shattered

Disclaimer: Really. I promise (if the word of a Slytherin is worth anything). It’s not mine.

A/N: At last… a story which makes no sense whatsoever. Just read it. D/Hr and H/G.

“Yowch!”

“You deserved it!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“MUMMY!”

Lily and Lucius Malfoy were playing with each other, the twins both being eight and thus obnoxious. The ancient rivalry between the twins was legendary, but always parted on…more or less…good terms, mostly to the efforts of their mother, Hermione Malfoy.

“Honey, why don’t you ever call on Dad?” she asked, exasperated, looking up from her ever-present book.

“Because he’s no fun!” Lily whined. “He always takes Lucy’s side.”

“He does not!” Lucius defended his dad. “Besides, Mum always takes your side. And don’t call me Lucy,” he pouted.

“Mum does not. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy!” sang the copper-haired Lily, dancing around mockingly and waving her long-fingered hands.

Lucius, a split-image of his grandfather with the Malfoy platinum hair and grey eyes, his long hair tied back in a ponytail, growled mock-threateningly and lunged at Lily, who squealed and danced out of reach, her startlingly green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Draco!” Hermione called.

“Mmhmm,” he answered. “Oh by the way, Potter’s coming over with his group of Gryffies.”

“Don’t call us that,” scolded his wife of ten years. “I don’t call you a Slythie, do I?”

“No, but only because we Slytherins are much too dignified for a frivolous nickname like that,” he said seriously, looking up with a signature Malfoy smirk. Though Lily resembled her mother and Lucius resembled his father, both had inherited his smirk and aristocratic features, along with his pale skin and rather snotty temperament.

To even things out, Lily and Lucius were both intelligent and more or less studious, though Draco insisted that these qualities belonged to him as well, and thus both Lily and Lucius were really his children. No one knew where the green eyes of Lily came from.

Unless, of course, as Draco often joked, Hermione had had something going on with Potter that she hadn’t told him about…

“Mione! Malfoy!” Harry was here.

“Hermione!” His wife, Ginny, rushed toward him and began doing whatever it is that women do. You know, hug, kiss, cry, and generally carry on like they haven’t seen each other for years?

Yeah, thought so.

Just then, the door bell rang again and Draco looked up, annoyed. “What, is this turning into a bloody orgy or something?” Hermione smacked him upside of his head for using language around their children, while black haired, green eyed little James laughed and clapped his six-year-old hands and Lily raised an eyebrow knowingly and Lucius smirked. Tall, handsome Sirius, who looked just like his namesake, causing many people to joke about Lily and Sirius’s eyes being switched at birth, with all of his ten-year-old dignity, just rolled his eyes.

Albus-Severus gurgled happily, but as he was only six months-old, he didn’t count.

Ginny cuddled him, and said, “Harry, you get the door.”

“Why me?” he grumbled, but got up anyway and went.

But before he could reach the door, it burst open into a shower of splinters, and a sonic boom echoed throughout the house, a black cloud spreading from the spot their door had been.

“Oi!” said Draco indignantly. “That piece of wood cost a hundred Galleons!”

“Now look!” came a pouty voice. “You spoiled my entrance!”

Hermione and Draco shared mystified looks.

“I was going to say, Behold! I have returned! And then laugh really evilly. I’ve been practicing my evil laugh for years now, wanna hear it? It goes like this. Ahem. Muahahahaha!”

“Very…impressive,” said Harry slowly.

“But now,” whined the voice, “you just had to go and say that thing about how expensive your door was. I don’t care how expensive your door was, you ruined my entrance! And I worked so hard on it too...”

Blink.

“Who…are you?” Ginny asked finally.

“You don’t REMEMBER me??!!” came a screech. “How could you not REMEMBER me! I even possessed you in your first year!”

“Huh?”

But the voice was off, muttering. “You work for years, you organize a group, you try to kill a baby, you keep Bellatrix from going mad, you make sure Lucius takes his medicine, you keep Crabbe and Goyle from getting lost, you catch and tame a Basilik, and what do they do? Go and forget you the minute your back is turned. That’s ingratitude for you.”

