A/N: This is strictly a parody. If anyone is OOC, it's because they are being OOC. I wanted it that way. This was just something I'm doing to tide me over between my extreme writer's block on Final Battle (I know what I want to happen, I just can't find the words!) and getting down to starting a new story.
Credit goes to mathiasgranger (Matt) for the random He-Who-Has-Business-In-The-Front-And-A-Party-In-The-Back or whatever it was nickname for dear old Voldie, that's all his insanity. The rest of it is my own. If you like mullets, don't read this. If you don't and think they're hilarious, enjoy. :D And don't ask how this got started. I blame Matt. ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's. She'd never create a mullet spell. Ever. I, however, am crazy enough to.
When Harry Potter woke up on a bright July morning in his old dorm room, the last thing he ever expected to be doing that day was to have been summoned to the Headmistress' office of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Stranger yet, he wasn't expecting to be greeted by an empty office.
Or the former Headmaster's portrait.
He had walked into the room after surpassing the gargoyle at the base of the stairs, highly expecting to be greeted by Minerva McGonagall on the other side of the desk. Instead he had walked into the room to discover that he was the only living soul there. Several of the portraits on the walls cheerfully greeted him, with the exception of Phineas Nigellus, who was still holding a grudge against Harry for Sirius Black's death in the Department of Mysteries in his fifth year.
Harry had spent several uncomfortable moments in the office, cautiously asking the formerly sleeping portraits if they had any idea why McGonagall had summoned him. All he knew was that Dobby, with his Day-Glo green tennis-ball like eyes and batty ears had been looming over his bed bright and early that morning, holding a piece of parchment in one hand as he gleefully waited for the young wizard to wake up.
He did his best to avoid glancing at that one portrait in particular, the portrait of his former Headmaster and mentor, Albus Dumbledore. He had not spoken with the portrait since its creation, and had preferred to avoid it at all costs. For Harry, seeing the portrait meant that Dumbledore was really and truly dead, and he was still secretly blaming himself.
Having run out of portraits to question, Harry flopped into a comfortable wing-backed chair that he conjured for himself, transfiguring his robes into a pair of pyjama pants and a sleep t-shirt. He figured that, since McGonagall couldn't have the decency to meet him when she'd asked, he no longer could be bothered with having the decency to dress properly. If he was going to have to wait, he might as well do it comfortably.
Continuing to avoid the general direction of Dumbledore's portrait, Harry's eyes travelled round the room, desperate for some other object to focus his quickly waning attention span on. His mind began to wander as he reminisced about the former Headmaster, and the task he had set out for Harry before he died.
True to his promise, Harry had, with the help of Ron and Hermione, located the remaining Horcruxes and destroyed each and every one of them. Now he was just biding his time until Voldemort grew the bollocks to step up and fight him one on one. He knew that, with the destruction of the final Horcrux, Riddle had felt it and realized what Harry and his friends had been up to for the past year. Harry had been training every day that summer at Hogwarts, with Ron and Hermione by his side every step of the way. The two of them were currently having a bit of a lie-in while he was holed up in this empty office—separately of course, Ron would never think to compromise Hermione in that matter, not after Harry had finally opened up with him about his feelings for her. It had taken him some time but when they had reduced Helga Hufflepuff's cup to ruins, it had nearly cost Hermione her life. It was the realization that she could be taken from his life for good before he could tell her how he felt that had caused him to admit to Ron that he was in love with her.
Of course he had yet to tell Hermione, but knowing now that Ron wasn't bothered by the fact and that he'd keep any other bloke away from her, Harry felt comfortable in patiently waiting to tell her the truth. He wanted to be with her in a world without Voldemort, where he knew that they would be safe without the evil wizard hanging over them every second of every day.
His thoughts had just turned back to the Horcruxes when a familiar coughing sound came from one of the portraits on the wall.
"Ahh, good morning, Harry! I must apologize for keeping you waiting; when you didn't arrive promptly like usual, I assumed that Dobby had gotten held up with Winky in delivering the message to you and decided to take a bit of a kip until you came." Came a cheerful greeting. Harry slowly raised his eyes to the one portrait he had been doing his best to avoid during his presence in the Headmistress' office.
