A/N: And so I gain an unfinished and random ideas that don't merit their own story file, much like every other author on . I'll be posting general crap here that doesn't merit its own story, and I can't guarantee it will remain entirely HP-oriented (although I imagine the majority will be). I'll probably be posting stuff here to stop the fans of Call Me Moriarty becoming sad that there's no chapter that week. So, without further ado, on with the show.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.

I Started a Joke

A/N: Time travel is one of the single most overused aspects of fanfiction – you can find just about anything if you go looking, especially in the Harry Potter ballpark. This is my hat thrown into the ring as a crack-fic to take my mind off of other things. Partially inspired by 'Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus' (great read by the way).

Time travel is a messy thing.

There are a lot of aspects that can go wrong and not many ways in which it goes well.

'Bad things happen to wizards who mess with time,' Hermione Granger had once warned her teenage friend. Of course, she was six months dead, but her final project lived on in the hands of those surviving Order members.

Various men and women scurried around the room, making final adjustments to carved runes upon the stone floor, and one young adult with messy black hair lounged on a chair off to the side, looking despondently at the ongoing work.

"Ivy," declared a voice behind her, and the young woman shifted to look over at the scarred werewolf looking concernedly at her. "You mustn't worry, it will work."

"That's what worries me," she replied, turning eyes back to the outlined ritual circle. "You're going to be giving your lives, Remus, and even that on just the hope that I can-."

"Ivy, we've been over this," he interrupted, "by going back, you can change the timeline and prevent our deaths from ever happening – and a number more besides. You'll be entering into your first year at Hogwarts; you'll have plenty of time to stop things escalating to where we are now."

"But I'll still remember all of this," the ravenette insisted, "how do you expect me to live with myself after seeing you all…"

"Because you'll have to," he stated firmly, "we need you to. Look at me." She turned her emerald eyes upon the grizzled man. "Ivy Alice Dorea Potter, I trust you with my life, as does everyone else here. That's why we're giving them to give you this chance."

The woman sighed, rubbing her forehead and the infamous scar that was prickling as it was oft wont to do, it seemed it never stopped in these last few years.

"Thank you Remus, it's just I still feel…" she trailed off, unable to put it into words.

"Miss Potter!" called a voice from across the room, and her head snapped up to see the speaker. "We're ready."

####################################################################

Golden light seared up through the floor in line with the carved circles, and each remaining member of the Order of the Phoenix fell to the stone as life left their bodies. Ivy couldn't help but give a keen of pain at the sight, watching her last allies and friends from harsh years of life die in front of her.

Thoughts were torn from her mind, however, as the pain began. She fell to one knee as her body felt like it was being dunked in acid, and through bleary eyes, she actually saw her limbs dissolving into thin air. Her last conscious thought was that Time Travel was a bitch, before she was pulled backwards.

Now, it must be stressed, that those working on the project – including the late Hermione Granger – knew what they were doing, and had been entirely accurate in their workings from what information they had.

However.

None of them – least of all Ivy herself – was aware that she had a lodger in her head; another piece of soul not her own. And so, as her essence flew down the time stream to what would have been her eleven-year old body, she was suddenly thrown off course by the disembodied force following her along.

When she was finally conscious, she was aware of only pitch-blackness, constrictiveness and wetness around herself. She couldn't open her eyes, or move her limbs, but she felt like she was being squeezed through a thin tube.

Finally, very cold air hit her apparently nude form, and she was suddenly aware that screams were forcing their way out of her throat.

There were other sensations then, a cutting by her navel, and something wrapped around her. As well as what felt like hands, but must have been far too large – her mind turned inexplicably to Hagrid, an old half-giant friend who had died early in the war.

When finally she did open her eyes, she understood.

She could just see the edge of a white towel wrapped around her tiny form, and that there was a baby across from her with very familiar icy blue eyes, staring at her much as she did at him.

'Oh bloody fucking hell,' she thought as comprehension dawned.

####################################################################

'I've officially decided, I'm fate's chew toy. The bitch just seems to have it out for me,' Ivy was firm in her thoughts as she looked through the white bars of the cot.

'Well if that's true, it's you and me both,' came the cultured, male reply from her counterpart. While they could not speak – since their mouths weren't developed enough yet – they had discovered they could think to each other some way. 'I mean, I have to spend two decades stuck in your head without even being able to communicate much more than making your scar hurt, and then we get sent back in time by your imbecile compatriots. When that lot are born, I'm personally going to go out and make my displeasure known in exacting amounts.'

'You most certainly bloody will not!' Ivy returned. 'I swear, I'm going to fucking kill you and stop all the misery you caused the first time round!'

'And how are you going to do that, Potter? If you'll recall, we're both stuck as infants for the time being,' came the derisive reply.

'I'll find a way, I've already killed you three times, I can do it again.'

'Oh, don't remind me of that, I remember them perfectly well thank-you,' Voldemort bitterly replied, 'I should have just cast a cutting curse on that bloody Halloween and this whole mess never would have happened.'

'How did that even get you stuck in my head anyhow?'

