Legal: Don't own Harry Potter, or Looney Tunes, but I do own a rubber ducky.

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2. Vold E. Mort, Super Genius

Draco Malfoy was not having a good summer. He was currently soaking in his father's rather large bathtub, thinking about his predicament. Apparently the Dark Lord held his father responsible for whatever it was that went wrong at the Ministry last month. He couldn't understand that. Clearly it was Potter's fault. So what if he didn't have all the details, such as what exactly they were doing at the Ministry in the first place. Anyone who knew Potter knew that he was always sticking his nose where it didn't belong. Not for the first time, he remembered his suspicions from his Second Year. There was that time during Christmas break, when he had that weird conversation with Crabbe and Goyle. The one that they later swore never took place. He was sure Potter was involved in that somehow, although he had yet to figure out how. Could his friends have been obliviated? Under Imperius? It's not like Potter and the blood traitor would have been able to get their hands on Polyjuice, and the idea that they brewed it themselves was absurd, even with the mudblood's help. Draco couldn't brew it, and believe him, he had certainly tried enough times. If he couldn't manage it, no way they could, especially not as Second Years. But still …

Draco shifted to better reach his "rubber ducky", an exotic and rather rare object that his father had brought back from a business trip to America. There was even a special song about it. As he played with the ducky, and hummed the tune, he thought once again of his less than stellar summer. Why couldn't the Dark Lord see that Potter, and not his father, was to blame? His first mistake, he supposed, was in actually voicing that thought in the Dark Lord's presence. He had thought he had known pain, until he heard the softly spoken 'crucio'. Then there was pain like he couldn't believe. Thankfully, it had ended rather quickly, and he had learned two important lessons. First, never question the Dark Lord. And second, the fact that he was a Malfoy meant nothing to his Lord. Possibly even less than nothing.

And then there was the marking. Painful, but in a different way. Even now, days later, his skin still felt wrong. And the burning when a meeting was called! How did the other Death Eaters live with this? He would never say it out loud, but a tiny part of him was starting to wonder if he had made a mistake (not that he'd really had a choice after his father's capture). What if the rumors were true, that the Dark Lord regularly and painfully punished his followers? Surely that couldn't be true. He was the most powerful wizard alive, with a glorious vision of a pure future. Right?

One thing was for certain. He was a vindictive basta … leader. How could Draco ever hope to not only sneak a group of Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but also manage to corner and then kill the Great Albus Dumbledore? Not that he didn't want to, but was it really possible for a 16 year-old wizard to kill a man that the Dark Lord himself couldn't. 'Don't even think of going there. He's the Dark Lord. Of course he could kill Dumbledore. He probably just hadn't wanted to before.' Yeah, right.

Yes, he would admit, but only to himself, he was starting to have his doubts.

-000-

Rufus Scrimgeour's summer had certainly started with a bang. This particular moment found the new Minister sitting behind his rather impressive desk in his equally impressive office. He appeared to be reading a report on the merits of outlawing cauldrons made out of gold (do these idiots have nothing better to do?), but was actually deep in thought. A few short weeks ago, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been seen in the Ministry. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! In the Ministry! With witnesses! It was still hard to believe. Dumbledore and Potter had been telling the truth all along. He had suspected such, but could not say so out loud for fear of censure from the then-Minister. Fudge, that fool! His unwillingness to admit the truth a year ago cost the entire Wizarding world valuable time to prepare and protect themselves. But Rufus was a quick study, and he had quickly learned exactly how to play politics. He supported the 'right' people, avoided the 'wrong' people, and quietly sympathized where it seemed to help the most. If he had a galleon for every time he had listened to a drunk Amos Diggory whine about 'the incompetence of Fudge's regime' or 'the injustice of the persecution of poor Potter'. But what a help he was when the time came!

It was a mere 8 days after the Ministry Melee, as it was referred to in the Daily Prophet, that Fudge was forced to resign. Madam Bones would have been the obvious choice for replacement, had she not been found murdered the very day that Fudge resigned. In fact, her murder had been the proverbial nail in Fudge's coffin. In Bones' absence, Rufus was quickly installed as the new Minister.

Rufus' first order of business had been to retain Fudge as his "Muggle Ministry Liaison", a made-up post that assured Rufus he could keep an eye on Fudge. And the idiot had been grateful for the post, considering it a vote of confidence from the new Minister. Yes, Rufus knew how to play the game.

Rufus' past experience in the Auror Department came into play. He took the time to personally interview every Ministry employee who saw You-Know-Who or his Death Eaters. Those who were actually involved in the battle were another story. They all seemed to have identical stories, from the ministry employees down to the ex-teacher: students were in danger, a very innocent Sirius Black just happened to also show up, and Dumbledore saved the day. And then there was Dumbledore's less than helpful narration of events. As always, Dumbledore's details were vague, and did nothing to answer his questions. What was You-Know-Who after; how did Dumbledore and his group know there was trouble; and of course, what was Harry Potter doing there in the first place? Just how did Potter, and five other students, manage to get from Hogwarts into the Department of Mysteries. For that matter, how did a dozen Death Eaters get into the Department? Had Fudge even heard of the word 'security'?