"You called me here, sir? I was under the impression that Professor McGonagall wanted to see me," said Harry, doing his best to control the emotion in his voice. Even though Dumbledore was surrounded on all four sides by a gilded golden frame, it was almost as if he were sitting across from him again, imparting wisdom in one form or another.
"Heavens, no! Dobby didn't tell you that the message was from me? I must say I'm surprised, he would do anything for his Great Master Harry Potter," the elder wizard smirked.
Harry struggled to keep his eyes from rolling skyward. "I do wish he'd stop calling me that," he muttered before continuing. "I'm afraid he left that part out," he admitted.
Dumbledore smiled down at the young wizard. "No matter, you're here, I'm here—well, in spirit anyway, and that's all that matters. I discovered something days before my own untimely demise that I never had the chance to share with you, Harry."
Harry shot his former mentor a curious gaze. His eyes betrayed his inner turmoil at the recollection of Dumbledore's murder, and even in portrait form the old man could see it.
"Oh pish posh, Harry, what's done is done. I'm dead, Snape's a traitor, Draco Malfoy is a coward, and you're going to kill Tom Riddle. Let's face the facts, shall we? You didn't kill me, Snape did. Please, for your own sanity, stop feeling guilty about it. Now, I suggest you conjure yourself a nice mug of warm cocoa, for what I'm about to tell you isn't going to come easily."
With an eyebrow raised at Dumbledore's words, Harry wordlessly conjured the recommended beverage and took a sip. He eyed the portrait with a look that clearly said 'Well, get on with it, then.'
"Harry, my boy," said Dumbledore's portrait, peering down at him, "do you remember when I told you, long ago, that a fate worse than death awaited Tom Riddle?"
Harry nodded, eyeing the former Headmaster quizzically.
"There is an incantation quite similar to the one which gave you that scar, that I have been leery of telling you for all these years for fear that it may be too harsh of a punishment for even the likes of Riddle himself."
"Then why are you bringing it up now?" asked Harry, unable to help himself.
"Because, dear boy, I think that with the happenings of late, Tom has grown cocky in his attitude and needs to be brought down a peg or two." The elder wizard's eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses.
"You mean like when Crouch-Juniour-Moody transfigured Malfoy into a ferret in fourth year?"
"Precisely," Dumbledore agreed, chuckling.
"The incantation I speak of is so similar to the Killing Curse that it is rarely used, for a witch or wizard who is extremely nervous or apprehensive may mispronounce it and fire off the wrong curse."
"Oh for Merlin's sake, just tell me!" Harry exclaimed, gulping down a swallow of hot cocoa.
"Avada Kemullet."
"Avada Kewhatsit!" Harry asked in disbelief, spluttering cocoa from his lips. "Kemullet? You mean like a mullet haircut? The ones that are all short in the front and long in the back?"
"Yes, Harry. The mullet." Said Dumbledore, quite seriously.
Harry did his best to contain his uproarious laughter that the former headmaster would suggest something as ridiculous as using a pseudo-killing curse to give the nastiest wizard of all time a terrible haircut in an effort to crush his ego, but soon enough the mental picture had seeped into his head and he was done for.
Image upon image of Lord Voldemort dressed in his Death Eater robes, pointing his wand at him and uttering 'Crucio' flooded his brain, and each time Harry was laughing hard enough to throw off the curse because of the pathetic excuse for hair that now decorated the Dark Lord's formerly Mr.-Clean-Shiny bald head. It didn't help any when the Harry in his head began to splutter between laughs, 'You really think that I'm going to fall to a wizard who now goes by the nicknames Lord Voldemullet and He-Who-Had-Business-In-The-Front-And-A-Party-In-The-Back?'
"What's so funny?" Dumbledore's portrait demanded, snapping Harry out of his reverie.
"It's just--it's just that--Voldemullet!" he blurted, sending himself into fits of girlish giggles.
Dumbledore looked very cross. "Harry Potter, this is no laughing matter!"
Of course, Harry thought otherwise at the moment. He was still picturing Tom Riddle with a mullet. All kinds of mullets! Mullhawks, Euromullets, Bowlets, Skullets, and best of all, Baldy McMullet! Harry could not contain his snickers at the images that last one provoked. The top of Tom Riddle's head was shiny once again, but hanging from the back was a greasy curtain of hair that resembled Snape's in texture and Argus Filch's in style. It didn't help that the sad mullet that Mad Eye Moody called hair crossed Harry's mind as he contemplated other Hogwarts staff members. His brain quickly placed Moody's hair on Voldemort's head and he couldn't control himself.
