Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Title: About Last Night
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual situations.
Author's Note: I would like to point out that this story came from a plot by Tiger on and I would like to thank her for the idea. The ending idea came from 'Potter Puppet Pals'. I'm giving credit now because it was a really brilliant idea on the parts of PPP creators. I did not steal the idea for the song from "Ten Things I Hate About You." It was just the only one I could think of. Also, the first poem that the Slytherins recite is from "To Ruin" by Robert Burns.
All in all, I really like this story. I think it's cute and funny and I hope you guys do, too. Enjoy and review.
ATTENTION: THIS STORY IS NOT HBP COMPATABLE. Thank you
Harry Potter had no idea what was going on.
This wasn't necessarily odd. Harry usually didn't care what was going on. He drifted about in a daze, dragging himself from one class to another, not even noticing that since the Headmaster has left for a conference, Hogwarts had erupted into a volcano of chaos.
"He's been quite a mope lately, hasn't he?" Ron whispered to Hermione as Harry shuffled by Draco Malfoy, who was swinging a screaming Colin Creevey around in a cage suspended from the DADA ceiling.
Hermione gave Ron a cold look. "Well, of course, you dolt. He's narrowly avoided death at the end of each year and it's almost June. Wouldn't you be a bit mopey if you knew there was going to be an attempt on your life sometime in the next month?"
"Oh, I suppose I did forget," Ron conceded.
"You're quite stupid, aren't you," Hermione noticed.
"Who are we talking about?" Ron questioned. Hermione sighed and went back to Witch Weekly and their cover article entitled "How To Admit to Your Best Friend That You Want to Bear His Children, Even if He is a Complete Idiot". Hermione looked back over at Ron wistfully. There were only so many times she could show up naked on his bed in the middle of the night before she gave up.
Anyway, moving on.
Where was I?
Oh, of course.
Harry had no idea what was going on.
As he felt around the grass below him for his glasses, his hand landed in a pile of vomit and he wondered exactly what had happened last night. All he remembered was Ron, Seamus and Dean cornering him in the boys dormitory and handing a him a goblet full of sour tasting liquid that they promised would make him feel better. He'd swallowed the first glass, and then the second, and then the third…
Oh, dear. Harry thought, feeling his arm. Their was quite a burning sensation running through it and he wasn't sure he liked it. Harry, careful to avoid any more left over piles, searched again for his glasses. Finally grasping them, Harry stumbled forward and placed them on his eyes with a shaky hand. He appeared to be standing a few feet in front of the great lake and through still focusing eyes, he realized that there was something dark tattoed on his arm.
Oh, dear, he thought again, as his regained his full vision. Was that…the Dark Mark? It certainly had been a crazy night. He suddenly wished he could remember it.
"Oh, dear. Well…fuck."
"Hermione," Harry called, pulling up a chair next to Hermione, who was deeply absorbed in a large, leather-bound book. Harry tried to read the cover before Hermione placed a piece of parchment over it. "I have to—What's Tantric Sex mean?"
"Oh, er, nothing," Hermione replied, blushing. "Just a bit of, er, extracurricular reading. What is it, Harry?"
"I need to show you something," Harry whispered in her ear.
Hermione merely rolled her eyes. "I've already told you, Harry: It's perfectly natural and there's nothing to be concerned about. I'm sure the other one will drop eventually."
"No, not that," Harry snapped, avoiding the looks coming from Parvati and Lavender, who were sitting at an adjacent table. He laughed nervously. "Very funny, Hermione, very funny, indeed. But there's something else I'm a bit more worried about." Harry carefully pulled up his sleeve to reveal a dark skull with a snake moving about it.
"That's really not funny," Hermione admonished, snapping her books shut. "Honestly, Harry, a cry for attention? We get it, you're a troubled young boy. You don't have to go gallivanting around with some obviously fake sketching of the Dark Mark on your arm. That's just sick!"
"It's not fake, at least I don't think it is!" Harry shouted after her. Suddenly, the snake began to wrap itself around the skull and Harry found himself being pulled in every direction imaginable, all at once. Oh, dear, he found himself thinking. This can't be good.
Harry landed on a cold stone floor and was decidedly queasy all over the ground.
"Oh, I've just mopped!" Wormtail cried, pushing Harry aside and tsking at the mess he'd made. "Honestly, the one day I decide to mop! I'd better go get the cleaner."
Slightly shocked and disgusted at the same time, Harry rose, only to see the grotesque figure of Lord Voldemort sitting in a large stone chair across from him with an expectant smile.
"Ew," Harry mumbled. "Can't you find time to get yourself a decent nose?"
"My son," the dark lord hissed.
The word 'son' tumbled around Harry's head for a few moments before registering as does not compute in his brain. He carefully fingered his wand, ready to whip it out at any moment. Then, realizing what he was thinking, he giggled a bit. He was a teenage boy, after all. Dirty jokes were always much more important than life-or-death situations.
"I cannot tell you, Harry," Voldemort hissed again, rising from his seat. "How elated I am that you had chosen to betray the light side to join the dark. What, with you on my side, I will be indestructible! With you as my heir, we will rule the entire world…together! Besides, all those little plots against your life took up far too much time. Can you imagine spending every waking moment trying to kill a little cockroach of boy? Now I have time to sit in bed and do the crossword-"
"Yes, well, that's all lovely and good," Harry interrupted, looking at his nails. "But there's been a bit of a mix-up. I didn't really mean to join the Death Eaters. I was a little tipsy last night and boys will be boys, you know? So, I'll just turn in my membership card, we'll pretend this encounter never happened, and you can go back to spending what's left of your life trying to kill me, alright?"
Harry turned to leave as Voldemort sighed. "Pity, Harry. I suppose I'll just have to kill you now and get it over will with. I was so looking forward to having a son. I even bought you a baseball mitt. Oh, well. Would you prefer the good old standard Killing curse, or this new stabbing curse I've been perfecting? It's really quite ingenious."
Harry turned around, a look of concentration on face, before running up into Voldemort's outstretched arms. "Papa!"
When Harry was returned to Howarts, transported through the Dark Mark once again, after a long afternoon of catch with his 'former' adversary and new found 'old man' (it was really quite hard, actually, when his scar throbbed every time Voldemort tried to give him a pat on the back), into the Potions corridor, where he fell onto a large group of sixth year Slytherins.
"Watch where you're going…oh, it's you Potter!" Draco exclaimed with an eerie cheerfulness in his voice as he crawled out from underneath Harry, accidentally kneeing Pansy Parkinson in the face at the same time. "So good to see you, old chap, how's the Mudblood and the Weasel? Here, let me lick the dirt off your robes!"
