Update! Yay! Sorry it took so long, but I got hung up on #16 for a LONG time. It just didn't come out right until recently. Also, the style's a bit different. I tried experimenting with imagery of setting and stuff like that. Uh, that's about all.

Recently I joined Pottermore and guess what House I got? Slytherin! (Which was kind of surprising, to tell you the truth. I'd always though of myself as more of a Hufflepuff with a rather lazy attitude and morbid humor and who enjoys Monty-Python style jokes and- yeah, never mind. I see it now.) Anyway, I am now the president (voted in a nail-biting election of 1-0 (I voted for myself)) of the Snakes Who Like Eating Pasta With Spoons Club! (See No. 11 for slightly more details.)

Also, anything you recognize isn't mine. Unfortunately.

16) Pinch him. Make sure he squeals.

The meeting came to a close soon after, after much painfully-unoriginal scheming. As I climbed to my feet and walked past the Dark Lord toward the doorway, I suddenly had a devilish idea.

He rose to his feet, unaware of the danger lurking behind. Or maybe he chose to ignore me.

I wolf-whistled, and pinched his buttock, hard. The high-pitched sound of surprise that came out of his mouth made it so worth it.

I ducked out the door and pulled up a Protego behind me as I ran. A Bombarda blasted through the door, followed by Voldemort's scream of rage (and Lucius's scream of anguish at yet more destruction of his property). It punctured through my shield, though I avoided the brunt of it through use of a time-honored art: dodging.

I scampered, calling over my shoulder, "It was just a compliment! You don't have to be so angry about it!" Various Malfoy long-deads scolded my lack of decorum indignantly from their paintings as I rushed by. I grinned and waved at them, pretending not to have heard them.

Despite my close brush with Voldemort's wrath (and I had to wonder- rather morbidly- why Voldemort hadn't just killed me yet or cursed me into oblivion; I decided he was probably running low on followers), I was feeling rather chipper today. My high spirits lifted even higher as I stepped out into the bright sunshine.

The Malfoy estate, much as I hated to admit it, was beautiful. Leaves danced in the slight breeze, and golden light glinted off a small lake I could see in the distance.

I spun in circles a few times, basking in the warmth of the sun and giggling to myself. Eventually I got too dizzy and fell over in the soft springy grass. "Oof!" I climbed back to my feet, and after staggering about in multiple directions in an attempt to regain my balance, I made my way to the Malfoy Manor Peacock Manor.

That's right. Peacock Manor, capital P, capital M. It said so on the sign. Yes, there was a sign. It was a decent enough sign, as signs go, though a little too pretentious for my tastes. The gilded edge, fine. The carved ribbon motif, fine. The really big, fancy, hard-to-read lettering proclaiming this mini-mansion the domicile of snooty fowl, fine. But all together. Eurgh! Merlin, the thing was an eyesore!

But the actual Peacock Manor was pretty neat if very fancy. It was two floors high and made of some expensive-looking wood covered in carvings of ribbons (I was sensing a theme here). I was admiring it (and speculating... what if I...) when I was rudely interrupted.

"Brat! Get away from there! The Peacock Manor is an heirloom!" Lucius Malfoy came sprinting across the lawn, ready to head off any nefarious schemes.

Unfortunately for him, he had to run between two saplings on his way over. A quickly whispered spell halted his fast approach. Well, "halted" may be too strong a word. He was more, ah,
"redirected."

He tripped over the wire and landed face-first in an area of the yard. When he got up, it was immediately apparent that a peacock with sever intestinal nausea had been in that area recently. In other words, he'd had a close encounter with the fertilizing kind.

Malfoy Sr. sprang up and raced back towards the Manor (the Malfoy one, not the Peacock one) ungainly. He failed to spot a peacock in front of him, and his face met the dirt a second time, albeit a somewhat cleaner patch of lawn. I watched in fascination as the entire scene unfolded, seeming to me almost to go in slow motion:

Malfoy got back to his feet shakily. He must have sprained his left ankle or something; he was walking funny and favoring that foot.

Then the peacock got back to its feet, and then did something that forever endeared it to me. I decided to name it Tullius after my favorite Roman king, who was in fact only my favorite because of how he died. The newly-named Tullius zeroed in on the muddied Lucius Malfoy as the cause of its undignified fall to the ground.

Lucius Malfoy was limping back to his Manor as fast as he could when he was beset upon by an enraged peacock. He went down once more, with lots of flailing.

He clambered back up and hobbled a few more paces before Tullius tackled him again. It was the greatest thing I'd ever seen.

