Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter, including all familiar characters and places. I'm just playing with them because I was left unsupervised.

And on.

Chapter VI: September Conversations

"But why does it have to be my name everywhere?" Harry whinged, even as he wrote down yet another ridiculous allusion to his real name as a possible author. He wasn't a huge fan of whinging — it always gave him flashbacks to his childhood, back before Dudley had grown too hold to whine and fake-cry every second minute of the day — but certain occasions demanded nothing less and this was most certainly one of them.

"Because people will read it," Luna said simply.

Harry huffed, insulted at the perfectly good pout that was wasted on Luna because the girl didn't deign to look up from where she was carefully doodling a unicorn onto page 123 of her defense textbook.

"That's stupid."

Because it was. Granted, this was the magical world they were talking about, but still. There were plenty of smart witches and wizards that Harry knew. Okay, there were two smart witches Harry knew, three if you counted Luna. But Luna was brilliant, which wasn't quite the same thing, so two. Man, the magical world really was in a sorry state, wasn't it?

"The Prophet's throwing your name around like it's going out of style," Luna reminded, like someone, anyone would allow Harry to forget that unfortunate truth for even a single day in his life. Really, if he'd known how much trouble Hogwarts would be, Harry couldn't in good conscience swear that he would've been as eager to follow Hagrid into the Leaky Caldron as he'd been at eleven. Ah, the follies of youth.

"And it will, very soon," Luna continued, unbothered by Harry's internal monologue. "Harry really is a terribly uninspiring name for a Dark Lord. But while they're still at it, you might as well do the same." Luna shrugged.

Harry nodded slowly. That actually made perfect sense. In the two turns to the right, upside-down way that was typical for Luna's ideas. Except—

"Hold on, what do you mean by Dark Lord? Luna? Luna!"

On the first Monday of the new term, Seamus Finnigan woke to sickly yellow hair and pants that transformed into a skirt the moment he stepped out of the Gryffindor tower, no matter how often he changed them.

It didn't exactly improve his mood that Dean was laughing himself sick over it.

"It's your own fault, mate," the asshole said unsympathetically once he came up for air. Which took a while. "You should know better than to insult Harry within earshot of the Weasley twins. Or any Weasley. Or Hermione. Or the Quidditch team. Or—"

"Will you just shut up!" Seamus snarled between gritted teeth. He wasn't in the mood to be the source of his best friend's humor. "And I didn't insult Harry."

"Whatever you say, man." Dean shrugged and swiped the sweet potatoes before Ron could have the brilliant idea to take thirds. "Doesn't change that you made an arse out of yourself yesterday."

"I just asked him if it was true!"

"Yes, which is just about the only thing anyone's been asking him since he stumbled out of that damn maze." Dean rolled his eyes. "You know, your infatuation was cute when we were twelve, but it's been three years. You really need to learn how to not act like a moron every time Harry turns to face you or he's never gonna take you seriously."

"I'm trying." Okay, fine. That was a whine. But it was justified, no matter how judgmental Dean was looking at him.

"Well, try harder than."

So much for having understanding friends. It was official: Gryffindors sucked.

"Don't look at me like that." Dean pointed a fork at him with enough force to send a piece of broccoli flying. "You know you gotta watch what you say about Harry. He's got it tough enough as it is and you know the twins didn't take the whole gladiator arena thing last year well. Hell, I still have nightmares about that bloody dragon. Or have you forgotten what they did to McLaggen?"

Seamus shuddered. No. He didn't think anyone had forgotten about McLaggen. Although the stubborn asshole himself didn't seem to have learned much of a lesson, safe that he should keep his disgusting mouth shut around the twins. Or Weasleys in general, considering how Ginny had eyed the guy over the last few weeks. Now there was a girl Seamus didn't want to piss off. The twins were vicious, especially when Harry was involved, but Ginny was just plain crazy. Seriously, what was it with Harry bringing out the destructive madness in Weasleys?

"I know." Seamus buried his face in his arms with a groan.

"There, there." Dean patted his head, the gesture more mocking than comforting. "You know if the twins were really pissed you wouldn't have gotten off this lightly. If you just apologize to Harry, they'll probably let it go."

Seamus whimpered pitifully at the thought of trying to stutter through an apology to his crush — again.