Harry pushed Draco away before he could get his tongue anywhere near his robes.
"Hungry, Harry?" Pansy Parkinson questioned, taking Harry's hand and leading him up the stairs, towards the kitchens. "Thirsty? Cold? Need a blanket? A soda? Some loving?" She licked her lips and Harry backed away, stumbling on the stairs behind him. The crowd of Slytherins began to descend upon him, quite like a pack of wolves on a fresh kill.
"Would you like a massage, Harry?" Millie Bulstrode called out from the back.
"A foot rub?" Goyle suggested.
"Your Potions assignment done for you?" Crabbe questioned.
"What's wrong with the lot of you?" Harry cried out, looking for help. "Why are you so damn…helpful?"
Draco, the obvious leader of the group, let out a whistle, and the rest backed down, waiting for an order. "I think what we're trying to get at," he explained to Harry. "Is that whatever you need, we'll do it for you. Think of us as your new best friends."
"But…why?" Harry questioned, standing up.
A sudden fear appeared in Draco's eyes. "Because, you're our new Lord. You're the heir of Voldemort. We are here to serve you."
Harry was about to tell them all that the thing was a big misunderstanding and that he wanted them all to piss off, but a sudden realization dawned on him and quickly shut his mouth. "So you're all my slaves?"
Draco nodded. "Essentially."
Harry smiled. Maybe he'd let them believe what they wanted to believe. At least for a little while.
When Harry returned to the Gryffindor dormitory, he found Hermione sitting crossed legged on the floor, meticulously painting what appeared to be a twenty foot long banner.
"Hermione…loves…Ron…" Harry read aloud behind her.
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cried, startled, spilling over the paint can. Blue paint ran over the banner and Hermione cringed. Oh, dear. "I was so worried about you Harry! Where did you go zooming off to in such a rush?"
"Oh, I had a cozy little chat with the Dark Lord," Harry replied sharply. "How worried could you have been if you were up here, working on your little arts and crafts project? Honestly, Hermione, I'm hurt."
"Oh, this," Hermione said nonchalantly, pointing towards the ruined banner. "Oh, that's nothing. Er, just a little, side project…"
"He's a real dolt, isn't he?" Harry questioned, pointing to Ron's name, which had become just ON.
"A complete idiot," Hermione conceded. "But that's not important. Oh, Harry, how could you do something so stupid? Joining the Death Eaters? They could have killed you on the spot!"
"Yes, well, I wasn't exactly myself," Harry replied, trying to count up how many cups of fire whiskey and mead he'd had that night.
"Well, obviously you need to go talk to McGonagall since Dumble dore is conveinantly away at a conference," Hermione replied. "Maybe she can get it removed."
Harry shook his head. "She's got problems of her own at the moment."
Harry was right. At that moment, Professor McGonagall was trying to talk a rather upset Colin Creevy off of the top of the Astronomy Tower.
"You have a lot to live for, Creevy!" McGonagall called from the ground, where a mob had gathered, shouting "Do it! Do it!"
"I don't want to die!" Colin called. "I just appeared up here!"
From behind McGonagall, Draco snickered and stuck his wand back in his pocket. McGonagall whirled around with a look of death in her eyes.
"Sorry, tickle in my throat," Draco lied. "Ack. Ack. Look, I think he's about to stumble!"
"Besides," Harry went on, back up in the Gryffindor tower. "I've tried washing it off. Nothing works."
Hermione gave him a 'duh' look. "Well, of course. A curse is a bit more crippling than Magic Marker!"
Harry wiped back a tear, thinking back to the summer when Dudley had written something particularly hurtful and homophobic on his forehead with a Magic Marker. "Nothing is more crippling than Magic Marker."
At that moment, Ron waltzed into the common room and stopped next to the ruined banner. "He…one…loves…on…What's that supposed to mean?"
Hermione burst into tears and bolted up the stairs and into the Girl's Domitory.
"She's a bit emotional, isn't she?" Ron questioned. He looked back down at the banner. "Is it a riddle?"
Harry had decided on a plan of action and that plan was to do nothing at all for the time being. He was already having a hard enough time with the Slytherins on his tail every moment. As he entered the Potions classroom, they rose from their seats and began to chant in unison:
"All Hail inexorable Lord! At whose destruction-breathing word the mightiest empires fall! Thy cruel woe-delighted train, the ministers of grief and pain, a sullen welcome all!"
Neville clapped as they finished. Everyone else goggled.
"What was that about?" Ron questioned as Harry sat in between him and Hermione, who was scribbling in her notebook furiously.
"Oh, them?" Harry replied, pointing towards the Slytherins, who were seated behind him, grinning expectantly. "Oh, I'm their leader. Yeah, I'm pretty much their god. It's a pretty sweet deal, really."
Ron nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world for Crabbe to be laying on all fours as to be a footrest for Harry. He pointed at Hermione. "What's she so excited about?"
Harry looked over Hermione's shoulder. "Mrs. Hermione Weasley. Mrs. Hermione Granger-Weasley. Dr. Hermione Weasley. Auror Hermione Weasley. Ron Weasley's Baby Momma."
Harry poked Hermione in the shoulder blade. "Isn't the last one a bit degrading?"
Hermione gave him a desperate look. "I'll take what I can get."
"Excuse me, Crabbe," Snape called out viciously from the front of the room. "Why exactly are you on the floor?"
Crabbe started to speak, but Draco silenced him. "He's a footrest for our new fearless leader. Footrests cannot speak."
Crabbe looked forlorn. "But-"
"Be silenced," Draco commanded, putting up his hand.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape hissed. "What exactly is going on here?"
Pansy poked Draco in the ribs, prompting him; Draco sauntered up to the front of the room and whispered exuberantly in Snape's ear. The color drained from Snape's face. "Oh, dear," he muttered. With a few quick strides, he pulled Harry out of his seat and into the corridor.
"Lift your sleeve," Snape commanded. Harry obeyed and Snape let out a gasp.
"I'm at a loss for words, Potter," he said after a moment, his eyes filled with hatred.
"Well, it had to happen sometime," Harry assured him.
Snape replied with zealous whollop to the back of Harry's head. "You actually expect me to believe that Voldemort welcomed you with open arms into his inner circle?"
"He calls me son and said he's going to buy me a dragon for Christmas," Harry replied.
Snape turned his head and glared at the ceiling. "He promised me a dragon."
"Well, you're old news. I'm this year's boy."
Snape's eyes twitched and he let out a low growl.
