Version Thirty-one: "Mime"
If a tree falls on Voldemort and no one is there to see it, does anyone care?
Version Thirty-two: "He"
It was a dark and stormy night as Harry Potter raced through the pouring rain towards the Shrieking Shack, where he and Voldemort would fight their rousing last battle to the death: his or his enemy's. Harry smiled, thinking of Voldemort finally being vanquished for all those the Dark Lord had killed: Cedric, his parents, Dumbledore, Sirius…. Upon entering the house with a banging of the front door—he didn't care who heard—Harry ran downstairs toward the only sound in the building: some weird squeaking, like a rat, almost. Once he passed the threshold of the doorway, he froze in horror. There was Voldemort, sitting on the floor in the corner, grinning madly. He was surrounded by bright colored balloons. Harry backed up, shaking his head. "HI!" Voldemort squeaked, clearly high on helium. Harry keeled over, dead.
Version Thirty-three: "The Best Computer Game Ever"
One day Voldemort was walking along the white cliffs of Dover, humming contentedly as he envisioned the bloody and horribly painful death that awaited Harry Potter. That insolent brat wouldn't know what hit him…Gradually a strange noise as of many tiny running feet came from the distance. As it got louder and louder, Voldemort turned, trying to see what was causing it. Almost before he knew what had happened, he was being swept along by a crowd of tiny lemmings. As they jumped over the cliff and into the roiling sea, Voldemort cursed the evil fate that had caused the lemmings to come and defeat him.
Version Thirty-four: "Grease"
Snape walked up the street. As he passed a group of chicks, he winked and slicked his hair back. The girls liked it when he did that, he thought, smirking. Veronica probably wouldn't like it, but she didn't have to know. Nor did Brittany, Samantha, Joy, Bertha, or Caroline. Snape straightened out his face as Voldemort came up. The girls wanted him to do this, so he would. "How are you today, my Lord?" he asked, bowing. As he stood up, he deliberately wiped his grease-loaded hair on Voldemort's robes. Immediately, the Dark Lord was paralyzed by the grossness and keeled over, dead. Snape smirked again; the ladies were going to love him for this.
Version Thirty-five: "001001"
Version Thirty-six: "They were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"
It was a dark and stormy night. Voldemort grumbled to himself as he put on his traveling cloak. The death of Harry Potter and his final taking over of the wizarding world were drawing nigh. With a pop, Voldemort apparated on the moor where he was to meet the Chosen One. The moon was full and bright. Voldemort waited impatiently, glaring evilly at anything that moved, which, considering the fact he was on a moor, wasn't much. A hansom caring two men happened by. The night continued on until Voldemort began to doubt as to whether Harry would show. Suddenly there were shouts and the great baying of an enormous hound which sprang from the fog. The creature was glowing green. It leapt upon the Dark Lord and bit his face off just before Sherlock Holmes shot it in the head.
Version Thirty-seven: "What is Klivian without the second i? Spelled wrong!"
As Voldemort was reading a Star Wars cartoon one rainy evening, he noticed that one of the characters had an oddly pointy nose. Suddenly, Hobbie Klivian popped out of the book along with Plourr Ilo. She shoved him towards Voldemort and the Dark Lord was stabbed with his nose.
Version Thirty-eight: "Houston, we have a problem!!"
As Voldemort wandered down a random hallway in search of the Chosen One (who is actually Anakin, but whatever), he noticed a strange pull emanating from a room nearby. Curious, he moved closer, noting that the tug became stronger the nearer he came. Opening the door, Voldemort had one glimpse of a very messy room and an odd girl with a fedora before he was sucked into the bottomless depths of the black hole that is my bedroom.
Version Thirty-nine: "Fourth grade concert band"
Voldemort sighed as he settled down in a chair in the second row. He was being forced to attend his daughter Sally's band concert for the third time that year; it was bad enough that he had to pay child support, why did he have to suffer through these awful excuses for music, too? The conductor walked out onto the floor and raised his baton. As the fourth grade band began to play, Voldemort started to twitch. He convulsed all through "Hot Cross Buns" and around their second to last song his ears had begun to bleed. By the end of the beginning band's last piece, Voldemort was dead on the floor, killed by a bunch of kids with out of tune oboes and saxophones.
Version Forty: "I'm his gardener."
Harry smiled. For once he was taking the fight to Voldemort and he was glad to be doing so. His new Irish friend was providing him with someone to do the dirty work. The large, Eurasian bodyguard stepped suddenly around the corner, right into the path of Voldemort, ultimate evil incarnate. "Ha ha ha!" cackled the Dark Lord. "You will DIE!" The man simply raised an eyebrow and blew Voldemort away with a round from his Neutrino 400. With his enemy lying in a pile of ashes on the ground, Harry patted the man on the arm. "Thank you, Butler," he said.
A/N: Suggestions please! I need this finished before the book comes out!!!!!!!!!!!! (26 days!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)