The Art of Misinformation
Rabastan sat at the head of a long table, a quill in one hand and a stack of parchment in front of him. Around him sat a group of low-ranking Death Eaters, nervously shuffling their own parchment. These were his “minions,” apparently assigned to him by Voldemort to carry out his plan of confusing the Ministry with fake news.
Rabastan leaned back in his chair, staring at the group. Okay, I just have to come up with something clever. Something unpredictable. Fake news. Can't be that hard, considering the morons who got away with it in my past life.
“So,” Rabastan began, trying to sound authoritative, “we need to create chaos and distrust in the ranks. Confuse the Ministry. Throw them off our scent.”
The minions nodded in agreement, quills poised to write down his brilliant instructions. Right, not individual thinkers, this lot.
Rabastan tapped the quill against the table, thinking. What kind of fake news would confuse people? He straightened suddenly, an idea hitting him. “What if… we start a rumor that the Minister of Magic has a secret collection of Muggle rubber ducks? And that they are supposedly used for...kinky purposes?”
The minions stared at him in stunned silence.
“Think about it,” Rabastan continued, warming up to the idea. “It’s weird, it’s random, and it’ll get people talking. Who can focus on government corruption when the minister is obsessed with muggle bath toys?”
One of the minions hesitantly raised his hand. “Wouldn’t… wouldn’t people just think that’s a joke?”
Rabastan waved him off. “People will believe anything. When the rumors keep spreading, they’ll start to wonder if it’s true. Maybe she does have a secret obsession! The Ministry will spend days trying to cover it up!”
The minions exchanged uncertain glances but began scribbling down notes. Rabastan, encouraged by their compliance, leaned forward again.
“Now, let’s say… we also spread the idea that the aurors are secretly holding karaoke nights at the Ministry on tax payers' dime. You know, ‘Friday nights, open mic for all employees.’” He grinned. “It’ll make them look less competent in a time of war, and people will be more likely to question their authority.”
One of the minions scribbled furiously, though he still looked perplexed. “Karaoke, sir?”
“Exactly! Nobody can respect an auror who drinks too much whiskey and ends up singing love ballads to his coworkers." Who knew making up nonsense could be so fun?
Another minion timidly raised her hand. “What about the Unspeakables, sir? Should we… make something up about them?”
Rabastan’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Brilliant! Let’s say the Unspeakables are conducting secret experiments to turn Thestrals invisible.”
“But Thestrals are already invisible to most people,” another minion pointed out.
Rabastan nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly! That’s the beauty of it. It sounds so ridiculous that it has to be true. People will lose their minds trying to figure out what the Unspeakables are really up to.”
The minions started scribbling again, their expressions a mix of confusion and growing enthusiasm as they tried to keep up with Rabastan’s increasingly bizarre ideas.
“Oh, and don’t forget to write something about Dumbledore,” Rabastan added, his grin widening. “Maybe… I don’t know, spread a rumor that he’s planning to retire and become a dragon tamer in Romania with his secret boyfriend. That’ll throw people off for sure.”
The minions paused, blinking at him.
“What? It’s a great story! The Ministry will waste days investigating it. They're obsessed with the guy.”
By this point, the minions were furiously writing, fully immersed in Rabastan’s chaotic brainstorming. Rabastan leaned back in his chair, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment. Look at me. Head of the Ministry Misinformation Division. Who knew I’d be so good at this?
I’m a genius. This is amazing.
“You know,” Rabastan said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “we shouldn’t just mess with information about the ministry. We should throw in some fake news about ourselves. Really throw 'em off the trail. Freak them out.”
The minions exchanged puzzled glances.
“Like… fake Death Eater news?” one of them asked hesitantly.
Rabastan grinned. “Exactly! They’ll be so busy chasing down rumors about us, they won’t know what’s real and what’s not. Let’s start with something simple, like… oh! Spread a rumor that we’ve been secretly building a base in underwater caves.”
The minions blinked at him, clearly unsure how to respond.
“I’m serious! Write it down!” Rabastan insisted, waving his hand. “The cave base is where we’re developing secret spells that harness elemental magic. It’s top secret. That’ll keep the Ministry guessing for weeks. Send out a bunch of tips with different places the entrance could be. So many man hours will be wasted!”
The minions obediently scribbled down his newest wild idea, though some of them still looked like they weren’t entirely sure if Rabastan was joking.
“And another thing,” Rabastan continued, getting more animated. “Let’s say there’s a prophecy about the Dark Lord. Something like…he’s destined to bring ‘balance back to magic.’ You know, like he’s some kind of magical chosen one.”
One of the minions looked up, confused. “Will the Dark Lord be okay with that? It seems...blasphemous.”
Rabastan waved him off. “It'll be fine. This is a fake prophecy that will make some of the more gullible among them question if they should be fighting us.”
The minions quickly jotted down his prophecy idea, and Rabastan leaned back, feeling a surge of pride. I’m hilarious. They’ll never see this coming.
But then, an even better idea struck him. His eyes lit up, and he straightened in his chair. “Wait, wait. I’ve got it. This one is perfect.”
The minions stopped writing and looked at him expectantly.
“Let’s spread a rumor that muggleborns are actually descendants of a lost line of Avalon,” Rabastan said, his voice filled with excitement, gesturing dramatically as he talked. “You know, the ancient magical island. They hid among Muggles during the witch trials, their magic diluted by generations of Muggle blood. But now, every so often, a ‘powerful’ member of the line is born, and that’s why we have muggleborn witches and wizards.”
The room was silent for a moment, the minions staring at him in stunned disbelief.
Rabastan grinned, waving his hand as if painting a picture. “Think about it! It’ll mess with everyone’s heads. Purebloods will freak out, wondering if muggleborns are secretly more powerful than them. The Ministry will be in chaos trying to disprove it. It’s perfect.”
One of the minions raised a hesitant hand. “But… won’t that just make muggleborns seem more special?”
Rabastan waved off the concern. “Exactly! That’s the beauty of it. It’s so ridiculous, but it’ll drive people insane. They won’t know what to believe anymore. The purebloods who are siding against us will be so upset about the possibility of muggleborns being more powerful that they might just turn against them or go neutral.” Yes, Rabastan wasn't always sure what was going on in the war, but had at least picked up the major tenants of each side.
The minions, now caught up in Rabastan’s enthusiasm, started writing furiously, jotting down every detail of the “lost line of Avalon” and the fake prophecy about Voldemort.
Rabastan leaned back again, crossing his arms and feeling quite pleased with himself. This is going to be legendary. They’ll be chasing rumors for months.
“Alright,” Rabastan declared, standing up with a flourish. “Go forth and spread the chaos!”
The minions quickly gathered their papers, eager to please their eccentric leader. As they shuffled out of the room, Rabastan couldn’t help but smile. I’m actually starting to get the hang of this. Maybe this whole Death Eater thing isn’t so bad after all.