Summary: The Harry Potter Literary Storm has caused quite the sensation around the world, JK Rowling’s magnificent series of books touching the hearts of people of all ages. But what if Harry Potter was never written by JK Rowling in the first place? What if another genius was behind it?
Many thanks to the fantastic people who nominated this story for the Quicksilver Quills: Best Humour Fiction award. I'm truly flattered.
Chapter Seven, Part Five is now up - yes, that is the final chapter!
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: Alternate Universe
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 12
Completed: Yes
Word count: 37366
Read: 37089
Published: 09/10/06
Updated: 01/05/07
1. Chapter One: Little Baby Potter and the Hut Out at Sea by Mind_Over_Matter
2. Chapter Two: A Hoggy, Wartsy Happening by Mind_Over_Matter
3. Chapter Three: The Furry Teacher by Mind_Over_Matter
4. Chapter Four, Part One: The Next Book About the Guy With the Thing by Mind_Over_Matter
5. Chapter Four, Part Two: The Next Chapter About the Next Book About the Guy With the Thing by Mind_Over_Matter
6. Chapter Five, Part One: A Troublesome Flashback by Mind_Over_Matter
7. Chapter Five, Part Two: The Flashback Extraordinaire Man Of Geniusness by Mind_Over_Matter
8. Chapter Six: A Funeral Full of Shocks and Fainting by Mind_Over_Matter
9. Chapter Seven, Part One: Publicity, Flashbacks and a Deal by Mind_Over_Matter
10. Chapter Seven, Parts Two and Three: Of Horcruxes and a Search by Mind_Over_Matter
11. Chapter Seven, Part Four: ‘X’ Marks the Spot by Mind_Over_Matter
12. Chapter Seven, Part Five: Happy O’Brien’s Monumental Success by Mind_Over_Matter
Chapter One: Little Baby Potter and the Hut Out at Sea by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Disclaimer: Well, I’m happy to say that I do, in fact, own Happy O’Brien, Jackie van de Geissen, and the entire troop of anonymous authors…
All characters relating to JK Rowling’s Potterverse, however, I do not own, and fully disclaim, along with all their accessories. They’re not mine. They’re the author’s.
Finally, while I did write and piece together the events in Happy’s version of the Harry Potter verse, many of the theories are not mine, and are stuff that are floating around on the web. When I use them in the story, I apologise to some of the authors, especially the authors of theories that still could happen. I’m not out to prove or disprove anything, and I’m definitely not out to insult anyone.
Author Note: All around the web, you will find theories, questions and statements about the Harry Potter books that you simply cannot look upon without thinking, ‘Now that’s just ridiculous’.
However, as there are so many theories, I thought it was about time the theories and first drafts got their day. Just to avoid confusion, the very first theory you will see in practice is the idea floating around on the internet that there is no JK Rowling, and both she and the Harry Potter novels are constructs of some kind of writing committee.
Since the Prologue is not long enough to be a ‘prologue’ on MNFF, it will be included with the first chapter.
Just before I finish this note, I would like to warmly and ecstatically thank Schmerg_the_Impaler, for the wonderful job she has done beta-ing this story.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Prologue: Happy O'Brien
Happy O’Brien was a regular fellow on the outside. He had a nine to five job, working in a publisher’s firm, ‘Neirbo Publications’, an ex-wife and three kids in their twenties and early thirties. He did not seem particularly intelligent, particularly lucky or particularly capable in any way. He wasn’t even particularly good looking. Happy O’Brien was the kind of person you wouldn’t think to look twice at.
That was, unless you knew that this entire image was only a facade. Truth was, he owned that publishing firm, and every book it printed, not to mention at least 51% of every other publishing company in the world. He came up with ideas, and payed authors of all ways, shapes and forms to produce books out of them. He was the man who owned approximately 8.2% of the world literary market, was the original cause for approximately 68% of the English-speaking world’s best-sellers, and employed approximately 76% of the world’s full time novelists and 44% of the world’s literary critics. Truth was, Happy O’Brien was a book-writing, literature-studying, story-producing genius of a billionaire bureaucrat.
Today, Happy felt his ingenuity soar particularly high, his mind work particularly cleverly, and his inspiration lift beyond the realms of the usual muses. The market had been steady for a while, running well and efficiently. But today he decided it was time for a world-wide hit. It was time for the world to get a taste of what modern literature really could be, it was time for a series that people of all ages and all countries could read and love and buy, theorise about, talk about and write corny AU fan fiction about. It was time for a new idea that would rock the world’s literature for years to come.
He pondered this for seven days, and pondered in his dreams for seven nights. He even pondered on his way to and from work, while he ate, talked to people or attended international conferences. Finally, on the twenty-fourth hour of the seventh day, he leapt to his feet, his heart beating frantically.
“I’ve got it!” he cried to everyone else in the restaurant he happened to be sitting in at the time. “I am truly a genius!” he added. “You just wait, world “ you just wait. For soon you will be whacked “ hard “ in the face, by a new idea, a new series. A NEW SENSATION!”
With that, he sped out of the restaurant and ran the whole twelve blocks to his office at Neirbo Publications, his fingers itching for a pen, for the buttons of a telephone and for the keys on his personal laptop.
The world wouldn’t know what hit it.
Chapter One: Little Baby Potter and the Hut Out at Sea
Barely an hour later, Happy had a crack team of anonymous authors assembled, as well as his personal assistant, Mr Jackie van de Geissen.
“Happy!” exclaimed Jackie, as soon as he arrived, still wearing green and white striped pyjamas (of course, he knew how important these occasions were and hurried to the scene, post haste). “For what stroke of genius have we been summoned?” The anonymous authors looked curious.
“I,” pronounced Happy, “have been pondering now for seven days and seven nights, and I have, in my miraculous way, come up with an idea that will take the world by storm!”
“Is it a bird?” whispered one author, a tall, boring looking woman wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Is it a plane?” whispered another, a short, boring looking fellow also wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Is it Superman?” whispered a third anonymous author, an old fellow wearing dark glasses.
“No!” snapped Happy. “All those things have already swept the world, you nitwits! I’m talking about,” he explained, immediately switching his tone to one of creativity and wonder, “Harry Potter.”
Confused glances were swapped all over the room.
“Who’s Harry Potter?” asked one of the anonymous authors, a young-ish woman wearing dark glasses.
“Harry Potter,” Happy told them, “is a wondrous character. He is eleven, and a wizard, with magical powers. But,” he said mysteriously, “he doesn’t even know!”
There was a collective gasp in the room, followed by whispers of, “He doesn’t know?”, “How ingenious!” and “How could he not notice?” Happy smirked at them all.
“See, he can’t use his magic properly yet, because he hasn’t been taught.”
“But then what will the story be about?” asked another anonymous author, a middle-aged woman with pale blue eyes.
“It will be set in a school, where Harry Potter will be learning magic! He will be retrieved from his horrible relatives’ house by a half-giant!”
“A giant?” asked the same anonymous author with the pale blue eyes. “Perhaps it should be something a little less threatening.” Happy glanced at the woman for a moment. She was dressed extravagantly, and something about her just seemed so… independent and identifiable. A name tag was stuck on her purple jacket that read, ‘Lola Hackinberrykinson’. She was like none of the anonymous authors in the room. In fact…
“Wait a minute,” said Jackie suspiciously, “you’re not an anonymous author at all!”
“Yes I am!” the woman argued. Not only did she look different, but Happy noticed that she spoke with a distinct accent!
“Yppah’s Dictionary,” which he also owned, he explained, “defines ‘anonymous’ as ‘unnamed or unidentified’ or ‘without individuality’! Get out of my office!”
When the woman had left, Happy turned to the true anonymous authors.
“Now, my real anonymous authors,” he addressed them, “it is time for us all to bring Harry Potter to life!”
“To the ‘Story, Character, Plot and Theme Construction Room’!” cried Jackie spiritedly, and Happy led the way from his office into a large, white room with a round table in the centre. The table was like no other round table in the world, because, of course, it had a head, which was where Happy sat. In the centre of the table was a large piece of butcher’s paper, marked ‘Agenda’. Jackie retrieved this as the anonymous authors took their places around the round table.
“So,” said Happy, “what’s first on the agenda?” Jackie consulted the paper.
“Well, Mr O’Brien, it seems the first item is to decide upon the title of the book, and the author…”
“Ah!” exclaimed Happy passionately. “Of course. Suggestions, anyone?” All the anonymous authors raised their hands. “Yes?” he asked one.
“How about, ‘Harry Potter’?” There was a pause while everyone pondered this interesting suggestion.
“Too short, and much too vague,” said Happy at last.
“How about ‘Harry James Potter’?” suggested one of the authors.
“No, no! Still too vague! And where on Earth did you get ‘James’ from? Terrible!”
“Harry Potter’s First Experience of Magic?” asked an author.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the School of Magic?”
“Better, but NO!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the Bird?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the Plane?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and Superman?”
“NO!” snapped Happy, “I know you’re anonymous authors with no identities, but some originality, please!”
“Harry Potter and the Mask of Machallatepi?”
“No!” snapped Happy, “the title will be three feet long! Too much originality!”
“Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone?” Happy paused to ponder this.
“Perfect,” Happy remarked jovially. “Have a 5% raise.”
“Shouldn’t we make it something that can cater to the more easily confused?” asked an author. “Such as ‘Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone’?”
When they had gotten rid of this obviously not anonymous author, Happy brought up the topic of an author for the book.
“How about Roald Dahl?” suggested an author.
“Too cliché…” answered Happy, and he was sure he’d used it before anyway.
“How about Olivia Bird?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“How about Ronald Plane?”
“No!” snapped Happy.
“How about Superman?”
“NO!” snapped Happy. “Someone new, someone with impact, someone very… British.”
“How about J.K. Rowling?” suggested an author.
“Perfect!” shouted Happy in triumph. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors worked long and hard, for eighty days and eighty nights, until finally, they had a first draft ready for chapter one…
Chapter One: The Explosion Out at Sea and the Little Baby Potter
Once upon a time in England, there was a small family of three, the Potters. The father’s name was James, the mother’s name was Lily, and the little baby’s name was Harry Potter. They were a happy little family who all lived together in a happy little house called the Potter Mansion.
The Potter Mansion was located way out in the middle of the sea, barely visible from the shore. This was because Mr. and Mrs. Potter were both very magical, and didn’t want any normal people to see when they magically lit the fire or tidied the house. Harry Potter was very magical too, but he couldn’t use his magic yet, because he didn’t know how.
The Potters had lots of friends. Some of their best family friends were Sirius Black, who was a brother to James, Remus Lupin, who was a wolf but was still really nice, and Peter Pettigrew, who was somewhat nondescript, but very nice all the same. Also, they were great friends with Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the magical school they had all gone to and Martin Malovski Saint Clair, a friend of Lily’s from when she was much younger and did not know that she was a witch.
They led a happy life, of course, because they were both very clever, very good-looking and very nice, but there was one problem. There was a war going on. An evil wizard named Lord Voldemort was violently trying to take over with his army of minions called the Knights of Walpurgis. Lots of good wizards and witches, like the Potters, were getting killed all the time.
One day, Voldemort decided he wanted to kill the Potters.
“I want to kill the Potters,” he told his right-hand man, Pyrites.
“Oh?” said Pyrites.
Somehow, the news got out that Voldemort wanted the Potters dead, and they decided they had better cast a spell on their house so no one would be able to find it if they had never been there before. This meant that only a selection of people would ever be able to visit them, and therefore no one would be able to kill them unless their most trusted friends should turn against them.
Unfortunately, not long after this spell was cast, Lily’s childhood friend, Martin Malovski Saint Clair, decided that, since he was a muggle, maybe he should start trying to make sure he didn’t get killed. He would not be able to defend himself. So, he sought out Voldemort, who Lily and James had told him about, and offered to tell him where the Potters were in exchange for the promise that he wouldn’t be killed. Voldemort jumped at the idea, and soon went after the Potters.
“Ha!” he said when he reached their house, and saw them inside. “They think they’re safe! Little do they know they’ve been betrayed!”
“Yeah,” said Pyrites, who was there too. The Potters, however, heard Voldemort say this, and James told Lily to run with their little baby Harry while he tried to fight Voldemort off. Lily soon realised the negative side of living on a small island.
Since it was two against one and Voldemort was the most powerful, most evil person in hundreds and hundreds of years, he killed James instantly, and soon had found Lily too.
“Go away, Lily!” he exclaimed. “I know this baby is my secret son, but I must kill him!”
“No!” shouted Lily, so Voldemort killed her.
Now, when Voldemort tried to kill Harry something very weird happened. Instead of the little, defenceless baby dying easily, Voldemort exploded instead, into nothing more than vapour!
“Damn,” said Pyrites, and walked outside. “What a rip-off. I’m going to turn that muggle into a rat.”
Back from the shore, the Potters’ closest neighbour, Hugh Bert Granger, saw an explosion way out at sea.
“Look, an explosion, way out at sea!” he shouted. “I’m gonna go and check it out, darling.”
“Okay,” said his wife, rocking a little baby of her own.
When Hugh Bert went out to sea, he saw an image of total devastation.
“Wow,” he said, and walked inside to discover two dead bodies and a little baby with a scar on his forehead.
“Yeah, wow,” said Pyrites.
“Who are you?” asked Hugh Bert. “Did you kill these people?”
“No,” said Pyrites.
“Maybe we should get this little baby to another family member or something,” said Hugh, picking up the little baby, “or maybe I should raise him as my own, along with our little baby daughter, Hermione. Gosh, his little nose looks just like Hermione’s little nose!”
“No!” shouted a half-giant voice from outside. When Hugh Bert and Pyrites went outside, they saw a half-giant.
“Why not?” asked Hugh Bert.
“Because I am here to collect that little baby, that’s why,” said the giant.
“Okay,” said Hugh Bert, giving the little baby to the strange giant. “I will go home then.”
“Okay,” said the giant. “By the way, my name is Hagrid.”
“Okay,” said Hugh Bert, and sailed home.
As soon as the last line had been written, they posted the first chapter off to the publishers. Naturally (especially considering that Happy O’Brien owned the publishing company), they soon received a very polite, enthusiastic note saying that they would be more than happy to print the series, and eagerly awaited the completion of the first book.
Over the next several years, Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors worked hard on ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’, and, on a warm, peaceful summer’s eve, they were finally reaching the end of a fun, fast, furious, but gentle and child-friendly adventure.
Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down with everyone else to catch the train.
“What a year,” said Harry. “I can’t believe Professor Squirrel has been evil all along.”
“I know,” said Ron, “I can’t believe Snape has been good all along. I can’t!”
“I know,” agreed Hermione, “I can’t believe it either. I also can’t believe that Neville, Crabbe, Goyle and Ron somehow managed to pass on to our second year.”
“Hermione,” said Ron, “you should stop being so mean now. No one deserves to be compared to Goyle.”
“You’re right,” said Hermione. “Sorry Crabbe, sorry Neville.”
“That’s okay,” said Crabbe and Neville.
“Yes, I can’t believe how busy my history is,” remarked Harry. “I can’t… I simply can’t believe it. I came so close to dying when I was only a little baby, and again this year. Not to mention, my little nose looks suspiciously like your little nose, Hermione.”
“Nevertheless, I’m glad you’re alive, Harry,” said Ron.
“Thanks, Ron,” said Harry. “You all have a good summer, alright?”
“Alright,” said Ron and Hermione.
At that moment, the train stopped.
“And you too, Harry,” said Hermione doubtfully. “Have a nice summer.”
“Yeah,” said Harry, “I think I will. See you next year.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, “maybe sooner than you think.”
And on that note, they all went home.
THE END
It was published only weeks after its completion, and soon everyone everywhere were singing the praises of ‘J.K. Rowling’, author of Harry Potter.
Harry Potter is just an ordinary boy. Or is he?
On Harry Potter’s eleventh birthday, more is changing than just his young age. His life is turning around. With the arrival of a suspicious giant, the young boy-wizard, Harry, takes a trip to the magic side, a break from his normal, lonely life.
But there’s always a catch!
‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ is a thrilling, yet child-friendly tale of a young boy’s adventure into a world outside his simple comfort zones. With the help of a big, bushy half-giant, a red-headed semi-giant with a rat, a bushy non-giant with a big brain and an old man with a beard, Harry conquers problems even the most remarkable of young boys have never faced.
Thanks to newly acclaimed author, J.K. Rowling, Harry’s adventures will provide endless entertainment for the whole family!
Chapter Two: A Hoggy, Wartsy Happening by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Happy O’Brien’s creation has plunged the world into a category one literary storm, which is all well and good. But now it’s time for Happy, Jackie and the gang of anonymous authors to come up with a second brilliant masterpiece…
Disclaimer: I know, I know, it’s terrible, but still I do not own the Harry Potter characters. Just my people.
And here we have it, Chapter two! Thanks go to Schmergo, for the terrific beta-ing she has done. Not to mention, thanks to anyone who decides, of their own volition, to leave a review.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Two: A Hoggy, Wartsy Happening
Harry Potter had taken the world by storm.
“Ha!” said Happy O’Brien to Jackie, his assistant, and their crack team of anonymous authors. “Harry Potter has taken the world by storm. What’s next on the agenda, Jackie?” Jackie pulled out his massive piece of butchers’ paper.
“Next we’re meant to write book two!” he explained. Everyone in the room looked at each other in confusion.
“A sequel?” asked one anonymous author. “But why? The world has already been taken by storm!”
“Ah, but you see,” Happy told her cleverly, “it’s only a category one storm. We need to throw a bigger storm than that.” He tapped his chin. “I see… a car…”
There was a scratching sound as every one of the anonymous authors wrote on their exercise books.
“What kind of car?” asked Jackie.
“A blue one,” said Happy. “And you know what else I see?”
“A bird?” asked an author.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“A plane?” asked another.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Superman?” asked a third anonymous author.
“No, no, no, you dunderheads!” exclaimed Happy. “Far more original than that! I see… a giant snake.”
“What?” asked an author. “But what about Jurassic Park?”
“They were dinosaurs!” Happy growled. “I tell you, a giant snake that can kill people just by making eye contact with them is entirely, completely original!”
“But what about Medusa?” asked the same author, looking concerned.
“She was a gorgon, with snakes for hair,” explained Happy irritably, and glared at the author. Her eyes appeared to be brown…
Five minutes later, when the clearly non-anonymous author had been ejected, Happy returned.
“Come on, people,” he told everyone, “We need to name this giant snake! Harry Potter depends upon it!”
“How about ‘Sirius Black’?” suggested an author.
“No!” snapped Happy. “What a terrible name! Not to mention, it’s vaguely familiar!”
“How about ‘Mad-Eye, the Fatal’?” suggested another author. After a while, they all began to look the same.
“That’s terrible!” Happy told him. “Come on, people, focus! I want something with impact!”
“I’ve got it!” cried one of the authors. “How about ‘Basil’?”
“Perfect,” said Happy. “Have a 2% raise.”
With the fundamentals of the story started, Happy, Jackie, and the group of anonymous authors were able to work on the story. For one hundred and thirty days and one hundred and thirty nights, they drafted and drafted, each author writing one chapter each, until finally they had a masterpiece.
Due to the first-degree storm that had swept the world, it would be easy for Happy to get the book published. The problem was that, after all this drafting, he didn’t have any time to actually read the chapters, so he decided to pick a random one out to proof-read before he sent the manuscript to the publishers.
Chapter 12, A Hogsy, Wartsy Happening for Harried Harry and Ridiculous Ron
Harry Potter (who was no longer a little baby), and Ron Weasley, cried over their various grievances.
“Oh dear!” sobbed Harry. “Our best friend whose little nose is just like my little nose has been petrified, and is now in the hospital wing!”
“Oh my!” Ron wailed. “And she was the only one in the school who was smart enough to solve this deadly mystery!”
“Oh, flobberworm!” Harry moaned, and dropped to his knees in misery. “We’re both complete failures! There is no hope.”
“Oh goodness!” agreed Ron with a sniff, “I’m an even bigger failure than you, because I’m comically afraid of spiders, our only clue left by our half-giant friend, Hagrid!”
It was at this moment, however, that Harry suddenly had an idea. He jumped to his feet.
“Stop your pathetic crying, Ron. I have an idea.” Ron stopped his pathetic crying, almost instantly.
“Really?” he asked, a small amount of hope shining through his pathetic tears.
“Yes,” said Harry. But before he got a chance to explain properly, voices became audible, from the direction of the castle.
“I’m telling you, Minerva, he’ll be back in a jiffy!” someone was comforting tearfully. It seemed it was a sad night for everyone.
“You’re probably right, Pomona,” McGonagall’s distinctive voice replied. “I just hope the Headmaster left some clue in Hagrid’s hut before he was suspended.”
“They’re heading this way!” warned Ron, stating the obvious.
“Yes,” said Harry. “Quick, my comically arachnophobia-challenged friend, the dark forest will be a good place to hide. Under the invisibility cloak!” Ron nodded, and the two of them ran for the forest, invisible. When they were safely behind a tree, they stopped for a moment.
“What’s your brilliant idea, Harry?” asked Ron.
“Well,” Harry explained carefully, “when you said you were comically afraid of spiders, I remembered: Hagrid’s clue! Follow the spiders!”
“Yeah…” said Ron, not cottoning on.
“So I thought: let’s try following it!” Harry finished excitedly.
Ron didn’t have time to ponder the irony or terror that this induced, as Harry quickly set off into the forest, following a thin trail of creepily controlled spiders.
“Well, at least they’re only tiny spiders,” said Ron, whose pathetic crying was threatening to return.
“Yeah, right,” agreed Harry, who, by looking ahead, could see they had just run into a magnificently huge spider, with thighs as thick as dinner plates and shins as thick as desert bowls. “Just keep looking directly at the ground, okay?” Ron nodded dismally.
“My children,” erupted a voice, as if from the bowels of the very Earth itself. “What morsels have you brought for our feast?” Several giant spiders dropped from the trees.
“Err-” said one of the spiders, and then spotted Harry and Ron. “Oh “ humans!”
“Is it Hagrid?” demanded the massive spider.
“Not by the looks of them,” replied the spider, self-acclaimed to be one of this enormous spider’s ‘children’.
“Oh, hear me, hear me, giant and terrifying spider!” Harry proclaimed. Ron quivered in his socks, glad he was not looking.
“I can hear you, stupid child!” the spider told him.
“Your other spiders didn’t bring us! We wandered onto your dinner table of our own accord!” Harry had felt it necessary to clear that up.
“In that case,” said the giant spider, “I will talk to you two for a while, before I eat you horribly and allow my to children fight over your remains.”
Ron had reached the end of his tether.
“Is that pathetic crying I hear?” demanded the giant spider.
“Yes, Mr Giant Spider Sir,” whimpered Ron. “I am comically afraid of spiders!”
“Well then,” said the giant spider. “Don’t think of us as spiders. Think of us as huge beasts “ Acromantula, if you like. And you may refer to me as Aragog.”
“That’s fair,” said Ron, and stopped his pathetic crying.
“NOW!” bellowed Aragog. Harry and Ron jumped. “What brings you to my lair, or as you so rightly put it, my dinner table?”
“We were following a clue left by Hagrid,” explained Harry. “He said to follow the spiders.”
“So we did,” Ron finished, unnecessarily.
“I see. Hagrid, eh?” confirmed Aragog. Both boys nodded earnestly.
“They nodded earnestly, Aragog,” explained one of the other large spiders.
It was at this point that Harry realised that the spider’s eyes were milky white.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” asked Harry. “Are you blind?”
“No,” said Aragog. “They are just shut. That is the colour of my eyelids.”
Ron and Harry looked at each other oddly, but did not ask any more questions about Aragog’s eyes.
“NOW!” bellowed Aragog again. Harry and Ron jumped. “You haven’t answered my question properly! What do you want from me and my giant horde of deadly spiders?!”
Ron whimpered.
“Sorry, I meant deadly baby Acromantula,” he corrected himself.
“There is some pretty creepy stuff happening in the school!” Harry explained in a big voice, as bravely as he could. “Some creepy messages, and Myrtle’s acting really weird! They say the Chamber of Secrets has been opened!”
All around the ‘dinner table’, Acromantula gasped.
“And we wanted to know,” Harry went on, “was it you who was doing this stuff?”
“NO!” shouted Aragog. Harry and Ron jumped. “It was a creature that spiders and Acromantula fear above all others.”
“Are you sure?” asked Ron feebly.
“YES!” The boys jumped again. “And I’ll tell you what,” said Aragog, “I’ll strike you a deal. I’ll only eat one of you, and if the other goes back to the school and kills the creature, I’ll send my children to eat a person of your bidding.”
“Really?” asked Harry, considering the deal.
“Yes,” Aragog agreed. “But not Dumbledore. Last time I tried that… it didn’t end well.” He indicated his closed eyes with a massive leg. “And not Snape, either. I doubt he contains a shred of nutrition.”
“Snap…” muttered Harry and Ron.
“Is there any other choice?” asked Harry.
“Yes,” said Aragog again. “I will allow my children to eat both of you, and then we will go after TEN people of your choosing!”
“Really?” asked Harry, now considering very seriously.
“YES, YOU FOOLS!” bellowed Aragog. “I mean what I say! Oh,” he added as an after-thought. “But not Voldemort. Much too bony, that would be like eating a cockroach…”
As the boys considered their options, and their fates (especially Ron’s) became dimmer and dimmer, all of a sudden a rumbling emitted from the bowels of the forest.
“My children, something is coming out from the bowels of the forest!” Aragog warned.
The boys hadn’t noticed.
