A/N: Lord Voldemort has a tough problem. What more can I say?
Yeah, I know the title posted isn't exactly the same here. I changed it for fear that it would be removed by the Powers That Be for the use of the word, "bloody."
Warning: Pure nonsense ahead.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters, places, and ideas aren't my creation. They belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.
That Bloody Occasional Irregularity
After thirteen years of being a shade, a mere vapour, I had my old body back. My rebirth...I owe thanks to Potter and that vile Muggle, who was my father, for freely giving up a part of themselves. I had nearly forgotten what it was like to have a form, to have my maleness back. I missed relishing the fright seen in the eyes of those who gazed upon my face. To have my old body back...ecstasy, exultation, pleasure....
Something was amiss. My body was not functioning properly. Was it due to my constant diet of snake venom? No, it could not be. I had sipped serpent elixir years before my powers were ruined by that annoyingly, bloody Potter. No. I suspected something more sinister. That boy had placed a curse upon me. Somehow, he had known beforehand that I would use his blood for my rebirth. He must have tainted it for the purpose of bringing misery upon me. He was probably laughing. Never mind, he would be killed. Dumbledore, the old fool, simply could not protect him forever. I would destroy Hogwarts, if need be. Who then told Potter of my plans? Bartemius? Well, he was of no concern to me. Wormtail? I reckoned this betrayer of close friends must be watched closely. Meanwhile, how must I break the miserable curse that had befallen me?
I had not had a bowel movement in over a month.
He came grovelling toward me. I smiled with pleasure over his subservience.
"Yes, My Lord?"
"I need a potion. A potion to counterattack the curse Potter has placed on me."
"Potter, My Lord? When?"
"Never mind, fool! I need a potion to relax my stools."
"What? What, My Lord?"
"You heard me! Brew a potion to make me regular again. Do not fail me, Wormtail."
"Yes, My Lord."
"My Lord, I've brewed the potion to, er, help your bowels."
"Give it to me."
He handed me a steaming goblet filled with a liquid that smelled faintly of prunes. I drank deeply.
"For your sake, I hope this works."
"It will, My Lord, in a few days."
"Yes, My Lordship?"
"It has been a week!"
Fear settled on his rat-like features, and he began to squirm. Inwardly, I felt pleased.
"Shall I brew more, Master?"
I glared at him for a while as he shook with fright.
"Make it stronger. If it fails this time, Wormtail, you will be punished. Now, leave me!"
I felt a stirring within my bowels. Perhaps the fool did something right for a change. I ran to the toilet with anticipation.
What was the bloody problem? This was almost as bad as when I lost my body. I was sitting on the toilet feeling the signs of an impending bowel movement, but nothing was happening.
I must force it to obey my will, I thought. With all my strength, I pushed. The strain caused perspiration to form on my face. Something started to happen! The pain was excruciating. I bellowed out in agony. The door to the room flew open and presented my servant, Python.
"Master, Master, are you all right?" he yelled with concern on his face.
"Get out!" I shrieked as the fumes from my rear began to sicken me.
Python fell to the floor in front of me in a posture of complete submission. I saw a suspicious smirk briefly flit across his face as he lowered his gaze. I made a mental note of it.
"Your Lordship, I heard you cry out in pain. Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes, you can."
"What, My lord? Anything!"
He leapt up and stumbled from the room. Fortunately, he had enough sense to shut the door behind him.
Sighing, I wiped my arse and rose from the pot to see my creation. It looked like something a bloody rabbit would produce.
I ended up with bulging piles from the effort of pushing.
"Once again, you have failed me, Wormtail."
I cut him off. "Now, you shall be punished. I will not tolerate any more of your ineptitude."
"Please...No, Master. Give me another chance! Please, My Lord..."
I gathered my Death Eaters in the cemetery where was I was reborn.
"Potter has placed a curse on me. He shall be destroyed, of course."
"What is this curse, Master?"
"My bowels have been cemented, Lucius. I need help in restoring them back to normal."
They mumbled, "What can we do, Master?"
"Wormtail brewed a potion for me which failed miserably. Not surprising coming from a lowly, inept coward such as he. I need an antidote, a counter-curse. Find it. The servant who relieves me of this affliction will be rewarded beyond his or her wildest dreams.
"Now, on to other matters. What do you have to report?"
One by one, they provided me with their news.
"The Ministry has been softening to the idea of allowing Muggle law enforcement to assist with its efforts in stopping us."
I waved my hand dismissively. "Let them. Muggles are of no match to my powers."
