TBAY: Analyze This, Voldie (REDEMPTION considered)

[theatresm2002]

No: HPFGUIDX 46668

TBAY: Analyze This, Voldie(REDEMPTION considered)

Amy smiled and gave a satisfied sigh as she slumped against the wall 
of the elevator, on the way to her office on the 65th floor Friday 
morning.  She'd spent another quiet night at home curled up with a 
glass of wine and her laptop, trolling through the HPFGU digest and 
wandering about the shores of Theory Bay.  (She'd never yet had the 
guts or inclination to submit a Theory of her own, but she hardly 
needed to: there were so many interesting ones already afloat.)   
There was nothing more relaxing than examining them all – except, of 
course, looking for fanfiction updates involving that paragon of 
anti-heroes, Severus Snape
.

She shook her head to clear it of the thoughts that raised.  Today 
was a work day: she had to delve into other people's fantasies, not 
her own
 *though, by golly, it's hard to concentrate on anything 
else when you have Snape on the brain.*  The elevator chimed, the 
doors opened, she strode briskly down the hall to her office, and 
opened the door



 and found the reception area full of ominous-looking, cloaked and 
hooded strangers: each one's face was obscured by a silver mask, and 
one of them was holding her receptionist at bay in a corner, with 
what looked suspiciously like a wand.

"Carol?" she asked cautiously.

"Your, um, first appointment's already inside," Carol replied 
nervously, plastered against the wall.  "I canceled your others – 
looks like this one might take a while
"

"Okay
 uh, why don't you take a coffee break, then, Carol?  Hell, 
take the rest of the day."

"Thanks, I'll do that
" Carol said, eyes fixed on the hooded 
stranger as she moved to her desk and scrabbled about for her 
purse.  

Amy cautiously skirted the group of men and quietly entered her 
inner sanctum.

He was inhumanly tall, and so pale as to glow in the morning light 
that filtered through the window: one skeletal hand rested on the 
sill as he stared down at the ant-like people hurrying to work, 65 
floors below.

"Beautiful, isn't it, Doctor?" he addressed her in a high, strained 
voice.  "So many Muggles going about their pitiful little lives
  
unaware of the horrible fate that awaits them.  So much delicious 
agony, so many possibilities to explore.
" 

He let out an eerie giggle, and the sound of it sent a shiver up her 
spine.  A few of her patients were a couple bristles short of a full 
broom, but this was a different matter entirely:  this guy was wacko.

"Lord Voldemort, I presume?"  Amy asked politely, and managed to 
keep her voice far more calm than she felt. *I hope Carol stops by 
the Security Office on her way out
*

"Correct, Doctor.  How perceptive, for a Muggle."  He turned from 
the window and fixed her with deep-set, glowing red eyes.

*This one isn't going to win GQ's Sexiest Man of the Year, that's 
for sure.*

"Forgive my forthrightness – *please*," Amy added hastily, 
remembering LV's propensity to fire Crucio at hapless 
bystanders, "but to what do I owe the, er, *honor* of this visit?"

The malice in his – it's – his eyes faltered ever so slightly, and 
he snapped out, "I should think that would be obvious."

*Ah.  One of those `I know I need help but don't you dare suggest 
that I do,' types.*

"Well, as I am a rather ordinary Muggle with no magical ability 
whatever, I assume you would simply like to talk," Amy 
reasoned.  "After all, I can't possibly aid you with your fiendish 
plot to overthrow the Wizarding World and rule the entire planet, 
obliterating all Muggles in the process."

He suddenly stiffened, and then glided toward her: she had to crane 
her neck to meet those unsettling eyes, and repressed another 
shudder when one bony finger brushed the air next to her cheek.

"Yessssss," he hissed, and grimaced, showing crooked, fanglike 
teeth – what passed for a smile for him, Amy guessed.  "I hoped you 
would understand: Pettigrew has chosen well."  And again he giggled.

"Well, let's get on with it then, shall we?" Amy said brightly, and 
moved to her chair, anxious to put as much space between them as 
possible.  "I'm sure you're very busy –" and she turned abruptly to 
stare when LV gave a strangled sob in response.

"That's part of the problem: I'm not," he whispered, and clutched 
his bony hands together, twisting them so tightly Amy feared he'd 
break the bones.

"Then have a seat, and let's talk about it," she said, and whipped 
out her notebook and pen.

"Is that really necessary?" LV asked uneasily.  

"It helps me keep track of where we've been, and anticipate topics 
we might want to explore," Amy explained apologetically.  "I can 
give it to you when you leave, if you like, or destroy it."

"Oh, yesssss," he sighed.  "Desssstroy
.. I'd like that very much," 
he added dreamily, and wandered over to the couch.

