I've not done one of these in ages.

I'll take the first one, GL, about socks, and will give you a story in 24 hours.

Edit:

Palindrome was given two challenges (and hasn't responded to either). You could probably PM and ask her to part with one of hers.

 

^ I can give up the latter, if anyone wants it. (Though I might still be able to write it in, heh)

 

Shotgun that unicorn one for tomorrow morning.

 

Three hundred and sixty one words over the limit, but I couldn't help myself. Unedited.

X

"Can you see who it is?" a man with messy black hair and a ripple of shrapnel-inflicted scars across his face asked urgently.


"Yeah - ah, shit, it's Dolohov. That's just great," his companion, a taller, brown haired man with a nose that had been badly broken in the past groused back to him.


"Yeah? Well, he's probably saying 'Oh shit, it's those guys'," the dark haired man retorted.


“He's coming this way...” the brown haired man muttered, watching Dolohov out the corner of his eye.


“Just—let's not draw any extra attention,” his friend cautioned.


“Too late for that. How the hell do you think we could have avoided attracting attention in a place like this?”


“I don't know! Act casual.”


Further argument was cut off by the arrival of the topic of their conversation, Antonin Dolohov.


“Good evening, Mr Potter, Mr Longbottom,” Dolohov greeted with what might have passed for a pleasant smile on the face of another. The years of his 'false imprisonment' at Azkaban had not been any kinder to him than they had to Sirius. “You are enjoying yourselves, I trust?” he inquired, with just the faintest trace of an accent.


“Of course,” Harry replied with a smile while Neville busied himself in his drink. “Please convey our compliments to your wife.”


Dolohov inclined his head. “Of course. She was thrilled when we received news of your attendance.”


Harry gave another polite smile as Dolohov engaged Neville in inane niceties, his eyes roaming around the lavish receiving room of Dolohov's manor. It was filled with the upper crust of pureblood society, all flaunting their wealth and social position at each other like a bunch of overdressed peacocks. He had duelled half the people in the room at some point under less than amiable circumstances. Here and there he could make out the tell tale waver of a glamour that hid scars he had given some of the more prominent figures; he raised his glass to Lucius Malfoy as the man scowled at him from across the room.


Dolohov finally made his parting comments to Neville before addressing the both of them. “I am so glad you could make it tonight. It was quite the coup to gain your attendance. I'm sure this party will be talked about for months to come,” he proclaimed with a knife of a smile, before moving on to greet another guest milling around the room.


“I'll bet it will be,” Neville muttered to Harry once Dolohov was out of earshot. “I still don't like this. You know we were only invited to get us out of the way.”


“Kingsley, Mad-Eye and Remus can handle any of the Inner Circle who aren't here between them,” Harry stated, “and Dumbledore is hanging around somewhere too. Besides, who knows when we'll get another chance like this?”


“True,” Neville conceded. They paused as Dolohov's wife called for the attention of the room and invited them all to the dining hall. “Let's get this show on the road then.”


Without further pause Harry pulled a shimmering material from under his robes and swept it over the two of them. The now invisible pair of wizards waited for the room to clear, before making their way over to the side doors that Dolohov had left through not minutes previously.


They strode down the long hall on the other side with purpose, the expanded Invisibility Cloak hiding them completely from the gazes of wizarding portraits that they passed. The two wizards slowed when they came to a set of impressive oak doors, Dolohov's study.


“They in there?” Harry whispered.


A quick charm from Neville confirmed two people on the other side of the doors. He gave his partner in crime a quick nod.


“Alright,” Harry breathed. He reached into his pockets, pulling out four pieces of smoky quartz, carved in the likeness of runes. Several gestures of his wand attached them to each corner of the door frame, before he began muttering under his breath. After several seconds, a ripple of magic expanded along the walls of the room.


“They noticed,” Neville reported, his charm allowing him to see the outlines of the room's occupants.


“Let's say hello then,” Harry suggested with a smirk, spinning his wand between his fingers. “After you. Just as we planned.”


The same vicious grin that Neville got every time he was able to deal with Death Eaters made its way across his face, before he stabbed sharply at the doors with his wand. With a faint whump, the doors blew inwards with concussive force, one leaning drunkenly as it was wrenched from its top hinges.


The two wizards inside the study were on their feet, wands in hand. Dolohov was one, as they suspected, while the other was a grizzled old man with cruel eyes, as they had hoped.


