The Magical Twenty-Six

Harry Potter walked towards his worst enemy. He was giving himself up. This was for all of his loved ones. This was for Hermione, for Ginny, for the rest of the five-million Weasleys, including that one kid who always hung around him. Damn, Harry couldn't remember the red-headed boy's name. Oh well, the boy obviously wasn't that important, but still Harry was sacrificing himself for him too.

"Harry Potter," sneered the Dark Lord. Voldemort's followers looked at him anxiously, awaiting the climax of this rare encounter. Well, okay, it wasn't rare, it had happened at least three times before, but still.

Harry looked into the red eyes of his foe. It took all the will power he possessed not to turn and run. He wasn't a coward like that ginger kid. He would make it through this part and then he would be with his Mum and Dad and Sirius and Remus and Tonks and Dobby and Snape and Dumbledore and Colin Creevey and Dennis Creevey and Hedwig and Moody and all of the others. That was his destiny, Harry knew this.

Voldemort stared back at Harry. This was the moment he had been waiting for all of his life. There Potter stood, weak, defenseless, no thoughts of fighting back. The Dark Lord almost cackled maniacally at the thought, but didn't, because then people would think that he was crazy. However, he knew what had happened the first time he had attempted to kill Potter. And the second time. And the third time. And the--well, you get the point. This time it was going to be different.

Instead of casting that stupid epic-fail spell at the Potter-boy, Voldemort pulled out a crossbow and shot Harry in the face. The boy fell to the ground. To make sure he was dead, Voldemort jumped on him a few times then shot him repeatedly with a bazooka.

"There, that should do it," laughed Voldemort. "VICTORY IS MINE!"

"Master, you are truly great!" squealed Wormtail, practically humping Voldemort's leg.

Voldemort bitch-slapped Peter Pettigrew in a raging fit of anger and pride. "Get off of me, you prat!" He looked at his hands at a moment. "Bitch made me break a nail," he muttered to himself. He shot a killing curse at Wormtail, who doubled over in death.

Voldemort strode out of the forest in beaming confidence. He was spotted by chubby, little Longbottom wielding a sword. "Stay back," threatened the fatty, waving the sword around in inexperience, "this is the Sword of Gryffindor!"

Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, fickle child, that is not the Sword of Gryffindor, look at the side."

"Made...in...China...?" The pudgy boy gulped.

"Indeed, Candide," replied Voldemort. He then kneed the fat lard in the testicular area and left him to wallow in his pain and misery at being a complete failure at life.

Voldemort was hoping not to be seen as he approached the towering castle, which had holes in it from the cannons that his Death Eaters had totally used. However, he was spotted by that mudblood and that stupid ginger.

The mudblood looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Where is Harry? What did you do to him? I loved him! He took my virginity! I just want him to give it back!" The mudblood sobbed and fell over on the ground.

The ginger beamed at Voldemort. "Hermione's my girlfriend," he said proudly, "we're going to get married and have lots of babies! Who are you?"

"Are you oblivious, ginger?" asked the Dark Lord.

"What's 'o-bliv-ee-us'?" asked the ginger like the true idiot he was.

"What's your name again?" Damn, Voldemort's memory wasn't like it used to be. He swore it was the Botox. There were only so many chances for a metro-sexual Dark Lord to get Botox and to keep all of his memory.

The ginger laughed. "Oh my name's--"

Voldemort didn't wait for the answer: he simply stuffed a rotting fish in the ginger's mouth and two small tortoises in his nostrils, cutting off the idiot's air passages. That should do it. The ginger struggled for breath, but then died.

Voldemort then preceded to Avada Kedavra anyone who was not on his side, except for that mudblood chick; he cut off all her limbs and put them in his freezer.

When the castle was clean of all of his opposition, he sat down in the headmaster's office.

All was well.