[The single worst part was when Umbitch — as the Hogwarts' students in an uncommon show of solidarity had taken to call her within two days of the witch's presence — who'd indeed been an absolute bitch to Harry during the defense lesson, had taken one look at Seamus' golden skirt and taken fifteen points off Gryffindor for inappropriate conduct.

Which in turn forced Seamus to track down Lavender and Parvati and convince the girls to help him transfigure a couple of completely appropriate, conservative skirts that fulfilled every requirement set in the school rules — which did not, in fact, specify that only girls could wear the girls' uniform.

Never let it be said that Seamus couldn't teach his fellow Gryffindors a thing or two when it came to being petty as fuck. Especially when Harry fell off a chair from laughing too hard when he learned why Seamus suddenly wore exclusively skirts. Two birds, one stone anyone?]

Harry had a perfectly good — and perfectly harmless, it needed to be said — plan.

He'd been working on it in one form or another since his sham of a hearing at the Ministry for his usage of magic against a dementor. Had refocused more energy on it for every time Mrs. Weasley had insistently ushered him out of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place or kept Sirius from divulging some useful information. The plan was simple: Harry was going to keep his head down.

It galled to even consider it — not helped by Cedric's frozen expression in his nightmares — but with every rhetoric question and too-mean joke at his expense from strangers who didn't know him from Adam, Harry found the thought easier to bear. No one believed that Voldemort was back? The adults wanted to pretend Harry didn't have a place among them in this fight? Dumbledore couldn't be bothered to so much as look at him?

Fine. Let them have it their way. Let them pretend and flounder. Sooner or later, Voldemort would recover his full strength. The easier the magical world made it for him, the quicker his real return would approach.

Let them laugh at him, let them patronize him — when Voldemort eventually stepped out of the shadows, Harry would be there. He'd be watching, waiting. And when the masses inevitably panicked, he would smile at them and say I told you so.

Was it childish? Probably, but it wasn't like anyone bothered to treat him like an adult, now, did they? Was it bitter? Most definitely. But Harry was bitter — so bitter, he sometimes thought he would fucking choke on it — and so what?

That perfectly doable, completely harmless — safe for the consequences in the long run, but those were hardly his problem now, were they — plan? Yeah, it was straight to hell before Harry had made it through the first half of Umbridge's defense lesson.

It was one thing to stand aside and let everyone else run at full speed over a cliff because they were too busy reminding everyone the world was round to pay attention to the ground right in front of them. It was another thing altogether to have to deal with the unpleasant, incompetent, bigoted Ministry plant for an entire school year.

Something had to be done. And since it wasn't Harry's job, well.

"Do you have a moment, Professor McGonagall?"

His head of house, who had just finished her last class for the day and was ushering a few straggling third year Hufflepuffs out of her class room, turned around to face him. Although the professor looked as sharp and put-together as always, Harry got the distinct impression that McGonagall was not happy to see him. To be fair, people — with the exception of Ron and Hermione — were rarely happy to see Harry. And if they were, that was usually a sign that they wanted to use Harry to further their own fame or intended to sacrifice him in a graveyard.

Nevertheless, McGonagall inclined her head in agreement — although her eyebrows rose when Harry took the time to shut the door behind himself. There might not be such a thing as secrets in Hogwarts, but there was a difference between speculations and witnesses. With one active Ministry plant and dozens of students who were likely to be a lot more sympathetic to their own government than to some kid they'd never exchanged more than a few words with, it was better to be safe than sorry.

"How can I help you, Mr Potter?"

"It's about Umbridge." No reason to beat around the bush and waste anymore time than necessary.

"Professor Umbridge." McGonagall's lips thinned, which — coming from the woman who'd looked ready to slam her fork into one of Umbridge's eyes and slowly strip the damn thing off its layers with a blunt knife during lunch — was a bit rich, in Harry's esteemed opinion.

"Yes, her. She's—" Harry hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words that wouldn't cost Gryffindor a ton of house points and coming up empty. Which was a statement in itself. "—not a qualified teacher," he settled on.

"And you are, of course, the standing authority on what qualifies a person to teach," McGonagall stated in a tone so dry, it sucked all the moisture out of the air.