“Goodbye, Ron,” said Harry. “I’m sorry I’m leaving you to be eaten by the Acromantula, but my life is just more important.”
“I understand, Harry,” said Ron, as any loyal friend would, and he began to cry pathetically, as any spider-bait would.
However, the Acromantula were all shrinking back in dismay as a light blue car drove recklessly into clearing… without indicating.
“They’re going to get away!” sighed several hungry spiders, disappointedly.
“WAIT!” bellowed Aragog. Harry and Ron jumped. “Before you go. Be sure to check out the bathroom. That was where the accursed beast killed its last prey. If I can’t eat you, I can at least make sure you destroy my greatest enemy.”
Harry and Ron gave Aragog the thumbs up (and then another finger up) out the back window as the blue Ford Anglia drove them safely to freedom.
Happy scratched his chin as the anonymous author responsible for the chapter looked on nervously.
“Pure genius!” Happy exclaimed. “Positively corking! I cannot believe my own intelligence.”
He stuck the manuscript into an envelope, smirking at his own wit. But then, something massively important occurred to him. Something that could determine the fate of the publication.
“What should we call it?” he asked, pen hovering over the ‘subject’ line of the postal envelope.
“’H-Harry Potter 2’?” suggested an author, obviously realising the importance of the question.
“Don’t be ridiculous! Who would buy something like that?” Happy sighed. “Come on, people, it’s the last decision for this book!”
“How about, ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’?” suggested another author.
“No!” snapped Happy. “Completely irrelevant. But someone write that down somewhere. It has a certain ring to it.”
“Ooh, what about ‘Harry Potter and Ridiculous Ron?” suggested Jackie excitedly. Happy just shook his head.
“I’ve got it! ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’!” exclaimed one of the anonymous authors.
“Well… it’s completely irrelevant…” Happy considered, “but I really would like to break for tea. ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ it is!”
It’s Harry’s second year at Hogwarts, OR IS IT?
Once again, things are not going young Harry’s way. He’s stuck with the Dursleys again, and what’s worse, no one cares about him!
Following on from the first Harry Potter book, ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’, ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ is a thrilling tale of friendship and enmity, good and evil. As, once again, Harry is confronted with inner and outer demons, this year is bound to be packed with adventure.
This is a fantastic book, to be enjoyed by anyone not afraid of spiders or snakes.
And here ends A Hoggy, Wartsy Happening.
Please, join us next time for the third chapter in this series, Chapter Three: The Furry Teacher
Chapter Three: The Furry Teacher by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
The world has responded ecstatically to the release of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’, the second book of the Harry Potter series. But now as Happy and his team approach their third challenge, everyone has one question in their minds:
What will they write about?
Happy, Jackie and the Authors join us again for the third, fun instalment of ‘The Harry Potter Literary Storm’.
Disclaimer: I’ve decided to express my disclaim-ment using symbols.
Mad AU Characters = Mine
Everything Else = JK Rowling’s
As usual, thanks go to Schmergo for the fantastic work as beta for this story. Also, extra, flattered thanks for your Quicksilver Quills nominations, Schmergo and Valentinia - I'm buzzing around, on top of the world... Cheers so much, you guys!
But now, on to chapter three...
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Three: The Furry Teacher
For the first time in a very long time, Happy O’Brien felt uneasy. Sure, the second Harry Potter book, ‘Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince’ had cooked up a Category Two literary storm. Sure, he was more of a billionaire than ever, and sure, his secret identity was holding up and life simply couldn’t get any better than this.
But poor, sad Happy felt uneasy.
He had no idea what to write the third book about.
As far as he was concerned, he had milked the idea for all it was worth, and he planned to fix all of this when the anonymous authors arrived at nine o’clock sharp.
When nine o’clock finally came around, and the usual bustling of every one of the anonymous authors trying to come through the door at the same time occurred, Happy stood up. It was time to get back on track “ he had to! The literary world simply depended upon it.
“My dear anonymous authors and assistant Jackie,” he addressed. The entire round table of authors and Jackie looked at him intently, as Happy made his way to the head. “We need to really get serious about this. Yes, we have caused a Category Two literary storm. Yes, I’m a genius. Yes, Harry Potter and JK Rowling are as much loved around the world as coke, rainbows, and early morning in Paris. But we have more books to write! Now, who has an idea for the next one? Anyone?”
There was a pause. Then, in their usual fashion, the authors came up with ideas, one by one.
“How about this? While at school, Harry Potter sees a bird?”
“We’ve done that twice!” snapped Happy. “Have you forgotten Hedwig? Fawkes? One more bird and it will become a bird series and the birdwatcher magazines will want interviews!”
“Or how about,” suggested another author, “something about flying, like some kind of magical plane?”
“You moron!” snapped Happy. “Have you forgotten all about broomsticks? The flying car? And Fawkes?”
“Ooh, I’ve an idea,” twittered an anonymous author who had obviously received Happy’s double-double-triple-strength coffee by mistake. “How about a sort of magical Superman?” Happy groaned.
“You people need to use your memories!” he snapped. “Have you forgotten Dumbledore? And Hermione? And Fawkes? Proper literary devices, people. We’re already practically a Superman Revisited series. Come on!”
“How about the classic “ we kill off a father figure,” an author put forward thoughtfully.
“Dunderhead! He doesn’t have a father figure! We can’t kill Dumbledore, it’s far too early for Ron, and Fawkes can’t even be killed.”
“Alright,” said the author. “I have an even better one: We introduce a father figure.”
Happy tapped his chin.
“Hmm…” he muttered thoughtfully.
“I have something written down here,” said Jackie, “it says, ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’. Does that help?”
“It may do,” said Happy quietly, and then, as a stroke of ingenious inspiration hit him, he raised his voice to shout, “It certainly may do just that! Read back the characters we’ve introduced but have never seen,” he told one anonymous author.
“Let’s see,” said the author. “We have Sirius Black, who was a brother to James Potter…”
“Let’s put him in Azkaban,” said Happy. “Write that down, everyone.”
“Remus Lupin, who was a wolf but was still really nice…”
“A rabid wolf for a teacher! Excellent!” exclaimed Happy. “But make sure it’s a secret, people. Go on, go on!”
“Peter Pettigrew, who was somewhat nondescript…”
“A nondescript person, fantastic!” Happy told them all. “Keep him in mind, everyone.”
“And lastly, Martin Malovski Saint Clair, who was a muggle friend of Lily’s and who sold out the Potters in order to survive the war, but then Pyrites, that dude from book one, chapter one, turned him into a rat.”
“Terrific!” Happy bellowed, now back to his happy, bubbly self. “But as a fun twist, let’s say that Ron owns that rat…”
Well, as you would expect, the writing of the illustrious third Harry Potter book, ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’, began there and then. For three hundred days and three hundred nights, the writers wrote, and by the time they had reached their deadline, the book was polished to perfection. In the fast-paced world of literature, Happy once more only had the time to read one chapter. But he chose it very carefully “ seven was his favourite number.
Chapter 7: The Braggart in the Wardrobe
The days had rolled on as calmly as days could roll on when there was a prisoner on the loose, and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the friends with matching noses, had a terrific time with the third member of their group, Ron Weasley. They went to classes, where Hermione was a genius and got fantastic grades in every test, Harry scraped past every test, usually without flying colours, and Ron’s grades were entirely nondescript and sometimes poor.
Ron did have something more interesting than grades going on, and that was his rat, the lazy, fat Scabbers.
“I swear,” said Ron, “my rat is the most interesting thing about me.”
“I don’t know,” contradicted Harry, “your comical arachnophobia is also interesting.”
Hermione laughed out loud.
“Especially when it’s comical!” she told the two boys, wiping a happy tear from her eye.
However, they did not get to continue their discussion about Ron, because at that point, their favourite teacher entered the room. His name was Professor Lupin, and they loved him very much, but there was something strange about him. No one, however, could quite pinpoint what it was exactly. It was probably nothing, but something about his short, furry legs, large, wolf-like ears and small, wet nose, was out of the ordinary.
“Good morning, class,” said Professor Lupin.
“Good morning, Professor Lupin,” said the class.
“Today,” he told them, “we will be doing some hands on work with a funny little creature “ the Braggart.”
“Please, sir, what’s a Braggart?” asked Ron eagerly.
“Who knows what a Braggart is?” asked Professor Lupin. Everyone in the class put up their hands, except for poor Ron.
“Yes, Hermione?” asked Lupin, as he scratched behind his ear with his back leg.
“A Braggart is a very boastful creature, which shows off its magical power by turning into what we fear the most,” Hermione explained clearly.
“Very good,” Lupin commended her. “Now, the only way to destroy a Braggart is to show off your magical power, by making it come face to face with what it is most afraid of. Who can guess what that might be?”
No one “ not even Hermione “ put up their hands, so Professor Lupin decided to randomly ask Harry.
“Well, I suppose it’s most afraid of being embarrassed, isn’t it?” he guessed, “if it’s showing off all the time? I know that’s Malfoy’s greatest fear.”
Somewhere in the castle, Malfoy quivered in much-dreaded embarrassment.
“That’s right,” Lupin told Harry. “The key to destroying a Braggart is to embarrass him. To do it right, you will need to point your wand at it and cry, ‘you are ridiculous’. And then, what finishes it off is laughter.”
The class let out a collective, “Ooh…”
“Now,” Lupin went on, “since I have no hands and can’t hold a wand, I will get a volunteer to go first. You “ the scared looking one who’s avoiding eye-contact with me? Yes, you, Neville, eh? Come over here.”
Neville cowered.
“It’s okay. I don’t bite,” Lupin said soothingly.
“But you have such enormous teeth,” said Neville.
“Oh, ignore them,” said Lupin, “and hurry, please. Good, good. Now, tell me. What are you most afraid of?”
“In the whole world?” asked Neville.
“In the whole world,” conceded Lupin. Neville bit his lip, and crouched down to whisper in Lupin’s ear. The small, hairy teacher chuckled. “Snape? Are you sure?”
Neville nodded.
“He’s really all scowl, no chow, you know.”
Neville shrugged, apparently sure and somewhat embarrassed.
“That’s perfectly fine, Neville,” Lupin told him. Neville gulped. “Now, picture the thing you are least afraid of.” Neville thought hard.
“Mockulus Mandlecoff Carambulata,” he said quite certainly. “The Chinese fighting cabbage.”
“Okay,” said Lupin, “now, picture that as your worst fear comes out of the closet, and don’t forget, Neville, ‘you are ridiculous’!”
“I am not!” snapped Neville, and then blushed as he realised what Lupin meant.
“Of course you are, Neville. Now, if someone wouldn’t mind opening the door of the cupboard? I can’t do it with my small, clawed hands.”
No one volunteered, but then Lupin growled at the class, baring his teeth, and Parvati Patil dashed forward and opened the cupboard, quickly running out of the way.
From inside the cupboard marched Professor Snape, who scowled at Neville menacingly.
“Stupid work!” he accused meanly. “You’re bad!” Neville quivered, but pointed his wand at the Snape. With a burst of courage, Neville pronounced,
“You are ridiculous!”
The Snape faltered, as a giant Chinese Fighting Cabbage approached him with an odd looking pitchfork weapon. The Snape backed off slightly, assessing the situation.
What followed was a terrible fight, through which the cabbage forced the Snape into seventeen different frilly hats, and even, when he was least expecting it, knocked him into a little baby’s carriage and sang, ‘Hush, Little Snapey’.
By the end of it, the Braggart was so embarrassed from the class laughing at him, that he went back to hide in the cupboard. Lupin laughed.
“Very good, Neville,” he commended, “and well done to the imaginary Chinese Fighting Cabbage. The Braggart has descended back into the cupboard. Now, who wants to go next?”
The rest of the lesson was a lot of fun, although Lupin never asked Harry to come forward to face the Braggart. By the end of it, everyone’s bellies hurt from all the laughing, and when Lupin asked Neville to come back once more to finish it off, the class got the last laugh which embarrassed the Braggart so much, it exploded into dust. The only unusual occurrence during the class was when Lupin had accidentally gotten too close to the Braggart, and it had turned into a veterinarian.
“I wonder why Lupin’s afraid of a veterinarian?” wondered Harry aloud, as they walked down the hall. Lupin soon barked after the class,
“And don’t forget to write your homework in black ink, or at least in very dark colours!”
Happy chuckled.
“And the world thinks the Harry Potter storm is pretty amazing. You wait until this book comes out.”
All the authors nodded, cheerfully and in unison.
“To ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’!” toasted Jackie, with one of the new solid gold wine goblets, “JK Rowling’s latest creation yet!”
Harry Potter is now approaching his third year of Hogwarts, but everything is not as simple as it seems!
For Harry doesn’t realise that, even if he does manage to get to Hogwarts in the first place, adventure awaits!
Who is the ragged prisoner on the news, who looks remarkably like Harry and has the same little nose as he and Hermione? What is with the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher? Are the Dursleys completely off their rockers? You’ll find out this and more in:
‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’!
And here ends Chapter Three. Join us next time for the longest and my favourite chapter yet...
Chapter Four: The Next Book About the Guy With the Thing
Chapter Four, Part One: The Next Book About the Guy With the Thing by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Happy has never been so happy with himself. The Harry Potter books couldn’t be more successful, and are receiving glowing reviews, the Potter Phenomenon is simply phenomenal, and, as usual, he’s the one to thank for it all.
What will Happy O’Brien, Jackie van de Geissen and all the anonymous authors come up with for the fourth and middle Harry Potter book?
Disclaimer: I would like to disclaim everything that’s not mine in this story “ in other words, basically everything that’s really worth owning. I own Happy, Jackie, the Authors, ‘News Newspaper’, the random fan and Dr. Bryant, but other than that, everything belongs to the wonderful JK Rowling.
I'm sorry, guys. I promised my favourite chapter yet, but for some reason, the chapter's being chopped off after 4,700 words. Which seems like such a random number. Anyway, the point is, I've chopped it in half. The much-beloved part will be in chapter four, part two. So stick around!
As usual, my rambunctious thanks go to Schmergo, for her fantastic beta-ing, infectious enthusiasm and random comment about wanting to see more of Happy's version of Voldemort, which led to the creation of the entire second part of this chapter. You rock, Schmergo!
I'd also like to remind everyone that I am forever grateful to Schmergo, Valentinia and Froggie, who all nominated this story for the QsQ awards. You guys really poured yet more fuel into Happy's ego.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Four: The Next Book About the Guy With the Thing
Happy was laughing.
“Listen to this!” he cried, reading from a newspaper. “‘World Hit by Category Three Literary Storm!’
“‘As JK Rowling’s ‘Harry Potter’ series continues, it only gets better, according to a recent poll held by ‘News Newspaper’. While experts fail to explain what has been described as the ‘Potter Phenomenon’, fans are just eager for the next book to finally come out.
“‘I just know there’s something going on with Harry and Hermione,’ one enthusiastic fan told reporters. ‘I mean, they have the same little nose! It’s a little clue, and that’s why Harry Potter’s so amazing.’ She continued to explain: ‘I think what’s so great is that it’s like a detective story… Like with Lupin turning out to be a rabid wolf who needs to get shots every month, which causes him to go temporarily insane in anger, and Martin Malovski Saint Clair being Ron’s rat all along… you have no idea what’s going on, but then at the end it’s like you should have known from the beginning!’
“Experts describe this as the ‘fantastic literature’ syndrome. Says Dr Bryant of Hemingway’s School of Literature,
“‘I think what J.K. Rowling is doing is just amazing. Neirbo Publications and J.K. Rowling deliver masterpiece after masterpiece… There are so many characters, you have to identify with at least one… Personally, my favourite character is Snape. I don’t know why… ‘Your work is bad’, ‘I don’t like you very much, Potter’, ‘that potion is yucky’,’ Bryant laughs warmly, ‘So witty! See? Potter fever has even affected me!’
“While the mystery of Harry Potter’s past becomes more and more intriguing, with every piece of new information bringing up more questions than ever, the upcoming book, rumoured to be called ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’, is sure to be a hit.”
The anonymous authors, Jackie and Happy all high-fived each other.
“So,” said Happy, wiping a happy tear from his eye, “what’s next on the agenda?” Jackie looked at his piece of butchers’ paper.
“Next, it says to write the fourth book,” he explained.
“Hmm…” Happy pondered, tapping his chin. “Interesting. I think what we need to do with this book is give the readers a surprise “ some curiosity, you know? Everything’s following the same format. We need a change.”
“What kind of change?” asked Jackie. The authors all nodded.
“A new title,” said Happy, “and a creative one at that. Suggestions, anyone?”
“‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’?” suggested an author. Happy rolled his eyes.
“Is that your way of surprising people “ giving them exactly what they expect? We need something different. Something better.”
“‘Harry Potter and the Escapee of Azkaban’?”
“Definitely… not!” snapped Happy.
“‘Harry Potter Goes Ice Skating’?” suggested Jackie.
“It has a nice ring to it,” admitted Happy, “but no.”
“‘Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament’?” an author proposed.
“Not quite there,” Happy said. “Tweak it. Something with more drama!”
“‘Harry Potter and the Doomspell Tournament’?” the author tweaked.
“I like it!” Happy said excitedly, marvelling at his own genius. But it needed one more little change. “But a little more mystery would be nice… we need to break the regular pattern.”
On the white-board, which was in the room although they had never used it, Happy wrote,
‘HARRY POTTER AND THE DOOMSPELL TOURNAMENT’
All their authors tapped their noses, until…
“I have the perfect idea,” said one. “It’s simple, and crazy, but it just might work…”
He made the change up on the board.
“Genius, my dear author!” Happy exclaimed, and clapped him on the back. “Have a 12% pay rise…”
Over the following four hundred and seventy-four days and nights, Happy, Jackie and the authors wrote and wrote, one plan after another, one chapter after the next, until it was ready for publishing.
“Now,” Happy told the authors, as the manuscript sat on the table, piling almost up to the ceiling, “I think, since the title’s a little risky, we will have to choose a chapter or two to send to the publishing company, to prove our Harry Potter book is brilliant, like the rest of them.”
They spent the next three hours presenting propositions, and voting, until they finally decided upon their feature chapters.
Chapter 12: Doomspell Me
“I’m so glad I’m finally getting the chance to watch another sorting,” Harry commented to his two best friends: Hermione, whose hair was big and puffy just like her brain, and Ron, whose hair was carrot-coloured, just like a carrot.
“Yeah,” said Ron, “Me too. It’s a shame Ginny’s not being sorted this year, the first year we’ve been to a sorting since our own.” Harry nodded, although he really couldn’t care less whether he’d seen Ron’s little sister’s sorting ceremony.
“I was there!” piped up another red-head, but this time it was a girl. Harry looked at her, confused.
“Harry, aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ to Mafalda?” asked Ron, as if Harry was being very rude.
“Oh, sorry,” said Harry. “Hello, Mafalda. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “and it’s about bloody time, too. Mafalda’s in our year, Harry, and has always been in some of our classes!”
“Not to mention,” added Ron, “she’s a very popular member of my extended family!”
Harry blinked.
“Really?” Everyone nodded. “I’m sorry, I never noticed, Mafalda.”
“That’s okay,” said Mafalda, “Hermione explained you were a little dim.”
Harry blinked again.
“You should probably get back to the rest of the Slytherins, Mafalda,” Ron suggested. Mafalda nodded.
“Goodbye, Herm. Bye, Ronno. See you later, Harry.” She walked back to her own table, on the way receiving waves from the twins.
“NOW!” exclaimed Dumbledore, and the entire Great Hall of students jumped. He cleared his throat. “Now,” he began again, “for everyone who is new to the school, allow me to run you through all the obvious information. As for everyone else, I’ll shout again when you need to listen.”
“What a considerate Headmaster,” commented Fred and/or George Weasley.
“I wonder who the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is this year,” Harry changed the subject.
“Me too,” said Ron.
“Me three,” agreed Hermione. “Whoever it is, they’re not here yet.”
“Neither is Snape,” put in Harry, unnecessarily. “How odd.”
“Maybe he stepped on a crack and broke his back,” suggested Ron, evilly.
“LISTEN!” bellowed Dumbledore now, and everyone stopped talking. “Now I have some stuff to tell everyone in the school. There will be no Quidditch this year.”
Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were about to faint. Several people were preparing to groan, angrily, and the twins took deep breaths to shout something very rude.
“But,” Dumbledore went on, “Before you start fainting and groaning and being rude, let me tell you: we will have a very big year, because this year, Hogwarts will be hosting the first Doomspell tournament in 700 years!”
“You’re joking!” exclaimed Fred and/or George Weasley in awe, and then for a moment the Great Hall fell into silence. “What’s a Doomspell tournament?” Dumbledore chuckled.
“Well, Fred and/or George Weasley, a long time ago, there were three wizarding schools called ‘Durmstrang’, ‘Beauxbatons’ and ‘Hogwarts’. They were in three different countries, but still got on really, really well. Thus, they decided to hold a contest. Each school would have one Champion enter the contest, and whichever Champion won received the Doomspell cup, and their school was named the Coolest school. However, because so many champions died, the contest was discontinued.
“Representatives of those same three schools have recently decided that the time is absolutely ripe for another shot at inter-school and international unity.”
“Cool,” commented Fred and/or George, happily.
“Indeed,” agreed Dumbledore. “Now, this year“”
But at that moment, Dumbledore was interrupted by a loud, crashing noise.
“Whatever could that be?” he wondered aloud. His question was soon answered as two highly mismatched people entered the Great Hall, one with a spinning magical eye and the other with a hooked nose and greasy hair.
“Oh my goodness!” whispered Ron, “that guy looks so creepy!”
“Yes,” whispered Hermione, “I think his eye just spun into the back of his head!”
“No!” hissed Ron, “That’s only Mad-Eye Moody, the questionably sane ex-Auror! He’s just an old friend of my Dad’s. I was referring to Snape! He’s even meaner and wittier looking than ever!”
“Sorry we’re late,” the crazy-looking fellow with the magical, electric blue eye apologised. Harry noticed he also had a wooden leg, and scars covering him from top to wooden toe.
“That’s okay,” said Dumbledore. “Did you run into trouble?”
“Yeah,” said Moody, “I ran into this hooligan.”
Snape did not seem to appreciate being called a hooligan.
“Now, now, Mad-Eye,” Dumbledore tut-tutted sternly. “You know perfectly well that I don’t believe that Severus is a hooligan. Not any more, anyway. Now, he’s just a sallow, mean-spirited Potions Master.”
“See?” demanded Snape angrily. “I told you!”
“Yeah, well,” muttered Moody. “I still don’t like you.”
“You’re stupid,” argued back Snape as cleverly as ever.
“Now, I think, would be a good time to introduce you all to your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and your old Potions Master,” Dumbledore told everyone. “Professor Moody and Professor Snape.” He applauded them, indifferent to their angry mutterings, and went on. “Anyway, since these two distracted me, I’m afraid I’ve kept our foreign guests waiting! May I introduce to you the very large Madame Maxime and the students of Beauxbatons!”
From the ceiling then fluttered down several students, and one very large, female teacher, assumedly Madame Maxime. The Hogwarts students all clapped politely, though Harry expected that they, like him, were jealous that the students had been allowed to fly in the Great Hall, something which Dumbledore had never let them do.
“Hello, Madame!”
“Oh, hello!” Madame Maxime greeted Dumbledore.
“I trust your giant carriage had no problem flying to the school, pulled by massive winged horses?” asked Dumbledore.
“Of course not,” Madam Mazime told him. “Your school roof is so very flat after all.” Dumbledore, not being able to reach her head or shoulder, awkwardly patted her on the shin.
“And finally, of course, it’s time to introduce the students of Durmstrang and their highly questionable Headmaster, Professor Karkaroff!”
There was a rumbling beneath the floor, and, after a moment or so, several shovels began to pop out, followed by the drill-shaped helmets of the students of Durmstrang. Their teacher, apparently called ‘Karkaroff’, marched proudly to the front of the hall, brushing dirt all over the floor.
“Dumbo, old man!” he greeted amiably. Dumbledore, who apparently didn’t appreciate being called ‘Dumbo’ any more than Snape liked being called a hooligan, ignored him.
“A round of the plause for the students of Durmstrang please!” Dumbledore addressed the students, who, not liking the fact that most of them had been flicked with sawdust and dirt (not to mention the fact that their Headmaster had just been called ‘Dumbo’) clapped very unenthusiastically.
What happened next, however, surely changed the Hogwarts students’ moods. As the Durmstrang students removed their disgusting helmets, one of them shone above the rest of them, an ugly yet amazing specimen of athletic talent.
Ron choked on his surprise and consequently passed out.
“Harry,” Hermione said, realisation in her voice, “isn’t that that guy from the game who beat that guy to get the thing?!”
Harry nodded.
“Yes, Hermione, I think that’s the guy.”
With a paper clip, Happy put this chapter together, and then reached for the other favourite...
To be continued...
I know. It's cruel. But I promise that part two will be up as quickly as I can get it up.
Come back next time for Happy's 'Chapter 23: A Dark Power Darkly Darkens the Day'!
But before then, thanks for reading and reviewers are are like chocolate, in most ways except for the fact that if you review, I promise not to eat you...