This went on for several minutes until Malfoy was finally able to escape. By the end of it I was gasping for air and my sides hurt so much. My clothes had a few grass stains from when, a minute or so after Tullius's initial attack, I had finally lost it and began rolling around and howling with laughter.

Attacked by an angry peacock. What a way to be brought low.

17) Be cheerful.

I was chirpily happy the rest of the day. How could I not be after the Peacock Incident? Suspiciously enough, the Malfoy Senior was absent. I suspected he was having trouble cleaning. He was likely cursing (in words, not magic) his ancestors for making the birds magic-resistant. Hehe.

The wary looks I received only added to my good humor. Apparently a happy Lily was a scary Lily. How ridiculous. But flattering. Only the Lord Vold-ster didn't act afraid (Bellatrix was another person likely to not care, but she was out doing who knows what), but his right eye twitched a lot whenever our paths crossed. Which was a lot, because I was making a point of stalking the halls to count the amount of supposedly fearless Death Eaters that would suddenly have an urgent appointment elsewhere when I neared. I was up to 26 by the end of the long day.

18) Randomly spell objects to affect him like a Muggle misdirection spell.

The next morning I was up early, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed (not literally, thank Merlin). A scheme had come to me in the middle of the night, and it was too funny to not do.

I scampered around the Mansion, tapping random objects with my wand and casting, "Repelle incantatores per avocationibus!"

By breakfast I was done. The other occupants of the house were just getting up. I sat in the dining room wolfing down pancakes smothered in syrup and awaited my first victim.

The first to fall prey to my modified Muggle-repelling charms (now affecting wizards!) was some heavy-set bloke I never bothered to learn the name of. He sat down at the table and picked up his fork. The spell immediately set in. He leapt up far quicker than I expected (because of his bulkiness and general wizard lack of fitness), shouting in panic, "I forgot to put on underwear!" Well. You learn something new everyday.

More Death Eaters trickled in, and many soon raced away exclaiming over some forgotten object or event. My favorite moment was when Lucius Malfoy (unfortunately, Draco Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts soon after the kangaroo ears incident and so missed all the drama) sat in his armchair by the fireplace and immediately afterwards bolted back up the stairs screaming, "Not my hair products!"

Sometime around ten o'clock or so in the morning, the Big Cheese himself came down in all his darkly robed, bald, snakey glory to inquire (read: interrogate through extreme methods) as to what the bloody hell was going on. The dining room door had been halfway closed due to a Death Eater "remembering" the urgency to feed a pet duck, and Voldemort grabbed the doorknob to push it all the way open. He froze. I could see him internally debating with himself before saying, "Did I leave the oven on?" I withheld a snicker. That was not the thing I expected him to be distracted most about. He suddenly shouted with horrified clarity, "My soufflé!" and turned tail and left.

I fell apart, laughing hysterically. "Come to the Dark Side!" I choked out. "We have soufflés!" I laughed for probably fifteen or twenty more minutes, completely ignoring other Death Eaters running in and out ("Oh no! Mr. Fluffybottoms's vet visit is this morning!" and "I forgot to buy milk yesterday! My wife's gonna Avada me!").

19) Try to teach him to play a mouth organ.

Later that afternoon, Chef Voldie (and that thought alone nearly sent me into fits of laughter) called yet another Death Eater meeting. I was beginning to think he seriously had no life outside these meetings and the occasional raid and kept from dying of boredom by summoning his loyal minions to rant and curse at every so often (did he really need to call six meetings in the past nine days?!).

I sat at my usual seat, staring dully at the table. I was sooooo bored! I idly ran through a list of pranks I had planned for the next few days, working out kinks and trouble spots. When I finished that, I wished for a sausage pizza. Then I pondered the meaning and existence of life. Eventually I ran out of thoughts for that too, and the meeting was still going on! Gah!

I must have voiced that last thought aloud, because Voldemort looked up at me and said dangerously, "Do you have an objection, Ranunculus?"

"No, my Lord," I said, puzzled. "Why would you say that?"

Bellatrix chimed in gleefully, "You said 'Gah!'"

"Oh, that. No, my Lord, that was..." I thought frantically. "Um, that was me expressing my frustration that I cannot find many songs for my mouth organ." I should get points for creativity for that one. Or cookies, I was totally fine with either.

Thorfinn Rowle (that guy I took those delicious doughnuts from, mmm doughnuts...) was the first to interrupt the puzzled silence. "What in the name of Merlin is a mouth organ?"