“Hold on…” said Harry slowly. “I think I might know you. Weren’t you that guy who…um…who…oh, wait a minute, don’t tell me…I know this…oh yeah, I know you!”

“Finally,” grumbled the disembodied voice.

“You’re Lord Moldieshorts! I remember you now!”

Groan.

“Hello? Are you okay?”

From the doorway there came a sound of someone methodically banging his head against a doorframe. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

“I’m so sorry,” called Harry. “Did I get your name wrong? “

“Yes!” shouted the annoyed voice. “You bloody well did!”

Automatically, Hermione reached around and smacked him.

“Ow!” A pale head emerged, his greenish-white skin contorted in a moue of disgust and pain. Perched on top of it was a ridiculous pink wig, causing Hermione to laugh out loud. “What did you hit me for?”

“No language around the kids,” she said mechanically.

“Ooh, there’re kids here? Where? Oh, I love kids!” cried the insane maniac, his face lighting up in a grin.

“Mummy, he’s scaring me!” said Lily, drawing back into Hermione’s comforting embrace.

“Awww…” the guy’s, whatever his name was, face scrunched up, and he looked like he was going to cry. “Nobody likes me…even Bella, she gave me teddy bears when I was scared of the dark, but she was always trying to kiss me…ew, I don’t like kissing. It’s icky.”

“Um…it’s okay,” said Ginny uncertainly.

All four of the adults looked at each other uncertainly, wondering whether to call St. Mungo’s or the Auror department.

“Anyway…your name is?” asked Draco finally.

“Lord Voldemort! I have returned!” said the ridiculous figure grandly, drawing himself up to an impressive height of 5`9.

Well, sort of impressive.

“Why are you here?” asked Draco again, rather acerbically. Insane or not, that door had cost a bloody lot of money, and he was going to have to pay to fix it…unless of course he could sue this dude, but of course suing would require legal interference, from which would ensue…well, probably Azkaban at least, or the Kiss. And well…that would be like saying goodbye to any chance of reparation, however slight.

Yeah, yeah, so he’s still a sneaky Slytherin. Of course he is, just because he married a sentimental Gryff doesn’t mean he’s still not a snake at heart! So sue him!

“Oh yeah…which one of you is Harry Potter?” he asked.

Harry groaned. “Not again. No, you can’t have my autograph or coffee cup or underwear or whatever bloody well it is you want!” he said.

“Underwear?” Hermione giggled, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly blushing man.

“This one fangirl…I think she was kinda kinky, she asked for my boxers…”

“What did you tell her?” asked a suddenly interested Draco.

“That I go commando…”

“You didn’t! Harry James Potter!”

“Yeah, yeah…” he grumbled. “It seemed funny at the time.” Draco could not speak for laughing, and Sirius was rolling around on the ground—how did he know what commando meant anyway?—, while Lily, with all her Malfoy dignity, sneered impressively at the helpless boy.

“I would not want underwear!” said Voldemort stiffly, looking extremely annoyed. “Who do you think I am? I was looking for Harry Potter because—” here he paused dramatically.

“Why?” asked Harry.

“Because I need to kill you in my master plan to take over the world! Muahahaha!” he stopped. “Did you like my evil laugh?” he asked anxiously. “I think it’s rather nice, myself.”

“Um…yes, it’s…quite nice…” said Ginny cautiously.

“Thanks!” the dark lord’s face lit up and he grinned a huge smile. “I worked a long time on my HEMPTTW too.”

“What?” asked Hermione curiously.

“Oh, my Horrendously Evil Master Plan To Take Over the World,” said Voldemort. “It took too long to say it, so now I just say HEMPTTW.”

“How…interesting,” said Hermione slowly, and shot a double take at her husband. “And you say I come up with awful acronyms…” she murmured to the laughing blond Slytherin.  

