"The Ministry has fallen," Rookwood informed Voldemort.

A cruel smile slowly etched itself across the Dark Lord's face. He nodded in appreciation and slowly pushed himself back into his chair.

"Excellent," he murmured locking his gaze on his subordinate, "you know what to do."

"The order has already been given," Rockwood gave his master a bow, "as we speak our Death Eaters should be apparating at the Weasley's wedding. If Potter is there, they'll find him."

"Good. Go join them," ordered Voldemort dismissing Rookwood with a wave of his hand, "there will no doubt be members of the Order there so expect a fight."

"Yes my lord," said Rockwood giving another bow before leaving his master along in the expansive room. On the way out he was almost knocked over by Stanley Higgins, who bustled passed him into the room carrying a box filled with various different sizes of paper. He was going to chastise him for it, but he saw that Stanley had a look of deep concern on his face as he scuttled passed and decided against it.

"My lord?" said Stanley to get Voldemort's attention as he approached the table.

"What is it Higgins?" sighed Voldemort. If Higgins was here it meant that something was wrong. Very wrong.

"Some is wrong my lord," explained Stanley as Voldemort cursed under his breath.

"What?"

"It's these expense claims you are trying to put through," said Higgins dumping the box onto the table and pulling out a handful of paper.

"What about them?" asked Voldemort trying to sound casual.

"You can't put them through."

"Who are you to tell me what I can and can't do? There is nothing that I, the greatest wizard ever seen, cannot do," said Voldemort standing up and towering over the smaller man.

"I'm your accountant that's who," retorted Stanley. Bloody celebrities, he thought to himself, always think they are too good to bother with the paperwork.

"What can't I put through then?" asked Voldemort tersely, who despite being one of the most powerful wizards around floundered helplessly when presented with anything remotely bureaucratic.

"Firstly what's all this?" said Stanley picking up a pile of paper pinned together, "you are claiming for the purchase of two hundred and seventeen rats? Who the hell needs two hundred and seventeen rats?"

"That's for Nagini," replied Voldemort pointing at his pet snake currently curled up in the corner of the room, "what do you expect her to live on?"

"The snake?" asked Stanley rolling his eyes, "you've put it through as a business expenses? Food for your pet is definitely considered a personal expense."

"Hang on, hang on," said Voldemort reaching into one of the drawers on his desk and pulling out a well thumbed book. The corners of the pages were folded down in certain points and there were various different coloured labels sticking out of the pages. On the front cover was a picture of a man in a dull grey suit sitting behind a desk, with a long haired white cat on his lap, in the background out of the window you could make out a large volcano midway through erupting. The words 'Dummies' Guide to Being a Supervillain' were etched onto the front in big bold letters, and just underneath this was 'Foreword by Celine Dion' in slightly smaller writing.

"It's here somewhere," said Voldemort quickly flicking through the pages as Stanley tapped his foot impatiently. He suddenly jabbed his finger in a page, "ahh yes, here it is," he began to read from the book, "'one of the most recognisable signs of a Supervillain is the presence of a beloved pet. Nothing unnerves people as much as someone who can make cooing noises to an animal whilst at the same time torturing some poor soul to death'. There, Nagini is a required part of my super-villain persona and therefore it's a business expense."

"Fine," sighed Stanley, making a note on the top of the pages, "I'll try and put it through, but to be honest I'm not sure if the Inland Revenue will go for it."

"They will go for it, or I shall destroy them," snarled Voldemort clenching a fist together.

"Yeah, good luck with that," muttered Stanley shaking his head, "they didn't budge for Bono so I doubt they'll do it for you. Okay, onto the next item."

"There's more?" said Voldemort casting a quick look up at the clock, "fine, just make it snappy will you, I've got to torture two muggles and a mudblood before lunch."

"Well there is quite a lot for you to sign," said Stanley pointing down into the box filled with various documents.

"Fine," said Voldemort shaking his head, he picked up a cone shaped tube on his desk and began to speak into it. "Hello? Clare? Damn it, is this thing on?"

"You need to push the button," explained Stanley helpfully.

"Which button? This one? Hello? Clare? Hello? See, it's not working."

"Are you pushing it all the way down?"

"Of course I… do I honestly look like someone who doesn't know how to push a button? I came back from the dead; I think pushing a button is something I am capable of. Hello? Clare?"

"Merlin's Beard," spat Voldemort, he leaned to the left in his chair so that he could see out into the vestibule beyond the door, "CLARE! CAN YOU COME IN HERE?"

There was a slight pause followed by the sound of a chair being pushed back against the wooden floor. The sound of heels clipping against the floor echo through into the room a few seconds before Clare Haddington step into it. She peered over her thin-rimmed spectacles as she walked towards the table, in her hand she held a small pad of parchment and pulled out a small quill that had been lodged into her hair.

"Why didn't you use the tube?" she asked in a weary sounding voice, pointing at the device that had vexed Voldemort.

"Because it doesn't work."

"Did you press the button?"

"Of course…" he looked between Stanley and Clare, "what is it with people and thinking I can't push a button? I'm the Dark Lord don't you know?"

"That as it maybe," said Clare coolly, "but do you remember the water dispenser? You couldn't get that to work either but nobody else had a problem with it did they? Not until you blew it away with a spell."

"I won't let my Death Eaters talk to me with so little respect," snapped Voldemort narrowing his eyes, "what makes you think you can get away with it?"

"Oh?" said an unfazed Clare raising an eyebrow, "and I suppose you'll be able to manage your diary by yourself will you? What about all your filing then? You can't even remember to feed the fish without me."

"Well… I don't think…"

"What's your account number at Gringotts?"

