A/N: This is short and I'm not even a big fan of Harry Potter. It was just a random thought of mine that I'm insane enough to type up. W00t.

Harry sat there, carefully balancing himself on top of The Leaky Cauldron, invisibility cloak over his head. Snape had said that Voldemort planned to announce his (sadly) continued existence in the wizarding world in a most spectacular manner. He would light Diagon Alley. Literally. He planned to burn the entire area to the ground, and he didn't know that Harry knew.

The telltale pop of apparition was multiplied a hundred-fold as every full Death Eater apparated into Diagon Alley with their master. Voldemort hissed in enjoyment as chaos ensued, people running into buildings to hide from him and his minions. They all stood there, reveling in the fear their presence invoked. Harry chuckled softly and reached into his pocket, tossing down the large can right at Voldemort, tossing his invisibility cloak aside as he did so.

"Oi, Snake-face! Catch!" Surprisingly enough, he did. The large canister landed right in his scaled hands. Voldemort stared at it puzzled as Harry stepped backwards off the ledge, a large explosion rocking the area.

Luckily, the magically re-enforced buildings suffered little damage from the large explosion, though the walls would need extensive scourgifying afterwards. Harry chuckled softly, and spat down into the scorch-mark that used to be the feared dark lord, the one whose name could not even be spoken in fear of him. The spit arced up and landed with a resounding splat in the middle of the mark.

"Who'd have thunk that Napalm would be 'the power the dark lord knows not'… Guess I should be thanking the twins for shoving all that in there. Damn simple way of doing this… Big fucking tin can, with a nice Protego cast to the inside; add lit napalm and boom, big ass fireball in a can. No more dark lord… Wonder if I'll be left alone now?" He pulled a little toy squeaky hammer from his pocket, and taped it twice with his wand, idly picking his cloak up with his foot.

He appeared in a shadowy room.

"Mischief Managed."