"How was your winter vacation, Harry?"

Harry glanced up at his two friends, freshly returned to Hogwarts from the bosom of their not-dead families. "Weird," he replied, remembering the goose.

"I know what you mean," Ron said, sitting down at the table and helping himself to a Big-Gulp-sized serving of pumpkin juice. "Someone sent me a box of spiders for Christmas."

Farther down the table, Malfoy pumped his fist. "Yes!"

"What was that, Mike?"

"Nothing. Oops, I mean, nada."

Hermione frowned and looked over at Harry. "Between you and me, I think something's wrong with Mike Hunt."

"Yes, something very fishy," Ron added.

"I think there's more to Mike Hunt than we know."

"Yes, a surprising amount of depth, perhaps."

"Enough crude humor," Harry said, pushing a copy of the Daily Prophet across the table. "Have you seen the news?"

Hermione glanced down at the headline. "Scrimgeour receives vote of no confidence. Snap election to be held."

"Yes, I can read it for myself, Hermione," Ron snapped churlishly.

"Ron, everyone knows you can't read."

"I don't read. There's a difference."

Hermione set down the paper. "Just what we need, more instability in the Ministry of Magic. Who do you think will win the election?"

"It's still too early to tell. So far Scrimgeour is running unopposed," Harry replied.

"Really?"

"Well, who'd be stupid enough to run for Minister of Magic? It's like having a giant 'Kill Me' sign painted on your back."

"Mr. Potter," a hand grabbed Harry by the back of the shirt and pulled him to his feet. It was Snape. "The headmaster and the demon wish to speak to you."

Harry sighed and left his friends, Snape following close behind. Hermione and Ron watched them go. "Snape's been acting really odd lately," Ron said.

"Yes, remember how angry he was when Katie Bell got cursed by that necklace meant for Dumbledore?"

"...Not really."

"Oh, nevermind, then."

"Harry!" Dumbledore stood up from his desk the moment the Boy-Who-Lived entered the office. Vassago stood behind him, looking grave. "We have a situation in the Ministry."

"I know, Scrimgeour's running for reelection. I read the paper."

"That was the morning edition, here's the midday paper," the demon tossed Harry the newest edition of the Prophet."

"Surprise challenger to Scrimgeour's position."

"Yes, I can read it for myself, Headmaster."

"Just trying to be helpful."

"What's so bad about this?"

Vassago stepped over to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder from a pot. "It'd be better for you and the reader if we showed you."

Harry tumbled headfirst into the Ministry of Magic atrium. He hadn't seen it since the fight the previous spring. They still hadn't gotten the bloodstains off the marble. A stage had been set up in the center of the hall, with two empty podiums upon it. A crowd of wizards, politicians and reporters were seated before the stage.

"Welcome to the first Minister of Magic election debates," a familiar voice said. "I am Lee Jordan, junior correspondent for the Wizarding Wireless, and with me is Celestina Warbeck from Witch Weekly-"

"Hello, dahlings."

"-and Luna Lovegood, representing the Quibbler."

"Prawn salad."

"What?"

"Sorry, I was just ordering my lunch," Luna glanced back over from the waiter. "Happy to be here with all of the Nargles and esteemed guests."

"...Right. It is time to meet our two candidates. Representing the Stability Party ticket, please welcome Rufus Scrimgeour." There was a light smattering of applause as the lion-maned incumbent Minister took the first podium.

"Second, we have Representative Tom Riddle, Jr., representing the newly-formed Kill All The Muggles Party."

Harry, who had accepted a goblet of champagne from a waiter, promptly spat it out in an unfortunate witch's face. "Riddle?"

The second candidate took the podium. "Lovely to be here, scum," Voldemort said. At least, Harry was somewhat sure it was Voldemort. The giant fake beard and eyepatch made it somewhat hard to tell.

