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WEEKLY VOLDIE*

*Everything A Decent Death Eater Needs To Know About Britain's Most Belovedly Feared Dark-Lord-Who-Definitely-Isn't-Back

as reported to you by Harry J. Potter, the Boy-Who-Knows

Chapter I: VOLDIE* IN THE MAKING

 Hermione was panicking.

She loved Harry Potter, truly, she did. He was her best and closest friend. But although the boy was a total sweetheart and usually meant well, he also managed to cause the deadliest of troubles without even trying. It felt like only yesterday that she had talked Harry out of adopting Slytherin's poor, misunderstood monster — and yes, she'd been forced to write an eulogy for the ruddy snake that had petrified her in the end — and she steadfast refused to acknowledge their third year.

As far as Hermione was concerned, there was no third year.

But she was getting off-track. The point was, Harry created chaos wherever he went and whether he meant to or not. Unfortunately, after four years of being relatively mild-mannered and willing to foil any dark schemes that went too far out of control, Hermione feared that Harry had finally been pushed to far. Considering he had spent the summer locked away with his unpleasant relatives and made no secret of his frustration with Professor Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, and a few of the order members he'd gotten to know, not to mention the ridiculous trial Minister Fudge had tried to pull, well.

Let's just say Hermione had reason to assume that Harry wasn't just looking for trouble, but grabbing the first sight of it with both hands and snogging the life out of them. Not that she could blame him. (Dear lord, she hoped he wouldn't stumble upon Malfoy first. The guy was a git, but he deserved a fair warning.)

The Daily Prophet's damned campaign against Harry had really only added fuel to an already dangerously cackling fire.

No, Hermione had seen the glint in Harry's eyes these last few days, whenever he assumed nobody was watching him. And The Smirk™.

A smirking Harry was a recipe for disaster. The kind that got trains blown up and Ministries levelled to the ground. And Hermione just knew somehow she would be dragged into it. Not that she minded hitting the Ministry with a couple of harsh truths over their collective head, but it was the principle of the thing.

You don't go around setting everything on fire and rebuilding the ashes just because the world isn't to your liking. You especially don't do so whilst the threat of expulsion is still very real and possible.

Ron, of course, had bought Harry's sad "I just need a little space, mate, it's a bit much right now," spiel this morning. Because Ron — for all his good qualities when he wasn't being a stubborn prat — was terribly naive when it came to Harry's secret aspirations to become a Dark Lord. Granted, it had taken Hermione herself a while to catch on — that Luna Lovegood of all people had to clue her in really was unforgivable — and some days she wasn't entirely sure if Harry himself was aware of the ultimate goal his more underhanded machinations would lead to — Harry could be quite charmingly oblivious, the sweetheart — but that was no excuse. Ron was a smart guy with a more than decent grasp on tactical thinking. It was just too bad that the poor guy had a blind spot several Quidditch pitches wide, centred directly around Harry's less advertised characteristics.

Which was why it fell to Hermione to ensure that Harry didn't somehow get even and take over the world while her back was turned.

As such, Hermione understandably panicked when she lost track of her friend on the Hogwarts' Express.

Thankfully, being Harry Potter's best friend for close to five years meant that she was used to it. Whether it be staying alive in a bathroom, watching her best friend almost kill himself multiple times on that trice-cursed Quidditch pitch — or, as Hermione referred to it, the tragic end of foolish choices —, figuring out the logistics of time travel and its practical applications in her day to day life, aiding in the escape of two wanted fugitives or trying to beat some sense into Ron through sheer force of will — the past few years had done an excellent job of preparing her for the madness that was Harry Potter's life.

This had the happy side-effect of allowing Hermione to panic much more efficiently than most people her age would probably manage. If there was anything she wasn't lacking it was, after all, practice.

It was therefore a determined Hermione Granger striding down the hallway and methodically checking the compartments she came across with a steady grip on her wand and a furious curl of her lips, telling the world she was ready for anything.

Well, almost anything, she amended silently, quickly shutting the compartment door behind her with a grimace that didn't quite hide her flushed cheeks. It seems Ginny has indeed gotten over her crush on Harry, who knew?

She'd let Harry know — tactfully and without disclosing any of the more private details, naturally — but it wasn't like he had noticed in the first place. In fact, Hermione still wasn't entirely sure he was aware that he'd been on a date during the Yule ball. She would have thought it impossible, but Harry's obliviousness had caught her by surprise before.

Like that time back in the third-year-that-wasn't, when Seamus had flirted with Harry and Harry hadn't noticed. Or the two hundred and fourteen incidents since, where Seamus had flirted with Harry and Harry hadn't noticed.

Just thinking about it makes Hermione roll her eyes hard enough to hurt.

She'd have clued Harry in by now, if only because even Ron had caught on and she felt bad for Seamus' dignity, but the fact of the matter was that Seamus — with his penchant for causing explosions and his obsession with learning how to turn water into rum — would be exactly the sort of well-meaning idiot who would shamelessly enable Harry in his Harry-ness.

Hogwarts would never survive it.

Hermione still regularly had nightmares of Harry ending up with one of the Weasley twins — and on one, memorable, very apocalyptic occasion, both of them — she refused to pave the way towards total destruction.

No, Seamus was on his own.

Putting the matter out of her mind for the time being, Hermione continued her search for Harry He-Who-Would-Undoubtedly-End-The-World-Or-Otherwise-Get-Into-Unimaginable-Trouble-If-She-Didn't-Find-Him-Soon Potter.

Ten minutes later Hermione had interrupted no less than fifteen heartfelt reunions — some more enthusiastic than others, honestly, she didn't need to see so much of her fellow students — and still found neither hide nor hair of the missing Boy-Who-Lived.

It wasn't an understatement to say that Hermione had gone way beyond panicking at this point.

I have to be rational about this, she sternly reminded herself and sent a deadly glare at her traitorously trembling hands. It's not like he could have blown up the train or anything. Would, I mean. It's not like Harry would blow up the train. And I've already passed Malfoy two compartments back— Did I remember to warn him? I just know I shouldn't have given Harry that book about 'Sexuality in the Modern Wizarding World'. What was I thinking? And then Ron left him alone with Sirius for almost half an hour! Doesn't he realise how much Harry can achieve in half an hou—

It was at this moment that Hermione's increasingly horrified, internal rant was interrupted by the terrifying, mind-numbing sight before her.

Distracted by her own mental ramblings as she was, Hermione had thrown the closest compartment door open with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. She deeply regretted this now because much as she'd believed she had seen it all by now, Harry lived to prove her wrong time and again.

The sight that greeted her in the aforementioned compartment was worse than the combination of Weasley twins and Harry Potter, worse than discovering Susan's apparently adventurous side, and far, far worse than anything Draco Malfoy had been up to since second year. There had been no signs, no warnings, nothing that could have prepared Hermione for this.

Because there, on the floor of the otherwise empty compartment was the stuff Hermione's worst nightmares were made of:

Harry sat on a spread out cloak, braiding Luna Lovegood's long hair, apparently in the middle of a humorous conversation. Both Harry and Luna had turned towards her and were now looking up at Hermione with big, innocent eyes.

She didn't scream, but it was a close thing.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked after a moment, too high and too loud, but at least not entirely hysterical. She was reasonably proud of her achievement. Then, after an awkwardly long pause— "There you are."

Harry stared. "Yes," he said slowly, almost uncertain, after a moment. "We got on the train together, didn't we?"

He didn't sound so sure about it now. Then again, with the way he looked at her, he might suspect her a Moody plant. After last year — and her behaviour just now — Hermione couldn't blame him.

Just because Harry might accidentally turn into a Dark Lord if left to his own device, didn't mean she should let her own imagination get away with her like that. Especially since that was something she tended to criticise in Luna. Besides they were on the Express and it was Luna. Really, what could have happened?

"Yes, we did." Hermione smiled reassuringly at Harry, who still looked wary. "What I meant to say was: What are you doing?"

It was the right thing to ask. Harry positively lit up at the question, and as Hermione turned around to close the door behind her, she couldn't stop a soft smile from forming on her own lips in response. It truly was a rare feat to see Harry so happy — had been even before the end of the Triwizard Tournament — and she was glad to see that side of him again.

Even if it tended to end with a severe headache and life-threatening incidents for the rest of them.

"Oh, I was just telling Luna that I'm looking for a new hobby," Harry told her readily. "Spending so much time at the Dursleys made me realise that I don't actually do all that much. Well, besides Quidditch, but that's not always an option. And I think annoying Dark Lords' should at least count as a part-time job." He shot her a cheeky grin at that, which Hermione answered with an eye-roll that was entirely too affectionate for her taste.

"Anyways, Luna suggested I try my hand at writing."

Hermione blinked, countless evenings spent listening to Harry whine over one essay or another in the common room flashing before her mind. "Writing?"

Harry grinned wryly, like he knew exactly what she thought. "Yeah. I might not like doing my homework the way you do, Hermione, but I spent a lot of time these last few weeks catching up on the news." His eyes darkened a bit and Hermione mentally winced as she remembered some of the harsher articles she had come across. "And I think I'd like to be a reporter."

"A reporter," Hermione repeated, stunned. "You."

"Yeah. What better way to avoid getting stalked than being the stalker, you know?" Harry smiled, a little embarrassed and a lot satisfied.

…that was an ominous statement if Hermione ever heard one. It also sounded suspiciously like the kind of turn-about argument Luna liked to evoke to confuse people into agreeing with her. Damn it. If she lost Harry to Lovegood's scheming there would be no Wizarding world left to worry about a Dark Lord conquering it. Which would of course be one way to solve the problem.

"So," Harry continued happily, "Luna has kindly offered to show me how to become a proper reporter. She is an undercover agent, posing as a Hogwarts' student, did you know that?"

He appeared undaunted by the glowering glare Hermione bestowed upon the younger Ravenclaw. Oh, Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

"Undercover agent?" She regretted the question immediately.

"Actually, I am a minion pretending to be an undercover agent posing as a fourth year Hogwarts' student," Luna proclaimed cheerfully. "But until my Lord recognises his followers' true potential, I have to settle for uncovering the truth behind the drunken rainides bi-monthly meetings on the third floor. My father suspects Professor Dumbledore is hiding star powder in the school again, it's been known to attract rainides during their mating season."

To that Hermione honestly had nothing to say. But from Harry's visible intrigue at the statement alone, she knew she couldn't let the conversation continue. Not even Merlin himself knew what Harry was capable of when prodded and encouraged by Luna. Hermione feared for them all, she truly did.

"So, what has Luna taught you?" Hermione hastily asked. With a bit genuine curiosity even. Maybe Harry would actually find a hobby that won't cause her premature heart failure one of these days.

Inwardly, Hermione snorted. Yeah. That would happen.

"Just the basics so far, I'm only just starting." Harry shrugged, but gestured towards a brand new notebook, well-used to Hermione's inquisitive nature.

"The foundation is the most important part of any building," Luna chided.

Hermione ignored Harry's abashed agreement and opened the notebook on the first page. Unsurprisingly, Harry had noted Luna's advice down with far more care than any of his assignments have ever received. Hermione would scold him, if she wasn't secretly amused by the increasingly inventive insults Professor Snape came up with for Harry's 'chicken scrawl'.

The Basic Rules of Reporting as told by Luna Lovegood

- Write about what you know well

- Write about what you're passionate about

- Write about what you want to share with others

- Write about what's relevant to other people

- Write about what others don't

"Huh." Hermione tilted her head in silent consideration. "That actually doesn't sound too bad."

By which she meant it might not get Harry or the rest of Hogwarts killed by dinner time today. Always a plus.

Luna blinked up at her with huge, blue eyes. "Thank you," she said with a soft smile.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blonde girl, but she had already turned back towards her class book. Which she was reading upside down.

"Right?" Harry beamed. "And it gave me an idea. If the official papers don't report the truth, I'll just make my own."

Ron sometimes joked that Harry had a You-Know-Who sense that told him when Voldemort was close or planning something particularly bad. Hermione had yet to see any satisfying proof of such a thing, but if Harry did indeed have it, then Hermione had an equally finely-tuned Harry sense that told her when her best friend was about to do something insane.

Said Harry sense was currently going crazy. Hermione felt like her stomach had suddenly dropped to her feet.

"Er—"

She honestly couldn't think why, since Harry definitely had worse ideas — like playing catch with a dragon — and really, how bad could it be? Starting a student paper certainly wasn't the worst thing, Dumbledore might even be on board with it. So why did Hermione feel this intense sensation of impending doom as she listened to her friend's pla—

Harry's delighted grin slowly twisted into The Smirk™.

"I was thinking of calling it 'WEEKLY VOLDIE*'."

Oh bloody hell.

Chapter Text

Draco was suspicious.

They had been back at Hogwarts for a week now, and so far Potter had done exactly nothing. Draco prided himself on his understanding of Potter’s moods — they tended to be a good indication of just how badly a situation was about to blow up in all their faces and as a Slytherin, not to forget a Malfoy, Draco preferred advanced warnings and contingency plans over having to fight his way out of a Dumbledore-controlled school.

Besides Potter was his rival and Malfoys — and Blacks, for that matter, he was, after all, his mother’s son — were possessive of what they considered their own. It was only polite to pay attention.

At least that had been his excuse on their first day back. By now it had devolved from reasonable attentiveness to a matter of survival.

Because an entire week had passed and nothing happened.

Draco didn’t know what exactly he had expected. But it had definitely involved loudmouthed, foolish insistence that the Dark Lord was really back, as well as a lot of entertaining fights with Professor Umbridge, what with Potter being a Gryffindor and all. It was the natural state of things. The Dark Lord, and his father, and the Minister, and Draco, and everyone else schemed and Potter fought them tooth and nails every step of the way with nothing but righteous stubbornness to back him up.

Bloody Gryffindor that he was, he had the annoying habit of emerging victorious from said schemes — or, at the very least, manoeuvre them into a stalemate — but Draco didn’t like to think about that too often. He still hadn’t forgiven Potter for winning the House Cup in their first year when he hadn’t deserved it, damn it.

But that wasn’t important right now. What was important was this: Potter wasn’t quiet. Potter wasn’t subservient. And Potter especially wasn’t apathetic.

Draco knew Potter. Maybe not as well as Granger and Weasel — it wasn’t like he attended woe-is-me slumber parties with the Boy-Who-Lived where they spent the whole night chatting about fluffy feelings and how hard it was to be the personification of goodness or whatever it was that Gryffindors did in their free time — but he had a working understanding of the Boy Wonder’s way of thinking.

Potter did not yield.

That was the kind of thing you eventually picked up on when you kept watching the guy for four years. Of course, him standing against a fully-trained Death Eater as a first year — though Draco still wasn’t clear on what exactly happened, even the upper years hadn’t known any details, only that it apparently involved a powerful, magical artefact — was also a big clue.

Draco had told his father as much, but he honestly wasn’t sure if Lucius had understood just how unmovable an object Potter could be when the mood stroke him. Not that it really mattered. The whole campaign the Ministry was leading wasn’t focused on changing Potter’s mind. It was meant to discredit him and keep other people from believing in him. If it shut him up, well, that was just an added bonus.

Only it shouldn’t have shut him up. Potter wasn’t the type to let anyone tell him what to do, especially not when it concerned something so heroically important. Didn’t anyone remember their Imperio lessons from last year?

Sure, maybe Potter had simply grown up this summer and realised he couldn’t keep running head first through walls for the rest of his life because that wasn’t how the real world worked. (Except, of course, that the real world seemed pretty eager to adapt to Potter whenever it suited him, and no, Draco wasn’t annoyed by that at all.)

And yeah, Potter could have learnt to keep his temper under control. Maybe. With Granger to keep him in check. Miracles had been known to happen — the Dark Lord did return after all.

But what his woefully ignorant classmates kept conveniently forgetting was that it wasn’t just the Dark Lord’s return the Ministry kept denying. There had been a causality. Draco hadn’t cared much for Diggory — though losing a pureblood wizard was always a shame, even when it was a Hufflepuff — and, as far as he knew, Potter hadn’t been close with his contestants. But he’d watched Diggory be killed, from what little Draco had been able to piece together.

Attacking Potter was one thing. Attacking those around him, even postmortem, was an entirely different matter.

Everything Draco knew about Potter — which was a lot (and no, that wasn't creepy, it was called 'staying informed', Nott had no idea what he was talking about) — said that the Boy Hero wouldn’t stand for it.

And yet.

A whole week had passed, and Potter had done nothing. Defence against the Dark Arts had passed and Potter had done nothing. Professor Umbridge had gone out of her way to rile Potter up, to discredit him, Dumbledore, Diggory, and every creature in existence besides.

She’d referred to Lupin as a worthless, mangy werewolf and Potter hadn’t even twitched.

No, instead of snapping and rising to Umbridge’s obvious bait like he should have, Potter had kept his head down. He’d pulled out the assigned book and read the assigned chapters and generally didn’t so much as twitch a toe out of line.

Draco had been sorely tempted to check him for Polyjuice. Who knew? Maybe the rumour mill was right for once and Harry Potter didn't even exist. Maybe Dumbledore did indeed have an entire army of well-trained soldiers, who were playing Harry Potter as part of their basic infiltration training because the real Potter heir had died the night the Dark Lord had attacked them. It made as much sense as anything.

Because there was no way Potter was okay what was happening, within and outside of Hogwarts. And if that wasn’t alarming enough, Potter had been reading the Daily Prophet every morning, not with gritted teeth but an amused smile on his lips.

If that didn’t spell trouble in every language known to magic-kind, Draco didn’t know what did.

*

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Draco proclaimed ominously as he entered the Great Hall along with Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy on Saturday morning. Zabini preferred to sleep in on the weekends and no one really cared what Nott was up to as long as he didn’t blow up their dorm again.

None of his friends showed much of a reaction to his statement, but Draco decided to forgive them for the oversight. In their defence, he had said the exact same thing every day thus far.

