Stumped

.

AN: Warning, sick, twisted things are in this fic. I'm actually quite disturbed I even wrote it. I don't own HP. And it's probably a good thing.

.

.

Stumped. He giggled.

He was stumped. He looked at his right arm.

He giggled.

Honestly, he didn't know what to do next.

He was stumped.

There on the floor was his right forearm and his wand still tightly grasped in his right hand.

He was stumped.

How was he supposed to kill the evilly laughing dark lord in front of him now?

Why didn't his arm hurt? He was stumped, and it wasn't even bleeding. He-Who-Must-Laugh-Like-an-Evil-Clown had cauterized the wound so he could play with Harry a bit longer.

Stumped.

"Well, shit…" he uttered looking at his arm again. He giggled again.

He noticed some of the Death Eaters in the room were looking at him oddly. He heard someone mutter, "Maybe he took too many Crucatious curses?"

"It seems you've dropped something, Harry," the dark clown cackled.

Harry tilted his head to the side examining Voldemort's face. It did seem a bit like a clown. It certainly wasn't a normal face. Harry said vaguely, "That's it… you're not invited to my next birthday party. I don't really like clowns anyway."

The evil clown shot a curse at him that hurt, a lot. But he was still stumped. He giggled. Stumped.

"Thanks for the incentive, but I'm still stumped, Dark BoBo," Harry giggled again.

Voldie tutted. "Lost your mind already, Harry? You won't be nearly as much fun to play with now."

"Just so long as we don't play a ball game, or Red Rover, I can't grip that well anymore," Harry replied. "But I'm up for Chinese checkers."

Voldemort strolled to him and patted his cheek, causing Harry to scream. "Poor, poor Potter. Such a hard life. Don't worry, you'll be with your mudblood-mummy and daddy soon."

Harry frowned. "You're not very funny. You hurt. I think you need to go into a new profession. I haven't even seen one good balloon animal yet."

"I'm not a clown, Potter!" Voldie hit him with another pain curse.

Harry grimaced. "Well you can't be a mime. You talk. A lot."

"Funny," Voldemort spat. He conjured a knife and caressed Harry's left cheek with it. "Now you have makeup to make you a clown."

Harry reached up with his remaining hand, dipped his fingers in his blood, and smeared it around his mouth. "Thanks Voldie! But we don't have any color but red. I want some black to make fake teardrops." He reached to Voldemort with his still stained fingers and tried to draw red teardrops on the Dark Clown's face, but was knocked away by the knife. Vaguely, he wondered how he was still standing up. But concluded it must be a side effect of being stumped.

"Stupid boy, can't even realize you're being tortured," Voldemort spat in Harry's face.

Harry grabbed the knife from Voldemort's hand that was still hovering near his and slashed it across Voldemort's throat. "There. Now you can be a mime."

Voldemort's blood splattered across Harry's face as he gasped and tried to heal his throat. His Death Eaters gaped as their Lord fell to his knees and fell to his side.

Harry looked down at him, "Still not very funny." He looked at his right arm and giggled. He was still stumped.

.

.

END

AN: This is what happens when you try to write past your writer's block. And I don't even know how to fix it. I've got to find my muse again.