DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, nor is the concept of Wizard Angst or the songs.

ANOTHER NOTE: I hope everyone hear realizes Voldie is way better than Hannah.

A THIRD NOTE: This story is dedicated to Dylan for inspiring the plot.

One rhinestone-studded cowboy boot stepped into view from the dense crowd. There was a circular clearing surrounded by one semi-circle of multicolored faces, grim and tense. The second half that formed the circle consisted of poker faced figures in identical clothing.

No change graced the deadpan faces, even between the time they entered wearing blankly silver masks and the time the removed them. Nearer to the center of the circular clearing were two figures, uniformly wearing black clothing but these two were not like chess figures. They stood as if in motion but really made no movement.

Not like the opposite crowd, fidgeting as they watched their champion enter.

One figure, grayed and weathered from her ordeals in Azkaban and battle alike, bore a twitching lip and frantic expression. The other, skin serpentine with red eyes, made a hissing grunt of disgust. Now adjacent to her challenger, the blue-eyed fiend touched her blond hair to be certain her wig wasn't crooked. She was much like the crowd behind her: sequined and 15 years old. She was bedecked in, not robes, but a black dress printed in a horrific 80s diamond pattern and silver shoes that looked like medieval torture devices. This gave off an aura of menace, conveying the message that she could willingly withstand torture and the 80s. In her hand was no wand, but a microphone.

Her counterpart stood behind her, staring down Bellatrix Lestrange menacingly, festooned colors so bright that Lucius Malfoy winced in terror. What if they made his hair like that? All short and purple and EW? He cringed.

"Prepared to die?" Voldemort hissed.

"Noseless villain say whaaat?" Hannah Montana replied, voice riddled with Wizard Angst. The crowd behind her rumbled with laughter at her distinctly clever and original line.

"Prepared to die?" Voldemort repeated impatiently. "As in, seriously, by the time anyone gets here… I shall be gone, and you," he said slowly with an overexcited tone. "…shall be dead," he smiled.

"Of coooourse I will," she said sarcastically, eyes wide and her chin bobbing up and down lazily, her followers tittering again. "Like anything about you is killing me other than your face?" she made an over-exaggeratedly repulsed face. The group burst into a fresh round of laughter. "And maybe your wardrobe? I mean, come on? Uniforms? And no sequins?" she clenched her fists in exasperation, prompting a round of uproarious applause at her zinger.

Voldemort scowled, starting to say something but decided against it to avoid being compared to a possum.

"YOU DARE BLASPHEME AGAINST THE ACTIONS OF THE DARK LORD?" Bellatrix roared. "FILTHY LITTLE—" her words couldn't be heard over the overwhelming gasps of the crowd around her.

"Oh, dang, what a skunkbag," Lola enunciated, making a scoffing noise and shaking her purple head. The sequined crowded "oooh"ed in unison.

"No one noticed that, Miss Obvious!" Hannah exclaimed, basking in the laughter.

"And now… we duel!" Voldemort interrupted their zany antics. He waved his wand so as to make a cheap shot while Hannah was unprepared, but she had the same thought and certainly didn't play around like Bellatrix did. She went in for the kill.

Whipping her microphone to her mouth, she started wiggling her hips, preceding the nasal squealing of her best known song. "Hottest styles, every shoe, every color. Yeah, when you're famous it can be kinda fun; it's really you but no one ever discovers; ooh-woah-oh. Who'd ever thought that a girl like me… could double as a super star?" Bellatrix was twitching as so many had by her hand with the Cruciatus Curse. "YOU GET THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS! CHILLIN' OUT TAKE IT SLOW—" The crowd behind her began singing in sync, resulting in a heartwrenching scene. The elder Goyle had shrieked like a banshee and burst into pink flames. All that remained of him was a small pile of glittering ash that was spread across the floor in the harsh breeze created by her voice.

"AAAAHH! EXPELLIARMUS!" Voldemort howled, clutching the Elder Wand against the forces threatening to pull it away from him.

The microphone flew from her manicured nails and crashed again the wall, coming unplugged and sparking. The metal had been crushed from the force.

"Oh, NO, you di'in't," Hannah answered, as three figured dressed in tight jeans and matching blazers emerged from the crowd.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed. "I did," he glared up at the three figures and their instruments.

"Well, that's not nice, man," Kevin Jonas stood, arms akimbo.

"Yeah, and you know what we do to not-nice people," Joe Jonas said, folding his arms and making a face that caused half of the crowd surrounding them to swoon. He wore an expression of triumph, or an inclination toward triumph, as he threatened the Dark Lord.

"Oh," Voldemort groaned at the threat, feeling himself begin to quake.

"That's right!" Nick Jonas said, raising one eyebrow and thus inducing the second half of the audience to swoon. He whipped out a microphone, flicking it on and beginning to snap his fingers. The crowd burst into a deafening cheer, but before he did so much as open his mouth, the microphone exploded in his hand and producing a cloud of black rubble. When the smoke cleared and the materials settled to the floor, all that remained was thick and muddy pile of ash around his blazer.