'You were the impossible; an accidental, human horcrux. A portion of my soul – or more accurately, me – split off from my main body into you when I died.'

'And you were squatting in my forehead ever since?'

The Dark Lord just growled in response.

####################################################################

Ivy did try and fulfil her promise, however it was somewhat more difficult than it at first seemed. Braining each other with blunt objects was ineffective, but as soon as they could reach properly, the pair attacked each other with hands around throats to suffocate the life from the other.

Of course, neither particularly expected to find themselves in a silvery train-station that looked decidedly like King's Cross after the event.

"What the bloody hell is this?" Ivy exclaimed, looking around the large, open space. "King's Cross?"

"This is the afterlife?" Voldemort echoed, and upon being reminded of his presence, Ivy turned on him with an angry expression.

"You're supposed to be dead; I was trying to kill you."

"Likewise," he replied in that infuriating manner of his. "I think that perhaps we can board a train here."

"What?"

"Well, why else would we be in a train station?"

"What? One to Heaven, and one to Hell or something?" she asked doubtfully.

"I wonder…" he turned and moved to examine the ghostly doors at the entrance of the station, "what if we took neither?"

He disappeared through the doors, quickly followed by an irate ravenette, and they woke up in their bodies – no worse for wear.

'Well this is awkward,' he sent, though Ivy merely frowned.

And so they discovered that they couldn't kill each other – although they certainly tried several times, in increasingly creative ways. The proprietor of the orphanage had screamed bloody murder when she found a pair of bloody scissors under Ivy's bed, having previously been used to slit his throat. Likewise, the noose he had slipped around her neck while she slept had wrought the pale faced woman to beat the pair of them.

'I kind of understand why you hated her,' Ivy admitted as she massaged tender flesh, 'old bitch.'

'Mrs. Cole was the least of my worries, she has a tendency to drink herself into a stupor and forget about the children. It was the other residents of this damn place I truly loathed.'

####################################################################

The young boy raised an eyebrow as his sister sat opposite from him on their out-of-the-way table at the very back of the dining-room, immediately attacking her small plate of food with ferocity.

"Five years of claiming to want to do things right, to never stoop to my level while stopping me from claiming my old place, and you survive three weeks of Sunday School before lashing out with 'accidental' magic," he said in amusement.

"He pulled my hair," the girl replied grumpily, "that shit hurts."

"So does the broken leg you gave him when you tripped him on the stairs," he commented wryly.

"Shut up, this does not make me like you," the ravenette poked a fork in his direction, emerald eyes blazing with anger.

"Why do you think my magic emerged so early? I had need of it to defend myself from that lot," he jerked his head in the direction of one of the more full tables, the group of burlier boys laughing and snorting at some undoubtedly inane thing. "The only thing bullies understand is strength."

"You can't call what you did in later life self-defence, though," his counterpart retorted. She didn't refute his statement, however.

That night, Tom Riddle awoke to the feeling of being bound and his nose pinched as some foul substance was forced down his throat. The convulsions stopped after about a minute, and his twin finally let go of his lifeless corpse. Grabbing a chair, she stared at the dead body for all of five minutes before his eyes opened, and he coughed a bit.

"It's been almost six months since we had a go at each other, did I hit a nerve at lunch?" the boy asked amusedly, surveying the bedsheets tying him down. The ravenette remained silent, her eyes downcast and face shrouded in shadow. "Where did you get the chemicals?"

"Stole them," she responded after a moment, "thought it might be worth trying something new."

"Variety is the spice of life," he agreed. "Although, it makes for a decidedly unpleasant way to shuffle off the mortal coil."

"Good," his counterpart grunted before standing and walking to her own bed.

"Are you at least going to untie me?"

"Maybe in the morning."

####################################################################

The seaside trip was something of a highlight of the year for the children of Wool's Orphanage. Most had never even seen the sea, and children gambolled about everywhere playing in the sand and splashing in the water.

All but two.

"You really weren't subtle with all the attempts to get me in trouble in the weeks leading up to this," Tom stated as they sat on a small cliff, above their compatriots and beyond the reach of the sunbathing woman 'minding' them. "You nearly got yourself left behind, and even now you're guarding me rather than go down there. I know for a fact that you've never been to a beach, why not enjoy it?"

"On this day, you traumatised two children for life. One of them killed himself at thirteen, and the other ended up in an asylum," she answered curtly, "can you blame me?"

"But why would I do it again?" He turned to look at her, "I did it then partly as revenge and partly as experimentation to see what I can do. I harbour no substantial hatred towards them now, and I have no need to experiment when I know what I am capable of."

"That doesn't mean I'm letting you out of my sight," Ivy replied firmly.

"I would expect nothing less."

####################################################################

"What'chu readin', girlie?" Ivy did not look up for several moments, instead continuing to the bottom of the page before closing her large tome carefully, and turning harsh green eyes on the group of three muscle-bound youths.

"War and Peace," the young girl answered blithely.

"You what?" the burliest of the trio snatched the book before she could stop him, opening it up to a random page and sneering at the small text. "Dere's no way you can be readin' this, no one never teaches orphans to read this good."

