Summary: Hermione Granger is a stickler for proper pronunciation, something in which Ronald Weasley is quite familiar.

Author's Note: (1) This tidbit has been bouncing around inside of my head since J.K. Rowling publicly corrected the pronunciation of Voldemort's name. (2) "Whazzit" is defined as a name for a person or thing whose real name has been forgotten or is being avoided.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is (c) J.K. Rowling and various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books in association with Warner Bros. Entertainment.

VOL-DE-WHAZZIT?

"Fear of a name only increases fear of a thing itself," Hermione Granger intoned.

It was an oft repeated phrase that few cared to acknowledge. They preferred to cower in the use of their own pseudonyms, such as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and You-Know-Who, as opposed to confronting their phobic avoidance of the subject wizard's self-styled moniker.

Hermione resolutely eyed her companion and was determined not to let him become one of the mindless masses.

"Say it," she bade.

Ronald Weasley turned deathly pale at the order, causing his overabundance of freckles to be put on prominent display. His features contorted in obvious anxiety, both worry lines and beads of perspiration having developed on the brow. He licked at his inordinately dry lips more than once.

Several seconds elapsed without a reply, and Hermione soon became concerned that he had actually lost his voice to the terror invoked by her request.

"Are you a Gryffindor or not, Ron?" she demanded.

The reminder of his house, with its residents being characterized as bold and courageous, seemed to help him find his backbone. "Vo...mo…t," he mumbled at last.

"I couldn't quite understand you," Hermione said without the least bit of sympathy. "Repeat yourself. This time, be louder and enunciate."

Annoyance at her bossiness began to override Ron's apprehension.

"Well?" Hermione expectantly prodded, oblivious to his pique. She waited with crossed arms while impatiently tapping her foot.

Knowing that she would be dogged with her insistence, Ron finally accepted his unpleasant fate. He had no recourse but to give in and say the accursed name.

In a hateful litany, he snapped, "Voldemort! Voldemort! Volde-"

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" he was rudely interrupted.

"Wha-?!" Ron was thoroughly incensed at this point. "You're barking! You just told me to say it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "But you're saying it wrong," she had the audacity to declare. "It's pronounced Vol-de-more, not Vol-de-mort."

He went slack-jawed at the correction.

"Again," she commanded. "And this time say it properly."

A nightmare, Ron dismally thought. She was a bleeding nightmare. Unlike first year, however, he had now acquired enough sense not to state the opinion aloud. A sense of self-preservation, in particular.

THE END