This story about stories was written for Lamia of the Dark's prompt in the fic exchange challenge on xoxLewrahxox's forum.

Favorite pairings: BellaxVoldemort (onesided), BellaxVoldemort (requited) AlectoxGreyback, SnapexPetunia, SiriusxMinerva

Prompts: I don't know... something involving dragon scales, or a winter theme, or sharks, or someone literally getting their face cursed off

Likes: humor, subtle romance, irony, the dark side winning

Dislikes: extreme OOC-ness, the good side winning, overly sappy romance

This is mostly crackfic, since that's what I do best (that and ultraviolence/depressing scenes of tragedy). I apologize for nothing.

Go check out Lamia of the Dark's fics when you're done with this. She writes for multiple fandoms, so you might find stories for other things as well.

Storyland Azkaban

Azkaban was a really boring place.

Everybody said it was the Dementors that made you go crazy, but in reality, it was the boredom. Most of what you did in Azkaban consisted of sitting, standing, eating, going to the bathroom, sleeping, and writhing on the ground while screaming like a psychotic maniac due to the Dementors forcing you to relive the time Sirius dyed your hair pink right before a Death Eater meeting and the all the other Death Eaters laughed at you when you took your hood down. So the Dementors kind of helped the madness along, but it was the routine that really did it.

But fortunately, some of the more intelligent inmates found ways to conquer the boredom. Take Rookwood for example. He practiced Occlumency and meditated most of the time. Or Mulciber, who took up art using his bodily fluids.

Or Bellatrix Lestrange, who took up screaming even when the Dementors weren't around, and banging her head on the wall while counting the number of times. She was trying to get to a grand total of a million before the Dark Lord broke her out. The problem was that SOME people made it hard to concentrate.

"Hey, look!" Mulciber shouted. "I painted the Mona Lisa on my wall using my own blood!"

"Shut up!" howled Bellatrix. "You made me lose count of how many times I banged my head on the wall!"

"Can I use the blood from your forehead for paint?" asked Mulciber hopefully, not at all bothered by her shouting because they were separated by several inches of solid iron and Bellatrix didn't have a wand anyway. "I'm starting to go into shock from bleeding so much myself."

"Shut up! Idiot! Mudblood-lover! Product of non-incest!"

"You should go into therapy when we get out," Bellatrix's husband Rodolphus suggested. She yelled at him for a while, but he just sat in his cell with a smug smile on his face because he was safe behind several inches of solid iron and she didn't even have a wand to curse him with anyway.

"Just a little bit of blood?" Mulciber begged.

"Mulciber, I am going to feed you to the sharks around the docks when we get out!" the Dark witch promised.

"That would be really painful," shouted Travers suddenly. He had to shout because he was a couple of cells down from where the conversation he had been eavesdropping on was taking place. "Not to mention, the Dark Lord would lose a competent servant! I think it would go something like this:

Lord Voldemort strode out onto the docks, his regal black robes flowing about him as he took in the sight of the stars above and the smell of the salty sea air. His most loyal Death Eaters were free again; free to do his bidding and crush the legions of Mudbloods threatening the Old Ways.

As he headed toward the black boat on which he had arrived, a voice drew his attention to the left pier.

"Good sharky... Kekekeke, that's what you get for interrupting my ritualistic, psychotic headbanging, Mulciber!" A loud splash followed this statement.

Voldemort found his most loyal servant, Bellatrix Lestrange, kneeling at the end of the dock. Next to her there was a cloth bag full of lumpy objects unknown.

"Bellatrix," he said in his high, cold voice. She spun around, hiding something behind her back.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "M-Master! I didn't see you there!"

"What is that behind your back, Bellatrix?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"You have something. What is it?"

She tossed the something away as inconspicuously as possible. It was a severed arm with a Dark Mark on it. A huge shark surfaced and caught it before it even hit the water.

"I can explain," said Bellatrix quickly.

"There is no need, Bella," said the Dark Lord. He strode up to Bellatrix, who admittedly had a very nice figure. "Mulciber was always useless anyway. You, on the other hand, are useful for a great many things..."