“Well, in my defense, you have to admit that PUKE or VOMIT or whatever it was was a truly awful choice for your organization,” he protested, holding his hands up.

“It was SPEW, you moron!” she half-yelled, launching the first thing that came to handy at him. Hermione being Hermione, it was a book.

Draco being the extremely fit and agile and sexy—well, according to him, anyway—Seeker that he was, expertly dodged the book…well, years of practice and the fact that Hermione’s aim was none to good helped as well.

Apparently, being an Evil Dark Lord In Hiding (EDLIH for short) does not constitute as workout, because Lord Voldemort did not have the same luck as Draco and thus became the hapless victim of Hermione’s aim. “Ouch! Ow! Owee!” he yelped, clutching vainly at his forehead, from which a few droplets of blood trickled down. “Hey! You hit me!”

“Oops, sorry,” she said, actually sounding a little sorry. “Here, let me fix it for you.” So saying, she took out her wand and pointed it at his greenish-white skin. “Fugmue—” she started, but Lucius, who had been engaged in a silent elbow-shoving war with Lily, lost it and went tumbling over, hitting her arm and joggling it. The spell flew prematurely out of her wand, hitting his forehead in a puff of Pepto-Bismol pink.

“Lucius John Malfoy!”

“Umm…sorry?” asked the blond demon, peering up through his fringe cautiously.

“Now look! You made me mess up, and now our visitor—”

“You scarred me!” came a wail. “My handsome face, all marred!”

“Um…right,” said the handsome Draco slowly, staring at the sickly skin, bald head, and snake-like features.

“Well, you scarred me,” shot back Harry, fingering his own lightning bolt scar. “So I’d say it’s only fair.”

“Hey…that’s right!” said the evil lord, perking up. “I have a scar just like yours! Is mine cool like yours?”

“If you consider a butterfly cool…”began Ginny carefully.

“Yippee! I have a cool scar! You have a cool scar too!” he turned and grabbed Harry’s hand, dragging the perplexed Gryffindor up. “Let’s start a Cool Scar Club (CSC for short)! Yay! I made a club! I’ve always like starting clubs. Last time it was the DE (Death Eaters) but this is much more cool.” He promptly started a victory dance, waving his arms up and down and shaking his arse enthusiastically.

“Ew…”Lily covered her eyes and looked away disgustedly. “Is he done yet?” she asked her mother.

“Hey…my scar is cool! Ha, take that, Malfoy!” Harry said excitedly. “Vo—this guy here agrees with me!” clapping him on the shoulder.

“I stick by what I have stated previously,” sneered the blond. “Your scar is hideous and disfiguring and all together overrated.”

“Aww…” Harry looked sad, and his lower lip began to pout.

“It’s all right!” said Voldie hastily. “Don’t cry, I hate it when people cry! Here, let’s dance!”

Whereupon he promptly began to shake his arse and jump around in a circle even more enthusiastically than before. The Boy-Who-Lived and Hero-Of-The-Wizarding-World began to shimmy right along with him.

Ginny watched in horror as her husband of eleven years seemed to be going categorically insane.

“Come on Ginny, it’s fun! You too Malfoy!’

“I,” said the pureblood aristocratically, “am a Malfoy. Malfoys do not dance.”

Before he could say anything else, he found himself being dragged in by two deranged looking wizards, both wearing identically maniacal and goofy grins.

“But—but I don’t have a scar!” he protested uselessly.

“That’s okay!” said Voldemort. “We’ll start a new club…I know! Let’s Overcome for Villains and Evil-lords! (LOVE for short!)”

“OK,” said Draco happily. “I’ve always wanted to be a villain. Can I dress up in black and wear a mask with a swirling cloak?”

“Sure!” said Harry. “Just dance! I’ll teach you the bunny-hop!”

“Et tu Brute?” moaned Hermione as her husband, too, began taking the short route to the nearest asylum. Nobody was quite sure what she meant. But then again, she was the educated one—and the Muggleborn. Well, technically, Harry was raised by Muggles too, but then again, he had never really been one for Shakespeare.