"Well, on a personal note I consider a professor who verbally attacks their students, slanders various people — be they a person of public interest or not —, is incapable of keeping their personal biases from interfering with their teaching and pushes their personal political opinions onto the impressionable minds of children untenable," Harry snapped, harsher than he'd intended to be. It went without saying that Hogwarts had a long list of failures on meeting these particular requirements — a reminder that, going by her unamused expression, McGonagall didn't appreciate. Taking a deep breath to calm his all too easily ignited rage back into manageable levels, Harry continued, "However in this case, Umbridge lacks the O in her defense NEWTs that is required to hold the position."

And that was why Harry had let Hermione loose onto the library yesterday before he'd gone to confront McGonagall. If Snape was still a teacher after years of unprofessional behavior, then they needed more to get rid off Umbridge. And Harry wanted to get rid off her. Badly. She seriously screwed with his plan to not turn around and throw hexes until someone knocked him out every time she took a breath in his vicinity.

"Mr Potter," McGonagall starts and her tone of voice is really all Harry needs to hear to know this conversation won't go anywhere. "I understand that Professor Umbridge isn't the most pleasant staff member, but I assure you, she is more than qualified. The standard you're referring to has been considered an ideal rather than a condition for several years, due in no small part to the ongoing difficulties to fill the position."

In all honesty, that isn't much of a surprise. With both Snape and Binns as steady teachers, Harry had already figured that wizards put more stock into "attending Hogwarts", rather than putting any real effort into the quality of education offered there. Still. If he couldn't get rid off Umbridge, Harry was going to murder the woman. And convince Fred and George to help him get away with it.

"But Professor—"

"No, Mr Potter." McGonagall's voice sharpened with displeasure. "Hogwarts is in a very difficult position this year. The Headmaster's freedom to act in the school's best interest has been severely limited. In the current political climate, we cannot afford to give the minister an excuse to get even more involved." She pursed her lips and fixed Harry with her sternest glare. "The very best we can do, Mr Potter, is to bear the current situation as best as we can. My advise to you is to keep your head down. It's unlikely that Professor Umbridge will return after this year."

Harry…stared. At his head of house. In the kind of silent disbelief that left him unable to come up with a proper response.

That was the extend of McGonagall's help? To keep his head down and endure? While that vile, bigoted woman was allowed free reign? was going to ruin their chances at a decent OWL result if Hermione's rants were to be believed?

Harry swallowed the very serious, very empathetic What the fuck is wrong with you?! that so desperately wanted to escape. But what would be the point? McGonagall had never listened, not when they'd confronted her about the Philosopher's stone in first year, not when they'd complained to her about Snape's unfair treatment, why should now be any different? Who knew, maybe that was the problem. Maybe she'd grown so used to filing complaints that never went anywhere or meant anything that she'd stopped actually listening.

"I see," Harry said instead and he did.

[It didn't matter that keeping his head down had always been the plan. That plan hadn't lasted more than a second beyond first contact with the enemy. Besides, as a long history of colorful incidents could testify, Harry had never been very good at doing as he was told.

It didn't matter because this — going to McGonagall, moving things through the proper channels — this had been Harry's last shot at sticking to the plan. Oh well. Improvising has always been his strong suit.]

"Do you think it's true?" Ernie asked his fellow housemates in the relative safety of dorm.

Somewhere in the darkness, Zacharias sighed. "If this is about Potter, I don't care if Sprout finds out, you're sleeping in the common room."

"Don't let Hannah find out you said that." Justin snickered. "She'll flay you alive and Susan will provide her with an alibi, so she'll get away with it too."

Zacharias scoffed loudly. "She needs to get over that crush already. Potter probably doesn't even know she exists, it's run passed pathetic ages ago."

"I pay you ten galleons to say that to her face!"

Justin's declaration was met with a long moment of silence before Zacharias sniffed. "Please, just because it's the truth doesn't mean I have a death wish. I'm not Potter."

"So you do think he's telling the truth!" Ernie determinedly brought them back to the actual topic. To that, perhaps for the first time since Ernie had met Zacharias Smith, his dorm mate had nothing to say.

"This is ridiculous." Kennedy eventually broke the quiet. "Can we all just agree that whatever it is Potter is currently cooking up, it's not worth getting killed over, so we should all stay clear for as long as we can before Hannah inevitably drags us all down with her?"

"Amen to that." Justin sighed. Zacharias didn't respond at all, which was as good as an agreement in itself and even Ernie found himself hard-pressed to disagree.

