Dialogue may be off, because it has been years since I've read the exact words of Harry Potter. (Also, I have completely ignored whatever happened in Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. Because... that's no canon in my eyes.)

Also, I have a revelation to make. I'm an American. I'm not British. Therefore, I will have some words that are American and will sound funny coming out of the British characters' mouths.

Also, I'm using I., II., and III. for sections instead of splitting up using asterisks. prevents asterisks for some reason, so I don't bother using them.


I.

Wrinkly face. Shortness. An inability to smile. Sadistic.

That's what Voldemort has seen of Thrasher.

What an odd name. Thrasher. Voldemort wonders if that has anything to do with the verb, "thrash." If so, he has an inkling of why Thrasher is called Thrasher. It also fits the puzzle of why Thrasher would be associated with the devil.

Thrasher summons a large mirror, and it hovers in front of the Dark Lord. For the first time, the Dark Lord is able to see what the devil has done to him now. A simple robe covers up his body. Black hair sprouts from his head. Eyebrows arch over his eyes, and he is suspicious of the return of hair in other places. His nose—not the snake's nostrils for a nose—is. . . human.

Too human.

"Mr. Riddle," says Thrasher.

"You will address me as my proper name, Lord Voldemort."

Thrasher gives him an amused smile. "No." Pause. "Tom, I think that is the first order of business. You will no longer go by Lord Voldemort. Instead, you are Tom Marvolo Riddle to Hermione Granger. If you ever need to have physical form which could be seen by all, you will look like this." He snaps his finger.

A small fog starts from the top of Voldemort's head and down to his feet. Stunned, he touches his greasy black hair—which brings back memories of a certain Potion Master. His pale skin has changed into a dark, dark tan. His eyes sparkle with fleck of green and yellow.

"Your human identity is. . ." He dramatically pauses with glee. "Thomas. . . Smith."

Voldemort stands quite still. Too still.

He quietly realizes that it isn't bad. Then he makes the mistake of looking straight into Thrasher's eyes—which holds a sadistic quality resembling Bellatrix at her finest hours.

"You are an American, who recently moved from Los Angeles, California. You conveniently have a great-uncle, whose name is Thrasher Smith. That is me. I will be keeping track of your progress and your work as a guardian angel."

He wants to kill that person who came up the name, "guardian angel."

"You were worked for Witch Weekly for a year and a half. You even occasionally wrote an article about gossip"—Voldemort's stomach turns in horror—"involving the Potters and speculating the nature of Ginny and Harry's relationship. Above average but not outstanding scores on your NEWTs. You have recently moved from Witch Weekly and joined the ranks of secretaries at the Ministry of Magic. You will start work on Tuesday at eight o'clock sharp. If you don't go to work. . ." Thrasher gives him a smug look. "I will enjoy teaching you."

Voldemort almost passes out.

Secretary. It's even worse than working in retail.

Someone is going to. . . order him—him, the Dark Lord, the Lord Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin—around as if he is nothing but one of those common wizards.

"As a guardian angel, you have rules," informs Thrasher, his face becoming even more delighted. "You may only act in self-defense of Hermione Granger. You can use magic non-offensively. The Unforgivable Curses and a few certain dark curses will not work. If you try them, an interesting effect will happen. You can't reveal your true identity of Tom Marvolo Riddle to anyone. If you attempt to reveal the truth, I believe you will talk to everyone in nothing but Spanish for the rest of the day. The consequences will only grow bigger and bigger the more you attempt to test us."

The Dark Lord seethes quietly to himself. He is going to test them.

Just a tiny bit. Just to see and have his curiosity satisfied.

Thrasher adds, "Oh. And here is your wand." Thrasher presents it to him in a black wand box.

The Dark Lord—with as much dignity as possible—slowly takes it away from him. He opens the box and pulls out his old wand. The phoenix core. He could feel it greeting him after all this time. A warm glow warms up the rest of his bones, and it truly feels as if he is whole once more.

As soon as Thrasher's back is turned, he tries one curse. "Imperio!" Nothing seems to happen to his wand, but he could tell that something has happened. He makes an unfortunate choice of looking into the mirror and nearly shriek with horror at his hair. All of his hair.

They are pink.

Thrasher turns around, sees the new hairstyle, and grin. "What were you expecting? You didn't think it would work, did you?"

Maybe he was hoping it would. Just a smidge of hope.

"Now, what should I do to punish you?" Thrasher's eyes turn towards a quill on the devil's desk, and he snaps his finger and summons some parchment. "Yes. This will be good."

II.

Six years after the death of Voldemort, Hermione Granger sits in her cubicle and writes out the date to begin her long, long report on the crime rates in a rural town of Scotland. She neatly prints, June 14, 2004, in clear letters and digits with a snowy white quill. She's a team leader of one of the many Magical Law Enforcement Patrols squads—who apprehend less dangerous criminals. It's interesting work, but she wishes that she could spend time with Ron. She pulls all-nighters every few days or so much to his disappointment.

