Disclaimer - If I was the author of the Harry Potter series, they wouldn't be bestsellers. They wouldn't even be complete. I'm just too lazy.
So Voldemort has all these wacky plans. And Harry rushes into situations blindly, getting lucky most of the time... And Dumbledore could probably make a better plan than having three kids roam England looking for pieces of Voldemort's soul.
Here's a wacky, hopefully hilarious bunch of one-shots, involving characters making the right and - very importantly, simple - plans.
Chapter length will vary. This is just something on the side while I focus on Emerald Eye.
Suggestions are welcome. This sort of thing has probably been done before, but then, most things have by this point. I am not trying to copy someone else's fic.
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First Year,
Albus Dumbledore
"Quirrell is dangerous," everyone's favorite Potions Master - Severus Snape - informed the Headmaster.
"Hmmm..." Dumbledore stroked his magnificent beard. The secret was in the combing - the old man had used a downward stroked for fifty seven years, devotedly combing his hair every day. Twice.
He looked up at Snape, who was standing back straight, tensed up. Albus smiled at him. Such a good man, so concerned about his students. He couldn't fathom why Minerva complained so much about him.
"Albus?"
"Yes my boy?"
Severus Snape gritted his teeth. He had suspicions about Dumbledore's...tendencies. He didn't like anyone calling him 'my boy', and most certainly not Dumbledore. "What about Quirrell?"
Dumbledore straightened in his seat, twinkling blue eyes staring steadily at the greasy haired man.
"I trust you, Severus."
Snape ground his teeth some more. He already had a headache from earlier in the day - supervising Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter as they tried to make a potion was enough to give anyone a headache.
"Thank you Albus," he managed. "About Quirrell."
"Professor Quirrell, Severus," Dumbledore corrected him absently.
The Potions Master gaped at the Headmaster.
"Yes my boy?"
Snape sighed, and shook his head tiredly. He would need a potion for this headache. "Nothing Headmaster..."
"Call me Albus, my boy. We are colleagues, are we not?"
Severus Snape left, holding on to his last vestiges of sanity.
...
...
Dumbledore grinned in a most uncharacteristic way as the door closed on Severus. At his age, there weren't too many pleasures, but messing with people's heads made his top three.
The Headmaster stood, and did a few simple stretches in preparation. He was surprisingly agile for his age.
Simple warm ups done, he picked up a small iron jar from his desk, popped a Lemon Drop into his mouth, and left.
...
...
"Blrrupllumbumblll... Careful, you fool!"
"I'm sorry Master - Aaaa!"
There were more than a few disadvantages to occupying the back of someone's head, Voldemort had found out.
One was when in the shower. Voldemort-face was quite sensitive, and warm water pelting down on him was not something he enjoyed.
He had to be cleaned though - Voldemort got quite sweaty and dirty under the turban.
It helped his frustration that he could cause Quirrell no little pain whenever the fool annoyed him. Which was often. Very often.
Quirrell stepped out of the shower, using a combination of charms and towel to dry himself.
The Professor quickly pulled on his robes, readying himself for another night in the forbidden forest, chasing Unicorns. They were quite fast. And they had astonishingly strong hindlegs, as Quirrel had found out. He still couldn't eat anything hard, which was a pity, because he really enjoyed green apples.
Voldemort didn't. Green apples just weren't the type of thing an evil overlord would eat.
There was a knock on the door, and Quirrel froze. He wasn't expecting anybody.
"May I come in?"
Albus Dumbledore. Damn.
Quirrell darted around the room, throwing a few books on the Dark Arts under a tablecloth, then took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Of co-course, come i-in." He was a really good actor though, Voldemort had to concede.
Albus Dumbledore stepped in, closed the door, and drew his wand.
Quirrell instantly knew this wasn't going to end well.
There was a reason Dumbledore was the only man the Dark Lord ever feared. He was ridiculously powerful, extremely skilled, highly experienced.
There were some upshots to playing host to Voldemort's soul however - more power, increased skill... Quirrel managed to inelegantly dive away from the blue spell that flew from Dumbledore's wand.
Quirrell put up a shield as the Headmaster of Hogwarts twirled his wand gracefully. Two spells shot out, one red, one white. The red one disspated against the shield, the white one passed through as if the shield weren't there.
Dumbledore followed with a full body bind, capturing Quirrell. The man fell over backwards, the back of his head hitting the hardwood, with a high pitched shriek. That is - Voldemort shrieked, the Dark Lord unaccustomed to flat, hard wooden surfaces. Even if the smell of recently polished wood was so much better than ginger.
Of course, Voldemort didn't know that. He didn't have a nose.
"I'm sorry Tom," Dumbledore apologized, and he actually sounded sorry.
Knowing fleeing...*ahem, strategic retreat was the only option, Voldemort left Quirrel, black mist arrowing away from the back of the man's head...
Dumbledore waved his wand, and whispered an impressive sounding word out loud. He didn't have to say it out loud, but it did feel cool. Voldemort-shade was forced into the iron jar, and Dumbledore screwed the lid on tight. He had already placed numerous wards on the jar, ensuring Voldemort-shade couldn't escape.
And so Voldemort was captured.
Dumbledore could focus on finishing him off for once and for all without any pressure, taking his own time.
Even young Harry could live to die of old age now, Voldemort couldn't influence the boy while in shade-form. He had many years to find a way to extract the soul-piece from Harry. If all else failed, Voldemort could be destroyed after Harry had died.
A very satisfactory day's work, Dumbledore decided.
As he walked back to his office to shut the jar away, Dumbledore thought back on his previous plan and chuckled. Keeping the Philosopher's Stone in a school full of children to bait Voldemort - how ridiculous it seemed now.
Still, that plan did seem so much cooler, this one was rather anticlimatic.
Unwrapping another Lemon Drop, Dumbledore turned his thoughts to Christmas. He did so hope someone would gift him socks this time.
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Thank you for reading, please do let me know what you think.
I'll write out scenes as I think of them. Do give me ideas, suggestions.
toodles,
Timefreak