“You summoned me, my lord?” he asked, not daring to look into those villainous red eyes.
“Yes, Severus,” the Dark Lord hissed. He loved saying words that had lots of S’s in them. “I have cunningly devised a plan that will once and for all get rid of that meddlesome Muggle-loving fool, Dumbledore.”
Snape raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a suitably awed expression. Actually, he sincerely doubted that anyone who looked like they would be a top candidate for the Muggle show ‘When Plastic Surgery Goes Bad’ would be able to dispose of the greatest wizard of all time. Wisely, though, he held his tongue and waited to hear the usual unnecessarily elaborate scheme that would have about fifty-thousand obvious ways to go wrong “ well, obvious for anyone who wasn’t so wrapped up in their plans for world domination that they had failed to notice that their own face looked like a partially micro-waved Barbie doll head.
Hmmm, Snape mused. I wonder how I know so much about Muggle TV and inventions when I am such a Muggle-loathing, self-serving Slytherin? Oops, I had better start paying attention again or he might notice something.
“Tell me, Severus,” Voldemort continued, clearly not noticing the glazed expression that was seeping over his audience’s face. “What would you say are Dumbledore’s two most favourite things in the whole world?”
“Candy and McGonagall,” replied Severus without needing to give it a second thought.
“No, no. Besides that. I mean, come on! Who doesn’t love candy? Have you tried those new edible Dark Marks? They’re scrummy! And don't get me started on McGonagall, what a fox!”
“Indeed. Well,” pondered Severus. “Anything to do with Muggles is pretty high on the list, actually. And he can be pretty full of himself - although he tries not to show it. So I would say that he also prides his intellect quite highly.”
“Precisely!” exclaimed Voldemort slowly, savouring the ‘s’ sounds.
“Forgive me, my lord, but I do not see how this information will be able to help you to kill Dumbledore.”
“Of course you don’t! As gifted as you are at potions, Severus, you could not possibly hope to possess a mind as great and powerful as my own…”
Thank Merlin for that, thought Snape as Voldemort continued on another tangent about his self-proclaimed greatness. I don’t think I would be able to handle being so self-obsessed and neurotic! Oops, there I go wandering off again.
“…so you see, Severus, it is so wonderfully simple!”
“What is, my lord?”
“Why, using the old coot’s own loves against him, of course. Geez, I knew you were slow but come on “ get with the program!”
“Forgive me for my slowness,” Severus began, while mentally cursing him for even implying that he was dim-witted. “But if you could just repeat what I was meant to do one more time…”
“Oh for Circe's sake, Severus (hey, I just created a new tongue twister)! All I need you to do, Severus, is deliver this parcel to Dumbledore for me. Tell him it’s a peace offering.”
“And what is in the package again?”
“Why, it’s a device so evil, so diabolical in its design that it will turn Dumbledore into a psychotic, self-destructive pile of blubbering madness just by merely being in the same room as it! The old fool will be unable to stop himself succumbing to its power and…then he shall destroy himself! Mwa ha ha ha….”
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The following morning....
Dumbledore walked into his office before sometime after breakfast to continue with his daily duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts and Master of the Universe…oh, no wait, that’s He-Man. Severus had informed him that he had left a package from the Dark Lord that he had been ordered to deliver as a peace offering. Of course Snape warned him of the dire implications of whatever the mysterious content was, but Dumbledore, being sure of himself, had waved away Snape’s concerns and said that he would deal with it. He eyed the box suspiciously. He took out his wand and made a series of complicated movements that did absolutely nothing.
Perhaps, he mused, Professor Snape is simply jealous that I am so popular that even the Voldemort can’t resist giving me presents. Deciding that it was time to see exactly what was in the box, Dumbledore reached forward and opened it....
It was…a toaster.
The box read:
The breakfast companion that makes
Your toast to perfection while providing you with
Light morning conversation!
Registered Trademark of Crapola, Inc.
“What a novel idea! Even I, with my astounding intellect, can fail to see where the malice is in this contraption,” Dumbledore pronounced with uncharacteristic recklessness. “You know,” he continued to no-one in particular, “I wouldn’t mind trying it out now, I’ve always wanted to make toast the Muggle way. Professor McGonagall did steal all my toast again this morning “ but how could I say no? What a fox!”
Dumbledore tapped the device once with his wand to activate it. Foolishly, he neglected to read the instructions and in doing so failed to realise that activating it meant that it stayed on permanently! Mwa ha ha ha!
“That’s odd,” remarked Dumbledore, “I could have sworn I heard a distant evil laugh just then. Oh well, where was I?”
The toaster sprang to life. “Howdy-doodly-do, I’m Talkie Toaster, your chirpy breakfast companion! Talkie’s the name, toasting’s the game. Would anyone like any toast?”
“How delightful!” beamed Dumbledore. “Yes thank-you, Talkie, I’ll have two slices of wholemeal, medium brown, please.”
“Coming right up, sir! So, your favourite bread is wholemeal, is it?” Talkie asked, making light morning conversation just as he was designed to do.
“Actually I can’t stand the stuff, but when one is on the other side of one-hundred and fifty one’s bowels don’t move as fast as they used to.”
“Wow, how interesting!” replied Talkie in an irritatingly up-beat fashion, similar to what one would hear being used by a game-show host.
After a few minutes, Dumbledore had finished his toast and was about to begin his daily paperwork. “Would you like any more toast?” Talkie asked again.