"My Lord, the Council of Magical Law is considering relaxing the restriction of underage sorcery."
"Let it be. Children are canon fodder. Go on."
"Your Lordship, the Ministry has blocked trade with Albania."
"Really? Interesting indeed. Carry on."
"Hogwarts Board of Governors has come to an impasse regarding the affair of security. It would seem that the motion has been constipated by those loyal to Dumbledore."
"My Lord, we must remove Dumbledore! He's their source of fibre."
Narrowing my eyes, I shouted, "Enough." I had an overwhelming suspicion that they were poking fun at my problem. They would be dealt with accordingly.
"It has been brought to my attention," I addressed them. "that Python has left me forever. According to close sources, he has become a bloody comedian. He has been using me as fodder for his asinine jokes. I do not appreciate him poking fun at my privates in front of Muggles. My privates are nothing to laugh at! Python shall be killed, of course."
I cornered Python in a Muggle alley and pulled out my wand. I relished the terror on his face.
"Find my privates amusing, eh?"
"Please, My Lord. Please...."
To my utmost horror, a sound of someone breaking wind shattered the quiet and was immediately followed by an overwhelming odour of rotten eggs.
Python slid to the ground and laughed hysterically while tears poured from his eyes. I delivered a well-placed kick to his fool head, and disapparated.
Potter would assuredly die.
The headline of the Daily Prophet enraged me. Rita Skeeter would be killed, of course.
You-Know-Who Should Be He-Who-Must-Be-Laughed-At
-Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Sources have confirmed that the one whom we have feared all these years has lost his touch. Last night, Lord Voldemort (the name no longer frightens me) attempted the Killing Curse on Marty Python, a former Death Eater and now a comedian. According to Python, he was bombarded with flatulence after He-Who-Must-Be-Laughed-At uttered the deadly curse. Other sources have said that Lord Break Wind has been having much difficulty with his stools. It would appear that he hasn't had a bowel movement in nearly two months. Perhaps this has been the cause of his evil temper all along. I spoke with Doctor Plummer of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries about the effect of constipation on the psyche. According to Doctor Plummer...."
I incinerated the paper.
One night, I decided to engage in a seldom done treat. I had to take my mind away from the problem at hand. I seemed to be losing the fear of my supporters. That would not be tolerated. Damn that Potter!
Surreptitiously in the dark, I stepped up to the window to peer into the Muggle girl's room. She was not there. I became furious. She was supposed to undress while I watched! Where was she? Silent as a cat, I made my way over to the other side of the house and peeked inside. The man was reclining on a chair watching the idiot box. Where was the girl?
The advertisement on the idiot box caught my attention. It was about my problem. Through the partially opened window, I listened with rapt attention. The advertisement had a nice jingle. The slogans leapt out at me: "stool so soft" and "strain be gone." Stoolaxx, hmm.
"Dear, why don't you give Stoolaxx a try?" said the woman.
The man sighed. "Why not? I've tried everything else."
I planned to return the following night to see if this Stoolaxx worked for the Muggle.
I crept around the house in the shadow of night and peered into the windows. The nubile girl was in her room lying across the bed reading a magazine. Unfortunately, she was fully clothed, but I had other matters to attend. The woman was in the kitchen. Where was the man? I found him in the toilet.
He sat on the pot reading a newspaper. As I watched, a wondrous expression appeared on his face. Then it was followed by bliss. Distantly, through the sliver that was ajar, I heard him exclaim in immense relief, "Ahhhhhhhhhh."
I glowered at him for his insolence. Yes, he would be dealt with in time, sooner than later.
"Er, yes, My Lordship?"
"Go to a Muggle pharmacy. I require five bottles of Stoolaxx."
"Yes! You heard me! Now, go."
I felt the familiar symptoms of an impending bowel movement, and became excited. On my way to the toilet, I grabbed an old issue of the Daily Prophet.
I sat on the pot and unfolded the paper. As I read, it started to happen. There was no pain! It felt good. "Ahhhhhhh," I exclaimed as it exited.
After I was done, I glanced in the pot to view my creation. I was pleased and satisfied.
Grinning, I thought, I have truly returned to power.
"Yeah, what do you want?" he replied, disrespectfully. "I have a gig in a few minutes. So, threaten me and get it over with, Voldemort."
"Yes. Now, please hurry. I have an audience waiting. They enjoy the tales of your privates and war with constipation. Come, bombard me with your flatulence and be done with it. Go on!"
I grinned. "All right."
I raised my wand. Once it was levelled at him, I nonchalantly said, "The joke is on you, Marty.