Chapter Four, Part Two: The Next Chapter About the Next Book About the Guy With the Thing by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
It's time for Happy to inspect the second featured chapter of the fourth Harry Potter book: A Dark Power Darkly Darkens the Day.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine, although I just realised that I did, in fact, invent Martin Malovski Saint Clair. Never the less, anything you know and love in this story is not mine, and belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
Well, here I am, back on track with the rest of chapter four. As always, uninhibited thanks go to the lovely Schmergo. Without her, I would never have considered writing this section, which turned out to be one of my favourites. A round of the plause for Schmergo, please! *Round of the plauses*
Previously, on The Harry Potter Literary Storm:
“Harry,” Hermione said, realisation in her voice, “isn’t that that guy from the game who beat that guy to get the thing?!”
Harry nodded.
“Yes, Hermione, I think that’s the guy.”
With a paper clip, Happy put this chapter together, and then reached for the other favourite…
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Part Two: The Next Chapter About the Next Book About the Guy With the Thing
Chapter 23: A Dark Power Darkly Darkens the Day
Harry and Cedric looked around the graveyard.
“Wow,” said Cedric. “Harry, I think this is a graveyard.”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry. “I hope neither of us is soon to need a grave though. There’s an ominous air about this place.”
“Ominous is right!” shouted another voice. The two boys looked around, to see a hooded figure slouching towards them, carrying what looked to be a bundle of robes.
“Who are you?” demanded Cedric. The hooded figure did not answer, but yet another nasty voice filled the air. It was more unpleasant than any voice that had rung through the grave yard so far, and its tone spoke of a fate worse than death (possibly disembodiment).
“Kill the spare…” it hissed. The hooded figure looked at the bundle of robes.
“But master, how?” it asked.
“Use your wand, you imbecile,” replied the voice. The hooded figure nodded and pulled out a wand.
“Avada Kedavra!” shouted the figure. Harry gasped and looked toward Cedric, who gasped and looked back at Harry, both expecting the other to be limp, dead.
“Err “ play dead,” Harry told Cedric.
“No, you play dead. You’re the important one,” Cedric contradicted. “I’m the heroic looking one, who is handsome and the Champion of Hufflepuff!”
“But this is my fight!” argued Harry, “and you don’t have much time!” Cedric scowled at him.
“Alright, but if you’re in trouble, I’m going to charge in loyally and save you.”
Harry huffed.
“Fine. But not until I say the code word.”
“What’s the code word?” asked Cedric.
“Err “ ‘secret’,” Harry told him, thinking quickly. “Now play dead!”
Still not happy with the result, Cedric clutched his heart.
“Ack!” he cried tragically. “I’ve been cursed with a curse that kills ruthlessly and instantly!”
And he crumpled to the ground. Harry looked at the hooded figure.
“What are you playing at?” he demanded. The hooded figure, however, was looking from his wand to Cedric.
“It worked, my Lord! It worked! I knew I’d be able to pick up the gist of magic!”
“Yesss…” the horrible hissing voice replied. This reminded Harry of something…
“Can I ask you something, just quickly, before you kill me or torture me or raise Voldemort or whatever?” he asked.
“Just quickly,” accepted the hooded figure.
“Do you “ uh “ have a face on the back of your head?”
“No,” the hooded person told him. “I have a face on the front of my head, just like everybody else.”
“Enough!” shouted the hissing voice, which, Harry was sure, was the voice of Voldemort. It was body-less, and every word sounded like a strain. Somewhere in those crumpled robes, Harry was sure there must be some kind of demented figure, a desperate attempt at form after cheating death. “Tie him up…”
The hooded figure looked around for some rope.
“How, my Lord?”
“Fool!” snapped the voice of Voldemort. “Use your wand…” The hooded figure looked at his wand, and then at Harry, and, although he could not see the man’s face, Harry was sure his look was doubtful.
“Erm “ Abracadabra Rope!”
Harry just stared.
“Very well,” hissed the voice. “Give the wand to me. If this weakens me so that my transformation cannot be complete, I will hold you completely responsible…” The hooded figure gulped, and put the wand in the cloak.
Wordlessly, Voldemort, whatever form he was in, caused thin ropes to appear, and fasten Harry to the nearest tomb stone.
“Now,” hissed Voldemort. “Hurry up and perform the spell, before I grow any more impatient, weak or angry…”
“Three pounds of dirt, deliberately dug-up, you will become somewhat more important…” began the hooded figure, and awkwardly placed the wrapped form of Voldemort upon the ground to dig up three pounds of dirt, and place them in a large cauldron that Harry had not noticed before.
“Three drops of pumpkin juice, easily snatched, you will be added next…” chanted the hooded figure.
“I have a question,” said Harry.
“A question?” asked the hooded figure, adding pumpkin juice to the potion.
“Yes, a question,” Harry told him. “Well… maybe two. Who are you, and what are you doing?” The hooded figure paused.
“One moment,” he apologised. “Dead father’s favourite whiskey, cheaply bought, you will do some evil…” As the whiskey was being poured from the small-mouthed bottle, the hooded person addressed Harry once more. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I assume you’re a Knight of Walpurgis, and you’re probably trying to give Voldemort a better form than whatever disgusting creature he is now…”
“When I get my body,” hissed Voldemort, “I will kill you horribly.”
“It’s not disgusting,” the hooded figure said. “Just mist and vapour. Here, I’ll show you.”
He poked the robes with a stick, and a small phial of white mist rolled out onto the ground.
“That’s really weird,” Harry told his two acquaintances. Voldemort’s voice hissed, infuriated.
“Don’t infuriate the Dark Lord!” snapped the hooded figure. “One more moment… Hair of the enemy, gained without much effort, you will resurrect your foe.” He chopped a section of Harry’s hair off, and Harry winced, unable to stop all this from happening.
“Who are you?!” he demanded again, newly frightened and angry.
“Who do you think?” inquired the hooded figure.
“I don’t know. But you’re really bad at magic, and kind of pathetic. Also, I get this vibe from you of guilt.”
“Right on the mark,” the hooded figure told him, and, having added the chunk of hair to the potion, approached Harry. “You want to know who I am?” he asked.
“Yes,” Harry told him, annoyed. “I have asked you several times now!”
The hooded figure withdrew his hood, to reveal…
A face that Harry barely recognised.
“You!” Harry exclaimed. It was the man from the Shrieking Shack. “I know you! You betrayed my parents!”
“Sort of,” admitted the man.
“Marty “ something!” Harry shouted angrily. “You vermin!”
“Martin Malovski Saint Clair,” corrected the self-acclaimed Martin Malovski Saint Clair.
“You demon!” accused Harry. “You weak, old coward!”
“I’m not weak!” Martin told Harry angrily, “I killed that boy over there, which is pretty good for a muggle! And I’m not old! I’m thirty-seven!” Harry cleared his throat, and tried to sound convincing.
“Yeah… uh, right. Killed him. You monstery… er “ monster person.”
“Hurry!” hissed Voldemort, from inside the small glass bottle. “I grow weak from lying here, and yet my anger grows stronger!”
Martin Malovski Saint Clair yelped, and got back to the potion.
“Flesh of servant, willingly given, you shall bring back your master…” He withdrew a long, dangerous looking knife, and Harry winced, squinting, because somehow he could not simply look away. Martin gritted his teeth, and drew back the weapon, ready to swipe…
And with it, he scraped the skin from one of his knuckles.
Whimpering, Martin Malovski Saint Clair approached the little glass vial.
“V-vapour of master, monotonously collected, y-you will be whole once more.”
He hobbled to the vial and grasped it in his good hand, and walked back to the potion. With a deep breath, he dropped it in…
Let it break, Harry thought desperately, please let it be broken, let the vapour escape or be poisoned…
But apparently Harry’s prayers were not to be answered this time, as the potion turned the bright orange of a pumpkin, or the head of a Weasley. From out of the potion emerged a head, with slits for a nose and vivid red eyes, and then a glowing white body.
Lord Voldemort had risen again.
He yawned deeply, terribly, like he had woken from a long sleep.
“Where are my robes?” he demanded, with a voice that could shatter the heart of a snake. Martin Malovski Saint Clair, still struggling not to whimper from his skinned knuckle, brought the robes to Voldemort, who put them on easily. “Ah. Robes. Do you know how long it has been since I wore robes?” he asked, a biting edge to his tone.
“Does when you were on the back of Professor Squirrel’s head count?” asked Harry, in a little, squeaky voice that could shatter the heart of a mouse.
“No!” snapped the Dark Lord.
“Then, no, I don’t know,” replied Harry.
“Of course not,” Voldemort told him. “Of course not.”
“Master,” begged Martin Malovski Saint Clair. “Master, you promised…”
Rolling his red eyes, Voldemort drew his wand. In the air, was forming something that looked like a metallic thimble. It turned and reformed, until it had formed a perfect, molten brass knuckle, and landed upon Martin’s hand. He admired it proudly.
“Now,” Voldemort got back down to business, “let’s see who will come when I call, after all these years…” He clapped his hands twice, and whistled.
Barely moments later, Knights of Walpurgis began to arrive, each at a different position in Voldemort’s circle. Each wore a dark cloak, that completely hid their identities,
“One, two, three…” counted Voldemort, turning around as he counted up the Knights. “Four, five, six, seven…” Tremors spread around the circle, as the Knights saw missing spaces amongst them, where Harry supposed more Knights would usually stand. “… twenty-three!”
Harry, personally, thought this number of loyal servants to be quite impressive.
“I know where they are,” Voldemort said. “Dead, imprisoned. The most faithful are not amongst us. And some of them are probably asleep, as I have learned that many of my Knights work night-shifts for the Ministry of Magic now…”
Murmurs spread around the circle.
“I am deeply troubled,” confessed Voldemort, “as I have learned that many of you are not loyal to me any longer. But that will change, won’t it? By coming here today, you have signed a magical contract which now calls for you to make up thirteen years of service, and I will hold you to it.”
“Mr Dark Lord,” began a Knight, raising one hand. “I’m sure we all want to know “ how are you here? Also, where is your nose?”
“Fool!” snapped Voldemort. “Evil knows no nose. Absolute evil, that is. That’s why I like snakes so much. Also pigs.”
“But Sir, pigs have very prominent noses“”
“Pigs have snouts!” shouted Voldemort, and all the Knights jumped. Harry would have jumped, except he was tied up. “And I cannot believe you are asking how I am here. You all know the steps that I have taken to achieve immortality… Well; technically you know that I have taken steps to achieve immortality. The rest I’m keeping to myself! And you have the nerve to ask how I have returned? Have you no faith?”
“Of course I have faith, my Lord. I’m sorry I asked…”
“So you should be!” snapped Voldemort. “I have it written in my journal “ that’s right, my journal!” he added dramatically, as the circle of Knights had quivered at the mention of Voldemort’s journal, “that you used to be very faithful, Nott. Quite faithful indeed. But if I discover differently…”
“No, my Lord, I am your most faithful“”
“Good!” interrupted Voldemort. “Good. Because you all know of my secret, and“”
Several tomb stones away, Cedric heard the code word and sprung to his feet.
“No, get down!” shouted Harry. Everyone looked at him, but more importantly, Cedric got down.
“Were you talking to me?” asked Voldemort.
“No!” Harry said, “No, I was talking to no one. Please continue.”
“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, “you know I have a secret“”
Cedric arose again, wand at the ready.
“That wasn’t me!” shouted Harry, annoyed. Everyone looked at him again.
“I know,” Voldemort told him, irritation showing in his face, too. “I was talking to the Knights of Walpurgis. Why on Earth would I tell you my secret?”
“Sit down!” shouted Harry, as Cedric rose, once more.
“Are you ordering me around now, Potter?” demanded Voldemort. “You think that because, as a baby, you defeated me for so many years, you are the boss now?”
“No,” Harry told him, earnestly. “I just don’t want you to say ‘secret’“” Cedric rose, his face flushed from all this standing and sitting. “Sit down, you moron!” Harry yelled, face flushed from all this yelling.
Voldemort’s face didn’t flush because he was so pale, Harry thought he mustn’t contain blood. Still, he looked angry.
“What did you say to me?” he demanded, gritting his teeth.
“I said not to say ‘secret’,” Harry repeated, “Stop it!” he added to Cedric, who ducked down again.
“Why shouldn’t I say ‘secret’?” asked Voldemort, annoyed and a little confused, though he didn’t want Harry to know that.
“I said ‘sit’! You stupid “ dunderhead!” screamed Harry, frustrated. Cedric jumped heroically to his feet every time someone said the code word. Voldemort’s anger radiated like heat from a fire.
“Dunderhead?!” he demanded.
“Not you,” Harry told him.
“Who then?” Voldemort asked.
“Err “ no one,” Harry said. “Please, go on.” With one more suspicious look, Voldemort went back to his Knights.
“As I was saying, you all know of my secret, and“”
“Sit down, shut up and just stay STILL!” bellowed Harry to Cedric.
“How dare you order me around!” bellowed back Voldemort.
“Well, stop saying ‘secret’ then!” Harry told Voldemort. “It’s nothing!” he added, shouting to Cedric, who still incessantly rose every time someone mentioned the word. “Will you please just use your common sense?!” Voldemort hissed.
“Use my common sense, and do what? Follow your instructions?” he demanded. “Never, Potter! Secret, secret, SECRET!”
“Well fine!” yelled Harry to Cedric, who had risen, yet again. “Fine. Just do it then! Get yourself killed!”
“Are you threatening me, Potter?!” demanded Voldemort. “I, the Dark Lord, the most powerful wizard on this Earth?!” Cedric pointed to himself, and then down, with a questioning look on his face. Harry nodded, significantly.
At this point, Voldemort let out an aggravated roar.
“Very well, then!” he hissed at Harry. “Let’s see how you go in a duel! I will crush you like a boa constrictor crushes a rat!” With a wave of his wand, Harry’s bindings were gone.
“What did I do?” demanded Harry, who had just become relieved that Cedric had finally gotten the message and didn’t want to spoil that moment of calm. Violently, Voldemort threw Harry’s wand at him, and his own seemed to be emitting sparks, in reaction to his intense anger. Harry grabbed the wand, and Voldemort began to open his mouth.
Taking that as an invitation to hide, Harry ducked behind the grave stone he had been tied to, breathing heavily, and grasping his wand like a life-line. This was it.
“I knew it. You were bluffing,” accused Voldemort.
“I wasn’t bluffing about anything!” Harry told him truthfully.
“So you’re going to kill me from behind the grave stone?” inquired Voldemort.
Harry gritted his teeth. Voldemort didn’t expect him to come out, but… he had to. It was the most sensible thing. Come out before his enemy expected it.
“Err “ yeah!” he told Voldemort, his stomach writhing. “I’m making a potion as we speak.”
“A potion?” asked Voldemort, laughing. “What kind of potion? Going to give me the hiccups, Potter?”
“No,” Harry told him, “I’m going to “ uh…” He looked around him for inspiration. The grave before him read,
‘Mindy Boccanchini, died by way of a potion made by using the deadly spores of a poisonous cactus, which seeped instantaneously through her skin.’
“I’m going to turn you into a cactus!” he shouted to Voldemort. “And then I’m going to step on you!” Voldemort laughed.
“You can’t do that,” he told Harry.
“I can!” yelled Harry, “and it’ll be ready in five… four…” It was now or never. Jumping out before Voldemort would expect it, Harry hurled himself around the gravestone, screaming the first spell that came to mind, “You are ridiculous!” Well, humiliating Voldemort couldn’t hurt, right?
However, something very different happened. Voldemort’s reflexes were, apparently, fantastic, so he had shot a spell in the split second Harry had, and the spells had collided in the air. Instead of bouncing off from each other, however, as Harry expected, the spells sort of connected, so a long string of magic made its way from Harry’s wand to Voldemort’s wand…
Well, it didn’t get him out of there, but he was at least safe for the moment. Now, Voldemort didn’t have the upper hand… they were both freaked out.
Naturally, the letter from the publishers arrived barely an hour later, and not just because Happy owned and ran the company! The person who had written it seemed desperate to know what happened next.
Approximately two days following that momentous moment, ‘The Doomspell Tournament’ hit the shelves, and the fourth Harry Potter book took the world by surprise, rocketing the Harry Potter Literary Storm from a Category Three to a Category Four. Harry Potter was making history.
As Harry Potter’s fifteenth year of living begins with his fourteenth birthday, he has more to look forward to than just any old school year. Yes, there is merriment and enjoyment even before he gets to Hogwarts. But will merriment and enjoyment turn into evil?
A jam-packed school year begins at the beginning and runs all the way to the end, as Harry gains several new friends and opponents, which threaten to both hinder and help him in his adventures. Will the assistance (and obstacles) of people who are beautiful, puffy, tall, just, unjust, very tall, old and untrustworthy get him through or get him out of this year’s organised challenges?
‘The Doomspell Tournament,’ the next book in J.K. Rowling’s ingenious series, following the acclaimed, ‘Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban’ will keep you on the edge of your metaphorical seat from beginning until about half-way, then you will completely fall into the drama of Harry Potter’s fourth year of schooling.
Chapter Five, Part One: A Troublesome Flashback by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
When one of the anonymous authors runs into a situation of difficulty, it’s time to call in the expert. But will he help?
Disclaimer: Nope, I can't claim any more characters yet, so Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors are still my only characters in this story.
Schmergo = *heart*. That's all there is to it.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Five, Part One: A Troublesome Flashback
Since, by some kind of genius psychic knowledge, Happy knew that the fifth Harry Potter book would be magnificently long, he and the crack team of anonymous authors, along with Happy’s assistant, Jackie van de Geissen, had already begun writing it, and the time for initial decisions and plot-formation talks was long gone.
Now, they were writing the chapters, and one of the anonymous authors had come across a serious problem.
“And what is this ‘serious problem’?” Happy demanded.
“Well,” the author told him, “I’m working on Chapter Thirty-two, ‘Deceived, Wolfish, Hidden and Nondescript’, and I’ve realised “ I need to write a flashback!” Happy rolled his eyes.
“Well, write a flashback then!” he snapped impatiently.
“But you don’t understand, Mr O’Brien,” the author told him, “it’s a complex flashback.” Happy took a double-take.
“With character development, personal demons on the loose and shameful histories?” he clarified worriedly.
“Yes,” the anonymous author told him. Happy paled dramatically.
“Then there’s only one thing to do,” he said heroically.
“What?” asked the author.
“I was just getting to that,” snapped Happy. “We’ll have to go to the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness!”
Now, it was time for everyone else to double-take.
“But will he see us?” asked Jackie. Happy tapped his chin.
“He’ll have to,” he proclaimed. “We’re looking at a possible Category Five literary storm. We’ll just have to send him a completed chapter before-hand, to prove we’re true blue.”
“True blue?” asked Jackie.
“Yeah, you know the phrase. Clear and correct. Keepin’ it real. I was brushing up on my Australianisms.”
“He’s a“” Jackie began dramatically, “a “ oh, look, I can’t even say it…”
“That’s right,” said Happy. “He’s an Aussie.”
At that moment, several people fainted, especially, particularly, and most prominently, Jackie. To the remainder, Happy inquired,
“Anyone got a decent finished chapter on them?” The anonymous authors fiddled around on the table.
“I’ve got the one where Hermione and Cho get into a vicious fight, Percy becomes a Knight of Walpurgis and Colin Creevey gets eaten,” said one, hopefully.
“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” snapped Happy. “That’ll be the dullest chapter in the book! Anyone else?”
“I’ve got the one where Harry turns into a bird,” said one.
“No!” snapped Happy, irritated.
“I’ve got the one when Ginny turns into a plane,” suggested another.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“I’ve got the one when Lucius Malfoy gets into a fight with Superman,” put forward a third anonymous author.
“No, no, no!” Happy roared. “What is it with you people?! And they’ll need to be fixed. Harry’s the hero “ he can’t turn into a bird! Ginny’s the love interest, so she can’t turn into a plane! And for goodness sakes, everyone. Lucius Malfoy already is Superman. Do we have any decent chapters that have been proof-read and edited at least four times?” The final conscious author raised her hand.
“I think I might have something that we can send,” she claimed. “The best one I can find.”
Chapter 17: The Pleasant and Unpleasant Surprise(s)
Harry was standing in the middle of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
“I’m so happy I could dance,” he commented to Mrs Weasley, who was a lovely lady and a fantastic cook; Hermione who was fantastically brainy and witty, and who, suspiciously, had the same little nose as Harry; Ginny Weasley, who was feisty, quick thinking, charming and great at Quidditch; and the twins, who were ingenious, confident, loveable, popular and clearheaded. Also, there was Remus Lupin, who was modest, creative, kind, encouraging, clever and oddly furry; Sirius Black, who was Harry’s magnificently smart and good looking Godfather, the only person to have ever escaped Azkaban prison, strong-willed and loyal…; and, lastly, Ron Weasley, who used to have a rat. Also, Ron suffered from comical arachnophobia.
“Well, you only live once,” said Fred and/or George, which caused Harry to lose all inhibition and jump on the kitchen table, and shout,
“I GOT OFF!”
Everyone cheered.
“Oh, good,” said Mrs Weasley. “Now, where’s Arthur?”
“He went back to work,” said Harry. “Something about having strengths that were difficult to articulate…?”
“Ah, probably his application for a promotion,” explained Molly. “Now, who wants dinner?”
“I want dinner,” said Ron.
“Well good then,” said Mrs Weasley. “Ginny, set the table, please.”
Ginny didn’t get time to argue at length, because at this moment a small troop of owls arrived at the window, each with a name written on it “ there was one for every Hogwarts student.
“I bet those are our Hogwarts letters,” said Hermione.
“No way I’m taking that bet,” Mrs Weasley told her. “Why don’t you all see what they say?”
“Alright!” agreed Ginny, who had just got out of setting the table.
In his envelope, Harry found his usual Hogwarts letter, telling him about the books he’d need that year. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts ones looked particularly intriguing.
“‘A Theoretical Guide to Non-Ministry-Threatening, Un-useful Defence’. Sounds like an interesting book,” commented Fred and/or George sarcastically.
“And look at the other one,” added Hermione, “’A Strictly Impractical Approach to Teaching Defence to Hogwarts Students’.”
“Let me guess,” guessed Harry, “Dumbledore got Binns to teach Defence this year.”
It was a few moments of agreeable muttering, when all of a sudden there was a ‘thump’ as Ron fell limply to the floor.
“What’s all this fainting about, then?” asked Mrs Weasley from the stove.
“It’s just Ron,” said Ginny, uninterested, “with a look of surprise on his face. Does“”
“Oh my gosh!” exclaimed Hermione, interrupting Ginny. She was staring at an extra letter that had been inside her envelope. “I can’t believe it! Look!” Ginny looked, and so did Harry.
“‘Prefect’,” read Ginny.
“Nice one,” commented Harry. “And don’t look so surprised. You were a shoe-in.”
“But there was so much buzz around Lavender, and “ oh, I just can’t believe it!” Hermione squealed.
“What other books do you have this year?” asked Lupin. “I can’t believe that’s all you need for Defence Against the Dark Arts…” he picked up Ron’s letter with his canine teeth, and lay it on the floor.
Despite Hermione’s continued squealing and attempts at modesty, the attention of the room was soon cast upon the little something that fell out of Ron’s envelope.
“‘P’,” Ginny read from the badge. “Prefect!”
“Wow,” said Harry. “Nice. I guess.”
It was at this moment that Ron woke up, and, seeing the badge in Lupin’s teeth, sat up defensively.
“Hey! That’s mine!” he snapped. “Give it! Lupin! Give…” Lupin dropped the badge into his hand, and Ron stuffed it into his pocket, patting Lupin on the head, affectionately.
“Wow,” said Sirius calmly. “Well done, dude. I guess that’s the way it goes, eh Harry? Hermione must have been more of a shoe-in than you, and Gryffindor couldn’t have two Prefects with the same little nose.”
“Yeah,” agreed Ron.
“I guess,” moped Harry.
“But if that’s Dumbledore’s excuse, then it’s a lame one,” Hermione added, trying to cheer him up.
“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Totally.”
“I bet he has some insane reason for giving the badge to Ron and not you,” Fred and/or George comforted.
“Yeah,” agreed Ron, but then thought a moment, before… “Hey!” he snapped. “Are you implying that Harry was more deserving of this badge than me, and that only insanity could cause Dumbledore to choose me over him, when none of his grades are flying colours anyway, and he is the Chosen One who is the only person in the world who can defeat You Know Who? Are you saying that The Boy Who Lived, who has the same little nose as Hermione and Sirius, is better than me, Ron, with my non-rat, annoying owl and comic arachnophobia?” He took a deep breath.
Everyone looked at each other.
“Well…” Lupin broke the silence awkwardly.
“Comic arachnophobia is kind of overrated,” Sirius added.
“And you’re totally overshadowed by the fact that most of the people around you are smarter, or more successful. Usually both,” Mrs Weasley added apologetically.
Ron blinked blankly, not sure what to say. Tears threatened to leak out of his lovely, watery blue, puppy-dog eyes.
“Actually, I can’t think of anyone better to be Prefect,” said Ginny.
“Yeah, well done, Ron,” agreed Hermione.
“You rock,” added everyone else uncomfortably, in perfect unison.
Apparently forgetting their plight to make Harry feel better and unable to comfort both boys at the same time, the party decided to hold a celebration.
“Let’s have a ‘Congratulations’ party!” suggested Mrs Weasley, and, as everyone went to help conjure decorations and eat stuff, Harry skulked off to a far off region of the house and thought deep, complex, philosophical, psychological and incredibly upsetting thoughts.
“That’s a perfect chapter,” Happy said when he read it. “Just wonderful. We can send it to the flash-back man, post-haste, by a system even more lightning fast than email. Fax!”
Using this new and unexplored technology, Happy sent the chapter to the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness, who also happened to be Australian, post-haste.
A few moments later, he got a return fax.
