Yo. Cross posted on AO3. ...So yeah, here's yet another new fic. Notes: Takes place first year and after. Sort of AU in some ways, I don't know. Don't take things too seriously. Ignore that certain things mentioned may or may not even exist in canon timeline. Probably won't be in chronological order, but I'll mention the year in the beginning of each chapter. None of these chapters are connected to each other. And unlike Boredom and Secrets, this is going to stay a crackfic.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter (or most other things that'll be mentioned) or any of its characters...

Alternate title/summary: Harry Potter can be one annoying little shit.

*Summer before Sixth year*

Today was a busy day for the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had planned a major raid, and was finalizing plans with his Death Eaters, who stood stoically before him in the ballroom of Riddle Manor, listening to him intently. Well, he assumed so, at least. They knew he would curse them if he noticed any signs of fading interest or concentration.

And that was why it came as a surprise to everyone, including Voldemort himself, when suddenly-

"Hoooot!" Which was followed by a sickening-Crash!

Everyone in the room, including the Dark Lord (though he'd Crucio you before admitting it), jumped in shock, and turned to look at the window. No one saw anything outside.

"Wormtail! Open the window!" Voldemort ordered, wand in hand and snake slit eyes as narrowed as they could be.

Trembling in fear, the rat like man stumbled over to the large window, undid the latch, and pushed it open. He peered out carefully, but didn't see anything at all. Then he looked down. "M-M-My Lord!"

"What? What?" he repeated a second time, when all he heard was spluttering. Realizing he wasn't about to get an answer, and wondering why he had sent a coward to check on the situation, Voldemort got to his feet and glided towards the window, pleased when Wormtail scurried away from him quickly. Good.

He too looked outside carefully, spotting no threat whatsoever. In fact, he saw nothing out of place at all. Looking up gave him the same results. An then his gaze shifted downward. ...A feather duster? Why was there a grey feather duster sitting outside his window? And why had it crashed into the window in the first place? Had it been jinxed? Or had some foolish Muggle child thrown it? But no one ever neared this manor.

The feather duster moved, and the Dark Lord jumped back in (what he would vehemently deny) fear. Why was the feather duster moving!?

"Hoot!"

"...Oh." The item he assumed was a feather duster, was really an owl. "What do you want, owl?" he questioned rather firmly, despite the fact it wouldn't be able to answer him in a way he would understand, considering it was, well, an owl.

Somewhere further in the room, Severus Snape sighed and refrained from rubbing his temples in irritation. "That is Errol, my Lord. He belongs to the Weasley family." And how could he not know this, having endured listening to Salazar knew how many Howlers from Molly Weasley to those fiendish twin sons of hers?

Voldemort raised a non-existent brow. Why would a Weasley be writing to someone in this room? Was it Severus, perhaps? As a member of the Order, and a spy, he had pretenses to keep. So he stepped back, away from the window, when the...owl flew up off the ground, curious to see who it would go to.

It landed on his bald head.

Several Death Eaters released chuckles, or sounds of fright, though there was an indignant whine from Bellatrix mixed in there somewhere too.

"Silence!"

All sound in the room ceased immediately.

Just as Voldemort reached up to grab the owl, it dropped a roll of parchment, and then flew out the window it had come in from. "Bloody feather duster owls," muttered the Dark Lord. "Wormtail, pick that up!" he commanded.

The still trembling man (did he ever stop shaking!?) bent at his Lord's feet to pick up the parchment. Straightening up, he passed it over, quickly and silently, before rushing away again.

The Dark Lord cursed himself for not checking the damn things for any curses or the like before it was handed to him, unrolled it, breathing out an inaudible sigh of relief when nothing happened. Instead, he focused on the written words.

So anyway, to continue where I left off.
I walk into the room, right? And they're both just...there. It was fucking creepy. There was fat flubbering around everywhere, and I don't care if that's not a word. And she's all bony and whatever, right? So that leaves me wondering how she doesn't like, get crushed under him. I mean, he must weigh a good two hundred pounds more than she does.

The letter ended there, and while it sounded incomplete, Voldemort just stood there staring, wondering what the heck he had just read. "Severus."

The dour man approached and inclined his head. "My Lord?"

Voldemort passed the letter over. "Does this look familiar?"

Severus read through it quickly, and scowled. "Potter. The atrocious penmanship is familiar to me."

"What in Salazar's name is he blabbering on about?"

The Potions Master made a motion that could really only be described as a shrug. "Does it matter? When was the last time Potter did anything that made sense?"

That was actually a fair point. So, with that note, the Dark Lord returned to his throne, and the meeting continued...

It was a few hours later, when he was in his study, that he, for the second time that day, heard a crash at the window. He grabbed his wand, slipped out of his chair, and neared the glass. Remembering earlier, he looked down the moment he opened the window, but saw nothing.

Pleased, he was about to pull back, when something grey and fluffy hit his face. "Fucking feather dusters!" Oh, no wait, it was just that owl again. And there was another roll of parchment too. Was it Potter again?

He checked for spells this time, found nothing wrong, and took it from the owl, who, once again, flew off immediately. Voldemort didn't bother cursing the bird.

Unrolling the parchment, he found a single sentence written in the same messy scrawl as before.

Sorry about before, Voldemort, wrong number.

"...What? What does that even mean!?"

And that's the first one. For some reason the image of Voldemort being pelted with feather dusters popped into my mind in the bath yesterday, and that thought eventually became this. I have 15 more ideas noted down, so I'll start writing those up, but I'm open to suggestions. I can't say I'll take all of them, because it has to be something I can write, but let me know. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!