Disclaimer/AN: I've been guilty of what I'm about to mock. In the past, I used to portray mildly annoying characters as abusive jerks with no ounce of humanity in their soul. (I'd issue a formal apology to Drew from Pokémon if I could, but he's not real so . . . I'm guessing he wouldn't be able to receive or read such an apology.) So I'm mocking myself, too. Oh, and I own nothing in the way of fandoms. And, once more will feeling, this is a parody. (Aka I'm aware of everyone being OOC/implausible/so forth)

Tom Riddle the Soul Splitter sat at the head of a long, rectangular-shaped table along with a few choice members of his cohorts. At least, Tom Riddle the Soul Splitter is what a very drunken Lord Voldemort detractor (who had snuck into the headquarters the night before) had bewitched his name plate to say.

"Lucius!" Voldemort hissed into his intercom then, the fingertips of his free hand busy tapping atop the table surface in an annoying fashion as he did so.

"Yes, master?" came a shaky reply from the other end of the device.

"Have you yet made any progress on figuring out how to remove the charm cast upon my nameplate?"

"Sorry, sir, but… no," the man replied, before adding quickly, "But the mail has arrived! Shall I bring it to you, your majesty?"

Sighing, the evil overlord of all that is impossibly evil rolled his eyes, before saying, "Certainly. Bring it on up. But do hurry this time!"

"I'll do my best, sir," Lucius replied, before murmuring to himself, "Pfft. Expects me to be able to run up the thirteen flights from the basement to get to his floor in a flash. Stupid Apparition ban – what is this, bloody Hogwarts?"

"I can still hear you, Lucius," Voldemort said.

"Oh. Be there in a jiffy, your highness. Also: sorry." There was then heard at the other end a scrambled ruffling of papers, followed by panicked footsteps running to a door, which was creakily pulled open and slammed shut afterward.

"Well, now that he is on the way, I might as well check my Twitter account. It's growing substantially in the number of followers by the day. I don't know what you did to make it so popular, Fenrir, but it's working."

Smiling in an "oh, shucks" fashion back toward Voldemort, the deformed looking werewolf gave a shrug, deciding it better to keep it to himself that he had managed to hook enough people into following the Dark Lord's Twitter account by claiming to know the real Jacob Black in person.

"You're the One that I Want: L0rdV0ld3m0r7 #LoveSongConfessions," Voldemort then read aloud, before looking over to Bellatrix Lestrange, who wore a look of utmost hope on her face. "For the love of Lucifer, don't declare your love for me over a social network, especially not if you're going to involve L337 speak and Grease!"

Smiling, the dark-haired mad woman nodded her head curtly, saying, "As you wish." She then mouthed silently: But you are the one that I want.

Deciding that he was surrounded by complete lunatics, Voldemort's notion was proven wrong a second later when one, Lucius Malfoy, opened the door and entered the room, a small pile of envelopes in one hand. Okay, he then thought instead. So I'm surrounded by lunatics and an abomination against villains everywhere – whatever. It still sucks.

"Your mail, your extreme awesomeness," Lucius addressed the Dark Lord, handing over the envelopes as he approached him.

"Stop speaking as if you're one of my fanboys," Voldemort said at once, accepting the mail. "If you do it again, it will be your third time – which is a strikeout in Muggle sports' terms – so I'll be forced to get Fenrir to bite you. If you proceed to do it a fourth time, then – considering the fact that that particularly funny wiki index taught me that four is Death in Japan – I'll be forced to kill you in cold blood."

"Understood, sir," Lucius said quietly, bowing his head, and then continuing to do so as he went to take his seat. Actually, since he was so busy glancing down toward the floor, he walked into a coat rack, but point is – he still managed to make it to his seat eventually.

"Right," Voldemort said, opening the first envelope atop the pile with a complicated and cool-looking (but awfully impractical) snake-shaped letter opener that took forever to properly operate. A few moments later, he had succeeded, however, and was promptly looking back at the letter when he said,"Jesus. I must need to get my eyes checked."

Holding up the letter for the rest of the room to see - which was a piece of parchment comprised of scrawled and slanted penmanship that had clearly been wrote up by someone with the intellect of a sponge - one of the Death Eaters took a single glance at it and spoke up.

"It's not your sight, sir. It's just written in an impossibly poor way," Antonin Dolohov said.