Confident that the rest of the book would go well, Happy decided to go and lie down, and took a long, well-deserved, nap.
o0oOo0o
Will the flashback work out?
Will the fifth Harry Potter book be finished on time?
Will the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness ever get a shorter name?
Was there ever a person who could match Snape's wit?
All these questions and more to be answered in Chapter Five, Part Two of The Harry Potter Literary Storm.
Chapter Five, Part Two: The Flashback Extraordinaire Man Of Geniusness by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Happy and the flashback-writing anonymous author get into contact with the Flashback Extraordinaire Man Of Geniusness, to write up a storm.
Disclaimer: HA. This time, I can claim yet another character “ the Flashback Extraordinaire Man of Geniusness. Also, his secretary. Never the less, no Harry Potter characters are mine, and belong to JK Rowling, as you well know.
Just before I get with the story, I must say two things:
1. I'm forever grateful to Schmergo, the Humour Extraordinaire Beta of Geniusness AND
2. Please keep in mind when reading about this new Extraordinaire fellow that I am, in fact, an Australian and proud of it. I needed an unlikely expert, and he's about as unlikely as they come.
Previously:
“But you don’t understand, Mr O’Brien,” the author told him, “it’s a complex flashback.” Happy took a double-take.
“With character development, personal demons on the loose and shameful histories?” he clarified worriedly.
“Yes,” the anonymous author told him. Happy paled dramatically.
“Then there’s only one thing to do,” he said heroically.
“What?” asked the author.
“I was just getting to that,” snapped Happy. “We’ll have to go to the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness!”
Now, it was time for everyone else to double-take.
“But will he see us?” asked Jackie. Happy tapped his chin.
“He’ll have to,” he proclaimed. “We’re looking at a possible Category Five literary storm. We’ll just have to send him a completed chapter before-hand, to prove we’re true blue.”
“True blue?” asked Jackie.
“Yeah, you know the phrase. Clear and correct. Keepin’ it real. I was brushing up on my Australianisms.”
“He’s a“” Jackie began dramatically, “a “ oh, look, I can’t even say it…”
“That’s right,” said Happy. “He’s an Aussie.”
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Five, Part Two: The Flashback Extraordinaire Man Of Geniusness
Thirteen hours later, Happy awoke to discover the complex-flashback-writing anonymous author to be on the phone with someone.
“Oh, you’re the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness’s secretary?” confirmed the author. “I see. Well, good then. What’s that? He can communicate with us via webcam in three minutes, did you say? Oh, that’s excellent. Thanks very much, Ms. Sheila.” And she hung up the phone.
“What’s all this about a webcam conversation with the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness, that can happen in three minutes?” demanded Happy.
“Just what you said, Mr O’Brien,” the author told him.
“Oh,” said Happy. “Jackie, fire up the computer.”
Jackie fired up the computer, and in a few moments, a webcam box appeared on the screen, along with a text box saying, ‘Australian flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness has requested a webcam conversation with you.’ There were buttons to accept or deny. They accepted, and a fellow appeared on the screen.
It was the flashback extraordinaire man of geniusness. He was a wrinkly, tanned looking fellow wearing a hat with corks hanging from it.
“Mr. Flashback Extraordinaire Man Of Geniusness?” confirmed Happy. The man chuckled.
“G’day, mate. You can just call me ‘Femog’,” replied the man.
“Very well, Mr Femog. My name is Happy O’Brien and this is “ umm…”
“J.K. Rowling,” prompted the author, panicking. The fact that J.K. Rowling didn’t exist had to be kept secret at all costs. Femog tipped his hat at the two of them.
“So how can I help youse two?” he inquired.
“I’ve come across…” the author began, and paused dramatically. “A flashback.”
“When why didn’t you just write the bloody flashback?” demanded Femog. “Blimey. I’ve got kangaroos to water.”
“I would,” said the anonymous author, “but it’s a complex flashback.”
Femog coughed, like he had choked on something.
“Hold your bloody dingos then!” he exclaimed. “Now, tell me “ why’s it so complex?”
The anonymous author went on to explain “ when writing this flashback, several issues needed to come up “ Harry needed to come face to face with the young James Potter, the entire social network of Harry’s parents and their friends needed to become clear, Harry needed to face the fact that his role-models were not perfect, and they needed to discover that Lily was related to Sirius, which, of course, was the piece of crucial information that would be communicated in the book, about Lily. How else could Sirius have gotten that little nose?
“And the entire family tree is just so very complicated!” the author sobbed, as, by now, she had obviously brought herself to tears. Femog tapped his nose.
“So you’re saying that Lily is related to Sirius?”
“Yes,” said the author.
“Who is brother to James?” questioned Mr Femog.
“Lily’s only related to Sirius and James though marriage,” explained the author.
“And Sirius and Snape are fighting over a beautiful half-veela called Mary?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Geez, lady. This is complicated.” The author nodded. “And you’re serious that they have a friend who’s a rabid wolf, are you?” The author nodded again, and Femog removed his hat, and scratched his head.
“Can you help?” asked Happy, whose brains were scrambled already.
“I think I can, boy. I think I can,” agreed Femog. “Or my name ain’t Femog Jones.”
It was at this point that Happy decided to leave the flashback to the anonymous author, and catch up on his beauty sleep a little more.
When he awoke, the anonymous author was just finishing on the flashback, for some reason reading it out loud.
“‘Snape was unimpressed. A look of concentration passed across his face, and Harry found himself being pulled out of the memory, and back into the Hogwarts dungeons.
“You’re as bad as your father ever was,” said Snape. “Well… almost.”
Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
“Go away!” ordered Snape, and…’”
“Let me see that!” demanded Happy, needing to confirm that the large sum he had forked out to Femog had been worth it.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Deceived, Wolfish, Hidden and Nondescript
Wherever Harry was, whatever memory he had fallen into, it was very, very quiet. That was the first thing he noticed. Then, it came to his attention that he was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, at what appeared to be exam time.
Harry didn’t know what to expect “ what could Snape be hiding that was so important that he wouldn’t allow Harry to see? After all this time…
He had the amusing thought, that perhaps Snape’s worst memory involved a bottle of shampoo “ that would explain why he so efficiently avoided the stuff…
Harry giggled to himself.
“SILENCE!” bellowed someone, and Harry almost jumped out of his skin. It was a memory of a very heavy-set Professor with a moustache that made him look like a walrus, standing at the front of the hall.
The entire population of the Great Hall looked at him strangely, seeing as how no one had spoken.
“One minute to go!” called the Professor, and the students all leaned down over individual desks, finishing as quickly as possible.
Harry looked around for Snape, seeing as how this was his memory, after all. Sure enough, after a moment, Harry spotted him, working quickly and writing in tiny print, apparently adding more to already completed questions, and drawing useful illustrations, which told Harry that this was a Potions exam.
Well, Harry was quite aware that Potions was unpleasant, but still couldn’t see why Snape would be so protective over a memory of it. Perhaps he had failed the test or something…
It was at this point that Harry noticed a loud yawning noise, and spun around to see a boy yawning loudly. Harry could instantly tell it was Sirius “ he’d know that little nose anywhere.
The boy next to Sirius glanced at him for a moment, with raised eyebrows. He looked almost identical to Harry, but with a different nose… But who could it be?
Confused, Harry approached the boy, staring.
There was a person who looked just like him, sitting next to Sirius Black in a Potions exam!
There was only one explanation…
“I’m going to go back in time and take a Potions exam with my teenage Godfather?!” exclaimed Harry. “And I’m going to get a nose job?! No wonder Snape didn’t want me to see!”
“You know, not everything’s about you,” came the teacher’s voice from the front of the Great Hall. Harry turned and looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Can you see“” he began, but the teacher went on.
“The results of these papers tell the Ministry how well I’ve been teaching you! So do me proud!” the Professor finished uselessly, considering the fact that, by now, there could not be more than twenty or so seconds left.
Harry let out a breath, and looked at the test paper of the boy who looked just like him, so that, when he came back in time, he might know the answers to all the questions already.
However, a name caught his eye…
‘James Potter’
But who…? Where on Earth did he get ‘James’ from?!
And then it struck him.
This was his father, but younger and in a memory!
Excited, Harry glanced around again. Next to James was a boy who could be described as nothing more or less than nondescript, and on the other side of him had to be“
“TIME’S UP!” screamed the Professor from the front of the hall.
“Flobberworm mucus,” muttered Harry to himself. He had really wanted to find out how, exactly, Lupin managed to write if he couldn’t even hold a wand without significant difficulty. Of course, Harry had always been too polite to ask. The Lupin of this time was a little wolf pup.
“Accio papers!” called the Professor. All the papers flew towards him, and, with a nifty spell from the fellow, were soon piled neatly. “Now, you may leave!”
As one, the Professor and all the students left the hall, except for, conveniently, the Marauders and Snape.
“So,” said James. “How did you like that test paper, eh? If you’re anything like me (which you probably are, considering you’re my brother even though we have different last names, different homes, different noses and different parents, as well as the fact that your younger brother is in no way related to me, somehow), you probably didn’t have any trouble at all.”
Sirius rolled his eyes.
“Potions are stupid,” he commented. “And so are you, Snape!” He turned to face Snape, with a hateful frown.
Personally, Harry thought this was a bit harsh, even for Snape. Peter, the nondescript fellow, performed nondescript actions, while Lupin, the wolf pup, stood under a desk with his tail between his legs, disapproving.
“I dislike you, Black!” insulted Snape meanly.
“Hey!” snapped James. “Don’t speak to my friends like that!”
“Your friends are almost as bad as you!” growled Snape.
“At least I have some,” James said, lamely.
“You’re silly!” Snape wittily outdid his foe’s pathetic wordplay.
Sirius withdrew his wand angrily.
“Take that back, Snape!” he warned.
“No!” argued Snape. “Your heart is black, Black, and your words are wrong.”
Sirius gritted his teeth, lower lip trembling.
“Dunderhead!” accused James, aiming his wand at Snape also. “Rictusempra!”
Sirius wiped his eyes, frustrated, and Snape giggled.
“Don’t laugh at me, fiend!” shouted Sirius. “These are angry tears!”
“You’re bad!” shouted back Snape, in between laughs.
“Well, you’re “ you’re“” James searched for an insult. “You’re a pathetic lowlife, with no hope to become anything more than a mean, depressed and bitter old Potions Master!”
Snape was still laughing at James’s pathetic attempt at insulting him, and would probably be even if he hadn’t been cursed.
“Go away!” said Snape, and James couldn’t take it anymore. Infuriated, he pointed his wand at his sallow enemy.
“Un-Accio!” he cried, and Snape was expelled from the hall. Along the way, however, he delivered the killer blow:
“You’re all imperfect!”
James sat down furiously, rippling with anger.
“How I hate that guy,” he commented, thinking everything was over. However, it was only just halfway through.
“Potter, I can’t believe you!” scolded a female voice. James groaned.
“I didn’t do anything!” he defended himself, and then added quietly, “… much…”
“What, you call starting a fight with someone, cursing them and then banishing them ‘nothing much’?!”
“In all fairness,” put in Sirius, “James only semi-started the fight.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Black!” snapped the girl. “Even if you are related to me (explaining why our little noses match, and why your little nose will be the same as my son’s little nose in future), although we’re only related through the marriage of some old people.” There was something about her that seemed familiar to Harry.
He looked at her for a moment, before realising…
“You’ve got the same little nose as Hermione, Sirius and I!” Harry told her. Obviously, she didn’t respond.
“Evans, Snape is a git,” explained James. The girl, ‘Evans’, looked shocked.
“So now you’re horribly insulting people behind their backs, too?” she demanded, unimpressed. “Eww!”
“On an entirely different topic,” James changed the topic subtly, “would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me?”
“No!” shouted ‘Evans’. “I think you’re bad!” Harry reeled. She could match Snape’s wittiness like no one else Harry had ever seen!
The girl stormed out.
“But Lily!” James called after her.
Harry froze.
“Wow,” he commented to no one in particular. “My mother accused my father of being bad in their fifth year. Also, her maiden name was ‘Evans’, which is oddly similar to ‘Snape’ backwards.”
“Yes,” agreed another voice. Harry spun around to see Snape standing there, and not the young, safe memory Snape either, but Professor Snape, the creepy, scary Potions Master who Harry was meant to be trying to get along with, because he was teaching him a vital new skill.
“Professor Snape!” exclaimed Harry, and bit his lip. “Uh… I see you’ve always been as witty as you are now!”
Snape was unimpressed. A look of concentration passed across his face, and Harry found himself being pulled out of the memory, and back into the Hogwarts dungeons.
“You’re as bad as your father ever was,” said Snape. “Well… almost.”
Harry couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
“Go away!” ordered Snape, and Harry, gulping, darted out of his office as quickly as his little legs could carry him.
Happy’s hand was on his heart. The scene had turned out so hard-hitting and meaningful, it was just “ just perfect. He wiped away a tear.
No doubt, a Category Five storm was on the way.
Harry Potter has gone through many obstacles in his time at Hogwarts, and gained many rewards. He’s gone through riddles and tasks, and reflected off a killing curse, and in return the wizarding world was safe from Voldemort. He’s battled Basil the giant snake, and in return Ron’s little sister Ginny survived and Aragog the Acromantula ate Malfoy out of gratefulness. He’s given prisoners a chance, which in return gave him a Godfather, and most of all, he’s been lenient in standards when it comes to who he talks to, and has, in return, gained some friends.
This year, he will need to go through more obstacles, but will he be rewarded? Or will he just lose one of the people he considers to be the most important to him, and who he will soon find out is both his uncle and his second cousin, once removed?
You never know. At least not until you read the fifth instalment of JK Rowling’s ‘Harry Potter’ series, ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’.
It’s out of this world.
And so is one of the characters by the end of it!
Chapter Six: A Funeral Full of Shocks and Fainting by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Good news, everyone! Chapter Six comes in one, pretty long part, and is my favourite chapter yet.
As Harry Potter gains popularity, Happy, Jackie and the anonymous authors rejoice. Now, however, it’s time to stop all this rejoicing and get to it with book six… Another success is on the way.
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine except for the stuff I invented, like Happy, Jackie, the authors, and any concepts you come across that are totally crazy and/or stupid.
Book six is partially disregarded. Of course, the other books are partially disregarded in this story, but I thought I should just bring this to your attention. Once again, thank you to the fantastic Schmergo, the Hebog who rocks the proverbial socks. Without her, this story just wouldn't be the same.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Six: A Funeral Full of Shocks and Fainting
By now, Happy and the authors were practically dancing on top of a Category Five, world-wide literary storm.
“Look at this!” Happy commented, surfing the web. “A theory that Dumbledore will die in the sixth book!” he laughed. “How ridiculous is that?”
“And this one!” laughed Jackie, looking over Happy’s shoulder. “Someone’s predicting that Malfoy will become a Knight of Walpurgis! That’s just silly “ everyone knows that he was eaten by an Acromantula!”
“You never know,” Happy contradicted, “I’m considering bringing Malfoy back from the dead.” There was a pause.
“Wow,” Jackie commented, “that’s good. I’m writing it down.”
“Speaking of writing things down,” an anonymous author spoke, seizing the moment to make a suggestion, “shouldn’t we get onto writing the sixth book by now? We don’t even have a title.”
“Quiet, you,” snapped Happy. “I’m thinking of one. Err“” he saw a book on a nearby table, “we’ll call it “ umm…” He twisted his head to read it. “‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’. There. Done. Oh, look! A theory that Rufus Scrimgeour will become Minister for Magic! Preposterous!”
“Are you sure, Mr O’Brien?” asked the author. “We do, after all, already have a book called ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’…”
“Well, we own the title,” Happy said obviously. “If you have a better idea, name it. If you don’t, either be quiet or you’re fired.” He read the screen, and giggled. “Or come and read some of these “ a theory that Sirius is really dead! These people are crazy, I tell you!”
“How about at least something like, ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Revisited’,” the author suggested wearily.
“No!” snapped Happy.
“Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Bird?” suggested another one of the authors.
“No!” snapped Happy. He didn’t even need to think “ the first three or so suggestions were always stupid.
“‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Plane’?” suggested another author.
“No!” snapped Happy, reading a theory about Severus Snape being good. How silly were these people?
“Alright,” the first author said. “What do you think of ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Superman’?”
“Alright, alright!” Happy caved in. “Fine! You have your ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Superman’!”
But then, Happy paused for a moment, thinking.
That idea had real potential.
A little fuse of inspiration had been lit in his head, and his brain was now exploding with ideas!
“That’s not just ‘fine’,” he said merrily. “That’s perfect! Have a 24% raise! Someone write that down somewhere, in big letters!” He turned off the computer. “Now, everyone, I know you like lazing around and laughing at theories, but I’ve decided it’s time to get serious about this new book. We need some more complex characters. Last time the ‘Lily related to Sirius related to James related to Harry related to the Blacks related to Petunia’ bombshell was dropped. We need something more complicated than that!”
Jackie put up his hand excitedly.
“Yes, Jackie?” asked Happy, wondering why his assistant, Jackie van de Geissen, had put up his hand.
“Romance!” exclaimed Jackie. “We need romance!”
Happy tapped his nose.
“Jackie, my friend, you’ve got a point. Romance, people! Let’s hear some ideas.”
“Well, it’s obvious Ginny has a thing for Harry,” one author said.
“Yes, said Happy. “That’s true. Something a little less obvious, please?”
“Well, Ginny’s in love with Harry, like, totally,” Jackie explained, “but since Harry’s just so fabulous, wouldn’t everyone else have a crush on him?”
“Yes,” said Happy. “Yes! You’re right!”
“So Harry can go out with Hermione, just so everyone gets off his back!” finished Jackie.
“I like it!” Happy exclaimed. “I like that very much!”
“And then,” Jackie went on, “Hermione’s obviously head-over-heels for Ron. But because she’s going out with Harry, Ron goes out with Lavender to make her jealous. Oh, and then he starts doting over Cho so that Lavender knows he’s not too serious, so everyone thinks Ron’s in love with Cho!”
“Fantastic, Jackie!” Happy exclaimed. He had never realised Jackie was such a goldmine for romantic ideas!
“And Cho is going out with Cedric (who’s not dead), but falls in love with Harry, which causes her to have a serious fight with Ginny,” Jackie explained. All the authors were scribbling frantically.
“We need a twist in all of this,” Happy said thoughtfully.
“I was just getting to that!” Jackie yipped excitedly. “Cedric can fall in love with Luna!”
“Brilliant!” exclaimed Happy, while the anonymous authors ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed.
“And Luna’s obviously in love with Malfoy, and starts following him around, but Malfoy’s always been in love with Ginny, as we well know.”
“Good point,” Happy said. “Don’t stop there!” And Jackie didn’t plan to.
“And then Goyle has a crush on Hermione, and beats up Ron when he realises what’s going on, because I’m sure Goyle can see through the whole ‘Lavender and Cho’ cover Ron’s got going on, the genius that he is. Then, since Hermione’s in love with Ron, she beats Goyle up…”
By the end of Jackie’s ideas, they had so many pages of writing that the book could easily have nothing but a complex and intriguing web of relationships, romance and deceit. However, since this was a Harry Potter book, there would be more to it. There always was.
And why?
Because, of course, Happy O’Brien was behind it. And Happy O’Brien had not lost a square inch of his genius.
“This book, my dear authors and Jackie,” he told the authors and Jackie, “will be the best book yet.”
“What about the second one though?” queried one of the authors.
“Yes, yes, except for the second one,” conceded Happy.
For the following five hundred and fifty-three days and five hundred and fifty-five nights (they had skipped two days’ work to go to a literature convention in Scotland) the anonymous authors, Happy and Jackie worked their little hearts out to create the next masterpiece, and, when the end of the writing process approached, Happy decided that they should all reflect on their own, remarkable genius, the group genius, and, more importantly, Happy’s genius, by reading the final chapter over a dinner of platinum-coated Stradivarius-quality lobsters.
Chapter 38: Harrowing
“This is so harrowing!” sobbed Hermione, as she and her tall friend, Ron, stood before two matching coffins. “So, so harrowing, Ron! I can barely take it!”
“Me neither,” agreed Ron. “Me neither, Hermione. It just… it just wasn’t their time.”
“Oh, what will we do?” sobbed Hermione. “When I looked into their eyes, I just saw so much innocence. And now it’s taken away.”
They heard a growling sound.
“Who was that growling?” demanded Ron. “How dare you growl in front of these tomb stones? How dare you?!”
“You’re stupid,” said Snape. “They were bad.”
“No they weren’t!” cried Hermione. “You bitter, cruel-hearted old Potions Master!”
Snape was clearly unimpressed at the fact that, despite his position as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he was still being called a Potions Master.
Hermione leaned forward to read from one of the plaques. “They were wonderful people. See? ‘Here lies Harry Potter; loyal friend; protector of all good; fantastic Quidditch player…’”
“Yeah,” said Snape, “and then it says, ‘terrible student; occasionally shouted; messy hair’.”
“Well look at the other one then!” snapped Ron, wiping tears from his eyes as their mean old Professor put down his best friend. “’Here lies Tom Riddle; passionate student; handsome child; intelligent person’.”
“Yeah, silly,” said Snape, “and then it says, ‘aka Lord Voldemort; dictator; hideous creature; heartless super-villain’!”
“Well“” sniffed Hermione. “Well, fair enough. But they’re still gone. Oh, what will we do?”
At that moment, several other people came up to pay their respects (and disrespects). Among them was Lupin, the rabid wolf and beloved friend.
“Hello, you two,” he said, and from the look on his furry little face, not to mention the tears that had obviously been dried from his little wolfy eyes, Ron and Hermione could tell he was heart-broken.
“Lupin, you’re dumb,” said Snape. Lupin ignored him.
“Are you doing alright?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” said Ron, “yeah, I suppose we are. You know, considering.”
“No, they’re gits,” contradicted Snape.
“I was referring to their emotional well-being,” snapped Lupin.
“I don’t care,” replied Snape, harshly, in his sharp and inarguably clever way.
“Oh, I don’t have time for your witty wordplay, Snape,” growled Lupin. “Ron, Hermione, there is someone who very much wishes to talk to you. Come this way…”
They followed the little fellow away from the coffins of their dear friend, Harry, and the Dark Lord, Voldemort, to where a very large man stood waiting. He was their potions teacher, Professor Bicycle Slughorn.
“Professor Slughorn?” asked Ron. “What do you want with us?”
“Well, I mostly want to talk to Hermione,” said Professor Slughorn, “because I seriously doubt your intelligence, Rambo.”
“Fair enough,” said Hermione, “but what’s happening, Professor?”
“Well, Remus and I thought… considering everything that’s happened, and the fact that the fate of the world now rests upon your shoulders to get rid of Voldemort’s “ uh “ thingies…” he glanced at Lupin, knowing the secret needed to be kept, “we should probably come clean.”
“Yes,” said Remus, “Although I don’t know what ‘thingies’ this man is referring to, I too believe we need to come clean. We haven’t been entirely truthful.”
“About what?” asked Ron.
“Well, my name’s not really Bicycle Slughorn,” Slughorn told them. “It’s Romulus Slughorn. I was just embarrassed because ‘Romulus’ is such a ridiculous name.”
“That’s very understandable…” commented Hermione.
“And, well… my name’s not really Remus J. Lupin,” said Lupin. “‘Lupin was my mother’s maiden name. My real name is…”
Ron and Hermione listened intently.
“Remus J. L. … Slughorn!” Lupin told them emotionally. “Bicycle here is my brother!”
Ron fainted.
“You’re kidding!” exclaimed Hermione.
“No, we’re not,” said Slughorn… Romulus Slughorn, that was. “Please still think of me as Bicycle though.”
“Alright, Professor Bicycle,” Hermione accepted. “But why did you decide to tell us now?”
It was at this point that another voice chipped in. Standing behind the enormous Bicycle Slughorn was the bartender from the Hog’s Head.
“Because it’s all very important,” this new fellow explained. “Because my name is Argo Pyrites Slughorn. I am young Remus and Bicycle’s father.”
Ron fainted again.
“You’re kidding!” exclaimed Hermione. The old man shook his head.
“No, Hermione, I’m not kidding.”
“But I was so sure you were Aberforth Dumbledore, the Headmaster’s brother,” Hermione told him, getting confused.
“I am!” he told her. “And I’m glad we didn’t have to break that to you too!”
“But “ you just said your name was Argo Pyrites Slughorn,” Hermione told him. “I’m a little confused…”
Again, another voice chipped in. From behind Bicycle Slughorn came another person, the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Or so they thought…
“That’s because it’s a little confusing, Hermione,” he told her softly. “See, I didn’t like the name ‘Slughorn’, so I invented the name ‘Dumbledore’. Imagine how silly ‘Icicle Slughorn’ would look on the chocolate frog cards! Remus and Bicycle here are my nephews.”
Ron fainted, yet again.
“So… oh, dear, this is weird,” apologised Hermione. Everyone nodded, and Ron stirred from his unconsciousness. “Please, let me recap for Ron here. So Remus Lupin is actually Remus Slughorn, Professor Bicycle Slughorn, the new Potions Master, is actually Remus’s brother, Romulus Slughorn, the bartender of the Hog’s Head is Argo Pyrites Slughorn, their father, and you, Headmaster are his brother, Icicle?”
“That’s right, Hermione,” said Dumbledore “ err, Icicle Slughorn. “Please don’t think of us any differently, however. We’re still the people you know and love. We just happen to send Christmas cards to the same people every year.” Ron finally piped up.