“Longbottom,” Dolohov snarled. “What do you think to accomplish? I didn't take you for such idiocy.”


“What did you think would happen?” Neville asked mockingly as he stared down the two men. “I mean, you were so accommodating in inviting us past your wards and everything.”


“Where's Potter?” Dolohov demanded, ignoring Neville's banter.


“Right behind you.”


“Don't play me for a fool, Long--”


“Urk.”


Dolohov blinked at the unusual sound the man at his side had made, before turning to face him. He blinked again when he caught sight of the simple dagger sticking out of his chest, wielded by an arm that seemingly appeared out of thin air.


“Nymphadora asked me to send her regards,” Harry informed the man he had just killed, revealing himself as his Cloak slipped away.


“Potter,” the dying man rasped.


“I believe you met her father recently,” Harry continued pleasantly, ignoring Dolohov as Neville took advantage of his distraction to blast him across the room. Seeing the man struggling to form words, he continued. “But I don't think you need to be reminded how that turned out, Rosier.”


Harry pushed the somehow still standing man casually, watching as he fell before squatting down beside his weakly gasping form and reaching for his hand. He struggled with it for several moments before looking at it critically. “Oh well. They'll clean up,” he shrugged and reached for his wand. A severing charm sent Rosier's fingers rolling across the floor. Harry looked up to see Neville standing over a kneeling Dolohov.


“Nearly finished?” he inquired.


Neville booted Dolohov in the jaw, sending the already bleeding Death Eater crashing onto his back. “Nearly.”


“They'll know this was you,” Dolohov wheezed. “You go missing just as I'm—”


“Dolohov,” Neville interrupted sternly. “We're not even here tonight.” Before the Death Eater could comprehend his statement, Neville brought his wand to bear. A flash of blue light and Dolohov's head was rolling from his shoulders.


“Got what we came for?” Neville asked as the two men left the room, paying no attention to the corpses they left behind.


Harry slipped one of the rings he had taken from Rosier—Ted Tonks' wedding ring—into his pocket before examining the second closely. With a smile, he slipped it onto his own finger. His smile widened as he felt his Cloak shiver in response.


“We did,” Harry replied as they made their way out of the manor like they owned the place. “We did indeed.”

 

I liked it.

Expect my challenge to be posted sometime tomorrow.

It's ironic, considering I have a plan for a story that now fits neatly with the challenge.

 

TGYH challenge:
“Merlin, Harry! Where’d you get a unicorn from?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Harry stared at his Transfiguration book, The Traps of Terrible Transfiguration, confused. He’d been staring at the same chapter-starting sentence for what felt like an hour, befuddled. Even by his standards this was slow, and unfortunately there was no Hermione in sight. He grunted and closed the book with a thump, then rubbed his temples trying to ease the pressure in his skull. It seemed like a fog had slowly been filling up his head since breakfast this morning. He felt he was going to have to write this day off as a bad job. Charms had been average, Transfiguration poor and even with the help of the Prince he’d just barely stumbled through Potions. If he wasn’t Slughorn’s favourite he would have definitely lost house points.

Standing up, Harry glanced around the common room. Most were unmemorable third years and below but in the corner Seamus and Dean were perched on a window sill, a seductive cover girl from Witches with Wands poking over the top of their Charms homework. Never above a quick glance at a nuddy magazine Harry ambled over.

“. . . oh she likes to pretend she’s as pure as unicorn but we all know that’s not true, the ginger bitch.” Dean said to Seamus before looking up at Harry. Dean had broken up with Ginny just under a week ago and Dean was keen to show that he didn’t care about her anymore. Today that bothered Harry more than normal. Biting his tongue he looked at the centre-fold, Seamus angling it so he could see better. Harry recoiled.

“Ohhhh, I do not think that unicorn would let that happen on its back, guys. They’re famously against . . . that. And that horn, wouldn’t that hurt?” He said. Dean laughed and nudged Seamus in the ribs.

“Oh you know pureblood girls, Harry; they’ll do anything to get a Unicorn horn.” Said Dean, winking, “Won’t they, Seamus?”

“Definitely,” Seamus said, continuing, “It’s from an old medieval magical courting ritual. The wizard who could get a unicorn to give his woman a horn respected her purity and had convinced the unicorn to give a token of its admiration to a – err - fair maiden, or some shit like that. It’s like diamonds for muggle women, but they’re way, way rarer.”