"Now then, it is time for opening remarks, you each have a minute to state your core values, or, being politicians, your lack thereof. Minister Scrimgeour, you may go first,"

"Thank you, Jordan." The Minister straightened up and faced the audience. "Witches and Wizards of the press and public, in these dark times…"

Harry was prodded forcefully by Vassago. "Huh, what?"

"You were snoring," the demon replied.

"Oh, how long was I out?"

"...Thank you," Scrimgeour finished his speech and sat down.

"Oh, uh, thank you, Minister, for the speech, even if it went a full twenty minutes longer than scheduled. Mr. Riddle, you may speak now."

"Thank you, Muggle Filth," Voldemort said. "We are facing a dark time in the Wizarding World. The Muggleborn are outnumbering the Pureblood voting block by three to one, and the streets of Wizarding communities are filled with these lowlife riff-raff. These Muggleborns are entering our society unchecked, and they are bringing with them crime, drugs, they're murderers, rapists, and some I assume are good people. I was there when the Ministry of Magic was attacked last year, and I remember seeing thousands of Muggleborn cheering in the streets. We need to strengthen our community by removing these un-wizardly individuals, thereby giving sensible Purebloods better job opportunities and prosperity. Let us make Wizarding Britain great again."

A chorus of cheers erupted from the corner of the room, where several dozen skull-masked individuals gave a standing ovation.

"Very… interesting words from candidate Riddle. Now, let us begin with the debate proper, our first question…"

"Is it true you are actually Voldemort in disguise!" Harry shouted from the back of the room.

"That wasn't my question, but I'll roll with it. Mr. Riddle, how do you respond."

"If I may speak," One of the Death Easters removed his mask, revealing Lucius Malfoy in a mustache and 'Make Wizarding Britain Great Again' trucker hat. "The Dark Lord would never resort to such debasing measures as disguising himself and running for public office, would you, My Lord?"

"...Um, nope," Riddle replied.

"I rest my case."

Harry, Dumbledore and Vassago retreated to the Ministry canteen for gin and biscuits. "How does he expect to win the election with such anti-Muggle rhetoric?" Harry asked.

"Believe it or not, he's currently ahead in the polls," Vassago said, studying a set of polling results.

"What? How can the public support such overt racism?"

"They appear to be ignoring it," Vassago said. "Candidate Riddle is for building a wall to keep Muggleborns out of Diagon Alley, but he is also campaigning for looser business regulations, stronger tariffs against the French, and a stronger Wizard military, things the more conservative members of the Wizarding Community are for."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"Does politics ever make sense?" Dumbledore asked, stirring his gin thoughtfully.

"Plus, Scrimgeour is a wet fish. He's incompetent, which gives him some advantage politically, but he's boring and cold. People seem to like when Riddle makes mistakes, lies, or casts a killing curse on a reporter. It makes him seem fallible, human."

"We have to stop him," Harry said.

"Well, there is one way," Vassago replied, "but you aren't going to like it."

"Potter joins Ministry race! Boy-Who-Lived to challenge Riddle/Scrimgeour."

"Will you stop reading the headlines out loud?" Harry snapped.

"Sorry, Harry," Hermione lowered the paper. "Are you sure you can do this? You're awfully young to be Minister of Magic."

"Apparently there's a loophole in election law that if you throw enough money at the Wizengamot, you can do anything," Harry replied, "Which does explain a lot about the Wizarding World, now that I think about it."

Ron approached the library table and sat down. "Morning, Harry, Hermione."

"Ron, what the fuck are you wearing?" Hermione asked, eyes wide in horror.

Ron glanced up at his trucker hat. "What? Dad got it from work."

"Is your dad supporting Riddle?"

"He says he's going to make conditions better for the working-class Purebloods," Ron said defensively.

"Ron, he's Voldemort!" Harry hissed angrily.

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, but, jobs."

"Well, I'm for you Harry, all the way," Hermione said.

"Fantastic, that just leaves 51% of the Wizarding World."

"Well, so long as you behave with honesty and compassion, I'm sure things will turn out for the best."

"...You don't know much about politics, do you, Hermione?"