“No offence, anyone, but I’m just confused as to how you could all be related to Remus here, our beloved ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who is a rabid wolf.”
“Hey,” said Professor Slughorn, whose first name was really Romulus, “he’s only rabid because Fenir Greyback bit him.”
“Fair enough,” said Ron, “but you’re all still closely related to a wolf.”
There was a short pause.
“There is no way you would understand how that works,” said Lupin, who was really Remus Slughorn, apologetically, “but I assure you, it is possible.”
“So why are you explaining all of this now?” Hermione asked again. “It’s all very interesting and slightly disturbing, but“”
“It’s time you understand that families aren’t as simple as they seem,” explained Bicycle.
“Think about that,” added Dumbledore, who was Icicle Slughorn.
And the four of them disapparated.
“Well,” said Hermione, the urge to query the fact that four people had just apparated from within Hogwarts grounds evident on her face, “I think we should get back to the funeral.”
“I whole-heartedly agree,” Ron agreed, whole-heartedly.
They had barely walked three paces, however, when a quiet ‘psst!’ could be heard.
“Oh, what’s next?” groaned Ron. “Is Hermione related to Voldemort now?” It was not Hermione, Voldemort, or anything to do with that, however. The man who had hailed them was, in fact, the Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said jovially, “but I do have something really, really important to discuss with you, if you have a moment.”
“Of course,” Hermione told him, and they all set off, down towards the lake.
As soon as they were away from any listening ears that did not belong to them, Lucius Malfoy began,
“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that our beloved Lord Voldemort and your disgustingly horrible Harry Potter have died?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Ron, “although I’m not sure about your use of adjectives in that question.”
“Oh, the adjectives aren’t the point, man!” snapped Lucius.
“Well, what is the point then?” asked Ron.
“The point is, ever since my darling Draco was eaten mysteriously by an Acromantula, I have been researching methods to bring people back from the dead,” Lucius explained.
“I hardly see how that’s in any way relevant to the situation,” said Hermione coldly.
“Oh, it’s more relevant than you think,” Minister Malfoy told them. “Because I believe I have found a way to bring back your little friend, my much bigger friend, and my fantastic son.”
“Why are you telling us?” asked Hermione suspiciously. “Why not just bring back your evil people and leave Harry out?”
“Because,” said Lucius, “oh, dear this is complicated. I have it from a decent source that your Weasley friend here has a penchant for fainting. Perhaps we should sit down.”
The three of them sat down, and Lucius began his tale.
“Long, long ago, there were four founders called Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and the wonderful Salazar Slytherin.”
Ron nodded, not fainting yet.
“Well, one day, halfway through the creation of Hogwarts, Rowena and Godric got killed by a passing assassin. Obviously the remaining two couldn’t create the school without them, so they came up with a way “ a spell, if you will “ to bring the dead back to life. Ironically, however, it could only work twice, but each time it was used, countless people could be brought back. They brought those two back, and left the legend for some other poor soul, such as me…”
“So why do you need us?” demanded Hermione, growing impatient.
“I was getting to that,” snapped Lucius. “Don’t rush me, woman! Anyway, to do the spell they needed to have two people of founder’s blood present for the ceremony. It’s a simple ceremony “ chanting, dancing, ritual sacrifice…”
“Sacrifice?!” exclaimed Hermione.
“Sacrifice of blood, from the participants!” Lucius told her. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot!”
“Blood?!” exclaimed Ron, going green.
“Just a little bit!” Lucius told him sternly. “Good grief, don’t you get your knickers in a knot either! Anyway, I was looking at the family trees of the founders. I can find plenty of Hufflepuff’s heirs. Basically anyone with the last name of ‘Smith’, ‘Roberts’, ‘Robins’ or ‘Johnson’ is a descendant. But for some reason, Gryffindor’s descendents are in rare stock. The Weasleys are the only ones left.”
Ron fainted. Since he had suddenly become so important, Hermione and Lucius made light conversation until he woke up again, so he didn’t miss anything.
“Why didn’t you just get Percy?” asked Ron. “After all, he’s a Knight of Walpurgis, like you.”
“Oh, Percy’s dead. Didn’t anyone tell you?” questioned Lucius, with interest. Ron shook his head.
“Why didn’t you ask Mafalda then? She’s at least a Slytherin.”
“She’s dead too, stupid,” Lucius told him.
“What about Mum or Dad? They’d do anything for Harry.”
“They’re dead too, doofus,” Lucius told Ron.
“My brothers“” began Ron.
“Dead,” said Lucius. “Every other descendant of Gryffindor has been killed.”
Ron blinked, and, after a moment, burst into pathetic tears.
“You “ stop that pathetic crying!” snapped Lucius. “I had them killed.”
“You “ you “ git!” shouted Ron, in an uncharacteristic moment of wit. Lucius was thrown off for a moment.
“You don’t get it “ I killed them so you’d take the deal, so you could bring them back to life! After all, it would take a lot for you to accept the deal and bring the Dark Lord back, right?”
“We need to talk about this for a moment,” said Hermione. “Excuse us, Minister.”
“Very well, very well,” replied Minister Malfoy, and waved them away. Ron and Hermione walked down the bank and, just to make sure no one could hear them, jumped into the water and swam out to the middle of the dark lake.
“What a git,” said Ron. “I can’t believe Lucius Malfoy killed my entire family.”
“Oh, get over it already, Ron,” snapped Hermione. “I think we should bring them back to life, along with Harry and Voldemort. It’s the only way “ I don’t think we can destroy all the Horcruxes alone.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ron. “Remember, part of the deal is to bring back that Malfoy git as well.” Hermione bit her lip.
“I know, Ron. It’s a tough call. But we really don’t have a choice. I don’t think we, Dumbledore “ well, the Slughorns, Cedric Diggory who is still alive, and the rest of the surviving side of ‘Good’ can find R.A.B. and defeat all those Horcruxes without Harry’s help.” Ron nodded.
“I agree,” he agreed. “Well, Harry,” added Ron, looking at the sky, “it looks like we’ll bring you back, for the world is entirely and pathetically dependent upon you, my friend.”
“Yeah,” pronounced Hermione, also looking up to the sky, a difficult feat while treading water, “absolutely.”
Way back at the shore, Seamus Finnegan, Gary Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Minister Malfoy, Parvati and Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and Blaise Zabini, the pale-skinned Slytherin girl, gazed out at Ron and Hermione, floating in the middle of the lake.
“I reckon they’ve gone mad,” commented Seamus.
“I wonder what they’re doing?” wondered Neville aloud.
Lavender muttered something and stalked off.
“I reckon a lot of people have gone mad,” Gary agreed with Seamus.
Back in the lake, however, it was clear that there was a big year ahead.
Happy smiled to himself as he took a bite out of his lobster. Ah, yes, life was good.
As the Wizarding World turns, everything becomes really weird.
Harry Potter is now approaching his sixth year at Hogwarts. With only two years to go, some pretty amazing stuff is starting to happen. What is with that huge guy who Dumbledore has insisted on hiring? What on Earth is wrong with Snape? Will any incredibly majorly important characters die during the course of this book?
All these issues and more are confronted in ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Superman’, the next and second last book in JK Rowling’s ingenious ‘Harry Potter’ series.
EDIT: I just wanted to post here to let people know that I now have a post in the Duelling Club thread, in the Great Hall. If you have an account on the beta forums, I encourage you to go and have a look. One of the main reasons I made the thread is because of the many theories included in this this story, such as Percy being a Death Eater, Remus having a brother and the whole issue of the mysterious 'Icicle' character, which are used but not necessarily articulated.
The thread is called 'M_O_M is Taken Down by a Shower of Colourful Sparks'. Happy and I hope to see you there!
Chapter Seven, Part One: Publicity, Flashbacks and a Deal by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
It’s been a long journey, but the Harry Potter series is almost complete. One final challenge is presented to Happy, Jackie and the Authors: The creation and success of the seventh and final Harry Potter book.
Will they come through, or will they fail?
Disclaimer: Well, slightly more of the plot is mine now, considering the last Harry Potter book hasn’t been written. However, practically everything still belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Also, this chapter contains a direct quote from HBP, which is not mine even a little bit.
Chapter Seven is much longer than the others, seeing as I needed to describe the entire plot of the book, because it hasn’t been written. Thus, the chapter will come in five parts: Part One, Part Two and Part Three, Part Four and Part Five.
Go figure, right?
Finally, another gratuitous thank you to the gorgeous Schmergo, for all her fantastical betaing work on this chapter and this story. *Waves pom poms* Oh, and her betaing was brilliant too, because I just found out that ‘Fantastical’ means existing only in fantasy or ‘ludicrously odd’.
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Seven, Part One: Publicity, Flashbacks and a Deal
Happy paced, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. He had been pacing for so long, his feet had begun to drag, and he felt his expression of deepest thought might never change, that he might never stop this endless cycle of pacing…
“Happy?” Jackie pried, sitting at the round table like the rest of the authors. “Happy, you’ve been pacing for five minutes now! What’s the problem?”
Happy groaned.
“I was about to have a revelation!” he scolded.
“A revelation about what?” inquired Jackie.
“Publicity,” Happy told his assistant, Mr. Jackie van de Geissen, and the anonymous authors. “We need publicity. We’re looking at a world record “ a worldwide Category Six Literary Storm, and climbing! To make it to the next level, we need an advertising campaign with impact!”
“We could advertise on bus stops,” suggested an author. “You know?” Happy didn’t dignify this with a response.
“We could hang banners over the streets!” proclaimed another.
“Or we could hang massive posters over tall buildings!” put forward a third. Happy just shook his head.
“No, no, no, you silly buffoons. What we need,” he prescribed, “is an all out, hard-hitting, unforgettable publicity stunt.”
The room suddenly became a haven of thought, a very beacon of ideas.
“How about we march through the streets dressed as birds, handing out pamphlets?” Jackie suggested cheerily. Happy had the suspicion that it had always been a dream of Jackie’s to march through the streets, dressed like a bird.
“No, too… random,” Happy replied apologetically.
“Well, then, how about we march through the streets dressed as oddly coloured planes, and making motor noises?” an anonymous author recommended. Happy rolled his eyes.
“No. That has nothing to do with Harry Potter.” There was a short pause.
“How about we all parade through the streets, dressed as“” began a second author.
“Let me guess,” interrupted Happy. “Superman?” Everyone looked at him strangely.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the author, “After the last book, Superman’s been done. Besides, who likes to march around in public with their undies on the outside? I think we should be dressed as toads.”
Happy rolled his eyes, realising that if he wanted an idea more original than walking through the streets dressed as various different things, he would need to think up one himself.
He tapped his chin, thoughtfully, until…
“I’ve got it!” cried an anonymous author.
“No, I’ve got it!” shouted back Happy. His eyes had strayed to a recent email, which happened to be sitting on the screen. “Listen to this…”
“Dear J.K. Rowling,
Due to the fact that your ‘Harry Potter’ series has reached success of enormous proportions, News Newspaper’s television partner, News Current Affairs Show, would be very much interested in an exclusive interview.
We would like to propose that we organise everything “ a small panel to interview you, the studio, before- and after-interview snacks, etc., and the remainder of the necessary television necessities, such as advertising and lighting. Please call us on:
1800 NEWS TV to discuss terms…
Regards,
The Manager.”
The authors sat in silence for a moment.
“What’s your point?” inquired Jackie.
“Do I have to spell it out to you?” demanded Happy. The authors and Jackie all shrugged. “I’m suggesting maybe we should do an exclusive interview…”
“But Mr O’Brien,” queried an anonymous author. “I think you’ve forgotten “ J.K. Rowling doesn’t exist! Remember, we had to invent a name…?”
Several years earlier…
“How about Superman?”
“NO!” snapped Happy. “Someone new, someone with impact, someone very… British.”
“How about J.K. Rowling?” suggested an author.
“Perfect!” shouted Happy in triumph. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”
“Of course I remember!” snapped Happy, irritated. “You twits! All we need to do is get someone to stand in for J.K. Rowling “ to pretend to be the author of Harry Potter!”
Everyone gasped.
“But who?” whispered Jackie.
“Well, we need to keep up pretences,” Happy told everyone, “so I suppose the author who claimed to be J.K. Rowling in the web chat with Femog, the Australian flashback extraordinaire, will need to be the face of our author…”
“Yes,” agreed the flashback author, “remember, Mr O’Brien…?”
A couple of years earlier…
“G’day, mate. You can just call me ‘Femog’,” replied the man.
“Very well, Mr Femog. My name is Happy O’Brien and this is “ umm…”
“J.K. Rowling,” prompted the author, panicking. The fact that J.K. Rowling didn’t exist had to be kept secret at all costs. Femog tipped his hat at the two of them.
“Of course I remember!” Happy told her sharply. “I was there, and I brought up the incident in the first place!”
“Anyway,” Jackie intervened, “with that settled, I think we should get back to what we were discussing several minutes ago, the exclusive interview idea. Remember…?”
Several minutes earlier…
The authors sat in silence for a moment.
“What’s your point?” inquired Jackie.
“Do I have to spell it out to you?” demanded Happy. The authors and Jackie all shrugged. “I’m suggesting maybe we should do an exclusive interview…”
“Will the lot of you stop giving recounts, please?” demanded Happy, very irritated. Everyone sighed, and nodded.
“Would you like me to call them?” asked the anonymous author who would be playing J.K. Rowling.
“Yes,” Happy told her. “Yes, you do that…”
o0oOo0o
Two weeks later, Happy, Jackie and the authors found themselves waiting for the ‘exclusive J.K. Rowling interview’ to come on television. In the mean time, they were reading stories on an interesting site, with a magnificent archive of fan fiction.
Warning: Written before HBS (Half-Blood Superman)
Chapter One “ The Other Minister
It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the president of a far-distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else....
Happy found it all very amusing.
He had only gotten about three pages into the thing, when the clock struck seven thirty, and it was time to turn on the television, to see the well-advertised segment of News Current Affairs Show.
A long-running commercial finished, and the announcer came onto the screen, sitting at a desk.
“Good evening, and welcome to News Current Affairs Show. We’re told to wait when we go to the Doctor’s surgery, but what are the doctors actually doing? That and more later, but now on to our first story…”
An image of the author who had stood in as ‘J.K. Rowling’ appeared in the background.
“J.K. Rowling began her writing career just a few short years ago, and the first book of the Harry Potter series, ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’, was widely accepted as one of the great children’s books of our time. Since then, the series has increased in popularity, and experts say the books appeal to anyone from the youngest infant to the oldest citizen. J.K. Rowling has not been seen by the public until just recently, when she gave an exclusive interview to Sue Thompson, from News Current Affairs Show…”
The screen changed to the studio where the interview had been conducted.
“Do you find yourself getting attached to the characters?”
“Oh, absolutely,” laughed the author, “absolutely. I remember how difficult it was in ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Superman’ when I had to kill off both Harry and Voldemort. And in ‘Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix’, the scene when the Acromantula ate Draco Malfoy, as a delayed reward for Harry and Ron. Not to mention Basil, the giant snake’s death scene. Just heart-breaking.”
“Ah, so that’s how you pronounce it then?” asked Sue, “I know there are lots of pronunciations out there, but it’s ‘Harr-ee’?”
“Yes, that’s right. I was worried about that name, but thankfully most people seem to get the pronunciation. That’s why I wrote that bit around the beginning of the first book, when Harry explained how to say his name? That was for readers, just as much as it was for Hermione.”
The interview went on for several more minutes, edited here and there so only the more interesting questions were discussed. Eventually, the interviewer, ‘Sue Thompson’, got to the end of the interview.
“Now, Mrs. Rowling, there’s just one more question I have to ask.”
“Just one?” The two of them laughed.
“What can you tell us about book seven? Does it have a title yet?”
“It might have a title,” said the author mysteriously. “But I can’t say. I can tell you, though, you’re going to see a lot of the trio in the next book, particularly Harry.”
The announcer closed the segment, and went back to whatever other news they were talking about, but something about that interview felt particularly significant to Happy. What was it that made him uneasy?
“You know, I just realised we haven’t even started on the last book,” Jackie commented. Ah, yeah. Of course, that was what was wrong.
“Well,” Happy addressed everyone, turning off the television, “here we are “ about to write the seventh and final Harry Potter book. For this book, we need clever thinking, drama, action, suspense, and hard-hitting children’s entertainment!”
The authors and Jackie cheered.
“And even more importantly and immediately,” Happy added intensely, “we need a title. Jump to it!”
It was not long before the room became a hive of activity, minds constructing, theorising, and putting together the basis of the seventh Harry Potter book. They worked and worked, for seventy days, and seventy nights, until they all got together and approached Happy…
“Mr O’Brien,” began one of the authors, “in the past, when trying to think of a title, we have always presented what first came into our minds, on the spur of the moment, but this time, we’ve decided to base the title of the book on the plot.” Happy considered that for a moment.
“What an interesting idea,” he commented, “it’s good to see you authors are somewhat capable of original thinking “ not to mention, I was wondering what you’d been doing for the past approximately two and a half months.”
“We have some proposals at the ready,” the author continued, and stepped aside while Happy’s assistant, Jackie van de Geissen, took the floor.
“Our first suggestion,” Jackie proposed, “is based on the idea that the book will contain some very important artefacts, and thus the title, ‘Harry Potter and the Disillusioning Artefacts of Doom’.”
Happy tapped his chin.
“It gives too much away,” he decided, “next!”
“Alright,” Jackie accepted, and turned to the next palm card. “Because Harry is so grown up now, we have ‘Harry Potter and the Adult Problem’.”
“That is quite catchy,” considered Happy, “but much too wordy…”
For a long time, Jackie ran through title after title after title, until finally he came to his final palm card, the last suggestion of the authors.
“Well,” he began, with a yawn, “For our tenth and final idea: it’s clear that the plot of the seventh book will revolve around the centre point of Harry himself, so we came up with this one, last title…”
Everyone looked on in suspense and tiredness.
“‘Harry Potter’.”
Happy sat for a moment.
His eyes widened.
His fatigued frown turned slowly into a grin of absolute delight.
“It’s“” he began. “It’s… it’s…” The authors and Jackie all appeared to be crossing their fingers. “It’s… perfect!” exclaimed Happy, happily. “It’s simple, it’s risky, and it’s positively divine!”
The authors all high-fived each other. Now, for the first time since the release of the previous book, confident and inspired, Happy, sat up, straight and enthusiastic, at the head of the round table.
“Now, my dear assistant and fantastically adequate authors,” he addressed everyone, creativity and opportunity sizzling through the air like poorly contained electricity, “let’s get started on this thing.”
o0oOo0o
The following six hundred and twelve days and six hundred and twelve nights were devoted, not to naming the book, but to writing it. Growing sentimental, Happy decided that, instead of picking out random chapters, or settling for the last one, he, Jackie and the authors would attend a miraculous feast, where they would read not one chapter, nor two chapters, but three chapters (and an epilogue), the night before publication. The press would be allowed to stay for the first, but then they would be rid of, so that the final book of the ‘Harry Potter’ series, ‘Harry Potter’, would remain secret.
The dining hall was positively splendid, with plated gold furniture and a soft, relaxing background music being played by a top quality CD player.
“Why,” announced Jackie, ever the over-dramatic type, when he first entered the room, “this room is lovely.”
“Quite!” agreed Happy, content, “I do declare this room is simply glorious, fit for the highest standards of royalty!”
When the authors had all taken their seats (of course, the press was told that they were particularly anonymous-looking, lowly fans and lucky small-time reporters), and the various members of the media were standing around, waiting, Happy decided it was time to begin.
Chapter One: The Deal
“Gosh,” remarked Ron, a tall boy with red hair, “I feel downright down after that funeral.”
“Me too,” agreed Hermione, a clever girl with big hair and a little nose that was suspiciously similar to that of both the late Harry Potter’s and the ‘late’ Sirius Black’s. “It’s so odd to be travelling on this train, not in the Prefects compartment, and without Harry.” Ron nodded.
“Also, I haven’t seen or scowled at Ginny at all today,” he added. “It’s really getting to me that every person in the world even distantly related to me has been recently been killed by Knight of Walpurgis, evil fiend, father of Draco Malfoy, and Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy.”
“I understand,” comforted Hermione. Ron looked out the window.
“I think we’re at the station,” he commented, seeing Platform 9 ¾, where students were now standing, although most had already crossed through the barrier.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Hermione, “We don’t want to be late!”
Quickly, Ron and Hermione grabbed their bags and hurried out of the train, pushing through the thin crowds to get to the barrier. When they were allowed through, the pair seemed to be in a train station, and a sign nearby said ‘King’s Cross’. This was because they were at King’s Cross Station. All this was normal enough… but something seemed slightly off…
“Ron!” Hermione gasped. “I just realised “ where are we going to go?” Ron rolled his eyes.
“Well, to my place, of course…” Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“Ron, your entire family has died.” Ron scratched his chin.
“Oh, yeah…”
“I don’t think we can go to my house,” Hermione went on, “because you’ve barely talked to my parents, and neither you nor Harry has ever even noticed my sister!”
“You have a sister?” asked Ron, alarmed. Hermione nodded. “Wow, Hermione, I never noticed. I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” said Hermione, “She understands. I explained that you and Harry were a bit dim.”
Ron blinked, and then blinked again, in Harry’s honour, of course.
“I wrote to them and said I’d be staying at your place,” Hermione continued. “But now I don’t know where we should go!”
All seemed lost, until Ron and Hermione became a little more observant, and saw three uncomfortable and highly impatient figures.
“Hermione,” said Ron, “the Dursleys are here…”
“Did no one tell them Harry had died?” questioned Hermione.
“I don’t think so,” Ron told her, “I think I remember Dumbledore (whose name is really Icicle Slughorn) mentioning it…”
Earlier that day…
“Well, Ron,” said Dumbledore (whose name was really Icicle Slughorn). “Harry is dead.”
“Yeah,” agreed Ron.
“I have had correspondence with Petunia Dursley, but, even though I am still alive and this is not my funeral, I think you should be the one to inform the Dursley family of his death.”
“Yeah,” agreed Ron again.
“Oh no!” exclaimed Hermione, upon hearing this news. “How are we going to tell them?”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” said Ron. “I mean, he’s only temporarily dead. Come on, let’s go and have a word with them.”
“I don’t know,” worried Hermione, “I mean, remember the last time we saw them…?”
The last time Ron and Hermione saw the Dursleys…
“Vernon, don’t pick on Harry,” commanded Moody, moodily.
“And why not?!” demanded Vernon, a little shaken.
“Because we’ll come after you!” warned Ron, eyes flashing dangerously. Vernon looked perturbed.
“But “ but it’s so hard to change routine, even if wizards with dangerously flashing and/or revolving eyes warn you not to!” he told them all, worriedly.
“What about if witches and wizards with dangerously flashing and/or revolving eyes were to warn you?!” pressed Tonks, eyes flashing dangerously, and, since it was Tonks, in various different colours.
“Well… I suppose it would be worse…”
“Then consider yourself warned!” barked Hermione.
Vernon looked scared, but not convinced.
“Well,” Lupin put in his two cents. “What about if witches, wizards and rabid wolves with dangerously flashing and/or revolving eyes were to warn you not bother Harry?!” he growled angrily, bearing his sizeable teeth. “Rabid wolves with extensive knowledge on the topic of even darker and more terrifying creatures?”
“Okay, okay!” cowered Vernon. “Okay! We’ll put in our best effort!”
“You’d better!” scowled Moody, madly revolving his magical eye, while everyone else’s eyes flashed dangerously at the same time. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley squeaked awkwardly and scampered away, off to their car, and Dudley came tumbling after.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now, is there?” rationalised Ron.
“Alright,” agreed Hermione. “I’m just glad that Dumbledore told you to give them the news, and not me.” Ron scowled, and set off towards the Dursleys.
“Hey, Mr., Mrs., and Dudley Dursley!” he greeted in a friendly tone.
“Are you talking to us?!” demanded Vernon, infuriated.
“Yes!” Ron said bravely. “I don’t see any other Mr., Mrs., and Dudley Dursleys around here! It’s nice to see you again. I’m sure you remember me (although I doubt you remember my name).”
Vernon nodded stiffly.
“Well, first, I have to inform you that Harry has been killed!” Vernon spluttered, surprised.
“What?!”
“You heard me!” replied Ron. Everything he said was like an announcement, due to nervousness. “Harry Potter is temporarily dead!”
The Dursleys blinked.
“Don’t ask,” suggested Hermione. They took her advice.
“Was there something else?” asked Petunia, looking pale.
“Yes, two more things,” said Ron. “Next, I need to tell you that You Know Who is temporarily dead also, so you don’t need to worry about dying at his hands until he’s resurrected or one of his Horcruxes is invoked!”
The Dursleys blinked again.
“And the last thing?” requested Vernon weakly.
“The last thing,” Ron began, plucking up the courage, “is… we need to ask you if we can come and stay at your house for a while!”
The Dursleys blinked, a third time.
“What?” asked Dudley. “Why? Don’t you have freak families to go to?”
“No,” replied Hermione. “My family are all non-magical, non-freaks, and all of Ron’s family are dead.”
“Oh,” said Mr. Dursley, not sure how to respond.
“You still can’t come and stay, just because your whole family has been killed,” said Petunia.
Hermione and Ron scowled.
“Alright then,” said Hermione. “We’ll stay at Mrs. Figg’s house. But you have to give us a lift.”
“Deal,” said Vernon. “But only if you’ll get out when we’re somewhere quiet a street or two away, so no one knows you have anything to do with us.”
“Deal,” agreed Ron.
