Many thanks to beta shirelily6!

Voldemort took a deep breath. "Out with it, Potter," he said, his voice cracking ominously. Harry could tell that Voldemort was dangerously close to crying once more, and he twisted one of Aunt Petunia's decorative pillows as he braced himself for the inevitable sobs. He was, however, completely unprepared for what Voldemort said next. "What have you done with my pink bunny slippers?"

Harry nearly dropped the telephone. He wasn't sure if he had heard correctly. "Come again?" he asked.

"My pink bunny slippers," said Voldemort, more calmly. "You've stolen them, and I want them back."

"Your… pink… bunny slippers…" Harry repeated faintly, digging his fingernails deep into the velveteen cover of the pillow. "I didn't know you had pink bunny slippers,” he said derisively.

"Well, I don't any more," Voldemort huffed, his previously collected tone losing some of its smoothness. "This morning when I got out of bed, I was planning on wearing them beneath my robes while I issued some new orders to Wormtail, but I couldn't find them!"

"Then perhaps Wormtail knows where they are," Harry suggested.

"Oh, don't you give me that, Potter," snarled Voldemort. "Don't try to place the blame on one of my Death Eaters. Wormtail is stupid, but not stupid enough to risk my wrath by taking my slippers. You took them, I know it!" Accusations finished, Voldemort broke down again into noisy sobs. "Y- you must have known that th-they were my favorite," he hiccupped pathetically. "It's all part of your evil plan to kill me and become a great big hero. Well, it won't work! Give me my slippers back!"

"I don't have your slippers." Harry told Voldemort dully.

"But, Potter," Voldemort hissed. "I know you have them. Who else would try to steal something from me?"

"Loads of people," said Harry. "Most of the wizarding world hates you, you know. Plenty of people would want to make you unhappy." He absently twisted a corner of the pillow that he still held in his hands, imagining that it was Voldemort’s neck.

"It must have been you, Potter!" howled Voldemort. If he had not been accused of taking the Dark Lord's slippers, Harry would have found the entire situation completely hilarious. He had never seen (or, rather, heard) Voldemort sound so whiny and out of character.

"Look," he said impatiently. "I didn't even know you had bunny slippers. It doesn't really go with the whole 'scary dark wizard' character, does it?" Voldemort responded with a wordless, enraged roar. "And neither does dissolving into tears and hysterics," continued Harry. "You'll be the laughingstock of the wizarding world if this gets around."

"That's why you stole my slippers!" Voldemort accused again. "Part of your aforementioned evil plan to kill me. First, you plan to humiliate me in front of the entire wizarding world, including my faithful Death Eaters, by revealing my slippers! You won't even let me die with dignity! I'll go out in embarrassment, with everyone laughing at me!"

"You don't deserve to die with dignity," Harry said mercilessly. "You deserve to die a horrible, painful death at the hands of everyone you've hurt. You'll be cursed into dust. And then your dust will be cursed into the four winds, and everyone across the country will celebrate."

"See?" said Voldemort. "You do have a plan to kill me! You've put it into motion already! You've taken my slippers!"

"I don't have your slippers!" Harry yelled at him, patience wearing rather dangerously thin. He began abusing the pillow again. The stuffing inside had been pushed around quite a bit, and the pillow was loosing its shape, and the velvety cover was rumpled and smudged. Aunt Petunia was not going to be happy, but Harry didn’t care.

"Stop, Potter!" bellowed Voldemort hysterically. "Stop trying to deny it!"

Harry made a noise similar to that of an enraged elephant, straining his vocal chords quite a bit. "Get it through your thick head," he snapped. "I. Didn't. Take. Them."

"Yes, you did!" howled Voldemort. "I'm not stupid, Potter. You hate me more than most people; therefore, you are the most likely person to have taken the slippers!"

"If you're not stupid," countered Harry, "I suppose you'd know how ridiculous you sound when you falsely accuse me of stealing your slippers."

"I do not sound ridiculous," Voldemort spat. "I am the most feared wizard on the planet. Everyone is frightened to say my name, let alone steal something from me. You are the only one who possibly could have taken my slippers. You want to humiliate me!" His voice rose to a shriek, and the lights in the Dursley residence flickered. From his post in the kitchen, Uncle Vernon let out a wordless roar, correctly guessing that the caller was causing his lights to malfunction.

"You're doing a pretty good job of humiliating yourself already," said Harry, collapsing onto the couch. This was turning into a very long conversation. Through the receiver, he heard a crackling, statickey noise, and the light bulb in the lamp next to him exploded. Harry's Seeker reflexes took over for a moment, and he flung Aunt Petunia's abused pillow in front of his face to shield his head as bits of glass rained down from the shattered bulb. Unfazed by Voldemort's display of power, Harry said calmly into the telephone, "That was a pretty stupid thing to do. You can't even do proper magic anymore. You've resorted to blowing up little Muggle appliances. I don't need to humiliate you, you're doing it for me."