“I did not know that.” Said Harry, slowly. A moment later, he headed up toward their dorm room.

Once he was out of sight, Seamus and Dean started laughing before turning back to their porn.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry span left pointing his wand light into the shrubbery. A cold sweat coated his forehead and neck. He was starting to think this might not be the smartest thing he’d ever done. Then again, it wasn’t the most stupid thing he’d found himself doing. No, not by a long shot. The noise of tussling plants moved away from him and he began to breathe easy again. He was here for Ginny, to prove his love, he was resolved.

Reaching a clearing almost a mile in, Harry knelt down and pulled back the hood of his cloak. Unicorns were creatures of unparalleled magic and purity, his trap would need to be clean of any trace of magic. Reaching up he began to pluck hair, after hair, after hair. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he thought of Ginny. Ginny, the young, irritating hero-worshipper. No! Ginny was beautiful. Ginny was intelligent. Ginny was his perfect woman. The realisation had come upon him suddenly, as instantly invigorating as the glass of fresh pumpkin juice he’d had this morning. His love for her was as potent and as all-consuming as a flask-full of amortentia. Harry paused, confused as to where his thoughts were taking him. The beast in his chest shifted and Harry resumed his task with renewed vigour.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny stopped outside Hagrid’s hut looking at the sixth year Gryffindor boys leaning on the pumpkin patch fence.

“Note from Harry?” She asked. Looking back at her, Ron nodded.

“It didn’t seem like anything sinister, but he’s been acting strangely since yesterday night. I woke Neville when I left and he insisted we bring everybody, just in case.” Ron said, before turning back to face the forbidden forest.

Ginny shivered and wrapped herself deeper into her robes looking at the forest. It was that special time of the day where the sun was just below the mountains on the horizon. The sky was mostly pink with patches of orange, shifting hues continuously as she looked up at it. The bristly trees of the forest gradually grew more distinct, emerging from the pre-dawn greyness.

A flumpff from the castle drew all eyes but they relaxed as they saw the entrance hall door shut behind some bushy hair and a small figure.

“Hermione.” Ron said. Inside the hut they could hear sounds of cups and cutlery as the groundskeeper went about his morning business. They turned back to the forest. Hermione came to stand next to Ron. The sun continued to rise and the students stood quiet in an odd silence as the wildlife of Hogwarts woke up around them and the seconds ticked by. Neville turned to Ron about to speak.

“Look!” Hermione said, interrupting. Through the perma-darkness of the forbidden forest a silvery light began to shine. Sliding over the boughs of the rough pine trees and bristling through the undergrowth it grew brighter and brighter.

To a slack jawed audience Harry Potter appeared leading a fully grown, obviously male, unicorn by a thin black rope. Nervous, it pranced in front of them kicking up flecks of dew off the grass. Harry stood back making soothing noises in the back of his throat.

“Merlin, Harry! Where’d you get a unicorn from?” Ron gasped.

“Merlin, Harry! Why are you bald?!” Said Neville, staring at Harry’s chrome dome, flabbergasted.

“That’s not important right now, Neville. I did this for you Ginny, it’s all for you!” Harry said.

Ginny looked left and right at the others, shocked and shaking her head.

“It’s yours Ginny. I’ve got the horn for you!” He said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fin. Just over a thousand words. And yes, it's all just so he can say he's got the horn for Ginny. I know the idea's pretty weak, but with the line it was that or a post DH short about a change of patronus due to his self-sacrifice. Interested to see what you think. This is the first thing I've published since I started trying to use DLP's and Jim Butcher's writing advice. I started with the last section and worked back, and changed the final POV to Ginny's because her goal is most important at the end.

 

Give me something. ANYTHING. Something I can do something with!

Something shorter, if that's ok. How about 1500-2000?

 

Well as I've done one, I guess I can challenge now. >: D

Challenge: Klael
Length: 1.5-2k

'It was bad, but I didn't expect you to go all Flitwick on us.'

 

A sequel to my story, Sirius Gives Harry ‘The Talk’ . Surreal Omake at the end (I couldn't resist--Lil Pers and I collaborated on the Omake). About 1600 words total.