In his defence, he’d meant it every time.

“I’m telling you, Potter is up to something,” Draco insisted as his gaze swept searchingly along the Gryffindor table. 

The infamous Golden Trio hadn't arrived yet, but that didn’t mean anything. It was a sign of Goyle’s boundless loyalty that he didn’t roll his eyes at his announcement like Draco knew he wanted to from the dismissive twitch of his left hand. Goyle was decent like that.

Crabbe, on the other hand, was a sarcastic asshole and the only reason the rest of the world hadn’t noticed yet was that Draco usually silenced him before they left the common room. Of course, Crabbe had learnt to break that charm sometime early in their first year, and Draco had been waiting for his revenge ever since, but so far nothing had happened.

Considering that Crabbe’s vengeance tended to become more vicious the longer he waited to enact it, that wasn’t exactly a comfort.

“Yes, Draco,” Pansy said drolly. “I’m sure Potter has spent the entire summer scheming how he can make you miserable and is now only drawing out the execution of his undoubtedly diabolic plan to drive you mad with paranoia. It’s a good thing you weren't fooled by his clueless, inept Gryffindor act these past few years and are thus the only one who sees it coming.”

“You know, I liked you better when you agreed with everything I said.” Draco shot the girl a dark glare. “Wherever did the sweet witch that worshipped the grounds I walked on go?”

“She realised that being your girlfriend meant she would still come second to Potter and got over it.”  Pansy sent him a sweet smile that would fool absolutely no one and strode towards their usual seats, leaving Draco spluttering in disbelief after her.

Crabbe snorted in amusement.

Draco reflexively hit him with a silencing charm, then stalked after Pansy, grumbling under his breath all the way. It was too damn early to deal with these impossible people.

Pansy didn’t even deign to look at him when he sat down. Bristling, it took Draco a moment to push through his indignity and realise that she wasn’t just pretending to ignore him. Her gaze remained fixed down on her plate, her entire face frozen in a blank expression. Her wide eyes and pale cheeks told a different story though.

Following her eyes, Draco choked on what was either air or his own tongue. He wouldn’t know, he didn’t have the mental capacity to care. The fact that none of his classmates commented on his lack of composure drove home just how serious the situation really was.

There, stuck to his plate — and what appeared to be every other student’s plate, dear Merlin, what had Potter done — were three pieces of paper. The first page was titled ‘WEEKLY VOLDIE*’ in bold, glittering letters.

“Oh shit,” Draco choked out in horror, shock, disbelief.

“Language,” Pansy shot back reflexively, her voice numb.

She stared at the pages on her plate like they were a signed death warrant. Which, given that the Dark Lord used to execute anyone who dared to speak his name — Dumbledore and lately Potter being the obvious exception — it might well be.

“Oh fucking shit.”

Draco shouldn’t read it. He really, really shouldn’t. Whatever Potter deigned to plaster over the entire Great Hall couldn’t be good. Especially not if it involved the Dark Lord in any shape or form. Ergo Draco really shouldn’t read it.

Oh, who was he kidding?

Bloody Potter.

*

WEEKLY VOLDIE*

The first ever publication to keep you up to date on everything Dark and Lordy

Everything You Need To Know About ‘WEEKLY VOLDIE*’

written by H. J. Potter

My dear readers,

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to WEEKLY VOLDIE*, Magical Britain’s new, weekly newspaper focused solely on the great VOLDIE* himself, faithfully delivered to you straight from one of Great Britain’s oldest, most powerful, magical strongholds.

Whether you are a proud servant, forever loyal to your master, limited in your interactions with him by the unfortunate political climate, an eager Junior Death Eater unsure how to best serve your preferred Lord or a blinded and confused soul, who has not yet realised how you can best support the Dark: Do not worry! We, the founders of WEEKLY VOLDIE*, will gladly provide you with all the information you need to make an informed decision and figure out the actions that will best serve VOLDIE* in the future.

Until this day, there has been a shameful lack of unbiased reports on VOLDIE*’s moves, his plans, indeed not even the most recent incident of infighting in his ranks has become public knowledge! I ask you, my fellow witches and wizards, how is even the most faithful of servants supposed to further VOLDIE*’s goals, if they are not aware what current master plan their leader is enacting? Why, they might accidentally ruin years of careful planning, simply by killing the wrong fifteen-year-old Hogwarts student!

To remedy this outrageous oversight, we from WEEKLY VOLDIE* will gladly keep you up-to-date on everything regarding VOLDIE*’s current and future actions, new developments within the dark forces, and other bits and pieces the Dark-inclined and the otherwise curious desperately need to know.

For VOLDIE*.

[Page 1]

*

IS WEEKLY VOLDIE* FOR YOU? FILL OUT THIS QUIZ TO FIND OUT

Are you unsure if WEEKLY VOLDIE* is relevant to your interests? If you are not yet sure how you feel about VOLDIE* and/or the Dark or are currently stuck in History or DADA and wish to do something productive with your time, we recommend you to fill out the following quiz to help you figure out whether you should subscribe to WEEKLY VOLDIE* or not.

Please answer each question honestly and without too much thought, it will help get you the most accurate result. Once you are finished, check the symbol behind each answer you’ve marked and count which symbol you have chosen the most. Then read the results for said symbol and you have your answer.

1. Are you and/or have you ever been a supporter of the Dark Lord?
   [ ] Yes [*]
   [ ] Yes, but I was under the Imperio [—]
   [ ] No, but I want to be [+]
   [ ] No [≈]
2. What other newspapers do you read regularly?
   [ ] Daily Prophet [*]
   [ ] Witch Weekly [+]
   [ ] The Quibbler [≈]
   [ ] None or something else [—]
3. What is your stance on the Dark?
   [ ] I really don’t care. [—]
   [ ] I despise everything the Dark stands for. [≈]
   [ ] I believe the Dark bears watching. [+]
   [ ] I am a proud servant of the Dark. [*]

[Page 2]

*

Results:

The majority of your answers was a type * : You are a proud and dedicated supporter of the Dark. WEEKLY VOLDIE* is exactly the paper that has been missing in your life. The questionnaire is a mere formality, you have already filled out the subscription form.

The majority of your answers was a type +: You are leaning towards the Dark. Your curious nature and inability to resist gossip keeps you from pulling back, even if you don’t always agree with their political views. You will not be able to resist reading WEEKLY VOLDIE* over your friends’ or classmates’ shoulder — you might as well fill out the subscription now and save yourself the trouble.

The majority of your answers was a type —: You don’t care about the Dark at all and pride yourself on your non-involvement in any conflict. Since you also don’t have anything against the Dark, it can’t hurt to subscribe to WEEKLY VOLDIE* and see where it takes you. If you have a loyal friend close by, they might even fill out the subscription for you, so you don’t have to put in the effort.

The majority of your answers was a type ≈: You are a fanatic opponent of anything Dark. Just reading the name of our paper had you reflexively reaching for your wand. Of course you subscribe to WEEKLY VOLDIE* — after all you keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

You do not have a clear majority for a type of answers: You are likely suffering from a very cluttered, contrary mind and should probably seek out a mind healer or just go ahead and join the Dark. Subscribe to WEEKLY VOLDIE*. Crazy fits in nicely.

SUBSCRIPTION FORM

If you want to receive any future issues of WEEKLY VOLDIE*, please fill out the following form:

1. Name:
2. Preferred delivery
   [ ] Hogwarts
   [ ] Owl post
   [ ] Mail box
   [ ] Other:

[Page 3]

*

“You realise what this means, don’t you?” Zabini asked casually over his copy of WEEKLY VOLDIE*.

Draco’s head snapped up in surprise. “Where did you come from?”

Zabini raised an unimpressed eyebrow. To be fair, Zabini was rarely impressed. As evidenced by his complete lack of reaction to current events.

“You’ve been staring at those papers for twenty minutes now, Malfoy,” was his dry response. A quick Tempus proved Zabini right.

“As I was saying,” Zabini continued as though they were talking about Professor Snape’s latest assignment. “We’ll have to find a way to keep Nott from finding out about this.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He’d been so busy trying to figure out how Potter would survive the next twenty-four hours — never mind the week, really, how did Scarhead manage to piss off every single authority in his life at once — that the repercussions his actions would have for Draco personally hadn’t even occurred to him yet. Handling Crabbe was one thing, but Nott?

Nott, who, upon learning that Potter had successfully smuggled a dragon into Hogwarts, had decided to blackmail Potter into getting him to share custody over the damn death trap — which was why Draco hadn’t had Crabbe and Goyle as back-up that night back in their first year, someone had to make sure Nott didn’t escape the common room before the threat was neutralised. Nott, who was legitimately insane, quite possibly thanks to his father’s liberal use of the Cruciatus, and who would take one look at this- this- nightmare made of paper and happily sell his soul for it?

Pansy, always the practical one, vanished her copy of this damned wanna-be newspaper. It shivered, once, twice, and promptly multiplied into four more copies. Because of course Potter had taken precautions. The moron couldn’t figure out that adding crushed batwings before the dried dandelions would cause an explosive chain reaction, but when it came to protecting stupid jokes that would legitimately get him killed, suddenly he was a magical protégé.

Draco didn’t slam his head against the table because he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys didn’t lose their composure, especially not in public, but it was a close thing. Especially with the empty subscription form right there. In front of him. Mocking him.

“We’re doomed.”

Right on cue Crabbe, who had evidently broken the silencing charm again, started cackling. Which did nothing if not prove Draco's point.

Chapter Text

Colin was excited.

Granted, anyone vaguely familiar with Colin — which were quite a few students more than one might expect, thanks to his enthusiastic personality and his goal to find a way into the common room of every house to get a complete set of pictures — would pointedly tell you that 'excited' was a perpetual state of being for the fourth year Gryffindor student. There were also various rumours involving drugs, a serious potion addiction, and various far more nefarious theories in circulation, all of them eager to explain Colin Creevey's penchant for happy enthusiasm.

The truth behind the many whispered rumours — his existence being a product of a Unspeakable-experiment involving Pepper-Up potions, a lock of Snape's hair, and multiple cheering charms being one of the more harmless ideas — was simple: Colin Creevey adored magic.

Unlike many of his peers, Colin didn't think he would ever truly grow used to it. Magic was always fascinating, always surprising, always one-uping the latest miracle he had seen. There was always something more, another physical impossibility happening before his very eyes, and Colin couldn't understand how anyone could not be in awe of it. How they could just sit there and treat it as their due, when magic was so magnificent, so far beyond them all.

And then there was Harry Potter.

Despite his bubbling nature, Colin was far from the overwhelmed eleven year old he'd been in his first year. He was neither blind, deaf, nor oblivious, and knew perfectly well what others thought of his 'awkward but hilarious to watch hero worshipping' as Ginny had so kindly put it.

He was well-aware that his class mates ridiculed him for it, that there were jokes cracked behind his back — and on a few occasions to his face — about his obsessive fangirling and other, less flattering terms. Never mind the hypocrisy, it wasn't like Colin was the only one being enamoured with the older Gryffindor. But despite the hype and the constant rumours, Colin wasn't sure if the others really got it.

Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived, and Colin adored him for it. As did many people.

But to most of them — even Ginny, for all that she tried very hard not to — he was a hero. The prince charming of their favourite childhood fairytale. To adults he was the child that saved them, the one who put an end to their daily terror.

And Colin was self-aware enough to know that he wasn't that special, that he adored Harry for all the same reasons everyone else did: because he was Harry Potter, because he clapped you on the shoulder and told you to keep your chin up like you mattered, because he saved the day and the school and the world in his free time, because he survived the killing curse.

Colin had only known about magic for a few days when he had first heard of Harry Potter, first learnt of the miracles he'd accomplished before he was old enough to walk. And yes, Harry had been kind, if a little out-of-his-depth when Colin had first met him, had slain the monster that had petrified him and lived up to his reputation in the end, but that wasn't when it started.

Harry did the impossible whenever he pleased. He broke all the rules, even those of magic itself, if they didn't suit him. He was everything this incredible world should be, every hope and dream — because Harry was living, breathing proof that nothing was impossible.

To Colin Harry Potter was magic.

And the notion of distrusting Harry, of turning his back on him, of believing the slander of the Prophet was as foreign to him as the thought that magic had rules that could not be broken.

Because Harry lived. And Colin believed.

So Colin was understandably put out when he turned out to be in the vast minority. A possibility that hadn't even occurred him — because, sure, the Minister was being an incompetent, flailing fool, but from what some of his pureblooded year mates had told him, that wasn't a surprise, so why on earth should their idiocy taint Hogwarts? Beautiful Hogwarts, which was second only to magic itself and Harry Potter on Colin's list of awesome things?

Except it had.

Tainted Hogwarts, that is.

There was simply no way Umbridge could be anything but a taint. An ugly, bright pink, blot of sludge that was set on ruining two of the best things in Colin's life.

Colin scowled down at his plate at the reminder — an action that in itself should have served as a warning to the clueless inhabitants of the castle, not that anyone noticed the Gryffindor's unusually dark mood. His excitable nature was one of Colin's most resilient character traits, though not the only one. As proven by the mere fact that the magical world hadn't managed to disillusion and destroy his endless wonder yet. Not that Snape hadn't tried.

Umbridge though. Umbridge wasn't like Snape. Snape was vicious, an utter bastard, constantly belittling Colin and putting him down, and quite possibly the most ridiculously biased teacher he had ever met. But there was something about Umbridge that rubbed Colin the wrong way. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but out of the two least popular professors of Hogwarts, Colin knew which one he would rather trust with his back turned.

And it wasn't the ever-so sugary former undersecretary, that was for sure.

It should therefore come as a surprise to absolutely no one who had payed Colin even the barest hint of attention to learn that he had been ecstatic to come down to Great Hall last week to find the first edition of a new paper on his plate and Umbridge in the middle of an utter mental breakdown.

Well, sadly that latter part had mostly just happened in Colin's lively fantasies. But still.

Colin had been having the time of his life, snickering over his idol's latest work of genius — and some part of him knew that, as a muggleborn, he probably shouldn't take this much delight in WEEKLY VOLDIE*, but Voldemort had never been real to him the way it was to most magically-raised students, and so it was easy to take the joke in the spirit it had been offered — when Umbridge had discovered what had caused such a stir among the students.

A moment that more than few students had been eagerly looking forward to. Colin might be in the minority when it came to his stance on Harry, but Umbridge wasn't well-liked among the students, no matter what their stance on Voldemort was. Watching the simpering expression freeze on her face had been therapeutic. As had been her incredulity when she had cast an overpowered vanishing charm — hemming about protecting the poor, impressionable children all the while — only for the house tables to be suddenly covered in multiplying issues of WEEKLY VOLDIE*.

Colin smirked just thinking about the unpleasant woman's increasingly furious attempts to get rid off the papers. Until eventually — far too soon — Professor Dumbledore had taken pity on the Umbridge — or, possibly, felt obligated to spare his students from being buried underneath the increasing amounts of parchment — and had asked the students to please hand all their copies over to the closest professor for inspection.

Naturally, quite a few copies had left the Great Hall despite Umbridge's best attempts. Colin himself had made sure to save two copies. One to frame over his bed and one to hand to any curious late riser who had missed the commotion.

Umbridge had raised quite a stink about the whole affair, but although Harry had been dragged off to the Headmaster's office, nothing more than a few detentions had come out of it. Colin would have loved to witness whatever conversation had taken place. Sadly, neither Harry nor Professor Dumbledore seemed to be in a sharing mood, and even Colin wasn't suicidal enough to approach Professor McGonagall over the whole affair.

As a matter of fact, Colin — and every other student with a shred of self-preservation — made it a point to avoid the formidable Head of Gryffindor. The woman was not pleased with the current situation, that was for sure.

"Did I miss it?" Darren, a fellow Gryffindor fourth year, hissed as he slid into the seat to Colin's right. Being a halfblood himself and having spent ample time in the muggle world, Darren had been the first friend Colin had made at Hogwarts. Of course, sharing a dorm had also helped.

"Nope." Colin grinned, though it was getting harder by the minute to hold on to his fast-waning patience.

"Good." Darren sighed in relief and finally took the time to gather his shoulder-length, dark red hair up into his trademark high ponytail. It never failed to make Professor McGonagall purse her lips in displeasure.

Once convinced that he was now appropriately dressed for pleasant company — which he never was, not that Colin cared — Darren promptly whacked him not-so-gently over the head. "You know, if we were the sort of best friends to exchange friendship bracelets, I'd be offended by you forgetting to wake me up when I told you five times I don't want to miss the show again."

Colin rubbed his aching head with a half-sheepish, half-guilty smile and pointedly didn't look at the thin strip of leather wrapped around his right wrist. He never took it off.

"I'm sorry?" he tried hopefully.

Darren scoffed. "You're lucky I don't mind your lack of common sense regarding all things Harry Potter. That doesn't mean you have to continuously forget about me every time he does something crazy."

"I'm sorry," Colin repeated with honest regret.

"I mean, it's Harry Potter. He always does something crazy — and I'm not talking about You-Know-Who, Cols, get that glare of your face before you stab someone — it's the truth. You may worship the ground he walks on, but Potter is a fucking menace whether he's insane or not and you know it."

"I'm sorry," Colin said. It was the only response he could think of. Sometimes when Darren went off like this, it was best to let him run his course.

"Really, it's a miracle the Weasley twins haven't built him a shrine somewhere already, one would think they enjoy Potter's antics more than anyo-" Darren narrowed his eyes when he caught sight of the guilty look on Colin's face. "…you're kidding, right? They don't actually have a shrine somewhere, right?! Colin? Colin!"

Colin thanked Merlin, Morgana, the founders, and every pantheon he could think of when Darren's suspicious look was temporarily diverted by a sudden 'POP' that echoed through the Great Hall. Pushing the matters of the Weasley twins and their terrifying ways of worshipping Harry aside for the time being, Colin focused instead on his empty plate.

