Disclaimer: Much as I would like to own these folks, I do not. This was written in tribute to a fantastic quiz question: What name is given to Voldemort's follwers? The answer was multiple choice and, personally, I thought the other options were far more entertaining.

The Naming of the Followers

A half-lit cellar, the smell of stale garlic baguettes and cigars hanging in the air. Four people are sitting round a table. Two men, one woman and a strange fellow whom to the outsider looks like an odd human-lizard hybrid.

The man with long blond hair and a dubious taste in canes is the first to speak.

"Why are we sitting in the dark?"

The man with a nose several degrees too aquiline for the rest of him and a serious need of some Herbal Essences replies.

"Because it adds to the atmosphere."

"But what's the use of having an atmosphere if we end up addressing all our questions to the wrong person because we can't see who we're talking to?" asks the woman with extremely unruly hair and too much eyeliner.

"ENOUGH!" yells the human-lizard hybrid. "Bellatrix, switch the lights on."

"It's always me, isn't it? Bella do this, Bella do that, Bella switch the lights on. It's because I'm a woman, isn't it? You never make the others switch the lights on…"

"I thought I said ENOUGH!" says the human-lizard hybrid again, hereafter known as the Dark Lord. "Just switch the darned lights on!"

Muttering, Bellatrix makes her way over to the lights but stops halfway with a moan.

"What's the matter know?" groans the Dark Lord. "Severus, switch the lights on. Bellatrix is apparently incapable of doing it herself."

The man with the nose waves his wand and the group are bathed in light. It becomes apparent that Bellatrix's progress was hindered because she has impaled a stale garlic baguette on her stiletto heel. She pulls it off and makes her way back to the table, this time muttering that 'had she known the Dark Lord meant switch the lights on magically she wouldn't have had the problem'. The others politely ignore her and turn to the chairman of the meeting, the great Lord Voldemort, the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"My faithful followers," he begins, surveying the group over steepled fingers, like all good super villains do at some point in their careers. "I am sure you know why I have gathered you all here tonight. We need to make a name for ourselves. A name, which, once spoken, will strike fear into the hearts of all good witches and wizards. I, of course, already have a name, which is advantageous, but I can't call all of you Lord Voldemort as well."

"Proceedings may get a little confusing," admits Severus dryly.

"SILENCE! It is my turn to ramble!" The Dark Lord continues. "I have asked you all to work on names that you can call yourselves. I must say," he says, looking at the three slips of paper upon which three different names are written, "I am impressed at your logic."

The blond, hereafter known as Lucius, casts a glance at his sister in law and wonders if the Dark Lord has gone quietly mad. He is sure that logic has never once crossed Bellatrix's mind.

"Very inspired…very inspired indeed. All of these must have taken careful planning and consideration. However I am going to go with Bellatrix's idea…"

Lucius and Severus groan inwardly. They all know that Bellatrix is the favourite and they do resent that fact sometimes…

"Yes," says the Dark Lord. "You are now called…Voldy's Crew."