###

Broomclosets and Socks​

“Merlin, Harry, what happened?” Ron asks as he bursts into the Hogwarts infirmary. The shades are drawn and the room is candle-lit—Harry’s head injuries apparently have left him a little light sensitive. With it being the holiday break, there’s only one student here: Harry. On the table beside his bed are a variety of potions, mostly pain relieving draughts, but Ron notices a few vials of Skele-Gro as well, with its distinctive silver label.

“Booby-trapped present,” Harry says tiredly. He’s propped up on several pillows and his face looks contused and splotchy, like an electrocuted raccoon. “The tag said it was from McGonagall, so I thought it would be safe…”

“McGonagall gives you prezzies?” Ron asks.

Harry shrugs. “This was a first, or so I thought, so either she took a page from Dobby’s book…”

There’s a loud pop. “Harry Potter is wanting his Dobby?”

“No, but thanks for asking,” Harry says, the words having the slight sing-song tenor of a routine of which he’s long grown tired.

“If Mister Harry Potter wants anything from Dobby, he just has to ask.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry says as the elf snaps his fingers and disappears.

“How’d he know you were talking about him?” Ron asks.

Harry shrugs. “I think he’s stalking me invisibly.”

Dobby pops into existence again. “Harry Potter knows his Dobby is watching? Harry Potter truly is a great wizard. Does the Great Harry Potter need anything?”

“No, but thanks for asking.” Dobby snaps his fingers and disappears again.

“Barmy.”

“Completely. And constitutionally unable to use pronouns. Anyway, unless she decided to have Bludgers pummel me to within an inch of my life, I probably have your lovely brothers to thank for my situation.”

Ron winces. “Yeah, about that. Not that I think that they’re right or anything, because we both know they tend to take things way too far, but you did get caught in that broom closet with Ginny.”

Harry looks at his friend askance, as if getting ready to bolt, injuries or not. “You’re taking it well. What happened to, ‘I’m going to kill him, raise him as an Inferius, and kill him again’?”

“Calming draughts. Like nine or ten of ‘em.”

“Lovely. Well, you know, you could have sent Ginny…”

“Not a chance. Though, about Ginny—”

“Totally consensual,” Harry says.

“But she was giving you head!” Ron says hotly.

“Totally consensual.”

“And her blouse was open!”

“Totally consensual. Well, mostly. A little creepy, to be honest—she’s not got much there yet to look at, but I wasn’t about to complain. What can I say, Ron? I guess she wanted her turn to swish and flick the Harry Potter flesh wand.”

“But she’s my sister, you git! She’s fancied you for forever—and you’re leading her on. You were caught with Tracy just last week! And the map showed you were with Katie too right before break!” Ron’s face has turned from pink to puce.

“You guys nicked Dad’s map?” Harry holds up his hands. “Look, all I said to your sister was that if she wanted to make a go at things, she’d have to realize that other witches were vying for spots on my broom cupboard card too. I left it up to her to take it from there.”

“You’re a manwhore, Harry.”

“As my Godfather says, there’s no such thing as bad head. Speaking of—my Godfather, not the head—how is he?”

“Bored and Mum’s driving him spare, but fine otherwise. We’re all at his place for the hols following Dad’s attack. Thanks, by the way, for saving his life.”

Harry shrugs. “Wasn’t doing much else here, except suffer the tender mercies of Skele-Gro.”

“Yeah. Well, happy Christmas all the same. Look, I know it’s not much, but here’s a present—and I know it’s not booby trapped.”

Harry opens the small, lumpy gift. It’s a pair of hand-knit woolen socks.

“You got me… socks,” Harry deadpans. “So very thoughtful. Thank you, Ron.”

“They’re from Mum. I don’t know if you were looking forward to one, but she wasn’t going to give you a Weasley sweater this year, mate, not after what happened with Ginny, though now Ginny’s wearing it for some reason. Anyway, happy Christmas.”

“All the same. I’ll write her a note—when my hands aren’t smashed into fleshy lumps, that is.”

“Yeah. Be well, Harry.”

“Thanks. And Ron?” Harry’s expression hardens, taking on a determined, stony glint reminiscent of how he looked when he faced down the Basilisk his second year. “Don’t apologize for your brothers. They’ll get what’s coming to them.”

[TBC]

##

[Omake – I couldn’t resist.]​

“How are you feeling, Harry?” The Headmaster looks troubled.

“I’m doing better, Sir. How were Sirius and the others?”