"Is that so, Master?" she purred.

"Yes indeed..." Voldemort drew his arm around his most loyal servant and placed his (lipless) mouth on hers. She moaned in pleasure as his forked tongue began explor-"

"ENOUGH OF THAT!" shrieked Bellatrix as Travers howled with laughter.

"Yeah! I don't want another bad memory for the Dementors to dig up!" agreed Mulciber.

"I'll bet he was polishing his wand while he told that story," Rodolphus muttered, gagging a little.

"I have needs!" Travers shouted at the top of his voice. "And since none of you has a Playwizard to lend... Besides, don't tell me you haven't heard Bella talking in her sleep when she has pleasant dreams -"

"I'm going to tell a story now." Bellatrix sounded more focused than she had in years. "It's got a name. It's called 'How I Cursed Travers's Face Off'.

Travers was sitting in his cell with his tiny -"

"Massive!"

"-other wand out, when suddenly a group of retarded Mudbloods came barreling down the hallway, chased by a Dementor. One of them accidentally dropped its wand through the bars of Bellatrix Lestrange's cell."

"That's a stupid setup."

"Bellatrix picked up the wand and used it to unlock her door. She stepped out into the hallway, wondering what to do with her newfound freedom. Presently she decided to curse Travers's face off, then go resurrect the Dark Lord and kill all the Mudbloods."

"Ooh, good plan. Travers keeps me up all night with his masturbation noises."

"Shut up and let her tell the story, Rabastan! I wanna hear what comes next!" cried Mulciber.

"Opening Travers's cell door, Bellatrix found him with his pants down and his other wand out, masturbating furiously -"

"You said that at the beginning. You're a terrible storyteller, Bella."

"SHUT UP AND LET ME FINISH, YOU HEATHEN MUDBLOOD-LOVING LOUT!

-but he stopped masturbating very quickly because she cursed his cock off in a geyser of blood and made his bollocks explode. Then the brave and noble Bellatrix cast a curse that ripped Travers's face off, leaving only bone and some muscle. She then impaled his eyeballs on her wand and ate them like candy while he screamed for mercy. It took him hours of bleeding from his groin wound to die. They were all agonizingly painful hours. The end."

"You're a terrible storyteller," Travers repeated.

"Shut up! It'll be more like Divination, at the rate you're going!"

"That was the stupidest story I've ever heard," Rookwood croaked suddenly.

"You shut up too!" shrieked Bellatrix. She tried to reach through the bars of her cell door, as if to strangle Rookwood. "At least I went to Azkaban for the Dark Lord before you!"

"That just means I'm a better storyteller than you are," said Rookwood.

"Prove it!"

Rookwood cleared his throat for about five minutes. It didn't do much to help the fact that he sounded like a dying frog when he next spoke.

"Within a sepulchral vault, and at midnight, two persons were seated. The chamber was of singular construction and considerable extent. The roof was of solid stone masonry, and rose in a wide semicircular arch to the height of about seventeen feet, measured from the centre of the ceiling to the ground floor, while the sides were divided by slight partition-walls into ranges of low, narrow catacombs. The entrance to each cavity was surrounded by an obtusely-pointed arch, resting upon slender granite pillars; and the intervening space was filled up with a variety of tablets, escutcheons, shields, and inscriptions, recording the titles and heraldic honors of the departed. There were no doors to the niches; and within might be seen piles of coffins, packed one upon another, till the floor -"

"SHUT UP!" was the general chorus from both sides of the cell block.

"It's not enough you have to talk about morbid crap like coffins, but you have to be all boring about it too!" Mulciber complained. "Why are you so boring, Rookwood? You read too many boring books!"

"Fine! If you can't appreciate good literature, then I'll leave you to your... stupid stories." Rookwood fell silent, sulking.

"It's my turn now," Rabastan Lestrange decided after a while. "I'm going to tell a true story."