The sound of several deep breaths could be heard over the telephone, and Harry felt a surge of satisfaction at Voldemort's obvious fury. "I've told you, Potter, you are the guilty one here. Don't try to make me think that it's all my fault! You took my slippers; you are the one who wants to cause my downfall; and you are the one who is trying to embarrass me!"

"I'm not guilty of anything!" Harry roared. "I was just having a normal day until you called me and started crying about bunny slippers and evil plans. I have nothing to do with your problems right now, got it?

"You have everything to do with my problems," accused Voldemort. “Everything is your fault."

"No, it isn't," Harry countered. Just minutes ago, he had been feeling like all his problems were Voldemort's fault, and now the Dark Lord was declaring the same thing. It was time to set the record straight. "You cause all my problems. I'm not the one running all over killing people just for fun. I'm not the one who's a mass murderer and a cult leader. I'm not the one who uses unforgivable curses and coerces other people into following me. I'm not the one who makes people kiss my robes! You are!"

"That's not true," hissed Voldemort.

"It's not?" asked Harry sarcastically, playing along.

"I do not make my Death Eaters kiss my robes. They do it willingly, as a sign of respect!"

"Sure, they do," said Harry, rolling his eyes.

"And it's not a cult, Potter," continued Voldemort. "It's a political party. Our goal is to eliminate half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Rather like that Muggle man several years ago. What was his name? Ahh, yes. Hittle, or some such…"

"Hitler?" supplied Harry, dredging up old Muggle school lessons from his pre-Hogwarts days. "And you're calling yourselves a political party?"

"Hitler!" cried Voldemort, sounding pleased. "That was it. And of course we're a political party, Potter. I'm planning on taking over the world, something you should know by now. I'm going to rule all the wizards. I shall kill all those whose blood is impure! My philosophy is very similar to Hitler's."

"So," Harry said. "You want to get rid of all wizards except pure-bloods, is that it?"

"Exactly," answered Voldemort. "And you, Potter, most unfortunately fall into the category that needs to be… eliminated."

"You do realize," Harry pointed out, "that you're a half-blood too? You're father was a Muggle. You're out to kill yourself!" He laughed at the absurdity of it.

"I don't appreciate your laughter," sniffed Voldemort haughtily.

"I notice you're not correcting me about your father, though," grinned Harry.

"Where are my bunny slippers?" demanded Voldemort, hastily changing the subject.

Harry felt the smile slide right off his face. Back to that again. "Oh," he said dully. "Those."

"Yes, Potter. 'Those' are my bunny slippers, and you have them, and I want them back."

"I haven't got them," Harry said. "I've already told you this. Why don't we talk about your father again? That was such a nice conversation."

"We are not going to talk about my father!" shrieked Voldemort. "And don't change the subject!"

"You were the one who changed the subject," said Harry. "And I didn't take your slippers."

"Then who did?" asked Voldemort. "If you didn't take them, where did they go?"

"I haven't any idea," answered Harry. "And I don't particularly care, either."

"I care, Potter," snapped Voldemort. He paused for a moment, and Harry heard the sound of a deep breath being drawn through Voldemort's snake-like slits of nostrils. "Let's pretend, just for a moment," he said more calmly. " Let's pretend that you really didn't take them, even though I know you did. If we assume that you had nothing to do with the disappearance of my poor slippers, where are they?"

"Oh, yes," Harry mocked, thoroughly fed up. "Let's also pretend that you are not calling me on the Muggle telephone, and you are not the most evil git that ever lived, and while we're at it, why don't we also pretend that I'm not going to strangle you on the spot with that ugly snake of yours the next time I see you? As for your slippers, did you consider looking for them?"

"Well, no…" Voldemort said. "Because I'm pretending that they aren't in my house. So someone must have stolen them. Someone like you!"

Harry gave a long-suffering sigh. "Why don't we, uh, pretend that we're not pretending anymore and assume that they are somewhere in your house?"

"That doesn't make any sense." Voldemort whined.

"Pretend that is does." Harry snapped. "Why don't you hang up and go look for them?"

"Excellent idea, Potter!" Voldemort cried. Harry gave a sigh of relief, his entire body sagging against the couch in a weary celebration of finally having accomplished something. He heard the clumsy sound of the receiver on Voldemort's end being forcibly hung up, but the noise was music to his ears. Suddenly feeling drained, Harry tossed the telephone away from him, not bothering to hang it up, and leaned back against the couch, savoring the silence. Arguing with Dark Lords was exhausting, he decided. He absently toyed with the fringe on Aunt Petunia's pillow again. Voldemort was going insane, he thought. Completely bloody insane.