I got this idea from a SecretAgentBob video on YouTube. If you want to see it, it's called "A Serious Business Meeting." And it is very, very odd. Like this fic.

"I shall attend to the boy in person," Voldemort said, watching the unconscious form of Charity Burbage complete another slow, sickening turn. "There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs."

Draco Malfoy propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. Did Voldemort always take this long in getting to the point?

"I have been careless," he continued, "and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be."

Draco raised his hand, and Voldemort turned those crimson eyes upon him, hairless eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Draco? Did you have a question?"

"That's stupid."

The room had been still before, but it was entirely silent now. Thirty-plus pair of eyes now stared at him—especially his aunt, whose dark eyes were wide with shock, and his father, who seemed to be trying to pinpoint the exact moment his son had lost his mind. Only the fire, crackling away in the fireplace, broke the chilling calm.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Voldemort asked the only logical question.

"What is stupid, Draco?"

The blond sank down in his chair. "I believe my words speak for themselves, my lord. Please continue."

His mother nudged him in the ribs. She didn't smile, but her blue eyes glinted mischievously.

Voldemort cleared his throat. "As I was saying—"

Draco raised his hand again, but didn't wait for permission to speak. "Stupid!"

"We must act quickly—"

"Stupid!"

The crimson eyes burned as Voldemort stood from his chair, drawing his wand. "For one in such a precarious position, you do speak rather freely, young Malfoy!"

A smile curved the blond's lips, and he pressed a hand to his heart. "So now I'm 'young Malfoy'? I'm hurt! Honestly, my lord, I thought we were on a first-name basis."

Lucius tugged at his son's sleeve, his eyes round. "Draco, have you lost your mind?" he hissed.

"Long time ago, Dad. Mostly, when I got this." Draco stood and yanked his left sleeve to his elbow, exposing the Mark branded into his skin. "Honestly, what was I thinking? I could've gotten any tattoo—a unicorn across my shoulder blades, Pansy Parkinson's name on my arse, Mum's grocery list over my chest—but instead I got this."

"Pansy's name on your arse?" Narcissa stood as well, hands on her hips. "Draco, dear, if you're going to get anything tattooed on your backside, it should be the face of our dear friend Amycus Carrow."

"Hey!" Amycus protested, then drew back with a confused expression, unsure if it was really meant as an insult.

The entire assembly could feel the heat of Voldemort's rage, no matter where they were seated. "I have had quite enough of your cheek, Draco Malfoy! Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light shot from his wand, but Draco and his mother ducked beneath the table, and it struck the wall behind them. Narcissa stood, stuck out her tongue, and ducked a second Killing Curse. Draco raised his robes, exposing his bare—and un-tattooed—backside.

The meeting devolved into chaos. Bellatrix shrieked in rage and fired a Killing Curse of her own, missing her sister by a few inches. Amycus Carrow lunged for Draco, but the blond dodged him as smoothly as he might dodge a Bludger in a Quidditch match. Voldemort fired curse after curse, but each one struck furniture or walls instead of his targets. Other Death Eaters shouted, trying to figure out a plan. Only one voice cut through the commotion.

"It's time!" Severus Snape cried. "The enchantments are down! Hurry!"

Several loud crashes signaled doors being broken. Fierce war cries quickly overwhelmed the Death Eaters' shouts of rage as dozens of Order members poured in from every direction. Within minutes every Death Eater, save Severus, Draco and Narcissa, were killed, Stunned, or placed under arrest. Voldemort frantically shouted orders to his rapidly thinning ranks, but a curse struck him from behind, and he fell lifeless to the floor.

Half an hour later, the manor was nearly empty. Draco and Narcissa stood on the front lawn, watching the show.

"Brilliant plan."

Draco turned and saw himself striding toward him. His own smirk was mirrored on his double.

"High praise, considering you didn't want to go with it in the first place."

"Well, I've changed my mind." He shook his head, chuckling softly. "Honestly, I couldn't have done what you did back there."

"Which is why we did it. We are the chief pranksters, after all." As she spoke, Narcissa's voice deepened, and her hair darkened to a flaming red. Freckles appeared across her nose. In under a minute, Fred and George Weasley stood where Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had been only a moment before.

"Polyjuice Potion. Wonderful idea, Mrs. Malfoy."

The real Narcissa curtsied. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

Harry Potter approached them, grinning from ear to ear. "All righty, then. Who's up for hunting Horcruxes?"

Draco shrugged. "Eh, why not? Got nothing else to do."

Narcissa placed a hand on her son's shoulder. "We'll both help you." She and Draco traded glances. "Anything to keep that monster dead."

"Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious, will you?" Harry said, and they both agreed.

One year later, all remaining Horcruxes had been destroyed with minimal trouble. A few days' concern had followed Harry's discovery that his scar contained a piece of Voldemort's soul, but a drop or two of basilisk venom over the area quickly solved the problem. After Fawkes wept over the wound, the burn healed and Harry's face was preserved.

Snape was given ample time to explain his actions in the tower, and explain he did. Rita Skeeter sensationalized his account, but when he complained over her insinuation that he was actually Voldemort in disguise and a Polyjuiced double had died at Malfoy Manor, she lost her job. Last anyone heard, she travelled to the States and found work at a Muggle tabloid. Her accusations brought much amusement to the recently appointed Headmaster Snape, who chuckled over them beneath the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.

One hot summer night, two redheaded boys in torn jeans and ratty T-shirts stumbled into a dimly lit Muggle shop. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, and the boys felt the other patrons' eyes upon them as they made their way to the back. One sat heavily in a scuffed leather chair.

"So what d'you want?" the woman asked. Her hair was blonde everywhere but the roots, where dark locks showed through.

Fred Weasley took a drawing from his pocket. "This guy," he slurred.

The tattoo artist frowned at the drawing. Ugly man. If her eyes didn't decieve her... "Ain't this a wanted poster?"

Standing beside his brother, George grinned. "Sure is. Amycus Carrow. Got him last year."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "And where d'you want it?"

Fred grinned and pointed to his backside. "Right there."

She blinked. "You want a convict's face...on your arse."

The twins laughed. "Yep. Sure do."

"Wanted it for a while now," George added.

With a deep breath and a shrug, she agreed. If they were paying...well, who was she to judge?