Rubbing at the left temple of his forehead with his freehand as he heard this, Voldemort replied, "Well, this is going to be a joy and a half, isn't it?"

When no one said anything, he proceeded to look at the paper once again, though he held it away from himself slightly, as if he feared it might bite him if he held it too closely. "Dear Voldemort, how are you? I have decided to join your cosy. See, I was once one of the beast good guys. In fact I am friends with Horaldo Pantene. But I will be his Francine no longer, for I've felt the breaking of the final stripper."

Looking away from the letter, Voldemort said, "Does anyone have any idea what any of this means? Is it a sort of code? What the what?"

"If I may, sir," spoke another Death Eater, one by the name of Yaxley. "I do believe it sounds like the writings of a faulty Spell-Checking Quill. They're sold at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a galleon each – but I'm not a paid spokesperson for said shop, I swear."

"Remind me to beat him with a stick until he confesses to it later," Voldemort said to Bellatrix in a vague sort of voice, before handing the paper over to Severus Snape. "You're smart. You fix it."

I'm not your Hermione, Snape thought as he took the letter from Voldemort, before smirking because he knew that said evildoer would never know he'd thought it in the first place. Voldemort was his bitch.

Looking over the paper, the Potions professor-slash-Death Eater lazily cast the counter curse that would lift the bewitchment of the words in silence, before finding that it would not change proper nouns; Stupid Weasley's, what with their obeying the laws of Grammar and all. Taking out a wand, he began changing the proper nouns one by one, but Voldemort soon found himself too impatient to deal with it, and as such, he snatched the letter back.

"Thank you, Snape, but I'll just have to make do with the rest."

Straightening out the paper before him, the Dark Lord started over:

"Dear Voldemort, how are you? I have decided to join your cause. See, I was once one of the best good guys. In fact I am friends with Harry Potter-" Many obnoxious gasps worthy of a Soap Opera audience met this, but Voldemort put them in their place with a glare of death, and then continued on.

"But I will be his friend no longer, for I've felt the breaking of the final straw. Included is a video tape that I paid my brother's all my pocket money to film for me. They charged me because they think I don't have a chance in Hell of actually getting hired for your cause, so they made a bet with me. I pay them to make the video, and if I do get hired, I get all my money back. Otherwise, I'll probably just kill them because, as I've decided, I'm Emo."

"Oh, Lord, no, not Emo!" Evan Rosier exclaimed in terror.

Sighing, Voldemort read on, "So though I've written this résumé for you to read, I've also made a tape for you to watch, seeing as I'm not very well with words. I did try to force my other former best friend into writing this for me, but she just laughed. Stupid Mudbubble - Mudbubble?"

"Probably Mudblood," Amycus Carrow suggested.

"Ah, yes. Probably. 10 points to Amycus," Voldemort said. As the Carrow sibling clapped like a happy little child on Christmas morning, the Dark Lord read further, "Stupid Mudblood, I am glad to be rid of her. She is a nothing but a ho. Anyway, as such, you may view the tape for more about me, and then read the rest of this letter-application-thing." Putting the paper aside, Voldemort repeated, "Letter-application-thing? Snape?"

"Oh, that wasn't the Quill's fault; it was all the boy's doing."

Sighing in agony at the thought of what the video might be like, Voldemort glanced down to indeed find a slightly bigger, manila envelope amongst the rest of the normal-looking ones (well, normal except for the three that were from fangirls, which you tell was the case because little ink hearts had been drawn all over every possible space available after they'd addressed the envelopes). Picking it up, he tore into it with his teeth, for he was far too impatient at this point to employ the snake-shaped letter opener.

Seconds later he pulled a single, unlabeled black tape from the envelope, before doing a double-take as he noticed a folded note down at the bottom of the envelope. Handing the tape to Lucius without saying a word, the silver-haired mook instantly got to his feet and rolled the television cart nearer to the head of the table, turning on the VCR as he prepared to insert the videotape. As he did this, the Dark Lord unfolded the note and read, "PS: you'll notice, the tape is black – the same color of my environmental soul."

Making a sort of growling sound in disgust, Voldemort looked over to Bellatrix and said, "Where's my stick?" which she then handed to him, having taken it from hammerspace.

"Bad Yaxley!" Voldemort exclaimed, standing up and reaching across the table to whack the Death Eater on the head a few good times. "No more fraternizing with the Weasley's!"