"Er… I know this, wait, don't tell me," Voldemort scratched his chin, before suddenly remembering, "it's eleven."

"You don't actually have an account at Gringotts," replied Clare making Voldemort frown, "that's why you had Lestrange store those items in her vault for you."

"So what's eleven then?"

"That would be your shoe size," said Clare with all the patience of a saint, "is there any particular reason you called me in here? Because I've got to pick up your dry cleaning."

"Oh yes," said Voldemort tapping his fingers on his desk, "can you move those muggles and that mudblood I'm torturing until after lunch please?"

"Okay," said Clare making a note on her pad, "but you are going to have to move some stuff around."

"What's right after lunch?"

"You're meeting with Pius Thicknesse to decide on implementing policies in the Ministry."

"Hmmm, can't move that one. After that?"

"You have a two o'clock with the leader of the giants."

"Oh I can't miss that," muttered Voldemort, "that's an important alliance, plus it'll take while too., since I'll have to use small words. What have I got on at five o'clock?"

"Kill Harry Potter," said Clare, scratching her chin with the end of the quill.

"Okay, move that one I suppose."

"Again?"

"What do you mean again?" snapped Voldemort.

"Well you've already moved it a few times," explained Clare, "if you're not going to bother doing it, why have it in your diary?"

"I am going to bother doing it," retorted Voldemort looking annoyed, "I just haven't got around to it yet."

"It's the whole build-it-yourself barbeque incident all over again isn't it? How long was that left in the box outside?"

"A couple of weeks," mumbled Voldemort looking down.

"Try six months and that was only because we needed it for the Annual Death Eater Family picnic."

"It got done didn't it?" snapped the Dark Lord.

"Only because I kept nagging you," Clare pointed out, "fine, look I'll move it but this has to be the last time, you make sure you kill Harry Potter okay?"

"Yes," replied Voldemort rolling his eyes.

"Good," said Clare making a note on the pad and turning around, her clipping shoes ringing out as she retreated.

"If she wasn't so efficient I would have killed her a long time ago," said Voldemort fondly to Stanley, he clapped his hands together and rubbed them, "so, what's next?"

"The Dark Mark," stated Stanley, "we have to stop using it."

"What?" asked Voldemort leaning forward in his chair, "stop using the Dark Mark? Are you mad? Why would we stop using it? This isn't a copyright issue is it?"

"Oh no nothing like that."

"Good," nodded Voldemort, "I still can't believe we were sued by Warner Brothers. So what is it then?"

"It's all these insurance claims," said Stanley picking up a bundle of pages, "every time a house is destroyed or people are killed, they put in a claim against us, our insurance premiums are through the roof at this stage."

"But killing people is what we do," complained Voldemort, throwing himself back in his chair, "what's our motto?"

"'If it moves, kill it'," said Stanley in a voice that suggested he'd said it a hundred times before.

"Exactly, so what you're saying we can't do it any more?"

"Oh no," said Stanley shaking his head, "killing people is fine, it's just we have to stop plastering the Dark Mark all over the place, it makes it really hard to argue that it wasn't anything to do with us."

"But I want them to know it's us," snorted Voldemort, "how else are we going to strike fear into the populous?"

"I'm just asking for a bit of manoeuvring," Stanley reiterated, "everyone is going to assume that you or the Death Eaters are responsible, just as long as the Dark Mark isn't there then I can at least make a case against the claims."

"No, I don't like it," said Voldemort shaking his head, "the Dark Mark is important."

"Okay how about this?" said Stanley trying to find a compromise, "we only use the Dark Mark when we're done some important bit of evil."

"Like?"

"Well murder or maiming will obviously be covered. But it is being used for some pretty trivial stuff. Last week Goggin knocked over her neighbours' rubbish bins and sent up a Dark Mark, the other week Crawford fed some animals at London Zoo, despite what the sign on the cage said and sent one up. It's getting a bit ridiculous to be honest."

"Fine, fine," conceded Voldemort waving a hand, "I'll have a word with them… hang on."

The tube on the desk had suddenly come to life, shaking slightly. Stanley could hear the sound of Clare's muffled voice quietly come from the end of it.

"Yes?" said Voldemort picking it up and speaking into the end of it, "what do you mean they couldn't find him? Did they check all the wedding guests? Hello? Hello?"

There was a stifled exchange coming from the other end of the phone, Stanley couldn't hear what was being said but to be honest he had a fair idea.

"I am pressing the..." said Voldemort angrily, before leaning over to the left and calling out of the room, "I AM PRESSING THE BUTTON DOWN!"

There was another flurry of voices from the other end of the tube.

"NO," Voldemort again shouted out of the room, "I'M PRESSING THE RED ONE. GREEN ONE? WHAT GREEN ONE? SINCE WHEN HAS THERE BEEN A GREEN ONE? WHERE?" he looked around on the base of the machine and finally located a second button. "I FOUND IT….sorry," he apologised into the tube after a blast of angry chatter erupted from the end of, "I found it. What's the red one for then? Well that's a stupid place to put that. No, I didn't read the instruction manual, who reads an instruction manual? Fine, look, just keep me updated okay?"

He put the tube down and looked at Stanley, "so are we done?"

"I'm afraid not," admitted Stanley, taking out another stack of paper, "I'm gonna have to get you to go through these timesheets with me, to be honest I think some of the guys are taking the piss, excuse my language, with some of the overtime they have been claiming."

They only ever mention the glamorous side of being a super-villain thought Voldemort as Stanley prattled on enthusiastically, if someone had mentioned all the paperwork involved, I think I'd have rather taken up fishing.