HP and the Weapons of Mass Destruction – a spoof

Harry Potter pushed his horn-rimmed spectacles up his nose, a frown permeating his usually cheerful face as he read the latest from the Daily Prophet. Blasted across the front page, in full colour, was a moving photograph of Lord Voldemort, Harry's arch-enemy, looking particularly evil and up-to-no-good. Above, in a curly Gothic script, read the headline; 'You-Know-Who has Secret Horde of Deadly Arms,' followed by a florid report from Rita Skeeter, the Prophet's notorious hack, in which Skeeter managed to get as many people to panic as possible. In one corner of the page, there was a small cartoon of Voldemort standing beside large stockpiles of Eric Sneezby's Exploda-thon Dust, perfect for your day-to-day mass murders. Cartoon mort then grinned as he lit a match to the pile, which promptly burnt a hole into the page, only for the sheet to repair itself a few seconds later. Harry did not approve of Skeeter's tactics, but he had to admit, this worried him. After all, he, Harry, was destined to defeat The Dark Lord, and he had never quite got round to doing it. He was 23 years old, and time was running out for him to kill Voldemort and get on with his life. Even Hogwarts wanted rid of him as a mature student, and he had always been welcome there.

Harry smacked his lips and threw down his flagon of butterbeer, its contents spilling into greasy stains along the hems of his school robes. He suddenly knew who he should talk to about this – there was no one he trusted more than the Hogwarts headmaster, Professor Dubyadore. Dubyadore had always helped Harry out of sticky situations, allowing him to bend the rules here and there where others couldn't. If Dubyadore could not sort this out, why, then who could?

He marched purposefully up the teak stairs towards the Headmaster's office, his heart pounding. He was finally going to confront Voldemort – this was an end to his childish games, enough was enough. As he rapped purposefully on the door, a cracked voice murmured ,'Enter, Harry.'

'I wanted to see you sir,' Harry said as he laid eyes upon Dubyadore, casually chewing upon a foul-smelling orange pipe, that made curious moaning sounds when inhaled.

'Capital, Harry, capital.Well, I gather you have seen the news? Voldemort is making his mark once again.'He smiled lazily and beckoned Harry to sit.

'Aren't you worried, sir? We don't really know of his whereabouts at the moment, I mean, he could be planning anything.' Harry could not believe that the old man was so relaxed. He had a feeling that it was something to do with the smoke, which widened Dubyadore's grey dilated pupils and gave him a slightly deranged look.

'Harry, I have known that this would come for years. Voldemort has been gathering resources for attack ever since he was defeated by you in the early 90s. It is part of your destiny that you must face him.'

'But how, sir?'

'Pre-emptive strikes, Harry, pre-emptive strikes. We should attack Voldemort before he attacks us. I have been mulling it over, as is my wont to do, and I think the best course of action would be to invade Romania.'

'Why? Is Voldemort there? Is that where his weapons of mass destruction are?'

Dubyadore chuckled gleefully. 'Oh, doubtless not, m'dear boy, doubtless not. But that was where he was rumoured to be last, and for all we know he may be there again. Besides, we have plenty of justification – ordinary wizards are frightened, Harry. They remember the attacks on the Ministry of Magic, and they are fearful. We have the perfect excuse to go into Romania and hijack their reserves of Leritalius potion.'

Harry scrutinized Dubyadore closely. Surely he was not proposing an illegal war? The great and good Dubyadore, driven by greed? It could not be.

'Just think of it, Harry. If you succeed in this, you will be remembered as a good and noble wizard that served his people well. You will particularly have served several business contacts of mine, from my Leritalius trading days. The potions world will honour you for seizing such a lucrative resource, I am sure of it.'

Harry smirked. He could not imagine Severus Snape honouring him, even if he flooded Hogsmeade with this Literali stuff.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him. 'Sir, we have no mandate from the Wizengamot. Without that, there will be no way for us to invade. We would be breaking international wizarding Law.' Harry was concerned. He was very tempted by the idea of being honoured and valued in the way Dubyadore had described, but he was still shocked at his trusted Professor's rampant corruption.

'Tsk, tsk! Harry,' the Professor said. 'Little things like Wizengamot mandates can be got around. After all, I am the Chief Warlock.'