The old man pats Harry’s arm. “They’re missing you, of course, and are understandably upset over what happened to Arthur, but fine otherwise.”

Harry nods, a lump in his throat at the memory of being the snake that struck down Mister Weasley. “Um, sir? Would you care for a pair of socks? It’s Christmas and all.”

Dumbledore’s expression brightens as he reaches for the fuzzy woolen socks knit in a color just gaudy enough to match his wardrobe. Just then, there’s a loud popping sound and the socks are snatched away from his grasp.

“So close,” he says sadly.

“Dobby is wanting socks and is not letting Mister Harry Potter give his Wheezy socks to Bad Dumbledore.”

“Master Dobby,” Dumbledore says in sonorous voice, one that is filled with anger.

“Count Dooku.” Dobby says, his voice gravelly.

Dumbledore answers with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Dooku? Who’s that?” Harry asks aloud, but is ignored by the two powerful beings before him.

“You have interfered in our affairs for the last time,” Dumbledore says, raising his hand. Wandless magic propels a hospital bed toward the diminutive elf, who raises his own tiny hand and directs it away, causing it to clatter against the wall.

Then a potions cart flies toward Dobby, as if hurled by an invisible giant. Dobby sets his feet in a horse stance and flings it away with a grunt.

Dumbledore raises his hands toward the ceiling, causing large blocks of stone to dislodge and fall down toward Dobby, who raises his own arms protectively, causing an invisible wall of force to keep the blocks from crushing him to paste. A flick of his tiny wrist sends them tumbling across the infirmary floor.

“Powerful, you have become, Dooku. The Dark Side I sense in you,” Dobby says, his demeanor screaming anger, yet his voice surprisingly calm.

“I’ve become more powerful than any Jedi,” Dumbledore says. “Even you!” And a heavy bolt of blue lightning flies from his fingertips toward Dobby. Dobby raises his hand and catches the lightning, grasping it like one would a gleaming snitch, holding the bolt of energy between them. They struggle for a long moment, the darkened infirmary lit up by tendrils of light, neither gaining an obvious advantage over the other.

“Much to learn, you still have!” Dobby says.

“It is obvious this contest will not be decided by our knowledge of the Force, but by our skills with the Lightsaber,” Dumbledore replies.

“What!?” Harry shouts. “Force? Lightsaber? What are you two talking about?”

Dumbledore flicks his wrist and a red bolt of solid light hisses into being, thrumming with a low sound. He flourishes this bolt of red like a rapier.

Dobby opens his hand and a metallic cylinder appears, as if by magic. He flicks a green light into being that matches Dumbledore’s red beam. The two leap toward one another with strength and grace far beyond anything Harry had ever seen, crashing together in a titanic rain of blows, each contact making loud crackles in the air where the light beams cross. Dobby’s beam flicks impossibly fast, green circles of light slashing and spinning toward Dumbledore. Dumbledore blocks each strike with his own red beam, which has a strange sort of power about it that Harry can only guess at.

Dobby leaps, flipping over the larger man, slashing downward several times with his light beam. Dumbledore grunts loudly as he deflects the powerful blows, spinning to counterattack, but Dobby quickly feints and levels another powerful slash at Dumbledore. This mighty battle between equals continues in this way for several seconds—all writhing and twisting and crashing of light. Then Dobby springs, touching the walls, and then the table, and then the bed, and then hurls his tiny body back into combat, his light stick and that of Dumbledore’s crashing together one last time, holding against one another in a dynamic tension that threatens to explode in latent power.

“Done well you have, my Padawan,” Dobby says.

“This is just the beginning,” Dumbledore grunts, his mouth a rictus of fury. And then suddenly he thrusts his bony arm out and a massive cabinet flies toward Harry’s bed, threatening to crush him. And at that, the old man makes his escape.

Dobby closes his eyes and points blindly toward the falling cabinet, arresting its fall, protecting his charge. Harry, with wide eyes, sees the cabinet nearly crush him, then fall limply to the side with a loud crash.

Dobby opens his eyes and winks at Harry. “Dobby has the socks. Dobby rules!”

Then he snaps his fingers and disappears.

Harry, lying there, blinks and says to nobody in particular, “What the fuck?”

 

Totally understand how Harry feels at the end of that. That omake came out of nowhere. The first part though, I like. The present tense without first person threw me off for a minute or two, but after that it was quite good. I'll have to read 'the talk' now to see what sets this up.