*Holy cripes, I don't think he's talking about only the notes
. Oh, 
well, I've had a good life
.*

"There is one little matter that requires clarification first," LV 
said matter-of-factly as he sat.   "Pettigrew worked out the 
exchange rate for your hourly fee to be 40 Galleons –"

Amy was tempted to waive her fee entirely, given the fact that she 
wouldn't be around to enjoy it, and in hopes that if she did he 
might leave without doing the big AK on her –

" – but I'm a little short at the moment – my means are very 
limited," LV said with slight embarrassment and no little 
modesty.  "I was wondering if we might work out something else.  
Barter, say?"

"What did you have in mind?" Amy asked, surprised.

"Well, I perceive from your interests," LV said, waving a hand at 
her desk and bookshelves – in disarray now, rifled, she supposed, by 
LV, "that you are intrigued with certain types of individuals; I 
have one in mind that I might
 lend you for study."

Amy's cheeks burned.  Thank God she'd left her printout of *The 
Buried Life* at home.  But he couldn't possibly mean --

"The fellow I have in mind is a quite interesting specimen – once an 
avid follower of mine, now sadly lacking in enthusiasm, though he 
still has his uses
 name of Snape, Severus Snape."

*Oh, God, I've died and gone to heaven.  Snape in my office, on my 
couch, spilling his guts about his motives – I'd love to know if Big 
Bang or Road to Damascus or Sweet George is the right one
*

"I'm afraid he's a little lacking in social skills," LV said 
apologetically, "but I've no doubt a woman of your intelligence and 
ingenuity could find interesting things about him."

Amy considered the offer for a moment, and then said 
decisively, "Throw in a can of Redi-Whip and some maraschino 
cherries and you have a deal."

Voldemort looked at her as if she'd sprouted horns from her 
head.  "*Really*?  I never would have guessed
  Oh, well: to each 
his own."  He shrugged.  "He'll be in first thing Monday."

*Oh, Lord, an entire weekend of anticipation and planning
.*

Amy shook herself out of her delighted shock and turned her 
attention back to her client.  "So, you think you don't have enough 
to do."

LV started to speak, and stopped himself.  "Aren't you going to have 
me lie down?" he asked, disappointment obvious on his face.

"Oh, by all means: whatever makes you feel comfortable."

He arranged himself on the couch with satisfaction, stretching his 
skeletal limbs out so his feet hung over the end –

*Note to self:  burn couch.*

-- and said "Yes."

"What makes you feel that?"

He shrugged again.  "I just do."

This was going to be a long session.

"I don't mean to belittle your feelings," Amy said cautiously, "but 
I think you must admit you had quite a lot to do in Book 4."

"Oh, *that*," LV waved away her observation.   "Same old routine: 
trot me out for a little bit at the beginning, trot me out at the 
end: nice boy, Voldie, thank you very much, now go back to your 
disgusting little cage and be a good boy until I need you again."

"What about Book 2?  Tom Riddle played a big part in that."

The red eyes rolled alarmingly.  "That wasn't me – not me *now*; I 
mean, it was a *portion* of me, but
. Oh, Merlin's balls, I don't 
know what I mean.  It's all so *confusing*.   *She*," he added with 
a snarl, "does not appreciate all the things I could do for her."

"*She*?  You mean JKR?"

"Yes, *Her*."

"Oh."  The light was beginning to dawn for Amy.  "You mean you feel 
like a *Convenient Plot Device*, not a fully realized Character – 
not a real Evil Overlord."

"Precisely," he spat out.  

"Well --" Amy said cautiously, and then decided to bite the bullet: 
she wanted him out of her office as quickly as possible, and his 
evil goons too, " -– Look, we could draw this out for a long time, 
over many sessions -– you'd end up owing me Malfoy, Sr., too, and 
frankly I wouldn't know what to do with him, he's not my type -- so 
let's cut to the chase:  I'm going to use a technique called Tough 
Love, and I need you to bear with me.  No curses or retaliation, 
agreed?  I'm saying this for your own good."

He stared at her curiously, but nodded, and raised his hand in what 
looked suspiciously like `Scout's Honor.'  Amy took a deep breath.

"Have you ever considered that that's exactly what you are?"

He sat bolt upright.  "You're not Siru – er, serious!"

"Afraid so."

He stared at her for another long moment, and then began to tremble 
uncontrollably.

"Noooooo!" he wailed.  "I want to be an Evil Overlord!  I want to 
make people tremble in fear and loathing!  *I want to rule the 
world*!"  And he bounced up and down on the couch, like Dudley 
Dursley denied a fourth slice of chocolate cake.

"Well, you don't act like one – not a serious one, at any rate," Amy 
observed succinctly.  "You have the loathing part down all right, 
but you stink at the rest.  You talk the talk, but you don't walk 
the walk."