The silence of the crowd of fangirls was broken by a blonde wizard in rosy-mauve robes. Gilderoy Lockhart was not about to stand for someone killing a fellow pretty-boy. For but a moment, he behaved as cowardly as always, only breaking with a loud battle cry and riling the crowd before he dove behind Mrs. Weasley for cover. The crowd broke in all directions, brandishing everything from wands to microphones to light sabers, some with only the weapons of long nails and an incurable desire for vengeance.

Cries rang out in the Great Hall from terrified Death Eaters. They had all been through the same torture of receiving the Dark Mark and seen the horrors of fighting for their cause, but not one had seen something so terrifying.

"—I GOTTA WORK IT, AGAIN AND AGAIN 'TIL I GET IT RIGHT—" Colin Creevey screamed into his microphone, leaving Lucius Malfoy hunched over and choking, trying to disarm his opponent.

"—could see the other side of me, I'm just like everybody else, can't you te—"




"I'm just like you—" a voice screamed, despite their weapon of choice being a light saber.

"CRU-CRU-CRU—" One by one the Death Eaters fell, burning into multi-colored flames and leaving behind only piles of sequins or glitter or shimmering dust.

"Cru-cru-cru—" Bellatrix attempted to scream at any of the several people chanting songs around her. They all sang in such tunes that were so positive, she couldn't properly focus upon torturing children. She was incredibly out of her element; torture was her hobby of choice. "AGHH!" She doubled over, lungs tightening around her agonized screams. "PLEASE!" No member of the Black family, nor Lestrange, had ever pleaded with an attacker before. "Enough of this incessant spew!"

But the following caused her to succumb to her anguish. "—fell in LOVE with the pizza… GIRL… now I eat pizza every day!" Her hair melted from her body as she turned from white to pink to red and melted into a very furry puddle of a thick glue-y substance and tinsel.

At the fall of his final warrior, Voldemort knew he had only one option: fighting with only the most desperate of measures. Severus Snape had entered from the left hall, unscathed by the battle he'd been fighting. "Severus! Severus!" the abandoned Lord called to the one remaining man he knew to be loyal to him."Severus!"

Snape glowered at his master, drawing his wand and directing it at him. Voldemort's delicate ivory wand flew from his hand. Disarmed and far too weak to direct magic with nothing but his fingertips, he decided he had one option. It was depraved and it was appalling but it may be crazy enough to work. Snape was truly the only one who could hurt him; these Mudbloods and Muggles stood no chance.

Diving forward, he yanked a microphone from the hand of the Weasley girl and moved back into his place. Voldemort took a deep breath into his narrow, slitted nostrils and began. He had muster all of his energy to turn a blind eye to the Jonas Brothers' official coat of arms. The way they had attached the centered lines of the J and the B were just too clever for him too handle. "Called you for the first time yesterday," Voldemort really hoped he'd remember the entire blasted incantation correctly. "I finally found the missing part of me! I felt so close but so far away!" Not a rhyme… "Left me without anything to say…"

Severus cringed but was spared by his blond-wigged minion. "WAIT! WAIT!" she rolled her eyes partially when as she contorted her mouth into a disturbingly clownish expression. "Badly dressed villain sang whaaat?" the remaining numbers of her ranks chuckled heartily. "You never said you could sing!"


"THANK Y'ALL!" Hannah screamed to her fans, waving and brushing her fingers against the outstretched palms of her adoring fans, followed by the newest addition to her Supergirl tour. In a meticulously tie-dyed poof dress, a fashionably emaciated figure was treading behind Hannah. "Give it up for a special friend of mine, Myra Iowa!" Behind the curtains, Lola stood with her new, equally colorful friend, Kiki. Kiki was known also as Severus Snape, albeit a Severus Snape rendered unrecognizable beneath the neon colored socks and hair that had been transfigured into a full, shiny blue. He tapped his hands together in a feeble attempt at enthusiasm.

Myra Iowa stepped forward, hot pink hair and nails contrasting shockingly to his pale green-gray skin (he'd forgotten to go for a fake tan again). First, he was Tom Riddle. No longer suited by the name, he'd become Lord Voldemort. Once more, he'd felt at a loss for meaning. People couldn't smile at someone with a name so sinister as Voldemort. So his finding his latest identity was a painstaking process. He'd considered many a name. Brendiana Indiana, Ada Nevada. Alexis Texas. None seemed to suit him. Voldemort almost felt like he'd found the right one when he tried Bjork New York, but again, it had fallen flat. As Myra Iowa, he finally felt right.

"Ooh," he squealed like his counterpart. "Thank you, kindly," Myra Iowa smiled at the fans who adored him, too. At last, bedecked in cowboy boots, he understood that murder was not his destiny. Popstardom was.