EDIT: No, I get it and I've seen the film just, like Harry says, what the fuck. I can't like or dislike it when I'm totally thrown, it utterly surprised me.

 

Hooolllleeeeeee shiiiittttttt

 

To appreciate the Omake, watch the Yoda/Dooku light saber battle on Youtube.

---------- Post automerged at 05:56 PM ---------- Previous post was at 01:05 PM ----------

Pity that this is going to automerge with my prior post. Hopefully, Biorcyn will still notice my comments.

@Biorcyn: Omakes are occasionally whimsical extras that don't have to follow the theme faithfully. Sometimes they're just there for a laugh. In this case, my son really loved the idea of Dobby as Yoda, so, yeah, we got Dobby as Yoda. If I were more serious about it, I'd probably have worked harder at merging Yoda-speak and Dobby-speak, maybe dropped a Saruman reference in there (Dooku was played by the same actor as Saruman, as were Dumbledore and Gandalf the same actor), etc., but trying too hard on non-serious pieces can be counterproductive.

"Dobby rules!" was at my son's insistence, incidentally.

Since it's your first go at things and nobody else has commented on your story, I'll try to help out. Take my comments with a grain of salt; style varies among authors and I'm hardly the final authority on writing:

Grammatically, it's decent. I saw a few problem spots ("Harry span left pointing his wand light into the shrubbery") but the piece was passable, on the whole. Some of the phrasing was a little awkward, though nothing a few passes of editing couldn't smooth out. You do overuse plain modifiers or stock phrases a bit much for my tastes ("It seemed like a fog had slowly been filling up his head since breakfast this morning. He felt he was going to have to write this day off as a bad job." e.g.) and some of your other modifiers are a little weird ('chrome dome' is usually referring to a bald person, not the head itself; 'tussling plants' - fighting plants? really?), but that's a minor thing.

More serious is that you're missing some key elements of the storytelling. You have to build toward something and not trip up your reader leaving him wondering over things that aren't explained (or at least give the promise that stuff will be resolved later on). Stuff should be there for a reason. For instance, you didn't resolve why Harry was distracted in the first paragraph. Why did he recoil from the unicorn centerfold shot? Why did he so suddenly fall for Ginny? (Comparing his transition to a love potion probably suggests it wasn't such a potion). Unless I missed something important in my reading, I just don't get at all why Harry had to pull out his hair and make a rope from it in order to get a unicorn. That just seems random, yet it was the climax of your piece. That part, at least, should be so obviously motivated as to be impossible to miss.

One of the most important things with a short story is to end it well, a rule I didn't follow as well as I'd like my own story above; I will say though that though mine's not a great ending, it at least closes out the scene with a take-away note, a feeling that things are resolved after a fashion. A short story/oneshot is really all about the concept and delivering the ending.

A final point would be that TGYH probably isn't the best audience for self-disfiguring!Harry stories where he does so to gain Ginny's favor. Just sayin'.

It's a good try and welcome to fanfiction writing. And good luck to you on your next.

 

Anyone want to throw me another bone; hopefully something not overly long 1-2k?

 

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: phazer11

Prompt: Write Lavender's 5th year career counseling session with McGonagall (Umbridge optional). Pity that she only has three career options: exotic dancer, prostitute, and Ministry official.

Length: 1k+ Words

 

That's certainly a curve ball; interesting idea I'm off to see the muse.

 

He actually did explain some of the points you mention, even though it wasn't always clear.

These two are connected. Ginny did use a Love Potion. Harry took it at breakfast and that's what has him so befuddled and distracted through out the day.

This wasn't explained all that well and I don't think using his hair was his only option (without actually hurting the unicorn of course), but:

--

Now, about the story itself. It thought it was fairly well written and you worked the Love Potion in subtle enough for it to only hit me when you actually mentioned it. I'm not really much of a fan of the whole "Ginny & Love Potion" cliche, but I suppose it was a fair enough way to make Harry that special kind of insane he needed to be. Like I said in my reply to Pers though, I don't actually think his 'love insanity' alone was enough to explain the use of his own hair, when he could have brought a rope or something. Or am I missing out on some unicorn folklore here?

