Amazing Kids! Magazine

Battling Voldemort

By Rosemary


Disclaimer: The story about Voldemort is my own creation and is not part of J.K. Rowling’s canon literature. This fanfiction is for entertainment only.

“What do you want for your birthday, honey?” his mum asked happily.

“The racing car! The latest, sportiest one! Don’t call me honey! I am gonna turn 10!” Richard said in an excited and happy voice.

“We’ll get you that,” said his dad politely from the opposite corner of the room.

“Thank you!” Richard beamed.

Richard Stone was going to turn 10 soon. After two days. His parents asked him what he wanted. After giving it much thought and consideration, he came to the conclusion that he wanted a remote-controlled racing car. Of course, his parents would get it.

At school, he excitedly told everyone about his soon-to-be-present.

“Really?” asked Steve.

“Yep,” Richard said proudly. “My parents are the best.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see your present!” said Mary.

“Only after I try it,” replied Richard with a smirk.

Mary and Steve groaned inwardly. Once Richard had his toys and money, he was stuck to them. Ironically, he threw his toys away after a week due to boredom but was glued to them for that whole week he had them.

Then it was his birthday. Finally. But when Richard woke up to see not a remote-controlled car but his grief-stricken parents, he furrowed his brows.

“Honey, we are so sorry, but we can’t get you what you want,” his mum said sadly.

“Why not?” Richard bellowed, fury building inside him.

“Because…honey, we’ve packed everything except for a few basic things.”

“What…what do you mean?” he asked, looking from his mum to his dad.

“Yes, but magic is good and evil. And evil is taking over the country. The good news is Harry

Potter is real,” his dad explained.

“What?” said Richard, aghast.

“Yep, your favorite fiction character is real,” his mother replied smugly.

“Which means that—”

“Voldemort exists.”

“Precisely. Which is why we need to help Harry fight Voldemort,” his dad finished.

Richard inhaled and then exhaled, trying to grasp the situation. He couldn’t wait to meet them and explore with spells, magic, etc. But he was eager to make You-Know-Who go away.

“So…how are we going to get there?”

His parents walked towards the fireplace. They looked at Richard.

“So, you see, how this works is…” his father started to say.

“I know! I saw the movies!” Richard threw his hands up in the air. “All we have to do is put some powder and say the name of the place loud and clear. Diagon Alley!”

Richard soon found himself in Diagon Alley. He took in his new surroundings. It was exactly as described in the book. Flourish and Blotts, and this store and that. It looked fantastic. “Dad! I want a new wand!”

His parents looked at each other and then sighed. “Richard, you know we’re in a hurry.”

“What? I don’t care! Just get me a wand with a phoenix feather and unicorn hair. Or hawthorn.”

“But how on earth…?”

“Finally!” said a brunette who had walked over to them. “Glad you could make it.”

“Hermione?” asked Richard.

“Yep,” said Hermione. She looked at the brown-haired boy next to her. “And this is—”

I know! Can I have your autograph, Harry?” asked Richard.

Harry looked at him and spoke slowly. “I don’t think that’s good when Vol—”

Suddenly, a storm thundered towards them. It was blowing extremely fast, consuming everything in its path.

“How do we stop it?” screamed Richard.

“I read it off somewhere,” Hermione explained. “There is this flute. But you need to solve this riddle to know the person who can save the day. Here’s the riddle:

One mortal shall defeat him,
One mortal from the muggle world.
With the flute’s melody, the world goes limp
When the notes from it get unfurled.
Letters to words.
Words to form a song.
The song of the rich.

“So that means you’re the one?” asked Ron.

“What makes you think so?” she asked.

“Because it says muggle and you’re from a family of one, so…” he trailed off.

Hermione shook her head. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Can I try?” asked Richard.

Hermione hesitated.

The storm outside brewed harder. Shops broke down, turning it into a pile of rubble.

She sighed. “Fine. One try, Richard. Or you die. Ready?”

“I’m not a small boy!” Richard said in a loud voice. He grabbed the flute.

Richard hesitated. He’d never played a flute before, but he had no other choice. The boy closed his eyes while blowing the flute.

Richard blew through the holes, the notes ringing in his ears. It almost seemed as if the notes were speaking to him:

Richard, my dear boy,
The boy who lived through gold and lies.
Richard the rich son,
The boy whose life took a turn.
Richard the careless human,
The one who wasted all his parent’s fortune.
Richard threw the money,
And life didn’t think it was funny.
Life may not be sweet as honey,
But you better understand the value of money.

Richard’s eyes flew open. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Ron asked. “Whatever, I don’t care. We’ve got a clear sky now. Thanks, mate.”

“You’re…welcome,” he replied, feeling an eerie chill. But Richard quickly shook it off.

Then Dumbledore appeared.

“Hello,” greeted Dumbledore. “So you’re the one. Can I talk to you privately?”

Richard’s parents and the others filed out.

“Richard,” started Dumbledore, “did you hear a message when you played the flute? I know you did. Tell me, what did it say?”

“Err…” Richard hesitated. “He said that I was a spoiled boy and…had to respect money.”

“Very good. And what is money used for?”

“To get food and clothes and stuff.”

Dumbledore’s eyes were shining. “And you think it is right to waste money while they suffer?”

Richard squirmed. He had never thought about it. But he understood now that he was in their condition—with nothing to do and nowhere to go. And today marked the first time that he hadn’t gotten a birthday gift.

“But I hope you have learned something. Whenever someone does bad, it affects us, and it is a path for Voldemort to get and destroy us.”

“I understand,” he replied, looking down.

“Good. By the way, Voldemort is never coming back. Voldemort was defeated when Harry was 17 if you recall.”

“Yeah, he was! Wait…does this mean…you lied to me?” he asked, aghast.

“Not exactly. I created the flute and the storm when your parents contacted me and told me their situation.”

Dumbledore paused.

“We wanted you to defeat your inner Voldemort.”