One-shots and plot bunnies

It was a quiet evening in the Forbidden Forest, and an unusual haze hung low between the trees. The mist wasn't the kind of fog conjured by natural forces or even magic—it smelled… pungent. Beneath a massive oak, with Nagini curled lazily by his side, Lord Voldemort sat on a conjured throne of moss, taking a long, contemplative drag from a suspiciously enchanted pipe.

If one had wandered through the forest and stumbled upon the scene, they might have been more perplexed than terrified. Voldemort, the Dark Lord himself, was reclining in a way that could only be described as chill.

"You know, Nagini," he began, his voice softer than usual, almost dreamy. "They don't get it. They think I'm 'evil.'" He drew quotation marks in the air with his pale, bony fingers. "But what if I'm not evil? What if… I'm just misunderstood?"

Nagini hissed in response, her tone a mix of boredom and vague concern.

"Exactly!" Voldemort said, sitting up straighter, as if she had just delivered the most profound insight of the century. "Why take over the world when you can just… vibe with it?"

This was not the Voldemort the wizarding world feared. Gone were the grandiose speeches about pureblood supremacy, the maniacal plans for immortality, and the tireless pursuit of the Elder Wand. Instead, the Dark Lord had spent the past few years perfecting what he called "The Chronic Charm."

It had started after a particularly rough day of losing followers to Azkaban and dodging Dumbledore's Order. Desperate to relax, Voldemort had stumbled upon an obscure herb in Knockturn Alley, sold to him by a shifty wizard who swore it would "open his third eye." He hadn't been lying—though Voldemort would later admit he probably should have clarified that "opening his third eye" meant seeing a kaleidoscope of dancing hippogriffs for six hours.

Since then, Voldemort had embraced the herb with fervor, insisting it was a better alternative to splitting his soul into horcruxes.

"Horcruxes," he scoffed, waving the pipe in the air. "Do you know how tedious that process is? The murder, the rituals, the paperwork—ugh. This… this is liberation." He took another drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke shaped suspiciously like the Dark Mark, which hovered briefly before dissolving into sparkles.

Nagini flicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Voldemort muttered, slumping back into his mossy throne. "You're my only friend, you know. Bellatrix is too intense, Lucius won't stop whining about his family's reputation, and Snape—Snape just gives me those judgy looks."

He frowned, his expression shifting to one of genuine self-reflection. "Am I a bad leader, Nagini? Should I… Should I send everyone a fruit basket or something?"

Nagini hissed in what could only be interpreted as, Maybe lay off the herb first.

But Voldemort wasn't listening. He was already deep in another monologue, gesturing wildly at the night sky.

"You know, Nagini, what if we're all just stardust? Like, what if magic is just… the universe's way of saying, 'Hey, you're special'? And maybe—just maybe—Harry Potter isn't my enemy. Maybe he's just a dude trying to find his path, like me."

Nagini stared at him, her unblinking eyes full of what could only be described as reptilian skepticism.

"And Dumbledore!" Voldemort continued, his voice rising. "That old coot—maybe he's just mad because he never got invited to any parties. I mean, have you seen his beard? That's the beard of someone who has never vibed."

At that moment, a rustling sound came from the nearby bushes. Voldemort froze, his red eyes narrowing.

"Who's there?" he called, wand in hand, though his reflexes were slightly dulled by his state.

Out stepped Severus Snape, his expression as sour as ever.

"My Lord," Snape began, his tone dripping with disdain, "you've been avoiding our meetings. The Death Eaters are growing restless. They wonder where their leader is."

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand. "Tell them to relax, Severus. Life isn't all about killing and scheming. Sometimes, it's about finding yourself. You should try this, by the way." He offered the pipe to Snape, who recoiled as if Voldemort had just handed him a jar of bubotuber pus.

"I think not," Snape replied coldly. "The Dark Lord I pledged my allegiance to did not waste his time on… recreational herbs."

"Your loss," Voldemort muttered, taking another drag. "But mark my words, Severus: one day, everyone will see that peace is the real power. And maybe… just maybe… we'll all sit around a campfire, wizards and Muggles alike, and sing songs of unity."

Snape stared at him, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, his robes billowing dramatically as always.

Voldemort watched him go, then leaned back with a sigh.

"Some people just can't handle the truth, Nagini," he said. "But we'll show them. We'll show them all."

Nagini merely flicked her tongue, settling down for what she knew would be another long, rambling night.