"More's the pity," the girl snarled, pushing the boy back with a strength disproportionate to her small frame, while having recaptured her book. With a dismissive final glance at the boy on the dusty ground, she stalked away.

"Why you readin' that anyways? We ain't gone 'ave no more wars, we already 'ad the War to end all wars." The normally stony-faced girl actually cringed slightly at the call from behind her.

"No, you're very wrong there."

####################################################################

For once, as the twins sat together on the roof of the orphanage, they were silent, allowing late afternoon light just impacting upon them the last of its heat.

For those who looked at them objectively, the boy seemed perhaps a year older than his sibling, due to their height difference mainly. But at that moment when the horizon was light up with fire and smoke, the age could be seen in both their eyes. Emeralds and Sapphires, hard stones that had stood the testament of time and been forged through immense pressure.

"September Seventh, nineteen-forty," Tom stated dispassionately. "The day the Blitz began."

"This time next year, we'll be in Hogwarts," his sister replied, watching the fires begin in the port area of Surrey. "I used to live over there."

"Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey," the boy commented without looking away from the fires. "I remember; I was in your head. Aren't you happier seeing it burn?"

"Maybe."

"And can you not see?" he gestured at the inferno. "Why I thought that the muggles could not be trusted with their own independence; they need someone competent leading them or they will destroy themselves."

"You spent most of your time killing them and the muggleborns, am I supposed to believe you secretly wanted to save them?"

"No, I wanted to rule them, and I wanted power. The quickest way to that was the disgruntled purebloods aching to turf the muggleborn from their society. The war was inevitable; I only made sure I led it."

"You seemed pretty gleeful getting your jollies torturing people."

"Dark magic is intoxicating to use, and the rest was the part I needed to play as a Dark Lord."

"That's your justification for the things you did?"

"It's not a justification, it's an explanation. I am not claiming to be a good person, far from it. I'm a psychopath, Ivy, much as you are for that matter."

"Me?"

"Every year on your original birthday you find a new way to try and kill me."

"You do the same on your birthday."

"Yes, but I'm well aware that I'm mentally disturbed."

"You're the Dark Lord who split his soul, and has a body count in the hundreds."

"You're the Young Heroine who was designed to be a weapon, with a body count in the dozens."

"You…" the anger in her voice was palpable as she wrung her hands, attempting to come up with a counter-argument.

"You forget, I've spent more than two decades inside your head, I know you better than perhaps you yourself do."

"I hate you."

"I'm well aware of that; you've reminded me practically every day for ten years." It was left unsaid that the venom had long since started to disappear from her voice.

####################################################################

Ivy watched her 'brother' carefully as he sat impatiently in his chair, facing the door of their small room from her position on her bed, leaning back against the wall.

Despite that they were opposite genders, the fact they were family and reasonably young was apparently still enough reason to place them together. Probably due to lack of space, and the fact that they wouldn't exactly do well sharing with anyone other than each other.

"I don't understand why you're so impatient," the ravenette commented, throwing a leather cricket ball up in the air before catching it deftly. Regardless of what time she lived in, her Seeker's reflexes were top notch.

"Today's the day, July Twenty Third, we can finally get away from this damn place," Tom answered, staring intently at the door.

"He'll arrive when he arrives, probably at the same time he did last time," Ivy replied disinterestedly.

"Shouldn't you be more excited to see him?"

"What?" her hand stilled, and she sent a glare his way, "the great manipulator of my life? The man who pretended to be my father figure, all the while pushing for me to fight you and then finally fucking off and dying before telling me in full what needed to be done, in favour of leaving cryptic fucking clues that weren't in the least bit helpful? The old bastard can bugger off for all I care. Let him rot in bloody hell where he belongs."

"That's unusually acidic, even for you," the boy who was not really a boy responded.

"I'm not in a good mood," she stated simply.

"Clearly. Might I ask why?"

"For one thing, I'm going to have to spend the next few years of my life focusing on making sure you don't rise to power again, I'm also having to repeat Hogwarts, only without my friends," Ivy returned to throwing her ball up in the air, "and I realised this morning that I'm about to go through puberty again, as if it wasn't bad enough the first damn time."

"Ah, I suppose that would rankle somewhat."

"Somewhat? You try being a pubescent teen in a school where people are only allowed to leave once every three months," she growled, "not to mention bloody boys suddenly noticing that you're female and thereby deciding that you somehow owe them something for deigning to look upon you."

"Is that directed at that Weasley boy and the events of the Yule Ball?" he queried curiously. Her silence told him all he needed to know.

Said silence was not broken until the door finally creaked open – without any prior knocking – to unveil Mrs Cole showing a long-bearded man in a bright blue suit into their room. The suit clashed horribly with his ruddy beard that hung to his waist, and proved that Albus Dumbledore had never had an eye for fashion, even when younger.

"Ah, thank-you, Madame Cole," he said to the woman, who gave a stiff nod before leaving while closing the door behind her. "And good morning to the pair of you."

"What do you mean by that?" Ivy inquired, turning her head to affix emerald eyes upon him while still playing with her cricket ball. "Do you mean to wish us a good morning?"