Really, life in Hufflepuff would be so much easier — if pretty boring, it really wasn't fair that the monthly club meetings were reserved for sixth years and above — if their year mate Hannah wasn't so obsessed with Potter. Well, and if Potter didn't go to the same school as them.

"One thing's for sure, we live in interesting times," Ernie said finally. He'd meant it as a joke, but somehow the words sounded a lot more foreboding out loud.

It was done. Harry smiled proudly at the first ever edition of WEEKLY VOLDIE*, the only thing that had kept him from hexing anyone, friend or foe, so far. Although Malfoy had been surprisingly decent — by which Harry meant hadn't run his mouth more than once a day, about the limit of daily bullshit Harry tolerated from the Slytherin without retaliating — these last few days. Would wonders ever cease?

"What do you think?" he asked Luna, who was peering down at the paper as though it might jump into her face if she wasn't careful.

"It's a bit…dark, isn't it?"

Harry tilted his head and thoughtfully stared down at the bold, black letters proudly proclaiming his new, very own, self-made newspaper.

"Well, it's a newspaper about Voldemort," he pointed out, quite reasonably in his opinion. "Dark is kind of the point."

Luna leveled him with a most disappointed look. "Dark and Evil are not the same thing, Harry Potter. Evil comes in many shapes and colors, Dark only in one."

"Fine." With an eye-roll and a sharp slash of his wand, Harry turned the letters of the title a bright, eye-watering pink — coincidentally the very same shade their newest professor favored in her wardrobe.

Luna nodded her approval at the horrifying sight. "Now that is a color deserving of true Evil."

"You know," said Harry slowly, rolling an idea that had been popping up in the back of his mind with increasing insistence over the last few days around in his head as though trying to figure out in which formation he liked it the most. "I've been thinking about what to do with this once were done. I know I said I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but… Wouldn't it be a shame to keep the rest of Hogwarts from enjoying WEEKLY VOLDIE* as well?"

"Hogwarts is a school, where children are meant to learn." Luna turned around to face him fully, eyes glittering dangerously. "I believe she would be glad to help us in this quest."

"It's official: Harry's lost it." Fred's calm proclamation was met with a considering head-tilt by his twin.

"It was bound to happen."

"True."

"Though I would've expected Dumbledore—"

"Yeah, I know." Fred shook his head. In the headmaster's defense, it would've been difficult to foresee Umbridge's placement. On the other hand, Dumbledore's weird actions hadn't started at Hogwarts, had they?

"So the question remains, oh dear brother mine." George threw himself bodily onto the bed, causing Fred to lose his balance and almost brain himself in the nose with his wrist. His twin's smile was wicked. "Do we let Harrikins work his magic or do we offer a helping hand?"

Two beds to the left, Lee Jordan let out a most pitiful groan. "Please for Merlin and above, will you stop talking dirty about Potter before I had my first coffee? You know I can only tolerate your infatuation with caffeine."

"You wound us!" Fred cried immediately, hand pressed dramatically to the right side of his chest, while George mimed falling over, twitching in pain.

Of course all that earned them was a lot of incomprehensible grumbling from Lee, who tried to bury himself in his cushion, and a dirty glare from Travis. Never much of a sense of humor, that guy, for all that the twins had done their best to teach him. At least, he wasn't stupid enough to voice his no doubt uncomplimentary opinion on Harry out loud. Turned out, all those lessons in the last four years did leave some sort of mark after all. George had doubted that for a while during their third year, but that had only given them additional reason to prank him, so.

"You still haven't answered, brother mine," George reminded Fred on the way to the Great Hall.

Lee rolled his eyes so hard it had to physically hurt. "Oh please. Like you ever take any option other than the fun one."

The two identical, self-satisfied smirks that statement earned him might have scared the pants off of any sensible Slytherin, but all Lee did was quicken his walk in response. He really couldn't be expected to handle his impossible, Potter-obsessed best friends without some much-needed coffee in his blood.

Albus blinked in genuine surprise at the sight that greeted him when the door to his office was thrown open — rather impolitely, though for once he doubted Dolores even noticed.

Quite the achievement, considering how much pleasure the dour woman took in every act of disrespect against him. As though that would somehow erase his memories of the plump, wide-eyed, little girl she'd been when she first came to Hogwarts. A Hufflepuff, if his memory didn't betray him.

[Hufflepuffs, Albus had long noted, were often among his hardest students to pin down. Loyalty, after all, was a fickle thing when you couldn't be certain where or with whom said loyalty would one day lie.]