"Well, this event is quite…a surprise."
Harry sat before McGonagall. Hermione, the little sneak, had turned him in.
"It was just a drunken misunderstanding," Harry explained. "Can't I just take it back?"
"You can't just take it back!" McGonagall snapped. "The Dark Lord would surely kill you before letting you turn your back on him!" She paused for a moment and a wide grin settled over her features. "Actually…actually, this could work to our advantage. Dumbledore did say your were a gifted Occlumens. You could easily be the greatest spy the Order has ever had!"
"But-" Snape whimpered.
"I said the GREATEST SPY the Order has ever had."
Snape sniffled and held back a tear as Harry crossed his arms and frowned.
"I hate being the pawn," he mumbled.
McGonagall bristled. "Yes, well, you should be used to it by now, shouldn't you?"
Harry found the next week rather difficult. The Slytherins were constantly by his side, begging to lick his feet, or fetch him a sandwich, or recite another poem.
"Oh, captain, my captain-" Draco began as Harry walked into Herbology, late. He had been up all night, trying to stifle the growing pain in his arm.
"Piss off, Malfoy," Harry shouted, stepping in-between Ron and Hermione. The Slytherins backed off a bit, Draco pouting from his silencing.
All the other students, as well, had backed off quite a bit, looking with fearful eyes at Harry.
"Er, good morning," he said. Neville let out a whimper and ducked underneath the table. "What's their problem?" he asked Hermione, who had a book of Highly Illegal Love Potions hidden underneath the table.
She looked up at Harry. "Well, they've obviously heard about you're little r6ndevouz with Voldemort and you can't blame them for being a bit scared. Honestly, sharing a Herbology table with the heir to the Dark Lord?"
"I think Neville's gone and wet himself," Ron laughed. He turned to Hermione, who was staring at him with a passionate gaze. "What're you looking at?"
"I love you," she squeaked. With wide eyes, she clamped a hand over her mouth and slid underneath the table.
"She's an odd one," Ron said, poking Harry in the side.
"Don't poke me," Harry replied coldly.
Harry's Herbology class wasn't the only who had heard about the Dark Mark. When he arrived for lunch in the Great Hall, it appeared that the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables had been pushed as far away from the Gryffindor's as possible. Not only that, but all of the Gyffindors were seated on the floor and were looking up at Harry with fearful eyes.
As Harry sat down with a sigh, the Slytherins slid in next to him with offers to butter his rolls in more ways than one.
"That's alright, Goyle," Harry said, scooting away. "I think I can manage."
"You know," Ron interjected, grabbing the roll out of Harry's hand. "I've noticed that the Slytherins seem to be hanging around a lot lately. I wonder what that's all about."
Harry looked at him incredulously. "You really are impossible, you know that? They have special schools for people like you."
Ron peered back at him. "Who are we talking about?"
Across the hall, Ernie MacMillan and Zacharias Smith were having quite a spirited debate over the question of whether or not Zacharias owed Ernie twenty galleons.
"I told you," Ernie shouted, falling out of his seat. "I told you he was a bad seed! I bet you he would turn!"
"You said by fifth year!" Zacharias countered. "You said by fifth year he would go bad! It's sixth year, can't you count?"
Harry sighed and held his burning arm. He suddenly wasn't very hungry.
"Tired, Harry?" Blaise Zabini questioned anxiously. "Would you like me to carry you up to the Gryffindor common room?"
Harry prepared to say no, but then thought better of it. He was rather tired and he was sure that the Slytherins only wanted to help.
"So be it," he said, with a regal wave of his hand. "So be it."
"Don't you think your buying into this whole 'Heir of Voldemort' thing a bit too much?" Hermione questioned from above Harry with a look of repugnance on her face. "Do you think you've carried the whole thing a bit far?"
"I don't think so," Harry replied, who couldn't see Hermione's face because two perfectly sliced cucumbers were resting on his eyes. "Now please, Hermione, I need my rest. Afterall, I am the future of the dark side."
"No, you're not," she snapped, turning on her heels. "You're plain ol' Harry Potter, and that's all you'll ever be!"
Harry snorted. "What's crawled up her bum?" he asked, Draco, who was sitting at his desk, diligently completing Harry's Potions report.
"She's just jealous," Draco replied distractedly. "They're all just jealous."
"Jealous, of course," Millie agreed, from where she was handwashing Harry's delicates.
Crabbe and Goyle, who were plopping grapes in Harry's mouth, grunted in agreement. "Jealous, all of them!"
Harry smiled and adjusted the cucumbers on his eyes. He had more important things to be worried about than Hermione's jealousy. Such as, how long was the mud mask supposed to sit? And is it supposed to be burning?
That night, Harry was awoken from a fitful sleep by the familiar feeling of being ripped apart by a pack of wild hippogriffs. Oh, dear, he thought to himself. I dare say I am getting quite tired of this.
When Harry opened his eyes, he was standing in a darkened hall, surrounded by large men in dark robes. Harry felt rather underdressed. After all, he was still in his cowboy jammies.
"Er, hello," he said to apparent Death Eaters, who had removed their masks and were looking at him with disgust. "How are you? Did I send you to Azkaban? Oh, that was you. Well, sorry about that. We're solid now, right?"
The large man replied with a grunt. Probably a relative of Crabbe or Goyle, Harry reasoned.
"Harry, my boy," a loud voice hissed. The crowd parted and Harry could see Voldemort sitting in the same stone chair as before. Lit candles surrounded him, sending up grotesque shadows. "Come sit on your old man's knee."
Obediantly, but still shaking with fear that he might be skewered at any moment, Harry stumbled up towards and sat down upon Voldemort's bony knee. He could barely hold in the screams of agony that were trying to make their way up his throat.
"Excuse, me, Lord," a Death Eater mumbled, stepping forward. "Surely you must realize that Harry Potter-"
"Choose your words carefully, MacNair," Voldemort warned, flicking his wand. MacNair grasped his throat and began to choke himself. "What did you want to say?"
"He's a lovely boy with excellent fashion sense," MacNair rasped. He slowly released himself and fell to the ground. "Ack, ack, ack."
"Anyone else got any problems?" Voldemort challenged.
Everyone else quickly shook their heads.
"Good. Now, Harry, I called you here because I wanted you to experience our little society first hand. Tonight, you will attend your first Death Eaters meeting!"
Harry soon found that Death Eater's meetings weren't quite what he expected them to be.
"Triple word score with 'pericardium'!" Lucius Malfoy called out, placing his tiles on the board. "That gives me an extra…seven hundred and fifty points."