"Or that it will be a good morning regardless of how we may wish it," surprisingly, Tom caught on to her, and Ivy barely resisted smiling in favour of giving her life's manipulator a bemused look as she continued.

"Or that you feel good this morning?" she added. 'I'm surprised you recognised the Hobbit line I was quoting,' Ivy sent silently to her twin.

"Or that it is just a morning to be good on?" Tom finished. 'Stuck in your head for twenty years, remember?'

'I still think Dumbledore is a second rate Gandalf impersonator.' Since she had come to know him so well over the past eleven years, Ivy did notice the smallest of movements of his lip that denoted him trying not to smile – a rare occurrence for the ex-Dark Lord.

"I would wish you a good morning," Dumbledore finally answered after a moment of deliberation. "My name is Professor Dumbledore."

"A professor of what? And at which university?" Tom inquired, turning his head to the side slightly as if surveying a mildly interesting specimen.

"Ah," he frowned a little, "transfiguration, at Hogwarts school. That is the reason I am-."

"You can't be made a professor by a school," Ivy interrupted him, drawling her words slowly; "everyone knows that. You have to either teach at a prestigious university or be honoured by one due to being without peer in a specific field. And what sort of subject is transfiguration, anyway?" The man looked about to answer when Tom pre-empted him.

"Isn't that the thing you read about a while back? When people are confused as to their gender or some such," he commented, looking over at her, "I believe they're sent to specialist hospitals. Or asylums. Is this 'Hogwarts' an asylum?" He turned back to the professor with a raised eyebrow.

"If so," continued Ivy, stopping him from replying once again, "why are you here to see us? Has Mrs Cole been rambling about us being psychic again or something equally ridiculous?"

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore began quickly, before either of them could speak, "is a school of learning, not an asylum. It is a school of magic; the finest in the world in-fact." There was a pregnant pause in the room, as both twins raised eyebrows high.

"Are you sure you're not from an asylum?" Tom eventually replied.

"Are you saying you've never been able to do things? Strange things which others cannot?" the man gave a slight smile as he withdrew a stick from within his left sleeve. "This is a wand, which is used to channel magic."

"You are quite certain you didn't come from an asylum?" Ivy repeated dubiously, inwardly laughing at how awkward they were making this for him. That was until he turned twinkling blue eyes on her and she felt a poking at her occlumency shields. Though she didn't react outwardly, inwardly she was not at all happy – or surprised. 'He's trying to use legilimency on me.'

'He already tried on me, besides how did you think he knew first time round what was stolen in my cupboard?'

"Perhaps I should prove I am telling the truth," he finally said after he turned away from her eyes with a slight frown. With that, he flicked his wand in Tom's direction, "Wingardium Leviosa." As he slowly raised the tip of his wand, the chair floated into the air with a none-too-impressed boy atop it.

"Hey, put me down!" he cried, holding onto the wood tightly as it wobbled in mid-air. Dumbledore did comply, but Ivy noted the bump as he touched back down. Passive-aggressive much?

"I thought we were the only ones," Ivy finally relented as she decided to set aside that piece of their charade. "And this is magic, then?" This time, when she tossed the red ball upwards, it stopped halfway to falling into her palm, and she manipulated it to spin around while orbiting her finger. Wandless and wordless levitation was a very useful talent that took a great deal of effort to learn, but being able to regain your wand in a fight was invaluable. Not to mention, she had had plenty of practice getting a little payback here-and-there with their peers in the orphanage.

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore replied slowly, eyes transfixed on the floating ball. For someone who would later in life have part of his legend be casual use of wandless magic, it was nice to be able to stun him with it.

"So you can teach us," Tom picked up the previous conversation thread before flicking his palm outward and summoning her ball to slap against his hand. "To do more things like this?"

"Yes," the man stated, readjusting himself and seemingly re-evaluating them. "At Hogwarts you will learn to do many things, from Potions to Transfiguration."

"Will do? As in it is already decided?" Tom remarked.

"Madame Cole has already agreed to send you to Hogwarts, since your tuition fees are paid for by the bursary set aside for orphaned students," he answered. "Speaking of which; you will be needing these," he held out two envelopes with their names on in iridescent green ink. "These are your Hogwarts acceptance letters, and inside you will find the list of items you will need for the coming year. Furthermore, you will find the access key to a vault at Gringotts in your names which have a small stipend of spending money for you to buy your equipment, and your ticket for the train on the 1st of September."

"What happens if we do not attend?" Ivy asked curiously, genuinely wondering as to the answer.

"Then you would receive a visit from the Ministry of Magic; you are required to gain an education into the use of your magic until you have at least passed your OWLs."

"Owls? Is all certification in the magical world named after birds?" Tom said drily.

"No, the more advanced qualification is a NEWT," Dumbledore stated. The twins merely raised their eyebrows once more, in sync, apparently unnerving the man. "Yes, well, I am afraid I must be going; I have several families to notify before the end of the day. Good morning.