He and Hermione followed the Dursleys to their car.
Happy grinned as all the media personnel couldn’t help but beg to stay just a little bit longer to hear more of the book. This, of course, was out of the question.
When the security guards had finally gotten them all out, Happy decided it was time to read the other two chapters that they would gloat over, the final two chapters of the book…
-.-.-.-.-.-
And here ends another chapter of Happy's tale. As usual, I'd be ever so greatful if you would take the time to review. Finally, if you have any questions of interest regarding this story, why not pop over to my thread in the Duelling Club?
Thank you for reading, and please stick around for Chapter Seven, Part Two: Of Horcrux Hoaxes and Hopelessness
Chapter Seven, Parts Two and Three: Of Horcruxes and a Search by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Sorry, guys! I was so sure I'd already submitted this! Anyway, here it is now, present, written, strange, and as full of rumours as ever! Partly because of this, I have a
SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:
Part Two and Part Three have been mushed, mixed and moulded together. Thus, there will be NO Fifth post of chapter seven, and the story's completion will be the update after next. I chose to do this, because both sections Three and Four were quite short and I thought you guys deserved a decent sized lump of Happy-ness (I swear, that pun was NOT intended).
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. J.K. Rowling exists, and, in fact, owns the Potter books and everything in 'em.
As per usual, hearts, hugs, thanks and chocolate go to dear Schmergo, fantastic friend and brilliant beta!
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Seven, Part Two: Of Horcrux Hoaxes and Hopelessness
Chapter Forty-One: Run Aground and Hopeless
“Oh, this is hopeless!” exclaimed Harry, who had been resurrected.
“Yeah,” agreed Ron, whose entire family had been resurrected.
“We’ve completely run aground!” finished Hermione, who had not died or had any of her family die, and who thus had not needed the services of any kind of resurrection spell.
“It’s just terrible. We’re completely out of options!” Harry groaned, annoyed and frustrated. He sat down heavily, on Mrs. Figg’s couch. “How come every time we got to a Horcrux hiding spot, it was always the same? Remember…?”
Horcrux #1, the Locket
Harry grasped the Horcrux, knowing that he, Ron and Hermione had little time to get off the island before the Inferi smashed them to pieces. The locket was oddly light, though, and kind of small… He opened it nervously, and inside was a piece of paper.
After quickly reading the short note, Harry shouted something very rude as loud as his lungs would allow. It was really quite loud; even the inferi faltered, and they were probably deaf…
Horcrux #2, the Cup
Harry, Ron and Hermione, knowing they had no time to spare, darted up to the pedestal when the cup stood, solitary and still, illuminated in an eerie light… Although, when they got closer, Harry could have sworn the cup of Hufflepuff’s from his vision was bigger… And were those plastic jewels?
Heart racing, Harry reached the cup first and pulled out a piece of paper.
Bad news.
Horcrux #3, ‘something of Gryffindor’s or Ravenclaw’s’ (Ravenclaw’s wand)
Harry and Ron had no time to spare; before long, the rubble of Ollivander’s wand shop would be swarming with Knights of Walpurgis. He had known there was more to the store than had met the eye. Those creepy vibes couldn’t have been coming from the old wand maker only, and now this theory had been proven correct. Harry searched through the rubble, tirelessly… he had to find it, for everyone’s sake. And he knew it would be here. Hermione had worked it out, before she had been petrified, again, just like in their second year. What kind of Dark Lord had more than one Giant Snake, anyway? They could only be thankful that she had been looking through a pair of omniculars when she came face to face with Ernest.
“Harry!” called Ron. “Harry, I found it!” He was holding a wand. Harry couldn’t help but think that his tone should have been more victorious…
Wrapped around fake wand was an incredibly unwelcome note…
Dear Tom,
I have taken this Horcrux, and will destroy it, as soon as I possibly can.
I know I will not be the one to destroy you, but when you meet your match, you will not be the victor.
Best wishes,
~R.A.B.
Horcrux #4, the Snake
Never had Harry willingly come this close to Voldemort, but this time, he had not had a choice. He needed to get that snake.
Harry and Ron (because Hermione was still out of commission) had searched endlessly for Nagini, but eventually, they got her cornered.
“Three…” counted down Harry, as they would both pounce at once. “Two…” he got ready, bending his knees strategically in order to increase his attack. “One!”
Harry and Ron jumped at the snake, both at once, and had it pinned down. It was now, however, that Harry noticed something… the snake was small, and felt kind of… rubbery.
“Harry, there’s something…” muttered Ron, and, from the fake snake’s mouth, retrieved a note.
Once again, Harry and Ron choked on the bitter feeling of defeat.
“Of course we remember, Harry,” said Ron. “We were there. Also, the notes are all arranged out in front of us.”
“I think it’s clear that this ‘R.A.B.’ fellow is a genius,” Hermione told the other two. “It can also be concluded that he knows or knew Voldemort personally, and… judging by the last note, in which approximately 48% of the words are spelt correctly, he occasionally has or had one too many firewhiskeys, if you know what I mean…”
“But who could it be…?” wondered Harry, aloud.
There was a brief pause. Ron appeared to be thinking.
“Mundungus?” he suggested.
“Too cowardly,” snapped Hermione.
“Gilderoy Lockhart?” suggested Ron.
“Too stupid,” snapped Hermione. “Also, he’s in the hospital.”
“Sirius?” Ron proposed.
“Too dead!” snapped Hermione. “Don’t be ridiculous!”
Again, a pause, but this time, Harry was thinking.
“Actually,” he contradicted. “I don’t know about that. I distinctly remember there being people wherever I was when I was dead… Ron’s entire family were there, Cedric Diggory definitely wasn’t; I saw dead people “ Draco Malfoy, my parents, my grandparents, various other emotion-triggering persons of interest… but I’m quite sure Sirius was not there!”
“Hey!” exclaimed Ron. “Speaking of the possibility of Sirius not being dead, there’s one of Mrs. Figg’s messenger cats, coming this way, and it appears to be being followed by a large, black dog!”
“What a coincidence,” commented Harry. “Sirius could turn into a large, black dog. Remember…?”
About four years ago, at the Shrieking Shack…
“Don’t worry, Ron!” screamed Harry, “We’ll save you!”
“Harry, shut up!” hissed Ron. “It’s a trap, you git, and I don’t want that dog to hear you with its ultra-sensitive dog ears…”
But it was too late. A large, black dog ran into view from behind a chair.
“Harry!” exclaimed Ron, “kill it!”
Harry was too confused, and couldn’t move fast enough. A strange change was coming over the dog… it appeared to be turning into…
“That dog is really a man?!” cried Hermione.
“That’s right,” said the man, “And not just any man. All along, that dog has been me, the only man in the world who has escaped Azkaban and who suspiciously has the same little nose as two of you… Sirius Black!”
Ron fainted.
“Yes, I vaguely remember,” agreed Ron. “But it would be such a coincidence if that was Sirius, here, now.”
But perhaps it was a day of coincidences, for at that moment, the dog approached them. A strange change was coming over it… the big mutt appeared to be turning into…
“That dog is really a man!” cried Hermione.
“That’s right,” said the man, “And not just any man. That dog was me, the only man in the world who has escaped Azkaban AND the Veil, and who suspiciously has the same little nose as two of you… Sirius Black!”
Ron fainted.
“Sirius!” exclaimed Harry. “You’re alive!”
“That’s right,” agreed Sirius. “Now, what’s going on?”
“We’ve run aground,” admitted Hermione. “We need to destroy some stuff before going after Voldemort, and all the stuff has already been taken!”
“Come and ask the Order, then!” Sirius told them. Hermione opened her mouth to speak. “No, no!” scolded Sirius. “Before you speak, keep in mind that I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
The ex-convict, ex-dead ex-Marauder apparated all of them to Grimmauld place. They heard sounds coming from the kitchen “ voices.
“I completely disagree,” someone was saying. “We need to get rid of Lucius Malfoy, he’s making the Ministry support the Knights of Walpurgis’ plans!”
“Alright, alright, I get the picture. Let’s vote,” interrupted another voice.
Harry, Hermione and Sirius dragged the unconscious Ron into the kitchen where the Order meeting was being held.
“Sirius!” exclaimed many people. Lupin barked, which caused Ron to stir.
“What happened?” asked the canine ex-Professor.
“Well, that’s a long story,” Sirius told everyone, “And I don’t think Harry, Ron and Hermione can wait.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” agreed Harry. “We really need some help.”
“Well then,” said Dumbledore. “We’re meeting anyway; come and address the Order.”
The Order all sat back down around the table, and Lupin jumped onto Sirius’s lap. Everyone looked expectantly at Harry.
“Well, a while ago, Dumbledore sent us off to go and find some things, which are really important to Voldemort, and which mean that he can’t be properly killed.”
The Order all nodded.
“However,” Harry went on, “when we went to find the first one, it had gone, and had been replaced with a fake. There was a note left behind, signed ‘R.A.B.’”
“Oh!” exclaimed Dumbledore, a look of surprise on his face. “Oh, dear. I apologise!”
“What for?” asked Hermione, confused.
“That was me,” he admitted. “And you don’t need to worry “ I destroyed Ravenclaw’s wand.”
The trio blinked.
“What?!” they exclaimed, confused.
“I took that particular one “ R.A.B. is me,” he announced simply. “I wrote a note to Tom.”
“Where did you get ‘R.A.B.’ from, then?” asked Hermione. “If your name is really Icicle Slughorn?”
“It’s a muggle expression,” explained Dumbledore. “‘Rest and Burn’.”
“No it’s not,” contradicted Hermione, who ought to know, being muggle-born. Everyone ignored her.
“What about the rest?” asked Ron. “You took the rest of them too?”
“Of course not,” said Dumbledore, “or else I wouldn’t have sent you three after them, would I? Why do you ask?”
“They were the same!” Harry told him. “Stolen, and a note from ‘R.A.B.’ Here, I’ll show you… This one’s from a fake cup, which had replaced Hufflepuff’s goblet… ‘Dear Mr. Riddle,
I have discovered your secret, and have taken your cup.
I feel sure it will fetch a pretty penny.
~R.A.B.”
“Uh…” muttered Mundungus Fletcher. “I think I know who wrote that…”
“Who?” asked Ron, slightly alarmed.
“Borgin,” the odd fellow answered promptly. “Real-Amberstone Borgin.”
“How do you know?!” demanded Hermione.
“Because,” explained Mundungus. “I stole it from him. See?” He held up Hufflepuff’s goblet.
“Give me that!” snapped Harry, and took the cup. There was a distinct crack in it, running from the top to the bottom, which made him sure it was no longer a Horcrux. “Well, that made all of this rather easier, but still we’re looking for the other two. Maybe Borgin“”
“Umm,” interrupted Professor Bicycle Slughorn. “Could I maybe hear one of the notes?”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry, wondering why. He glanced down at the snake note. It was completely misspelled. “Uh… Hay, Voldamot.
Sory, but Iv taked your Horkruck-snak and wil distroi it as soon as it gos too sleep.
I just coodnt do it eny mor.
~R.A.B.” Harry had stumbled over many words. “Sorry, it’s spelt really badly…”
Slughorn winced.
“I know who wrote that,” he told Harry.
“Who?” demanded Ron.
“My father, Argo Pyrites Slughorn, owner of the Hog’s Head and ex-right hand man of You Know Who,” said Professor Bicycle dramatically. “I wouldn’t put it past him to forget his own initials…”
“What?!” demanded Harry. “What are you talking about? I thought the owner of the Hog’s Head was Dumbledore’s brother, Aberforth!”
“It’s a long story,” explained Hermione. “We’ll tell you later.”
“He was drafting that letter and asked my opinion,” went on Professor Bicycle. “I admit, I did have my suspicions, but I honestly had no idea what he meant by referring to a ‘Horcruck snack’! I thought it was some kind of food item!”
“Did he “ uh “ dispose of the snake?” asked Harry.
“Definitely,” confirmed Slughorn.
“Right,” said Hermione. “But there’s still one last note “ could any of these ‘R.A.B.’s’ have struck again?” Sirius guiltily raised his hand.
“Yes, Sirius?” asked Harry awkwardly.
“I don’t know about that, but could I possibly hear the last note?”
Harry pulled out the last note.
“Okay… To the Dark Lord,
I’ll be dead by the time you read this, but I want you to know I stole the real Hor“” Harry paused, “locket and am hiding it until I can destroy it, which will hopefully be before my death, because if I die before destroying it, then whoever searches for the rest of them will have even more trouble trying to find it. Unless my stupid, blood-traitor brother is the next one to look for them all, because then I hope I haven’t destroyed it and it takes him forever and a day and he dies trying!
From R.A.B.”
Sirius groaned.
“That’s “ uh “ my brother,” he admitted, shamefully. “What a git.”
“How do you know?” asked Ron.
“Just read the note, to start off with,” Sirius informed him. “Also, I kind of found and may have accidentally read his diary… Here, I mysteriously have it with me.” He handed the diary to Ron.
“July 12,” read Ron. “Dear Diary,
Today something remarkable happened to me.
I was avoiding going home, because, of course, when I did I knew Mum would kill me for quitting on Voldemort, and thus getting myself killed, so I decided to go wandering for a while.
Somehow, I ended up on this beach. It was hot and around the middle of the day, so then I went swimming, and you’ll never guess what I found. I was just paddling around, when all of a sudden I noticed a cave and went inside, where I accidentally fell and cut myself on a rock. Then, the rest of the cave suddenly opened and I decided to explore.
I wandered around for a while, looking at the dead bodies in the water and wondering what the thing was on the island in the middle of the pool, but my hand really stung so I decided to press it against the nice, cold stone. But there was something else there “ I had found an invisible chain! I didn’t really bother with precaution (but don’t tell Mum!). I never thought it was that big a thing I was stumbling into. I pulled the chain, and this little boat emerged.
Since I was going to die anyway, I hopped in the boat and it took me to the middle of the island, where I saw a locket at the bottom of some potion-looking liquid. I couldn’t reach though it, so I figured I would have to drink the stuff, but when I tried, I felt I would go mad.
I called Kreacher to drink it, because I really wanted the locket, and when he had, he apparated back home to get a drink of water. Well, I realised (from eavesdropping in the Hog’s Head) that this was one of those things that Voldemort had, and figured, since he was going to kill me, it would make sense if I just gave him a bit of a bother, so I wrote a note telling him what I’d done. I couldn’t leave it on the island, because it would blow away, and I couldn’t leave it in the bowl because the remnants of potion would destroy it, so I took off the locket I was wearing, put the note inside, dropped it in the potion and got out of there, quick as a flash!
I bet Sirius has never stolen a Horcrux before.
~Regulus.”
“Did he destroy the Horcrux?” Hermione asked Sirius, not worrying about the secret because, if all the Horcruxes were gone anyway, it didn’t really matter.
“No,” said Sirius. “I stole it off him, and eventually (when it started to try and possess me) I destroyed it. At the time, I thought it might be a Horcrux made by Snape.”
Harry scratched his head.
“Well, thanks everyone,” he said awkwardly. “I guess that’s everything… Now we’ve just got to go and kill Voldemort’s human form… again.”
“Good luck!” encouraged Sirius. “And don’t forget “ as your Godfather (and Uncle, and second cousin, once removed) I’ll be very angry if you get yourself killed.”
Harry gulped.
“Yes,” agreed Molly Weasley, “as Ron’s mother and Harry and Hermione’s significant motherly influence, I will be incredibly unimpressed if any of you die.”
The trio all looked at each other, nervously.
“Me too,” agreed Ginny, “as Harry’s ex-girlfriend and love interest, Ron’s sister and Hermione’s close friend, I will be furious if I never see you again.”
Harry, Ron and Hermione quivered.
“Now, now,” scolded Dumbledore. “Don’t put them under so much pressure.”
“Yes,” agreed Lupin. “They’re under enough stress as it is.”
“We’ll support you, no matter what happens,” added Tonks. “Now go get him, Tiger!”
Invigorated with energy and newfound determination, the trio all trooped upstairs to get some sleep, so they’d be rested and strong when it came time to get some real work done the next day.
They would get that Lord Voldemort, and they wouldn’t die trying.
The tension in the room was unnerving as the drama of the story unfolded, and Happy could just tell that this book would blow the public away.
Someone passed the only printed copy of ‘Harry Potter’ to the next person to read, and they all settled with some extra snacks, ready to continue with the story.
--:OoO:--
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Chapter Seven, Part Three: The Final Search Begins
Chapter Forty-Two: Cactus
Considering the fact that the trio had all gone to bed at some point early in the afternoon, all three of them (even Ron) were wide awake by the time four thirty hit the following morning.
“So,” said Ron, “What should we do today?”
“I think today should be the day when we kill Voldemort’s last tiny fragment of soul,” said Harry, bravely.
“But how?” asked Hermione. “Last time we did that, you died too and the end result was that we had to bring Draco Malfoy back to life!”
“Well,” considered Harry, “I think this time, I won’t die. It’s as simple as that.”
Hermione and Ron looked at each other.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Ron. “So, where do you think we’ll find him?” Harry shrugged.
“Hermione?”
“I don’t know,” said Hermione worriedly.
A moment passed.
“Wait, I know!” exclaimed Hermione, excitedly. “Let’s go and check out the Riddle House.”
“Good idea, Hermione!” complimented Ron.
Five minutes later, at the Riddle House…
“Well,” said Harry, “this is interesting.”
“But there’s nothing here,” contradicted Hermione.
“You’re right,” agreed Ron. “I think we should look somewhere else.”
“But where?” asked Hermione.
“I don’t know,” said Ron worriedly.
A moment passed.
“Wait, I know!” exclaimed Ron, excitedly. “How about the Chamber of Secrets? There are sure to be secrets in the chamber reputed to contain secrets, right?”
“Good idea, Ron!” complemented Harry.
Almost an hour later, in the Chamber of Secrets…
“Well,” said Hermione, who had never been inside the Chamber before, “this is interesting.”
Thankfully, someone had removed Basil, the dead giant snake. The cement floor had been removed also, so the ground was covered in dirt.
In fact, chamber was completely empty, except for a small piece of paper on the centre of the floor and a humble grave stone. Harry and Ron looked at the grave, while Hermione picked up the paper.
Here lies Basil,
Giant Snake From
A Time Almost as Old as Time Itself Until
He Met His Death at the Hands of an Insolent Child,
1993
“I have now been insulted on a grave stone,” commented Harry. “That’s got to be a record or something.” Ron nodded earnestly.
“Is there anything interesting and/or useful on that piece of paper, Hermione?” he asked. Hermione shook her head.
“It’s just information on giant snakes. Did you know that other snakes consider them half-bloods because they’re originally from chicken’s eggs?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Ron, who didn’t care.
“Also, did you know that giant snakes are considered to be the Princes of the reptilian kingdom, as opposed to giant man-eating lizards, who are the Princesses?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Ron, grinding his teeth, irritated. “And I really don’t care.”
Hermione looked like she would be angry for a moment, but then sighed.
“Yeah, me neither. It doesn't really make a difference (or explain) anything - after all, 'the Half-Blood Prince' is a term utterly irrelevant in the stories of our lives. There’s nothing here.”
“We’ll have to look in another place,” said Harry.
“But where?” asked Ron.
“I don’t know,” said Harry worriedly.
A moment passed.
“Wait, I know!” exclaimed Harry excitedly. “Let’s go and raid Lucius Malfoy’s personal belongings!”
“Good idea, Harry!” complemented Hermione.
About forty-five minutes later, in the Ministry for Magic, right outside Minister Malfoy’s office…
A little memo-plane flew into Malfoy’s office, and Harry, Ron and Hermione prayed this was an important one.
Thankfully, from inside the office came a growl, and Minister Malfoy soon walked out.
“What are you doing outside my office?” he demanded, as soon as he was out in the open.
“Err “ we were looking for you,” Harry lied, frustrated that they had not foreseen this confrontation.
“Why?” asked Lucius Malfoy suspiciously.
“Because “ umm…” Harry faltered and looked at Hermione.
“We want to talk to you about the budgeting,” said Hermione simply. Lucius scowled, and muttered something about Devil children, cups of pumpkin juice, and being back in an hour or two.
Harry, Ron and Hermione high-fived, as soon as he was out of sight, and snuck into his office.
It was a regular office, definitely not too shabby, but not the luxurious place one would expect of Minister Malfoy. On the desk were several trays, labelled,
In-Tray,
Out-Tray,
Personal Correspondence, and then
Very Personal, Private Correspondence for No One’s Eyes but the Minister’s.
They immediately started pulling stuff out of the last tray and throwing it all over the floor.
“There’s nothing here,” said Hermione, forlornly. “Nothing but letters from Draco and plans of the Knights of Walpurgis’ future heists and murders. See? Dumbledore, Dumbledore, Professor Bicycle Slughorn, Dumbledore, Ron, Ron,” she was flipping through assassination plans, “Argo Pyrites Slughorn, Ron again, Dumbledore, Pyrites, Pyrites, Ron, and there are about twenty for you, Harry.” She sighed, possibly reflecting on the fact that no one seemed to want her dead. “This is so disappointing. I felt sure that going through Lucius Malfoy’s belongings would turn up something at least vaguely interesting…”
“Hey!” exclaimed Harry, who was looking through Malfoy’s Personal Correspondence tray. “I think I found something that fits your description!”
Ron and Hermione went to look in the tray. Inside was what appeared to be a wooden stick of some sort, one end of which appeared burnt like it was a torch.
“You’re right!” agreed Ron. “That is vaguely interesting!” He reached forward for it.
“No, Ron!” cried Hermione. “You stupid“”
Both she and Harry lunged forward to try and push Ron away so he couldn’t reach the wooden object. However, since they had attacked from either side, all they did was squash Ron, who firmly grasped the torch with ease.
None of them knew what they should expect “ was the office going to explode? Would an alarm go off? Would Ron get charcoal on his hands?
It was none of these things. Suddenly, it was as if the room started spinning, and neither Harry nor Hermione could think of anything cleverer than to just hold tightly on to Ron. After several moments, the three fell to a dark, grassy ground. Around them were stones, and flowers, and in one direction there were some dark trees…
“It was a portkey,” commented Hermione, nervously.
“And now,” realised Ron, glancing around, “we’re in a grave yard!”
There was a pause.
“I think I’m noticing a pattern here,” muttered Harry, but Ron and Hermione ignored him.
“What should we do?” asked Ron.
“Pick up the torch again,” said Hermione, “see if it gets us back to the Ministry.”
Ron picked up the torch. Nothing happened.
“It didn’t work,” Ron told the other two, stating the obvious.
“What should we do?” Hermione asked no one in particular.
“Well, a good idea might be to let go of me?” suggested Ron. The other two, who had still been holding on, let go, and Harry drew his wand.
“Keep on alert,” he advised. “Just in case we get jumped by Knights of Walpurgis, or a creepy muggle called Martin Malovski Saint Clair turns up with a vial of vapour.”
Ron and Hermione looked at Harry strangely.
“Trust me,” he told them. “We’re in a strange, dark place, alone. Statistically speaking, it could happen. If someone tries to kill you, play dead and don’t do anything until I say the code word. And only if you’re really sure it was me. Okay?”
“Of course,” agreed Hermione.
“Yeah,” added Ron, “what kind of side kicks do you take us for “ stupid ones? Now, let’s call out loudly, and see if anyone notices we’re here…”
“No, it would be wiser to remain undetected,” contradicted Harry. “What we need is some idea of where we are…”
They decided to explore the grave yard, keeping close together, with wands out. After several minutes, Ron stopped abruptly, almost tripping.
“Ouch!” he exclaimed, annoyed.
“What happened?” asked Harry quietly, gazing around the perimeter, wand ready for some good cursing.
“I walked into this filing cabinet,” explained Ron, pointing at a filing cabinet, which stood directly before him. The trio inspected it.
It was a regular filing cabinet, with three drawers. The first one was marked, ‘Knights of Walpurgis Records’, and contained information as to the whereabouts and status of all the Knights of Walpurgis. The second drawer was marked, ‘Order of the Phoenix Records and Speculation’, and contained information about members and suspected members of the Order.
The third and final drawer was marked, ‘Personal Correspondence’, which the trio took as a good sign. Harry tugged open the drawer. The only item inside was a large piece of paper, folded in four.
“Do you think it’s another port key?” asked Hermione. Harry shook his head.
“There can’t be that many graveyards of personal significance to Voldemort,” he told her, confidently picking up the sheet of paper.
As he unfolded it, the sight that met their eyes was something they never would have expected. Something completely new and unpredictable.
It was completely blank.
“Well, turn it over, Harry!” urged Hermione. Harry flipped the paper over, to reveal the side with content. Over the paper were small arrows, from place to place, and informative illustrations. It looked almost like…
“A map,” said Harry. “It’s a map.”
--:OoO:--
There you go, guys! A pretty decently lengthed chapter. As usual, any questions are more than welcome at my Duelling Club thread, thank you for reading, thank you for reviewing (hint hint ^^) and I wish you the best of days!
Also, please stick around for 'Chapter Seven, Part Four: 'X' Marks the Spot'
Chapter Seven, Part Four: ‘X’ Marks the Spot by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
Here we have Part Four, and the second last instalment of this story!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. And I don’t own J.K. Rowling either “ I’m not just averting credit for tax reasons! I seriously don’t own the Potterverse or anything you see in the Harry Potter novels. Also, I don’t carry more than two dollars in change.
Guess who I’m going to thank?
*Drumroll*
Thanks go to Schmergo, my friend and beta who’s seriously only slightly insane!