Voldemort quickly pulled out his wand. "Are you sure you want to do that, Lucius?" he hissed with narrowed slits.
Malfoy gulped. "On second thought, perhaps I'll just skip my turn. And the next one, too, while I'm at it."
"Good choice." Voldemort placed seven tiles down on the board. "Qixplum. How for that, Severus?"
Snape the official scorekeeper began to tally as Pansy's father scratched his head.
"Qixplum isn't a word. It hasn't even got a U!"
"Are you challenging me?" Voldemort questioned.
"Well, yes," Parkinson replied, his voice warbling. "I suppose I am."
With a flick of the wand, Parkinson was gone, replaced with a puff of smoke.
"Qixplum," Snape said after a moment. "Er, two hundred points. You're leading again, sir. As per usual."
"Go ahead, Harry," Voldemort urged.
Harry grumbled, "All I've got is consonants."
The next morning, Harry was dragged out of bed and into McGonagall's office, where he was greeted by several members of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Well, let's have it," Kingsley Shacklebolt urged. "We've had reports that there was a meeting last night. What happened?"
"We played Scrabble." Harry shrugged.
Mad-Eye Moody and Arthur Weasley looked at each other, confused. "What do you mean, you played Scrabble?" Arthur questioned.
"I got a triple word score with 'Quagmire'," Harry answered proudly.
Tonks coughed and McGonagall wrinkled her brow. "You must…you must be joking."
Harry shook his head.
Mad-Eye Moody gripped Harry's shoulders tightly. "Are you sure that's all you did? You didn't…sacrifice the blood of a virgin? You didn't perform ritualistic dances naked in the middle of a field?"
"Not that I can remember. Perhaps they did all that before I arrived."
"Can you at least remember who was there?" Kingsley prompted. "Can you remember who attended?"
"Oh, sure," Harry replied. "Loads of people. You weren't hip if you weren't there last night. Malfoy, MacNair, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle. Oh, yes, it was hopping. Everyone really got rowdy when Mrs. Malfoy brought out the cheese platter."
Perhaps it was because he had only caught one hour of sleep the night before, or maybe because the Order had seemed to find his testimony of the meetings events unsatisfactory ("Scrabble!" Moody had shouted. "Scrabble is hardly enough to attain a conviction!"), but Harry was in a rather bad mood.
"Your Potions assignment," Draco said breathlessly, catching up to Harry in the corridor. "All finished. I even through in a few extra tidbits about Boomslang skin as the piece de resistance."
"Neat." Harry stuffed the parchment into his bag, putting a large tear in it. Draco winced.
"I spent all night on that…" he mumbled to no one in particular.
"Well, I've got problems, too," Harry shouted, running off before the rest of the Slytherins could find him.
As Harry made his was through the courtyard, he felt more down than ever before. Students, younger and older than him, shrunk away when he approached. One little first year stood frozen in front of him and before he could control himself, Harry yelled, "Boo!", and the little boy shrieked and ran crying into the castle.
Everybody was frightened of him, Dumbledore wasn't there to bail him out, Hermione was in her own little world, and Ron…
"Incendio!" Harry heard Ron shout, his wand pointed at the ground. Harry crouched down next to him and Ron looked at him, grinning. "I'm setting ants on fire. Want to help?"
Well, Ron was Ron.
But Harry's biggest worry was Voldemort himself. How long would it take before he reached into Harry's mind, beyond Harry's control, and realized that Harry wasn't exactly so keen on the whole father-son relationship that the dark lord was looking for.
The next morning at breakfast, Harry was still in a funk that not even Pansy's homemade fudge bars could cure.
"But they're fresh and I made them just for you, Harry," she prompted.
"Away, woman!" Draco commanded. "He wants nothing to do with you and your bars! Be gone!"
Pansy ran out of the Great Hall sobbing, and she reminded Harry somewhat of Hermione.
"Hey, I've got a package!" Ron cried, grabbing a large box from Pig, who looked rather proud of himself. "What? It came from the castle!"
Harry glanced over at Hermione, who was watching Ron expectantly with shining eyes. Ron quickly tore through the paper, revealing a canvas filled with moving pictures.
"It's a collage!" he cried. Harry peered over his shoulder. All of the pictures were bewitched so that Ron and Hermione were involved in varying sexual acts.
"It's very avant-garde," Ron commented with a raised eyebrow. "I wonder who sent it."
With a gutteral growl, Hermione leapt out of her seat and onto Ron's lap, pressing her mouth against his with amazing ferocity. When she pulled away, Ron gave her a puzzled look.
"Hermione," he said. "If you wanted to borrow some chapstick, you only had to say so."
Hermione growled and went back to her porridge, 'accidentally' putting her foot through the collage on the way. As she sat back down, Marietta Edgecomb sat down across from Harry, a pad of paper in her hand.
"Hello, Sneak," he said sharply. Marietta frowned.
"Harry, all that's behind us now, don't you think? We should move on. After all, you've switched sides since then, haven't you? What does the DA matter anymore?"
Harry growled and Marietta gulped. "On to business then? I'm a staff writer for the Hogwartian Herald and we want to be the first to get an interview with the famous Harry Potter, now that he's gone all renegade. The public loves a naughty boy, Harry. Perhaps if you got rid of your glasses you could actually get some now!"
With the reflexes of a fox, Harry leapt onto the table top, his foot landing in Hermione's porridge in the process. He let out a long whistle and every head in the Great Hall turned toward him.
"Attention!" he called. "Attention, please, I have an announcement! I have no affliation with the Dark Lord, okay? I am not his son, I am not his heir! I am not a naughty boy! It was all a big mistake, alright? This-" he lifted his sleeve and the crowd let out a cry. "-this was an accident! Think of this as a public service announcement against the dangers of drinking firewhiskey!"
Content, Harry plopped back down in his seat as Marietta chewed on her pencil, thinking. "I've got it!" she cried. "Harry Potter: Abused Child Crying for Attention and Struggling with Alcohol Abuse!"
Harry poured what was left of Hermione's porridge on Marietta's head and stalked out the door, Draco trailing behind him, a piece of toast dangling in his mouth.
"Brilliant move!" he called after Harry, racing to catch up. "That speech back there? Wonderful! How smart, Harry, to allay suspicion. Let them think it's all a misunderstanding. Laying low for a bit, eh?"
"Malfoy!" Harry cried. "I wasn't lying! It was a big misunderstanding! I was drunk and stupid! I have no intention of becoming the next dark lord, okay? There's no reason for you to be serving me!"