Speaking of Weasley's:

Ginny Weasley sat alone and depressed in a corner of the Gryffindor Common Room at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She'd just received correspondence from her mother, and it had not helped to lift her already wretchedly sour mood. After having a few broom closet affairs with Slytherin's own Draco Malfoy, the pair had decided they were going to leave Hogwarts together and get married. They figured out on the Internet that it would be legal in some of the southernmost parts of the United States, and Draco had already charged the Muggle aeroplane tickets on his Muggle credit card.

Instantly penning a letter to her mother and father almost as soon as the ring was on her finger - detailing every possible thing she could think of to elaborate on, regarding both the engagement itself, as well as the torrid affair that had come before it - Ginny had felt quite sure that she'd receive a Howler in return, if not a visit from her parents in person to put an end to her wild, rebellious ways.

Alas, the letter she received in return merely expressed a notion that her parents were willing to support her no matter what decisions she made, "Just like how your brother Percy is in the closet and we support that as well". After reading the letter, the redhead had felt frustrated enough to nearly burst into tears. It was always the same!

Even from her second day at the school, her mother had sent a Howler for Ron's sake, but had only congratulated her on getting into Gryffindor – this, despite the fact that she'd wrote her mother the night beforehand, expressing how she'd desperately wanted to be in Slytherin. It was as if she'd had no hope of getting any attention from the start.

Rolling her eyes and sighing as she leant back in the armchair by the window, she recalled with ease how she'd wrote in a mysterious diary that slowly possessed her, forcing her to write on the walls of the school in blood (when she wasn't too busy helping to release a giant snake into the halls) before ultimately sealing the deal by nearly handing over her soul to the Dark Lord himself. She hadn't really meant to do that last bit. Tom was cute, but not that cute. He was certainly no Edward Cullen, at any rate. But it didn't matter – her parents had merely praised Harry Potter for saving her, instead of showering her in attention for being traumatized in such a bizarre and contrived way.

Naturally, seeing that Harry got all the attention – managing to steal it away from even her brothers – Ginny had decided to one day marry him. Then she would certainly be accepted, wouldn't she? But alas, he showed no genuine interest in her beyond wanting to be her friend, and who needed friends? Friendship was for pansies. No, she needed to make the moves on The Boy Who Wouldn't Die, but no, he was into Asians, then the French – anything but a ginger, it seemed.

All the while this went on, Ginny spent her free time either becoming secretly badass at Quidditch, or else writing her mother and father pointless letter after pointless letter, by which she – in vain – attempted to garner some sort of attention for herself.

"Dear Mum, I think I'm a lesbian", "Dear Mum and Dad, I think I'm pregnant", "Dear Mum, no, it wasn't a false alarm – I got rid of it", "Dear Dad, Percy tried to touch me in a bad place", "Dear Dad, I forgot Percy is gay; I meant to say that Ron had touched me in a bad place", "Dear Dad and Mum, stop writing out "L – O – L", for none of it is funny", and then lastly, but not least: "Dear Mum, no, my letters are not endearing in any definition of the word. PS: I'm into Nazi's." and "Dear Mum and Dad, go to Hell."

Not one of her letters had ever gotten the right reaction, and it wasn't until Hermione taught her the breast expanding spell that she got any attention at all. Suddenly all the boys wanted her, even the ones in Slytherin, and then there was – finally! – Harry, who had begun to randomly hang out with her, muttering creepy things about chest monsters.

At first she thought his awkward level had been jacked up due to the possibility that he'd begun playing Dungeons & Dragons, but then he just kept adding more and more to it, and it all came to an end when she smacked him after he flat out told her that he wanted to boink her in a broom closet.

Being the rebellious hellion she was, she took to having broom closet affairs with his sworn enemy instead. Er – that is to say - the lesser of two evil sworn enemies. She wasn't up for boinking Voldemort. Yet.

Regardless, though it had not been her intent, Ginny ultimately found herself having legitimate feelings for Draco, and as it was now, she was engaged to him. She really did plan to go through with the wedding, as disappointing as it was that her whole family would probably just show up to the wedding bearing gifts, instead of disowning her, as she'd prefer to be the case.