The comment shocked him so much that the tantrum ended 
immediately.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean, there are Evil Overlords, and then there are arrogant, 
insane nuts who *think* they're Evil Overlords.   And you've been 
acting like the latter."

"But I've studied all the best," he gasped in dismay.  "Goldfinger, 
Dr. No –"

"And that's precisely the problem.  A *real* Evil Overlord," 
explained Amy, "doesn't come up with a convoluted plan to kill the 
Hero involving hydrochloric acid, shark tanks, or a buzz saw: a real 
Evil Overlord pulls a gun out of his desk drawer – or a wand, in 
your case – and just offs him.  Or he has one of his trusted 
henchmen do it in the Evil Overlord's presence.  Simple."

"I don't have convoluted plans," LV retorted indignantly.  "I think 
they're rather elegant in their –"

"Oh, COME ON," Amy roared.  *Boy, is this guy deep in denial.*  "You 
had him at the end of Book 4, Voldemort, you had the little bastard 
right there, and he got away because you couldn't resist the urge to 
PLAY with him!"

"I do not –" LV began with great dignity, and stopped himself 
abruptly.  "'Little bastard'?  You don't like him either?"  

"Nope.  He's annoyingly immature and self-absorbed – that's 
something *She* had better change," Amy said darkly, "and fast, 
before even Snape isn't enough to keep me interested.  But back to 
my point: if, for example, you'd simply strangled the little pup in 
his cot instead of trying all the fancy hocus-pocus
 I mean, *that* 
should have tipped you off, right there; `oops, magic backfired the 
first time, maybe I ought to try something ordinary,' but no, you 
have to show off
"

LV hung his head.  "That has always been a failing of mine," he 
admitted.  "I've always been so proud of my magical prowess
."

Amy sniffed.  "You're not alone.  Some males," she said cautiously, 
and mentally ducked to avoid the flames shooting her way, "have the 
misapprehension that they've got 10 ¼ inches of oak when all they 
have is 6 inches of willow.  You're not alone," she added 
sympathetically, "and it's not a fatal flaw, but you have to face up 
to it.  And you have *got* to get better role models.  Think Hitler: 
Lord knows he wasn't a great physical specimen, but he was 
charismatic, and he had the smarts to appeal to a very broad base of 
support before he tried the whole conquering-the-world-thing.  There 
are some surprising parallels with your situation – well, you know 
what I mean."

LV looked at her blankly.  "No, I don't."

"Oh.  Well, drop by a bookstore on the way home and pick up a 
biography.  That's your homework for this session."

He nodded obediently.

"All right, so we've identified several problems already: arrogance, 
overestimation of ones' abilities, and the tendency to form 
elaborate plans which can too easily go awry.  Anything else 
bothering you?"

"Yes," he whispered.  "The nightmare."

*Oh, God, I hate Dream Analysis.*  "Tell me," Amy sighed, and 
propped her feet up on the coffee table.

"It happened just a couple of nights ago," LV began hesitantly.  "I 
found myself in the backyard of a little house, on the edge of a 
lovely, sheltered bay.  There was a young girl in the yard, in a 
nightgown and topcoat and an exotic headpiece, and she was swinging 
a toy boat on a string and singing something about `redemption,' 
and `Dalmatian roads'
  It made me quite nauseous, actually," he 
added with a frown, "all that spinning around
."

Amy abruptly sat upright.  "Wait a minute," she interrupted 
him.  "This sounds familiar.  Was there a big, hairy wolf in the 
dream?"

"Yes," LV said, startled.  "Have you had it too?"

"I've read about it," Amy admitted, "and it's most intriguing."

"But what does it mean?" LV asked desperately.

"It means," Amy said slowly, "that some readers have hit on the idea 
of Redemption as a Theme of the books, and at least one them is 
perceptive enough to believe that you might be capable of being 
Redeemed."

"Like *Snape* might be Redeemed?" LV whispered, appalled, and 
shuddered.

"Exactly.  But I don't think that's anything *you* have to worry 
about," she added kindly.

"Why not?" he asked indignantly, and Amy repressed a sigh.  *Some 
folks don't have enough problems of their own: no, they have to go 
borrowing trouble
.*

"It goes back to our discussion of *Her*.  She uses you like a 
stereotypic villain – the epitome of evil; it's as though you're a 
concept rather than an actual, dimensional character.  For you to be 
Redeemable – in any convincing manner, at any rate – She'd have to 
develop you a lot more than She has, in my opinion.  