With a sigh of relief, Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he expected a crowd of Slytherins to be pointing their wands at his heart and calling him a traitor. But it was still only Draco, who looked almost relieved.
"Oh, thank God!" he cried throwing his arms up in the air.
"You must be joking," Harry said, edging away. "Aren't you upset? Haven't I betrayed your calling or something like that?"
Draco snorted. "'Course not. Do you really think that any of us really want to be Death Eaters? Honestly look at their uniforms. Not exactly flattering. I don't do well with hats. I mean, the pension's tiny and there's no dental plan. Plus, all that death and destruction…no thank you!"
"Then why have been acting like my servents?"
Draco sighed. "Well, we have to keep up appearances you know. But this is just perfect! You can pretend to be faithful to Lord Voldemort and we'll help you come up with a plan to end his tyrannical reign."
"You'd help me?" Harry asked with wide eyes. "Really?"
"Harry," he said, putting a supportive hand on Harry's shoulder. "Their uniforms are a polyester blend. The madness must end."
When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he found it in a state of chaos. First years were scampering around, crying out for their mommies; second years were blasting random spells down at the floor, hopping around every so often. Even the sixth and seventh years were climbing up the furniture and glancing down at the floor warily.
"Er, Harry," Seamus called from the chandelier. "Somebody sent you a Burmese python and somehow, it managed to escape from the box. Perhaps you could, I don't know, find it and kill it?"
Ignorning Seamus' pleas, Harry sauntered over to the common room table, where a large box was sitting, a note resting on top:
I hope you like your new pet. She is a distant relative of Nagini's and much more suitable than a silly little owl. I also had Wormtail bake you some brownies, but out of habit, he poured a bit of cyanide into the batter (old habits are hard to break, eh?) Anyhow, I hope to hear from you before we put the MASTER PLAN into action. If not, down by the lake at seven on Sunday night, just as we discussed the night of your initiation.
Harry crumpled up the note and threw it into the trashcan. What MASTER PLAN was Voldemort referring to? And how was Harry supposed to remember anything from that night, anyhow?
Harry shrugged and decided to worry about it lately. Hedwig should have been back with his new copy of Playwitch any moment.
"Ack!" Seamus cried, dropping from the ceiling. "It's back! And it's eaten Hedwig!"
Shocked, Harry turned to see the python staring at him the ground, white feathers stuck all around it's mouth. Harry's apathy melted away and he felt emotion flooding through his body.
"No!" he screamed, dropping to his knees in anguish. "Nooo! Not…Hedwig!" Wiping away his tears, Harry let out a roar. "I will defeat Voldemort and I will do it for you, Hedwig!"
"And your parents," Hermione added. She had climbed up the bookcase to escape from the rogue snake. "Not to mention Sirius and Dumbledore."
"Them, too," Harry agreed. "But mostly for Hedwig."
Harry raced down the corridor, Draco hot on his trail. He pumped his arms importantly, a look of fierce determination on his face.
"So, Harry," Draco wheezed casually, trying to stay in stride with Harry. "Have you thought about what you're going to do. I mean, the fate of the world does rest on your shoulders, you know?"
"When doesn't it," Harry replied tritely.
"Oh, good," Draco grinned. "You've been through this before. Of course you've got a plan. What've you cooked up?"
"Absolutely nothing," Harry replied.
"Then where are we racing to?"
"No idea," Harry answered, nonchalantly. "Walking like I've got somewhere to go helps me think."
"Hermione's the smart one, isn't she?" Draco sighed.
"Yes, well, she's a bit distracted right now," Harry snapped. "So unless you've got someway to smarten Ron up, we're on our own."
As Hogwarts students of all ages trickled into the Great Hall for dinner, the Slytherins gathered up at the front of the room, Draco puffer on a tuner.
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall breathed, striding up to him. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
"Musical presentation," he said, as if that explained everything. "Now, if you'll please sit down, we'll be beginning shortly."
"But…ah…er…uh…well…" McGonagall replied hesitantly.
"Sit, woman," Draco commanded, shooing her towards the staff table.
Down at the Gyffindor table, Hermione was staring wistfully at Ron, who was counting the number of marshmallows he could stick in every orrfice of his body. So far, he was up to sixty three.
Hermione let out a sigh filled with longing. "He's got so much childlike wonder," she said to Harry, who was grumbling because all the marshmallows were gone.
"You say that like it's a good thing," Harry replied.
At the front of the room, the Slytherins let out a collective cough and the entire student body turned to look at them.
"Ahem." Draco cleared his throat. "Ahem.
"You're just too good to be true," Goyle sang in a pitch-perfect soprano. Ron let out a sneeze and sixty three used marshmallows sprayed all over Hermione's robes.
"Can't take my eyes off of you!"
"Have the Slytherins formed a band?" Ron questioned, looking around, puzzled. The rest of the green and silver clad teenagers joined in, snapping their fingers to the rhythm. Goyle began to rithe across the Gyffindor table.
"You'd be like heaven to touch."
Goyle place Hermione's hand on top of Ron's.
"Wanna hold you…so much."
Ron moved his face away from Goyle's. "Is he coming onto me?"
Hermione's eyes began to water and Harry feared for a moment that she might run off again, screaming like a banshee.
Draco, frustrated, cut off the chorus and held up the number two.
"Ron Weasley, you dolt!" they sang in perfect unison. "Hermione's in love with you!"
"No, she's not," he snorted.
"Yes, she is!"
"Yes, I am," Hermione replied earnestly.
Ron frowned. "Why didn't you ever say anything. God, Hermione, if only I had known."
With a look in each other's eyes, they lunged at each other, landing on the pork roast, and began groping and kissing like there was no tomorrow.
"Now that that's cleared up," Harry said, poking Hermione in the back. "Can you help me with a bit of a problem I'm having?"
Hermione looked up and snarled at him.
"Okay," Harry replied, backing up. "Five minutes, then? Alright, I'll be back in five minutes."
An hour later, Hermione, who was grinning broadly, and Harry, who was frowning sourly, were in the act of blatantly stealing supplies from the Potions cupboard.
"We should have all the ingredients for the Hangover Draught right at our disposal," she said excitedly, pocketing a few vials and bottles. "I'm surprised at how unprotected all these dangerous elements are!"
"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger," Professor McGonagall barked, appearing out of nowhere. "What exactly do you think you're doing? You can't just go around, stealing poorly guarded ingredients to use at your own disposal! What is wrong with you?"
Harry shot Hermione a look and she nodded. "Go," she said.