Alas, this was hardly the moment to mourn the young children he had once known. Especially not with the way Dolores was bodily dragging young Harry into the office after her, in a move not unlike Severus' at his most furious — though Albus spared a moment of amusement at the knowledge that neither Severus nor Dolores would be happy about this comparison.

"Dumbledore!" the woman snarled, eyes wild.

Albus carefully hid a wince at the noise.

"Dolores," he greeted, forgoing a smile. While Albus had expected Dolores' unfortunate fixation on Harry, he hadn't expected it to escalate this much. And most certainly not within the first week. "Is something the matter?"

"The matter?" Dolores screeched, causing Harry to grimace. Though the boy at least didn't look angry or overly much concerned. "This is going too far, Dumbledore! I will not have the Ministry's authority undermined in such a blatant, disrespectful way, not while I am at this school!"

"That is quite the declaration, Dolores," Albus said slowly, all the more curious now what exactly Harry had done. "But I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about this!" With that, Dolores slammed a few sheets of paper down onto his desk.

Albus blinked down at the glittering, pink letters spelling WEEKLY VOLDIE* and for the first time in a long time found himself speechless. Then he chuckled. He couldn't help it. After all these years as Hogwarts' headmaster, it was rare for a student to so completely blindside him. Yet Harry always seemed to manage somehow.

"You think this is funny, Dumbledore?" Dolores hissed like a wounded cat. "Do you? I will see Potter expelled for this! The Minister won't stand for anything less!"

"Now, now, Dolores," Albus attempted to calm the irate woman down. He had underestimated the bullheadedness of bureaucrats before, it wouldn't do for a harmless, if not very tasteful joke to cost Harry his education. "I don't believe that to be necessary."

"What you believe is of little consequence, Dumbledore—"

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry interrupted Dolores' tirade before the woman could get stared.

"Yes, my boy?" Albus asked, carefully looking at the boy's nose instead of his bright eyes. He didn't miss the way his lips twitched.

"I was just wondering if you could tell me why I'm hear?" Harry asked, the picture of calm indifference.

Something which Dolores did not handle well, if her incoherent noise of fury was anything to go by. "Why, you little—"

"I believe what Professor Umbridge is attempting to say," Albus quickly inserted himself before the woman could cross a line that would put all of them into a very difficult position, "Is that this little prank, well-meaning as I'm sure it was intended, does come of as a bit crass, my dear boy."

Dolores scoffed while Harry looked back and forth between them, still the picture of confusion. "I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore, but I don't understand. You can't honestly think that I've written this thing?!" He gestured loosely towards the newspaper edition lying innocuously on the desk.

"Don't play dumb with me, Potter!" Dolores slammed her hand onto the table in front of him, cheeks a blotched red with the force of her anger. "If you wanted that silly excuse to work, you shouldn't have signed your name on this little pet project of yours!"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I didn't sign my name anywhere on this paper."

"It says H. J. Potter right on the first page!"

"So?" Harry blinked. "There's lots of Potters in the UK, never mind the world. And granted, I seem to share the initials, but those could stand for any name. What if this newspaper's author is some woman named Hannah-Joanne Potter? No offense intended, but I think it strange that no one considers the person behind it might be female. That's kind of sexist, isn't it? Besides don't a lot of journalists publish their stories under a pen name of some sort?"

Moments like these reminded Albus why he had decided to grow out his beard — it was much harder for people to notice when he was smiling. All jokes aside though, he was impressed. Harry had never been a particularly gifted liar, but then he didn't have to be to avoid answering the actual question. Not to mention how serious the boy appeared.

"Do you really think the Minister is going to fall for that, Mr Potter?" Dolores asked after a moment, calmer now but more dangerous for it.

Albus contained a sigh. Of all of Cornelius' many supporters, why did it have to be Dolores?

"Well, I'm not sure why the Minister of Magic would concern himself with the bothers of a fifteen year old student, but if there's any way to legally move against people using my name in public newspapers without my permission, I would be most grateful for the minister's help in that regard," Harry said earnestly. "I have to tell you, Ma'am, if your suspicion is correct and this newspaper is in fact referring to me of all people, then it's already the second newspaper to do this. If you have any recommendations on how to shut that trend down, I'd appreciate it."