"Mr. Potter, is it true you rape babies?"

Harry, who until then had been enjoying a relatively peaceful afternoon in Hogsmeade, recoiled at the reporter. "What? No!"

"So there's no truth to Riddle's campaign ads?"

"What campaign ads?"

The reporter gestured to a billboard above Honeyduke's:

A VOTE FOR POTTER IS A VOTE FOR A PEDOPHILE!

-Paid for by Death Eaters for Voldemort Tom Riddle

Under it was a badly edited image of Harry in the doorway of a windowless van, one hand beckoning. "Oh, goddammit," Harry muttered. "Who taught him Photoshop?"

"Mr. Riddle, Harry Potter has accused you of spreading false facts to the public."

"I prefer to think of them as 'alternative truths'."

"...So, lies."

"No, the truth, from a certain perspective."

"...The wrong perspective?"

"Look, this is all just fake news spread by Potter. Are you going to believe him? He rapes babies."

"So you say."

"I didn't say that."

"You just did."

"No more comments. Avada Kedavra!"

Harry switched off the wireless and collapsed into a chair. The Ministry had given him an office from which to run his campaign. Unfortunately, they'd placed it right next to 'Riddle's'. Through the open door, Harry watched as Voldemort swept past, followed by several Death Eaters dragging a heavy sack that appeared to be leaking jam.

"Don't let him piss you off, Harry," Vassago said. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived, not the Boy-Who'll-Lose."

A brick crashed through the window behind Harry's desk. "BABY RAPER!" a voice shouted from the street.

"Ignore that." Vassago walked over to the window, grabbed a hand grenade from a bucket, and chucked it out. There was an explosion, followed by screams. "There, Voldemort is now down… three points."

"My leg! I've lost my leg!"

"Three-and-a-quarter."

"Stop killing redneck wizards," Harry snapped. "I told you I wanted to win this election fairly."

"Harry, this is politics. You don't play fair. Look where that's got you so far. Look at Scrimgeour!"

"Where is Scrimgeour?"

"Who gives a fuck?" Vassago shouted. "You need three things to win an election: a winning smile, a firm handshake, and no soul or moral integrity whatsoever. Voldemort's got you beat on two of those, but have you seen his dental work?"

"I'm afraid he's right, Harry," Dumbledore had entered the room, and was stuffing his pockets with lemon drops from a cup on Harry's desk.

"Really? What happened to the triumph of the light?"

"Harry, do you think I became head of the Wizengamot by not sleeping with half the house?"

"Wasn't the Wizengamot all male back then?"

"...Yep."

"Welcome to the second Minister of Magic electoral debate. We shall start with Mr. Potter."

"Hey, what about me?" Scrimgeour asked.

"What about you?" Lee asked loathingly.

"...Fair point."

"Thank you, Lee. Voters, I would like to expose a fraud in this debate. The individual you know as Mr. Riddle is not who he says he is. He is none other than, Lord Voldemort!"

"Outrageous!" Riddle spoke up. "I've never heard such lies in my life. If you open your mouth one more time, Potter, I shall beat you to within an inch of your pathetic life."

"Accio fake beard!"

Voldemort grabbed the artificial face rug before it could escape. "Oh no you don't!" The force of the spell dragged the Dark Lord across the stage, crashing him into Potter and knocking them both to the ground.

"Unhand me, you wretched boy!"

"Get your hand off my calf!"

"MOOOO!"

"You want it, snake eyes? You can have it!"

"Folks, it appears that Potter and Riddle are beating the hell out of each other using fists, bats, and small livestock. Celestina, have you ever seen such unprofessional behavior in your life?"

"Well, I had to sleep with several wizards to get my recording contract, so no."

"SOCIAL COMMENTARY," Luna added in all caps.

It was election night, and Harry's office was packed full of well-wishers. Vassago walked over to the boy and clapped him on the shoulder. "I hear things are going to be pretty close, Harry."