"I'm sorry sir, but honestly, picture it would you?" Harry managed to spit out between gales of laughter.
"I'll have you know that the mullet is the worst fate one wizard can bestow upon another! The incantation has permanent effects, much like the use of the killing curse offers no chance to reverse the spell. There is no counter curse to this!" Dumbledore glared angrily from his perch in his gilded frame.
Harry was ignoring all of this as he pictured Voldemort in a mullet much like a muggle, Brigitte Nielsen, had worn for her portrayal of the character Red Sonja. The image of Tom Riddle with waist-long Weasley-red hair that was long and flowing in the back and spiked on top was too much for Harry. He laughed so hard that he knocked himself out of his chair and onto his arse on the floor, tears streaming down his face.
"What is going on in here?" Minerva McGonagall admonished, entering her office. "Mister Potter, just what is so funny that you find yourself flat on your arse on the floor of my office, in pyjamas, no less?" she demanded, not realizing that Dumbledore's portrait had been conversing with Harry.
"Voldemullet!" he squeaked out, sending himself into another uncontrollable fit of laughter.
Minerva raised an eyebrow at the young bespectacled wizard and was about to inquire as to his further mutilation of Voldemort's name when Dumbledore spoke up from his portrait.
"I told him about the Avada Kemullet." He admitted, earning a stern glare from McGonagall.
"You told him?" she shrieked.
"It's the fate worse than death!" Albus declared feebly, throwing up his hands in surrender.
Shooting him a sharp glare, McGonagall crossed the room, deftly grabbed Harry by the arm and wrenched him back into his seat, and drew herself to eye-level with the portrait.
"Not only is Potter not ready for that kind of spell work, it is highly unlikely that it is going to be of any use to him!" she said shrilly, her tartan robes tugged tightly around her as she crossed her arms and glared.
"I beg to differ," Dumbledore argued, "I think that Riddle needs his ego to be knocked down a bit, and what better way than to give him a mullet? Honestly, Minerva, I think that you of all people would agree with me that it is most certainly a fate worse than death. Just look at Filch!"
Minerva's mouth dropped open in shock. "Albus! I can't believe you'd say something like that!"
"I'm dead!" he proclaimed, gesturing around himself to the portrait's frame as if to prove his point. "And to be quite honest, I think I was nice enough in my one hundred and fifty three years, thank you very much! I think it's high time that I've earned the right to be a tad surly in my afterlife, and even you can't deny the fact that Argus Filch has a terrible haircut. Not to mention the fact that he's an aging squib surrounded by children who can perform magic loads of times better than he can."
Try as she might, McGonagall could not find the words to contest the former Headmaster. Before she had a chance to say anything further she was interrupted by another outburst from Harry.
"Voldeskullet!" he proclaimed, his sides aching from laughter.
"Get him out of here," Dumbledore sighed, temporarily giving up on Harry. "Perhaps I can try this again later."
McGonagall ushered Harry back to the Gryffindor common room, which took much longer than usual due to his random outbursts of new mullet-versions of Voldemort and his inability to walk due to laughing so hard. In a very un-Minerva-like move, McGonagall shoved Harry through the portrait hole and slammed it shut. Though she loved the young Gryffindor like a son and wanted him to succeed in this war, she inwardly swore that she would hex him herself if he didn't stop blathering about with this nonsense. Leaving him to his own devices, she returned to her office to have a chat with Albus.
Harry scampered up the stairs to his dorm and shook Ron awake, much to the redhead's discontent.
"Voldemullet! Voldeskullet! He-Who-Has-Dreadful-Hockey-Hair!" Harry shouted, dancing about the room as he screamed new variations at the top of his lungs.
"What the bleeding hell are you on about, mate?" Ron asked, eyeing his best friend as though he'd finally gone nutters.
"It's the fate worse than death!" Harry said in a singsong voice, dragging Ron out of bed and prancing about the room with him.