"You're boring," Mulciber and Antonin Dolohov said at the same time. "Nobody cares about your life or anything that ever happened in it."

"Shut up! It's about SIRIUS BLACK -" He screamed the name as loudly as he possibly could.

"Bwuh?" There was a loud thwack as the aforementioned member of the Black Family stumbled out of his bed and crashed into his door. Rabastan smirked.

"It's about Sirius Black's romance with Minerva McGonagall. I remember it as if it were yesterday, my friends...

Sirius quietly opened the unlocked classroom door after looking around to make sure the other Marauders hadn't followed him. This was something even they could never know about. Sure, they'd slept with everybody in the school before, including Slughorn -"

Sirius started to say something, but threw up instead. Everybody else had a similar reaction, even Rookwood.

"-but this was different; they'd only done it to get out of detention, and maybe once or twice per teacher when they were horny and on bad terms with all the girls and boys in the school and didn't really feel like engaging in an orgy amongst themselves, but this... this was love. True love of the deepest kind, sort of like how Lily and James were, except without all the hexes and without Snivellus trying to sabotage all their dates. Well, Snivellus was to blame for everything ever, but that was beside the point.

"Minnie!" the incredibly handsome seventh year-who-acted-like-a-five-year-old crooned when he saw his eternally beloved. "It is I, Sirius Black, your lover and secret husband!"

"Oh, Sirius! My heart beats for you and you only!"

Suddenly, as the handsome stud and wrinkly old Transfiguration teacher got naked on her desk in the dead of night, the door swung open and Rabastan Lestrange burst in, grinning like a maniac. He held up a camera and snapped several photos before rushing off again. The entire time he laughed an evil laugh that matched his grin perfectly.

"No!" cried Sirius. "I shall not let our love be ruined like this!"

He tore after Rabastan, wearing only his socks and school tie (he would never have worn a tie for any other reason). They both trampled Filch and Mrs. Norris in their chase, which led them up and down the castle's stairs and corridors and through the Great Hall and through the Fat Friar and into a room filled with useless junk and into a broom cupboard where Jugson was passed out with a needle full of heroin in his arm and into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom which would have been the first time she saw a penis from anywhere but below except that she was sulking in one of the toilets so she didn't see it and out again. Finally, Sirius caught up to Rabastan in a hallway and tackled him.

"I have you now!" he declared. Then Rabastan turned into a bunch of mouldy old food from the kitchens because the real Rabastan had enchanted said food to become a double of him while he escaped into the dungeons unscathed. Sirius cursed Rabastan, the Lestranges, Slytherins, and Snivellus, attracting the battered Filch. He got detention for getting caught doing unspeakable things to mouldy old food in the middle of a hallway while mostly naked after curfew.

"The end," Rabastan finished.

"That's not how it happened at all," Sirius whined from his cell. "I caught up to you and -"

"AHA!" the other man shrieked. "I was waiting for you to say that. You see? It's a true story."

"You just implied it wasn't," said Mulciber.

"Why are you talking to my blood-traitor cousin, anyway?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Who cares? The point is, he had an affair with McGonagall and he just all but admitted to it!"

"Whatever."

"To hell with this," said Rodolphus. "I'm going to go write blood purist epithets all over my cell using my extremely pure blood."

"I'm going to paint beautiful women on my wall with own seme-"

"Nobody gives a fuck about your avante garde art, Mulciber! Art is for Mudbloods anyway. I'm going to go bang my head on the wall some more."

Rookwood said nothing because he was still sulking. Rabastan went and sat on his bed and fumed for a while because nobody cared what he had to say, but then he ended up sulking like a butthurt bitch as well.

Sirius lay down and tried to go back to sleep. He was glad Rabastan was so uninteresting that nobody gave a shit what he had to say. Otherwise, the truth might have been revealed right then and there.

Oh, Minnie, he thought as he tried to ignore the sound of Travers masturbating furiously, someday we shall be together again.

In case you're wondering, Rookwood's text block is the introduction to William Ainsworth's Rookwood. What a narcissist.