"What a lot of things you use 'good morning' for; now you wish to say you feel uncomfortable and would like to leave," Ivy commented with an angelic smile that she imagined looked fairly creepy. Dumbledore didn't answer, instead pretending not to hear and skedaddling from the room. The pair were silent for almost ten seconds before the first giggle passed Ivy's lips.

And then they laughed.

"Oh dear, I needed that," the ravenette stated, wiping a tear from her eye.

"Quite cathartic, indeed," Tom confirmed.

"I don't think he's going to forget that one any time soon."

"Shall we head to Diagon? It's going to take us a while to walk there."

"We can take the bus; I have a few pennies saved up under my mattress that should suffice."

####################################################################

"Room for two more?" Tom drawled as he leant into the compartment containing three first year boys already.

"What's your name?" the nearest replied, a boy with even black hair swept to the side.

"Tom Riddle," he stated evenly, not even flinching as they all sneered in sync.

"Get lost, mudblood," the blond on the other bench commanded imperiously.

"Looks like we need to go elsewhere, Ivy," Tom said casually as he turned from the compartment, making a casual gesture at his heavy steamer trunk as he did which made it lift up off the floor to float beside him.

"Wait!" declared the black-haired boy as they started to move away, "how did you do that?"

"Oh, this?" Tom gestured to the floating case dismissively, "magic, I would have thought that to be obvious."

"That's wandless and wordless…" he trailed off, "alright, you can sit with us." With a slightly smug smile, Tom moved to sit down next to the blond boy, a hand gesture setting his trunk to rest above. When Ivy moved to follow, a hand was held up to stop her. "Not you." Ivy set upon him a hard emerald stare, unblinking as she raised a single black eyebrow. After a moment, she held her left palm out, facing upwards, watching as everyone's attention moved to that appendage.

"Gehenne Ignitia," she said in a voice barely above a whisper, but easily audible in the small space. Three sets of eyes widened as a serpent of orange flame flared into existence on her palm, writhing and wrenching upwards as it extended blazing fangs in a snarl. With a snap, her palm was closed, and the snake gone as the spell was broken and three children stared at her open-mouthed. Wordlessly, the boy who had been blocking her way moved to let her pass, whereupon she flicked her hand to levitate her trunk to the luggage rack and seated herself next to Tom, by the window. 'How's that for one-up-man-ship, O' Brother mine?'

'Overkill, Ivy, is the word you were looking for,' he replied amusedly, 'still, I'm almost impressed by your wordless illusion charm you casted with your wand while they were looking at your other hand.'

'I'm not stupid enough to actually summon Fiendfyre on the train to Hogwarts.'

"My name is Arcturus Black, heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black," the first boy stated imperiously as he closed the compartment door. "This is Abraxas Malfoy, heir to the Noble House of Malfoy," he gestured at the blond, "and this is Romulus Lestrange, heir to the Ancient House of Lestrange." 'We're all pureblood, and heirs to Houses and that makes us more important than you,' Ivy translated silently in her head.

"Tom Riddle, heir to the Ancient House of Gaunt," Tom replied smoothly, "and this is my twin sister, Ivy." The ravenette didn't acknowledge them in the slightest at her name, instead gesturing upwards to summon a book as her trunk clicked open, and her wandless magic deposited an advanced tome on Arithmantic theory in her hands.

"I thought the House of Gaunt had gone extinct?" Abraxas queried.

"All but, the one other member is residing in Azkaban, and we were only made aware of our connection to the family after taking an inheritance test at Gringotts," her 'brother' stated.

"What are you reading?" the previously quiet Romulus inquired as he stared at the sole girl in the room. Ivy pretended not to have noticed him for several seconds before looking up with an annoyed expression.

"Just a book on the Arithmantic properties of numbers and their application with runes and enchanting," she replied nonchalantly before returning to her seventh year text.

"My father said enchanting wasn't covered until sixth year," the boy stated dubiously.

"Seventh, actually, on the current syllabus," Ivy responded without looking up.

"There's no way you could understand anything in there," he nodded at the leather bound book. Her reply was simply a raised eyebrow, but Ivy did note the attention of the cabin was once more focused on her.

With a sigh, she closed the book, moving a scrap of paper to be her bookmark as she did, and while gesturing with her off hand at the compartment door, where the blinds fell – obscuring the room from any onlookers. In an almost bored way, she flicked her wand out to her right hand and started drawing runes in the air, drawing the ambient magic into holding shape. Within a few seconds, three Futhark runes hung in mid-air, just barely visible as shimmers where there shouldn't be.

"Epoto," she incanted while jabbing her wand at them, watching as they glowed white and a ripple passed through the space, making the residents shiver.

"What was that?" Arcturus demanded hurriedly with wide eyes.

"Runic Casted silencing charm, channelled by three runes, stabilised in a trigonal planar arrangement," Ivy answered, watching as the glow faded and the symbols returned to an almost imperceptible trick of the light.

'You do realise runic casting comes under Dark Magic and isn't quite legal?' Tom sent across to her.

'Not yet; only after the war and post Grindelwald,' she replied calmly as she settled back into her book.