Ron wrenched his hands from Harry's and sat down on the bed, glancing at him curiously. "You've gone completely spare, haven't you?" he asked suspiciously, inching his way towards the door to make a run for it.
"We've got to go find him!" declared Harry as he grabbed a hold of Ron's hands again and rushed out of the room, barely leaving the redheaded boy enough breath to keep up.
Stumbling on his own feet down the stairs, Ron landed unceremoniously with arse over teakettle on the common room floor, bumping into Hermione on the way.
"What are you two prattling on about?" she demanded, seeing Harry's joyful state and realizing that Ron was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"It's a fate worse than death!" Harry proclaimed once again, this time taking Hermione in his joyful prance about the perimeter of the common room.
Not wanting to discourage Harry's apparent happiness, which was a rare moment for him as of late, Hermione eyed Ron over Harry's shoulder and silently mouthed 'What the hell?'
Ron's silent reply came 'Barmy, that one,' followed by a twiddle of his finger next to his temple.
Harry led Hermione over to Ron, helped him up from the floor, and squeezed his two best friends as close to him as he could, suddenly going very, very serious.
"I'm going to tell you two the most important spell you'll ever need to know. And then, my dear best mates, we are going to use it!" he grinned at them, making sure he had their attention.
Indulging Harry, Hermione asked, "Well, what is it?"
"Avada Kemullet." He said with all the solemnity of a minister delivering the Sunday service.
And before either Ron or Hermione could say 'Avada Kewhatsit?' as Harry had earlier, he quickly Apparated the three of them out of Gryffindor tower and into Hogsmeade Village.
When they touched down Hermione stared at him in surprise. "What in Merlin's name was that?"
Harry just stared at her blankly; doing his best not to picture Merlin with a mullet, though he suspected the legendary wizard had formerly indulged in the atrocious hairstyle long before he became popular.
"You not only just Side-Alonged two people at once, but you Apparated out of Hogwarts!"
Shrugging, Harry crooked his finger in a 'come here' gesture, bringing the two of them closer as though he had summoned them. Hermione silently pondered the strength of her best friend's magic as he leaned in for the kill.
"Right, well, you can worry about that later. We're going to Little Hangleton."
Not giving either of his best mates a chance to refute his demands, Harry quickly grabbed their hands and Apparated the three of them straight to Little Hangleton without the slightest of pops.
"What the bleeding hell are we doing here?" Ron demanded hotly. "Are you mad, mate? Are you planning on just waltzing up to Voldemort's front door, ringing the bell, and hexing him the second it opens?"
Harry blushed.
"Oh sweet Merlin, you were!" Hermione admonished, her hands quickly moving to massage her temples. She was beginning to think, like Ron, that Harry had finally snapped under the pressure.
"Well, it was either that or this other completely brilliant idea that I had involving a complicated system of tunnels lined with sharpened plastic spoons, but the front door might be the best option."
If there had been any doubt in either Ron or Hermione's minds that Harry had lost it, it was quickly erased with his last statement.
Not giving either of them a chance to Disapparate or disarm him, Harry dragged them by the wrists up to the front door. He wordlessly and wandlessly placed Leg-Locker hexes on both Ron and Hermione, ensuring that they'd stand next to him.
Before Hermione could refute his actions, Harry lifted his right arm and pressed the doorbell.
"You did not just do that," Ron said quietly, gaping at his best mate. "You did not just waltz up to Voldemort's front door and ring the bell."
"Oh but I did," Harry grinned, flashing the both of them an extremely charming smile.
"You honestly expect him to answer the front door?" Hermione asked in disbelief. "We're more likely to run into Pettigrew than we are Riddle at this rate!"
Harry shrugged. "He's already got a bit of a Skullet going on, I guess I'll have to use some other sort of curse on him."
With that the door slowly creaked open and the three Gryffindors were greeted by the quintessential Slytherin bad girl, Bellatrix Lestrange. That was the moment that Harry released his best friends from the Leg Locker curse.
Upon her realization that Harry Potter was standing on the doorstep of Riddle Manor, her lips contorted into a gruesome sneer. "Well, well, well!" she tutted, her eyes lighting up in delight. "I have to be honest, Potter, I never imagined the day when you would deliver the Mudblood, the Blood Traitor, and your foul, loathsome self directly onto our doorstep. But I must say, my Master will be quite pleased."