And there would be the trap Harry had so cleverly laid, Albus thought not without appreciation. Truly, the boy would have done well in Slytherin.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, Dolores was not so stupid as to miss what Harry was alluding to. Her eyes narrowed in displeasure, but she'd stopped her shouting and screeching at least.

"Detention, Potter," she snapped after along moment of deliberation, likely weighing her options and realizing that she wouldn't win this particular battle, even without Albus refusing to expel Harry.

"Whatever for, Ma'am?" Harry asked with a wonderfully convincing expression of surprise. It truly was a shame that Albus couldn't afford to spend too much time with Harry, the boy seemed to truly be coming into his own.

"For disrespecting a professor!"

Harry raised his eyebrows at him at that and Albus suppressed the urge to grimace. It was clear that the boy was wondering whether he would let the punishment stand, just as it was equally clear by the vindictive smirk Dolores was now wearing that she would simply find another reason to hand out a detention of he brushed this one aside. No point in antagonizing the woman even more.

With an inward sigh, Albus inclined his head. "Professor Umbridge is well within her right to hand out justified disciplinary actions, Harry," he settled on, a reminder to both, his student and his colleague that only justifiable punishments would be tolerated.

Harry bit his lips with a frown, but nodded all the same. "I see."

"All the same," Albus continued with a smidge of regret, "if you happen to get in touch with the originator of this curious paper, would you be so kind as to remind him that, while surely a creative, idea based on good intentions, some things should not be made light of?"

Harry stared at him and though Albus took care not to meet his gaze directly, he could tell that the boy wasn't pleased. Of course, brilliant, young men rarely were when confronted with a contradicting opinion or a flaw in their creations. And though Harry was undoubtedly clever, Albus suspected he didn't truly understand what it was he was doing — the kind of impression a publication of this sort would convey. The things it could set in motion, the ways in which what seemed like a simple joke could get out of control. Harry was too young and had too kind a heart to foresee those consequences. And Albus was grateful for that mercy, he was, but that also meant it fell to him to limit the fallout of his students' mistakes. For Harry more so than for most others.

"Should I get in touch with the person behind this mess, I'll be sure to deliver your message," Harry said finally, neither his tone nor his expression giving anything away.

It wasn't quite the answer Albus was hoping for, but, to be fair, he wasn't sure what would have been. For the time being, it was the best he could reasonably request with Dolores Umbridge in the room — and dismissing her was out of question. The woman's paranoia could give Severus' a run for its money, and that was truly saying something.

"In that case, Harry, I believe you are about to be late to your Transfiguration class," Albus dismissed the boy, who briefly inclined his head towards him — but not Dolores, a fact she definitely noticed from the way she pursed her lips — and left the office with quick steps. "Dolores," Albus continued smoothly before she could use the chance to excuse herself and follow Harry, "I believe you had some things you wished to discuss regarding the Defense coursework of the seventh years?"

I must not tell lies.

["Of course one cannot expect any more of a half-breed dog."]

I must not tell lies.

["Such things are nothing young children such as yourself should concern yourself with."]

I must not tell lies.

["Although you may have been told differently, I assure you, any such statement has been an unfounded lie, a sad cry for attention.]

I must not tell lies.

["I trust you have learned your lesson."]

I must not tell lies.

["Is there something you wish to add, Mr Potter?]

I must not tell lies.

["No, Professor." Harry smiled a beatific smile that, for some reason, caused Hermione to snap her quill in two. "Everything that needs to be said has been said."]

To Harry, it was a game.

Hermione would scold him for it — after she stopped crying, knowing her — and Ron would get that worried look in his eyes that Harry hated to be the cause of and Luna would shrug and say something along the lines of "Naturally. All of life is a game. You just see it clearer than most." and none of it would really stop Harry, which is why he didn't bother to explain it to anyone.

He didn't bother explaining that it was so easy to smile in the face of Umbridge's bullshit because for every time she crossed a line, Harry added one more cross on his mental list for all the reasons why he shouldn't give a single fuck about the consequences of Luna's idea. He didn't bother sitting down and telling his friends that he'd put safeguards in place — people with the authority to keep him from going too far — and that, with every day, far quicker than anticipated, those same safeguarding lines were torn apart.

Sirius, for all that Harry loved him, hadn't been able to offer any real advise. McGonagall didn't listened. Dumbledore couldn't be bothered to even look at Harry.