A/N: That's as far as I ever got, though I added the occasional scene over the months - as you can probably tell from the title, I started writing this around the time of the first Suicide Squad trailer. Oh, and the thing about asylums; I have absolutely nothing against trans-gendered persons, however that was set in 40's England when homosexuality was still illegal and had various 'treatments' for it, and I thought they might want to take advantage of the situation in any possible way to make Dumbles feel uncomfortable.

Unrelated Omake: Immortals

"Bishop takes knight, check," Harry enunciated clearly, surveying the board carefully as the animated figures moved to account for his orders.

"King to rook two," was the response, and the black piece slid over a space, the regal figure looking stoically ahead as the ivory ones eyed him with bloodlust.

"Rook to king's rook three, check," the raven-haired man stated, watching the men in his castle tower jumping up and down by the miniature ballista. "By the way, how's the Eastern campaign going?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected. The Russians are quite spread out as far as their magical communities go and somewhat disordered after the Soviet collapse. It's the heavy centres of population where I'm facing issues," his opponent replied amiably, albeit not looking up from the marble and obsidian board of high quality. "Bishop to rook three."

"Bishop takes bishop," Harry immediately countered.

"Had a feeling you'd do that," the other man responded. "Oh, by the way, I think one of your friends died on a raid in Brussels. Finnegan I believe his name was. Rook to bishop four."

"I don't recognise the name," Harry stated disinterestedly, "rook takes rook."

"Really? I'm fairly sure you shared a dorm with him for several years at Hogwarts, and then he was a member of your little army. Pawn takes rook."

"Bishop to bishop seven," Harry paused for a moment while mulling it over, "Hogwarts was a long time ago."

"Still, I believe he's been flying your flag for years – believes fully in the boy-who-lived legend and whatnot. Queen takes knight-pawn."

"Probably why I've forgotten him; you know how much I disliked the groupies. Bishop to bishop eight, mate."

"Oh bugger," fell from pale lips as the man in a dark cloak finally leaned backwards. "I think I almost preferred it when you were young and inexperienced; I won a lot more often."

"Yes, but the victories were meaningless, Tom," Harry replied as he stroked his beard, finally looking up at his pale-skinned companion. "Same time next week?"

"Afraid not; I have a prisoner and Bellatrix is aching to torture him but I need to get some information first," the man known colloquially as Lord Voldemort replied sadly.

"One of mine?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Could you drop me the location once you have your info – you know how good a successful rescue mission is for morale."

"Oh, of course," the other man said genially as he stood, "wouldn't do for them to start doubting their lord and saviour." Both of them rolled their eyes – slightly glowing red and dull emerald green alike.

"I do sometimes wonder about the intelligence of most the people on this planet – you'd think perhaps one of them would have the brains to realise we're playing out 1984 using them as pieces on the chessboard of the world."

"Welcome to misanthropy, first bastion of immortals such as we. See you a week on Sunday? Normal time?"

"Sounds good."

"Until then."

A/N: Just a little scene that popped into my head. And the chess game is stolen directly from the finale of the second Sherlock Holmes film with RDJ.

Another unrelated Omake: Do you feel lucky?

A/N: This is one that's been stuck in my head for a while, and I was originally hoping to use it in Call Me Moriarty, but I don't think I can make it work. So, instead it's going up here as a standalone scene. Enjoy!

The storage room was drab, and dingy, and lit by only a few loose bulbs hanging from the ceiling. There was an occasional drip of water into puddles in the corner that really gave off the clichéd horror film vibe, not least added to by the six men in a row, naked but for underwear and tied to chairs. All their heads perked up as one as a door opened behind them, necks craning to try and see the source of the sound. The regular clicking of boot heels sounded across the concrete floor, and a familiar ravenette with a lightning-bolt scar moved into view. Said dark hair was long, unkempt and scraggly, reminiscent of her deceased godfather, and his cousin for that matter.

"Well, look what I've got," Ivy, for that was her name, began in a dead voice, "six marked Death Eaters; murderers, rapists and bigots all. And I have a need for information."

"We ain't telling you shit!" one of the men exclaimed, spitting towards her. The woman didn't reply for a long moment, before a grey implement was pulled from the pocket of her long, dark coat.

"Do you know what this is?" she queried nonchalantly while waving it about. "It's a Webley Mark Six Service Revolver, four-fifty-five calibre. Saw use in World War Two in the hands of my grandfather – Major General Sir John Evans, KCB, DSO. Quite a military history on my mother's side of the family; no less than three DSO's within the last four generations, and a VC going back five, and all that culminates in me. Holding this pistol that has already claimed plenty of lives."

"You'd threaten us with a silly muggle toy?" one asked with a chuckle, setting off a round of similar amusement amongst his fellows that died out looking at the ravenette's cold, hard eyes of rough-hewn emerald. Said ravenette sighed with exaggeration, understanding what needed to be done here.

