Okay, so the whole take-over-the-Wizarding-World thing didn’t really fly. Potter won and I ended up dead. Not the turn of events I had envisioned, which involved a throne, a Pina Colada, Bellatrix at my side and Potter’s decapitated head on a stake.
But, as I have learned from various self-help books, you get pelted with lemons, you make lemonade. I was dead and I wanted to be alive again. The only thing standing in my way was Death.
Having met the guy several times now I can tell you that he’s not as impressive as he’d like you to think. Sure, he plays a mean game of chess and knows how to show off his assets in a cloak, but he’s also not too bright. Keeps hamsters, too. Not as terrifying as one might expect.
Anyway, I escaped him (it doesn’t matter how; I would have to get bogged down in metaphysics) and returned to earth in a few weeks. I reappeared in a dingy little London alleyway in the middle of the night.
After a few moments of whooping and air-punching which I shall not describe, I checked my pocket for my wand”yes, I still had it with me. Why is that implausible?”and pointed it at a nearby trash bin with a cry of “Expulso!” I had only been dead a few weeks, but I was ready to raise some heck.
The heck-raising was pretty disappointing because there wasn’t any. Nothing happened. I tried again. The same result.
I let out a manful sob and began shouting every spell I could think of, twirling around and waving my wand. Still nothing. My magical power was gone for some reason. Perhaps I had used all my magical power returning to life.
Well, I was pretty steamed, let me tell you. I started to shout my best epithets at the walls of the alleyway. Lights came on in windows. The Muggles were apparently not as deaf as I’d often thought them.
Two Muggle bobbies rounded the corner, brandishing flashlights. I did not, however, flee. I simply used the bipedal resources at my disposal to move quickly out of my immediate location, cloak flapping at my ankles as I did so.
They chased me for a few blocks before I lost them in a maze of Muggle apartment buildings. It was a pretty embarrassing situation. The Dark Lord, former ruler of the Wizarding World, reduced to hiding from fat Muggles behind dumpsters.
Despite my humiliation, I began to formulate a plan. Which of my followers could I trust to house me? Bella? No, I couldn’t face her like this, robbed of magic. Certainly not Lucius. Severus was dead. Dolohov had cats (with my allergies I wouldn’t last ten minutes in his hovel). I was left with but one option and it was not a good one. My option was my brother, Tito Riddle.
My brother is my identical twin who is not well-known to the public. He was taken by Albus Dumbledore moments after he was born and Dumbledore placed a memory charm on everyone who had yet seen him”including himself.
Tito was found by a visiting wizard and raised in Mexico until he was eight, which was when he returned home via a large cardboard box addressed to me (we both had total recall of the night of our births and therefore knew of each other’s existence).
We grew apart in later years, relegated to Christmas card status, but I knew that he had a flat in London and that was where I went the cold evening of my return from the dead.
It was nearly midnight and Tito was wearing pajamas and hair-curlers when he opened his door.
“Tom?” he said, incredulous. “But you’re dead!”
“Not anymore,” I said.
We did a manly handshake-becomes-a-hug and he invited me in.
It had been years since I visited his flat and I had forgotten what a filthy place it was. Old chip bags and ancient editions of Hello! were strewn everywhere. Clearly, Tito, ever the ladies’ man, had yet to find himself a woman or a house-elf to help with cleaning.
“So you had another Horcrux you never told me about?” said Tito as we sat at his table with beers.
“Nope,” I said.
“How did you come back to life then?” asked Tito. “Metaphysics?”
I nodded. “But there’s a problem.”
“Like the problem you had when you were fourteen?” asked Tito gently.
“God, no!” I said, regretting ever telling my brother anything. “I’ve lost my magic.”
Tito had been a Squib his whole life and my magical abilities had often been a point of contention between us. He sipped his beer and said, “That’s tough. What are you planning to do?”
“Long-term goals? Killing Harry Potter, taking over the Wizarding World and making John Lennon into an Inferi for a concert tour. Short term goals? Maybe a place of my own, a new snake,” I said, pondering these weighty issues as I sipped my beer.
“You’re welcome to crash on my futon until you get something going again,” said Tito. “No snakes though.”
The Dark Lord, camping out on his brother’s sofa? I shook my head in disbelief. Dying and coming back to life really gave you a new perspective on things.
Still, it looked like a comfortable futon, parked right in front of Tito’s big-screen TV.
That reminded me. A chill ran through my veins, I was paralyzed with fear, unable to think rationally, my heart in my mouth.
I had missed several weeks’ worth of Coronation Street .
How could that wretched boy have killed me just before the all the shocking revelations began? How could he have been so thoughtlessly, needlessly cruel?
What a monster he was. If I ever got a hold of him, I would make sure that he missed all of his favorite programs. He would never find out what that damned smoke monster was if I had my way!
“What is it?” asked Tito, seeing the look on my face.
“Recap Coronation Street,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “What have I missed?”
Tito glanced at the clock on the wall. “No need for a recap. There’s a rerun starting in ten minutes. New late-night thing. I’ll make popcorn.”
As Tito rummaged through his cupboard looking for popcorn, I lay down on the futon, testing the softness. Not bad. I preferred something a little firmer, but I could certainly make do.
The sound of the gently popping corn was comforting. As I lay on the futon I thought maybe it would be all right. Maybe this would all turn out to be a delightfully crappy-sitcom kind of way for my brother and me to reconnect, for me to get a new lease on life.
Meanwhile, in the alley where Voldemort had so recently appeared, there was a flash of bluish lightning and a tall, hooded figure strode onto Earth. It stubbed its cloak-hidden toe on the sidewalk.
“Ow! Man, I’ve forgotten how much that hurts,” said Death, hopping on one leg in pain.
But he had to focus on his objective. His objective was simple: he was going to find that noseless bastard and haul him back to the land of the dead where he belonged.
Death walked away, still cursing under his breath.
A musical cue hit its crescendo and everything went black.