"And another point is," Amy said, getting more excited by the 
moment, "if you're Redeemable, what's the use of continuing the 
story?  It's obvious Her sympathies lie with Potter; if she takes 
you out of the equation, he has nothing to fight against except his 
own adolescent insecurities – boring!  And, moreover, a last-minute 
Conversion of the Evil Overlord to Good  -- or, at least, Not So 
Evil – is not only anticlimactic; it would take one helluva Big 
Bang, and I doubt even She could pull that off.  Although She's 
surprised us before; She's almost Machivellian that way."

"But," Voldemort interjected with a sudden flash of insight, "there 
are interesting possibilities in the *potential* for Redemption, 
aren't there?"

"Oh my, yes.  But if She hasn't bothered to develop you enough to 
make it credible, it won't happen.  Or it shouldn't."

The Dark Lord moaned and covered his face with his bony hands 
(thankfully).  "What can I do?  How do I get Her to develop me?  
Even if I don't opt for Redemption, I want to be the best Evil 
Overlord I can be
."

Amy thought about it for a moment, and then slowly said, "You know, 
I think there might be something
"

LV's head popped up.  "What?  I'll do anything!  I don't want to be 
an incompetent Evil Overlord!"

"You could try not cooperating," Amy suggested.  He looked at her 
blankly, and she sighed.  *Evil Overlords can be **so** dense.*  

"Don't do what She wants you to," she counseled.    "When She tells 
you to give in to your worst attributes and failings, refuse.  When 
She tells you to go back to your cage, defy Her – after all, She 
gives that little snot tons of attention; She could spare a bit more 
for you.  Even if that doesn't force Her to develop you to the point 
that Redemption is credible, your non-cooperation would drive Her 
crazy."
  
"Might that not make it more difficult for Her to finish the books 
in a timely manner?" LV observed.

"Possibly, but that's not your problem.  If it does, so what?"  (Amy 
again mentally ducked flames from all the readers frustrated with 
the wait for Book 5).  "You know She's going to try to let Potter 
destroy you: you'd be delaying that.  Maybe it will give you enough 
time to get the upper hand."

He sucked in a deep breath. "I think I like *that* even better than 
flirting with Redemption.  That is a truly Evil plan," he said in a 
hushed, admiring voice.  

"Thank you.  Sometimes it just takes an objective eye," Amy replied 
modestly, and rose from her chair.  "I think if you work on the 
problems we've discussed, you'll have a very good chance to become a 
Truly Evil Overlord."

"I feel *so* much better; thank you," he murmured as he rose, quite 
forgetting that Evil Overlords most definitely do not say `thank 
you.'

"Oh, not at all.  Feel free to stop by if you need to talk again.  
But, uh
" Amy added hesitantly, "could you ask your groupies not to 
terrorize Carol next time?  Good receptionists are hard to find."

"Oh, *that* – they get a little over-enthusiastic sometimes – boys 
will be boys, you know," LV said with another ghastly smile.  "They 
were just playing."

"That reminds me," Amy retorted, "I have one last piece of advice: 
if you get another chance to kill the little bastard, do it 
immediately – don't use magic, and don't take time to gloat 
beforehand, okay?  Kill First, Party Later."

"Absolutely."  He extended his hand to shake hers, and then froze in 
realization of what he'd just done.

"Ahhh, don't worry about that," Amy said hastily (if truth be told, 
she'd rather eat dirt than shake his hand.)  It's the Muggle thing, 
I know.  S'Okay."

He relaxed.  "You are *so* understanding.  I don't know why I never 
tried this before."  And he pulled the door open and stepped into 
the reception area.

Amy almost had the door closed when he shoved his skull-like face 
back into her office.

"Anything I should tell Snape before his visit?"  he asked cheerily.

*Well, since he asked
*

"Make sure he brings the Redi-Whip and cherries.  And silk boxers.  
If they're Slytherin green, I'll let him keep them on longer."

The would-be Evil Overlord shook his head sadly.  "You Muggle 
females
 I will *never* understand you."  And he turned and 
left, `boys' in tow, muttering "Kill First, Party Later.  Kill 
First, Party Later
."

After a few breathless moments Amy peeked out of her office door, 
and, seeing the coast was clear, she grabbed her purse, locked up 
the reception area, and headed for the nearest furniture store.

*Something nice and cushy
 and wide
 not green, the wrong shade 
might clash with the boxers
 red's out, that's Gryffindor, definite 
turn-off
      Black.  Definitely black.*



Amy
theatresm2002

Notes:  No Psychoanalysts were harmed during the writing of this 
story, although a few concepts were mangled.

Belated thanks to Grey and Melody for letting me play (without 
permission) with their ideas.  And apologies to anyone who's already 
expounded on the "Evil Overlord" idea; I'm too lazy to check the 
archive.  *(Bad Amy!  Bad, bad, bad!)*