After all, it had been a week since the first edition of WEEKLY VOLDIE* had gone out and, like all the other students present, Colin had been very impatiently waiting for the next issue. It wasn't every day that you got to witness the results of Harry Potter's special brand of madness yourself.

With an unholy smirk that held little of the excitable, young boy new to magic and a hell of a lot of the still excitable, slightly older boy who had gotten into multiple fights with those stupid, prejudiced, asshole Hufflepuffs who kept on mocking "Harry's cheating ways", Colin reached for the newest copy that had magically appeared on his plate.

He fucking loved magic.

*

WEEKLY VOLDIE*

The publication of the Dark, the Evil, and the regularly Malicious

VOLDIE*'s Unexpected Return: Where Is He Now?

written by H. J. Potter

No doubt, my dear readers, you have already heard rumours of the sudden return of VOLDIE* to Magical Britain after nearly thirteen years of self-imposed exile in the charming woods of Albania. Yet despite the stir his unexpected arrival has caused — after having been recognised walking in a fetchingly grave mood over his own yard by yours truly— VOLDIE* has proven himself to still be the elusive, camera-shy wizard we so fondly remember.

But is VOLDIE*'s continued absence from polite society really the deliberate choice it first appeared to be?

Until recently, VOLDIE*'s lack of public appearances was easily explained, for when have we ever known VOLDIE* to run head first into confrontations like some common Gryffindor? But the more time passes, the more insistent we must ask ourselves: Is VOLDIE*'s silence a statement against our Ministry's pandering towards the weak and uninformed or is something more sinister at work?

A close confidant suggests that VOLDIE*'s health had been plummeting in the last fourteen years and is only just now beginning to stabilise again. But I am sure I am not the only one who is reassured by this unnamed source's assurance that the greatest danger has passed, and VOLDIE*'s strength is growing by the day. Indeed, the whacky British climate and the high concentration of wilful blindness our beloved community is known for seems to be doing wonders for his recovery.

We can undoubtedly expect VOLDIE*'s public rejoining of our esteemed society within the next year or two. In the meantime, this reporter believes that we should all follow the courageous example our honourable Ministry has set and not acknowledge VOLDIE*'s return in any shape or form.

I think that I speak for all of us when I say that I am proud to follow a government willing to go to such lengths to protect its citizens' privacy and reputation. The world needs more people as kind and considerate as our dear Minister.

For now, we may rest easy in the knowledge that despite his notable absence our beloved VOLDIE* brings out the best in all of us.

*

VOLDIE*'s mood barometer: Above the fury of a frustratingly helpless spirit stuck possessing small animals, below the contentment of a vain human taking pride in his reflection.

We recommend strict avoidance and studious deference when encountering VOLDIE* in close proximity of reflective surfaces, mirrors or attractive people.

[page 1]

*

Tops & Flops of the week

VOLDIE*'s  TOPS

• Has successfully crucio-ed every single Dead Muncher available (read: not in prison, on the run or undercover at Hogwarts)
• Has endured Wormtail's presence for 29 minutes at a time
• Has thought up 13 creative ways to kill a rat (completely unrelated to TOP No. 2, this reporter is sure of it)
• Has slept for nine hours straight
• Has kept down broth and bread four days in a row (resurrection is hell on the digestive system)
• Has not committed suicide out of boredom
• Has not given into the temptation to burn down his current residence

VOLDIE*'s  FLOPS

• Has not killed Harry Potter
• Has not killed any other people
• Has not managed to re-grow his hair
• Has not killed any muggles
• Has not gotten Dumbledore kicked out of Hogwarts
• Has not cleaned up his current residence in a week, seriously

The official stats

Crucios used this week: 34
Imperios used this week: 4
Avada Kedavras used this week: 0
Other spells used this week: 26
Attempts to kill Harry Potter this week: 0
Laws broken this week: 7 [not counting usage of the Unforgivables]
Dead Munchers recruited this week: 0
Plans successfully executed this week: 0
Plans cruelly foiled this week: 0 

VOLDIE*'s official status: currently on hiatus

[page 2]

*

3 Ways To Get Back Into VOLDIE*'s Good Graces

written by Har E. Pott-Erbrat

You have served VOLDIE* proudly, but a moment of weakness and doubt caused you to lose faith in the cause? You panicked in the face of a prison sentence and let your highly-valued, Slytherin sense of self-preservation get the best of you? Are you desperately scrambling for a way to regain VOLDIE*'s favour, after having so cruelly abandoned him?

Worry no more, for this reporter has found the answer to your problem! Try out these three tricks and be back among VOLDIE*'s most faithful before you know it:

Buy muggle rat poison and spread it all over VOLDIE*'s grounds. By doing this, you do not only demonstrate your eagerness to make VOLDIE*'s life easier even when he doesn't explicitly demand it of you, you also take care of one of the menial tasks VOLDIE* should not have to lower himself to do.
(And don't worry about Wormtail. Muggle poison is, after all, inherently inferior and can not possibly harm a wizard. Not even one as pathetic as him.)

Bring his snake a snack, preferably a rat. As someone not gifted with the enlightening talent for Parseltongue, you may not have realised it yet, but Nagini — VOLDIE*'s most cherished companion — is constantly hungry and nagging VOLDIE* because of it. Spare him the admonishment and you will surely be received more favourably in the future.
Besides, let's be honest, it's never a bad idea to get on the good side of a nine-feet-long-and-growing, very poisonous snake with a decent taste for bloodshed. Just saying.

The observant among you may have already noticed that heightened senses are among the benefits VOLDIE has reaped during his revitalisation. Therefore he will undoubtedly appreciate being gifted robes made of the softest materials known to wizard-kin. Thanks to the oppressive political climate the average Dark wizard suffers from currently, VOLDIE* can hardly go on a shopping trip himself, can he?

If you have any other tried and tested methods to help VOLDIE* on his way to greatness, please do not hesitate to contact us via owl. We at WEEKLY VOLDIE* wish you the best of luck.

May your grovelling be worthy of VOLDIE*!

[page 3]

*

DO YOU HAVE A FUTURE AS A DEAD MUNCHER? TAKE THIS QUIZ AND FIND OUT

Are you unsure whether becoming a Dead Muncher is truly the path you are meant to take? Fill out the following quiz to help you figure out if a career as one of VOLDIE*'s most belovedly-feared henchpeople is for you.

Please answer each question honestly and without too much thought, it will help get you the most accurate result. Once you are finished, check the symbol behind each answer you've marked and count which symbol you have chosen the most. Then read the results for said symbol and you have your answer.

1. Are you or were you a member of the house of Slytherin at Hogwarts?

[] Yes [*]
[] No, but I can convincingly pretend otherwise [—]
[] No [!]
[] Who cares? [?]

2. How Dark are you?

[] As Bellatrix Black as my robes [?]
[] Crucio is my tickling charm [—]
[] As Dark as VOLDIE* needs me to be [*]
[] On par with Snape's sense of humour [!]

3. How badass are you?

[] My ass is fantastic, thank you very much [?]
[] I swim in the Black Lake in January for fun [—]
[] You don't talk about the fight club [*]
[] These ridiculous responses are sending my sense of self-preservation into a panic attack [!]

4. How intelligent are you?

[] I am a very intellectual person [!]
[] Not as smart as VOLDIE* [*]
[] Well, I'm filling out this quiz, so mediocre at best [?]
[] I know a lot, and know where to look up even more [—]

WEEKLY Joke:

Q: Which ingredient should not be included in a complex, illegal, experimental rebirth ritual?

A: A worm tail

[page 4]

*

Results:

The majority of your answers was a type [*]: You are made to become a Dead Muncher. But then, you know that already, don't you? You possess the proper amount of dedication and deference whilst still retaining the ability to think for yourself and show initiative. VOLDIE* will be pleased by your service. What are you waiting for?

The majority of your answers was a type [—]: You are on the right track, but you still have some work to do before you're ready to enter VOLDIE*'s service — he only deserves the best, after all. Your eagerness to prove yourself makes up for a lot, and your willingness to push yourself will get you far. But although confidence and independence are good character traits to have, you tend to take them a little too far. Remember that you wish to serve VOLDIE*, not become VOLDIE*. And do not forget that VOLDIE* knows best. Keep that in mind, and you will be a worthwhile addition to the Dead Munchers before too long.

The majority of your answers was a type [!]: You have a healthy sense of self-awareness and tend to prefer honesty towards yourself and others. While the former will help you complete the good work of a Dead Muncher successfully, the latter does have the unfortunate side-effect of earning you a one-way ticket to Azkaban sooner rather than later. It's recommended that you work on that. Do not despair, one is never too old to become an acceptable liar.

The majority of your answers was a type [?]: You have a sense of humour and are not afraid to show it. While your admirable courage would have no doubt made the Sorting Hat consider Gryffindor as an option — no doubt your most shameful secret — this, sadly, only confirms what you already know deep within yourself: you aren't cut out to be a Dead Muncher and should you go ahead with the stubbornness those bloody Gryffindors are known for, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that your service, whilst appreciated, would be a short one. As a true supporter of the Dark, you would be of more use as a silent ally, supporting VOLDIE*'s work from afar. But do not let that discourage you! Every step, no matter how small or non-violent, into the right direction is still progress!

You do not have a clear majority for a type of answers: You are suffering from a very indecisive, contrary state of mind. As mind healers are not an option, we recommend you go ahead and sign up for the Dead Munchers. You will find many like-minded individuals among them, and what didn't harm them too bad should work for you as well.

[page 5]

*

Letters from Readers:

[We from WEEKLY VOLDIE* do not take responsibility for the content of our readers' letters, nor do said letters reflect our own views and opinions.]

Y'know, this settles one debate for sure: Harry, you're bloody insane. Keep up the good work, mate.

— D. Thomas

This is an outrage. You-Know-Who's name should not be used carelessly. He may be dead, but the suffering and destruction he caused was real and should not be made light of. This 'newspaper' is a disgrace to every witch and wizard who died fighting him.

— K. Boot

WHAT IN MERLIN'S SOOTY UNDERPANTS IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

— D. Malfoy*

We bow before you, oh heir of the greatest foursome to ever grace the halls of Hogwarts with its presence.

— Neither Gred nor Forge Weasley

Mr Potter,

I don't know what to do with this, but whatever your definition of "keeping your head down" may be, I suggest you revise it presently.

— M. McGonagall

Hey, do you think we should add a dating column? Even V- needs to get laid, right?

— Definitely unsigned

Cease this nonsense immediately, Potter.

— S. Snape*

*Names added by the editor to provide clarifying context.

[page 6]

*

"Hem, hem."

Parvati rolled her eyes. Known widely as the less academically inclined Patil sister sucked. Being among the brash Gryffindors could get annoying — mostly because people seemed surprised at even the weakest, half-hearted attempts at subterfuge she exhibited. Being underestimated was nothing new to Parvati, and rationally she was aware that it was one of her biggest advantages.

That didn't make it suck any less.

So she was a woman. So she was the second born. Of a pair of twins, no less. So she was a lion instead of a more refined claw. So her grades were acceptable instead of exceptional. So she cared for boys far more than for books and fancy magics.

Parvati had never been ashamed of who she was. She wasn't likely to start any time soon.

That being said, it was rare for her status as the brash, the useless, the spare to be useful. Parvati tried not to be resentful — she loved her sister and Padma had never made her feel like she was anything less but half her soul— but. There was no point in prettying up an ugly truth. And to think, all the times Padma used to exclaim that Lockhard hadn't taught them anything…

Lately though Parvati had found refuge in her 'unfortunate' — though never outright labeled as such — status more often than not.

She wasn't the Patil heiress. As such her political views were of little consequence, as long as she wasn't heard too frequently. Her spiteful sniping at the Prophet's reports tolerable, for what young witch did not indulge in the occasional bout of pettiness? Her decision to hex Ravenclaw sixth year Gerald 'Always knew Potter was cracked in the head, you know' Torfin into the next bloody week — Who knew an exfoliation charm could make someone scream like that? Really, were all men such sensitive, little wusses? — easily explained and justified with steadfast house pride and unwavering loyalty.

There was a freedom in being second that Padma couldn't afford — not until the negotiations with Lord Berringthon were finished. Parvati would be more sympathetic if she didn't know exactly how involved their father kept Padma in the contract negotiations — and that Padma was quite satisfied with the results so far. After all, out of the two of them, Padma was the one who didn't believe in marrying for love.

Not that this had stopped Padma from covering for her when Torfin raised a stink about the incident. Or from pretending to be Parvati to get her own standing on current matters across very clearly to her house mates without actually outright saying anything at all.

Her sister would have made a wonderful Slytherin, Parvati thought with warm admiration and a bit more jealousy than she was willing to admit to.

"Hem, hem."

The point, however, was that Parvati could comfortably nibble on a piece of bacon whilst reading the newest issue of WEEKLY VOLDIE*, smack in the middle of the Great Hall, with a smirk on her lips that would have made Torfin turn around and run for it. Which, in all honestly, only caused her smirk to widen. Served the weak-minded bastard right.

She could enjoy Harry's newest madness out in the open, without having anyone look at her twice. Of course, with the ruckus the Weasley twins were making — and those two really needed to get a move on, Harry wouldn't remain single forever, especially not after he had lectured two puce-faced third years for two hours on the matters of homosexuality, tolerance, the beauties of bisexuality, and how he would rip off their pricks, slowly, and feed them to the thestrals if he ever caught them bullying someone for their sexuality ever again — that was hardly a new development.

Maybe she should give the boys a push in the right direction. Approaching the twins was always a risk, but Lavender had complained about their lack of 'projects' this year. Hmmm.

Parvati tapped her chin. Another thing to consider. But first—

"Hem, hem."

Now that was a sound that should never be enhanced with a Sonorus charm, Parvati thought uncharitable. Still, she had finished WEEKLY VOLDIE and already filled out the quiz — though she wasn't entirely sure what to think about the fact that she apparently would make for a good Death Eater as long as she became a little less independent — so there was no harm in turning towards the teachers' table and paying attention to Professor Umbridge.

Well, no more harm than paying attention to any poisonous, prejudiced, hateful person would do, at least.

Now that Parvati thought about it, that didn't sound very comforting. She was pretty sure those nasty hexes her mother had taught her were meant exactly for the type of person Umbridge was. And wasn't that just a sad statement, both about the standards at the Ministry and at Hogwarts.

Professor Umbridge stood in front of the table, facing the students with an expression of disappointment that made the tips of Parvati's fingers itch.

"Now, now, children, pay attention to your betters."

And Parvati had endured the unpleasantness that was four years of potions lessons by Professor Snape with the Slytherins, but not once had she wanted to spit into a teacher's face so damn bad. The woman had a way of raising her hackles with just a few words in a far too sugary-sweet voice.

Parvati held no love for Professor Snape — though if he were to put a little more effort in his personal hygiene, she could definitely see the appeal Lav always went on about — but she was counting on him losing his patience and poisoning Umbridge's tea. Maybe she'd lock the two of them into a classroom, speed the process up a bit, so to speak.

An elbow was driven non too gently into Parvati's side. She turned to send Lavender a glare, but her best friend simply mouthed, "You were doing it again," causing Parvati to quickly wipe the devilishly scheming look off her face. Not before Seamus carefully nudged away from her though.

A wise guy, that one.

Professor Umbridge was still talking, but Parvati had given up listening after that first sentence. She wouldn't do anyone a favour if she lost it and started hexing that woman the way her mother had taught her to. Well, actually she would do a lot of people a favour, but she was still a Patil and her parents' lenience only went so far.

She was regretting that show of self-restraint more, the longer the vile woman talked however. Bla bla bla the Ministry says bla bla WEEKLY VOLDIE* isn't just a prank gone wrong but the equivalent of committing treason bla bla the Ministry knows bla bla.

By the end of her speech, there wasn't a single student in the Great Hall that didn't look pissed off, offended, or had drifted off completely. It was almost impressive.

There was a mad scramble once Umbridge announced that everyone had to hand in their issue of WEEKLY VOLDIE* — apparently the magazine was against school policy now, because the Ministry was nothing if not diligent in trying to erase the V-word from people's minds, to the point where it was embarrassing — as people used the crowd to smuggle their copies out. At least the teachers hadn't tried to vanish them again.

A loud bang from Umbridge's wand and a squeaked "In an orderly fashion, now, and that will be 40 points from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw," — because the professor was nothing if not subtle — did absolutely nothing to calm the chaos. Neither did Professors McGonagall, Snape or Dumbledore, who seemed quite content to let Umbridge handle the situation.

Parvati considered her copy of the newspaper for a long moment, before she finally lined up with Lavender, Seamus and Dean to hand it over without complaint. She had seen the look on Harry's face when he stumbled back into the common room yesterday night after his detention.

There would be another issue of WEEKLY VOLDIE* in a week's time, of that Parvati had no doubt. She also hadn't failed to notice that Harry had disappeared with Lovegood and Colin Creevey of all people a few moments earlier. There really was no telling what sort of chaos those three could cause if they put their minds to it.

Parvati found herself looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

Martin Cortez was amused.

This was, by itself, not a particularly alarming occurrence. His colleagues would be quick to brush his good mood off as yet another sign of his lacking experience and youth, safe perhaps for a few well-meaning, teasing comments. Martin was only twenty-seven after all, the youngest among their group. Too young, a few of his co-workers whispered where they thought he couldn’t hear, though he did his best not to take the words to heart. It wasn’t like their work was challenging or difficult, but it was hard, and for all his easy smiles and cheerful disposition, Martin could understand their concern.

Azkaban, after all, was no place for the faint-hearted.

