As you probably remember, in the last chapter, Voldemort had asked for a script change, because the original one was too much like a drama fic. Where we begin this chapter is with all the characters in some room, and Harry is not robo Harry.

DC: Nope. Nada. Nothing. I own zip. Done.

"Read much, but not many books." – Benjamin Franklin. He obviously means you should read more fanfic.

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"Gee, Hermione." Harry said mechanically. "What do you think this button is?"

"I do not know, Harry." She replied, "Why do you not press it to find out?"

"Good idea, Hermione."

Harry pressed the button. It was large and red, and had a big sign above it that said 'Do not press, for fear of the Apocalypse'

Blinking lights made rings around the button, and suddenly colors began flashing all around the unidentified room. Loud buzzing noises made all the occupants cringe.

A sign cinched down from the ceiling: Congratulations! You have triggered the Apocalypse! Prepare to burn in Hell!

Confetti sprinkled down onto the bewildered group bellow. Lucius resisted very hard not to dance around in it.

"What is going on, Harry and Hermione?" Ron shouted robotically.

"I do not know, Ronald!" Harry said loudly, hands over ears.

"Ahh!" screamed everyone as the room shook, and they hurtled to their eternal punishments.

They ran around a little bit, attempting to find a door, and it was only logical that there would be one, seeing as they were in the room, but alas, there was none.

So they ran around some more, and screamed too, and Voldemort took out his rosaries that he kept in plastic wrap around his neck, so it wouldn't burn him, and began praying. He was on the third bead when the world went black.

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The UPS carriage rattled up the street. It was brown, white, and black, but that wasn't saying much, as everything in the world was.

The postman got out nervously and went up to the house.

He rang the doorbell. And organ complete with an organ player sitting next to the door began to play.

"Yesssss?"

"Package. For Mister Voldemort Voldemort."

"I don't see a package."

"It's still in the carriage. It's too heavy to lift without at least three people."

"What is it?"

"The new-fangled 'typewriter'. Mister Voldemort Voldemort is very up-to-date with the technology these days."

"One moment…"

The door swung open.

"Leave the carriage here."

"Whoa, what?" Color returned to life, and the producer stepped onto the set.

"Isn't the line 'Put the package down'?" the postman asked, flipping through the script that materialized in his hands.

"Yes, but it doesn't really make sense, since you're not holding it. So you have to leave the carriage here." The producer explained.

"Oh. But it lets the tradition down."

"I know, so we're issuing an apology to all the fans who liked it."

"Fine. It ruins some of the bond that's been built up though."

"Yes, yes, whatever. Take it from 'Leave the carriage here.'"

The color drained back out again, and the voice boomed, "Leave the carriage here."

"What?" the postman protested, "I spent twelve pence on that! Do you know much that is out of my yearly salary? 75! 75! I can't just leave it!"

"Well," and the voice sounded bored, "you could take it home with numerous wounds…"

"Just take the package out and leave the carriage out so I can pick it up in the morning!"

"Fine, postman, I shall spare you because I am too lazy to go pull the string to release the hounds. Run."

The postman ran.

Outside, the horses neighed.

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Voldemort gleefully looked at his new piece of technology.

The typewriter, almost the size of a fireplace and heavy enough to splinter the wood of the desk, was his ultimate weapon. Because if all else failed, he could drop it on that Potter kid.

He cracked his knuckles and put his fingers on the keyboard.

He pressed the shift key. It took two hands.

Still holding the shift, he managed to hit the D key.

Ca-chuncka!

Voldemort switched to the e key.

Ca-chuncka!

Now the a

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

DING!

Voldemort smiled evilly. His plan was working perfectly. Now all he needed was to type the next 800 letters to send to that Potter kid…

At 7:30 pm, the sun went down, and to save their candlewick, Bellatrix blew out the lantern.

Everyone went to bed, except for Voldemort who continued with his typewriter.

All through the night, Snape, who slept in the room right next to the Dark Lord's lair, could hear him at work.

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

DING!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

Ca-chunka!

DING!

Snape groaned, and tried to block the noise out with his straw-stuffed pillow. But the vibration coming through the floor, caused by the impact Voldemort used to press each key, was too much. Eventually, Snape got up to see what every one else was doing.

Downstairs, he found Lucius listening to his late night (9:00) radio program. Uninterested in The Andy Griffith Show, Snape moved on to the kitchen, where his fire pit was. He hung his kettle on the spit; full of the tea he had imported from India, and sat down to wait.

There was a rather large, shiny button sitting right next to his Peach Chai. It was very tempting. Furtively, ignoring the sign that said "Your life will perish, should ye press this red device." Snape pushed it in.

The world, after another series of pretty light displays, went black.

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AN: This is the first in a small series, about technology in different, yet chronologically wrong eras. This one was sort of a mix, but was mainly based in the 1800's sometime. And for those who were too lazy to do the math, the postman's yearly salary would be 16 pence.