Still. Harry had been angry at Fudge. Frustrated with the wizarding world. Pissed at Umbridge, back when the worst she'd done was spew some verbal diarrhoea on why the sun shone out of Fudge's arse or whatever it was she went on about when Harry didn't bother to pay attention.

Unfortunately, prejudice and incompetence wasn't were the foul woman drew the line. And why should she, following in the proud tradition of murderous defense teachers Harry had enjoyed over the years. The back of his hand twinged. An uncomfortable reminder, though the pain had already begun to fade.

Hermione, when she'd seen the scar, had been outraged. She was the who'd insisted he take it up with Professor McGonagall. Not that Harry had put up much of a fight. One didn't simply disagree with Hermione unless one had the time, detailed arguments, facts and research to back one's position up. [Neville and Parvati were still trying to convince Hermione that freeing house elves wasn't the solution to all the race's problems. It was a work-in-very-slow-going-progress.]

So here Harry was, knocking once again at McGonagall's office.

"Mr Potter." It was less of a name and more of a sigh.

"Professor," Harry greeted politely. "Do you have a moment?"

McGonagall brushed a strand of her off her forehead and eyed him with a sort of tired exasperation. "I'm quite busy, Mr Potter, so please make it quick."

"It's about Professor Umbridge—"

"Not this again," McGonagall interrupted before Harry could even lift his hand. "Mr Potter, please understand that this is a delicate and very stressful situation for all of us. As much as I'm sure there's merit to your complaint about her conduct, I simply do not have the authority to speak out against her. I have told you on numerous occasions to stay out off her way and avoid her wrath."

"But—"

The professor held up a hand and Harry would bet his entire Gringotts' vault that even Snape would have frozen in the face of her utterly unimpressed expression. "Your little pet project has done nothing but make waves, fuel the fire and make the headmaster's position in this school all the more tenuous. I have told you repeatedly to cease with this ridiculous nonsense, Mr Potter. I cannot protect you from the consequences of your actions."

Harry stared.

The discomfort in the back of his hand crossed over into a sharp flare of pain when he balled his hands into fists.

"I'm not asking you to," Harry said flatly. "Only that you live with the consequences of your own actions. Good night, Professor."

And without another word, without waiting to be dismissed, Harry turned on his heels and left.

[What was the point of safeguards and second-guessing yourself, anyway? Harry was a Gryffindor for a reason. This might all be a game for him, but Harry was playing to win.]

"But why 'Weekly Voldie'? Why not 'Fuck Snake-Nose'—"

"RON! That's hardly appropriate language, think of the younger students!"

"-or 'Bloody Voldie' — okay, no, he might actually like that, never mind. But maybe 'Weakly Voldie'? That could work."

"-swear, how you became a perfect I'll never understand—"

"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione!"

"They're missing the point," Harry told Luna quietly, while the two of them watched, wide-eyed and wands at ready, as the volatile force of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley collided in a closed space.

"It's the nargles." Luna nodded sagely. Gently tugged at his sleeve. "We should go. VOLDIE* waits for no one."

[It's not about Voldemort. It's certainly not about the war. It never was. It's just a joke.]

End of Chapter VI

Extra:

[It's about the bloody Wizarding World and the bloody adults and the bloody close-minded fucking fools who never listen. He'll make them listen.]

Well, it's only been, what, a year since the last update? *awkwardly scratches head*

In my defense, a lot of things happened that year, a lot of other stories had my attention and at least now I'm finally here with the promised interlude in which we take a look at some things that have happened in the month of September - away from the prying eyes of our main narrators so far. I think I will stick to the rhythm of 4 chapters with WEEKLY VOLDIE* editions and then one chapter in which everything that didn't fit into the chapters' narrators POV is mentioned.

I genuinely hope it won't be as long a wait until the next update, but I just can't promise any sort of regular schedule. Even more than most fics I write, this one is hard to just continue on and on when I'm motivated because the articles for WV need a lot of time and a different mindset for me to write. On that note, if anyone is interested in writing a guest article for an edition PLEASE LET ME KNOW IN THE COMMENTS OR ON THIS FIC's TUMBLR weeklyvoldie dot tumblr dot com!

In other news, the wonderful itsvegemate on tumblr created a logo for WEEKLY VOLDIE*. I'm speechless and in tears, you're awesome!