Of course, his old classmates would have been much more wary of Martin’s unexpected good humor in spite of the dreary surroundings than his colleagues were. But then those same classmates had ample opportunities to learn that Martin’s sense of humor was much more twisted than most would give a Hufflepuff credit for. 

Ah, the beauty of stereotypes. Everyone complained about them, sure, but when had that ever stopped people from using other’s expectations to their advantage?

Martin himself had made it somewhat of a habit to make the very most of his Hogwarts house. It was always so enjoyable, the way people relaxed just the slightest bit when they learned you were a Hufflepuff. How they let their guard down just a little more than they would otherwise have. For what did they have to fear from the hardworking and the ever loyal? 

Martin smirked.

It could be annoying on occasion — the off-handed "Are you sure you’re a real Hufflepuff?" comments when he handed in a subpar report or went home early, the sharp "A cunning Hufflepuff? Is that even legal?" remarks when he happened to display a trait his house wasn’t known for — but Martin was self-aware enough to recognize that he was just as liable to fall for the same traps. For all his mocking, he’d been caught off-guard same as everyone else when proud Gryffindor Venezuela Rictor had tricked Marcy Dedalus into revealing the existence of her squib brother in an admirable display of twisted word games no one had suspected from the unassuming halfblood.

That had been a good day indeed.

"What’s got you in such a good mood, boy?" Elberecht Werrington wasn’t the worst superior one could end up with, but he had been the head of the human guards of Azkaban for over two decades and it showed. Gruff, harsh and with little patience for social niceties, Werrington could be accused of many things. Coddling his men, the newbies or even the rare visitor, wasn’t one of them. But he kept them alive and soulful, which was probably the point.

Martin, for one, appreciated the man’s priorities. Even if he was unbearable before his morning cup of the dreadful sludge they called coffee. Martin, having downed potions with a better aftertaste, much preferred a good cuppa himself, but to each their own.

"Just my sister’s kid. She sent me these, probably thought I’d get a kick out of it." 

Settling for a half-truth, Martin gestured towards the bunch of crumpled papers the little brat had sent him via owl. An owl that had made it very clear that it appreciated its forced visit to the fearsome prison even less than Minister Fudge on his yearly check-ups. Not that Martin could blame the bird. 

Azkaban itself was fine, and so was guarding prisoners — even if it wasn’t what one might call a very exciting job. But the constant presence of the dementors hung over the island like a thick cloud of colorless despair. And though the soul-sucking creatures were unable to enter the quarters of the guards for obvious reasons, their proximity was always noticeable. A lingering sense of exhaustion and hopelessness, lingering on even the brightest of days. 

There was a reason why so many of the guards ended up addicted to calming potions and liquid happiness before their first year ended. Few of the regular guards stayed longer than three years before they either requested a reassignment or were not-so-gently urged to do so.

Werrington grumbled something that might or might not have been an actual word, not that Martin would waste energy on trying to decipher it. Not before his boss had downed another cup of coffee, at least. It helped that he was still occupied with the paper his niece had sent him.

Alexiosa — poor dear went by Isa, not that Martin blamed her. He appreciated the proud traditions of his family as much as anyone, but when it came to names the Wizarding World really could take a leaf out of the Muggle world’s book as far as he was concerned. There lies power in a name, please. There was power in muggleborns too and you didn’t see the old Lords falling over themselves to get their hands on them, did you? — had his wicked sense of humor and a cutting attitude to match, much to his sister’s exasperation. It wasn’t the first time that the brat had sent Martin something odd she thought he might find entertaining. It was, however, the first time the item in question was so openly questionable.

Not that Ministry regulations mattered much in a place like Azkaban. The guards had more important things to worry about than Fudge’s squabble with a school kid — or so everyone liked to pretend. Of course, were You-Know-Who actually back, it would be very much their problem. The alliance of the dementors was an open secret in their community, and none of them fancied fighting the creatures on their home turf, should it come to that. No, whatever everyone pretended to believe, Martin was keeping a sharp eye on the dementors. And his colleagues. And he wasn’t the only one.

It was for this very reason that Isa’s note, a cheeky 'In case you want to keep your options open', had been burned to crisps and its ashes vanished. Times of peace or not, there were certain jokes it wasn’t safe to say out loud, and wouldn’t be for many years yet.

That didn’t make them any less funny.

Werrington slammed his chipped, now empty cup onto the table.

"Enough daydreaming, Cortez. We’ve got work to do."

Rolling his eyes where his boss wouldn’t see it, Martin put the papers into the oversized pockets of his outer robe and out of his mind and made to follow Werrington out of the tiny, overheated break room. Matters of Dark and Light had been stewing for the past fourteen years, they could wait another few hours.

They had a perimeter to check.

*

Martin had visited many places over the course of his life. None of them had ever lived up to their reputation quite like Azkaban did. Then again, without personal experience it was hard to imagine just how much the infestation of the dementors shaped the island. Hogwarts had taught Martin a great deal about dark creatures, but few were as cursed as dementors. Even among the Dark they had no friends and few allies. Martin had no doubt that You-Know-Who had only ever used them as a weapon because it was better than having them used against his forces.

The cells in Azkaban were small. Not that it mattered much, prisoners usually weren’t in a shape to move after the first few months at the latest. The long, winded floors were dirty, cold and unkept. Nothing to be done against the unforgiving wind and stench of moss, piss and sweat.

Trotting down the corridors, keeping a watchful distance to the bars and taking stock of the state of the inmates was at once exhausting and mind-numbingly boring. Busy work, one of the visiting aurors had called it once uncharitably, and, for all that he was tempted to trip the asshole into a dementor, Martin privately couldn’t help but agree. Couldn’t help but think that maybe he would have preferred wet work instead, if it would only get him off this Merlin-forsaken island. Alas, it was not meant to be.

They took the usual route, starting with the lowest floor and steadily working their way up towards the higher security cases. In a different environment, the high-security cases might have been locked away deep down in the stony cellars that rather reminded Martin of a tomb, but with the dementors being airborne creatures — and the guards having no interest to being locked into close quarters with them if at all avoidable — Azkaban handled things the other way around.

The walk passed in silence for the most part. Werrington occasionally named a prisoner they would have to keep a close eye on — even after months of training Martin didn’t see half the signs Werrington easily picked out. Really, it was freaky the way that man seemed to predict which one’s declining health would lead to an early death and which one would hold on for another decade out of sheer spite. Surprisingly or maybe not, most of the high-security prisoners fell into the latter category. Of course if they had held on for the last fourteen years, there really was no reason to assume they wouldn’t continue to do so.

Martin wondered what the point was. Most of them were mad beyond reason. At this point, death would be a mercy, not a punishment. But then, maybe that was precisely the point.

"Thirty-two won’t last the week," Werrington commented off-handedly.

Martin blinked. Then scrambled for the forms he was required to carry around because few things on Azkaban caused as much paper work as an inmate’s death.

"What’s that?" Werrington stared at the definitely-not-Ministry-ordered-standard-forms in his hand, proclaiming 'WEEKLY VOLDIE*' in bold lettering. "That the letter from your niece?"

Martin couldn’t read the tone of voice, but at least his boss wasn’t screaming. People had a way of becoming down-right hysterical if You-Know-Who was mentioned at the wrong time, particularly after that Potter kid had insisted on his return.

"What can I say? Kid’s got a fucked-up sense of humor." Martin shrugged. It was true enough and the main reason Isa was his favorite among the immediate family.

Chucking the papers over his shoulder — he’d read the thing already and thought it hilarious, not that he would say so now, maybe he’d consider a subscription away from Werrington’s sharp gaze — Martin finally found the correct form and filled out the basic information on inmate thirty-two.

Werrington shook his head but didn’t comment. Neither of the two men payed attention to the pale, skeletal-thin hand that sneaked through the bars and grabbed the discarded newspaper edition.

*

WEEKLY VOLDIE*

The Publication of Everything Tall, Dark and Hairless

Our Ministry’s First Forays Into The Dark: A Cowardly Trap Or A Bold Declaration?

written by H. J. Potter

In recent weeks, rumors point towards a most unexpected development: Indeed, they indicate that one of our esteemed Minister’s very own people has taken a first, tentative step into the enlightening art of torture that we all share a healthy passion for. Not only this, but an unnamed witness suggests that they are deliberately targeting children, an admirable level of cruelty even our most hopeful reporter could not have predicted with any amount of confidence. 

We of WEEKLY VOLDIE* must commend the Minister for this bold declaration, particularly as the Minister’s minion in question is currently stationed at Hogwarts, a school firmly in control of the ever-so close-minded 'Light' — if this is indeed the offering of a future alliance with the Dark it appears to be. This reporter shares your excitement at the possible implications and future legislative opportunities this unexpected curveball may present. And of course our approval of this adorably klutzy, but still commendable attempt to lay the first stone for a successful reign of terror goes without saying. It takes true dedication, a strong will and the strength to turn your back on social conventions that frown upon worthwhile torture lessons as a part of the rearing of our children to build such a regime from the ground up — and we, for one, applaud the Minister for his unconventional but heartfelt statement.

Nevertheless, this bold move leaves many questions unanswered: Is our Ministry indeed finally reaching out towards the long-overlooked Dark? Will he follow through and stand strong in the face of the uproar his stance will undoubtedly cause in those of weaker minds and stomach? Or is this merely a weak attempt to gain VOLDIE*’s favor after having forsaken Him so easily all those years ago? 

Or is something more sinister at work and our long-respected Ministry is now revealing its true face in a desperate bid for power before the Dark has regained its former strength? We at WEEKLY VOLDIE will keep an eye on the situation for you!

VOLDIE*’s mood barometer: Above the justified ire of suffering the deplorable indignity of being suffocated by a terribly unwashed turban and its accompanying garlic stench and below the sweet satisfaction of enjoying the company of at least one mediocrely capable wizard or witch. We recommend to keep a healthy distance from any rats, moles and other embarrassments of a minion that come to mind — a radius of fifteen feet at all times should suffice.

[page 1]

*

Most Evile Hot News of the Week

brought to you by Harri Pott

New Outfit Options For The Well-Dressed Wicked

Twilfitt and Tattings has introduced a new selection of weekday robes this week. Inspired by the elegant, cutting style of Modern Milan and traditional battle robes of central Europe, their waist-emphasizing, knee-length cut as well as the high-buttoned collar are a must-have for any trend-savvy servant of the Dark. Furthermore, the refreshingly wide-cut sleeves allow for a wide range of wand movements outside the immediate view of possible enemies whilst still covering a Witch or Wizard’s forearms at all times. Remember, my dear readers, be it in Azkaban or Little Hangleton, there is no excuse to not be the best-dressed person in the room — or randomly chosen graveyard, as the case may be.

The Dark and Devious Dream Couple’s Challenges

Well-known socialite Magnolia Malfoi has attended the Annual Fundraiser for Magical Orphans. While her outfit was on point as expected, the understated, sky blue robes were overshadowed the glaring absence of her dashing husband, Lucious Malfoi. We are happy to confirm — despite malicious whispers — that the Dark and Devious Dream Couple’s relationship is as strong and unbreakable as always. We of WEEKLY VOLDIE* are confident that Magnolia Malfoi will continue to bear her beloved’s split attention in these tiring times with the grace and dignity befitting of her station — and, of course, look breathtaking whilst doing so.

Love Beyond the Dark?

Aurélie Bayward, daughter of Marcellus and Valerie Bayward, has repeatedly been sighted in the company of Lara and Louis Dwyer. While some sources suggest that the 'Light Lord' may once more employ most underhanded tactics to seduce stout daughters of the dark and trick them into breaking the treasured bonds of family beyond repair, close friends insist their relationship is built on genuine feelings — on both sides, no less. If there love is indeed true, this reporter can only hope that it will survive the turbulent times ahead!

[page 2]

*

Tops & Flops of the Week

VOLDIE*’s TOPS

• Has endured Wormtail’s presence for 32 minutes at a time
• Has kept down broth and bread eleven days in a row
• Has endured Nagini’s terrifying attempt at mothering without twitching once
• Has not killed any of his loyal followers, no matter how whiny
• Has gotten new inspiration on how to achieve His Revenge™
• Has renewed his Daily Prophet subscription
• Has still not given into the temptation to burn down his current residence

VOLDIE*’s FLOPS

• Has not killed Harry Potter
• Has not killed any other people
• Has not managed to re-grow his hair
• Has not yet recognized the advantages of re-growing his hair
• Has not killed any muggles
• Has not gotten Dumbledore kicked out of Hogwarts
• Has not successfully crucio-ed every single Dead Muncher available, though admittedly not for lack of trying

The official stats

Crucios used this week: 17
Imperios used this week: 0
Avada Kedavras used this week: 0
Other spells used this week: 36
Attempts to kill Harry Potter this week: 0
Laws broken this week: 4 [not counting usage of the Unforgivables]
Dead Munchers recruited this week: 0
Plans successfully executed this week: 0
Plans cruelly foiled this week: 0

VOLDIE*’s official status: hiatus still ongoing

[page 3]

*

3 Ways To Reach A Dead Muncher Acceptable Level Of Attractiveness (*1)

written by Hay-Jay Potterdotter

One question our dear readers — platinum blonde and otherwise — have been plagued by relentlessly is what to do when you find yourself, through no fault of your own, so attractive you simply can’t help but accidentally aggravate VOLDIE* by existing. As it is our latest issue that has raised this concern, we believe it is nothing but our duty to help you avoid this particular pitfall in the proud service of Our Dearest and Darkest.

Try out our these three tricks to correct your outer appearance and watch as VOLDIE*’s blood pressure in your mere presence once more returns to healthy, reptilian levels:

1. The most obvious and easiest way to accomplish your goal is to loose your hair. [This is especially true if you are acquainted with a brush and shampoo on a regular basis.] This can be done in a variety of ways, ranging from hexing your hair off every couple of days to using a Dark and Questionable Ritual known to curse your physical body for the rest of your life. As long as you don’t resort to plebeian Muggle means such as cutting your hair off, everything will be fine. And if you truly find yourself at a loss, VOLDIE*’s Horrifying Hairless Potion, brewed by two of our best potioneers neither of which is named Weasel, is as of now available for 10 Galleons via Owl service.
2. Another way to loose whatever physical appeal you may have at one point had is to remain in your animagus form for an unadvisable amount of time. This, admittedly, takes a great deal of dedication — though I believe I speak for all of us when I say that this is the least we can do for VOLDIE* — and takes a great deal of effort in the beginning, as it also requires you to become an animagus first. That said, a good twelve years in any given form, be it a rat or something impressive, have been shown to reliably ruin any physical appeal you may have had.
3. Finally, if you are truly desperate or simply lack the dedication that comes natural to a decent Servant of the Dark and are trying to hide this personal flaw, you may choose the road of good, old-fashioned maiming. In this case, as most wounds that are not caused by Dark curses are easily healed, you may want to employ the help of several of your fellow Dead Munchers and allow them to curse you in the next week. If you need any suggestions regarding appropriately dangerous curses, the life and continued survival of Moody Mad-Eddy may serve as some inspiration. And of course it is common curtesy to return the favor and curse your fellow minions, it would not do for them to come out looking too good — you are only thinking of their continued health and survival after all.

If you have experience with any other ways to successfully diminish physical attractiveness, please do not hesitate to contact WEEKLY VOLDIE* via owl.

May your appearance henceforth be unworthy of VOLDIE* once more!

How To Properly Monologue Like A Professional: A Tutorial (*2)

written by Har E. Pott-Erbrat

Monologuing in front of your defeated enemies [and potentially your cheering allies] is a widely acknowledged and often expected skill any Dark Lord is to employ if he wishes to be taken seriously. And while it is generally tradition that any proper minion is to be quiet and supportive during such an engaging speech, on occasion you may find yourself in a position to give such a monologue yourself — only if our beloved VOLDIE* is unavailable and has trusted you to fulfill your mission on your own, of course. It would not do to overstep. [Seriously. Don’t.]

Like any other skill, monologuing is something to be learned through repetition. Do not be discouraged if your first attempts fail to impress your fellow Dark witches and wizards. If you continue to practice diligently and follow this step by step tutorial, your monologues will soon do justice to VOLDIE*’s cause and be the source of admiration and envy of your fellow Minions of Darkness!

Step 1: Always be sure to begin your monologue whilst the poor, misguided pawns and unrepentant fanatics of the 'Light' are still alive. They may be on their way to bleed out or otherwise suffer from grievous injuries, but unless time is of the essence you should always hold your killing blow until after you have finished your speech. There is little to be gained from raging on a dead body after all, and, really, people will eventually start to talk.

Step 2: Unless sufficiently maimed, be sure to secure the enemy before you begin your talk. Binding them with ropes should suffice, once you have disarmed them, there is nothing they can do to free themselves anyways. And really, the average Dark witch or wizard might be too polite to interrupt you, but the same sadly can not be said for the blinded, self-righteous Gryffindors you may encounter in your battles. The lack of manners these days is a tragic thing indeed, so be sure to consider a gag due consideration, even if their enforced silence may be less satisfying.

Step 3: Make sure to always be honest — unless you are relying on the survival of your foe and intend to mislead the foolhardy forces of the 'Light'. Nothing is as devastating as the brutal truth. And besides your enemy is as good as dead already, there really is no point to keep vital information to yourself once you have made it this far.

Step 4: Be open to constructive criticism. While it is true that most of your enemies are raging fools to far gone into their delusions to do anything but spit pointless insults in your face, some may offer you valid feedback on your performance. Do your best to remain calm, open-minded and listen closely. You may dismiss your advice afterwards, but remember that it does not hurt to consult people with different perspectives than your own.

Step 5: Do not be discouraged by lack of respect and admiration in the beginning, either from your colleagues or your adversaries. Give yourself time to learn and grow as a moderately-public speaker. Not everyone can be a natural VOLDIE*.