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
I'd love to dive right in, but first - a warning. To all Ron-lovers: I'm Sorry. With a capital S. I'm a bit of a fangirl too, so I feel your pain. But don't shoot me until I've gotten last (and final) chapter up, okay?
Previously:
“It was a portkey,” commented Hermione, nervously.
“And now,” realised Ron, glancing around, “we’re in a grave yard!”
… and slightly later in the chapter
Harry flipped the paper over, to reveal the side with content. Over the paper were small arrows, from place to place, and informative illustrations. It looked almost like…
“A map,” said Harry. “It’s a map.”
Chapter Seven, Part Four: ‘X’ Marks the Spot
“A map to what?” inquired Ron, coming to look over Harry and Hermione’s shoulders, which was easy, taking into account his considerable height.
“Something called the Pillar of Storgé, apparently,” said Harry, pointing at the top of the page, where there was some large writing that read,
‘Directions to something called the Pillar of Storgé’.
“Do you think it’s particularly important?” asked Ron.
“I’d say so,” Harry told him, pointing to some massive red letters at the bottom of the page, which read,
‘PARTICULARLY IMPORTANT’.
“Do you think finding this ‘Pillar of Storgé’, could help us get to You Know Who?” questioned Ron.
“Sounds likely,” said Harry. “After all, look at this…” He pointed to some words that had been written in brackets,
‘(please note that is the only way to get to me, Voldemort)’
“I think this plan is promising,” Hermione told the boys, “but judging by this map, it will not be an easy venture. Look at the names of the places! ‘The Fortress of Shadows’.” Hearing the accursed name out loud sent shivers down the spines of the trio.
“Well,” said Harry, trying to overcome his fear, “how do we get started?”
Hermione pointed to the map, where a little green cross was labelled, ‘You Are Here’.
“I think we are here,” she informed them. Harry nodded. “We should be able to face the North, where we will see the ‘Fortress of Shadows’.”
The trio shivered at the name.
“Which way is North?” asked Ron.
“Hold on,” said Harry, giving Hermione the map and placing his wand on his palm. “I’ll do the spell we learned in our fourth year for the Doomspell Tournament, which acts as a compass. Compasify!.” The trio watched in suspense as his wand began to quiver, and then turned clockwise, to point at what appeared to be a shadowy fortress.
“There!” announced Ron, pointing to it. “I think that’s it!”
“It says there’s a trapdoor in the floor of the Fortress of Shadows,” informed Hermione, causing the three of them to shiver in fear.
Silently, the trio approached the Fortress. It was not large, but was certainly sturdy, and made of solid wood. Inside were the creepiest of odds and ends, old, burnt debris, and Harry was sure he had saw things crawling from shadow to shadow.
Ron was very pale.
“I had hoped my comic arachnophobia wouldn’t have a chance to resurface,” he told the others, a certain quiver to his tone. “After all, it has been very relevant in the past, remember…?”
In the past…
“In that case,” said the giant spider, “I will talk to you two for a while, before I eat you horribly and allow my to children fight over your remains.”
Ron had reached the end of his tether.
“Is that pathetic crying I hear?” demanded the giant spider.
“Yes, Mr Giant Spider Sir,” whimpered Ron. “I am comically afraid of spiders!”
“Were you really crying pathetically?” asked Hermione, with a snicker.
“It comes with comical arachnophobia!” snapped Ron, unhappy and defensive, most likely regretting telling that particular story and describing how, exactly, he had cried.
“This is all very interesting,” admitted Harry, “but we’re meant to be looking for a trapdoor.”
“Right,” remembered Ron and Hermione.
They searched the ground for quite a while, but couldn’t find a thing.
“Do you think this is the right Fortress?” asked Harry, worriedly.
“It’s definitely shadowy,” Hermione reminded him, doubtfully, “Not to mention, we can’t exactly have followed the wrong North, can we?”
“I suppose not,” agreed Harry. “But how are we going to get through the floor?”
“We should have brought Hagrid,” commented Ron. “Get him to jump a few times, then the floor wouldn’t be in the way any more.” Harry nodded, but had a slightly more realistic idea.
“We have the next best thing though,” he informed the other two.
“What?” pried Ron. Harry winked.
“Hermione!”
Hermione didn’t look pleased, for some reason.
“I mean, magic,” Harry corrected himself, “which Hermione is very good at and could use to explode the floor, seeing as how we have no dynamite.” Hermione raised her eyebrows.
“Hear that, Hermione?” asked Ron, obviously trying to lift her mood. “You’re equivalent to dynamite! Which, whatever it is, is probably very intelligent, independent and beautiful.”
Hermione just rolled her eyes.
“Just get out of the way, will you?”
Harry and Ron, knowing what was good for them, got out of the way as Hermione blew up the floor. Panels of wood flew everywhere, completely destroying any elegance the Fortress had ever exhibited. Old, darkened pottery was smashed, and the pieces were scattered over the already dirty floor. More importantly, however, Hermione’s attempt was successful in uncovering the entrance to a dark tunnel.
And then, they heard the thumping of footsteps.
“Oh, no!” hissed Hermione. “We’ve awakened an angry beast!”
“I don’t think you were meant to blow open the Fortress,” Harry suggested fearfully. The thumping grew louder, and a faint growling could be heard.
“Isn’t there are quieter, gentler explosion spell?” asked Ron, listening hard.
“Quick!” Hermione snapped, ignoring the two of them. “Into the tunnel!”
Harry, Ron and Hermione climbed quickly down into the tunnel, and, seeing as how the passage became very small for a while, crawled as fast as their little arms and legs would carry them. There was a huge crashing noise from the Fortress, and the trio hurried through the widening tunnel, until the area below the old, shadowy structure was out of sight.
Hermione consulted with the map.
“We need to follow the tunnel until we reach something called ‘the Toenail of Icklibõgg’,” she said uncertainly, “and then turn left…”
They reached something closely resembling a toenail, in about five minutes. It was huge, yellow, and carried a funny smell.
“Is that it?” inquired Ron, disgusted.
“Does it look like a toenail?” asked Harry, bouncing back with another question. Ron looked at the thing seriously.
“Yeah,” he decided, “Crabbe’s.”
“And he would know,” Hermione commented seriously. “As you, Ron, were him for an hour in our second year, remember…?”
In the trio’s second year…
Harry, Ron and Hermione all rose to take the potion.
“Actually,” said Hermione, “I’ll go into a cubicle. After all, friends though we certainly are, there’s a reason why boys aren’t allowed in the girls’ dormitory.”
“Fair enough,” agreed Ron. Hermione dashed away, and Harry looked at the liquid in his goblet. The Polyjuice potion looked like the kind of thing he would never want to step in, let alone drink.
“Well,” said Harry awkwardly to Ron, “bottoms up, eh?”
“What?” asked Ron, confused. “I fail to see what our bottoms have to do with anything.” He paused for a moment. “But if it’s something about the procedure of taking the potion, don’t tell Hermione I said that…”
“I mean, shall we drink?” Harry corrected himself, ignoring his best friend’s clueless antics.
“I suppose we shall,” agreed Ron.
Harry and Ron clinked glasses, and both drank at the same time, completely draining their goblets. What followed was an odd feeling, like taking a shower in warm jelly.
“How odd,” commented Harry. Ron nodded… only it wasn’t Ron. It was Crabbe.
“Harry!” exclaimed Ron. “I’ve never seen you this ugly!”
“You neither,” agreed Harry.
He paused for a moment.
“No, you neither,” he said more firmly, taking extra special account of Crabbe’s hairdo. “Now, let’s go grill some Malfoy.”
“Grill?” asked Ron, now even more confused and a little worried. “Harry, I think that’s illegal…”
“Yes, I remember,” agreed Harry, recalling his experience of being Goyle.
“Oh, yes, me too,” Ron added. “And before that, I had thought that Malfoy would have better taste in side-kicks… You know, with more expensive pedicures, at least.”
Thankfully, unlike their second year experience, none of the trio had to get too close to the toenail, and simply turned down a narrow tunnel to the left.
“What do we do now, Hermione?” asked Harry, who was fearlessly and heroically in the lead.
“You might want to tune down that fearless heroism, mate,” warned Ron. “Or you might get yourself killed again, and perhaps inadvertently get my entire family killed again as well.”
“Have you forgotten the plan, Ron?” scolded Harry. “I said I wouldn’t get killed, so I won’t. Hermione, what do we do now?” he repeated.
“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted from the rear. “I think we’re meant to keep going straight, but there’s a little star on the map…”
“Have you checked the Key?” asked Harry.
“Oh “ right,” muttered Hermione, looking slightly embarrassed. “Uh “ we’ll need to keep going straight, but will encounter an ‘Obstacle, booby-trap or Giant Spider’”.
“That’s ridiculous,” grumbled Ron. “How many Giant Spiders are there in the world? Couldn’t they come up with something else Giant instead, like?” He paused before continuing thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that toenail was quite big, and there was Basil, and also Ernest, but still, I’d prefer something more along the lines of a Giant Flobberworm…”
However, Ron didn’t get to keep up his annoying rant, as something large had fallen from the ceiling.
Without even getting a clear glimpse of what it was, Harry, Ron and Hermione ducked behind a rock, which was conveniently only feet away.
“What was that?” asked Ron, quivering, and completely forgetting his complaints. “Was it a Giant Flobberworm?”
“I think that was the ‘Obstacle, booby-trap or Giant Spider,’ Hermione told him worriedly
“It didn’t look like a Giant Spider,” Harry told the other two, narrowing it down.
“And I’m quite sure it’s not a booby trap,” added Hermione, “or it would have trapped us, rather than falling in our path. We’re looking at an Obstacle, Ron and Harry.”
They sat there for a few moments, hoping for more clues, but heard only scuffling.
“I’ll pop my head out and take a peek,” offered Harry. The other two nodded, and Harry silently poked his head out.
“Is it a bird?” asked Hermione, fearfully.
“No,” whispered Harry.
“Is it a plane?” inquired Ron.
“That’s completely stupid,” Harry told him. Ron shrugged.
“Well, all I know about planes is that they fly,” he said. “So… is it a toad?”
“No, Ron,” Harry said, irritated. “It’s not a toad. Take a look yourself, you git.”
Looking hurt, Ron accepted the challenge, and stuck his head out, to see the danger.
Which caused him to faint.
Hermione groaned.
“What is it?” she asked Harry.
“A sphinx,” Harry said. “So we should probably wait for Ron to wake up. We might need his “ uh…” He glanced at Ron, who was unconscious on the floor. “… Intellect.”
“Ennervate,” pronounced Hermione magically, and Ron awoke instantly, causing everyone to wonder why no one had ever thought of that spell before. After all, it would have saved Ron from missing out on all sorts of information, not to mention the fact that because of Ron’s fainting, Hermione had once had to lightly converse with Lucius Malfoy for several minutes.
“It’s a sphinx!” Ron told the other two nervously. “What should we do?”
“They’re not that bad,” Harry informed his friends, neither of whom had ever met a sphinx. “I saw one in the third task of the Doomspell Tournament, just before the horrific event that particularly aggravated me, peculiarly reconstituted Voldemort and didn’t kill Cedric Diggory. I remember like it was only a few years ago…”
A few years ago…
“Wow!” exclaimed Harry, looking at the enormous sphinx.
“Hello,” said the sphinx, tipping its hat.
“Are you an obstacle, booby trap or Giant Spider?” Harry asked nervously.
“Yes,” the sphinx agreed. “I am an obstacle. Also, I’m a sphinx. And I could be a booby trap too.”
“So how do I get past… you?”
“You just need to answer my riddle. If you answer correctly, I let you pass. If you answer correctly and then ask nice-like, I won’t let anyone else pass after you, even if they do answer the riddle. If you walk away, I don’t let you pass, and if you answer incorrectly, well…”
“Well?” asked Harry.
“Well, you’ll never walk again, that’s for darn sure,” said the sphinx.
Harry gulped.
“I “ I suppose I’ll hear the riddle then, if that’s alright?”
The sphinx nodded. It was funny how such a friendly-looking part woman, part lion could be so ferocious.
“First, tell me what we are told,
To call what grows on food that’s old.
Next add in the only thing,
In ‘heal’ and ‘green’ but not in ‘King’.
Then finally tell me of pants that reach,
To the knee or less, and are worn on the beach.
Then, string together all of this junk,
Solve the near rhyme and tell me: Which man’s not a hunk?”
Harry’s first thought was to answer, ‘Snape!’ and hope for the best, but thankfully, he had restrained himself.
“So I’m assuming this one will have a riddle, too,” Harry finished.
“Should we go and see?” asked Hermione, knowing that if the sphinx had a riddle, she’d have to answer quickly. After all, Hermione had a reputation to uphold. Harry nodded, and the three of them emerged.
“Hello,” greeted Harry timidly.
“Hello,” greeted the sphinx.
“Umm “ we were actually hoping to follow this tunnel,” Harry informed her. The sphinx nodded.
“Of course,” she said. “Of course. No one would come down just to see a sphinx, would they?” Remarkably, the sphinx pouted.
“Well…” began Ron, honestly. Harry didn’t let him go on.
“We didn’t know you were here before now,” he explained, confused.
“Well, of course you wouldn’t. I’m not important enough to mention in conversations, now am I?”
The trio exchanged odd glances.
“You wouldn’t happen to be related to someone called ‘Myrtle’, would you?” asked Hermione curiously. The sphinx shook her head.
“No,” she said sadly. “I’m all alone.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry apologised, “but we really need to get through. We’re defeating an evil Dictator and saving the world; I’m sure you know how it is…”
“Oh, of course,” said the sphinx, “the world is more important than a lowly sphinx!”
“Well… yeah,” agreed Ron, apologetically.
“Fair enough,” sighed the sphinx. “You know, I’m being paid to sit here anyway, and I switch with some cousins of mine every now and then. I’m not that lowly, or, you know, all that ‘alone’ either…”
“That’s nice,” Ron told her sincerely.
“So, do you have a riddle?” asked Harry. The sphinx nodded, and closed its eyes, remembering.
“A train leaves from destination ‘A’, and travels fifty-eight miles in twelve seconds, then a broomstick leaves from destination ‘B’ and rises at least eighteen miles, but slows down after travelling ninety-five miles across the land, then passes by a magic carpet, missing it by three feet, which has been moving for approximately fourteen minutes and has spanned over two-thousand feet, originally having started three miles from destination ‘A’.
If then the train, broomstick and carpet all continue moving, with the carpet beginning on a circle with a circumference of one hundred and eighty-eight miles and the broom spiralling upward in a reverse figure eight, how long before train, broomstick and magic carpet collide?”
Ron fainted again.
“Are you serious?” asked Hermione, who, although having taken Arithmancy, could not work out half of that in her head. In fact, it took all of her brainpower to stop herself from joining Ron in fainting. The sphinx glanced down the corridor.
“You know what?” she said in a hushed voice, “Since you’re saving the world, don’t worry about it. You can go through.” The sphinx walked out of the way, and Harry and Hermione (thanking her profusely, as it was in their nature) dragged Ron down the passage until they met with a fork.
“We need to go down the left fork,” informed Hermione, “and then ‘X’ marks the spot!”
The sense of achievement that radiated through the room was apparently enough to wake Ron up.
“Excellent!” he commented.
Moving with renewed vigour, the trio took the left fork, and had walked for barely five minutes, before reaching a dead end.
“A dead end?” demanded Ron. “But we took the left fork!”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry, inspecting the wall, in case it was not a real wall or could be broken through. No luck, sadly. “Hermione, what happened?” he asked. Hermione scratched her head, looking closely at the map.
“There’s some writing here… something about a Green Flame Torch being vital…”
“What’s a Green Flame Torch?” asked Ron, confused.
“I don’t know,” Hermione said honestly. “I’m assuming it’s a Flame Torch of some sort, which is Green.”
“Or a Torch that emits Green Flame,” added Harry. Something (utterly figurative) lit up in Ron’s head.
“I had a torch!” he reminded them. “It was a port key!”
“That’s probably it!” Hermione told him. “Come on, light it up.”
There was an awkward pause.
“I think I dropped it somewhere…” muttered Ron, checking his pockets.
When the trio had gone back, found the torch (which, in Ron’s defence, had only been lost when he fainted), and returned to the dead-end tunnel, Hermione lit it up with her wand.
Predictably and unoriginally, it burned Green. However, something far more interesting happened than the area simply growing lighter, bathed in an odd, gloomy light. In the middle of the floor, several little statues had appeared, smaller than dolls’ houses. They were like little pyramids, and they were only visible because of the Green Flame, which reflected uniquely off the small structures.
“What do we do now?” asked Ron, inspecting them. “Harry?”
“I think we should poke them,” suggested Harry seriously, and took his own suggestion. His hand, however, went straight through the model pyramids.
“The map says… it’s so small,” Hermione told the other two, “Something about apparating though.”
“Apparating where?” asked Harry.
“It doesn’t say,” said Hermione, and looked hopelessly at the little pyramids.
“Maybe we should go and see Aragog again,” commented Harry, with no idea what to do next. “He seemed to know a lot about things.”
“No,” said Hermione, “No, I’m quite sure it’s unhealthy to cause Ron to faint too much. Why don’t we try apparating to these pyramids instead? You know, they may be a real place somewhere.”
As Harry and Ron couldn’t think of any better ideas, the three of them soon concentrated on the little glowing pyramids, all linking arms.
“On the count of three,” Harry informed. “One… Two… Three!”
:oOo:
Aha! I did it again! (the ending, I mean)
As per usual, thank you for reading, and I would adore a review.
Questions are more than welcome in my Duelling Club thread, and… erm…
Long live the Queen?
Chapter Seven, Part Five: Happy O’Brien’s Monumental Success by Mind_Over_Matter
Author's Notes:
And here we are, the end of the story “ the last enormous bucket-load of rumours. In this chapter lies a climatic fight scene, an uplifting epilogue and, finally, everything I’ve hinted about Ron (yes, including the ‘Ron-cactus thing’).
Disclaimer: I seriously don’t own anything in the Potterverse. When you’re reading this and some weirdo character you’ve never heard of turns up, it’s mine, but apart from that, they all belong to the fabulous J.K. Rowling.
The only other little disclaim-ment I have is a small mention of ‘Voldy’s Deathpants’, an… erm… artefact in my team’s story for the Quidditch World Cup challenge. The story (which is quite fun) is under the name ‘Deathpants’.
I would like to take this moment to give extra special 'thank you's to Sekhmet and Schmergo, for all their support not just with this project, but... well just about everything lately! I don't know what else to say... but I sure wouldn’t have smiled as much of late without you guys.
Also, to everyone else who has reviewed (and I’m sorry, I’m already probably pushing it by having a message this long so I can’t go naming everyone), especially those who’ve been around for a while now, thank you! *Sends out love*
And finally, to the lovely mods: Sliced bread ain't got nothin' on you guys.
But now, onto the story, eh?
The Harry Potter Literary Storm
Previously:
“Do you think finding this ‘Pillar of Storgé’, could help us get to You Know Who?” questioned Ron.
“Sounds likely,” said Harry. “After all, look at this…” He pointed to some words [on the map] that had been written in brackets,
‘(please note that is the only way to get to me, Voldemort)’
… and later on…
“Why don’t we try apparating to these pyramids? You know, they may be a real place somewhere.” [suggested Hermione]
As Harry and Ron couldn’t think of any better ideas, the three of them soon concentrated on the little glowing pyramids, all linking arms.
“On the count of three,” Harry informed. “One… Two… Three!”
Chapter Seven, Part Five: Happy O’Brien’s Monumental Storm
The Pyramids of Furmat
Enter at Own Risk
Beware of Various Villains and Probable Climatic Fight Scenes
That was the first thing the trio noticed when they arrived.
They all bit their lower lips.
“Looks like we’re probably in for a climatic fight scene,” commented Ron lightly.
“Yeah,” agreed Hermione. “Let’s just try and find this ‘Pillar of Storgé’ before that happens though.”
“I agree,” declared Ron, leaning against a nearby Pillar, “but where should we look for the Pillar first?”
“Does the map have any further directions?” inquired Harry.
“No,” Hermione told him. “It just says to apparate here, as if we were meant to arrive and find it, standing right next to us.”
“Can I see the map?” asked Ron. Hermione gave him the sheet of paper, and Ron flattened it against the large, prominent and important looking Pillar. “You’re right, Hermione,” he told her, baffled and staring at the map. It should be right in front of us.”
“Let’s go and look around the Pyramids,” suggested Harry. “Maybe there was somewhere else we were meant to apparate to…”
Harry, Hermione, and Ron (who withdrew the map from the large Pillar and folded it up) went to explore the ’Pyramids of Furmat’. There were three of them, one very small, one medium sized, and one very large, but the only pillar in sight was the one that marked their starting point!
“Maybe there’s a pillar inside one of the Pyramids,” suggested Harry.
“Perhaps,” nodded Hermione. “Let’s go and look inside that little one…”
First, the trio explored the small Pyramid, but inside they found only ancient tomes which explained all about the darkest and deadliest of magics.
“This Pyramid is too small,” decided Hermione. “The Pillar of Storgé isn’t in here, because there’s not enough room.”
Next, the trio explored the largest Pyramid, as there would definitely be enough room. They found all sorts of things in there “ unclaimed riches, prophesies and all kinds of protection amulets ripe for the taking, but, having explored dozens of rooms and corridors, Hermione suggested they leave that particular one.
“This Pyramid is too big,” she told the other two, rationally. “The Pillar of Storgé couldn’t be in here, because no one could ever find it!”
Finally, the three of them approached the third Pyramid, the medium sized one, which, they noticed, had a fairly large flat area on top, which (had they been interested in such things) would be a great place for a nice, summer picnic or climatic, high-stake, no-chance-for-escape, fight scene.
“This Pyramid is just right,” announced Hermione confidently, before they had even entered.
o0oOo0o
A little way away, three people had just apparated to the site of the three Pyramids: Draco Malfoy wearing an ornate crown, what appeared to be a Giant, and the Dark Lord, Voldemort himself. The group of three approached the smallest Pyramid, which belonged to Draco, as he had been crowned the King of Junior Knights of Walpurgis.
Something odd occurred to Draco, however, when he entered. His tomes of Darkest magic had not been alone.
“Someone’s been exploring my Pyramid!” he announced, furious. “They’ve messed up the dust, not to mention my tomes of Darkest magic!”
The giant roared, which, in giant language, meant,
“Now I’m worried about myself and my property! Let us all focus on me now, as I am important, even though I am not wearing a silly crown!”
The Giant and Lord Voldemort left Draco Malfoy to fix up his Pyramid, and guard it so no one could get in again. Since Voldemort wanted to keep the Giants on his side, he consented to go and inspect the Giant’s Pyramid next.
The Giant owned the largest Pyramid because he was the King of the Giant Knights of Walpurgis. When they arrived at his Pyramid, the Giant groaned, and shouted something that sounded like,
“Ark bomb rapple von Tom Dum Zucker zucker Beezle-pop!”
Of course, translated, this meant roughly,
“Someone’s been exploring my Pyramid! The scoundrels, eh, Beezle-pop?”
Much more worried now (particularly considering he had just been called ‘Beezle-pop’ by a Giant), Voldemort left his comrade to guard and fix his own Pyramid. He didn’t need the backup anyway. The Dark Lord could beat anyone at a duel, any day of the week. Even Dumbledore! In fact, the only reason why that stupid mudblood lover was alive was because Voldemort just hadn’t felt like killing him yet.
The Dark Lord Voldemort owned the middle-sized Pyramid, because he was King of all the Knights of Walpurgis, and Future Dictator of the World. As soon as he walked inside, he could sense that, indeed, his space had been invaded also.
“Ah,” he hissed, furious. “Someone’s been exploring my Pyramid, and they’re still here!”
Being a Dark Lord and all, Voldemort didn’t like to get his hands dirty, except in situations of utmost importance. So, since he had no way of knowing whether this was such a situation, he decided it was a good idea to call for back up. As soon as a couple of good Knights of Walpurgis had arrived, of course, whoever had invaded the sacred Pyramids of Furmat (and might have even found the Pillar of Storgé) would be completely obliterated!
After all, if Voldemort didn’t crush his enemies, what kind of Dark Lord would he be, anyway?
o0oOo0o
“I can’t believe it,” commented Hermione. She, Harry and Ron had been exploring the Pyramid for several minutes now. “One would think that a pillar with such a name as the ‘Pillar of Storgé’ would stand out!”
“Yes,” agreed Harry. “You’d think they’d place it in the middle of the sand somewhere, so people would get it in sight as soon as they arrived at this place. I’m surprised we haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of it by now.”
The three of them had reached the flat roof of the medium sized Pyramid, and were sitting down, somewhat dejected and a little lonely.
“Maybe we should just go home,” muttered Ron, depressed. “You know, and maybe do something very brave and heroic “ You Know Who usually just turns up when that happens.”
Neither Harry nor Hermione got a chance to respond to these ideas, however, because at that moment, a sound came from inside the Pyramid.
“What’s that?” whispered Hermione nervously.
“Oh no,” Harry realised, “Remember that warning about Various Villains and Probable Climatic Fight Scenes?”
“Yeah…” agreed Ron, not cottoning on.
“The odds are definitely not in our favour,” Harry informed, “and I don’t think we’re in for a nice summer picnic up here. Come on, we should hide, so we have the upper hand and the element of slight surprise if someone comes…”
Ron hid behind the stone bench they had all been sitting on, Hermione dashed behind a random chest that conveniently happened to be on top of the Pyramid, and Harry snuck behind a ‘Danger-Meter’, which was claiming that the danger of ‘Climatic Fight Scenes Against Mortal Enemies’ had reached ‘Very High’.