Unfortunately for poor Bellatrix, in all her glee she had forgotten to disarm the three Gryffindors and was soon eye to tip with the business end of Ron Weasley's wand.
"Avada Kemullet!" he declared, watching as Bellatrix was enveloped in a bright purple light. Before their eyes they watched as her hair transformed from their waist-length inky black into a frightening femullet with a braided rat's tail at the back.
She sneered at the redhead. "I think you pronounced it wrong," she said snottily, laughing. "It's Kedavra, not Kemullet."
Hermione conjured a pocket mirror and handed it to the Death Eater. "He pronounced it quite properly, actually. Just like it's Wingardium Leviosa, not Leviosa. In this case, it's Kemullet, not Kedavra."
Bellatrix curled her lip in distaste as she took the mirror from Hermione, wiping it on her robes to remove any Mudblood filth that may have come with the transfer. When she lifted the mirror to her face she screamed in horror.
"What the—what the—Avada--!" Before she could complete the incantation Harry shot a Reductor curse at her, effectively severing her arm from its socket. He bent to retrieve her wand as she fainted from shock, and the trio took turns stepping over her body as they entered Riddle Manor.
Relying solely on his mental connection with Riddle, Harry led them straight to the inner chamber. From the muffled noises coming through the thick wooden doors, it was clear that some sort of meeting was taking place.
Without even a word to Hermione or Ron, Harry readied his wand and burst through the doors with his best mates at his sides.
They seemed to have a silent agreement that, even if Harry was completely barmy at the moment, it was still up to him to finish off Voldemort and what better way than to catch him off guard? However, at this very moment, both Hermione and Ron were currently unsure of whether or not that was such a wise agreement. They had figured there would be some sort of fanfare to this, but they weren't expecting Harry to drag them into a room filled with what appeared to be every single Death Eater and Juniour Death Eater in Riddle's service.
And they weren't counting on Harry having a maniacal grin on his face while he strode in like he owned the place, either.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gents!" he declared, spreading his arms wide in what he hoped looked like a grand gesture of an insane lunatic.
If the noise of the door bursting open hadn't attracted the attention of the majority of the Death Eaters in the room, his words certainly had. They were all glaring at him through the eyeholes in their masks, save for one.
Lord Voldemort sat casually on his chiselled stone throne, barely giving the Boy Who Lived a passing glance.
"Another attempt to garner positive press, Potter?" he sneered, lazily flicking his wand in the direction of the teenagers to close and lock the door behind them.
Ron began to shake at the realization that he was locked in a room with over a hundred Death Eaters, but Hermione's hand on his arm seemed to soothe him. It made him remember that he wasn't the only one stupid enough to follow his completely mental best mate into Riddle Manor.
Harry shook his head and flashed Voldemort one of his charming smiles, the one that had snatched Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award from Gilderoy Lockhart a few times since his hospitalization. "I'm afraid that the press has nothing to do with this," he admitted, his wand still trained on the Dark Lord.
Several of the Death Eaters in the room made a move to hex, or worse, fire a Killing Curse at Harry, but Voldemort's screaming stopped them dead in their tracks.
"He's mine!" he bellowed, causing each of his followers to cower into the nearest corner.
"Aww, such a sweet declaration, but I do believe that you missed Valentine's Day, lover. It was back in February, you see. And we happen to be in the month of July." Harry said sweetly, batting his eyelashes.
Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that seemed to say 'What the hell were we thinking?' As far as they could see, Harry had indeed snapped. After all, he had just performed double side-along Apparition, out of Hogwarts no less, and once again into Little Hangleton, marched the three of them up to Voldemort's front door and actually rang the sodding bell, cursed Bellatrix Lestrange, and then barged into the biggest Death Eater meeting they'd ever seen.
And now he was standing in front of them, calling Lord Voldemort, the man who tried to kill him every chance they crossed, lover and batting his bloody eyelashes at him.
Seeing the effect his words had on Riddle, Harry continued. "However, I'm willing to accept a belated declaration of your undying love and devotion in exchange for your forgiveness."
