Summary: Ever wondered why Florean Fortescue was taken by the Death Eaters?
Lord Voldemort is on the quest to find the best, evilest flavour of ice cream, and he will stop at nothing to get it.
This is a very short, very silly and quite OOC little one-shot written as consolation for the fact that "E-Journal" is on hiatus. It's based on a prompt given to me by the ridiculously talented Inigoenigma.
Nominated for Best Humour fic in the Quicksilver Quills awards!
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 1504
Read: 3291
Published: 06/30/07
Updated: 07/06/07
1. Chapter One and Only! by Schmerg_The_Impaler
Chapter One and Only! by Schmerg_The_Impaler
Author's Notes:
(Hey, sorry I haven't updated the "E-Journal of an Evil Janitor" in awhile-- it's on hiatus because of real life writing deadlines and stuffff. But here's something silly to tide you over. Pretty much all ice cream flavours are actually Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavours, although I contribute them to Fortescue. I do not own Ben & Jerry's, or Harry Potter, and unfortunately, I also do not own Discworld or Rupert Grint. But I do own "The Dark Lord's Blog", so it was totally okay for me to make a brief reference to that.)
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The front of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour was boarded up, the windows broken and the cartons of ice cream smashed oozily on the sidewalk out front. It was a sad sight, and everyone who walked by couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. But Fortescue himself couldn’t give a straight answer to anyone, for he was far, far away.
* * *
In the depths of Lord Voldemort’s secret lair (which was, coincidentally enough, far, far away), a single light bulb swayed above the exhausted head of Florean Fortescue. He’d been tied to his uncomfortable chair, and his hands, which were sticky with ice cream and already buzzing with flies, were chained together. On a low table in front of him lay forty or so cartons of his best ice cream, all melting slightly in the mugginess of the lair.
The light bulb was the only thing that really made this room a ‘room’ as opposed to a clammy cave, because caves generally don’t have electric lighting. But then again, rooms don’t normally have stalagmites and stalactites.
Before Florean’s chair, a figure paced back and forth in the dingy gloom, his robes swishing about him like a particularly menacing mermaid’s tail. It was clear that some sort of “Good Cop, Bad Cop” charade was going on, only there were no cops, just an endless supply of Lord Voldemort.
And Voldemort was a bad cop. Even as a boy, when he’d played Cops and Robbers, he’d always been the cop who really did genuinely shoot the ‘robbers.’ (This tended to put the survivors off of playing with him again, but no matter.)
“So, Fortescue,” he hissed, his forked tongue tasting the ice-creamy air. He smacked his nonexistent lips. “I must know. It’s preoccupied my existence for the last three decades.” He lowered his abominable face toward Florean’s, so close that Florean’s nose almost touched Voldemort’s… er… area above his mouth. “What… is the evilest ice cream you’ve created?”
Florean blinked nervously. “Er… I don’t really understand how ice cream can be evil…” he stammered. “There’s that one near your right hand…”
Voldemort tasted the aforementioned confection and promptly spat it onto the ground. “IMBECILE!” he roared, whirling around in rage. “You cannot fool the Dark Lord. I can tell that that ice cream is reduced fat!”
“But… but… isn’t that evil, packaging such atrocity as ‘ice cream’ to unsuspecting customers?”
The Dark Lord shook his head slowly. “Foolish, foolish Fortescue,” he said softly, smirking slightly at his incredible knack for alliteration. “Don’t you see? Ice cream is like… ice cream is like evil deeds. The worse it is, the better it is.”
“I… really don’t follow you,” Florean managed to say, flinching at the saliva that he knew would inevitably hit his face during Voldemort’s soon-to-come howls of fury.
“YOU FOOL!” Voldemort howled furiously, spit flying predictably out of his mouth. “It’s so obvious! When one performs evil deeds, they must be truly evil to be of note. Nobody cares about a Dark Lord who goes about tying shoe-laces together”that’s only slightly evil. It’s the truly dastardly, demonic, decadent Dark Lords who are the best in their trade. And it’s the same with ice cream”the more calories, the more fat, the more sugar, the more ridiculously unhealthy it is, the better it tastes! So clearly, the least healthy ice cream is the evilest!”
Florean was sure that Voldemort’s logic was slightly flawed, but he didn’t want to be spat on again, and so wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.
“Well!” demanded Voldemort, “which is it? Which is your evilest ice cream?”
“To be honest, sir,” Florean quavered, “we’ve never really had nutrition facts. The ice cream business operates on a don’t-ask-don’t-tell principle.”
“NONSENSE!”
Argh. More spit. Voldemort should get that speech impediment checked out.
“Well, if you’re going to be of such little use, I may as well find out for myself,” the evil wizard stated, his voice colder than any of the ice creams on the table.