Step 6: Do not let the possible escape of your enemies during your monologue dishearten you. Consider it instead an opportunity to learn from your mistakes and be sure to put more effort into securing your adversaries the next time. Failures in this regard are expected even at a very advanced level — as VOLDIE*’s own experiences have shown, though his occasionally slow-progressing success only makes his unbroken willingness to lead the Dark all the more admirable — and while they can be an annoyance, they are not the end of the world.

Always remember, monologues may take up time and be an inconvenience to plan and prepare for on occasion, but in the end they are well worth the effort. After all, how can anyone, never mind a bigoted warrior of the 'Light', appreciate the brilliance of your scheme if you do not explain it to them? Exactly. 

May your future monologues strike fear in the hearts of your enemies — with VOLDIE*’s blessings, of course!

[page 4]

*

HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW OUR MOST CHERISHED VOLDIE*? TAKE THIS QUIZ AND FIND OUT

Are you truly one of VOLDIE*’s most trusted or are you just kidding yourself? Fill out the following quiz to help you figure out where your place in the Forces of the Dark truly is and how well you know VOLDIE* in the areas that truly matter.
Please answer each question honestly and without too much thought, it will help get you the most accurate result. Once you are finished, check the symbol behind each answer you’ve marked and count which symbol you have chosen the most. Then read the results for said symbol and you have your answer.

1. Was VOLDIE* a Slytherin at Hogwarts?

a Yes [*]
b VOLDIE* is not a Slytherin, he is the Slytherin [—]
c No, VOLDIE* was always far too advance to bother with an ordinary Hogwarts education [!]
d No, VOLDIE* fooled the Sorting Hat and Dumb-As-Door with a masterful performance in a House-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named [?]

2. What is VOLDIE*’s favorite color?

a The yellow of Hufflepuff’s house [?]
b The violet of the ceiling of the Great Hall at sunset [—]
c The red of his enemies’ spilled blood [*]
d The green of the Avada Kedavra [!]

3. What is VOLDIE*’s most prized skill?

a To split himself into multiple VOLDIE*s [?]
b Flying without a broom [—]
c The Unforgiveables [!]
d Parseltongue [*]

4. Who is VOLDIE*’s favorite minion?

a Bella Trixie The Strange [!]
b Luscious Malfoi  [*]
c A Serious Black [?]
d The Severe Prince  [—]

WEEKLY Joke (*3):

When VOLDIE* is dunked into a blubbering potion, VOLDIE* does not get wet. The blubbering potion gets VOLDIE*.

[page 5]

*

Results:

The majority of your answers was a type [*] : You have a solid understanding of VOLDIE*. While you do occasionally tend to let yourself get caught up in rumors and superstition instead of trusting your own instincts and observations, overall you know VOLDIE* well enough to correctly read his mood, interpret his orders and foresee his demands. This is a great foundation for a successful working relationship that will further VOLDIE*’s goals as well as the Dark Cause as a whole. Just be careful not to mix up facts with what the less observant consider common knowledge, a misunderstanding at the wrong time could have a lasting, negative impact on you as well as VOLDIE*.

The majority of your answers was a type [—] : You know VOLDIE* better than he knows himself — and definitely better than VOLDIE* would like. For all your talent and promise, your position within VOLDIE*’s honorable ranks is precarious for that alone. Of course, you already know that. As you are still alive at this point, we assume you are somewhat capable of hiding the true depth of your knowledge. Nevertheless, we urge you to be careful. Should you raise VOLDIE*’s suspicion, he may mistake you for a spy and the truth would only make matters worse. You may want to volunteer for the next longterm assignment that comes up, just to be on the safe side.

The majority of your answers was a type [!] : While your enthusiastic hero-worship is a constant source of amusement and flattery for the ever-so-devlish Dark Lord, you are well within the realms of 'trying too hard' as the muggles say. The mere fact that we ascribe a muggle term to your behavior is really all that should be said on the matter. You would do well to make use of that sense of self-preservation you supposedly possess and tone it down. Blind loyalty is all good and well, there is no reason to make a spectacle of yourself. Sooner or later, someone is going to lose their patience with you. If you genuinely wish to improve yourself, you may want to seek out an accomplished master of the mind arts and learn occlumency to help you gain control of yourself and your thoughts. Good luck!

The majority of your answers was a type [?] : Your understanding of VOLDIE* is rather limited, to say the least. It is hard to say if you have so little interest in the person behind the Dark Lord Persona or are so unobservant as to be totally lost to anything not pointed out at you. Either way, your appalling honesty on this subject is evidence of your utter lack of prudent self-control. We recommend you distance yourself from VOLDIE* immediately — physically, that is, not in terms of politics and goals. Please also keep in mind that a sense of humor, whilst entertaining, does not always guarantee a long lifespan.

You do not have a clear majority for a type of answers: Your knowledge on VOLDIE* is mediocre and your guesses are hits as often as they are misses. You may wish to keep your thoughts to yourself and simply follow the predominant position at any given time. Not all is lost however: If you put in serious effort to pay better attention in the future, you may yet get to know the real person behind the intimidating mantle of VOLDIE* and secure a clearly defined place among the Dark Forces for yourself. 

[page 6]

*

Letters from Readers:

[We from WEEKLY VOLDIE* do not take responsibility for the content of our readers’ letters, nor do said letters reflect our own views and opinions.]

There are certain things not openly talked about, Potter, and you-know-what is one of them. Keep your silence or deal with the consequences.
— Probably a Hufflepuff*

Not sure what to think about how I apparently make a good Death Eater??? Like, Harry, how serious is this thing? Cause I really can’t be one, my Ma would skin me.
— K

Potter, are you trying to get yourself killed?
— Sent in 24 times, always unsigned

Mr Potter, you will cease to hand out this ridiculous paper immediately . Your incessant demands for attention and childish tantrums are one thing, that you are using your unseemly behavior as an excuse to poison the impressionable minds of our country’s children is another thing altogether. The Ministry will not stand for your blatant abuse of the boundless favoritism Mr Dumbledore seems to have treated you with so far. You will report to my office at 8 o’clock tonight for detention.
— Professor Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary of Minister Fudge

This is hilarious. I almost choked but so damn worth it. Thanks, man. Seriously, I needed that.
— Seam

I understand that to your current generation, the war with You-Know-Who is little more than an abstract history session. However, I urge you to reconsider your decision to make light of one of the most devastating madmen in recent history and all the terrible crimes that were committed in his name. This project is entertaining enough, but this does not change the fact that you are making fun of a tragedy that cost hundreds of good people their lives — and many of them have relatives and friends alive that still remember their sacrifices. Instead of honoring them, you are mocking the pain, tears and blood our hard-won peace has been built on. And that is something I cannot abide.
— K. Shacklebolt

You realize that rat poison is in fact poisonous to animagi, whether it’s muggle-made or not, right?
— Lily Moon

READER’S CHOICE

Who has a greater sense of style: VOLDIE* [drawing of a dramatically billowing, black cloak with a drawn-up hood casting the face in shadows, only a pair of glowing, dark red eyes gleaming in the darkness, above the figure on the grey sky looms the glowing Dark Mark] or Dumbly [caricature of a wizened, old man with a long, white beard, an imposing staff and a long robe colored lime green robes with bright orange stripes that fade into deep purple towards the seam]? Owl us your vote now!

[page 7]

*

Hermione was rattled.

Granted, this wasn’t anything new or unexpected. With Hogwarts slowly being taken over by the foolish Miss Umbridge — who really had no clue what kind of powers she was messing with, Hermione would pity her if the woman wasn’t so utterly vile — and Harry continuing his latest, Voldemort-centric madness, she wasn’t exactly running out of things to worry about. 

Not to mention, Harry’s WEEKLY VOLDIE* coup had renewed the Weasley twins’ interest in him. Hermione had seen the way they were watching him now. She’d had nightmares about that look in their eyes. And Harry, sweet, oblivious darling that he was, soaked their compliments and — shudder — suggestions up like a dried-up sponge.

It was a hollow comfort that at least she wasn’t the only one watching Fred and George with narrow eyes. Seamus and Hannah both seemed to take exception to the twins’ fascination with their favorite crush — and, really, was it too much to ask for someone normal, non-obsessive to become infatuated with Harry one of these days? He didn’t even have a love life yet, and Hermione was still on the verge of a nervous breakdown!

But all of these worries paled in comparison to the suspicious behavior Hermione had observed ever since two days ago Harry had received a scrap of a letter from what looked like a half-dead seagull. Harry was doing his best to hide it, but Hermione had been his best friend for four years filled with death-defying adventures. She knew him too well and she knew what those grins, a little too bright to count as harmless, really meant. Harry was excited.

It made Hermione all kinds of twitchy.

Ron, the steadfast loyal friend few people gave him enough credit to see, thought it was a good sign. He’d even used such phrases as 'being happy for his friend' and how 'nice' it was to see Harry come out of his shell again. Hermione would have cold-conked him with her book if Madame Pince didn’t frown on such violence in her library.

The point was, ever since Harry had received that strange letter — and that he burned it before anyone else had the chance to read it was a warning sign if there ever was one — he’d been nervously excited. He and Luna and Colin, that was. And if that wasn’t a heart-attack-inducing combination, Hermione didn’t know what was.

Those three were up to something. And as usual it fell to Hermione to figure it out before Harry brought down Hogwarts’ wards on accident, killed Umbridge on purpose or did something equally well-meaning but ultimately devastating.

Which was why she was currently stalking her friends. Well, if anyone asked, she was taking a walk with said friends, who just so happened to be unaware of her presence. Thankfully, people generally knew better than to ask Hermione anything when her hair reached this particular level of frazzled.

If only WEEKLY VOLDIE* had been a complete flop, Hermione couldn’t help but think mournfully. If only it hadn’t been the single most hilarious thing most of the bored student body had seen since school had started up again. And Umbridge’s reaction had done nothing but fuel the fire. Really, it didn’t even matter that most students didn’t believe in Voldemort’s return and thought Harry completely insane. What really mattered was that they were a bunch of teenagers locked in a castle with little to do beyond school matters and a truly dreadful woman for a teacher that everyone hated. And now that Harry had amassed a following of loyal readers, there was no way he wasn’t going to milk this for all it was worth. No matter how many detentions Umbridge dished out.

There.

With one last flick of her wand, Hermione dismantled the last of Harry’s locking charms on the door of a random, abandoned class room on the fourth floor. It had taken her the better part of the day to track them down to this place. Harry was all but invisible when he wanted to be, Luna never seemed to draw anyone’s attention and Colin could be as sneaky as he could be loud.

Being finally presented with the chance to confront her best friend about his newest questionable hobby, Hermione did what any properly raised, proud witch would do: She blew the door open with a bang and jumped into the room with her wand raised, shouting "HA!" at the top of her lungs.

An awkward moment of silence followed as three pairs of eyes stared up at her from where her suspects — ahem, friends — were seated on the floor in the middle of the room.

Hermione cleared her throat, determined not to let their apparent harmlessness fool her. She knew better than that, she wasn’t a clueless Death Eater.

"Harry James Potter!" she snapped in her sternest voice. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry blinked. "Well, I always thought I looked spectacular in royal blue, no matter what the bathroom mirror says."

"You do," Luna assured him with a pat on his forearm.

"You really think so?"

Luna nodded emphatically. Harry beamed.

"Well, be that as it may," because Hermione knew better than to let them derail the conversation this early into her inquisition, thank you very much, "I would very much like to know what the three of you have been up to."

She’d expected more of Luna Lovegood’s personal brand of distraction. Or Harry’s pleading puppy eyes that he liked to employ when he was up to something he knew she wouldn’t approve of. What Hermione hadn’t expected was for Colin Creevey light up like Harry had declared him his personal hero.

"Harry’s teaching us how to cast a patronus!" His excitement was so obvious, Hermione could have sworn the very air vibrated with it.

Well. She could honestly say that whatever she had expected, this wasn’t it. With Umbrigde’s proven uselessness as a professor, Hermione had entertained a vague notion of asking Harry to tutor her and Ron — it wasn’t like they could afford not to know how to fight, what with Voldemort and Harry’s own aspirations — but with all the drama around WEEKLY VOLDIE* it had honestly slipped her mind.

"You are?"

"Sure. It’s a damn useful skill to have in general and once Voldie regains his strength, it won’t be long before the dementors flock to him," Harry stated matter-of-fact. "He’s sure of that and I don’t plan on betting on the Ministry. For anything, really."

A fair point, indeed.

"That’s— a brilliant idea!" Hermione exclaimed honestly. She couldn’t help it. She’d wanted to learn the patronus since third year — back when Harry had been pale and unresponsive and lifeless and she could do nothing — and it absolutely was a skill they should spread as much as they could. There was nothing funny or harmless about dementors. And that was before you factored a war with Voldemort into the equation.

"You really think so?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Of course! The dementors are perhaps one of the greatest threats, save for Voldemort and his Inner Circle. And if there’s anyone who can teach us, it’s you!"

"Us?"

"Yes!" Hermione clapped her hands. "Oh, I can’t wait to see Ron’s patronus, there’s a bet going on about it being a sloth, you know. Idiots, the lot of them, it’s like they haven’t seen him at all in the last few years. And Seamus and Dean will probably want to join in as well— if they didn’t, Ginny would flay them alive and they know it."

Harry pointedly cleared his throat. "Hermione? Your faith in me is appreciated, but I’d like to successfully teach that spell to at least one person before you sign me up as a junior professor if it’s all the same to you."

The amused grin belied his scolding tone. Hermione grinned impishly back. "I make no promises."

"Of course you don’t."

"Now can we go back to the lesson?" Colin asked impatiently. "We’re kind of on a deadline here."

His words pinged something on Hermione’s Harry-alert, although it was too faint to be interpreted. Before she had the chance to ask, Luna spoke up with a blasé, "Besides you may have a harder time than you think convincing other students to join in. Most of the dark and neutral families will be understandably hesitant to sign up for such lessons."

"What? Why?" Ignoring the fact that Hermione didn’t think the alliances were quite as clearly defined as to go by family name, she couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to know how to defend yourself against a soul-sucking creature. Who wouldn’t want to be capable of that? She’d have thought even the Slytherins would be interested. Self-preservation was right up their alley, wasn’t it?

"The patronus is pure light magic, Hermione," Luna said softly. "It is the kind of magic witches and wizards with a dark or neutral core struggle to accomplish. If overdone — especially whilst they’re still young and their cores are still developing — it could permanently twist their very magic and keep them from ever reaching their true potential. It is only due to Colin’s unaffiliated magic as a muggleborn and the Lovegoods have been light-oriented for centuries that we’re here now."

A long moment of silence passed as Hermione stared at the girl, attempting to come up with a response that wouldn’t make Harry frown at her.

"Actually, I’m here because Harry asked me to," Colin piped up.

"And your dedication to becoming a proper minion is duly noted," Luna conceded.

"That," Hermione said after taking a couple of deep breaths, "is the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve heard since Professor Umbridge’s welcome speech." And that was really saying something.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed intrigued. "Is that really true?"

“Of course. In fact, I’ve long suspected that Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick are secretly part of a conspiracy to turn the proud heirs of traditionally dark and neutral families malleable and corrupt their own magical cores with light magic they’ll never be able to cast as good as their natural inclination. Don’t you think it’s suspicious that the very first charm we learn in his class is the Lumos charm that literally makes light?”

“No!” Hermione snapped. It wasn’t. Lumos was a simple spell that wouldn’t cause any undue harm if over- or underpowered, which made it perfect to help children get a handle on how much power to put behind a charm. And there was no such thing as light, dark and neutral cores. Where did Luna even come up with this stuff?

Harry hmm-ed thoughtfully. “I’ve never heard of this conspiracy.”

“You’re the figurehead of the Light, Harry. You wouldn’t have,” Luna explained sympathetically. “It’s why your own magic isn’t as strong as it should be. You’re fighting your own nature, poisoning yourself with all that light magic you keep casting without properly balancing it out. Whatever anyone might say, the Potters haven’t been light for several generations.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Hermione said after a moment of disbelieving silence. “And also absolutely not true.”

“That’s what everyone thinks.” Luna nodded and reached out to pat her head. “That’s why they get away with it.”

Which sparked a twenty minute discussion that ended with a wide-eyed Colin and Harry, an unimpressed Luna and a frustrated Hermione. 

Why, oh why couldn’t Harry go back to obsessing over Malfoy? At least the worst he did was throw insults in Hermione’s face.

Chapter Text

Quiet steps shaky hands was impatient.

It had taken them longer than expected to gave their guards the slip. Not that they minded them, usually, not when sharp tongue kind eyes gave the orders. But today. Today they were on a mission. An important one too, and that didn’t happen often. Quiet steps shaky hands wasn’t the kind of person people involved in important missions if they could avoid it — so they tended to make up their own.

And this one.

This one was special. Even for them. Especially for them.

This one was—

Their hands trembled harder than usual and their heart hammered away in their chest, almost like it wanted to escape their bone and flesh prison. Quiet steps shaky hands emphasized. They often felt that way. Usually when they were in close proximity of loud voice cold heart— screamshoutpainstoppainshoutno—

They were frozen in place when the world resettled around them. Blinked. Pushed the wetness in their eyes aside in favor of piecing their thoughts back together. Like the puzzles sharp tongue kind eyes conjured for them sometimes. They didn’t always fit together well and sometimes they ruined them when they tried to make them fit but finally the yelling inside their head was quiet again.

They liked the quiet.

They liked noise too though. Especially nice noise, like chiming silver bells. Like the one they were following right now.

The hallways were always longer when they followed someone. But even though there were others  about, none payed quiet steps shaky hands any mind. They were too quiet. Too good at passing by unseen.

[Their guards wouldn’t find them until they wanted them too, but sometimes they pretended, so as not to offend anyone’s pride. Pride was a dangerous thing to hurt and they didn’t like to hurt. Hurt wasn’t nice.]