“Gah-lee Wurra Wurra Wurra Deedle Wagada Wagada!” said baby Albus Severus happily, waving his short arms in a parody of the dance his father was engaging in.

(Bonus points to those who can guess where the last part of the baby talk came from.)

“Aww, did wittle Sevvie say something?” cooed Ginny, while Hermione winced at the thought of what Professor Snape would say if he heard his name thus belittled.

“Daddy’s dancing! Daddy’s dancing!” Lily sing-songed with Lucius, completely free from Malfoy pride, dancing up and down, waving their arms in the air as they hopped in a circle with their crazy elders, humming a little ditty that no one could recognize. Apparently, musical talent was not a Malfoy trait.

“Stop it!” cried Ginny, covering her ears.

“Silencio!” cried Hermione, raising her wand.

It worked. The room fell magically (no pun intended) silent in an instant, except for the furious drumming of Sirius’s heels on the carpet as he jumped and down, waving his arms, opening and shutting his mouth, trying to speak, and looking very much like a fish out of water.

Harry struggled outraged for a few minutes, but it was Draco who finally mastered the wandless magic to break her spell. He had always had an intuitive grasp of magic, wandless or without…if he broke the spell only on himself, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

“What was that for, Granger?” he asked, reverting to their old habit of referring to each other by their surnames.”

“I’m a Malfoy now, Malfoy, remember?” Hermione inquired acerbically.

“Fine. What was that for, Malfoy?”

Instead of answering, she burst out laughing. “

“What the hell is so bloody funny?” he asked grumpily.

“Do you have any other idea of how ridiculous you sounded just then?” she told him. “You were asking yourself what that was for. You sounded demented.”

“Yes, well,” he grumbled. Beside him, Harry had finally remembered his wand—no really?!—and done a nonverbal charm.

“Hermione Jane Granger, I am going to bloody kill you!” he shouted the moment the charm was off.

“Why is everybody forgetting my name today?” Hermione complained to nobody in particular.

Let me go!, mouthed a furious Sirius.

“Oh—right,” she said distractedly, lifting the charm with a wave of her wand.

“I don’t like Aunt Granger!” he snapped, folding his arms and turning away.

“It’s MALFOY!” she yelled, finally snapping. “Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy!”

“Aunt Hermi-nee’s mean!”

“Where’s my wand?”

“Daddy danced! Daddy danced!”

“Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy…”

 “But what was that for?”

“I’m going to Avada you!”

“Aren’t you going to answer me, Aunt Hermi-nee?”

“MUMMY! Lucy pulled my hair!”

“I did not!”

“Did too!”

“Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy…”

“MUAHAHAHAHA!” cried the ex-lord, having finally managed to get a hold of a wand (Harry’s) and break the silencing charm. “I have returned! Behold your doom!”

“Aaah, it’s Lord Voldemort!” cried Harry, having finally regained his senses.

“No, really?” asked Hermione with heavy sarcasm.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Malfoy!” snapped Ginny. “You’re the one with the wand! Get him!”

“Who, me? Why don’t you get him?”

“Because I’m holding a baby!”

“Hermione has a wand too! Why don’t you tell her to get him?”

“Gee, thanks, Malfoy, I feel so safe and protected by my oh-so-loving husband. Why don’t you get him Ginny? Use one of your Bat-Bogey hexes.”

“I keep telling you, I have a baby.”

“Well, put him down!”

“Somebody get my wand!”

“You go get it Potter!”

“Why don’t you get it?”

“Because I’m a Slytherin!”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“I dunno, it just seemed like a good excuse at the time.”

Around them, the walls of their flat were crumbling slightly as Lord Voldemort raised the wand once again magnificently.

“Absinthe miracula seisno stilelia!” he cried, waving his wand with a great sweep of his wand. Unfortunately, the effect was ruined by the fact that in his gestures, he inadvertently stuck his wand up his nose.