His red eyes narrowed as they skimmed over the array of ice creams. “Brownie Batter… Butter Pecan… Cherry Garcia… Chubby Hubby… Chunky Monkey… Chocolate Fudge Brow… WAIT A MINUTE!”
He glared.
“Why, I ask, why does that buffoon Fudge have a flavour of ice cream named after him and not me? He may be irritating, yes, but he’s hardly evil?”
“Er, I believe it was a coincidence that that particular flavour of ice cream shares its name with him. And besides, sir, ice cream named after you may not sell so well, as people scream and faint at the sound of your name.”
Voldemort frowned, furrowing the place where his eyebrows should have been. He really was, Florean noticed, short on facial features. “Hmmmph. I still think Volde-mint would be a smash hit. Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, Dave Matthews Band Magic Brownies, Dublin Mudslide, Everything But The… everything but the what? They ought to finish their sentences.”
After a moment of pondering, he resumed examining ice creams. “Fossil Fuel”ick”Fudge Central”another Fudge flavour? Disgraceful. Half baked, In a Crunch, Karamel Sutra, Marsha Marsha Marshmallow, Mint Chocolate Chip, Napolean Dynamite… hmm, sounds dangerous but not exactly evil. Highly unappetizing, as well. New York Super Fudge Chunk… if I see one more mention of Fudge, he’s getting it… Oatmeal Cookie Chunk, Peanut Butter Cup, Phish Food…”
He paused. “It says here that Phish Food has got dark chocolate in it?”
“Yes.”
The evil man squinted at the carton of ice cream. “I see nothing innately evil or dark about said chocolate. In fact, it’s said to have quite healthful anti-oxidants in it, yes?”
“Yes… well, I believe the name refers to the fact that it’s dark in colour, sir.”
Voldemort waved his hand dismissively. “Balderdash. I’m the Dark Lord, and my complexion is more similar to your vanilla ice cream than anything else. This is edging toward Milk Racist territory.”
He went back to reading ice cream labels. “Pistachio Pistachio… why, that’s redundant. I can see why you’re an ice cream man and not an English teacher. Strawberry, The Gobfather… um, ew?... Turtle Soup… rather vomit-inducing, that… Uncanny Cashew, Vanilla, Vanilla Caramel Fudge”THAT’S IT, THE MAN’S DYING!”
Florean seemed to realize that he could be here all day. “Er, I’m terribly sorry to rush you, but I really don’t see how ice cream can be evil. In my eyes, all ice creams are created equal. And besides, I’m the only ice cream wizard around”I must return to my shop. Without me, all of the wizarding world will be in dairy withdrawal.”
Voldemort rolled his eyes. “That Rupert kid’s got an ice cream truck, doesn’t he? I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Florean sighed. “Well, I guess the point is that there are people who depend on me. But listen, if you want something really unhealthy, I’d try the one on the far, far, right.”
“What, you mean the one inside the safe with the ‘WARNING! CONTAINS HAZARDOUS CHEMICAL MATERIAL’ sticker on it?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, myessss. Alohomora!”
The safe clicked open to reveal a small, unassuming carton of whitish ice cream marked “FLOREAN FORTESCUE’S CARDIAC ARREST IN A CARTON.”
Voldemort cackled maliciously as he peeled off the lid of Cardiac Arrest In a Carton, wiggling his fingers in devilish anticipation. “Myesss…” He picked up a pink plastic spoon deftly with one spiderlike hand and dipped it in the ridiculously unhealthy dessert, popping it into his mouth.
He closed his eyes, rolling the creamy confection around the inside of his mouth… and promptly doubled over, gagging and hacking. “Absolutely dreadful,” he wheezed, clawing at his tongue to scrape the flavour away. “That’s nothing but frozen lard! Why do you even sell it?”
Florean smiled sagely. “You’d be surprised by how popular it is,” he said. “People always want what they know they shouldn’t have. Like, say, power over the cosmos.”
“I deserve that!” snapped Voldemort. “And I don’t care how unhealthy that frozen lard was, it was detestable! What I want is something delectable. But I’ve tried them all!”
“No,” said Florean, his voice low. “No, not all of them. Look straight ahead.”
Voldemort did, and instantly, his eyes lit up. Florean could have sworn he saw tiny hearts appear inside the pupils, and a distinct ‘squee!’ escaped the un-lips of the Dark Lord. Almost reverently, he picked up the last carton of ice cream and hugged it like a puppy.
”YES!” he shouted to the heavens, or rather, the stalactites stuck to the roof of his lair. “YES! YES! TOGETHER, WE SHALL SUBJUGATE THE UNIVERSE! AHAHAHAHAHA!”
Florean smiled. Vermonty Python ice cream often got that reaction out of people.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.