"Please come to my funeral."
Or, Twenty-One Letters to the Order of the Demented Dove
Letter Six - "Please come to my funeral."
When Tonks had decided to continue wandering around Headquarters looking like Tom Riddle, Ginny had decided to pull out the camera that Colin had bought her for Christmas. She knew that Harry would appreciate seeing some of the scenes taking place, especially when Tonks grew tired of being male from the waist up and morphed her body back to normal while keeping her head as 'Tommy's'.
Even before that there had been some good shots of 'Tom Riddle' conversing quite amicably with the Headmaster, and one rather disturbing image of 'him' making out with Fred. Or George. They'd both kissed 'him', but Ginny wasn't quite sure which one she'd photographed.
At one point Ginny had even convinced Tonks to put on her bikini and pose for a shot. She was considering sending a copy to Voldemort.
Three days after it all began, dinner in Order Headquarters had been an incredibly quiet event, because everyone was expecting Harry's letter to arrive.
However, dinner had passed, it was after nine and eighteen individuals were beginning to worry.
"If it doesn't arrive, Mad-Eye and I can check on him in the morning," Kingsley stated. Dumbledore just nodded with a sigh.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, and if his letter gets here at midnight and wakes me up, then I'm going to kick his arse in the morning."
Hermione smacked him around the head, earning her a thankful smile from Molly, who couldn't have reached him. "Language, Ronald," she called across the room.
Fred gasped in mock outrage. "Who do you think you are, his mother?"
Molly glowered at him.
Everyone fell silent when a tapping was heard from the window. Neville let Hedwig inside, and she immediately flew over to Hermione's shoulder.
Hermione opened the letter, read it over, twitched slightly, rolled her eyes and then sighed. "Harry's finally lost his sanity."
Charlie looked genuinely surprised. "Harry had sanity?"
George snorted. "Of course not. What's the letter say, 'Mione?"
She handed it to him silently, and he read it aloud with a slightly dramatic flair.
Have died a tragic, terrible, messy death due to spontaneous self- combustion. Am writing this letter as a ghost. With my teeth. Quills taste funny. I would not recommend them as a snack.
Please come to my funeral. Headmaster, you're not invited. Someone make sure that Voldie gets an invite, though.
Am going to stop writing this letter now, because my jaw is aching, despite the fact that I'm a ghost. Hermione, don't poke logic-shaped holes in my reasoning.
"Albus, perhaps we should consider getting the boy some professional help," Minerva suggested, lips twitching. "I'm not sure a raving lunatic will be able to best Voldemort."
Severus snorted. "Voldemort himself is a raving lunatic; I don't see how Potter being one as well will in any way affect the outcome of the duel."
"Well, it might give Harry an advantage," Tonks said with a shrug. Albus twitched, as he had been prone to doing whenever Tonks spoke up unexpectedly - she was still using a male voice that sounded scarily similar to a young Tom Riddle. "Assuming Voldie believes Harry to be sane."
"Harry is as perfectly sane as I am," Luna declared dreamily, adjusting the hood of the glittery blue Death Eater cloak she was wearing.
Remus raised an eyebrow at her. "Luna, dear girl, you've raided Severus's closet, stolen one of his Death Eater robes, and convinced someone to turn it blue and cover it in glitter. No sane person would ever wear one of those robes voluntarily, they're awfully scratchy."
Luna pouted. "You think so little of me? I asked Miss Tommy to charm it to be more comfortable."
"Very sensible," Fred said sagely.
"I think our dear little Harry is just infinitely bored," George explained. "And a little crazy, yes. Perhaps we should do something to entertain him?"
"I'm afraid, Mr Weasley," Fred began in a grave voice, cutting off the Headmaster who had also begun with those very same words. "That we simply cannot risk it."
Dumbledore sat back in his chair and unwrapped a sherbet lemon with a faint, sulky frown.
George collapsed on the ground with a heartbroken wail of anguish.