Disclaimer: Sigh. You found me out. I am actually JK, secretly publishing the opening chapters of my upcoming book to see what people say when they don't know it's me. Very interesting you know. Hmmm… I don't think you were fooled. Damn. (And I was trying so hard…)

Antanagage

Lord Voldemort sat deep in his Evil Lair (a council housing estate in London – it was disgraceful having to live in such close proximity to all these Muggles, but his forces had learnt, by way of secret recordings of EastEnders that people in these parts were unlikely to ever report anything to the authorities.)

He carefully studied the room he was in to check he'd left no stray cronies out writhing in agony (he could never be bothered to put them away again), before letting out a huge sigh.

Now, sighing isn't a very Dark-Lord thing to do, hence the need for secrecy. This may be a desperate situation, but he had a reputation to protect.

Yesterday, at exactly 1:57pm, a very powerful spell had been triggered on the Hogwarts Express. Harry Potter had disappeared. Or so his spells tracing Potter told him. (They were specially attuned to his unique mix of naivety, stupidity, and attachment to chocolate frogs.)

Lucious Malfoy had suggested that Dumbledore could have spelled him so that his mental age would finally match his physical one.

Voldemort had been forced to torture him for having such a good idea before he, Voldemort, was able to.

He quickly realised, though, (Malfoy's screams of agony helped him to think) that such an idea was ridiculous! Potter was far more tractable in his 12 year old mind frame. He never went out until late at night, sleeping around and drinking.

It really was most unfortunate.

In the many years after that fateful night at Godric's Hollow, Voldemort had come up with a plan that was superior even to his kill-Potter-while-he's-still-a-baby-and-totally-incapable-of-defending-himself plan.

He would leave a trail of alco-pops to an Evil Clearing ™ in the Dark Forest. Potter would follow it, drinking up all the free booze, and so would arrive totally slashed and ready to die.

It was completely infallible!

Apart from the fact that Potter never drank anything stronger than Butterbeer.

The only path left to him was to try that other obsession of teenagers – the Internet.

Snape had assured him that although no electrical equipment worked at Hogwarts, the internet was still a common passion among students, and Potter in particular. It was, therefore, a splendid use of his time and resources to look for a way to annihilate Potter via the Internet.

His first step had been to set up the following website: harrypottermustdie. (A/N: I checked. This website doesn't actually exist. A shame.) He'd had a lot of messages along the lines of, "You're crazy. Or evil. Or possibly both." Those were not that discouraging, as he had years of experience with dealing with that.

What was really exciting, though, was the messages he'd got saying, "Yes! Thank God the whole world hasn't gone mad!"

Very encouraging.

Obviously, the Internet was the way forward.

Lord Voldemort cackled evilly to himself. (Or so he thought. Though everyone else thought his laugh was more like a girlish giggle.)

He had found it!

The way to subtly influence thousands, hundreds of thousands – perhaps even millions – of young minds so they would support his cause.

Fanfiction!

Just think. All he need do was write a story about Voldemort the Valiant and Potter the Plonker (not difficult, as this would be a description of their every encounter) and it would be out there, being read. Being taken into the subconscious of all the impressionable people (such as Bobette the Builder. Yes - she sounded particularly gullible…) who visited this site. And there it would sit, slowly brainwashing the reader until they joined the Dark Side.

This was the world domination of the future. He didn't even have to go out and personally intimidate people. Just type something in from the comfort of his own council home and it would travel all over the world. Thousands of supporters, just like that.

Oh yes. The world was practically his!

All he needed now was a pen name. Something that sounded reliable and trustworthy. Even unbiased, so his stories would be taken seriously. How about… I'm not the Dark Lord, honest.

…Perfect…

Of course that cameo wasn't hastily added in at the last minute… looks around guiltily

Ok. I, Spinach, think that the prize for the last chapter title – Ecdemic – would go to Eggo Waffles if she hadn't put the 'I think?' bit in. She sounded so confident apart from that.

As to the actual meaning of the word, we got 'originating elsewhere than where it is found.' So it probably means a disease that enters the body from an external source as well.

Still, NO PINEAPPLE FOR YOU, EGGO WAFFLES! (As in give the girl a pineapple, except we maliciously refuse to give you one! Eh heh heh…)