"I'm the target of various assassination attempts, everyone I loves dies, a Burmese python ate my owl, my Herbology assignment is two weeks late, my hormones are completely out of control, my arm won't quite burning, my best friend is a complete dolt, I have the image of Ron and Hermione groping on the dinner table permanently burned into my brain, I can feel a breakout starting, I have a chronic bedwetting problem-"
"Enough, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "That's enough."
Looking startled, McGonagall slowly backed out of the room. "Take what you need and never talk to me about your personal lives again.
Harry smiled a mournful smile.
When they had finished, Harry and Hermione took their load up to the Astronomy Tower and began to assemble the potion.
"This is taking a convienantly take a small amount of time," Hermione pointed out, as Ron entered the tower, smoking a cigarette. He began to nuzzle Hermione's neck and she giggled.
"Hello," Harry called out, from the pentagram where he was sitting, completely in the buff. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but why do I have to be naked?"
"Oh," Hermione replied, flustered. "The energy eminating from your aura with help ferment the potion and spread through your veins faster."
"Alright," Harry nodded. That seemed reasonable. "On with it."
Hermione whispered in Ron's ear, "Actually, I just like his abs."
Ron nodded, not jealous in the least. How could he be? Harry did have fabulous abs.
A poof of smoke appeared above the cauldron. Hermione poured it into a small vial and thrust at Harry. "Drink up, Harry. This should clear up your memory. Maybe then we can figure out what Voldemort's MASTER PLAN is."
"Are you still talking?" Harry replied, handing her back the empty vial. "Let's get on with it."
Suddenly, Harry could his brain lifting itself out its haze and memories he never knew he possessed were running before his eyes.
"Ew," he said grimacing.
"What is it?" Hermione asked excitedly. "Did you remember that night?"
"No, but I just saw Dudley in the bathtub," Harry replied bitterly. "I think that one was blocked off for a reason."
Hermione sighed. "Focus, Harry, focus. Think back to that night. What happened after Ron gave you that drink?"
A lightbulb appeared over Harry's head. "I've got it!"
"Ron, stop that," Hermione scolded. Ron put down his wand and the lightbulb disappeared.
"It's all so clear," Harry said in a winded voice. "I remembered everything- hey…what…what are you doing?"
Hermione pulled her wand away from Harry's ear, his silver thought trailing behind.
"Hey, that's mine!"
At that moment, Draco stumbled in, carrying an extremely large basin. "No need to help me," he wheezed bitterly. "I was being sarcastic, Weasley. Take it, take it, take it!" Ron set down the Pensieve and Draco rubbed his side. "A hernia for sure," he muttered, looking around. "Why is Harry naked? My, you are toned!"
Hermione, paying no attention to Draco, dropped the thought and watched it swirl into the water below.
"McGonagall didn't mind you take taking Dumbledore's Pensieve?" Harry questioned. Draco snorted.
"'Course she did. Pitched a fit. She asked me what was wrong with and I told her that I was self-loathing, unpigmented piece of scum with an unloving father and a rather self-concerned mother who never told me she loved me. Not only that, but I have problems with my pituary glands, an unnatural obsession with fashion that my father doesn't approve of, and a chronic bedwetting problem."
"Say no more," Harry answered with an appreciative smile. "Say no more."
"Grab onto my hand," Hermione commanded Harry. "Ron, you too. No, not now, Ron, teehee, teehee!"
"Oh, right," Hermione said after a moment. "Malfoy, you keep watch. Off we go!"
They tumbled downwards for a bit before landing in what appeared to be the Gryffindor Boy's dormitory. Harry was sitting on one of he beds, reading a Playwitch and sighing every couple of seconds.
"We can skip ahead," he said nervously. Hermione shushed him.
A few seconds later, Ron, Seamus and Dean appeared and poured a brown liquid down Harry's throat, promising it would make him feel better.
"It appears there's some black spots," Hermione commented as they tumbled through the darkness. "That whiskey really did a number on your mind, Harry."
Harry and the other three boys appeared once again, shaking with laughter as they paraded around the dormitory in a conga line.
"Harry, why are you wearing a dress?" Hermione asked softly. "Harry, why are you wearing my dress?"
"Er," he replied. "I don't remember. Hey, let's skip this next part."
"Is that why there's a mayonnaise stain on that dress?" Hermione's voice began to rise.
"Er, Hermione," Ron said, squeezing her hand. "I don't think that was mayonaiss."
"Errrr," she shrieked, stamping her foot. Ron leaned around her back and whispered in Harry's ear.
"Lovely color on you, mate. Really brings out your eyes."
Harry wasn't sure whether or not to be flattered.
Harry watched through shielded eyes as he and the other three boys danced around the dormitory, downing bottle after bottle and yodeling from the open window.
"Let's go for a swim!" he could here his very drunk past self call out. "Last one to the Giant Squid is a ghfjkyk…" The last word was mumbled because Harry's past self had just fallen out of the window.
Stumbling, Ron threw Harry's firebolt out of the window after him, and sloppily, Harry clung onto it, landing precariously in a rose bush. He let out a long string of obscenities and raced off towards the Forbidden forest. "I'm going to find the real party!" he called out, tripping over a log.
"Should we (hic) go (hic) after him (hic) ?" Dean questioned.
"No," Ron slurred. "Let him go, he's done for. Perhaps his dress robes if they don't find the body."
Present Harry glared at Present Ron, who shrugged.
The trio stumbled through another span of blank memory and landed in the woods, behind a giggling Harry, who was stumbling through the trees towards a bright bonfire. All of them paused as they heard a familiar voice.
"Before we break out the Parcheesi boards," Lord Voldemort shouted over the cacaus of twenty grown men dancing naked in the field ("What do you know?" Present Harry asked, mostly to himself. "They do dance!"), "We must finalize our MASTER PLAN! Lucius?"
"The stage is set," Lucius replied, pulling his robes over his head. "At dusk on the 23rd, we will attack Hogwarts and place all of the students under the Imperius curse!"
A loud cheer erupted through crowd and everyone began to dance again, except for a familiar man, who stepped forward. "That's MacNair," Harry explained. "He's always causing trouble." Ron and Hermione looked at each other dubiously.
"Excuse me, sir," MacNair said.
"It had better be good," Voldemort warned.
"Well, I was just wondering…what are we going to do with the students after we put the students under the Imperius curse?"
"Turn them into our own personal midget army, of course!"
"Alright," MacNair replied. "But why?"
"To rule the world, MacNair!"
"Okay," he answered. "But why?"
Everyone quieted down and waiting for Voldemort response.
"Because," he hissed after a moment. "When we rule the world, I can attain myself a decent nose."
