Well, I've got a new story, up and running, and hopefully it'll pull through like my first one did. This one is all based on technology, so it should be interesting.

DC: I own nothing. I'd disclaim specific ideas, but that'd spoil today's installment. For further ramblings of how franchise-less I am, read the note at the bottom.

And now, a new tale begins!

It was another dark, gloomy, despairing night over Malfoy Manor. The rather pointed fact that every night was dark, gloomy and despairing over Malfoy Manor is easily ignored, as good opening sentences are hard to come by.

A lone figure, hunched with the weight of a bundle in its arms stalked quickly up the walk, and to the front door. It rang the doorbell.

In a few minutes, a peephole creaked open. "Yessss?" came a low, ominous voice.

"UPS. I have a package for the Mister Voldemort… Ah… Voldemort."

The eye blinked and turned away. "One moment." It said.

After a few minutes, the door was opened with great flourish. The postman peered nervously inside. It was a shadowy entrance hall, empty.

"Put the package just inside the door and leave." The command boomed from all around the foyer.

"Sir, you need to sign for this-"

"Put it down."

"Sir, you also need to pay-"

"I said put it down!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but-"

"For God's sake man, put the damn thing down and get the hell out of here!"

The postman paused, suprised. He was not used to bodiless voices swearing. At least not in English.

"You at least have to acknowledge that you are, in fact, Mister Voldemort Voldemort."

"Fleeting postman," the voice boomed, "if you insist on this manner of behavior, I will be forced to release the hounds."

"Ha." The postman scoffed. "I'm wearing carpet padding all over. Your dogs can't scare me."

"Foolish man…" hissed the voice, "You don't know what kind of breed I have."

"…What kind?"

"Toy Chihuahuas."

The postman paled. "Are those the ones…"

"That fly with their ears? Yes."

"And can…"

"Shatter glass within a five mile radius? …Yes."

"You wouldn't." the postman narrowed his eyes.

"Oh," the voice whispered. "I would."

The postman set the package down, defeated. His own grandfather had lost all his hearing to toy Chihuahuas. It wasn't worth it.

"Good postman." The voice soothed. "Now leave, and don't look back."

Slowly, the postman backed out of the manor, off the porch, turned and ran.

The voice cackled. "That's right, feeble UPS man! Run! And see if you can go faster than my toy Chihuahuas!"

Some may think that releasing squeaking Chihuahuas on a poor postman is the extent of any evil. But oh, no. Lord Voldemorts went further. And would reach even greater lengths because of the contents of that package.

AN: Well, it was short, but hey. It's only a prologue. If I get good vibes, I'll continue. If not, it'll just stay as a really random one-shot.

My extended disclaimer: I don't own the breed of Chihuahua, UPS (don't ask me why the UPS is in Britain) or ominous voices.

ginny