Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter, including all familiar characters and places. I'm just playing with them because I was left unsupervised.

Warning: Humour and by that I mean half-serious, utter crack. Also Luna. And ridiculousness. Did I mention the crack? Because definitely that. Inappropriate humour. Discussion of Dark Lord relevant topics up to and including muggle torture, casual murder, unhealthy fixation on minors... You know what we're talking about.

I have no idea what I'm doing. Consider this carefully before proceeding. Also have fun, otherwise this fic loses whatever point it has left.

WEEKLY VOLDIE*

*Everything A Proud Death Eater Needs To Know About Britain's Most Belovedly Feared Dark-Lord-Who-Definitely-Isn't-Back

Chapter I: VOLDIE IN THE MAKING

Hermione was panicking.

She loved Harry Potter, truly, she did. He was her best and closest friend. But although the boy was a total sweetheart and usually meant well, he also managed to cause the deadliest of troubles without even trying. It felt like only yesterday that she had talked Harry out of adopting Slytherin's poor, misunderstood monster — and yes, she'd been forced to write an eulogy for the ruddy snake that had petrified her in the end — and she steadfast refused to acknowledge their third year.

As far as Hermione was concerned, there was no third year.

But she was getting off-track. The point was, Harry created chaos wherever he went and whether he meant to or not. Unfortunately, after four years of being relatively mild-mannered and willing to foil any dark schemes that went too far out of control, Hermione feared that Harry had finally been pushed to far. Considering he had spent the summer locked away with his unpleasant relatives and made no secret of his frustration with Professor Dumbledore, Mrs. Weasley, and a few of the order members he'd gotten to know, not to mention the ridiculous trial Minister Fudge had tried to pull, well.

Let's just say Hermione had reason to assume that Harry wasn't just looking for trouble, but grabbing the first sight of it with both hands and snogging the life out of them. Not that she could blame him. (Dear lord, she hoped he wouldn't stumble upon Malfoy first. The guy was a git, but he deserved a fair warning.)

The Daily Prophet's damned campaign against Harry had really only added fuel to an already dangerously cackling fire.

No, Hermione had seen the glint in Harry's eyes these last few days, whenever he assumed nobody was watching him. And The Smirk™.

A smirking Harry was a recipe for disaster. The kind that got trains blown up and Ministries levelled to the ground. And Hermione just knew somehow she would be dragged into it. Not that she minded hitting the Ministry with a couple of harsh truths over their collective head, but it was the principle of the thing.

You don't go around setting everything on fire and rebuilding the ashes just because the world isn't to your liking. You especially don't do so whilst the threat of expulsion is still very real and possible.

Ron, of course, had bought Harry's sad "I just need a little space, mate, it's a bit much right now," spiel this morning. Because Ron — for all his good qualities when he wasn't being a stubborn prat — was terribly naive when it came to Harry's secret aspirations to become a Dark Lord. Granted, it had taken Hermione herself a while to catch on — that Luna Lovegood of all people had to clue her in really was unforgivable — and some days she wasn't entirely sure that Harry himself was aware of the ultimate goal his more underhanded machinations lead to — Harry could be quite charmingly oblivious, the sweetheart — but that was no excuse. Ron was a smart guy with a more than decent grasp on tactical thinking. It was just too bad that the poor guy had a blind spot several Quidditch pitches wide, centred directly around Harry's less advertised characteristics.

Which was why it fell to Hermione to ensure that Harry didn't somehow get even and take over the world while her back was turned.

As such, Hermione understandably panicked when she lost track of her friend on the Hogwarts' Express.

Thankfully, being Harry Potter's best friend for close to five years meant that she was used to it. Whether it be staying alive in a bathroom, watching her best friend almost kill himself multiple times on that trice-cursed Quidditch pitch — or, as Hermione referred to it, the tragic end of foolish choices —, figuring out the logistics of time travel and its practical applications in her day to day life, aiding in the escape of two wanted fugitives or trying to beat some sense into Ron through sheer force of will — the past few years had done an excellent job of preparing her for the madness that was Harry Potter's life.

This had the happy side-effect of allowing Hermione to panic much more efficiently than most people her age would probably manage. If there was anything she wasn't lacking it was, after all, practice.

It was therefore a determined Hermione Granger striding down the hallway and methodically checking the compartments she came across with a steady grip on her wand and a furious curl of her lips, telling the world she was ready for anything.

Well, almost anything, she amended silently, quickly shutting the compartment door behind her with a grimace that didn't quite hide her flushed cheeks. It seems Ginny has indeed gotten over her crush on Harry, who knew?

