A/N- This little fic is the result of spending far too much time listening to children's shows play. It's also a song-fic and the second in a series of sorts (the first is called 'Whiskey Lullaby').

Warnings- None really, it's mostly just a crack!fic. I have no idea if this is a real phobia, so I hope that I don't offend anyone.

Disclaimer- I do not own the Harry Potter universe or the Veggietales universe. Harry Potter and Co. belong to J.K. Rowling while Veggietales belongs to Big Idea studios. Anything in quotes is from the song 'Love My Lips' and does not belong to me.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was on his way to the library to do some research for a Charms essay. He was passing Professor Dumbledore's office, who was the Transfiguration teacher, when he heard voices, one he recognized as Dumbledore but the other was unknown to him. One of them had left the door open slightly and had forgotten to cast Silencing Spells.

Tom scoffed quietly. If this was supposed to be a private conversation, then they weren't doing a very good job of making sure no one could overhear them. He was going to continue towards his destination and ignore the Deputy Headmaster's conversation - and stupidity for forgetting privacy charms - when the conversation caught his attention.

He stopped to listen in morbid fascination as Dumbledore spilled what Tom thought was his fears to - a therapist!

"If my lips ever left my mouth, packed a bag and headed south, that'd be too bad, I'd be so sad."

"I see. That'd be too bad, you'd be so sad?"

"That'd be too bad. If my lips said "adios, I don't like you I think you're gross," that'd be too bad, I might get mad."

"That'd be too bad, you might get mad?"

"That'd be too bad. If my lips moved to Duluth, left a mess and took my tooth, that'd be too bad, I'd call my Dad."

"That'd be too bad; you'd call your Dad?"

"That'd be too bad."

The only noise to come from the room for a moment was the sound of a quill scratching on parchment. Tom wasn't sure if he was hearing things correctly. Dumbledore was afraid of losing his lips? He thought about it for a moment and decided that was indeed what he had heard.

"Hold it. Did you say your father? Fascinating! So what you're saying is that if your lips left you ..."

"That'd be too bad, I'd be so sad, I might get mad, I'd call my Dad. That'd be too bad."

"That'd be too bad?"

"That'd be too bad."

Now normally, Tom would be very glad to know someone's greatest fear and happily use it against them. However, this was not one of those times – he would have been quite happy if he could run away and Obliviate himself of this moment – but his curiosity and desire to learn all that he could made him stay rooted to the spot as the strange conversation continued.

"Why?"

"Because I love my lips."

Dumbledore then did something that made Tom want to run screaming in terror – he started singing. Tom started to wonder if he could find a spell to scrub his ears of the noise. Luckily for Tom's sanity, Dumbledore stopped fairly quickly and the therapist was able to continue his questioning.

"Oh my ... This is more serious than I thought. Albus, tell me, what do you see here?"

Tom guessed that the therapist was showing the Professor some pictures as it took a few seconds for him to answer.

"Um, that looks like a lip."

"And this?"

"It's a lip!"

"And this?"

"It's a lip, it's a lip, it's a lip lip lip! It's a lip, it's a lip, it's a lip lip lip! It's a lip, it's a lip, it's a lip lip lip.

Liiiiiiiiiiiips. Lip lip lip."

Tom blinked. He blinked again and resolved himself to find a spell that would scrub his ears and brain because Dumbledore started singing again. Plus, it was highly unlikely that all the pictures looked like lips! The Muggle sweets the man was so fond of must be rotting his brain.

"Albus, tell me about your childhood."

That caught the Slytherins' attention. He listened keenly for the response because it was very difficult to find any information on Dumbledore's past and Tom was not about to pass up the opportunity to learn about it.

"When I was just two years old I left my lips out in the cold and they turned blue. What could I do?"

Tom groaned quietly and felt like banging his head on the wall.

"They turned blue, what could you do?"

"Oh they turned blue. On the day I got my tooth I had to kiss my Great Aunt Ruth. She had a beard ... and it felt weird."

"My, my. She had a beard and it felt weird?"

"She had a beard. Ten days after I turned eight, got my lips stuck in a gate. My friends all laughed. And I just stood there until the fire department came and broke the lock with a crow bar and I had to spend the next six weeks in lip rehab with this kid named Oscar who got stung by a bee – right on the lip - and we couldn't even talk to each other until the fifth week because both our lips were so swollen, and when he did start speaking he just spoke Polish and I only knew like three words in Polish except now I know four because Oscar taught me the word for lip: Oofta."

This is like watching some kind of disaster happening, Tom thought, you don't want to watch and yet you can't look away! Does the man talk about anything other than his lips?

"Your friends all laughed ... Usta? How do you spell that?"

"I don't know."

Tom wasn't even going to try and figure out why a man who was supposed to be a genius couldn't bother to look up a word.

"So what you're saying is that when you were young ..."

"They turned blue, what could I do? She had a beard and it felt weird. My friends all laughed ... Oofta!"

"I'm confused ..."

So was Tom.

"I love my lips!"

"Have I ever told you how I feel about my nose?"

NO! There was no force on earth that was going to make him stand there and listen to any more of Dumbledore's fears! There were sudden sounds of movement and a slightly hysterical exclamation of "Oh, look at the time!"

It seemed that the poor therapist had also had enough of the insanity and was making a hasty retreat. Tom had just enough time to hide around the corner before the therapist came bolting down the hallway, heading straight for the exit. After a few moments, the Slytherin made a bee-line for the library intent on finding all information on Memory Charms ever written. Homework and plans for immortality could wait for a day – forgetting the last few minutes of his life was far more important.

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