Foldermort and his (Apparently) Evil Green Minions

Foldermort and his (Apparently) Evil Green Minions

Part Two: Foldermort Strikes Back

"Oh God. My digestion's really stuffed up." Hermione moaned as she sat down to dinner.

"What?" Ron said as he stuffed a potato into his mouth.

"Have you ever eaten fake fingernails for afternoon tea before?" she asked him as she got her dinner.

"Oh. I thought you had gotten rid of them." Harry was surprised.

"Yes, I did, but not before biting half of them off." Hermione said before putting a sachet of white powder into a glass of water and downing it.

"Whatever." The boys said, and the meal continued, then finished, then most people did their homework, or at lest some of it, then went to bed. A certain group of human beings, and another group of entities masquerading as folders, were still awake, however.

***

"Well my pretties, who shall we wreak havoc on tonight?" Foldermort stroked one of the folders, a red one with little hearts drawn on the cover, with his long, thin, papery fingers. The folders clacked among themselves for a while, then a green plastic folder with an eight-pointed star in silver on the front moved out from the masses.

"We have decided to annoy the boy who had first brought to attention that you, great sir, was well and alive, although greatly weakened." It said. (we now have a babel fish-translating straight to you!)

Foldermort's eyes widened in surprise. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes, Draco Malfoy, if that is what you call him." Another folder spoke up, barely containing its laughter. (It was a cardboardy one with a fake marble print on the outside) "Perhaps we could bite him on th-"

"You will do no such thing!" Foldermort half shouted, thumping his fist on the arm of the chair he was sitting in, just missing a plastic coated black folder.

"But why? He's mean, he wears too much cologne, he talks and snores in his sleep and he isn't strong enough to carry two of us." A leopard print one whined.

"It doesn't matter. All you need to do is to get to Harry Potter before my kind cousin does." Foldermort breathed in sharply, "That Potter boy will be glad to be killed by me and not Voldemort, he's just an imitation. I am the real evil being." He chuckled softly.

"How desolate dear cousin Voldie will be when he hears of my victory. Now go away, I want to think." Foldermort waved his little cohorts away, and settled back into his chair-boy those metal spikes were getting annoying-to think about Voldemort and everything dearest Voldie had stolen from him.

First there was the name. Voldemort, a thinly veiled corruption of Foldermort. And then there was the whole torture and kill method. Foldermort had basically brought the use of Avada Kedavra, Impero and Crucio back into fashion, after many years of training from his mentor, Bouldermort. This was merely years before Voldemort was his strongest. Foldermort, on the other hand, had been biding his time for many years before finally collecting enough followers to finally launch an attack on the world. Not only Muggles, Mudbloods and Half-bloods, but anyone who didn't feel like following him. Voldemort couldn't even do that. Not at that time, anyway. Foldermort had taught him well, and now dear Voldie was almost, just almost as cold blooded as himself. He still couldn't kill the Potter boy, though. That was something neither of them managed to do. All throughout the centuries, trying to trace the descendants of the infamous house of Gryffindor, killing many powerful wiza! rds, but not all of them. Dumbledore, for instance. He wasn't a direct relation, but still close enough to wield some great power. But Potter, oh, Potter, he was good. At the age of one he managed to defeat the "Dark Lord" of the time, Voldemort. And then again at ages 11, 12, 13 and almost nearly at 14. The problem with the wands, thankfully, saved that from happening. Hopefully this time, Voldemort would take more precautions, and emerge triumphant. But no, he would not. It is time for a new Dark Lord. Perhaps Britneymort. Or Mandymort. No, Mandymort just doesn't have that same ring. What about Pottermort? Potter mightn't want to turn to the dark side, however tempting a large amount of Galleons and a large portion of the world is. Maybe Pencilmort. Take any evil looking pencil and enliven it a little. No, that wouldn't work.

"Oh well." Foldermort sighed, "Perhaps I will return to power, and rule. Voldemort can go eat my shorts."

"And you have shorts?" a thin, reedy voice said from behind his chair. Foldermort felt icy cold hands on his shoulders, and stiffened immediately.

"Well..." Foldermort paused.

"You really don't know me that well, do you?" Voldemort sneered, "All those years of tutoring me to be your successor, and yet you never knew the real me. I was an orphan, Foldermort, I wasn't some pampered little rich kid who could do whatever he liked." Voldemort paused to draw in a deep breath. "Unlike some people I know. The Malfoys, for instance. The Potter boy. No, not Harry." He said as he saw Foldermort's expression, "James Potter was the one I envied. And his friends. Especially Lily. You remember her, don't you?" Voldemort swung around and stared Foldermort, his foul breath on Foldermort's face. Foldermort winced.

"Yes, I remember Lily. She should have died as soon as she came out of the womb." Foldermort said coldly.

"Oh really. Well, she was smart enough. I probably would have gotten her with child, just so us dark Lords would rule forever." Voldemort smiled bitterly at the thought of James and Lily. "But no, she had to go off with James Potter, didn't she? She didn't go for me, the older man with the money, but the cute kid with the messy black hair and the glasses." Voldemort smashed his fist through the table.