 

I’ve tried writing fanfiction once before and it was crap. I ended up going back to just reading fanfics and deleted the stories. This is my first attempt at writing in years, since before I started university. I’m starting small on the advice that Perspicacity gave in the Tips for New Fanfic Writers? thread.

x-x-x-x​

Comeuppance ​

x-x-x-x​

“You’ve ruined Cornelius, Potter, ruined him!”

For emphasis Umbridge slammed the palm of her hand onto his desk, startling the few students who were in the library. The dumpy witch loomed over the sitting wizard, her eyes bright with genuine anger. Harry ignored her, wishing that he’d gone elsewhere to work on his eulogy for Sirius’ memorial service. With exams over though the library was the quietest part of the castle.

As Umbridge kept speaking Harry felt a slow bubble of rage expand in his chest. He clenched his fists, crushing the quill in his right hand. Looking at his hands he noticed that his white-knuckled fists had brought his scars into stark relief. There was the usual collection of nicks and scratches that most active children picked up and some scars across his knuckles from childhood fights with Dudley and his friends.

And there was the scar that Umbridge had forced him to carve into his own skin. I must not tell lies. It was scrawled across the back of his right hand.

“You’re going to go to the Daily Prophet Potter and tell them what a great man Cornelius is,” Umbridge continued, her voice wild. She could see Fudge’s star falling and her own with it. She would do anything to secure their power, anything. “You’re going to tell the truth for once in your miserable ...”

People would speculate for years to come why what happened next occurred. Was it the burden of his responsibilities? The grief from his godfather’s death? An after-effect from the dark lord possessing him? No one knew. Or at least, no one was speaking. One thing was certain though – Harry snapped

He drove his quill into the back of her hand, burying the point in her flesh. Umbridge reared back, pulling her wounded hand protectively towards her chest as she screamed. She went for her wand but Harry was faster. He rose from his chair and slammed his forehead into her face. A loud crack filled the library as Umbridge’s nose broke under the blow.

With one quill pierced hand held to her chest and the other holding her broken, bleeding nose Umbridge stared at Harry in shock. She couldn’t believe that he had dared attack her. To Harry’s surprise a smile spread over Umbridge’s face.

“Thank you Potter,” she said, her voice strained from the pain. “This proves everything Cornelius has been saying about your instability, even if he was wrong about You-Know-Who.” She drew herself upwards with as much dignity as she could muster. “And now you’re under arrest for ...”

Too late Umbridge noticed that Harry had drawn his wand after head butting her and that hers was still in the pocket of her cardigan. His banisher hit her with the force of a sledgehammer and hurled her backwards into a shelf. Heavy as it was the shelf teetered perilously when Umbridge hit it and slid to the floor, her ribs broken and her breathing laboured.

Ignoring half a dozen of the students that he had been sharing the library with as they came to their senses and fled, some to seek help and others to distance themselves from the trouble that was sure to follow, Harry flicked his wand and steadied the shelf, not wanting it to crush Umbridge. At least not yet.

“Get her Potter!” The shout came from one of the students who had remained behind. All of those who had remained had suffered at the hands of Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad.

Staring up at Harry as he stood above her, wand in hand, Umbridge felt the first stirrings of fear. She saw grief and hatred and a complete disregard for the consequences shining in Harry’s eyes. She tried to grab her wand, feeling a surge of hope when her fingers brushed the handle, only for Harry to casually summon it from her hand, catching it and pocketing it. The hope withering, Umbridge realised that he had waited for her to touch her wand before summoning it. He wanted her to feel hope, just so he could destroy it.

“Engorgio!” The spell hit Umbridge’s leg and she could only scream in pain as the charm, one not meant to be used on humans, made her limb swell. It took seven seconds. Her leg went from fat and stumpy, to stumpy and grotesque. Then it exploded.

Harry ignored the shards of bone that bit into his exposed skin as he was covered in blood and scraps of flesh. His view of the world turned red as blood coated the lenses of his glasses. Taking them off, he cleaned each lens with a tap of his wand and a muttered incantation, all the while staring at Umbridge. A frown worked its way onto his face when he noticed the glassy look in her eyes and realised that she was going into shock from pain and blood loss.

Replacing his freshly cleaned glasses Harry turned to the now silent crowd of onlookers. He ignored the ‘oh shit!’ expressions that covered a lot of the faces. “Does any know how to stop shock?” he asked hopefully. No one answered and his hopeful expression faded, becoming aggravated. “Fuck off then!” he snapped, turning back to Umbridge.