Glancing away from the window, the redhead watched as Lavender Brown walked past her, decked out in a leather bodice and black Army boots, a pound of black makeup on each of her eyes. Feeling a brilliant moment strike her, Ginny reached into her nearby school bag, before taking out a fresh new piece of parchment and a quill.

Back at the Ultimate Empire of Doomy Doom Headquarters (really, the drunken detractor got carried away, didn't he?):

Hitting the VCR's play button and then taking his seat once again, Lucius folded his hands in his lap politely as the videotape sent in began to play. Starting out with a bit of static, the close up of a freckled-face framed by ginger hair - and overcome by the massive amount of black eye shadow and mascara on its eyes - came into focus.

"Gah!" Scabior exclaimed. "He looks like he has a case of Bubonic Plague and Spattergroit!"

Rolling his eyes, Mulciber said to him, "Oh, he does not. You just have a thing for rats, and a thing for watching young men take the liver of a toad, before binding it tightly about their own throat while standing naked by the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes."

"Silence!" Voldemort exclaimed, giving the rest of the table a nasty look – all except for Snape, who he actually liked, and trusted most of all.

Reading this notion from the Dark Lord's mind, Snape returned the look of admiration while suppressing a smirk. Oh, he is just completely clueless, isn't he?

"So, if you're watching this, then you've been reading my job-application-thing," the boy on the footage began, earning a collective sigh from the Death Eaters around the table. "I wanted to say for myself just how awesome a Death Eater I'd make. I know all of Harry Potter's darkest secrets. I even know that he tried to seclude my baby sister—"

At this, a caption appeared on the screen. (He means "seduce". Excuse him – he's brain cell impaired.)

"-and so I think that that alone would make me highly useful." ("Useless"; don't let him fool you – he's never been useful for anything, unless taking money from him counts.)

"Also, I am very good at my studies here at Hogwarts." (Blatant lies.)

"After all, once you use Hermione – excuse me – Whoremione Granger to break everything down to you..." (Excuse us as well, for the absolute dickishness on our little brother's part.)

"...you just become naturally more intelligent." (As well as naturally more full of shite.)

"So, again, I think that I've proven my case. I am, at this point, willing to accept any position. I'll even work under other Death Eater's." (No comment is necessary.)

"Also, included in the letter is a list of personal achievements. So anyway, you can reach me via Floo Powder at my parent's home. In fact, my mum is typically home all alone every day, anyway. Feel free to snuff her, if you must, but do tell her that I love her very much before you do so." (If you hire him after watching this, we might have to find a way to hate you more, Voldemort.)

As the tape ended in more static, Lucius leant forward and turned the VCR off, before turning his attention to the Dark Lord, who was leant back slightly in his chair.

"Well, what do you think? Are we gonna give him a chance?" asked Yaxley in an eager fashion.

"Bellatrix?" Voldemort said simply, before retrieving his stick from her and beginning to beat the snot out of the Death Eater once more.

During this commotion, Lucius felt his cellular phone vibrate in his pocket, and so he used the distraction of the kerfuffle to slip away unnoticed, out into the hallway. "Hello?" he said, bringing the device to his ear.

"Dad, you can move it away from your ear. I've sent you a video chat," Draco answered him.

"So I see," Lucius replied, before moving the phone away and turning on its speakerphone option. "How are you, m'boy?"

"Engaged," Draco said proudly, smiling like the Cheshire cat.

"To do what?" his father asked, causing the teenager to roll his eyes.

"To be married – what else?" Draco clarified. "Though, I must say, my choice of bride might not be what you and Mum would have liked or expected."

"Sweet Jesus in a canoe on acid, you haven't tied yourself to marrying Hermione Granger, have you?" Lucius exclaimed, in his very best high-pitched girly voice.

"Oh, God no," Draco said at once, visibly shivering. "Potter can have her. Still, it's not a Mudblood, but a Mudblood lover that I gave Grandmother's engagement ring to."

Though a look of horror came upon his face at the mention of his son having anything to do at all with a Mudblood lover, the overwhelming capacity of the feeling of curiosity took over, and so he asked, "How did you get my mother's old engagement ring? She was buried with it on her finger."

"You'd be surprised at how much Accio can really do," Draco answered him, before saying, "And since you were too rude not to ask, it's the lovely Ginevra that I've asked to be my bride."

Receiving a blank look in reply, Draco sighed and elaborated: "Ginevra Weasley? Ginny?"