“No, thank-you,” replied Albus. “I’m quite satisfied and I do have rather a lot of work to be getting on with.”
“Okay, not a problem. But may I just ask one quick question?”
“Certainly, Talkie.”
“Would you like any more toast?”
“I’m sorry but I thought I made myself clear when I just said that I wouldn’t,” replied Albus, getting slightly annoyed.
“I know but I thought you might have changed your mind since then,” Talkie responded.
“No, I have not changed my mind, thank-you.” Dumbledore was beginning to get quite flustered now. There was a silent pause and Albus sighed in relief. Then, out of nowhere...
“Would you like a crumpet?” came the irrepressibly chirpy voice.
“No, I would not like a crumpet!” exclaimed Dumbledore, without attempting to put any hint of politeness in his voice.
“A pop-tart, perhaps?” enquired Talkie.
“Now listen here because I am only going to say this once," issued Dumbledore in one of his more commanding voices. "I do not want any toast. I do not want any crumpets, tea-cakes, muffins, or pikelets! No buns, baguettes or bagels, no croissants, no crumpets, no pancakes, no potato-cakes, and no hot cross buns…and definitely no flapjacks!” There, thought Albus, mistakenly, that should take care of the situation.
“Oh, so you’re a waffle man!” said Talkie as unflappable as ever.
Merlin! Thought Dumbledore. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I eat some more toast, are you?”
“Gee, you’re sharper than a page of Oscar Wilde witticisms that's been rolled up into a point, sprinkled with lemon juice and poked into someone’s eye, aren’t you?” Talkie’s voice, heavily laced with sarcasm, took the headmaster aback.
Calm down now, Albus, just try and reason with him “ take a different tactic. “Look, Talkie, I understand that as a toaster, toasting is important to you…”
“I toast therefore I am,” interjected Toastie.
“Yes, well…anyway,” continued Albus. “I don’t think that you quite understand my situation here. My time is highly sought after by others needing help and advice. I am the most intelligent wizard - if not human - of our time! I know everything! Magic, metaphysics, philosophy, even the purpose of being! With the privilege of living in my study you have the ability to ask me about anything and I’ll answer it.”
“Really?” replied Talkie in awe. “Anything at all?” Dumbledore nodded. “Well in that case…would you like any toast?”
“No, I would not like any toast!!! Now, if you must talk, ask me another question. One that isn’t bread-related!”
“Okay, alright, don’t get your bagels in a bunch.” Talkie thought for a moment. “Do you know anything about marrying quantum theory with the magical capabilities of time travel?”
“I know everything there is to know about marrying quantum theory with the magical capabilities of time travel,” answered Dumbledore.
“Okay, then,” replied Talkie. “Bearing that in mind, my second question is this…would you like a toasted tea-cake?”
“That’s another bready question!” he said through gritted teeth
“It’s not just bready, it can also be quite fruity.”
“Talkie, I don’t think you quite understand…”
“That is not answering the question,” Talkie demanded.
“No, I would not like a tea-cake! Now, ask me a sensible question. One that isn’t in any way bready and not even slightly fruity.”
“Okay, here is my third question. One that will tax your IQ to its very parameters and stretch the sinews of your knowledge to their breaking point.”
“This is going to be about waffles isn’t it?” asked Dumbledore, a deep despair beginning to sink in as he tried to comprehend just exactly was going on here.
“Certainly not. And I resent the implication that I am a one-dimensional, bread-obsessed appliance!”
“I’m sorry Talkie,” apologised Dumbledore, surprised and marginally hopeful by this new side of the toaster. “Please, continue with your question?”
“Okay, my question is this…given that God is infinite, and that the Universe is also infinite…”
“Yes…?” interjected Dumbledore, who was beginning to like where this question was going.
“Would you like a pancake?”
“Argh!!! That’s it!” Dumbledore had lost all control of himself. He plunged his hand into the slots on the top of the toaster and howled in pain. “Aaarrrgh! My hand, you burned my whole arm to a crisp!”
“Oh relax, just scrape the black bits off and it will be just fine,“ reasoned Talkie.
“Great! Just bloody brilliant! So, Voldemort wanted me to go mad and destroy myself in an attempt to destroy you, huh. Well he very nearly succeeded! I’ll show him! No more mister nice wizard, two can play at that game! Let’s see just how much torture Tom’s Death Eaters can really stand!”
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A few minutes later he had managed to get Talkie back in the box and looking brand new. After sending Fawkes off to deliver the parcel to Lucius Malfoy he turned and looked back at his study, sighing in relief. He had very nearly met his match.
Noticing a piece of parchment on the floor, he picked it up. It was the instruction manual for Talkie Toaster. Bugger, he thought. Oh well. Then he noticed the tiny section of small print in the bottom left corner, it read:
400 pieces of toast per hour, Talkie Toaster
may be prone to throwing a major wobbly.
“Oh well,” sighed Dumbledore. “I guess now I’ll just have to come up with a good excuse for having a shrivelled and blackened hand. There is no way I’m going to let a talking toaster get the better of me, it would ruin my reputation and then McGonagall will never go out with me. I’ve got it! I’ll go and track down one of those horcrux thingies that I’ve been meaning to get around to. Yes, that’s it… I’ll get that old family ring… that’ll make sense.” And with that he strode out of the castle.
The moral of this story is…never stick your hand in a live toaster!