They almost missed the secret door, but quiet steps shaky hands had been preparing for this for a long time. The warm haze of don’t-look-here-nothing-to-see-here-just-move-on was clingy, sticking to their head like a swarm of angry honeybees to their hive. But they took a deep breath, so deep they could feel it all the way down to their stomach, pushed through and pulled the door open.

The room was warm, lit, cozy. They liked it immediately. There were four others inside, staring at them. They didn’t like that at all. Their right hand clenched around the doorknob, otherwise it would’ve been shaking very hard. Their left one certainly was.

Quiet steps shaky hands opened their mouth. Noise was good, except no, badbadbad, bequiet, don’tmakeasound—

Closed it again. This wasn’t— They couldn’t—

"You alright?"

They snapped their head around at the sound of the question, soft and not angry at all. Met the bright green eyes of deadly lightening roaring storm.

Finally.

Breathed.

"Hello."

* 

WEEKLY VOLDIE*

The Publication of Everything Dark and Shady 

Ignorance and Indifference: VOLDIE*’s Most Valuable Allies

written by H. J. Potter

If the muggles are to be believed, understanding what you don’t know is in itself knowledge. And while we can’t in good consciousness recommend listening to their odd notions and wisdom all that often, in this particular case they may be onto something.

We of WEEKLY VOLDIE* have to admit that most of us haven’t had the honor of being alive during the height of our most adored Darkness’ last reign. We have heard the tales of his impressive feats and magical prowess — one cannot live in Magical Britain without being regaled with our Darkest Lord’s brilliance and terribleness — but we have not lived through such glorious times. As such, we have been shamefully unaware to a certain degree of just how his VOLDIE*-ness has risen to power during the First War. 

It is now with great relief that we are beginning to understand the true magnitude of our dearest VOLDIE*’s achievements. For you see, my dear readers, as magnificent as our Darkest of the Dark is and as far as he has transcended humanity, even He does have his limits. 

This, fortunately, is where we come in. And I’m not just talking about us here at WEEKLY VOLDIE* or even the most devoted of Dead Munchers. No. For you see, even with his most efficient fighters, VOLDIE* could not have made it as far as he did without all of your support. Every single witch and wizard has done their utmost best to support our cause, if not in the open, then in silent agreement and casual inaction. It is admirable, astonishing even, how our Darkest Lord has brought us, the people of Magical Britain together. Together, we stand against those who wish to weaken and harm our beloved VOLDIE*! Together, we ensure his safety and help him regain his former strength! Together, we may one day, many years into the future, look back on these eventful times with a tearful smile, secure in the knowledge that, for all his greatness, VOLDIE* would not have come as far as he has, as fast as he has, without our help. We, together, have made this possible in the first place! Rejoice, my readers, for all too soon our continuous efforts will finally bear fruit!

Do not worry, we at WEEKLY VOLDIE* will continue to keep you updated on all relevant developments. But with everything we are all currently accomplishing, we feel confident to announce that the future we’re working towards will be one after VOLDIE*’s own heart for sure!

VOLDIE*’s mood barometer: Approaching a close to positive outlook on life, in no small part thanks to a questionable but apparently therapeutic obsession with round glass cubes. Potentially hazardous activities like juggling, asking stupid questions or handing any responsibility at all to wormtails should nevertheless be avoided.

[page 1]

*

Most Evile Hot News of the Week

brought to you by Harri Pott

Slytherin’s Star Couple Torn Apart Forever?

Rumor has it that Panny Park-In-Son and Dragon Malfoi have broken up for the very last time! Much to the shock of this reporter, it appears that after two years of back and forth, Panny Park-In-Son has put an end to their relationship for real. Close friends of the couple admit that the Dream Team has been struggling for a while, though they too have not seen the ending coming. It appears that Dragon Malfoi has been struggling with his Hairy obsession for a while and Panny — while understanding — has finally reached her breaking point. What this will mean for this year’s unofficial Hogwarts Christmas Ball is unclear, but we at WEEKLY VOLDIE* will keep you up-to-date!

Pink Is The New Black

The Leagues of Darkness are known for many things. Unfortunately, their bold fashion choices are not among them. While traditional, black wizard robes are a solid choice to stress their closeness to the common people and make it easier for young, impressional Hogwarts students to picture themselves among them, they do not truly speak of a willingness to innovate and inspire change that goes beyond the political. Therefore, for all her personal misgivings, this reporter has to applaud the latest Ministry plants’ bold fashion statement: Dressed in a wide variation of shades of pink, Under-The-Bridge does not just further the Ministry’s agenda at Hogwarts, but also fosters a regime of fear, terror and ignorance that we, as VOLDIE*’s staunchest supports can only admire. Our hearts may be as black as can be, has the time come for our robes to show their true colors?

Harry Potter A Dementor Whisperer?

As some of our readers may already know, our highly regarded VOLDIE*’s favorite chew toy Harry Potter has faced off against the esteemed power of the Ministry this summer. In a trial before the wisest and oldest of our world, Harry Potter has implied that he was forced to defend himself against a swarm of dementors in one of his heavily guarded safehouses. This is of course a ludicrous statement, however as the Ministry has full control of all these very dangerous beasts. However, as the Ministry has not prosecuted Harry Potter for slander, this reporter sees it as her moral obligation to get to the bottom of it. If Harry Potter has indeed encountered dementors this summer, is it possible that the Boy-Who-Didn’t-Get-Killed has dabbled into magics beyond even the dark and has gained control of the dementors this way? We at WEEKLY VOLDIE* will be sure to let you know as soon as we know more!

[page 2]

*

Tops & Flops of the Week

VOLDIE*’s TOPS

• Has endured Wormtail’s presence for 20 minutes at a time
• Has risen above broth and deemed potato mush acceptable for his digestive system now
• Has made Harry Potter miserable for three consecutive nights
• Has not killed any of his followers, not even Wormtail
• Has continued to plan His Revenge™
• Has received the Daily Prophet
• Has been amused by the Daily Prophet
• Has gotten blood on yet another carpet, further improving the decor of his current residence

VOLDIE*’s FLOPS

• Has not killed Harry Potter
• Has not killed any other people
• Has not managed to re-grow his hair
• Has not killed any muggles
• Has not gotten Dumbledore kicked out of Hogwarts
• Has not successfully crucio-ed every single Dead Muncher available, though admittedly not for lack of trying

The official stats

Crucios used this week: 11
Imperios used this week: 0
Avada Kedavras used this week: 0
Other spells used this week: 42
Attempts to kill Harry Potter this week: 0
Attempts to annoy Harry Potter this week: 5
Laws broken this week: 6 [not counting usage of the Unforgivables]
Dead Munchers recruited this week: 0
Plans successfully executed this week: 0
Plans cruelly foiled this week: 0

VOLDIE*’s official status: end of hiatus is approaching in three…

WHAT IF (*2)

by guest author H.P.

…our most esteemed colleagues from the Daily Prophet had not taken an oath to always report in a neutral, truthful fashion, as serious as a professional journalist ought to? What if they had in fact succumbed to the dubious political pressure of a flailing Minister to run a morally questionable smear campaign against an underage, orphaned wizard who shall remain unnamed for the sake of his privacy? Such a proclamation is absurd, of course, as no reporter of honor or basic understanding of civility would ever compromise their integrity on such a fundamental level. Nevertheless, when you close your eyes for a moment and really focus, can you imagine it? Can you imagine living in such a world, nodding and smiling and going along with such a terrible injustice, not once wondering whether you or one of your children will some day be in that child’s place?

What a scary world that would be, right?

[page 3]

*

3 Basic Rules Your Interior Design Considerations For When You Have The Honor Of Housing VOLDIE*

written by Hay-Jay Potterdotter

Our most beloved VOLDIE*’s hiatus is fast — though as always not fast enough — approaching its end. Like our dear readers, we at WEEKLY VOLDIE* can hardly wait for our esteemed Darkest and Dearest One to finally rejoin our society again. As this grand day looms ever closer, we have prepared some valuable advice for you on how to refurnish and equip your lovely home. After all, you want to be prepared to welcome VOLDIE* into your lovely domicile, should you ever be granted this incredible honor, don’t you?

In anticipation of your needs, we have prepared three easy to implement tips on how to turn your private home around and transform it into a building worthy of housing VOLDIE*:

1. Ensure that your cellar gives off a dungeon-appropriate aesthetic and is fit to hold and secure undesirable elements of society that may offend or threaten VOLDIE* at any given time. This includes rusty iron bars, uncomfortably screeching doors with large keys you can hang a single nail on the opposite wall — just out of reach of the bars — wet, moldy walls and unidentifiable fluids on the grounds. Do ensure that the door to the cellar can only be opened from the outside for security reasons and is appropriately warded against curious guests and unwelcome Ministry officials — so all Ministry officials. If you do not have a cellar, the attic, an unused guest room, a cupboard under the stairs or a garden shed may be reconstructed to suit your needs.
2. Place large rocks — at least one meter in diameter — strategically in every room of import that may house our Dark Emperor in the future. Be sure to keep at a temperature of at least 40° celsius constantly. His Snakeness’ loyal companion Nagini will thank you for it and so will VOLDIE*, even if not out loud. [Also, as previously stated, it is never a bad idea to get on a huge, human-eating snake’s good side.] 
3. Get rid off any and all carpets you may have in your home. Instead your floors should be covered in stone, marble or noble metal if you can afford it. Not only is it a simple, uncomplicated design choice that is easily implemented with the help of magic and a house elf or several, depending on the chosen color it may also brighten up the room or alternatively create the gloomy, ominous atmosphere you’ve always been aiming for. In addition, you save yourself the trouble of trying to get blood and other, less interesting body fluids out of your expensive, hand-woven carpets.

If you can think of any additional design choices that will increase His Great Terribleness’ comfort and improve your home’s interior at the same time, don’t hesitate to owl WEEKLY VOLDIE* and share your ideas!

May your home henceforth be worthy of VOLDIE*!

*

How To Trick Dunderheads Into Thinking You’re Not A Dead Muncher For The Advanced (*1)

written by Har E. Pott-Erbrat

It is a most unfortunate truth that the honor of being a loyal Minion of the Dark Forces is not a politically correct position to have in the current, vaguely dark-hostile climate. To ensure that you do not put yourself into unnecessary jeopardy or lose undue influence among our fellow-but-not-yet-enlightened wizards and witches, it may sometimes be necessary to convince those around you of your alliance to the current system.

Thankfully there are a few simple steps you can take to ensure that no one could ever convincingly accuse you of being a Dead Muncher and may in fact lose all credibility if they attempt to move against you. Just remember, this is a tutorial for the advanced because while the measures themselves are easy to accomplish, you will have to bring them across with a certain level of sincerity. This may require a Slytherin Mask of level 3 or beyond to accomplish successfully. 

Step 1: Own various muggle devices, no matter how useless, and place them in strategic places like the entrance hall [or a warded and secured hidden room if you truly want to sell the part]. No one will suspect your true alliance when you handle a phelly-ton like a pro and baffle your guests by inviting them to a common muggle drink. If they have even basic manners or are proud of their shamefully misguided pro-muggle leanings, they will feel obligated to accept. Not only can you then enjoy watching them suffer through a glass of cod liver oil for free, they may even change their minds about the true nature of muggles!

Step 2: Advocate for house elf rights. This is such a ridiculous notion that the Light will immediately trust you or consider you too crazy to pose a threat. Moreover, you could have only come to such a conclusion by prolonged exposure to muggleborns — you should call them muggleborns to sell this spiel — and their odd ideas. And if you really want to sell this pretense, regularly thank your house elves instead of crucio-ing them. As reasonable as the latter response may be, we all know of the unreasonably soft hearts the pretentious Light pretends they have. Just make sure the house elves in question are not holding anything valuable.

Step 3: Convince your heir to get sorted into Gryffindor or — but only if you are truly committed to this course of action — Hufflepuff. They may miss out on some of the obligatory Slytherin Mask training during their Hogwarts years, but nothing that can’t be corrected over the holidays. Plus, your heir has just become a valuable spy and is in the perfect position to gain the Light’s trust and betray them later on. VOLDIE* will appreciate your foresight, that’s for sure! [A word of caution: Only choose Hufflepuff if your heir is truly up for the challenge. They will never be the same again.]

Always remember that these illusions are only as convincing as you make them. They require time, effort and an iron will, but the end result will be well worth the effort! Have faith in yourself, don’t hesitate and go through with the charade for at least one day longer than you are absolutely convinced you have to to sell it.

May your future lies concern your closest allies and confuse your most dangerous enemies — whilst working in the favor of VOLDIE*, of course!

[page 4]

*

WHAT IS YOUR TRUE HOGWARTS’ HOUSE? TAKE THIS QUIZ AND FIND OUT

All pretense aside, we all know the "Sorting Ceremony" at Hogwarts is rigged to the point of utter rendering it meaningless. But the time for silly pandering towards Dumbest-Board’s schemes is well and truly over. It is time to take a stand and reveal your truest nature — for how else can VOLDIE* be expected to put his trust in you? Take this test to prove yourself to His Evilness — and don’t forget to include it in your application to the Dark Forces when the time comes!

Please answer each question honestly and without too much thought, it will help get you the most accurate result. Once you are finished, check the symbol behind each answer you’ve marked and count which symbol you have chosen the most. Then read the results for said symbol and you have your answer.

1. What was Albus Too-Many-Middle-Names Dumbledore’s Hogwarts’ house?

a Likely Slytherin, even if no one has the guts to say it [*]
b Gryffindor, obviously [—]
c Not Gryffindor duh [!]
d One of the other two [?]

2. If I had been born a squib, I would have…?

a  What’s a squib? [*]
b Infiltrated the Muggle Society and killed as many of them as I could [?]
c There is no such thing as squibs in my family [—]
d Who says I’m not one? Have you ever payed enough attention to see me perform magic? [!]

3. What is the main goal of the Dark Order?

a To eradicate all muggles and mudbloods [—]
b To attempt to and ultimately fail to kill Harry Potter [!]
c To serve VOLDIE* to the best of our abilities [?]
d To represent the goals of the conservative dark and return towards a political equilibrium between both sides [*]

4. What did Oli-samander tell you when you bought your wand?

a My parents' wand cores [—]
b Yeah, like I trust the official, British-Ministry-approved wandmaker [!]
c Yeah, like I payed for my wand [?]
d Some overdramatic declaration about the greatness of terribleness [*]

WEEKLY Joke:

Q: What is the difference between a wormtail and a worm’s tail?
A: One has an actual use, even if the potions that require it are nothing special.

[page 5]

*

Results

The majority of your answers was a type [*]: Well, there’s no way to soften the blow: You’re a Gryffindor! Don’t worry, we all know you’re trying your best. And not all is lost: Don’t believe everything people tell you, Gryffindors can be overzealous psychopaths too! Just think of Serious Black! Never has there been a more efficient, ruthless Servant of VOLDIE* before his time! You do have a tendency to be easily placated by meaningless drivel, a virtue that is much appreciated at VOLDIE*’s side. Furthermore, you do not have to be limited by your strong sense of right and wrong as long as it is appropriately managed by his Lordliness. So do not worry: You will fit into VOLDIE*’s forces as well as anyone!

The majority of your answers was a type [—]: Congratulations, your true nature is that of a Ravenclaw! This means that you are neither smarter nor better than your fellow wizards and witches, but we do not mind if you prefer to believe that. It does fit well with your tendency to fall for obvious light propaganda after all. But don’t you worry, at VOLDIE*’s side your lack of critical thinking will not stand out too much and may in fact help you to rise through the ranks faster than you otherwise would. A healthy sense of entitlement also helps to overcome any initial scruples you may have over the less advertised work a loyal follower of the Dark has to accomplish at some point.

The majority of your answers was a type [!]: You already knew that you’re a Hufflepuff, so we’re not entirely sure why you bothered with this quiz in the first place. Whatever your reason, you’re already doing more than the other three fourths of the Wizarding World put together. Although you may keep an eye on just how blatantly you continue to underperform. Sooner or later, someone will catch on. Nevertheless keep up the good work! You’re doing VOLDIE* proud!

The majority of your answers was a type [?]: It’s official: No matter the color of your tie, your true heart lies in Slytherin! You have a very clear, not to mention healthy understanding of the Magical World and what it expects of you and have tailored your answers accordingly. If you truly mean them, all is well, if not, we urge you to work on that. Diligently. Do that, and as long as you don’t get too caught up in others’ expectations to remember that VOLDIE*s’ always come first, you will be just fine.

You do not have a clear majority for a type of answers: You are not truly suited for any particular house and probably gave the Sorting Hat quite a headache. It’s best if you keep the result to yourself (and VOLDIE*, of course) for people who do not easily fit into a single box are usually regarded with rightful suspicion and distrust. After all, no one really needs more than a one-dimensional personality, so there is clearly something wrong with you. Don’t be discouraged though, you can still learn to become less of a real person and more of a stereotype. VOLDIE* will support you every step of the way! 

[page 6]

Letters from Readers:

[We from WEEKLY VOLDIE* do not take responsibility for the content of our readers’ letters, nor do said letters reflect our own views and opinions.]

Is the Ministry really dark? That would explain so much, seriously
— Name removed by editors for the sender’s protection*

Dude, is You-Know-Who’s pet snake really mothering him? Cause that’s concerning on a number of levels and I’m not sure what to do with this. If I get eaten by her because I’m too weirded out to defend myself, I will haunt your ass.
— K

Potter, are you trying to get yourself killed?
— in various variations, has been sent in 45 times

Bla bla bla the Ministry is holy and pure bla bla Harry Potter is a liar bla detention Potter bla.
— Professor Dolores Umbridge, Undersecretary of Minister Fudge
*content slightly edited by the owner of this newspaper to fulfill WEEKLY VOLDIE*’s quality requirements.

