What's in a Name?
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except the idea.
"You know, what does the name 'Voldemort' actually mean?"
Harry turned towards his best friend, who looked unusually serious. "What do you mean?"
Ron rolled his eyes, an untypical thing. "Every name means something, unless you give the kid a name like 'Abcde'. Like, Harry means home-ruler. Ronald means counsel. Hermione comes from Hermes, meaning messenger or earthly. Ginevra comes from Guinevere, which means white wave. What does Voldemort mean?"
He blinked, surprised. Ron didn't put in all that research over something as simple as a name. He narrowed his eyes, and asked, "What were you polyjuiced into when we invaded the common-room?" He didn't mention which common room.
"Crabbe," was the swift answer. "I'm Ron, the real one."
He let go of the breath that he didn't even realize he had been holding. "I don't know," he said in answer to the redhead's previous question.
"I know it's French," rambled the boy. "It sounds so. But I don't know the specifics."
He racked his brain, trying to think of an idea. Honestly speaking, he was kind of curious too. "Well," he said, trying to be rational and logical. "There is sure to be someone who speaks French in Hogwarts, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, all we have to do is go look for them and ask them," he said, with an over-the-top cheery voice.
"Oh, I can just imagine this conversation," Ron said sarcastically, and then imitated Harry's voice, or tried to imitate, badly. "Hey, can you please tell me what Voldemort means?" He then adopted a falsetto. "You speak his name! You're so brave, oh Chosen One! Aaaaahhhh!" he shrieked girlishly, and then batted his eyes at Harry. "Oh, marry me Chosen One!"
He pushed the redhead away. "Oh, shut it Won-Won," he muttered.
That shut him up.
"Seriously though," he said, getting up. "We've got to ask someone." He then spotted Katie Bell coming his way. "Hey Katie!"
The blonde turned quickly, and smiled. She was one of the girls that he was friends with, but she never had a crush on him. "Hello Harry," she said. "How are you?"
"Brilliant," he said, trying to hurry. It was not like he didn't like Katie, but he was in kind of a hurry. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his transfiguration homework. "Katie, do you know someone who speaks French in Hogwarts?"
Her eyebrows scrunched up as she bit her lip, thinking hard. He waited patiently, his foot tapping a rhythm that went unheard on the carpeted floor. "No-o," she said, dragging out the 'o'. His face fell. "Atleast, no one living. I heard that Sir Cadogan knows a bit of French." She smiled once more at him. "I've got to go, now. Bye!" She ran away, her blonde hair flying behind her.
"Bye Katie!" he called out to her, turning back to Ron. "So."
"So!" exclaimed the blue-eyed boy. "The only person who knows French in this whole castle is a crazy knight."
"Yes," he said, patiently. Nothing is ever gained by impatience, Harry,' he told himself. Nothing. "But if we want to know, we've got to go find out."
"I regret this so, so much," muttered Ron.
They soon found his portrait, near Trelawney's classroom as it were. "Greetings, Sir Cadogan," Harry greeted the knight, bowing slightly, having lost the game of rock-paper-scissors. To be fair, Ron had cheated.
"Ah!" the knight promptly fell of his horse, and his helm fell over his eyes, blocking his vision. He lifted it up. "Thee scoundrels! We meeteth again, Harald and Ronald. Bid me, what doth thee wanteth from me?"
"Once again, Sir Cadogan, my name is not Harald," he said. "It is Harry."
"Of course, Harald. I repeateth myself: what doth thee wanteth from me?"
He sighed, but chose to let it go. "Sir Cadogan, we heard you speak French," he started, but was interrupted by the knight.
"I doth."
"Well, can you please tell us what 'Voldemort' means?"
The man frowned. "Can thee prithee spelleth yond?"
"V-O-L-D-E-M-O-R-T," he dutifully repeated.
The portrait laughed sharply. "Aah, mine own lief boys," he said. "The 't' is did suppose to beest silent. But aye, I shall bid thee what t means. T means 'flight of death'."
That was shocking. It was due to his physical restraint that he avoided his mouth falling open. Ron however, didn't have the ability, and currently his jaw was hanging open. "Thank you, Sir Cadogan. Oh, look at the time! We should be going now!" And he awkwardly sidled away.
"Farewell, lads!" the portrait called after him.
They soon reached an hidden alcove, pausing there. "So," he said to Ron.
"Voldemort means 'flight of death'," said Ron, clearly shocked. "Wow. Could it be somehow, you know, related to those things?" he asked, gesturing with his eyes and eyebrows to nowhere in particular.
"Perhaps," he replied, shrugging. "I'll ask Dumbledore about it on our next lesson."
"Speaking of which, what are you going to do about the memory, mate?"
As the voices faded away, a figure stepped out from the shadows, a figure with silvery-blond hair and grey steel eyes.
So, this was completely random. And for once, this isn't a parody, nor is it supposed to be explicitly crack. This is absolutely, hundred percent serious, with small hints of humor. I hope you guys liked this. Review to tell me what you think of it.