The Magical Twenty-Six

Percy Weasley had a dream. This dream had never been realized while he was living at home. How could it have been with five brothers and a sister? Stifled by his siblings he had never realized his full potential. Sure, he had the best grades of anyone of the family and had been unanimously chosen to be Prefect and then Head Boy while he was at Hogwarts.

Not to mention that he was now nineteen and also the youngest Minister of Magic that the Wizarding World had ever seen.

No, this was different. He had all the power a mortal could want.

Percy, of course, wanted to be immortal.

He impatiently squeezed his Voldemort-shaped stress-relief doll. That man should be here by now.

"Minister Weasley, your three o' clock is here," said the voice of his secretary through his intercom.

Percy looked at his organized office, sure, it was presentable. He hadn't dusted in the last five minutes, but it should suffice. "Send him in."

Percy automatically recognized the beaten expression on the man's face as he walked into the door. The man's skin was pallid and his under eyes were purple and swollen from lack of sleep. Percy deducted that his three o' clock was a very unhealthy man.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Minister Weasley," said the man, feebly grasping Percy's hand in order to shake it.

Percy jerked his hand away and quickly wiped it with hand sanitizer. All he needed was a cold.

"Alright, thank you, Mister..." Percy checked his appointment book. "...Mister Riddle. Now we have--"

"Call me Tom," said the man.

"Okay, Mister Riddle," Percy continued, undaunted, "we should discuss who gets what in the settlement."

"Oh, Percy!" sobbed Voldemort, his tears running mysteriously out of his slits-for-eyes. "Why must you leave me this way!?"

"Because, I am perfect, and you, good sir, are 'icky.'" Percy gave Tom Riddle an icy stare. Why had he even married this man? He was so melodramatic.

"Percy, I thought we were supposed to be together forever! For better of for worse! I know it was wrong what I did, but I only meant the best!" reasoned Voldemort.

"Well," replied Percy, "you certainly are worse."

Voldemort continued crying. Percy didn't know that someone who had killed so many could cry so hard. Unfortunately, in his pursuit for perfecting, Percy had grown a heart of ice, so his husband's tears meant nothing to him.

He had loved him when he had married him. He had meant what he said in all of his vows. But what Tom Riddle had done was beyond forgiveness.

Percy never cared much for his youngest sibling, Roland. That was his name right? Roland? Maybe it was Rodger? Oh well, he had been a redheaded freckled thing, just like every other Weasley to "grace" the surface of the Earth, all six hundred and fifty-nine million, four hundred thousand of them. However, Percy had never predicted the fate of little Robert. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. Actually, it was yesterday, but his mother had already forgotten that Rolland was dead when Percy called her this morning so it seemed like a long time ago.

Poor Richard had died when he and Tom had gotten into a tickle fight. Looking back, Percy would realize that it probably was not Tom's fault, that it was an accident. But that day in his office, Percy could see only foul-play.

Tom had been tickling Red. Rupert, who had seemed to enjoy it, was all giggles until he fell off the plastic-covered couch, only to catch the chord of the electric lamp (one of his father's muggle do-dads) and drag it onto the floor along with him. The shock of electricity had killed poor Ricardo on contact.

This led to Percy's divorce. "What do you want from me?" wept Voldemort.

"All your power," replied Percy cruelly.

"NEVER!" shouted Tom. "IF THIS HAS TO HAPPEN I WILL NEVER LET YOU LIVE!" Tom then pulled out two wands. Pointing one at himself and one at his beloved husband he screamed, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Both of them fell down on the floor dead.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived to janitor, whistled as he went to clean up the office. He had heard a crash, which meant there was cleaning to do.

Walking into the Minister of Magic's office he saw the dead bodies on the floor. "Wow," he whispered. Now this was a tragedy. He pulled out his wand in order to clean up the horrible mess.

Suddenly, the Wizarding Police burst in through the windows and door. "Harry Potter, you're under arrest for killing the Minister of Magic and Lord Voldemort."

Harry got an extremely scared look on his face before he shit his pants and fainted.