Still, nothing.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Dad! You know – the girl you slipped the cursed diary to and almost killed in the process?"

"Oh, that girl, yes," Lucius said, smiling in comprehension, before gasping, the look of horror returning. "No! You can't do this!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Draco replied defiantly, sneering.

"Well, the truth is, son – she's your cousin."

"What?" Draco replied flatly.

"No, really, I'm being dead serious. All of us Purebloods are pretty much completely related."

"Oh well," the teenager returned. "It's not going to stop anything. After all, Aunty Bellatrix always acts like she wants to engage in more than familial actions with me as it is."

"Touché," Lucius admitted, before sighing and saying, "Well, if I really can't stop you from doing this, then all I can say is that you better pray that your future children have more of your genes than hers. Just wait and see what happens if the offspring end up in Gryffindor and not Slytherin – and may God help you both if they end up in Hufflepuff!"

"Lucius, return!" Voldemort said, his voice being so powerful that it carried out into the hallway, through the eavesdropping-proof, solid oak door.

"T-T-Y-L, son. I'll scold you more on the potential dangers of this whole shebang later on."

Closing his mobile phone shut, Malfoy walked back into the conference room, before hurriedly taking his seat again. The stick was nowhere to be found, as was the case with Evan Rosier, though Lucius thought that, perhaps, he'd also simply escaped by way of jumping through one of the shatter-proof windows. As far as he was concerned, anything was possible after watching the tape of the kid with Spattergroit who wanted to join the Death Eaters.

"I have decided," Voldemort said in a very diplomatic, authoritative tone of voice, "That is there no way in Hell that I'll ever hire this boy. For one thing, he is hopelessly pathetic; for another thing, he didn't even include a list of personal achievements as promised in the tape; for another, Spattergroit is contagious, so even though I must admit that his twin brothers are rather amusing, I can simply not bring myself to offer this boy a position under my authority."

"Well, to be fair, sir, you made a tiny mistake," Yaxley then said; everyone proceeded to look over to him, wondering why he was so stupid – well, everyone except for Scabior, who was wondering if Yaxley would say yes to a threesome with himself and Lucius in a barrel of eels' eyes.

"Yes, Yaxley?" Voldemort replied, his patience being tried beyond the limit.

"Well, you see, he did include a list of personal achievements, it's just that it happens to be really, really short," the Death Eater explained, before handing over a single post-it note to his master.

"I can count to one-hundred; I own more makeup than my little sister does; I can beat you in Chess, too, but I can't play it anymore, since Emo people don't play Chess. We listen to Evanescence instead." Voldemort crumpled up the post-it note after having read it aloud, before shaking his head.

"I am astonished," he decided, then and there, once and for all, glancing down at the written letter. "He even signed his name Roonil Wazlib... the hell? I have officially never come across anyone more stupid in all my life."

"Well, beneath the eye shadow and stupidity, he sounds like a decent kid," Yaxley said.

"I take that back," Voldemort replied, before taking his stick from Bellatrix for a third time, deciding – since beating him was not super-effective – to lobotomize Yaxley with it instead.

Molly Weasley stood alone in her kitchen, her back facing the backdoor. She'd just received a letter from her only daughter, and had only just begun to read it, as well. Sneaking up behind the woman was Evan Rosier, who'd been sent by Voldemort after the second beating of Yaxley to indeed do as the ginger on the tape instructed, which was to go snuff out his own mother.

Finally right behind his would-be victim, Rosier withdrew his wand, and had nearly had it pointed at the side of her neck when he happened to peek over her shoulder, looking down upon the parchment she was reading.

"Dear Mum, I've gone Emo."

Though the mission had been an assured success seconds beforehand, any hope of such a thing came crashing down almost at once, when the Death Eater shrieked, "Oh no, not Emo!," completely giving away his position in the process.

A/N: Basically, this came about after reading both legitimate fan fictions where characters from various fandoms (though primarily HP & Pokémon) are written hilariously out of character (or, OOC), as well as other parodies where characters are intentionally OOC. I decided I'd tackle the issue in the form of a parody myself. I implore anyone who's read this to please take no offense. Nor should anyone think they helped inspire this story. I name no names, & hold no prejudices. I did it for the lulz, basically. Hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. Thank you!

(!) See TV Tropes' "RonTheDeathEater" for more examples, because I love TV Tropes and wish to spread it like a disease.