Let's see. Oh yeah. So, Voldy can possess Harry through the curse scar? Oh noes. Vengeful God of Magic Harry decides it's a 'two way street'. Biznatch.
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"I'm Henry the Eighth I am, Henry the Eighth I am, I am!!"
Voldemort, the most terrifying dark lord in the last few centuries was standing on top of his gilded throne, singing at the very top of his lungs. The room was filled with Death Eaters, as he'd been in the middle of giving some kind of impassioned speech. That is, until he suddenly started moving around like a marionette on strings, doing a little jig in his chair and then launching into song.
"I got married to the widow next door!! She's been married seven times before! And every one was an Henry!!" The dark lord clapped loudly at the appropriate time while singing while doing his little dance.
Pausing, Voldemort looked out over the quiet crowd. Making eye contact with Lucius Malfoy, he yanked his wand out and wordlessly 'crucio'd the crap out of him.
"For those of you not paying attention, when I pause there, you're supposed to chime in with 'Henry!'. In fact, I don't want to get to the next crowd participation part and not have my proper accompaniement - when I pause the second time, it's 'Not a Sam!'"
Satisfied, he jammed his wand back up his sleeve and resumed singing.
"Wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam!!"
He stared balefully out at the group. He heard someone in the back quietly say 'not a Sam.'
"I'm her eighth old man I am, I'm Henry the Eighth I am!" Drawing a deep breath, he reared back and yelled at the ceiling, "Nine hundred and ninety ninth verse, same as the thousanth! I'm Henry the Eighth I am, Henry the Eighth I am, I am..."
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Harry was lounging in the Ravenclaw common room, humming some sort of tune that Luna didn't quite know and conducting along with his wand to some unseen orchestra. He had his eyes closed, and a goofy smile was stuck on his face.
"I've always thought Voldemort could do with a sense of humour. Why so serious?"
Luna giggled a bit, and went back to running bits of yarn through her toes. She was having a wonderful time. Harry was an amazing and attentive boyfriend and never treated her poorly. There was plenty of hand holding, flights around the castle or anywhere else that she wanted to go. This evening, though, Harry seemed like he was doing something - something terrifying.
Humming some more, Harry said quietly, "Eight hundred and sixty eighth verse, same as the eight hundredth and sixty ninth!"
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Sometime in the early hours of the morning, Severus Snape found himself teetering on the edge of madness. His dark lord and master seemed to have completely lost the remaining shreds of his sanity, having just spent the last six straight hours howling and singing as loud as he could - all the while firing the torture curse at anyone he caught not joining in.
It had been the most nerve wracking and horrifying night he could recall. His voice was scratchy and hoarse - not from the crucios, but from all the screaming and singing along. He was in the mood to torture some of his students as a way of taking out his own frustrations.
Croaking a quiet chuckle, "Oh yes. Longbottom is going to suffer. I guarantee it."
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It was a bright and early Monday morning, and Gryffindor shared their potions time with the Slytherins - which was by Dumbledore's design. The old headmaster had obviously inhaled one too many muggle sweets, and the strange preservatives in them had hit him with very serious mental issues.
Harry strolled into the class, just to see how badly Snape was tore up this morning. He'd forced Voldemort to do the most embarassing things. He found a spot, right in the front of the class and waited. The rest of the students filed in, Neville coming up to share Harry's station.
This suited the raven haired diety just fine. He started tapping out a little ditty on his cauldron and the desk. Then the urge to scat just a bit came over him. So he indulged.
In fact, Harry was so wrapped up in his rocking out that he completely failed to notice Snape stomping into class until the greasy haired professor slammed the door closed. The boy quieted down a bit, uninterested in provoking Snape just yet.
The feeling passed quickly, and as Snape strode past, Harry started humming the tune to the song he'd had Voldemort singing all night long the night before. Snape froze, stock still. Turning very, very slowly, the entire class could see that Snape had gone deathly pale as well as started shaking.
Harry kept humming, and increased the volume a little. Really, it was a catchy tune and he was hoping it took root in the minds of some of the other students. Particularly students with Death Eater parents.
"Potter." Snape was only barely keeping hold of his composure, "You will cease that infernal humming, or I will throw you out of this class."
Looking thoughtful for a moment, Harry came to a decision. "Professor Snape, you're right. You're so right. So so right! I'm going to leave." Harry got up and left with all speed. He'd just had another idea occur to him, and he needed to get in the right frame of mind to really enjoy it.
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Two days later, the fruits of Harry's labour were plain for the world to see on the front page of the Daily Prophet.
"Lord Voldemort IS the Lord of the Dance"
The headline came with an entire series of moving wizarding photos of a grinning Lord Voldemort twirling and spinning in his robes to some unseen music - an entire line of Death Eaters on either side of him, apparently stomping in time.
The wizarding world in Britain ground to a halt that day - mostly because anyone that saw the paper was incapable of coherent thought. There was a lot of chairs fallen out of, many tears of laughter shed, and a large number of 'spit takes'.
Sirius Black was checked into St. Mungos by a laughing Remus Lupin, citing 'extreme dehydration and asphyxia' from both laughing and crying over the paper for hours on end. They were forced to stun the poor Marauder and put him to bed lest he laugh himself to death.
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Harry and Dobby were in the room of requirement. They were also roaring drunk and laughing themselves hoarse. Harry had taken the paper and blown the front page up, stuck it to a wall, and had taken to dancing a jig in front of it, right along with the dark lord himself.
Wheezing, Harry slumped onto one of the couches. "Dobby, that was too good. Thanks for handling the camera work. I think that's exactly what the people needed. Something to laugh about. That and if RiddleMort is too busy dancing his bum off, he's not out causing trouble."
Dobby was giggling with a bottle of butterbeer in each hand. "It was my pleasure, Mister Harry sir. I'm sorry I couldn't get the snake up there dancing too."
"Silly! She doesn't have any legs! How's she going to dance?" He was punctuating his speech with the now empty bottle of firewhiskey in his hand.
The two locked eyes and exclaimed together "I know what the Dark Lord's familiar is getting for Christmas!!"
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