I am the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord on high,
I am the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord,
Potter and pathetic Muggle fools will ... fry,"
"Wonderful use of meter, my Lord. I must condone your use of repitition in particular ..."
"No amount of flattery is going to get you out of this one, Lucius. I should have killed you in that graveyard in book four. No-one would have missed you."
"My Lord, I humbly beg for forgiveness, I thought all for the best ..."
"You thought eating my marshmallows was for the best, did you? I told you no-one must touch them when I went to the publishers! How stupid I was to leave you in charge."
"My Lord -"
"Enough blabbering! If I didn't need you to make hot chocolate, you would be dead by now, Lucius. Don't ever forget that."
"Yes, my Lord, of course ..."
The Riddle House in Little Hangleton had been subjected to the Dark Lord Voldemort's futile attempts to re-invent himself as a poet. He held the vain hope that Rowling's publishers might prefer his book in verse.
"After all," he mused, "that Shakespeare chap did alright for himself, and he was just a pathetic Muggle."
"Indeed, my Lord."
"Lucius, I've stopped listening to you now. Just get me a bag of marshmallows. One of the only one's left, after your indulgence," said Voldemort, glaring at Malfoy as he ran towards the cellar with his head bowed.
Harry stared at his broomstick. His beloved Firebolt, a present from his dead godfather, his most prized possession was - broken. Voldemort stood over him, laughing his terrible laugh, having snapped the beloved broom over his knee only moments before.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Please, I'll do anything, put it back together!!!"
"Potter!"
Harry opened his eyes, and jumped to see himself reflected in the very angry face of Professor Snape.
"I'm sorry if my class is boring you so, Potter, but you will do me the courtesy of keeping your eyes open for the remainder of the hour. Seventeen points from Gryffindor."
The class gasped in shock. Beside him, Harry saw Hermione raise a shaking hand into the air.
"What?" spat Snape.
"Please, sir," Hermione quivered, "you usually take points away in even numbers. You should say ten points from Gryffindor, or your usual favorite of fifty points from Gryffindor. The exception being, of course, our very first class in Potions, when you took just one point away, because Harry was cheeky, and you've never done that since -"
"Silence, you silly girl. I'm free to change my patterns whenever I so wish. Besides ... I remember taking fifteen points away at one stage ..."
Snape's eyes appeared glazed as he recounted various episodes of point deduction in his mind.
"Potter!" he snapped suddenly, "get off the floor!"
"I want you to leave me alone," Harry said defiantly.
The boy had sunk to his knees, the shock of having his broomstick broken was just too much to bear.
"He needs to go to the hospital wing, Professor!" shouted a fellow classmate.
"I'll go with him," Ron and Hermione said in unison.
"No, you'll miss the rest of my lesson. We're going to be dancing soon, and I'm sure you need all the help you can get after Lupin teaching you."
The Ron and Hermione stared blankly at their teacher, as Harry moaned and groaned and generally made himself even more of a nuisance than usual.
"Oh, very well! Merlin forbid that precious Potter should come to any harm."
Ron and Hermione escorted Harry quickly from the room, and made their way to Dumbledore's office, hoping to confide Harry's most recent dream to him.
"When is this story going to end?" Harry moaned. "I'm so sick of this ..."
"Every story must reach it's conclusion, Harry, which must try to be as interesting and surprising as possible," lectured Hermione.
Harry looked as though he would retch. Rounding the corner, they came face to face with a less than welcome Slytherin.
"Aww, is dear little Potter feeling faint?"
"Malfoy," Harry muttered, through gritted teeth.
"Well done, Potter, I see you remember my name. You won't forget it once this war is over."
"Shove off, Malfoy!" said Ron angrily.
"How wonderful life is for you, Potter, when you have a Weasley and a Mudblood for protection."
Hermione went furiously red, and Ron reached for his wand. However, nothing Malfoy could ever say would compare to his next action. He reached into his robes, and withdrew - a bag of marshmallows, and a packet of cookies.
The trio stared at him in shocked disbelief, as he began to eat, gazing nochalantly at them.
"What?"
"AAARRRRGGGHH!" Harry dove at Malfoy, pulling him to the ground in a desperate fight for the bag.
"Death Eater!" yelled Ron and Hermione, as they frantically tried to pull Harry away.
"Get off me, Potter! Where in Merlin's name are Crabbe and Goyle?!"
In a blind panic, Malfoy threw the cookies at Harry, who immediately cowered away from them in fright.
"Arrrggh! It burns, it burns!!!"
"Don't be stupid, Harry, you're fine," Hermione said, staring thoughtfully after Malfoy, as he ran from the scene clutching the marshmallow bag.
"You know what this means," Harry said feverishly, as Hermione's eyes glowed with realization. Ron shook his head slowly.
"Oh, Ron, you can be really thick," said Harry in annoyance. "Malfoy's father is stealing marshmallows from Voldemort!"
"Let's go to Dumbledore," Hermione whispered, and the three continued on their way to the headmaster.
"I did it, Lucius, I did it!"
The Dark Lord pranced exciteably amongst his Death Eaters, many of whom were too surprised at their leader's actions to ask what was going on.
"Yes, my Lord?" asked Malfoy, as he handed Voldemort a mug of hot chocolate, full to the brim with marshmallows. The Dark Lord, in his excitement, immediatley spilled it down his front. As Malfoy wiped him clean with the hem of his robes, Voldemort continued to jump up and down with glee.
"I finished it, I finished it! It's much, much better than before, it's the best thing I've ever read - listen."
Taking his place in the center of the circle, Voldemort began:
"There was - "
"Posture, my Lord, shoulder's back."
"Yes, Lucius, thank you." He coughed slightly, and began again.
"There was - "
"Project your voice, my Lord." Malfoy cringed under the glare he received from Voldemort, and added, "All the better to hear you with - "
"Yes, Lucius, that will do. Ahem."
"There was a young boy named Tom Riddle,
Who despised learning to play the fiddle,
He dropped by one day,
To his teacher's dismay,
And killed him with a laugh and a tickle!"
Silence followed this excerpt from Voldemort's Tom Riddle and the Half Blood Prince - a Secret Life Revealed in Poetry and Prose.
"Well?"
The Death Eater's clapped, and Voldemort appeared satisfied.
"They have to accept this one, I'll bring it to the publishers tomorrow. Now, however, I must check on this situation with Potter. He is dangerously close to uncovering the truth before it's proper place in the story."
As the Dark Lord swept out of the room, Lucius made his way tentatively towards the cellar. He was determined to rid the Dark Lord of this terrible blight of marshmallows, and return to the normality of Ms. Rowling's original series.
In Dumbledore's office, the old man sat at his desk, his thin legs spread.
"Please excuse me, I must stretch. Severus and I are practicing Dancing Against the Dark Arts tonight. Poor Remus is transforming."
"Do you have any idea what Harry's dream means, Professor?" asked Hermione.
"Hmm ... I have my suspicions, Miss. Granger. Of course, I will not reveal them until the end, when it is far too late. However, I will tell you this much - I believe we are moving ever closer to the truth."
Before Harry went to bed that night, he opened his trunk to take a loving glance at his Firebolt. For a moment, he thought the shining wooden handle was a sleeping snake, but a second glance revealed it was just a trick of the light. However, as he closed the lid, he could have sworn the broom took on a green tinge. Harry went to bed, confused and afraid as to what was going on, and what was in store for him.
Government Health Warning: There are only a few chapters to go, everyone. Stop throwing things at me!