What he wouldn't give to have 10 minutes alone with Potter. Then he would have some answers! He had tried to speak to the other students, but they all claimed that they hadn't really understood what was happening. Three of them claimed that Potter had received a message that his Godfather (none other than Sirius Black himself) was being held captive there. One claimed he didn't know what was happening at all, and had only gone because Potter needed his help. And the last, that was the best. She claimed she just happened to stumble across Potter and his friends, and thought it sounded interesting!

Rufus had felt backed into a corner. He knew from the Unspeakables that the battle started in the Hall of Prophecy. They confirmed that there had been a prophecy labeled "Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter" that had been made before Potter's birth. And that's when the idea for "The Chosen One" was born. The Wizarding community was in a panic. It needed a beacon of hope. Why not let Potter be that hope? If the boy was unwilling to come forward with details of the Ministry Melee, so much the better. That meant there was no one to contradict his version of events.

Yes, this summer was shaping up quite nicely.

-000-

The Dark Lord Voldemort sat on his throne, a high backed, jewel encrusted creation, and contemplated his genius. His plans were brilliant. So why did they fail? It was as if fate itself was against him. Ever since that Halloween, when a child, a child!, destroyed his body, fate had been working against him. But fate was no match for Lord Voldemort. He was not killed that Halloween night because he could not die. He had seen to that. He nearly laughed as he thought about Albus Dumbledore and his pitiful Order of the Phoenix. Let Dumbledore protect the boy, and lead his Order. None of them knew Voldemort's secret. A wizard as steeped in light as the Almighty Dumbledore would never even consider he had made horcruxes. And so, in the end, the Order was destined to fail.

In retrospect, it had been foolish to put Malfoy in charge at the Ministry. Hadn't he already proven his incompetence with the Diary? But it was not the disaster everyone assumed it to be. True, he hadn't gotten the prophecy, but in possessing Potter he had realized something much more valuable. He would have to rethink his plans for Potter's death. All in all, he considered the so-called Ministry Melee a neutral; not exactly a win, but certainly not a loss.

His thoughts drifted to Malfoy's punishment and this time he did laugh: a cold, cruel laugh that would have terrified any who had heard it. But of course, no one was at Voldemort's stronghold right now, save Pettigrew, and he didn't really count. Oh yes, he would have his revenge on Malfoy. Ordering his son to kill Dumbledore had been a true moment of genius. The idiot child could never succeed, and Voldemort would have the pleasure of killing the Malfoy heir, thus ending the Malfoy line, for his failure. Of course, he would have to arrange Malfoy's escape from Azkaban so he could witness his son's final moments. He had yet to decide Malfoy's ultimate fate.

The one kink in his plan was the unexpected insertion of Snape. Well, at least by taking the Unbreakable Vow to finish the task if (no, when) the little Malfoy failed proved his true loyalty once and for all. There was no longer any need to have Wormtail watch Snape this summer. Even Bella could no longer doubt. Should he find a way to intervene so he wouldn't lose his most valuable spy? He would have to think on that, as well.

A timid knock on his chamber's door brought him out of his musings. Apparently Pettigrew couldn't even knock on a door like a man. He had so hoped spending the summer in Snape's tender care would give the worm some backbone, but that wasn't going to happen now that he was back at the stronghold. Hopefully, he at least managed to bring the right person back with him.

"Come."

The door swung open to reveal Pettigrew leading a small, bald man by the hand. The man being lead into the room was indeed Creag Nanhah. Blinded at the tender age of 6 when not one, but two runespoors spit venom into his eyes, Nanhah had been gifted with an uncanny ability to read the fates. How the blind man could read the tarot cards was a mystery none could solve. But Voldemort wasn't interested in how. He just needed his answer. What did the rest of the prophecy say? Voldemort felt a rush of anticipation. "Deal your cards, Nanhah, and share with me the secrets they reveal."

Over an hour later, as Nanhah was lead out of the chamber by Pettigrew, Voldemort returned to his throne. So the full prophecy had indeed been lost. Even Nanhah had been unable to read it. This definitely required more thought. Given his recent discovery, he wasn't sure he wanted Potter dead. But he couldn't very well allow "the one with the power to vanquish" to roam freely. Was turning him an option? Probably not. What then? Perhaps it was time to give his mind a rest so he could come back to the problem later with a fresh outlook. He could call Bella, and ask her to read to him from that muggle book he had found, "The Runner of the Road". It was full of long words she couldn't pronounce. That was always quite enjoyable, and every genius needed his moments of mirth.

** end chapter **

Notes: This is the shortest chapter in the whole story, but I wanted to show what was happening in the 'outside' world before we enter Harry's world next chapter. "I am Lord Voldemort" gave me the idea for Creag Nanhah, more commonly known to me as Grace Hannah, my oldest child. Kudos to everyone that caught the chapter title references.