To make one thing very, very clear: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS DARK OR LIGHT MAGICAL CORES! I’ve checked and re-checked and magical cores do not have any leaning whatsoever. They are simply the physiological difference between wizards and muggles and enable us to manipulate magic, nothing else. There is no conspiracy here at Hogwarts, so please stop handing out those self-help pamphlets to the first years. I’m serious.
— H. Granger

thanks for the sneaky advertising, hare-bear. we’ll be sure to share our profits with you
— possibly fred or george weasley but not both

Careful kid. You’re making a lot of enemies and stamp right over a lot of people’s delicate sensibilities. Watch your back.
— not signed

Will you leave my family out of this madness already?
— Heir Malfoy

READER’S CHOICE

Last week’s vote: Who has a greater sense of style: VOLDIE* [drawing of a dramatically billowing, black cloak with a drawn-up hood casting the face in shadows, only a pair of glowing, dark red eyes gleaming in the darkness, above the figure on the grey sky looms the glowing Dark Mark] or Dumbly [caricature of a wizened, old man with a long, white beard, an imposing staff and a long robe colored lime green robes with bright orange stripes that fade into deep purple towards the seam]?

Result: VOLDIE* [56%] conquers Dumbly [44%]

This week: Decide for yourself, who has the greater sense of style: TOADIE [caricature of a frog face wearing a soft pink, frilly baby bonnet] or Trevor [drawing of a toad, wearing a small, black top hat]? OWL US YOUR VOTE UNTIL THE END OF THE WEEK!

[page 7]

*

Cordelia was wary.

Yes, 'wary' was a perfectly adequate description of her current emotional state. 'Tense' may have also worked, but that would imply an involvement of personal responsibility — guilt — Cordelia was unwilling to commit to. Not even in the privacy of her own mind. She was a Slytherin through and through. And it hadn’t been her ambition that had tipped the Sorting Hat’s choice in the end. It had been her completely reasonable, perfectly healthy, sense of self-preservation.

One did not grow up in the extended Bulstrode family without well-honed survival instincts, that’s for sure. And it were those same survival instincts that were currently driving Cordelia crazy.

Usually, she didn’t put too much faith into The Rules™. They’d been written by Malfoy after all, so for all her house pride, how great could they be? As a counter argument, Cordelia had spent the past two days twitching whenever she caught sight of Harry Potter’s smile.

It wasn’t a nice smile. And he’d been wearing it — yes, wearing, like a Merlin damned tie — since Tuesday.

The worst part was, Cordelia didn’t even know why. As war as the gossip mill knew, nothing of consequence had happened on Tuesday. She’d have suspected Malfoy of pissing Potter off again — Merlin knew those two didn’t know how to handle sexual tension like a grown-up, and no, she didn’t mean it like that — but Malfoy had taken one look at that creepy smile, turned white as a sheet and had avoided the Great Hall ever since.

So had Parkinson, and everyone knew she didn’t put up with Malfoy’s drama anymore, meaning there had to be a reason. A reason other than 'I don’t wanna be in the vicinity of Potter when he inevitably snaps and brings Hogwarts down around us'.

With the whole insanity being centered around Potter, Cordelia doubted that she was the only one who had noticed this sudden shift in behavior too. Granger, for one, was running around with the most frazzled hair since the spring of ’93 — if that wasn’t an alarming comparison, nothing was — and the Weasley twins hadn’t pulled a prank in two weeks now. They’d stopped selling their sweets too and the three times Cordelia had caught sight of them in the library, they’d been fully focused on their work. [Going by the books spread over their table, it hadn’t been school work at least, but still.]

To make matters worse, the fourth edition of WEEKLY VOLDIE* had been all over the Great Hall on Thursday and Cordelia was rapidly running out of excuses not to send a copy to her parents. Other than I don’t want to, that is. She probably wasn’t the only one, not that any of her year mates acknowledged the huge, Dark Mark shaped elephant in the room. The whole When does one of us have the guts to tell our parents what insanity Potter has cooked up now that the Dark Lord will probably kill all of us for. Cordelia still didn’t know what would be worse: to be the first or the last to let her parents know what was going on in Hogwarts.

She almost — but only almost — wished Umbridge would’ve had more success in trying to stamp that damn paper from existence. There was no way to keep it from her father much longer. But her father would be killed for this. For the VOLDIE thing, if nothing else.

And if all these worries weren’t enough to keep her up at night, Nott was up to something. The fifth years were trying to keep it quiet — they really weren’t doing a bad job either, it was just that Cordelia knew Millicent’s tells too well — but there was something seriously wrong with the guy. With some of the stories Cordelia had heard about how Lord Nott had raised his heir, that wasn’t a surprise either. She hoped the rumors were exaggerating, but, well. She’d met Lord Nott once. It wasn’t an experience Cordelia was eager to repeat.

Right now Nott — who was as likely to one day start shooting Unforgiveables as he was to suffer a nervous breakdown — was muttering away under his breath and scribbling away on a notebook like a madman in the common room. That in itself wasn’t unusual.

What had caused several heads to turn — and Malfoy to trip over nothing and fall down an entire staircase, which had been hilarious —  had been the casual "Hey, Nott," and the accompanying nod Harry Potter had greeted the guy with the other day.

Cordelia had been watching the fifth years for the past four years and she’d never seen anyone lose their color quite like Zabini and Parkinson had. And Malfoy presumably, though it was hard to tell with the whole falling down the stairs thing.

All in all, Cordelia was fairly sure that Hogwarts wouldn’t remain standing until the end of the year — and Umbridge wouldn’t survive until Christmas. There was too much aggression brewing in the cracks that WEEKLY VOLDIE* was pulling and prodding on, too much resentment in the way Nott kept dancing just that bit out of Crabbe and Goyle’s reach, too much rage in the way Granger regarded Umbridge as though she was a bug under a microscope that needed to be squashed.

And all of that still didn’t touch on the bloody Dark Lord rising from the dead to terrorize her family. 

Cordelia closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Opened them again and re-read the letter she had written. It had taken her two hours and she still wasn’t sure if she should send it or not. On the one hand, if she didn’t do it now, there would be no way to justify her choice later on. It would be perceived as a statement by her parents — it would be a statement — and it could very well earn her a fate worse than death. On the other hand, if she didn’t send it— Maybe this entire madness could be contained. Maybe it would only shake the foundations of Hogwarts, would only tear apart this school. Maybe if they worked together, they could keep it in these old walls and no one — especially not the Dark Lord — would ever have to know.

It wasn’t a very likely outcome, but it was a possibility. A tempting one at that.

Cordelia bit her lip.

Millicent probably wouldn’t send her own copy home any time soon. Her relationship with her own parents was shaky enough as it was. But unlike her distant cousin, Cordelia wasn’t the heir to the house — she couldn’t afford to take the same liberties. Releasing her bottom lip from between her teeth, Cordelia pulled out a copy of the newest WEEKLY VOLDIE* edition, folded it twice and put it and the letter into a crisp, white envelope.

Potter would just have to deal with the consequences of his stupid actions. As would they all.

Chapter Text

“But why does it have to be my name everywhere?” Harry whinged, even as he wrote down yet another ridiculous allusion to his real name as a possible author. He wasn’t a huge fan of whinging — it always gave him flashbacks to his childhood, back before Dudley had grown too old to whine and fake-cry every second minute of the day — but certain occasions demanded nothing less and this was most certainly one of them.

“Because people will read it," Luna said simply.

Harry huffed, insulted at the perfectly good pout that was wasted on Luna because the girl didn’t deign to look up from where she was carefully doodling a unicorn onto page 123 of her defense textbook.

“That’s stupid.”

Because it was. Granted, this was the magical world they were talking about, but still. There were plenty of smart witches and wizards that Harry knew. Okay, there were two smart witches Harry knew, three if you counted Luna. But Luna was brilliant, which wasn’t quite the same thing, so two. Man, the magical world really was in a sorry state, wasn’t it?

“The Prophet’s throwing your name around like it’s going out of style," Luna reminded, like someone, anyone would allow Harry to forget that unfortunate truth for even a single day in his life. Really, if he’d known how much trouble Hogwarts would be, Harry couldn’t in good conscience swear that he would’ve been as eager to follow Hagrid into the Leaky Caldron as he’d been at eleven. Ah, the follies of youth.

"And it will, very soon," Luna continued, unbothered by Harry’s internal monologue. "Harry really is a terribly uninspiring name for a Dark Lord. But while they’re still at it, you might as well do the same.” Luna shrugged. 

Harry nodded slowly. That actually made perfect sense. In the two turns to the right, upside-down way that was typical for Luna’s ideas. Except—

"Hold on, what do you mean by Dark Lord? Luna? Luna!"

On the first Monday of the new term, Seamus Finnigan woke to sickly yellow hair and pants that transformed into a skirt the moment he stepped out of the Gryffindor tower, no matter how often he changed them.

It didn’t exactly improve his mood that Dean was laughing himself sick over it.

"It’s your own fault, mate," the asshole said unsympathetically once he came up for air. Which took a while. "You should know better than to insult Harry within earshot of the Weasley twins. Or any Weasley. Or Hermione. Or the Quidditch team. Or—"

"Will you just shut up!" Seamus snarled between gritted teeth. He wasn’t in the mood to be the source of his best friend’s humor. "And I didn’t insult Harry."

"Whatever you say, man." Dean shrugged and swiped the sweet potatoes before Ron could have the brilliant idea to take thirds. "Doesn’t change that you made an arse out of yourself yesterday."

"I just asked him if it was true!"

"Yes, which is just about the only thing anyone’s been asking him since he stumbled out of that damn maze." Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, your infatuation was cute when we were twelve, but it’s been three years. You really need to learn how to not act like a moron every time Harry turns to face you or he’s never gonna take you seriously."

"I’m trying." Okay, fine. That was a whine. But it was justified, no matter how judgmental Dean was looking at him.

"Well, try harder than."

So much for having understanding friends. It was official: Gryffindors sucked.

"Don’t look at me like that." Dean pointed a fork at him with enough force to send a piece of broccoli flying. "You know you gotta watch what you say about Harry. He’s got it tough enough as it is and you know the twins didn’t take the whole gladiator arena thing last year well. Hell, I still have nightmares about that bloody dragon. Or have you forgotten what they did to McLaggen?"

Seamus shuddered. No. He didn’t think anyone had forgotten about McLaggen. Although the stubborn asshole himself didn’t seem to have learned much of a lesson, safe that he should keep his disgusting mouth shut around the twins. Or Weasleys in general, considering how Ginny had eyed the guy over the last few weeks. Now there was a girl Seamus didn’t want to piss off. The twins were vicious, especially when Harry was involved, but Ginny was just plain crazy. Seriously, what was it with Harry bringing out the destructive madness in Weasleys?

"I know." Seamus buried his face in his arms with a groan.

"There, there." Dean patted his head, the gesture more mocking than comforting. "You know if the twins were really pissed you wouldn’t have gotten off this lightly. If you just apologize to Harry, they’ll probably let it go."

Seamus whimpered pitifully at the thought of trying to stutter through an apology to his crush — again.

[The single worst part was when Umbitch — as the entire student body in an uncommon show of solidarity had taken to call her within two days of the witch’s presence — who’d indeed been an absolute bitch to Harry during the defense lesson, had taken one look at Seamus’ golden skirt and taken fifteen points off Gryffindor for inappropriate conduct.

Which in turn forced Seamus to track down Lavender and Parvati and convince the girls to help him transfigure a couple of completely appropriate, conservative skirts that fulfilled every requirement set in the school rules — which did not, in fact, specify that only girls could wear the girls’ uniform.

Never let it be said that Seamus couldn’t teach his fellow Gryffindors a thing or two when it came to being petty as fuck. Especially when Harry fell off a chair from laughing too hard when he learned why Seamus suddenly wore exclusively skirts. Two birds, one stone anyone?]

Harry had a perfectly good — and perfectly harmless, it needed to be said — plan.

He’d been working on it in one form or another since his sham of a hearing at the Ministry for his usage of magic against a dementor. Had refocused more energy on it for every time Mrs. Weasley had insistently ushered him out of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place or kept Sirius from divulging some useful information. The plan was simple: Harry was going to keep his head down.

It galled to even consider it — not helped by Cedric’s frozen expression in his nightmares — but with every rhetoric question and too-mean joke at his expense from strangers who didn’t know him from Adam, Harry found the thought easier to bear. No one believed that Voldemort was back? The adults wanted to pretend Harry didn’t have a place among them in this fight? Dumbledore couldn’t be bothered to so much as look at him?

Fine. Let them have it their way. Let them pretend and flounder. Sooner or later, Voldemort would recover his full strength. The easier the magical world made it for him, the quicker his real return would approach. 

Let them laugh at him, let them patronize him — when Voldemort eventually stepped out of the shadows, Harry would be there. He’d be watching, waiting. And when the masses inevitably panicked, he would smile at them and say I told you so.

Was it childish? Probably, but it wasn’t like anyone bothered to treat him like an adult, now, did they? Was it bitter? Most definitely. But Harry was bitter — so bitter, he sometimes thought he would fucking choke on it — and so what?

That perfectly doable, completely harmless — safe for the consequences in the long run, but those were hardly his problem now, were they — plan? Yeah, it was straight to hell before Harry had made it through the first half of Umbridge’s defense lesson.

It was one thing to stand aside and let everyone else run at full speed over a cliff because they were too busy reminding everyone the world was round to pay attention to the ground right in front of them. It was another thing altogether to have to deal with the unpleasant, incompetent, bigoted Ministry plant for an entire school year.

Something had to be done. And since it wasn’t Harry’s job, well.

"Do you have a moment, Professor McGonagall?"

His head of house, who had just finished her last class for the day and was ushering a few straggling third year Hufflepuffs out of her class room, turned around to face him. Although the professor looked as sharp and put-together as always, Harry got the distinct impression that McGonagall was not happy to see him. To be fair, people — with the exception of Ron and Hermione — were rarely happy to see Harry. And if they were, that was usually a sign that they wanted to use Harry to further their own fame or intended to sacrifice him in a graveyard.

Nevertheless, McGonagall inclined her head in agreement — although her eyebrows rose when Harry took the time to shut the door behind himself. There might not be such a thing as secrets in Hogwarts, but there was a difference between speculations and witnesses. With one active Ministry plant and dozens of students who were likely to be a lot more sympathetic to their own government than to some kid they’d never exchanged more than a few words with, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"How can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"It’s about Umbridge." No reason to beat around the bush and waste anymore time than necessary.

"Professor Umbridge." McGonagall’s lips thinned, which — coming from the woman who’d looked ready to slam her fork into one of Umbridge’s eyes and slowly strip the damn thing off its layers with a blunt knife during lunch — was a bit rich, in Harry’s esteemed opinion.

"Yes, her. She’s—" Harry hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words that wouldn’t cost Gryffindor a ton of house points and coming up empty. Which was a statement in itself. "—not a qualified teacher," he settled on.

"And you are, of course, the standing authority on what qualifies a person to teach," McGonagall stated in a tone so dry, it sucked all the moisture out of the air.

"Well, on a personal note I consider a professor who verbally attacks their students, slanders various people — be they a person of public interest or not —, is incapable of keeping their personal biases from interfering with their teaching and pushes their personal political opinions onto the impressionable minds of children untenable," Harry snapped, harsher than he’d intended to be. It went without saying that Hogwarts had a long list of failures on meeting these particular requirements — a reminder that, going by her unamused expression, McGonagall didn’t appreciate. Taking a deep breath to calm his all too easily ignited rage back into manageable levels, Harry continued, "However in this case, Umbridge lacks the O in her defense NEWTs that is required to hold the position."

And that was why Harry had let Hermione loose onto the library yesterday before he’d gone to confront McGonagall. If Snape was still a teacher after years of unprofessional behavior, then they needed more to get rid off Umbridge. And Harry wanted to get rid off her. Badly. She seriously screwed with his plan to not turn around and throw hexes until someone knocked him out every time she took a breath in his vicinity.

"Mr Potter," McGonagall starts and her tone of voice is really all Harry needs to hear to know this conversation won’t go anywhere. "I understand that Professor Umbridge isn’t the most pleasant staff member, but I assure you, she is more than qualified. The standard you’re referring to has been considered an ideal rather than a condition for several years, due in no small part to the ongoing difficulties to fill the position."

In all honesty, that isn’t much of a surprise. With both Snape and Binns as steady teachers, Harry had already figured that wizards put more stock into "attending Hogwarts", rather than putting any real effort into the quality of education offered there. Still. If he couldn’t get rid off Umbridge, Harry was going to murder the woman. And convince Fred and George to help him get away with it.

"But Professor—"

"No, Mr Potter." McGonagall’s voice sharpened with displeasure. "Hogwarts is in a very difficult position this year. The Headmaster’s freedom to act in the school’s best interest has been severely limited. In the current political climate, we cannot afford to give the minister an excuse to get even more involved." She pursed her lips and fixed Harry with her sternest glare. "The very best we can do, Mr Potter, is to bear the current situation as best as we can. My advise to you is to keep your head down. It’s unlikely that Professor Umbridge will return after this year."

Harry…stared. At his head of house. In the kind of silent disbelief that left him unable to come up with a proper response.

That was the extend of McGonagall’s help? To keep his head down and endure? While that vile, bigoted woman was allowed free reign? was going to ruin their chances at a decent OWL result if Hermione’s rants were to be believed?

Harry swallowed the very serious, very empathetic What the fuck is wrong with you?! that so desperately wanted to escape. But what would be the point? McGonagall had never listened, not when they’d confronted her about the Philosopher’s stone in first year, not when they’d complained to her about Snape’s unfair treatment, why should now be any different? Who knew, maybe that was the problem. Maybe she’d grown so used to filing complaints that never went anywhere or meant anything that she’d stopped actually listening.

"I see," Harry said instead and he did.