She'd let Harry know — tactfully and without disclosing any of the more private details, naturally — but it wasn't like he had noticed in the first place. In fact, Hermione still wasn't entirely sure he was aware that he'd been on a date during the Yule ball. She would have thought it impossible, but Harry's obliviousness had caught her by surprise before.

Like that time back in the third-year-that-wasn't, when Seamus had flirted with Harry and Harry hadn't noticed. Or the two hundred and fourteen incidents since, where Seamus had flirted with Harry and Harry hadn't noticed.

Just thinking about it makes Hermione roll her eyes hard enough to hurt.

She'd have clued Harry in by now, if only because even Ron had caught on and she felt bad for Seamus' dignity, but the fact of the matter was that Seamus — with his penchant for causing explosions and his obsession with learning how to turn water into rum — would be exactly the sort of well-meaning idiot who would shamelessly enable Harry in his Harry-ness.

Hogwarts would never survive it.

Hermione still regularly had nightmares of Harry ending up with one of the Weasley twins — and on one, memorable, very apocalyptic occasion, both of them — she refused to pave the way towards total destruction.

No, Seamus was on his own.

Putting the matter out of her mind for the time being, Hermione continued her search for Harry He-Who-Would-Undoubtedly-End-The-World-Or-Otherwise-Get-Into-Unimaginable-Trouble-If-She-Didn't-Find-Him-Soon Potter.

Ten minutes later Hermione had interrupted no less than fifteen heartfelt reunions — some more enthusiastic than others, honestly, she didn't need to see so much of her fellow students — and still found neither hide nor hair of the missing Boy-Who-Lived.

It wasn't an understatement to say that Hermione had gone way beyond panicking at this point.

I have to be rational about this, she sternly reminded herself and sent a deadly glare at her traitorously trembling hands. It's not like he could have blown up the train or anything. Would, I mean. It's not like Harry would blow up the train. And I've already passed Malfoy two compartments back— Did I remember to warn him? I just know I shouldn't have given Harry that book about 'Sexuality in the Modern Wizarding World'. What was I thinking? And then Ron left him alone with Sirius for almost half an hour! Doesn't he realise how much Harry can achieve in half an hou—

It was at this moment that Hermione's increasingly horrified, internal rant was interrupted by the mind-numbingly terrifying sight before her.

Distracted by her own mental ramblings as she was, Hermione had thrown the closest compartment door open with more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. She deeply regretted this now because much as she'd believed she had seen it all by now, Harry lived to prove her wrong time and again.

The sight that greeted her in the aforementioned compartment was worse than the combination of Weasley twins and Harry Potter, worse than discovering Susan's apparently adventurous side, and far, far worse than anything Draco Malfoy had been up to since second year. There had been no signs, no warnings, nothing that could have prepared Hermione for this.

Because there, on the floor of the otherwise empty compartment was the stuff Hermione's worst nightmares were made of:

Harry sat on a spread out cloak, braiding Luna Lovegood's long hair, apparently in the middle of a humorous conversation. Both Harry and Luna had turned towards her and were now looking up at Hermione with big, innocent eyes.

She didn't scream, but it was a close thing.

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked after a moment, too high and too loud, but at least not entirely hysterical. She was reasonably proud of her achievement. Then, after an awkwardly long pause— "There you are."

Harry stared. "Yes," he said slowly, almost uncertain, after a moment. "We got on the train together, didn't we?"

He didn't sound so sure about it now. Then again, with the way he looked at her, he might suspect her a Moody plant. After last year — and her behaviour just now — Hermione couldn't blame him.

Just because Harry might accidentally turn into a Dark Lord if left to his own device, didn't mean she should let her own imagination get away with her like that. Especially since that was something she tended to criticise in Luna. Besides they were on the Express and it was Luna. Really, what could have happened?

"Yes, we did." Hermione smiled reassuringly at Harry, who still looked wary. "What I meant to say was: What are you doing?"

It was the right thing to ask. Harry positively lit up at the question, and as Hermione turned around to close the door behind her, she couldn't stop a soft smile from forming on her own lips in response. It truly was a rare feat to see Harry so happy — had been even before the end of the Triwizard Tournament — and she was glad to see that side of him again.

Even if it tended to end with a severe headache and life-threatening incidents for the rest of them.

"Oh, I was just telling Luna that I'm looking for a new hobby," Harry told her readily. "Spending so much time at the Dursleys made me realise that I don't actually do all that much. Well, besides Quidditch, but that's not always an option. And I think annoying Dark Lords' should at least count as a part-time job." He shot her a cheeky grin at that, which Hermione answered with an eye-roll that was entirely too affectionate for her taste.