"Ah, good answer," everyone agreed.
"Hello, party people!" Harry cried, bursting through the bush. "How is everybody doing tonight? Ooh, fire!"
Immeadiately, twenty wands were pointed straight at Harry's heart. "No need to get all hossstile," he slurred, stumbling. "I just want to join in the fessstivites. You all look like swingin' cats. I'm hip to the jive, I'm cool."
"Harry Potter," Voldemort said quickly, licking his lips. "So good of your to join us."
"Are we going to finish him off?" Lucius asked excitedly.
"Wow, that's weak, man. Not cool. Not cool," Harry accused, pointing at Lucius. "I just wanted to have a little fun. You guys look like a nice group."
"You…want to join us, Harry Potter?" Voldemort questioned, looking surprised.
"Sure, Mack Daddy," Harry grinned.
"Daddy…" Voldemort sighed wistfully. "I always wanted a son. With Potter as my ally…we could be unstoppable."
"Is that wise?" Lucius questioned. "Perhaps he's lying, my lord."
"Bellatrix," Voldemort barked. "Check his mind. Is he here under false pretenses?"
Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward and lowered her hood. "He's mind is clouded, lord," she replied. "But I think that's because he's drunk."
Voldemort grinned. "Boy's will be boys."
"Exacataly!" Harry exclaimed, goggling at Bellatrix. "You now what they sssay?" he
slurred. "Once you go with a sexually frustrated angst-ridden teenager, you never go back!" He tried to wink but fell over instead. Bellatrix let out a snorted and stepped back into the crowd. "Hey!" Harry called after her. "Wanna see my broomstick?"
That's where the memory ended. Suddenly, the trio were being pulled upward and soon found themselves sprawled across the Astronomy Tower floor.
Harry stared abashedly as Ron and Hermione.
"Wait a minute!" Ron shouted, holding up his arms. "You've got the Dark Mark!"
"He's rather stupid," Harry pointed out to Hermione once again,
"Yes," she agreed. "But he's cute. Now, onward to the library! We've got some studying to do!"
"Where's the library?" Ron questioned. Nobody looked surprised.
Harry and Hermione read into the wee hours of the morning, accompianied by the Slytherins, researching past dark lords and their demises. Ron spent his time building a fort out of old textbooks.
"I made a castle," Ron said proudly. Hermione patted him on the head.
"How about a study break at the back of the stacks?" Hermione suggested. Ron nodded fervently.
"No," Harry commanded. "No more study breaks." He looked up and down at Hermione's dishelved clothes. "He's had enough. You'll give him a heartattack."
Hermione shrugged and sat back down in her chair while Ron pouted inside his castle.
"Did you know that the Dark Lord Pernipicus was killed when he was poisoned with deadly porridge?" Pansy asked.
Draco snorted. "Far too obvious."
"You know what, Draco?" Pansy shouted, pointing a finger in his face. "Your chin is too pointed and you look like you dumped an entire can of spackle on your head!" She then stormed out of the library with a humph, after bowing to Harry.
"She really doesn't have to do that anymore," he pointed out to Draco, who had pulled out his compact and was checking his reflection.
"My chin is not too pointed," he mumbled. "It's chiseled is all."
"Lord Hodgepodge, who specialized in the killing his victims with a potent Confundus charm, was killed when someone reflected his curse back at him and he fell off of a cliff," Blaise Zabini, pointed out.
"I don't think the old mirror trick is going to work," Harry replied.
"It's better than poisoned porridge," Blaise muttered.
"Well," Hermione started, slamming her book shut. "We do have one thing going for us. Voldemort has no idea that Harry isn't really his side. And, come to think of it, I think I've just gotten an idea…"
McGonagall was not at all happy with the recent developments.
"You mean to tell me, Potter," she spoke slowly. "That you've known about Voldemort's-"
"Oh, grow a pair, Mr. Weasley!" McGonagall exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that you've known about Voldemort's MASTER PLAN for an entire day, and you neglected to inform the administration until now."
Harry grinned. "We were forming a PLAN," he explained.
McGonagall paused and let out a breath. "Evacuate the school immeadiately," she barked at Professor Flitwick, who had been there all along, but was not previously mentioned because it hadn't really occurred to the author to mention him until now. "We are all doomed. At least we can get a running start."
"No, Professor, we really do have a PLAN," Harry assured her.
"It's a very good PLAN," Hermione agreed.
'A very good plan," Draco echoed.
"No, it's PLAN," Harry told him.
"Yes, that's it."
Draco nodded. "A very good PLAN."
McGonagall furrowed her eyebrows. "Leave the fate of some two hundred children in the hands of four sixteen year olds…I don't know. Well, I suppose we're all going to die anyway. Why not have one last laugh?"
Harry, Hermione, Ron and Draco waltzed confidentally into the Gryffindor common room to prepare. Seamus was still hanging from the chandelier.
"You know, mate," he said to Harry. "You never did take care of that snake."
That night, Harry strode through the grassy knoll in front of the school, the fear on his face illuminated by the setting sun. He raised the hood of the Death Eater uniform that Voldemort had sent with the snake and took a deep breath. He joined the large group of black-clothed men who were milling anxiously around the lake.
"Hello, all," he greeted them cheerfully. "I'm ready to betray my friends, the only family I've every really known. How about you guys?"
The crowd emitted a few low grumbles. Obviously they still weren't too happy about the identity of their lord's new heir.
"Hey," he said, trying again. "I brought fudge bars!"
Excitedly, they surrounded Harry, grabbing all the bars they could.
"Hey, hey, hey," he snapped, slapping a few hands. "Save some for Pop."
With a loud bang, Lord Voldemort appeared in next the lake. The crowd parted and the only sound that could be heard was the anxious chewing of several Death Eaters.
"Hello, Harry," Voldemort said warmly. At least, as warmly as a tall, snake like man could. He gave Harry a pat on the head. "How's your python?"
"It ate my Hedwig," Harry replied bitterly. The smile quickly returned to his face. "Fudge bar?"
"Don't mind if I do," Voldemort replied, touching each of them with his pale, claw like hands.
"Okay," Harry said, clapping his shaking hands together. "Onto the death and destruction, right? Woo! Death! Woo! Destruction!"
"I'm afraid not, dear boy," Voldemort said with a sinister grin. Ropes shot out of his wand, binding Harry tightly. Oh, dear, he thought. This surely can't be good.
He was right. It wasn't good. It was very, very bad.