[It didn’t matter that keeping his head down had always been the plan. That plan hadn’t lasted more than a second beyond first contact with the enemy. Besides, as a long history of colorful incidents could testify, Harry had never been very good at doing as he was told.

It didn’t matter because this — going to McGonagall, moving things through the proper channels — this had been Harry’s last shot at sticking to the plan. Oh well. Improvising has always been his strong suit.]

"Do you think it’s true?" Ernie asked his fellow housemates in the relative safety of dorm.

Somewhere in the darkness, Zacharias sighed. "If this is about Potter, I don’t care if Sprout finds out, you’re sleeping in the common room."

"Don’t let Hannah find out you said that." Justin snickered. "She’ll flay you alive and Susan will provide her with an alibi, so she’ll get away with it too."

Zacharias scoffed loudly. "She needs to get over that crush already. Potter probably doesn’t even know she exists, it’s run passed pathetic ages ago."

"I pay you ten galleons to say that to her face!"

Justin’s declaration was met with a long moment of silence before Zacharias sniffed. "Please, just because it’s the truth doesn’t mean I have a death wish. I’m not Potter."

"So you do think he’s telling the truth!" Ernie determinedly brought them back to the actual topic. To that, perhaps for the first time since Ernie had met Zacharias Smith, his dorm mate had nothing to say.

"This is ridiculous." Kennedy eventually broke the quiet. "Can we all just agree that whatever it is Potter is currently cooking up, it’s not worth getting killed over, so we should all stay clear for as long as we can before Hannah inevitably drags us all down with her?"

"Amen to that." Justin sighed. Zacharias didn’t respond at all, which was as good as an agreement in itself and even Ernie found himself hard-pressed to disagree.

Really, life in Hufflepuff would be so much easier — if pretty boring, it really wasn’t fair that the monthly club meetings were reserved for sixth years and above — if their year mate Hannah wasn’t so obsessed with Potter. Well, and if Potter didn’t go to the same school as them.

"One thing’s for sure, we live in interesting times," Ernie said finally. He’d meant it as a joke, but somehow the words sounded a lot more foreboding out loud.

[submitted via tumblr by @itsvegemate]

It was done. Harry smiled proudly at the first ever edition of WEEKLY VOLDIE*, the only thing that had kept him from hexing anyone, friend or foe, so far. Although Malfoy had been surprisingly decent — by which Harry meant hadn’t run his mouth more than once a day, about the limit of daily bullshit Harry tolerated from the Slytherin without retaliating — these last few days. Would wonders ever cease?

"What do you think?" he asked Luna, who was peering down at the paper as though it might jump into her face if she wasn’t careful.

"It’s a bit…dark, isn’t it?"

Harry tilted his head and thoughtfully stared down at the bold, black letters proudly proclaiming his new, very own, self-made newspaper. The logo would have to remain dark, for aestethic purposes if nothing else, but the title itself...?

"Well, it’s a newspaper about Voldemort," he pointed out, quite reasonably in his opinion. "Dark is kind of the point."

Luna leveled him with a most disappointed look. "Dark and Evil are not the same thing, Harry Potter. Evil comes in many shapes and colors, Dark only in one."

"Fine." With an eye-roll and a sharp slash of his wand, Harry turned the letters of the title a bright, eye-watering pink — coincidentally the very same shade their newest professor favored in her wardrobe.

Luna nodded her approval at the horrifying sight. "Now that is a color deserving of true Evil."

"You know," said Harry slowly, rolling an idea that had been popping up in the back of his mind with increasing insistence over the last few days around in his head as though trying to figure out in which formation he liked it the most. "I’ve been thinking about what to do with this once we're done. I know I said I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but… Wouldn’t it be a shame to keep the rest of Hogwarts from enjoying WEEKLY VOLDIE* as well?"

"Hogwarts is a school, where children are meant to learn." Luna turned around to face him fully, eyes glittering dangerously. "I believe she would be glad to help us in this quest."

"It’s official: Harry’s lost it." Fred’s calm proclamation was met with a considering head-tilt by his twin.

"It was bound to happen."

"True."

"Though I would’ve expected Dumbledore—"

"Yeah, I know." Fred shook his head. In the headmaster’s defense, it would’ve been difficult to foresee Umbridge’s placement. On the other hand, Dumbledore’s weird actions hadn’t started at Hogwarts, had they?

"So the question remains, oh dear brother mine." George threw himself bodily onto the bed, causing Fred to lose his balance and almost brain himself in the nose with his wrist. His twin’s smile was wicked. "Do we let Harrikins work his magic or do we offer a helping hand?"

Two beds to the left, Lee Jordan let out a most pitiful groan. "Please for Merlin and above, will you stop talking dirty about Potter before I had my first coffee? You know I can only tolerate your infatuation with caffeine."

"You wound us!" Fred cried immediately, hand pressed dramatically to the right side of his chest, while George mimed falling over, twitching in pain.

Of course all that earned them was a lot of incomprehensible grumbling from Lee, who tried to bury himself in his cushion, and a dirty glare from Travis. Never much of a sense of humor, that guy, for all that the twins had done their best to teach him. At least, he wasn’t stupid enough to voice his no doubt uncomplimentary opinion on Harry out loud. Turned out, all those lessons in the last four years did leave some sort of mark after all. George had doubted that for a while during their third year, but that had only given them additional reason to prank him, so.

"You still haven’t answered, brother mine," George reminded Fred on the way to the Great Hall.

Lee rolled his eyes so hard it had to physically hurt. "Oh please. Like you ever take any option other than the fun one."

The two identical, self-satisfied smirks that statement earned him might have scared the pants off of any sensible Slytherin, but all Lee did was quicken his walk in response. He really couldn’t be expected to handle his impossible, Potter-obsessed best friends without some much-needed coffee in his blood.

Albus blinked in genuine surprise at the sight that greeted him when the door to his office was thrown open — rather impolitely, though for once he doubted Dolores even noticed.

Quite the achievement, considering how much pleasure the dour woman took in every act of disrespect against him. As though that would somehow erase his memories of the plump, wide-eyed, little girl she’d been when she first came to Hogwarts. A Hufflepuff, if his memory didn’t betray him.

[Hufflepuffs, Albus had long noted, were often among his hardest students to pin down. Loyalty, after all, was a fickle thing when you couldn’t be certain where or with whom said loyalty would one day lie.]

Alas, this was hardly the moment to mourn the young children he had once known. Especially not with the way Dolores was bodily dragging young Harry into the office after her, in a move not unlike Severus’ at his most furious — though Albus spared a moment of amusement at the knowledge that neither Severus nor Dolores would be happy about this comparison.

"Dumbledore!" the woman snarled, eyes wild.

Albus carefully hid a wince at the noise.

"Dolores," he greeted, forgoing a smile. While Albus had expected Dolores’ unfortunate fixation on Harry, he hadn’t expected it to escalate this much. And most certainly not within the first week. "Is something the matter?"

"The matter?" Dolores screeched, causing Harry to grimace. Though the boy at least didn’t look angry or overly much concerned. "This is going too far, Dumbledore! I will not have the Ministry’s authority undermined in such a blatant, disrespectful way, not while I am at this school!"

"That is quite the declaration, Dolores," Albus said slowly, all the more curious now what exactly Harry had done. "But I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"I’m talking about this!" With that, Dolores slammed a few sheets of paper down onto his desk. 

Albus blinked down at the glittering, pink letters spelling WEEKLY VOLDIE* and for the first time in a long time found himself speechless. Then he chuckled. He couldn’t help it. After all these years as Hogwarts’ headmaster, it was rare for a student to so completely blindside him. Yet Harry always seemed to manage somehow.

"You think this is funny, Dumbledore?" Dolores hissed like a wounded cat. "Do you? I will see Potter expelled for this! The Minister won’t stand for anything less!"

"Now, now, Dolores," Albus attempted to calm the irate woman down. He had underestimated the bullheadedness of bureaucrats before, it wouldn’t do for a harmless, if not very tasteful joke to cost Harry his education. "I don’t believe that to be necessary."

"What you believe is of little consequence, Dumbledore—"

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted Dolores’ tirade before the woman could get stared.

"Yes, my boy?" Albus asked, carefully looking at the boy’s nose instead of his bright eyes. He didn’t miss the way his lips twitched.

"I was just wondering if you could tell me why I’m hear?" Harry asked, the picture of calm indifference.

Something which Dolores did not handle well, if her incoherent noise of fury was anything to go by. "Why, you little—"

"I believe what Professor Umbridge is attempting to say," Albus quickly inserted himself before the woman could cross a line that would put all of them into a very difficult position, "Is that this little prank, well-meaning as I’m sure it was intended, does come of as a bit crass, my dear boy."

Dolores scoffed while Harry looked back and forth between them, still the picture of confusion. "I’m sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but I don’t understand. You can’t honestly think that I’ve written this thing?!" He gestured loosely towards the newspaper edition lying innocuously on the desk.

"Don’t play dumb with me, Potter!" Dolores slammed her hand onto the table in front of him, cheeks a blotched red with the force of her anger. "If you wanted that silly excuse to work, you shouldn’t have signed your name on this little pet project of yours!"

"Ma’am, with all due respect, I didn’t sign my name anywhere on this paper."

"It says H. J. Potter right on the first page!"

"So?" Harry blinked. "There’s lots of Potters in the UK, never mind the world. And granted, I seem to share the initials, but those could stand for any name. What if this newspaper’s author is some woman named Hannah-Joanne Potter? No offense intended, but I think it strange that no one considers the person behind it might be female. That’s kind of sexist, isn’t it? Besides don’t a lot of journalists publish their stories under a pen name of some sort?"

Moments like these reminded Albus why he had decided to grow out his beard — it was much harder for people to notice when he was smiling. All jokes aside though, he was impressed. Harry had never been a particularly gifted liar, but then he didn’t have to be to avoid answering the actual question. Not to mention how serious the boy appeared. 

"Do you really think the Minister is going to fall for that, Mr Potter?" Dolores asked after a moment, calmer now but more dangerous for it.

Albus contained a sigh. Of all of Cornelius’ many supporters, why did it have to be Dolores?

"Well, I’m not sure why the Minister of Magic would concern himself with the bothers of a fifteen year old student, but if there’s any way to legally move against people using my name in public newspapers without my permission, I would be most grateful for the minister’s help in that regard," Harry said earnestly. "I have to tell you, Ma’am, if your suspicion is correct and this newspaper is in fact referring to me of all people, then it’s already the second newspaper to do this. If you have any recommendations on how to shut that trend down, I’d appreciate it."

And there would be the trap Harry had so cleverly laid, Albus thought not without appreciation. Truly, the boy would have done well in Slytherin.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, Dolores was not so stupid as to miss what Harry was alluding to. Her eyes narrowed in displeasure, but she’d stopped her shouting and screeching at least.

"Detention, Potter," she snapped after along moment of deliberation, likely weighing her options and realizing that she wouldn’t win this particular battle, even without Albus refusing to expel Harry.

"Whatever for, Ma’am?" Harry asked with a wonderfully convincing expression of surprise. It truly was a shame that Albus couldn’t afford to spend too much time with Harry, the boy seemed to truly be coming into his own.

"For disrespecting a professor!"

Harry raised his eyebrows at him at that and Albus suppressed the urge to grimace. It was clear that the boy was wondering whether he would let the punishment stand, just as it was equally clear by the vindictive smirk Dolores was now wearing that she would simply find another reason to hand out a detention of he brushed this one aside. No point in antagonizing the woman even more. 

With an inward sigh, Albus inclined his head. "Professor Umbridge is well within her right to hand out justified disciplinary actions, Harry," he settled on, a reminder to both, his student and his colleague that only justifiable punishments would be tolerated.

Harry bit his lips with a frown, but nodded all the same. "I see."

"All the same," Albus continued with a smidge of regret, "if you happen to get in touch with the originator of this curious paper, would you be so kind as to remind him that, while surely a creative, idea based on good intentions, some things should not be made light of?"

Harry stared at him and though Albus took care not to meet his gaze directly, he could tell that the boy wasn’t pleased. Of course, brilliant, young men rarely were when confronted with a contradicting opinion or a flaw in their creations. And though Harry was undoubtedly clever, Albus suspected he didn’t truly understand what it was he was doing — the kind of impression a publication of this sort would convey. The things it could set in motion, the ways in which what seemed like a simple joke could get out of control. Harry was too young and had too kind a heart to foresee those consequences. And Albus was grateful for that mercy, he was, but that also meant it fell to him to limit the fallout of his students’ mistakes. For Harry more so than for most others.

"Should I get in touch with the person behind this mess, I’ll be sure to deliver your message," Harry said finally, neither his tone nor his expression giving anything away.

It wasn’t quite the answer Albus was hoping for, but, to be fair, he wasn’t sure what would have been. For the time being, it was the best he could reasonably request with Dolores Umbridge in the room — and dismissing her was out of question. The woman’s paranoia could give Severus’ a run for its money, and that was truly saying something.

"In that case, Harry, I believe you are about to be late to your Transfiguration class," Albus dismissed the boy, who briefly inclined his head towards him — but not Dolores, a fact she definitely noticed from the way she pursed her lips — and left the office with quick steps. "Dolores," Albus continued smoothly before she could use the chance to excuse herself and follow Harry, "I believe you had some things you wished to discuss regarding the Defense coursework of the seventh years?"

I must not tell lies.

["Of course one cannot expect any more of a half-breed dog."]

I must not tell lies.

["Such things are nothing young children such as yourself should concern yourself with."]

I must not tell lies.

["Although you may have been told differently, I assure you, any such statement has been an unfounded lie, a sad cry for attention.]

I must not tell lies.

["I trust you have learned your lesson.“]

I must not tell lies.

["Is there something you wish to add, Mr Potter?]

I must not tell lies.

["No, Professor." Harry smiled a beatific smile that, for some reason, caused Hermione to snap her quill in two. "Everything that needs to be said has been said.“]

To Harry, it was a game.

Hermione would scold him for it — after she stopped crying, knowing her — and Ron would get that worried look in his eyes that Harry hated to be the cause of and Luna would shrug and say something along the lines of "Naturally. All of life is a game. You just see it clearer than most." and none of it would really stop Harry, which is why he didn’t bother to explain it to anyone.

He didn’t bother explaining that it was so easy to smile in the face of Umbridge’s bullshit because for every time she crossed a line, Harry added one more cross on his mental list for all the reasons why he shouldn’t give a single fuck about the consequences of Luna’s idea. He didn’t bother sitting down and telling his friends that he’d put safeguards in place — people with the authority to keep him from going too far — and that, with every day, far quicker than anticipated, those same safeguarding lines were torn apart.

Sirius, for all that Harry loved him, hadn’t been able to offer any real advise. McGonagall didn’t listened. Dumbledore couldn’t be bothered to even look at Harry.

Still. Harry had been angry at Fudge. Frustrated with the wizarding world. Pissed at Umbridge, back when the worst she’d done was spew some verbal diarrhoea on why the sun shone out of Fudge’s arse or whatever it was she went on about when Harry didn’t bother to pay attention.

Unfortunately, prejudice and incompetence wasn’t were the foul woman drew the line. And why should she, following in the proud tradition of murderous defense teachers Harry had enjoyed over the years. The back of his hand twinged. An uncomfortable reminder, though the pain had already begun to fade.

Hermione, when she’d seen the scar, had been outraged. She was the who’d insisted he take it up with Professor McGonagall. Not that Harry had put up much of a fight. One didn’t simply disagree with Hermione unless one had the time, detailed arguments, facts and research to back one’s position up. [Neville and Parvati were still trying to convince Hermione that freeing house elves wasn’t the solution to all the race’s problems. It was a work-in-very-slow-going-progress.]

So here Harry was, knocking once again at McGonagall’s office.

"Mr Potter." It was less of a name and more of a sigh.

"Professor," Harry greeted politely. "Do you have a moment?"

McGonagall brushed a strand of her off her forehead and eyed him with a sort of tired exasperation. "I’m quite busy, Mr Potter, so please make it quick."

"It’s about Professor Umbridge—"

"Not this again," McGonagall interrupted before Harry could even lift his hand. "Mr Potter, please understand that this is a delicate and very stressful situation for all of us. As much as I’m sure there’s merit to your complaint about her conduct, I simply do not have the authority to speak out against her. I have told you on numerous occasions to stay out off her way and avoid her wrath."

"But—"

The professor held up a hand and Harry would bet his entire Gringotts’ vault that even Snape would have frozen in the face of her utterly unimpressed expression. "Your little pet project has done nothing but make waves, fuel the fire and make the headmaster’s position in this school all the more tenuous. I have told you repeatedly to cease with this ridiculous nonsense, Mr Potter. I cannot protect you from the consequences of your actions."

Harry stared.

The discomfort in the back of his hand crossed over into a sharp flare of pain when he balled his hands into fists.

"I’m not asking you to," Harry said flatly. "Only that you live with the consequences of your own actions. Good night, Professor."

And without another word, without waiting to be dismissed, Harry turned on his heels and left.

[What was the point of safeguards and second-guessing yourself, anyway? Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. This might all be a game for him, but Harry was playing to win.]

“But why ‘Weekly Voldie’? Why not ‘Fuck Snake-Nose’—“

“RON! That’s hardly appropriate language, think of the younger students!”

“-or ‘Bloody Voldie’ — okay, no, he might actually like that, never mind. But maybe ‘Weakly Voldie’? That could work.”

“-swear, how you became a perfect I’ll never understand—“

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione!"

“They’re missing the point,” Harry told Luna quietly, while the two of them watched, wide-eyed and wands at ready, as the volatile force of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley collided in a closed space.

“It’s the nargles.” Luna nodded sagely. Gently tugged at his sleeve. “We should go. VOLDIE* waits for no one.”

[It’s not about Voldemort. It’s certainly not about the war. It never was. It’s just a joke.]