"Anyways, Luna suggested I try my hand at writing."

Hermione blinked, countless evenings spent listening to Harry whine over one essay or another in the common room flashing before her mind. "Writing?"

Harry grinned wryly, like he knew exactly what she thought. "Yeah. I might not like doing my homework the way you do, Hermione, but I spent a lot of time these last few weeks catching up on the news." His eyes darkened a bit and Hermione mentally winced as she remembered some of the harsher articles she had come across. "And I think I'd like to be a reporter."

"A reporter," Hermione repeated, stunned. "You."

"Yeah. What better way to avoid getting stalked than being the stalker, you know?" Harry smiled, a little embarrassed and a lot satisfied.

…that was an ominous statement if Hermione ever heard one. It also sounded suspiciously like the kind of turn-about argument Luna liked to evoke to confuse people into agreeing with her. Damn it. If she lost Harry to Lovegood's scheming there would be no Wizarding world left to worry about a Dark Lord conquering it. Which would of course be one way to solve the problem.

"So," Harry continued happily, "Luna has kindly offered to show me how to become a proper reporter. She is an undercover agent, posing as a Hogwarts' student, did you know that?"

He appeared undaunted by the glowering glare Hermione bestowed upon the younger Ravenclaw. Oh, Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

"Undercover agent?" She regretted the question immediately.

"Actually, I am a minion pretending to be an undercover agent posing as a fourth year Hogwarts' student," Luna proclaimed cheerfully. "But until my Lord recognises his followers' true potential, I have to settle for uncovering the truth behind the drunken rainides bi-monthly meetings on the third floor. My father suspects Professor Dumbledore is hiding star powder in the school again, it's been known to attract rainides during their mating season."

To that Hermione honestly had nothing to say. But from Harry's visible intrigue at the statement alone, she knew she couldn't let the conversation continue. Not even Merlin himself knew what Harry was capable of when prodded and encouraged by Luna. Hermione feared for them all, she truly did.

"So, what has Luna taught you?" Hermione hastily asked. With a bit genuine curiosity even. Maybe Harry would actually find a hobby that won't cause her premature heart failure one of these days.

Inwardly, Hermione snorted. Yeah. That would happen.

"Just the basics so far, I'm only just starting." Harry shrugged, but gestured towards a brand new notebook, well-used to Hermione's inquisitive nature.

"The foundation is the most important part of any building," Luna chided.

Hermione ignored Harry's abashed agreement and opened the notebook on the first page. Unsurprisingly, Harry had noted Luna's advice down with far more care than any of his assignments have ever received. Hermione would scold him, if she wasn't secretly amused by the increasingly inventive insults Professor Snape came up with for Harry's 'chicken scrawl'.

The Basic Rules of Reporting as told by Luna Lovegood

- Write about what you know well

- Write about what you're passionate about

- Write about what you want to share with others

- Write about what's relevant to other people

- Write about what others don't

"Huh." Hermione tilted her head in silent consideration. "That actually doesn't sound too bad."

By which she meant it might not get Harry or the rest of Hogwarts killed by dinner time today. Always a plus.

Luna blinked up at her with huge, blue eyes. "Thank you," she said with a soft smile.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blonde girl, but she had already turned back towards her class book. Which she was reading upside down.

"Right?" Harry beamed. "And it gave me an idea. If the official papers don't report the truth, I'll just make my own."

Ron sometimes joked that Harry had a You-Know-Who sense that told him when Voldemort was close or planning something particularly bad. Hermione had yet to see any satisfying proof of such a thing, but if Harry did indeed have it, then Hermione had an equally finely-tuned Harry sense that told her when her best friend was about to do something insane.

Said Harry sense was currently going crazy. Hermione felt like her stomach had suddenly dropped to her feet.

"Er—"

She honestly couldn't think why, since Harry definitely had worse ideas — like playing catch with a dragon — and really, how bad could it be? Starting a student paper certainly wasn't the worst thing, Dumbledore might even be on board with it. So why did Hermione feel this intense sensation of impending doom as she listened to her friend's pla—

Harry's delighted grin slowly twisted into The Smirk™.

"I was thinking of calling it 'Weekly Voldie'."

Oh bloody hell.

End of Chapter 1

Any thoughts and reactions are welcome in the comments. I'd especially appreciate suggestions regarding contents of the 'Weekly Voldie' magazine. Articles, interviews, tops and flops, gossip, what do you think absolutely should be a part of the weekly update of VOLDIE*s movements?

*This name is in no way, shape or form related to a certain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named been the topic, we would have of course called him HWMNBN. We apologise for any confusion though we genuinely didn't expect people to jump to such a farfetched conclusion.