As they and the meter had predicted, several people soon climbed the stairs on to the roof of the Pyramid.
“I’m sure they’re up here!” claimed the hissing voice of the horrible dictator, Lord Voldemort. It was hard to believe that he was the same person who had seemed so innocent when he had been dead earlier that year.
“But my Lord, I can’t see anyone!” Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy, informed officially.
“Then they’re hiding…” Voldemort told the Knights. “After all, there are many potential hiding spots up here “ that stone bench, the Danger-Meter, not to mention that random chest that is conveniently on top of my Pyramid.”
As Harry waited in suspense, Voldemort whispered something to his minions, and Harry heard a set of footsteps approaching him. He had to think of something clever, and he had no time!
“Err “ Stupefy!” hissed Harry, and the Knight, who was wearing a black cloak, collapsed. “Accio!” he added, and the Knight’s form scooted towards him.
“Are you alright, Rabastan, my dear brother-in-law?” asked the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Uh “ I’m fine, Bella,” replied Harry in a deep voice.
“Oh, good,” said Bellatrix. “Now tell me if someone’s hiding behind there, as I want to torture and kill them in my terribly sadistic way.”
“Uh,” said Harry again, in his ‘Rabastan’ voice. “Hold on, I’m looking…” Then, Harry had the fun idea that maybe he could steal the Knight’s robe, and get to their leader that way.
After a memorable lesson that taught Harry that you never know just how much, or how little, a person is wearing under their robes, he gave up on that plan, and decided that it was time, after all these years, to confront Voldemort like a man, face to face.
… Again.
He ducked out, wand at the ready.
Bellatrix Lestrange gasped.
“Rabastan, you have turned into a child!” Voldemort sneered.
“That is no Knight of Walpurgis,” he muttered evilly.
“Ah!” exclaimed Harry. “Voldemort! I should have known it would be you!”
“Yes, Potter,” agreed Voldemort, “I suppose you should have. And I should have known it was you, too! And so should Bellatrix and especially Rodolphus, here, both of whom should know Rabastan Lestrange’s voice quite well!”
It was at this moment, with six enemies pointing wands at him, that Harry noticed that if he wanted to get himself and his friends out of this alive, it would take witty thinking, and ingenious ideas.
The best wittily thought up and ingenious plan that Harry could conjure was to get Voldemort distracted and, when he wasn’t expecting it, deliver a sharp magical blow. However, Harry obviously couldn’t do that if his friends came out from their hiding spots.
“I’d just like to take this moment to say that I wish my friends were here!” Harry exclaimed, dramatically. “And “ uh “ if they were, which they’re not, I would tell them to keep hiding, should they already be hiding, of course, and not come out until I gave the signal!”
“I wish they were here, too,” Bellatrix agreed, disappointed.
“So do I,” agreed another Knight, who was short and furry. “Because I like to eat people!”
“Shut it, Bellatrix and Fenrir!” snapped Voldemort. “Potter, please continue.” He was looking at Harry strangely, and Harry was nervous that, with his mind-reading talents, the Dark Lord might be able to tell that Harry was lying about his friends not being present.
“But no one else is here, especially not Ron or Hermione,” the Boy Who Lived Once More told the Dark Lord Who Also Lived Once More, “so I’m not going to say anything to them, because that would be redundant.”
“I’m not sure of your use of the word ‘redundant’ in that sentence, Potter,” spat Voldemort, flaunting his superior knowledge of grammar and vocabulary. The Knights of Walpurgis snickered.
“Be that as it may,” Harry replied, “I’m still unwaveringly confident. Perhaps you should articulate the nature of your defeating me, so that you may do so with satisfaction.”
“Yes,” conceded Voldemort, “that’s a good idea, Potter. After all, heavens forbid your demise should be any less gratifying than it could be.”
“Precisely my point,” agreed Harry, and fished around for a topic. “What happened to Martin Malovski Saint Clair?” Voldemort shrugged.
“He annoyed me. And couldn’t do magic. And couldn’t even throw a punch. And kept giving personal information out to those awful gossip magazines, so I killed him,” he said honestly.
“And “ err…” Harry thought, “what happened to Peter Pettigrew, who I’ve never met, and who I know very little about?”
“There’s not much to know about him,” Voldemort told Harry. “Everything he’s been up to is entirely nondescript. And, before you ask, Antonin Dolohov is just fine. He’s married now, you know?”
“Who was the best man?” asked Harry, alarmed.
“Snape,” Voldemort told Harry, “but only because I couldn’t come to the wedding, because I’m such a successful dictator that no one dares speak my name or look upon my soulless face.”
“Speaking of which,” said Harry lightly, “Where is Snape?” Voldemort laughed.
“Snape is off, conducting a nefarious scheme!” he told Harry. “And the good part is that, even if he is undoubtedly and completely evil, Dumbledore will still forgive him, and let him teach at Hogwarts!” Harry scowled.
“I should have killed him when I had the chance…” he muttered.
“Yes,” agreed Voldemort. “Just like I’m about to kill you!” he raised his wand.
“And by the way,” slid in Harry, “Where is the Pillar of Storgé? We’ve been looking for ages, and haven’t found it!”
“‘We’?” inquired Voldemort suspiciously. Harry gulped.
“I mean ‘I’,” he corrected himself. “I started referring to myself as ‘we’ ever since I decided that I was far too important to be one single entity.”
“I know quite what you mean,” agreed Voldemort, “but, you see, I disagree. I, the Dark Lord, King of the Knights of Walpurgis, and all around Tyrant of the magical world, could logically refer to myself as ‘we’. However, you, a pathetic child, are most certainly not privy to such expressions.”
“What makes you so fantastic then?” demanded Harry, seeing in Voldemort’s eyes that the fellow was going to get carried deep into his self-obsessed ranting, which was certainly a good sign.
“Ah, Potter,” Voldemort said, with a smug grin. “I am positively immortal! I bet you didn’t know that!”
“But the Pillar of Storgé is the key to your immortality?” asked Harry, concerned.
Voldemort considered for a moment, and then said,
“Well, since you’re about to die, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you my secret. You see, Potter, I have made myself immortal by creating Horcruxes, each of which contains a seventh of my soul. The Pillar of Storgé holds the secrets of creating and controlling Horcruxes.”
“Really?” asked Harry, fuelling Voldemort’s explanation, and wondering as to why such things as the ‘Chamber of Secrets’ held very few secrets, while artefacts such as the ‘Pillar of Storgé’ held great ones.
“Yes,” Voldemort told him, “that’s right. I, the Dark Lord Voldemort, have achieved that which no one has ever achieved before, and have created multiple Horcruxes. I’m not ashamed to say that you have destroyed one, but I can tell you now that, if you should somehow kill me, there would still be five sevenths of my soul out there, ready to arise!”
Harry blinked. He had never been good with fractions.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Harry. “Oh, woe. Tell me more about your Horcruxes, so that I might attempt to escape and then go and destroy them!”
“Well, alright,” Voldemort told him cockily, “but only because I plan on killing you. You see, my Horcruxes are items from the past, all of which have personal meaning and significance to me…”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Harry interrupted apologetically, “but I would like to point out now that, if I had brought friends, now would be a good time to jump out and surprise you. Please continue though.”
“First, when I was working in Borgin and Burke’s, I managed to get my hands on some great artefacts…” Voldemort continued, taking Harry’s suggestion. “This pair of red and yellow leather pants, for example. Of course, Borgin, Burke and I only wore them because it was a part of Knockturn Alley’s dress code at the time…”
“SURPRISE!” screamed Ron and Hermione, each both apparently in tune with the other as they had shouted in unison.
The Knights of Walpurgis jumped, crying things like,
“What is this?”
“What’s going on?” and
“His little friends! Why, I never guessed!”
Ron ended up in a duel with Fenrir Greyback (who cast curses with his wand in his little wolfy mouth, and smelt as bad as the Toenail of Icklibõgg), and Hermione somehow found herself up against the other four Knights of Walpurgis, one of whom was Bellatrix Lestrange, another of whom was her quiet, non-attention-seeking husband, Rodolphus. The third was Lucius Malfoy, and the fourth Knight an anonymous one, representing the rest of Voldemort’s unknown minions like Yaxley, Jugson and Gibbon.
“What is this?” demanded Voldemort.
“Nothing,” said Harry, “Just my friends, who are greater than your minions.”
Well, he was half correct. Ron proved himself to be greater than Fenrir Greyback, by turning him into a cactus, and then jumping on him until all that was left was cactus mush. Hermione, however, had only managed to overcome two of the four who had attacked her, and had now found herself magically immobilised.
“Mmm Hmm, gmm!” she muttered, unable to open her mouth to talk. Bellatrix (who was still up and running) laughed.
“Well,” said Voldemort, “it’s still three against two, I’m in the lead and one of the two survivors is Bellatrix Lestrange, creepy psycho-cow, and the other is Lucius Malfoy, the Minister of Magic. You’re my mortal enemy, and your little Weasley friend has destroyed the closest thing he has to a mortal enemy (except for Draco Malfoy, who cannot die because he hasn’t repented).”
“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Greyback was a dunderhead. He made my brother occasionally rabid.”
Voldemort’s expression turned icy cold, as Ron insulted the dead minion.
“Mmm fmm!” warned Hermione, and Ron ducked as Lucius Malfoy threw a curse at him.
“You meanies!” screamed Ron cleverly, voice dripping with fury, and, with a little help from Hermione, who grumbled a bit, attacked the remaining enemies.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Malfoy, attempting to fend Ron off. “You three went into my Personal Correspondence AND Very Personal, Private Correspondence for No One’s Eyes but the Minister’s, stole the magical Green Flame Torch, explored my son’s Pyramid and messed up the dust and tomes of Darkest magic, and, even worse, you threatened to discuss the budgeting with me!”
“We also accidentally had Draco killed when Aragog the Acromantula ate him, in return for us killing Basil the giant snake!” smirked Ron.
“You monsters!” accused Lucius, and he and Ron began to duel.
Voldemort scowled at Harry.
“What did you have against an innocent Giant Snake?” he asked, hissing. “You three are the real enemies here.”
“At least I didn’t try and enslave the entire world,” contradicted Harry.
Understandably, Voldemort chose to ignore him.
It was not long before Ron had managed to turn Lucius Malfoy into a cactus.
“So long, cactus Malfoy!” he cried, heroically, preparing to jump on and squash the Minister, as he had Fenrir Greyback. “Now you’ll never insult my weird, muggle-loving, eccentric father again!” The cactus said something very rude, and then squeaked,
“I’ll get you for this, Weasley!” Then, with a crack, Lucius the cactus apparated away. Ron shouted in anger, but had at least gotten rid of Lucius and, somewhere in the cross-fire, Bellatrix Lestrange, who, although she managed to knock out Tonks and almost kill Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, was no match for Ron.
“So you think you can take me on, Potter?” demanded Voldemort, smirking. “I, the most powerful Dark Lord of all time? You think you can destroy me now and then do it again, five times over?” He drew his wand, and Harry, slightly intimidated, stepped back. Ron, who had suddenly become a hero, knew exactly what to do.
“Expelliarmus!” he shouted, trying to help out, but had accidentally summoned Harry’s wand, too. Voldemort scowled at Ron.
“You two pathetic children think you can defeat me?” he asked. Harry and Ron looked at each other, and shrugged.
“I don’t see why not,” said Harry.
“Me neither,” agreed Ron. “After all, you’re mortal now.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Voldemort.
“Hold on a moment,” Ron excused himself, and, somehow overcoming Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy’s’ powerful Knight of Walpurgis curses, took whatever enchantments that had been on Hermione, off.
“What did you mean?” demanded Voldemort again, looking from Harry to Ron, to Hermione.
“The Horcruxes have been destroyed,” informed Hermione. “Sorry.”
“But “ how?!” demanded Voldemort.
“Dumbledore destroyed two, Regulus discovered another, and Sirius destroyed it, Real-Amberstone Borgin got the third, and Nagini was eliminated by Argo Pyrites Slughorn, who used to be your right hand man and who betrayed you.”
“That git!” screamed Voldemort, in fury. “My right hand man has the blood of my favourite huge snake and a seventh of my soul on his famous, metaphorical gloves now!”
“Yes!” agreed Harry. “Nagini’s dead. And soon you will be too!” He lunged at Voldemort, attempting to push him off the side of the Pyramid.
“Go, Harry!” shouted Ron and Hermione, cheering. “Get him in the nose!”
“But evil knows no nose!” cried back Harry, worried that this would be a problem.
Voldemort and Harry struggled until the two of them were right by the side of the pyramid.
“Get over the side, you stupid prune!” yelled Harry.
“Be quiet, you silly mortal enemy of mine!” retorted Voldemort, although his voice had started to get panicky. Harry gave his arch nemesis a hard push, and Voldemort’s head was over the air. “Harry!” he shouted at last, with no other option, “I am your father!”
Remarkably, Ron didn’t faint, due to his newfound heroism.
“That’s not true!” cried Harry dramatically.
“Have you never wondered why your nose is so small?” bellowed Voldemort. “You only look like your blood-traitor father because you lived with him for the first year of your life and it magically rubbed off on you! But you couldn’t have a big nose like his, because, son… You’re part evil!”
“But Hermione has the same little nose as me!” Harry argued, confused tears welling in his shocking green eyes.
“That’s because she’s your half-sister!” answered Voldemort. “That little nose was my influence, and somehow affected her even though Hugh Bert Granger is her real father, but Lily Potter was her real mother! That little nose can be given to all family members, even if they’re only related through marriage!”
“Even so,” shouted Harry, “you’re evil, and you have to die!” He glanced at Ron and Hermione, head less clear now that he had heard Voldemort’s news. “Right?”
“That’s right, Harry!” shouted Hermione.
“Yeah!” agreed Ron, “You kill that evil father of yours!”
“Even if he’s evil, you’re good!” encouraged Hermione, “You have a nose, after all! Your mother’s good spirit and your adoptive father’s enormous nose saved you from such a soulless, pathetic fate.”
With that encouragement, Harry threw both himself and Voldemort off the side of the Pyramid. Surprisingly, neither thought to apparate away.
“Harry!” screamed Hermione. “No!” But Ron wouldn’t cower. He wasn’t afraid of Harry anymore, because since he was Hermione’s half-brother, he wasn’t romantic competition. As Harry and Voldemort fell towards their deaths, almost in slow motion, Ron dashed to the side of the Pyramid.
“ACCIO HARRY!” he bellowed, at the top of his voice, and, while Voldemort plunged to his well-deserved death, Harry suddenly flew back up to the top of the Pyramid, and landed, bomb-dive style, on Ron and Hermione.
There was a moment of victory (and slight dizziness from falling over), as the trio all jumped to their feet, the champions of the world. They didn’t even notice two owls which were flying towards them from over the horizon.
“We did it!” shouted Harry, feeling inspired to use an Australianism. “Voldemort’s cactus, and Lucius Malfoy’s a cactus! We’re the most fantastic people alive!”
And somewhere miles away, and old man with a grey beard smiled.
“What are you smiling at, Pyrites?” Dumbledore asked his brother.
“I have a feeling that today is a good day,” Pyrites told him cryptically, clapping his gloved hands.
Throughout the room, anonymous authors were cheering, everyone caught up in the moment. Several people had tears pouring down their faces, and others were running about wildly in glee.
Happy O’Brien clutched his heart, and received the book to read the last, final and closing chapter of ‘Harry Potter’, the last ever book in the ‘Harry Potter’ series…
Epilogue: Of Peace and Finality
Harry, Ron and Hermione sat on top of the middle-sized Pyramid, laughing.
“Thank you two, so much!” cried Harry, sobbing.
“You’re welcome, Harry!” replied Ron, also sobbing, but for the first time in his life, it was not pathetic.
“I can’t believe you’re my half-brother!” exclaimed Hermione, tears pouring down her face.
“I know!” exclaimed Harry. “It’s crazy! I can’t believe Voldemort was my father. But I will always consider James Potter to be my Dad, because the alternative is somewhat sickening. Not to mention, Ron, your hidden heroism was amazing!” Ron blushed.
“Well, I did take down Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange, turn Lucius Malfoy into a cactus, play a vital role in defeating You Know Who, and save you, Harry, from the same tragic end, but really, it was nothing.”
“I guess you’re not just a stupid side-kick, after all,” complemented Hermione.
“Thanks, Hermione,” said Ron, “Now, do you think we should just jump off this Pyramid and head home?”
No one got the chance to answer, however, as Harry then noticed two owls, flying their way.
“Owls!” he exclaimed. The owls flew down to land on Harry and Ron’s shoulders. The boys grabbed their envelopes, tearing them open to read the letters.
“To Ronald Weasley and Guest,” read Ron,
“Due to the untimely and unfortunate deaths of the groom, much of the audience, the caterers, some decorators, the best man, the father of the groom, the ring-bearer and one of the flower girls earlier this year, our wedding was postponed. We have decided to hold it at the special time of right now.
We hope to see you there!
Love from Bill and Fleur Weasley.”
“Mine says the same thing,” said Harry, “but with my name on it.”
“So who are you going to take?” asked Hermione.
“Well, I was considering taking you,” muttered Ron, shyly. Hermione, who had taken this for granted and had been talking to Harry, did not correct him.
“Great! What about you, Harry?” Harry thought about it for a moment.
“I suppose there’s really no point in taking Ginny, because I’m assuming she’s already invited,” he said. “You’re the only family member I have, Hermione, but Ron’s already taking you, and I can’t exactly take Luna, because she’s Ginny’s best friend and is probably already invited. I think I’ll take Hedwig.”
The three of them all linked arms, and apparated home, to the Burrow.
It was a beautiful wedding. The ceremony was lovely, and the food was simply divine, Mrs. Weasley cried her eyes out and Bill didn’t seem rabid at all. Everyone was delighted to hear that Voldemort was completely obliterated, and Lupin and Bill had high-fived each other in the middle of the dance floor while everyone was tangoing, upon hearing of the fate of Fenrir Greyback. Not to mention the joy in everyone hearts when they realised that Lucius Malfoy was irreversibly a cactus, thanks to Ron’s interesting choice of spell.
But perhaps one of the most memorable times was when everyone was eating dinner, and several people made speeches.
“Good evening, everyone,” greeted Bill. “Thank you all so much for making our wedding so fantastic, but this wedding, although a monumental event, was not the only occasion of today. Today, You Know Who was destroyed, and I would like to call on Harry Potter, my possible future brother in law, Hermione Granger, my possible future sister in law, and Ron Weasley, my probable brother, to say a few words.” The three of them rose.
“We destroyed Voldemort today,” said Harry. Everyone cheered.
“How?” asked Dumbledore, curiously.
Hermione launched into a detailed account of the day’s happenings, starting off at the very beginning when they had randomly apparated to the Riddle house. When she got to explaining about Minister Malfoy’s Personal Correspondence and the nature of the Green Flame Torch, somewhere in the crowd, a cactus squeaked, and Draco Malfoy groaned.
“Did you have something to say, Draco?” asked Bill. Draco Malfoy stood up.
“Yes, I have an announcement to make,” he said. “I’ve decided that, although I was King of Junior Knights of Walpurgis, none of it was my choice, and my father’s a dirt bag. Thus, in my shame, I’m changing my name to Draco Spungen, and will do all I can to get him fired.”
Several people cheered, and Dumbledore arose.
“I propose that, right here, we pronounce Harry Potter to be the new Minister for Magic!”
“I accept!” cried Harry, emotionally, and everyone cheered again. Draco, satisfied, passed the table back to the trio.
“Thank you, Draco,” said Hermione graciously, and continued for a little while longer, describing what had happened after arriving at the grave yard. “…And I cast an explosion spell on the floor of the Fortress,” she was saying, when someone interrupted.
“So it was you!” cried Hagrid.
“What?” asked Hermione, confused.
“I got home, and my floor had been exploded!” Hagrid explained. “That must have been the Hogwarts grave yard, which you mysteriously have never heard of!” The trio winced.
“Sorry, Hagrid,” apologised Hermione.
“That’s alright,” forgave Hagrid. “Please, continue.”
And Hermione did. She told the whole story of finding a Pyramid that was just right, and then the dramatic fight scene with Voldemort and his Knights. When she reached the climatic ending, everyone at the wedding cheered once more, and several people threw flowers at Harry, Ron and Hermione.
“And just for one final announcement,” announced Ron, “Hermione, will you marry me?” Hermione gasped, while everyone else cooed, and Mrs. Weasley burst into tears again, possibly because Ron was barely eighteen and there was no longer a war, and therefore no excuse to rush into marriage.
“Oh, Ron!” cried Hermione. “Of course!”
By now, some people were just cheering continuously.
“Wait!” snapped Harry, “I have an announcement too.” Everyone looked at him. “Ginny, can you please be my girlfriend again, even though I didn’t contact you when we were both brought back to life?” Ginny, of course, accepted, and a sugar coating appeared on Harry’s already blissful night.
The announcements just went on, and on, with Dumbledore announcing several dozen teaching positions were up for grabs, and most people taking them, and Rufus Scrimgeour accepting practically everyone under twenty as new members of his Auror training program. The trio were all awarded Orders of Merlin, Peter Pettigrew announced something entirely nondescript and not at all memorable, Gary Thomas changed his name to ‘Dean’, Lupin declared that, for some reason, he planned to grow a moustache (most people loudly complained), Sirius got back together with his childhood love, Mary the half-veela, it was discovered that Dudley was part troll and Aunt Petunia exhibited magical tendencies. Another highlight of the evening was when Luna revealed that Mrs. Norris was secretly her, in Animagus form, which, for some reason, caused Percy to become extremely upset and admit that he never really wanted to be a Knight of Walpurgis.
“Well, everyone,” Bill took back the floor, seeing as how this was, in fact, still his and Fleur’s wedding, “I suggest we all do some crazy dancing!” And all the good members of the wizarding world danced the night away.
Scar.
The End
Happy had put in that last word, just because he felt it was a fitting last word for the Harry Potter series. All the anonymous authors, Happy and, especially, Jackie, were overcome with emotion, and Happy stood.
“Well, all you anonymous authors, and Jackie,” he addressed everyone. “Here ends an interesting journey, where all of you have had the absolute pleasure of helping me to, with my limitless intellect and imagination, create these seven Harry Potter books. Three cheers to me and Harry Potter! Hip, hip!”
“Hooray!” cried the authors and Jackie.
“Louder!” snapped Happy. “Hip, hip!”
“Hooray!” screamed the authors and Jackie.
“Even louder!” snapped Happy. “Hip, hip!”
“HOORAY!” bellowed the authors, Jackie van de Geissen and Happy O’Brien.
Happy glanced at the shattered windows. Well, it had been worth it.
Harry Potter’s remaining years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry can be counted on one hand “ on one finger, even! And before that, he has to be brought back to life! As Voldemort’s ascension to power becomes dangerously successful, it is up to Harry Potter and his two best friends: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, to face Harry’s destiny and stop the Dark Lord in his tracks.
But will they succeed, or will the three of them be thrown off the proverbial Pyramid?
Will they destroy all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes in time?
Will Ron ever become more than a stupid side-kick with comical arachnophobia?
Will Bill and Fleur ever get married?
You’ll never know, until you read, ‘Harry Potter’, the seventh book, following ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Superman’ in the well known and well loved ‘Harry Potter’ series.
Harry Potter!
The authors, Mr. Jackie van de Geissen, and the legendary and not at all aloof Mr. Happy O’Brien of Neirbo publications, celebrated their glorious achievement, for four days and four nights. By the time they had finished their party, the seventh book had been released, and had become very successful.
It was on the fourth and final night of the party that Happy received some news, which would make the highlight of his career.
Literary Storm Plagues World… In a Good Way!
Earlier this week, the much loved J.K. Rowling released her seventh and final book, ‘Harry Potter’. This book was received with open arms by the millions of adoring fans around the world, and the book’s release was more than just a big event in the lives of Harry Potter lovers.
Experts have long anticipated a great worldwide storm at the completion of this series, and now even the most radical of suggestions has come true. In the Literary world, we have seen storms from Category One, Two, Three, Four, occasionally a Category Five and even one or two Category Six Literary Storms. The seventh Harry Potter book was expected to reach an unheard of level and cause a storm of Category Seven proportions, but Mr. H. Barrelson of the United Nations Committee of Literature has had this to say:
‘We expected a Cat 5 or a Cat 6, perhaps with decimals, but I’m surprised, astounded, delighted and even slightly disturbed to say that the last, final and closing Harry Potter book has skipped over the Cat 7 category altogether, and has presented us with the world’s first ever Category Eight Literary Storm. No more questions, please.”
Happy pinned the article up on his wall, reflecting.
He had been (of course) right.
“Well, you were right,” commented Jackie, beholding the article with pride.
“Of course,” Happy told him. “The world has been taken by a monumental literary storm.” Jackie wiped a tear onto his sleeve.
“Congratulations,” he said to Happy, offering his hand, which the literary genius shook heartily.
Literature would never be the same again.
THE END
No, seriously. The very end.
Wow. I had an amazing time with this story, and I’ve finished all seven of Happy’s books.
If you have any questions about this story, any other story, or me (pfft. Yeah right, huh?), I urge you to duck on over to my Duelling Club post in the forums.
Or else, you know, you could review. ^^ *Hint hint*
But more importantly, to everyone out there:
Thank you all so much for reading, and sincerely hope you enjoyed Happy's tale!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.