"Calm down, Voldemort. It's nothing to get offended about. Anyway, she was a mudblood. What about that nice Slytherin girl you dated in sixth grade? She had brains enough and was fairly pretty." Foldermort said soothingly.

"Fairly pretty? She had a face like a horse!" Voldemort exploded. "I've always wanted to have a nice, loving, warm family and a welcoming house to go home to in the holidays. But no, I had to stay in that dump of an orphanage. I would've burned the place if you hadn't said not to. Nobody loves me! Nobody did! Even all my so-called loyal Deatheaters were probably whispering amongst themselves about me! I've had enough this torment, this farce, this attempt to get rid of the Potter boy, or turn him over to the dark side! I've never heard so much bullshit in my life! All I wanted to do was to be loved by one and all!" Voldemort sobbed, then straightened and said softly but surely, "I've had enough of your sweet talk! I, Voldemort, formally challenge you, Foldermort, to a duel! A duel to the death!"

Foldermort shrugged. "Whatever." He said, "I don't mind."

"Right! Tomorrow afternoon on the Quidditch pitch in front of the whole Hogwarts compliment!" Voldemort said forcefully, then slowly vanished, waving goodbye.

"I hate to tell this to you, my boy, but this is going to be a pointless fight." Foldermort said after the dissipating figure.

***

"Go Harry!" Hermione and Ron yelled from the stands as Harry whizzed around the Quidditch pitch, showing off his tricks.

"Bloody Gryffindors." Draco muttered as he lay on a stretcher between them. "Of all the students at Hogwarts, I had to get these two as my little helpers for today." He tried rolling over, but binding charms stopped him, so he couldn't change his position. Not that it mattered, he was in nearly a full body cast. Possibly one of the few bones that he didn't break was his spine, and beneath the heavy plaster he was itching like hell in the hot sun.

"Hmm. It turns out that white doesn't reflect heat as much as it is said to." Hermione said after sticking a thermometer inside one of the ventilation holes in Draco's plaster "suit".

"Perhaps that's because he's wearing Hogwarts robes over them. Maybe we should take them off and test it then" Ron suggested with a smile on his face.

"Yes, let's!" the Gryffindors chorused.

"All right then, let's do it!" Hermione crowed, and started ripping off Draco's robes.

"Where's the teachers when you need them." Draco rolled his eyes and submitted, for there was nothing else to do.

To the Gryffindors' dismay, they found Draco wearing yet another layer of clothing under the robes-heavy duty jeans and a checked flannel shirt.

"Madam Pomfrey didn't want me to catch a cold." He said with a shrug that no one could see.

"Well, this time, she's definitely wrong!" Ron said before starting on the shirt.

"Yeah!" Hermione shouted before unzipping his jeans.

Draco squirmed inside his cast, although he found Ron unbuttoning his shirt unsettling, he found Hermione working on his jeans even weirder.

"Uh, guys, you two are my best friends." Draco said, panicking.

"What about us, then?" Crabbe and Goyled loomed behind them all, casting a shadow on Draco, Ron and Hermione.

A humongous boom reverberated through the stands.

"Stars, what was that?" Hermione cried, Draco's clothing forgotten. Two figures, clothed in a black so dark it almost wasn't there, with only their faces showing appeared on the grassy surface of the pitch. They stood about twenty metres (approx. 60 ft) apart, circling each other, yelling insults and each trying to find a window in which to strike.

"I will get you, Foldermort, and you will pay for the injustices done to me!" someone who looked like Voldemort said to someone who looked like an older version of Voldemort.

"Hey, that's the guy we fought yesterday!" Ron yelled, "let's get him!" he motioned to Harry to start the attack. Harry, however, just shook his head. "Watch." He mouthed, "I think I know what they'll do." Harry flew down, hovering over the real Voldemort's shoulder.

"Voldemort! Did you know that Harry Potter is hovering above your left shoulder?" Foldermort said, catching Harry's frantic signalling.

"What? Where? Did you say Harry Potter?" Voldemort said, momentarily distracted.

"Averdian Kedavrail!!" Foldermort shouted, catching Voldemort full on in the chest. Voldemort dropped dead immediately.

"Thanks, whoever you are." Harry flew up to Foldermort and clapped him on the shoulder, "you should get some kind of award for killing Voldemort." Foldermort looked up at him.

"Ah, but I am something much worse than Voldemort. I am Foldermort, as I'm sure I told you yesterday. I will have to kill you sometime, but for now, let's celebrate the death of Voldemort!" Foldermort raised his wand and shot fireworks into the air.

Dumbledore, having realised who the "hero" was, thought about taking him down right here, but decided that since he had killed Voldemort, he deserved a pardon. At least for a day.

"Drinks all round on me!" Foldermort shouted, dragging a huge sack of Galleons out of his cloak. "Butterbeer for all!"

Everyone drank and was merry, but a few select people were holding a meeting on how to rid the world of Foldermort, for, as the stories do tell, Foldermort was much worse than Voldemort, any day.