“Ah! Ow! Ouch! Owee!”

“Get him!” shouted Harry, rushing forward, brandishing the first thing that came to sight.

“My book!” cried Hermione, rushing forward. “Give it back! It’s a special first edition!”

 “Hermione, get back here!” yelled Draco, rushing forward. “He’s insane!”

“Daddy’s running!” chorused the twins, rushing forward.

“Why do they always get to have all the fun?” complained Sirius, rushing forward.

“Ah, help!” cried Voldemort when he saw the mob (well, all right, six people) running toward him full-tilt. Carried under by their momentum, he struggled. “No, MY WIG!” he howled in a tone of uttermost display as the pink blemish was torn from his head. In the ensuing confusion, someone turned out the lights.

“Get him!”

“Where is he?”

“Over there!”

“No, over there!”

“Who turned off the lights?”

“I bet it was Malfoy.”

“That’s right, blame the Slytherin for everything!”

“MUAHAHAHA!” came an evil laugh from a corner. “You are too late! I have all of your wands! You are doomed! Yes, you and the rest of the world! Doomed! You’re doomed, they’re doomed, we’re all doomed! (Except me, of course.) Ahahaha!”

There stood Voldemort, his pink wig firmly back on his bald head, clutching his robes around him and holding seven wands in his hand like a bundle of sticks triumphantly.

“You know, I would have liked that ha-ha much better if there wasn’t the ‘mua’ in front of it,” said Hermione acerbically.

(Brownies to whoever guesses which Dramione story that was from! I love it, the sequel, and the author.)

“That’s the best you can do for your famous last words?” asked Draco incredulously.

“Famous?”

“Well, you are a war hero—heroine—friend of Harry Potter, AKA the Boy Who Lived, et cetera et cetera??”

“Oh? And I suppose you have any better?” she challenged him.

“Yeah. How about, goddamn fucking shite no way this is happening, ?”

“No language in front of the kids,” she said, reaching over automatically to smack him. Her husband ducked with the ease of long practice, and she overextended herself and fell, smacking baby Albus Severus accidentally.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” wailed Sevvie with the lungs of a Weasley and the ease of long practice. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

“My ears!” cried the dreaded Lord Voldemort. “Oh, my ears! Stop him somebody!”

“Stop it Sev,” Harry started to say automatically, but his wife smacked him sharply on his head.

“You idiot, that’s Lord Voldemort!”

“Oh. Right. Um—oh yeah, I guess I should arrest him, shouldn’t I? As Head Auror and all?”

They all stared at the green-and-pink figure writhing on the floor with his hands clamped over his ears, their wands lying forgotten on the floor.

“No,” said Ginny sarcastically. “You should invite him over to our house for a tea party.”

“Yeah, good id—wait a second…” he looked suspiciously at the redhead. “Are you being sarcastic?”

This elicited a small, dry cough from Draco, who, rolling his eyes, grabbed all six wands, sorted through them, and handed Harry’s wand to the bemused Gryffindor. “Go on,” he said, shoving him. “Arrest him! what are you waiting for?”

“Oh. Tom Riddle, I officially arrest you for…for…wait, what am I arresting him for again?”

The adults sighed in a collective group of five. “He’s Voldemort, Harry, you don’t need anything to arrest him for. Hell, you could kill him right now and no one would say a word except to throw you a party.”

“But I can’t just arrest him for…nothing. It wouldn’t sound right. And what would I write on the report?”

“How about, ‘crimes against the state and by way of the 1948 Sistine Order?” asked Draco.

“Um yeah, sure,” said Harry, scribbling it down and putting Voldemort in wizarding handcuffs. “What exactly is the 1948 Sistine Order?”

“Dunno,” shrugged his best friend’s husband. “It just sounded pretty impressive.”

“Oh, you…” sighed Hermione, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “C’mon, the kids are hungry.”

“I want peanut-butter jelly cut in triangles!”

“You’re so picky, Lucy.”

“Mummy! Lily called me Lucy again!”