His back to the door, he missed Dumbledore’s entrance into the library. He did notice the spell Dumbledore fired over his shoulder though, straight at Umbridge. A light blue nimbus of magic surrounded the dying woman and the gushing blood from her destroyed leg slowed to a trickle. It was a stasis charm. Harry recognised it from a quidditch match when a bludger had nearly killed a Ravenclaw chaser by caving in his skull. It was meant to keep a person alive until they could reach help.

“Leave,” Dumbledore ordered as Harry turned to face him and the students obeyed. The spectacle had lost all appeal when they realised that Harry intended to kill Umbridge. Or at least it had for most of the students. Those who were enjoying it weren’t dumb enough to voice their opinion.

“Hello Headmaster,” Harry said pleasantly when they were alone. He reached up and picked some flesh out of his hair, dropping it to the floor. “Am I in trouble?” he asked, his voice uncaring.

Dumbledore looked at him with kind, sad eyes. “Come quietly Harry and I guarantee that I can protect you, even if it’s only from yourself.”

 

Ok, I really appreciate the advice, so thanks for commenting both of you.

@Perspicacity, with your Omake, I wasn't trying to attack it. Looking back though, what I posted obviously didn't clearly say what I wanted it to say. Like Harry, from in-universe, it totally surprised me. So my overall feeling to that Omake is surprise. I didn't see it coming, and at the end, like Harry, I'm just thinking 'What just happened?' I understand it's a whimsical thing. I just can't help thinking about what would happen after this. So please, I'd hate you think I was attacking it, although I think that's what you got from what I said.

As to your criticism, I actually wrote in the final scene a line about Ginny thinking she'd used too much love potion but I took it out because I wanted something more subtle. I deliberately put the line about glass of pumpkin juice next to a mention of amortentia, and as I was working from back to front and I thought I'd added a few more appropriate clues as the day wore on.

About the stock phrases, I hadn't noticed. Thanks for bringing that to my attention. Chrome dome didn't feel right at the time, but I couldn't figure out why and I wanted something more colloquial.

The climax wasn't meant to be him pulling his hair out, rather it was supposed to be the final line, originally I had Dean and Seamus drop laughing. Now I wonder how widespread the slang is. Here in the north east of england when someone says he's got the horn he means he's horny or he has an erection. If it wasn't immediately apparent where the climax is though, that's a fail.

The centre fold too, I was just trying to keep it clean, I thought by not graphically describing it the reader would imagine something disgusting all their own.

Finally, the unicorn hair. A fail by me, thinking it is common knowledge, but I used a man anyway so it probably muddled it up more. I've always been under the impression that a unicorn could be bound by a virgin's hair. I was inspired by a wonderful Terry Pratchett scene.

Spoiler

Granny weatherwax binds an evil unicorn with a single long hair

You say you're not an authority, Pers, but as one of my favourite authors on the site your advice here really will have a big impact on me (hence my grovelling earlier). Violent, I hope I've answered your bit about the hair too, I'll throw in a line about virgin's hair and that should probably help. I'm glad that my explanations are findable, even if not very clear.

-------------------------------

EDIT: For the story posted while I was typing this.

First, standard format and colour. Someone would say it eventually. The first two paragraphs seemed a bit odd to me. The very first line 'You've ruined Cornelius' made me think Harry had taken his innocence, but that may be just me.

Secondly, if this was after Sirius' death, wouldn't Umbridge still be shit up from the centaur encounter?

There were a few redundant words, 'most active children' could probably just be most children, but I'm not really the one to be critiquing that. After Harry stabs her with a quill however, I stopped noticing things like that and was very interested in the story. Like Taure said in a thread about conflict, the Potter vs. Umbridge relationship is the one that engendered so much hate that it's always really good to read about Harry kicking the shit out of her. At least until he hit her with the engorgio. After that there was a sense that he'd either totally snapped or there should be some sort of core Harryish inner conflict about what he was doing that was missing.

I think the final line worked perfectly, it totally fit what Dumbledore would say there, and with the 'kind, sad eyes' made the strongest mental image I got from the entire story.

 

What? Since when??


/off topic.

 

Count Dooku and Saruman were played by Christopher Lee. But Dumbledore was played by Richard Harris/Michael Gambon and Gandalf is Ian McKellen.