Ah, now we were back to a topic I understood. I conjured a harmonica. "This is a type of mouth organ." I turned to the frowning Dark Lord (it was more of an I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-doing-what-are-you-doing frown than a desist-immediately-or-prepare-to-be-promptly-crucio'ed-into-obeisance frown, so I deemed it safe to go on). I pointed at the holes on one side. "See, you put your mouth to these holes and blow, and depending on which hole you direct the air into, you get a certain chord. You can also inhale through the mouthpiece and get a slightly different chord. And with practice, you can play simple tunes, and then more complicated ones. Like this." I put the harmonica to my lips and began playing a rousing jig.

With a wave of Lord Voldemort's wand, I was promptly silencio'ed. The meeting went on. I sulked (silently).

20) Roll your eyes during plotting sessions and say things under your breath like 'You're the boss, boss' or 'It's your funeral.'

Eventually the spell wore off, but I was still irritated. I decided to express my vexation with the world and become as much of a nuisance as possible (and maybe even end the meeting faster!).

I started off smallish. A stinging hex here, and jelly-legs jinx there, all standard school jinxes. Those only got me a few jumpy Death Eaters and a handful of angry glares from the more perspicacious fellows.

Bummer. I upped the ante. Crabbe was the recipient of a particular spell that caused the sensation of crawling spiders all over your body. He twitched uncomfortably and shifted a bit. That was okay. The spell intensified with time. Rodolphus Lestrange suddenly felt a strong need to withdraw to the loo.

That still got me nothing other than a few dirty looks and a bouncing-on-the-edge-of-his-seat-with-an-expression-of-urgency-on-his-face Death Eater.

I was left with no other choice. Go big or go insane from the tedium. After every other comment Lord Voldemort made, I would roll my eyes and say "You're the boss, boss," very quietly. At one point during the planning of a large raid on Diagon Alley, I said somewhat loudly, "It's your funeral."

The entire table went silent.

I gasped and turned to the Death Eater next to me (not the drooling one). "How could you say such things about our Lord?"

He looked at me, incensed. "I did not! I-"

"My Lord," I interrupted the Death Eater. "Allow me to punish this nonbeliever." I turned back to the Death Eater, who was by now looking more than a little wild-eyed. "Depulso! Glacio!" I cast in quick succession. He was thrown back and frozen in midair. "Mipsy!" I called.

Mipsy popped into the room. "What is Miss Lilian be asking of Mipsy?"

I love that house elf. "Bring me a heated iron poker, please."

There was a strangled sound from the immobilized Death Eater. I ignored him for the moment and turned to the Dark Lord. "My Lord? If I may?"

He waved his hand. "Continue."

"Thank you my Lord."

With a crack Mipsy reappeared, holding a fire poker whose end was red-hot. Excellent. I rubbed my hands together and grasped the handle firmly. For good measure I gave the stink eye to the watching Death Eaters. They shifted nervously. Excellent. I turned back to the Death Eater I was about to "punish." He fainted, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Excellent.

"Ennervate!" I cast. He woke with a start. I faced Lord V once more. "Is there a way to prevent him from falling unconscious? It's most inconvenient."

Big V waved his wand. "It is done." He was clearly curious as to what I was intending to do with a hot poker and a cowardly Death Eater.

I circled the terrified Death Eater once before flipping him upside down so he hung with his head at waist-height and his feet near the ceiling. I circled him once more for dramatic effect, before pausing in front of him, so he had to crane his neck down in order to look up at me. I waved the poker, nearly bonking him on the head. He whimpered. "This," I paused, "a poker. Which is funny, because that's exactly what I'm going to do with it. Poke you, that is," I clarified.

I grinned evilly. "Now, when something super-hot touches skin, all the person feels at first is numb and cold pressure. Then after a while the pain kicks in, and leave the victim feeling the fire race up his back and all over, and, yeah. Not very pleasant, as I'm sure you can imagine."

His face told me he could imagine it all too well.

I walked behind him and stopped (after waving the glowing end of the poker in his face again for good measure). "Ready?" I wordlessly conjured a strawberry-flavored popsicle (one of the few things besides skrewt dung that I could conjure silently). Some Death Eaters snickered, clearly knowing where I was going with this.

I licked the popsicle a few times, because mmmm strawberry! I then prodded the to-be-tortured-thoroughly Death Eater with it a few times. I drew a few lines on his back with it.

He screamed and flopped around like a fish. The man had no dignity. It was funny. He screamed some more.

I bowed to my audience and stuck the popsicle in the panting Death Eaters mouth. "Have a popsicle."

The watching Voldemorty and minions looked impressed at my cleverness. I didn't bother to tell them that I got the idea from a Muggle movie. One of the nice things about working for such a fanatical anti-Muggle group is that, since they never bother learning anything about the Muggle world, I can use all sorts of tricks adapted from non-magical hijinks and claim them as my own. Mwahaha.

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