"I have faith in the system," Harry replied. "I believe that the voters have made the right choice. Isn't that right, everyone?"

The room fell silent. "Oh shit," Hermione muttered. "I forgot to vote."

"Is that what we were supposed to do today?" Hagrid asked.

"Shit, I'd marked it on my calendar and everything."

"Okay, hold on a second!" Harry slammed his fist on the desk. "Did anyone here actually vote today?"

"I did," Ron said, raising a hand. "For Riddle."

Harry launched himself across the desk and into the youngest Weasley boy, tackling him to the floor. "I'm going to shove that stupid fucking hat down your throat, you Flanderized white-trash idiot!"

"Riddle wins in a landslide! Elderly, racist bloc accounts for 99% of popular vote- hey, I was reading that!" Hermione protested. Harry crumpled the Prophet into a ball and threw it across the empty office.

"Well, we're fucked, aren't we?" Harry asked.

"And we haven't even gotten to the part where Snape kills Dumbledore," Vassago replied, shaking his head.

"What?"

"This isn't over yet," Dumbledore said, sweeping into the office like a polka-dotted angel.

"But we lost the popular vote."

"That means nothing," Dumbledore said, waving the notion away. "Everyone knows that's just a trick to make the public think they're votes actually mean something."

"So, what happens now, then?"

"The Wizengamot votes, and whoever gets the most votes is the Minister."

"When's the vote?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"So we have to convince more than half of a group of backward, out-of-touch nobles to make the right choice?" Harry asked.

"Correct."

"We're doomed."

"Not to worry, my boy, I have a plan."

"Does it involve sleeping with the Wizengamot in exchange for votes?" Harry asked. "Because if so, I'd rather lose."

"...I have two plans. But you aren't going to like the second one."

"The Wizengamot shall not vote to determine the next Minister of Magic," the speaker of the house announced to the seated witches and wizards. "Before we begin, however, I believe the esteemed Headmaster Dumbledore has something to say."

"Yes, thank you." The elderly wizard stood up in his seat. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, I am afraid I have some deeply unsettling news to share. It has come to my attention that both Mr. Potter and Mr. Riddle are Halfbloods."

There was a flurry of whispers in the room. "What does that mean?"

"Do any of you recall Article VII of the Wizengamot Electoral Guidelines?"

Dead silence.

"No one? None of you have read the rules?"

"We've skimmed it!" Augusta Longbottom shouted from her chair.

"Well, thankfully I have, because under Article VII, to be a viable candidate for Minister of Magic, you must be Pureblood, an unfortunately racist rule that has, for the most part, been forgotten about."

"...So, what does that mean?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes. "It means that both Riddle and Potter must be disqualified from the race."

"What!" Voldemort shot up from his seat so fast his beard and eyepatch fell off. "This is an outrage!"

"Holy shit, it's the Dark Lord!" someone shouted. Gasps filled the chamber

"Oh, bugger," Voldemort turned to Harry. "You may have won this fight, Potter-"

"Did I? We both lost the election," Harry replied tartly.

"-but don't count on you luck not running out anytime soon! I will destroy you, someday!"

The doors to the chamber were kicked open. "Freeze, Wizard Cops, motherfuckers!" Tonks yelled, training her wand on Voldemort.

"Oh dear, look at the time, have to run." With that, the Dark Lord apparate out of the room, leaving a stunned Wizengamot in his wake.

The speaker of the house regained his composure. "Well, I guess that with Messrs. Potter and Riddle out of the running, the election goes to Rufus Scrimgeour."

There was a long silence as the hall redirected their attention to the incumbent. "Hooray?" Scrimgeour suggested.

"HOORAY!"

"Well, all's well that ends well," Vassago said, leaning back against the headmaster's desk and lighting a cigarette.

"I just wasted three months campaigning for an election I was destined to lose, the government is still as incompetent as ever, and Voldemort is still out there trying to kill me. How is this a positive outcome?" Harry asked.

"...You've learned an important lesson on civic duty?"

"Fuck off."