"Sorry, Potter," Voldemort spat. "But whereas you've changed, I haven't. Allow you to become a Death Eater? I think not! Now that we've separated you from the rest of the students, I can return to kill you and end that horrid prophecy once and for all once I've got the rest of them underneath the Imperius curse. Oh, are we going to have some fun!"
"But…but…but…" Harry stuttered. "I've got the Dark Mark!"
"Oh, that," Voldemort snorted with a wave of the hand. "That was just a temporary tattoe. We put it on you after you passed out in the woods. Can't hold your liquor, can you?"
"I resent that," Harry said spitefully.
"Well, ta, Potter," Voldemort said grandly as he and his entourage took off towards the castle, practically rolling with laughter. "Not you MacNair. You can guard him."
MacNair nodded with a frown. He never got to have any fun!
"But we played catch!" Harry called after him. "We played catch!"
Harry and MacNair sat in silence for a few awkward minutes. "So," Harry said after a moment. "Are those robes dry clean only?"
MacNair grunted. He looked up to see Harry Potter's face slowly melting away and fainted dead away.
"Good lord," Draco said, giving him a good kick. "What a sissy."
At the front entrance of the castle, Voldemort started up the steps, his Death Eaters following. "Here it is, boys. Our day of reckoning! Finally, we shall prevail! All of you except for Lucius and Wormtail: stand watch outside! Kill anything that moves!"
The four men burst through the door, wands bared, only to find a lone, red-haired, vacuous student standing on the stairs.
"Well, hello," Ron greeted them cheerfully. "Who are you here to see?"
"Weasley," Voldemort hissed, smiling. "Perhaps, I'll just kill you now rather than putting you under the Imperious. You're far too stupid to do me any good anyway."
Ron frowned. "Who are we talking about?"
"Enough of this banter!" Voldemort shouted. "Avada-"
"Wait!" Ron cried.
Voldemort sighed. "What is it?"
Ron smiled. "I want to play a game."
Outside, some twenty students were waiting at the edge of the Forbidden Forrest, watching for Harry's signal.
"Harry," Susan Bones cried. "They're so large and powerful! How will we ever get past them!"
"Yeah, Harry," Dean called. "How?"
"We're all doomed!" Seamus shouted.
"Quiet," Harry commanded. "Wait for it."
"Did you see the game last night?" Crabbe Sr. asked Goyle Sr. as he twirled his wand.
"Sure did," Goyle Sr. responded. "Lost twenty galleons on it."
"Eh, Krum's really gone down the tubes these past two years."
"By jove!" Rodolphus LeStrange called out next to them. "I think I'm going to be sick!"
One by one, like dominoes in a line, the Death Eaters outside of the castle began to drop to their knees and laid still.
"They're all out cold!" Sally-Ann Perks called out.
Harry grinned. "Thanks to Pansy's Fudge Bars!"
"So, you did put poison in them?" Hermione questioned, stunned by the fact that her friend's PLAN had actually worked.
Harry smiled. "No."
"Two words," Voldemort guessed as Ron held up two fingers.
"First word," Wormtail started.
Ron made a swaying motion.
"Dancing, first word dancing!" Lucius nodded fervently.
Ron shook his head.
"Silence!" Voldemort boomed. Everyone became quiet. "Is the first word swimming?"
Ron shook his head.
"Fainting!" Wormtail cried out excitedly. "Is it fainting?"
Ron jumped up and down and nodded.
"First word is fainting!" Lucius shouted.
"Calm down, boys," Voldemort commanded. "Go on, young Weasley."
Ron pointed towards the windows.
"Lake, trees, forest…" Lucius rattled off. "Er…squid, windows, jet plane, guards…"
Ron threw up his hands. "You win!"
Voldemort and his two followers clapped and shouted excitedly. "Wait a minute," Voldemort said, his face turning solemn again. "What does 'fainting guards' mean?"
The three men stormed out the doors, only to come face to face with twenty Harry Potter's.
"But…" Voldemort sputtered. "I tied you up!"
"That's what you thought!" All twenty of them chorused.
"Sire," Wormtail shrieked. "Which…which one of them is the real boy."
On Harry stepped forward. "You'll never be able to tell us all apart!"
"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort cried.
The Harry who stepped forward crumpled and fell to the ground, unmoving.
"I suppose," Voldemort replied, looking at his nails. "I can just kill you all."
"On three, we charge!" the real Harry shouted. "One, two, three!"
On three, the real Harry was the only one who charged. When he looked around and realized he was standing solo, he sighed.
"Guys," he whined. "Ever heard of a little solidarity?"
"I wanted your death to be slow and painful, Potter," Voldemort spat. "But I suppose I'll have to settle for fast and painless."
Voldemort pointed his wand, but before he could, he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. "Oh, dear," he said aloud, falling to his knees. "Something I ate?"
And then his eyes were lifeless.
"Er, I bet be going," Lucius said quickly, pointing his wand at himself.
"I don't think so," Hermione-Harry cried. "Expelliarmus!"
Lucius' wand flew from his hand. Everyone erupted into cheers as their faces slowly melted away and they became their normal selves. Soon, only one Harry was left.
"Oh, no," Susan cried. "Who was it that was killed!"
"Don't worry," Dean shouted back. "It was only Neville!"
"Thank goodness that Snape kept forty gallons of Polyjuice potion ready at all times," Hermione pointed out. "That sure was a lucky coincidence."
Suddenly, Voldemort's lifeless body rose again, and his eyes flashed red. "Thought a little poison could do me in, eh?" He grabbed Harry by the throat and lifted him into the air. "Nothing can kill me, except for-"
The twenty former Harry scrambled among themselves, screaming and running around aimlessly until they all ended up in one large pile.
Slowly, Voldemort released Harry and crumped again, revealing a smiling Ron, who was holding a 9 millimeter.
"Two words," he said in a low voice. "Semi…automatic."
"Ron!" Hermione cried as he scooped her up into his arms. "You're alright! But…where did you get a gun? And why did nobody else ever think of that?"
Ron grinned maniacally and shrugged. He began to stroke the gun.
"I'll take that." Harry yoinked the gun out of Ron's hands and tossed it into the lake.
Everyone erupted into cheers…again!
"Yay," they cried. "The dark days are over!"
Hermione grinned and hugged Harry. "It's over, Harry! Voldemort's dead! No more fame, no more angst, no more fan-girls! Now you can start trying to overcome the emotionally crippling traumas that you've faced in the past 16 years! Let the therapy begin!"
The smile slid off of Harry's face. "Oh, dear."
"Hello?" Draco called from the Forbidden Forest, where he was still bound next to the unmoving MacNair. "Did we win?"