by Topaz
A/N: Here it is, the end! And no sequels, for any machoists out there who were thinking of asking for one. None.
Disclaimer: "Blame Canada" belongs to South Park, or whoever wrote it, or something. "Blame Voldemort", however, belongs to me. *beams*
A flash of brilliant green light lit the room, and Percy Weasley crumpled to the floor in a lifeless heap. Ginny screamed. Fred and George watched in horrified fascination. Ron burst into tears. Voldemort looked stunned.
"Oops," he said guiltily. "I didn't mean that."
"Didn't mean it?!" Ron yelled. "Fat lot of help that is! 'Avada kedavra! Oh, sorry, did that hurt?' You bloody idiot!"
Voldemort sulked. "It was an accident. I did it out of habit."
Percy sat up and rubbed his head. "Owww. Bad headache."
"And now Percy's dead!" wailed Ron.
"Er, I'm not quite dead," said Percy.
"You heartless person!"
"I'm getting better," Percy said helpfully.
"How could you?"
"I think I can get up, really, I'm all right--"
Ron suddenly noticed that his presumed dead brother was sitting up and looking with a confused expression. "PERCY! You're alive!"
"I think so," Percy agreed cautiously.
The Weasleys threw themselves on Percy en masse, hugging him and shrieking with joy. Percy gurgled and tried to push the mass of happy redheads off of him. "Really, guys, I'm all right. You can get off. You can get -- erp. Ow, don't elbow me there."
Dumbledore leapt to his feet. "Everyone calm down! Stop screaming!"
Lavender fainted.
"I didn't mean to!" yelled Voldemort. "Stop shouting at me!"
Suddenly, a tall blonde woman burst into the hall, a huge acid-green quill in one hand and a pad of paper in the other. She rushed up to Dumbledore. "What's going on here?"
"Rita Skeeter!" Hermione squeaked. "Not her!"
"Everything's gone wrong!" Ron wailed. "Percy's been cursed, everyone's acting nutters, it's all crazy!"
Rita looked delighted, and she began to circle the room, searching for prey -- er, people to interview. As Harry and Hermione watched in horror, she swept right in front of the microphone -- and stopped.
"Times have changed!" Rita sang in a nasal, whiny voice. "The news is getting worse!"
The students turned to look at her.
"Dumbledore's gone crazy!"
This was, the students had to admit, true. After all, Dumbledore was the one who had insisted on having a sing-a-long with the Microphone From Hell. At that moment Dumbledore was having a conversation with Percy's flag.
"Percy Weasley's just been cursed!"
Ron sobbed harder. "I know! It's awful!"
"He deserved it," snarled Penelope. "Kissing Sabrina, indeed. You jerk, Percy. If Voldemort hadn't cursed you, I would!"
"Should we blame the Ministry?" Parvati sang.
"Or blame society?" Hermione suggested.
The boys gathered together and opened their mouths. "Or should we blame the Quidditch referees?"
Rita snatched the microphone. "No! Blame Voldemort!"
"Hey!" Voldemort protested. "What did I do?"
"You bloody killed my brother, you stupid git," Ron replied.
"Your brother's not dead!"
"So?"
"Blame Voldemort!" the students chorused.
"With his evil glowing eyes, and flappin' head so full of lies," Rita screeched.
Voldemort looked hurt. "I admit that I'm not quite model material, but don't you think that's a bit harsh?"
"Blame Voldemort! Blame Voldemort!"
Rita snatched Percy's flag and waved it around enthusiastically. "We need to form a full assault!"
"It's Voldemort's fault!" everyone agreed.
Oliver Wood, clutching his broomstick in one hand, ran to the front of the room. "Don't blame me for Gryffindor's defeat! After Voldie cursed poor Harry, he just couldn't take the heat!"
"Wimp," Draco muttered.
"Psycho," Ron retorted.
"And my house Slytherin once had the trophy on its shelf!" Snape sang proudly. "But now all these first years tell me to fuck myself!" He glared at Dennis Creevey, who whistled innocently.
Rita lifted her fist in the air. "Well, blame Voldemort!"
"Blame Voldemort!"
"It seems that everything's gone wrong since Voldemort came along," Rita howled.
"Not really, but people like to have something to pin their blame on to make themselves feel better," Hermione remarked. "It's part of human nature. There's also a superstitious element to it; people will notice things going wrong that they would have ignored previously once something has been--"
"Blame Voldemort! Blame Voldemort!"
"He's not even a real country anyway," Ron trilled.
"Huh?"
"Of course he's not a country!"
"Oops," Ron said sheepishly, his ears beginning to imitate tomatoes. "I mean, He's not even a real pureblood anyway."
Voldemort scowled. "No need to rub it in."
Crouch ran into the room, ignoring the fact that he was dead. "My son coulda been a doctor or an Auror, it's true! Instead he joined the Death Eaters and look what he came too!"
"You can't sing, you're dead!" said Hermione, angrily. No one listened to her; after all, Crouch was singing, so obviously he could sing. She scowled.
"Should we blame his mother?" Parvati asked.
"Should we blame his sire?" Hermione retorted, glaring at Crouch. She'd never forgiven him for his treatment of Winky.
"Or the Death Eaters who caused him to expire?" sang the others.
"Heck no!" Rita shouted.
"Blame Voldemort! Blame Voldemort!" chorused the chorus.
Rita hauled Voldemort kicking and screaming to the front of the room and pointed to him. "With all his hockey hubbabaloo!"
"And that bitch Pete Pettigrew!" Ron agreed.
The students and teachers swarmed over Voldemort like flies on rotting meat, smothering his terrified pleas. "Blame Voldemort! Shame on Voldemort! For...the mark we must dark, the trash we must smash, the killing and guns must all be undone! We must blame him and cause a fuss before somebody thinks of blaming uuuuuuuuuuussssssssssss!"