A/N: Hi! It's me, GredAndForge'sGirl! This is my first Harry Potter fanfic, so don't be to harsh! Okay, so I got this idea while reading "Marauders Read My Immortal" by Phoebe Caulfield 16, and laughing myself silly, I wondered what Voldemort would think of the way he was portrayed in the epicness of My Immortal. Thus, this fic was born. The next chapter will be Voldemort and his Death "Dealers" reading the first chapter of My Immortal. I hope I got Voldemort right, I tried to make him seem evil, yet slightly sarcastic. Please read, and review to let me know what you think! (Oh and BTW this takes place a few weeks after Dumbledore's Death.)

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Fred Weasley would not have died, and he or George would have eloped with a thirteen year old Muggle girl named Maria. 'Nuff said.

Voldemort was bored.

Sure, it was all great fun to kill and torture people who had wronged him, and sure, he loved tearing families apart, but right now, Lord Voldemort was bored. It seemed like ages ago he had ordered the attack on Hogwarts, resulting in the death of one Albus Dumbledore, when in reality, it had only been a few weeks.

'Being bored' was something entirely new to this certain evil overlord. Back at the orphanage, he never really got bored, seeing as there was so many people to inflict harm upon, so many opportunities to test out his not- yet- truly developed powers.

Yet now, even while there were so many Mudbloods and blood traitors out there just waiting to be cursed, Voldemort found himself irrevocably and unexplainably bored out of his mind.

Then again, thought Voldemort, the fact that he had spent the last month hidden inside Lucius's vast, elegant (and very, very drab) manor may have accounted for a bit of his boredom. There were only so many times one could face his followers, one so many times one could read "Do- It-Yourself- Evil: How YOU Can Become the Most Feared Person in All of Britain!".

"Why not come with me to the town, my lord, and we can Crucio a few Mudbloods for fun!" Bellatrix had offered hopefully, raising her wand in the air, as if itching to perform her specialty spell.

But Voldemort had declined; it wouldn't do good for him to wander around random villages during these times. (Bellatrix seemed sorely put out when he had declined her offer- afterwards he thought he needn't had shouted so much.)

"Perhaps, my lord, we could think of where that Potter brat may be?" suggested Lucius one evening, as if doing so may raise his status with Voldemort.

"I will think of the plans here, Lucius. Unless," Voldemort had snapped back, "You have a good idea of where the boy may be?"

Ha. That had shut the fool up.

"Don't judge our Lord so harshly, Lucius," Narcissa had crooned to her husband after Voldemort had exited the room right after calling him out. "Our Lord has just been rather… irritable… these past few days- er, weeks..."

Voldemort smirked at the thought. Irritable? Him? As if!

So perhaps it was because of Voldemort's boredom that he now found himself deep in the attic of Malfoy Manor, scrounging through random boxes as if hoping the cure to his- problem- would just come leaping out.

"Photo album, photo album, old robes, moldy biscuit- ew," Voldemort muttered to himself, digging through an old trunk. He shoved the aforementioned biscuit aside, wrinkled his non- existent nose, and carried on with his searching.

"Old Platform 9 ¾ ticket, Hogwarts acceptance letter, dead puffskin…" Voldemort was getting more and more exasperated. So far, the most interesting thing he'd found in Lucius's attic was an old love letter Lucius had written to someone named "Molly Prewett"… Voldemort seemed to recall a few of his Death Eaters killing two people with the surname Prewett… He wondered if they were related- he must ask Lucius about the letter later on.

Then, finally, hidden underneath an old, ratty pink feather boa, was- a book.

"Hello- what's this?" Voldemort said softly, his red eyes narrowed in thought. His long, spidery fingers grasped the leather- bound book, and he slowly raised it up.

It was thick, and heavy- very heavy. A layer of dust coated the front, making the title illegible.

Voldemort raised up his hand that was firmly grasping his wand, and muttered a quick spell, causing the dust to be blown off the book's cover.

Voldemort frowned a little at the title- it was an odd name for a book- it sounded more like a song. And the words were nearly unreadable, the thick, messy scrawl of a… five year old, perhaps.

"My Immortal." Voldemort sniffed, and squinted harder at the author's name, which had evidently been crossed out and rewritten several times. "By Tara… Gilesp- Gilesb- Gilspi…" Voldemort gave up on the author's name, and quickly pocketed his find.

It seemed like there was a meeting to be called.

A/N: *Dramatic music* And the plot thickens! Review! :D