Disclaimer: No, no, no, not mine.
A/N: Another fanfic I wrote for a challenge... Not wonderful, but I've seen one Dorcas Meadows fic in my life and loved it (can't remember who it was written by, sorry), so I decided to write one of my own. As always please review, constructive critisism is appreciated but not absolutely necessary. Much thanks to Black is the New Pink for reading over it for me - check out her stuff.
There are certain people that you just don't mess with.
Enter Lord Voldemort.
And there are certain people who choose to blatantly ignore this rule.
Enter Dorcas Meadows.
She was curled up on the couch scanning the headlines of yesterday's Daily Prophet. They managed to pump out ludicrous lies faster than a house elf running away from clothes, and the public believed them just as quickly. It was hardly possible that Celestina Warbeck was using her music to broadcast subliminal messages supporting the Death Eaters to wizards and witches across the globe. And she certainly shouldn't have been arrested for it. Honestly, The Quibbler was beginning to sound rational next to this dragon dung.
Soft footsteps sounded outside the door, and Dorcas's head shot up. She muttered a quick incantation and the door became like one-way glass; she could see out, but no one could see in. There was a skeletal man creeping up on her, and she fully intended to have some fun with him. A grin crept across Dorcas's face as the door swung open.
"Ah, Tom! I see you answered by personal ad!"
The snakelike man standing in the doorway snarled, "Don't call me Tom."
Dorcas smiled sweetly at him, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was sitting in the presence of the evilest wizard alive and mocking him.
"No, see?" She stood from the couch, brandishing the newspaper in her right hand. "Right here." A fiendish grin fluttered across her lips as she pointed out the small article.
As Dorcas dodged the curse she stumbled over the couch and fell, sprawling across the floor. "Really now, was that necessary? Of course, I suppose I was asking for it. It does say that knowledge of Unforgivable Curses is optional, right after possibly evil and nasty."
Lord Voldemort gaped at her, his wand loose at his side. No one had ever been so insolent to him. Suggesting that he had come in response to a personal ad! Really. He would never be that tacky. Of course, there had been that time at Hogwarts when he had worn a tucked in shirt with a belt… Voldemort shook his head to clear his thoughts, and returned his attention to Dorcas. She was rattling on about the contents of that ridiculous advert.
"…Pale and skinny – you fit that absolutely perfect, though I must admit a little sun wouldn't kill you, you do know you look almost vampirish? Anyway. Self-centered, forces others to call him by variations of Lord – well, obviously, though I'll have you know that if this relationship is going to last I'll call you Tom, that's your proper name, but feel free to call me 'My Lady' or 'Queen of My Heart' at any time..."
"I'm not pale and skinny!" Voldemort stomped his foot, and immediately regretted doing so. It was ridiculously childish.
Dorcas smirked in a thoroughly un-understanding way and pretended that she hadn't heard him. "Anyways, since you appear to fulfill all the requirements I have only one question for you: If I do the dishes, will you be willing to take out the garbage?"
"No, I am not going to take out the garbage!" he burst out before he could help himself. "I mean, er, theoretically…"
"Oh, Tommy, you do love me!" Her smile was terrible and sugary. Voldemort thought he might throw up.
"I didn't answer your stupid personal ad!" he screamed.
Her face fell immediately, and her bottom lip quivered convincingly. "But, but, I thought…"
"I came here to kill you," Voldemort proclaimed dramatically. He swept his arms out to emphasize the point, but the sleeve of his robes caught on the corner of her coffee table and he lurched backwards.
Dorcas grinned at him from the floor. "That's alright; I didn't much fancy being Mrs. Dorcas Riddle anyways. Got a nasty ring to it, you know?"
Recovering from his momentary distraction, Voldemort raised his wand again. Dorcas bounced to her feet. "Would you like to see my dragon?"
He paused once more. "What do you mean, a dragon?" he said, shocked.
"You know…" She flapped her arms ridiculously. "They fly, they breathe fire, they eat… People."
"I know what a dragon is, infidel."
"Oh-ho, infidel, is it? Well, I suppose to you I am. But what was I saying? Ah, yes. The dragon. He's right around back, come see." She skipped out of the room, humming something that sounded suspiciously like You're So Vain.
He stood, stunned, and almost began to hum along with her before remembering that the person who had just left the room to visit her dragon was a person he was supposed to killing. Voldemort rushed after Dorcas, only to discover her standing within the emerald green flames of a fire.
"Last of the Floo Powder. Sorry, love, but it just isn't going to work out between us." Then with a roguish wink she shouted, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place," and vanished.
Incensed, Voldemort tried to apparate after her. For a moment nothing happened, and then Dorcas's voice filled the room. "Oh, did you try to leave? Your stay not enjoyable? Tea cold? Crumpets moldy? Well, I'm afraid you'll just have to live with that, as I'm not inclined to have people disapparating in and out of my house at will. Cheers."
Voldemort screeched and made for the door. Unfortunately, he was met there by the sight of Dorcas's dragon.