"You still don't seem to understand, so I'm going to have to explain it to you." She cracked open the pistol and pulled out a cartridge, holding the bronze cylinder with its hemispherical end up to the light. "You see this? It's a bullet; this gun holds six of them in this little rotating chamber." She slotted it back in calmly, snapping the gun back into shape and levelling it at the nearest death eater – who happened to be the youngest and least likely to know anything. "This is what a bullet will do when it is fired." The cracking retort was deafening as it echoed around the warehouse, however the sickening snap and the view of what had previously been a living person was more what the captured men were concentrating on, however. "And there's the fear I was looking for. Now, are we all sitting comfortably?" Several men tried to struggle in their bonds at her childish tone reminiscent of Voldemort's top woman when she was in a mood – probably Black blood or something. "You are? Good. I want you all to watch this carefully." She held up her revolver to the light, letting them see as she snapped it open to reveal the five remaining cartridges, of which she promptly removed four slowly and deliberately. "Now," she snapped it shut, "you see there is only one bullet left in here." She rolled the rotating barrel, letting the noise echo once more. "And I don't know which chamber it's in. Right now, odds are one in six that it's about to be fired." She placed it right in the centre of the next nearest man's bald forehead, looming over him with menace as she softly whispered as if to a child, "and every time I pull the trigger," there was a click as she did just so, and the man below her looked ready to pass out, "the odds get less in your favour – since there's only five chambers left, it's a one in five chance that the next time I fire it will split your head open just like your friend over there." She didn't move from her eye contact with baldy, merely gesturing at the cooling corpse to his right. "So, this is how it's going to work; I'm going to ask each of you a question, and if I don't like your answer…" another pull on the trigger, and another resounding click, "you are lucky aren't you? Still, it's a one in four now." She moved away and strolled casually down the line of tied up men. "Now, I will be starting in just a moment, but before I do, you all need to ask yourself one question. It's not 'Will she pick me?' or 'Can I get away with not telling her the truth' or even 'Is that wet feeling in my pants piss?'. No, there's only one question you need to ask yourselves." Her grin was feral as she turned malice-filled emerald eyes on them. "Do I feel lucky?" With a sudden motion, she leapt at the next youngest person of the group they had captured – likely around twenty by his hairstyle – and straddled him as the revolver was pressed to his sweaty forehead. "Well, do you? Punk?"

And another unrelated piece: The Sound of Music

A/N: I've been wanting to do a musical thing into HP for a while, but never seemed to find the right way to do it (beyond having an enchanted orchestra playing the 1812 Overture during the Weasley attack on Umbridge). Here's a little idea that came to me for it.

September First, 1991 was an important day for one Hermione Granger. For it was upon this day that she would be joining the ranks of Hogwarts students as a witch! To say she was excited was an understatement of gratuitous proportions.

Of course, now she just needed to find the damned platform.

"Maybe we should try asking another attendant?" posed her mother, Emma, as the worried looking woman walked behind her, occasionally checking her watch.

"They'll just think we're barmy for asking for a platform which doesn't exist, like the last one," her husband replied.

"There's got to be someone! The train leaves in five minutes," the girl stated in concern, worrying her lower lip anxiously.

It came as quite a surprise when she received a quick double tap on her right shoulder. Spinning on her heel, she turned to face a slightly shorter child than herself; a boy with messy black hair, round glasses and bright green eyes, who also had a trolley of students' supplies with a snowy white owl atop. She was surprised he had managed to sneak up on her so quietly, but he didn't leave her time to ponder such as he pointed over across the station. Past the end of his finger, and across the way, could be seen a red-headed family led by a harried looking dumpy woman; and each of the children had similar collections of items to herself and the nameless boy.

"Ah, they look like they know where they're going," Emma said in relief, and the quartet – which had become so without three of the members realising as much – quickly wove through the small crowds in the station to the family just as they neared a pillar between platforms nine and ten.

"Er, excuse me, but are you headed to Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" Daniel Granger inquired of the woman, trying to sound confident saying the outright ludicrous name.

"Ah, muggleborn family I take it?" the mother of the ginger brood replied kindly.

"That's right," Hermione said eagerly.

"Well, you just need to go through the barrier over there," the woman pointed even as her eldest child did just that, seemingly disappearing through the grey stone brickwork.

"Thank goodness we found you; we were beginning to worry about missing the train," Emma said gratefully as they moved through the way onto the platform in ones and twos. Of course, her mother's comment made Hermione think of the boy that had pointed out the family to them, and then remained unobtrusively, almost invisibly, to the side, and was even now following them as the last person through the barrier between the two stations. Making her mind up, she approached him with a smile.

"Hello, I just wanted to say thank-you for the pointer earlier; I don't know what we would have done otherwise," she said in greeting. The child simply smiled and gave a nod of thanks. "Um, I didn't catch your name earlier – mine's Hermione Granger, by the way – what's yours?" At this he frowned, and shook his head awkwardly at her query. "What?" she asked in confusion. In reply, he tapped a pair of fingers against his neck twice, and the bushy-haired bibliophile finally understood as she noticed the silvery scars there. "Oh, you can't…er." She blushed, feeling awkward as many people did upon confronted with someone with a disability, suddenly wanting to look anywhere but at the scars her eyes seemed drawn to. "I, ah, I guess I look forward to seeing you at Hogwarts!" She tried a smile that he returned slightly, before dashing away back to where her parents were standing with the ginger matriarch – her cheeks reddened all the way.

