Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I do own any original characters (and there are a lot) as well as this plot.
Seeing that my cousin is taking her sweet time to update (in particular, Celestial Requiem and Dark Reflections), I've decided to satisfy my own impatient writing muses and put this out. If her fans are reading this, she's working on her stories! And I think she's locked me out of her room to make me stop bugging her about Harrison Evans this and Maia that and Thanatos over there.
I'm sure that everyone has a renewed interest now in Tom Riddle after we found out about his past in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Seeing that seems to be filled with primarily angst-filled fics after this latest release, I came to the conclusion that all of us need a bit of humor. That, and there's been a renewed interest in the concept of Voldemort having – heaven forbid – a child.
Thus, I will parody this, much like Raven has done with Maia. However, I'm taking it further. Much further.
By the way, this is completely and totally AU. And there will be no slash among the main characters. Nothing against it at all, but I just don't see that happening.
The Book of You-Know-Who Wisdom from the Dark Lord Voldemort
PROLOGUE: ON JOKES
I personally don't know why I was so surprised when I found out that they were publishing this. When I received the letter, as well as a complimentary copy of the first draft, I blinked in bemusement and then decided that this must be a joke. Having personally known and taught the authors throughout their magical education at Durmstrang Institute of Magical Study, as well as being their advisor and primary disciplinarian (which I was a role that I had to bear all too often, I assure you), it should not have surprised me in the very least. Those three were always getting into some kind of trouble…or trouble found them; it was sometimes hard to tell. But trouble was always there, nevertheless.
Perhaps they merely were sending this off to get proofread and bound in book form, then would make a few copies and send it off to a few friends to get some good laughs. It would be like them – they always enjoyed having a good time.
Then I reached the end of the letter, wherein I was requested to pen a prologue. A prologue to this piece of work – a serious, honest to high Odin prologue. Sitting at my desk, looking over a few papers and having a good vodka with Professor Dmitri Markovic, I believed I laughed myself into stitches until I saw a tiny drawing on the back of the parchment from Quillsbury Publishers – a tiny little smiley face, the message next to it in handwriting that I think I could probably identify even another fifty years from now.
The message: "This is not a joke, Voro. Can't wait to see what you've got to say!– J. C."
I don't think poor Markovic was expecting to be sprayed with vodka; granted he did brush it off with his usual rare combination of temerity and class. All he did was clean his spectacles with a handkerchief and asked what holy hell did those three wreak upon humanity this time.
The incident speaks for itself.
You may wonder who they are as people. I will not hesitate to tell you that they are, both as a group and as individuals, brilliant and wonderful young men. They possess a lot of cheek and disrespect, but they usually mean no harm by it – when they do this, they're probably going for a laugh or two. And the messes they get themselves into! I don't believe I've ever encountered the things that they brought to Durmstrang – from pet gargoyles to time warps to house-elves renamed Roscoe – along with the many stories that they managed to come up with. Eavesdrop on them if you ever have the chance, you would wonder if they were either extraordinarily intelligent or completely daft. I would be the first to admit that they have their faults. But most are of the acceptable sort and they usually make for it in their own way.
I've been teaching for neigh over forty years. When they arrived as first years, retirement was already being planned and there was a nice cabana in Tahiti that had my name all over it. I had gotten bored with the usual Durmstrang fare. There was a distinct lack of variety and personality: mostly the same arrogant little purebloods who expected favors, especially from the teachers that taught their parents.
But I had a feeling. I had a feeling that the tiny little boy with the black hair and glasses would be something – he actually reminded me of a young Dumbledore by the way he smiled and that accursed twinkle in his green eyes. He was chatting animatedly to the slightly taller and excitable boy that had that debonair quality that makes him so identifiable now (and an infamous lady-killer). And standing far from them was a young boy with white-blond hair that seemed to think that the other two (along with many of their peers) were beneath him.
They have come along way since then. A very long way.
After that first year, I decided that it was better that I stay awhile. And the former headmaster, Igor Karkaroff, practically begged me not to leave. Most of the staff was under the impression that I was the one with the most control over the son of the Dark Lord, the heir of the infamous Malfoy family, and a mischievous potions prodigy. This was met with mocking disbelief on my part, even though it was true. But I bet Markovic and Fabre could have managed if they tried. Not that they would, but they could.
I won't deny this: by far, they are the best students I've ever taught and I'm proud of them. No question there. Even if they called me "the Voro".
That's all I have to say. Hopefully, you'll manage to dredge some entertainment out of this. The point is to laugh after all. Take the advice that the Dark Lord Voldemort gave to his son as you like it. Just don't go out and start killing people. Both these boys and I have found that really doesn't do much for one's social skills.
Though it must be admitted that the Chamberlain branch of infamous Slytherin line probably never will ever be known for their social skills. But what do you expect from that bunch?
This is the story of Julian Alexander Chamberlain, Laurence Abraxas Malfoy, and Sebastian Elliot Prince.
Of course, they call themselves Jules, Laurie, and Elliot.
- Professor Mikhaila Vorona, Headmistress of Durmstrang Institute of Magical Study