"Granger," says her second, Kathryn "Kath" Jimenez. She knocks the top of her cubicle and leans towards Hermione's face. Her popcorn-scented hair seems to be curling out of its braid and towards Hermione's own face. "I heard from Human Resources that we're getting a rookie tomorrow at eight o'clock. Five O.W.L.s. But here's the good part. Get this. He used to be a writer for Witch Weekly." She snickers. "A writer. For a gossip column. I even got one of his articles."

Kath passes a torn article towards Hermione, planting it right over her report. Clearly pleased with herself, she beckons. "Go on. Read it."

Hermione Granger takes one little look at her quill. She has to write this report. . . But one little break wouldn't hurt, right?

KALINA BACHEVA AND VIKTOR KRUM SPECULATION: A ROMEO AND JULIET FORBIDDEN LOVE STORY?

The 28-year-old Bulgarian seeker of the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team has been lately spotted with Kalina Bacheva, the daughter of two Bulgarian politicians. Kalina's father, a current candidate for Minister of Magic in Bulgaria, has no comment on the arrangement when asked by those at Witch Weekly. However, a close source in the political campaign remarks that Kalin Bacheva is "severely displeased and disappointed" in his daughter's newest suitor. The source furthermore adds, "Kalin is not an easy man to please. He is fiercely protective of his daughter."

Time will tell if Kalin Bacheva will dissuade the seeker. Whispers of deceased rivals and candidates have haunted Bacheva's campaign for Minister. Will Viktor be next?

Until then, Kalina and Viktor will continue to be under the watchful eyes of readers and those at Witch Weekly.

Thomas Smith is a 26-year-old junior correspondent for Witch Weekly stationed in Sofia, Bulgaria. He has published numerous articles in the Daily Prophet, Spella Magazine, and Which Wizard.

Hermione chokes at the article. How in the world did they find out so quickly about Viktor and Kalina? It seems to be only days ago when he mentioned it to her in a letter.

"So is Krum really off the market?" asks Kath, her finger curling around a strand of blonde hair. She takes one glance at her team leader's death eye. "Okay, okay. I'll stop asking. But I'm letting you know that Viktor is dreamy." She even draws out the last syllable and give an elaborate sigh. She pretends to hobble away and then bounces right back to rest her elbow on top of Hermione's cubicle. "But what do you think of the rookie?"

"Daily Prophet? Spella Magazine? Which Wizard? These periodicals? These publishers?" Hermione raises an eyebrow and scratches behind her ear. "Two of them are gossip rags. Daily Prophet is slightly better, but it does indulge in gossip. Too frequently."

She can easily remember the days of Rita Skeeter writing all of those horrible things about Harry and her. It seems just yesterday.

She looks up at Kath. "Do you know how he got accepted to the Ministry of Magic?"

She shrugs. "They must have thought that five O.W.L.s were impressive enough." A pause. "But probably because of his excellent ways of finding celebrity secrets."

Hermione leans back in her chair, tilting her head in confusion.

"I bribed someone to give me the full details on our rookie. Just so we could know more about him. Before we meet him. They accepted his application, because he somehow managed to dig up some dirty secrets about the Canadian Minister and they were impressed by how he managed to find it in the first place."

"So why not in the Auror Department? There are still some empty spaces." She quickly thinks back to the day Ron told her that he quit his job at the Auror Office and went to work at George's joke shop. It should have not been a surprise yet it was a surprise. Maybe, she was more surprised by how long he had it.

Three long years.

"—didn't have enough O.W.L.s." Kath looks at her expectedly with a raise eyebrow.

Hermione blinks and takes a sip from her coffee cup. "Yes. I'm sure."

Kath shakes her head. "You have no idea what I was talking about."

"No," admits Hermione.

Rolling her eyes, she nods. "I know. You have that faraway look you always get whenever I start rambling. Anyway"—she picks up the article from Witch Weekly off of Hermione's desk—"I'll see you tomorrow. I'll have my report written up by noon this Friday, and I'll collect Gregory's data sheet as soon as possible."

She takes another sip from her coffee and opens her eyes as wide as possible in an attempt to keep awake. She has only written down the date and nothing else.

Reluctantly, she continues writing and ignores her cramped hand.

Portree, Scotland, England: Crime Rates of 2003 to 2004

In Portree, the wizarding population has decreased over the years with the vast majority of the emigrants moving over to United States due to the relocation of the local candy company, Flavored Never-Ending Pops. The crime rate has increased in higher rates than the previous year, 2002 to 2003. Furthermore, the. . .

She can feel her own eyelids closing despite the two consumed cups of coffee.

III.

Lord Voldemort seethes at Thrasher, ignoring the cramp in his hand. He does not need to learn any more details of that blasted Kalina Be—whatever her name is. He does not need to know anything more about Viktor Krum nor does he want to know the odd details of the Canadian Minister's personal life. The Canadian Minister may be bisexual and in the closet about it, and he may have a new beau or crush in the American Minister, but they are insignificant facts and people in his eyes.

Worst of all, his hair still hasn't changed back.

It's still pink.

"Keep writing," prompts Thrasher happily. He looks down at his clipboard. "You still need to write the article about the happy marriage between Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter on November 14, 2003. You have a deadline to meet."