Of course, within moments she felt terrible for her action of leaving as soon as the boy was revealed to have a problem speaking, but by then he had disappeared into the bustling crowd.

####################################################################

"Come along, I'm sure we can find him somewhere," Hermione stated firmly as she pulled the pudgy-faced blond boy behind her. Perhaps she was being a little overeager in her desire to find his toad, but after the awkward meeting with the nameless mute on the platform earlier, she felt she needed to recompense her karma or the like.

Her passage down the train stilled, however, as her ears picked up chords of music floating down the corridor.

"What is that?" Neville inquired confusedly as he too heard the musical notes from a stringed instrument, the same question that was in Hermione's mind even as her mouth started moving faster than her brain almost as if from muscle memory.

"Fast falls the eventide," she muttered while barely realising it, her head cocking to the side slightly as it clicked in her head, "the darkness deepens, Lord with me abide."

Curiously, the girl strode forwards in search of the music, and finally stopped in front of a cabin a few doors down. Through the glass window, she could see the small room had only one occupant; the boy she had met earlier. He was facing away from her, but his hair and clothing were recognisable even as he held a violin between his shoulder and chin.

As the boy finished the verse, Hermione was struck by how well he performed on his instrument – drawing out the notes beautifully in the classic hymn. At the end of the verse he stilled, and seemingly instinctively turned around to see his voyeur. Hermione immediately blushed, much as she had done earlier, and scurried off while dragging Neville behind her – feeling like she had interrupted something private with someone she had already made a bad impression on.

####################################################################

The moment 'Potter, Harry,' was called, the entire hall seemed to hold their breath suddenly, and eager eyes turned towards the small group of remaining children to be sorted. From among them a familiar face stepped, and Hermione's eyes widened. The boy she had likely alienated was the bloody boy-who-lived of all people!

She seemed to shrink down in her seat, her red blush clashing with her blue-trimmed robes. She was trying so hard to avoid looking at him that she nearly missed the hat calling Hufflepuff – though one could hardly miss the thunderous applause from the badger's table that came with it.

####################################################################

It wasn't until halfway through November that Hermione once again heard the notes being played on a violin weaving through the air, this time in a tower not far from Ravenclaw. Carried by her feet almost without thinking about it, she moved towards the source of the music to find a familiar face sitting on a windowsill and looking out over the snow-coated land beneath. Almost without thinking, her well-trained mouth began picking up the words to what was once again a hymn she knew well from her traditional British education.

"In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan," she echoed along with the notes, only stilling as the boy's head whipped around to see her, suddenly feeling awkward once more. It was only at his small smile and a nod, as well as returning a bar backwards so that she could try again did she continue. "Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone. Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow. In the bleak midwinter, long ago."

As soon as the last word fell from her lips, she suddenly felt awkward, offset slightly by a smile from the boy opposite her. He stopped playing, sensing her discomfort and set his violin down before drawing a scrap of parchment and a pencil from a pocket. After a small bit of scribbling, the yellowed paper was handed over to her and the bushy-haired girl took it gingerly before reading.

'You have a beautiful singing voice; you should use it more often.'

"Thank-you, Harry," she replied, the sides of her lips tugging upwards at the compliment. "I'd say it was your playing which was brilliant." The seemingly humble child merely shrugged in reply while taking the piece of parchment she handed him back, scribbling another note upon it.

'Would you care to try another?'

####################################################################

Hannah gave a relieved sigh as she heard the notes of a violin as she walked into the corridor of an unused tower. She was a proud Hufflepuff, and took their Head of House's instructions to look after Harry Potter well to heart – the boy had clearly known some trauma in how he lost his voice, and refused to 'say' anything about it. He had a real talent with music, though, as all the House had come to know. Whether it be the piano he had carried shrunken in his trunk that now sat in his dorm, his violin or brass instrument if he was feeling jaunty, he always seemed to have music dancing through his soul.

She slowed her pace to a more sedate one as the music got louder, already thinking of how she would approach the conversation ahead in how he should come back to the common room and socialise with the other 'Puffs a bit – they were all worried about his habit of running off to deserted corners of the castle, and Hufflepuff House stuck together. Her footsteps stilled, however, as a voice began singing with the tune.

"The holly and the ivy, when they are both full grown, of all the trees in the wood, the holly bears the crown." A peak around a corner unveiled a surprising sight; Harry was there on the windowsill with his violin, but he was joined by a Ravenclaw first year that Hannah recognised as Hermione Granger – someone that was notorious for having the best marks in their year, but being the most antisocial amongst her peers due to a 'bossy' personality.

The boy who couldn't speak a word, and the girl that wouldn't stop for breath.

With a slight smile on her face, the blonde girl turned and walked away. She'd come back later if he still hadn't turned up.

A/N: And that's all she wrote, as they say. Probably several more chapters of stuff I can put into this in various forms, but it's going to require digging through old docs and cleaning stuff up. Next chapter of CMM should be up this time next week, so see you all then.