle just smirked. Wow. Okay.
Sighing and wobbling on his feet, Harry got the shits. He took his cake and apparated to a field.
“Great scott, look at those cows!” Harry said. The camera was off at this point, he was speaking to Tom Riddle, who was smirking. “You know, these cows would have been really helpful if we were making a wrap. Cold dead bits of their meat can go in a wrap. Frozen, preferably. Not a sandwich, though. Sorry I’m so random, I have ADHD.”
Tom Riddle smirked.
Lord Voldemort was already waiting for them on his picnic blanket. “I love life,” he sighed, “Is that cake for me?”
Harry was ecstatic, and he shrugged. “Yes.It’s Dudely’s sock. You’re voice is like chocolate.” He wanted to throw a tantrum, because Voldemort seemed to have nothing in return for him. “It’s our anniversary.”
“That’s right,” said Voldemort, and then he clapped his hands. A marching band walked towards them, but they weren’t playing instruments, they were holding presents.
“Presents!” Harry cheered. “Presents for me?”
“A gazillion of them,” confirmed Voldemort. Harry laughed, depressed but grateful. The marching band one by one presented the gifts to Harry. He appreciated them all.
Suddenly, one member stepped forward. In his arms was Ginny. She was bleeding from the head. “She hit her head on some rocks,” he said.
Voldemort and Harry looked at each other. Tom Riddle smirked.
“Alright? Take her to St. Mungos,” said Voldemort.
“Aren’t you a necromancer?” asked the marching guy to Harry.
Harry shrugged and shook his hands, frantic. “No, I’m not…”
The man looked up. His eyes were strangely familiar. “You can’t revive Ginny Weasley three times?”
“I’m really not a necromancer, I bake. I don’t know wear you got that form,” Harry sighed, yelling softly.
He suddenly took off his hat.
Harry jumped.
“Ron, is that you?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” said Ron, and his ginger hair faded into white.
“Wot?” asked Harry, at a loss. “Ron… are you…are you maybe a Malfoy?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” spit Ron. “What’s it to you?”
Harry blinked. “Oh, well, I guess not much. Or maybe it is? I don’t know, I just saw Hermione today and that’s thrown me for a loop. Also, I thought your sister was two years old?”
“She grows fast,” said Ron, smiling. He dropped her body. “But now she’s dead.” He hit Harry with Aguamenti. In the face. “And you won’t save her.”
“Avada Kedavra,” said Voldemort, and Ron dropped dead on top of his dead sister. A groan came from under him as he did. It seemed Ginny was alive after all. The marching band of a gazillion gifts continued. Harry was cold, colder than he’d ever ben in any universe or any cosmic realm.
“What a shitcunt,” said Harry, and Voldemort laughed and spelled him dry. “Happy anniversary, baby, I love you,” he nuzzled into Voldemort.
“I love you too, I always have,” he replied.
They both turned to Tom, who stopped smirking. His mouth was open, in his eyes a holy realization. “F…” he gasped.
He continued. “Freak’s a comedian. Freak is a comedian.” His grip on Harry’s shoulder got tighter and tighter. “Freak’s—a—comedian,” he spat happily, a dangerous look in his eyes.
Harry and Tom kissed.
Voldemort was eating the cake, and he suddenly bit into something hard. “What?” He said, and extracted the item. “Is this… No.”
He held up a golden locket that had the letter S on it.
Harry fell over laughing. Then Voldemort killed the entire marching band of gift bearers. Cows mooed in the background. Harry pouted, but that was soon lost when Voldemort pounced and pulled Harry close.
“Hallelujah,” cried Voldemort. “First a sock and then my locket. You are the greatest gift of all, Harry.”
“Aww shucks,” said Harry.
Tom Riddle smirked.
They lived happily even after.