Effectively riled up at the young Gryffindor's words, Voldemort did a very un-Voldemort like thing. He rolled his eyes. "Oh, sod off, Potter. Not everyone in the Wizarding world worships the ground you walk on."
With a flick of Harry's wand, Voldemort was out of his seat and on his knees, his back hunched to the point where his face was meeting the floor.
"You were saying?" Harry said with a superior air. He couldn't help but taunt the poor bastard now that he was powerful enough to do so.
"I will kill you, Potter," Voldemort declared, pushing himself up from the floor.
"Avada Kemullet!" Harry screamed, taking careful aim at Voldemort's head.
Hermione and Ron winced as they watched the transformation take place. This was clearly Harry's show and they weren't about to interrupt, so they stood and watched, prepared to defend from any attack.
Small, fine hairs began to sprout from Voldemort's shiny, bald head, stopping their growth at only an inch along the crown of his skull, but continuing their descent until they reached their destination at his hips. The hair began to take on a colour that the Gryffindor trio couldn't help but smirk at.
Lord Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the darkest wizard of their generation, was standing before his legions of Death Eaters and his long-time nemesis sporting a waist-length mullet coloured a fiery Weasley red.
Riddle sneered. "It's Kedavra, you moron. Get it right next time or don't even bother."
His words were greeted with silence. Every single Death eater in the room was staring at him, many of them covering their mouths with their hands or stuffing a fist between their lips to control themselves.
"What?" he demanded, looking around.
The Death Eaters began to chuckle, most of them as quietly as they could, but some of the newer recruits who had not yet been subjected to a hateful Cruciatus curse were enjoying a full-out, roaring laugh.
"What the bloody hell is it!" he yelled, waving his wand around the room, trying to find the source of their amusement.
Moments later the crowd erupted into a loud, bellowing laugh. Several Death Eaters were clutching at their sides as they tried to contain their howls, but it was to no avail.
"You might as well just turn your wand on yourself, Voldie. You're not going to find what you're looking for out there," Harry smirked.
Before Voldemort could send a Crucio his way for the unthinkable nickname, Hermione tossed another conjured mirror towards Riddle.
He almost opened his mouth to ask why in hell the Mudblood was offering him a makeup compact, but thought better of it. Voldemort cracked it open and stared at his reflection, trying to drown out the sound of his minions' uproarious laughter at him.
His mouth formed a perfect 'O' of shock and surprise.
"You—you gave me a mullet?" he screeched, dropping the mirror with complete disregard for the shattering glass as his hands flew to his head. He quickly tried every countercurse he could think of to remove the dreaded hairstyle, but to no avail.
"No countercurse." Harry grinned, his emerald eyes dancing merrily.
"You half-blooded bastard!" Voldemort screamed, his wand trained on Harry's chest.
Just as the Dark Lord opened his mouth to utter the one curse that could end it all, Harry beat him to it.
A flash of green light erupted from the tip of his wand, and Voldemort hit the ground with a loud thud.
The Death Eaters were still laughing uncontrollably, but the hilarity soon subsided as they realized what had happened. While they had all been too busy laughing at their leader's misfortune to hex Potter, he had delivered the fatal blow to the Dark Lord and had double-Side-Alonged his best mates out beyond their strongest Anti-Apparition wards.
Lord Voldemort had died sporting a vibrantly red mullet, as the people who worshipped him did nothing but laugh. It seemed that there was a fate worse than just plain old death after all.
There was dying without dignity.
Ron, Hermione, and Harry landed unceremoniously on the floor of the Gryffindor common room as they returned from Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton. They were all laughing too hard to land properly after the Apparition, and were still clutching their sides in mirth.
The trio spent a few minutes reliving the hilarity of the Dark Lord's downfall before Hermione prodded Harry to reveal just how he had discovered the spell in the first place. They revelled in Harry's success for a short time, still occasionally letting a girlish (in Ron and Harry's case) giggle slip whenever they pictured Voldemort with his new hairstyle.
Soon after the time came for them to make their way to McGonagall's office and explain to her the events of the afternoon. Harry was looking forward to telling Dumbledore that he had understood him perfectly this morning, and that Riddle was dead.
Riddle's demise would come as no surprise to Dumbledore, however. After all, he was the one who had said, long before the mention of the dreaded mullet spell, that there was a fate worse than death.