Directed at me? Ouch! You're entitled to your opinion though and I respect that. I don't have to agree though.

Also, point of order, everyone can post a challenge, that's the idea of an open thread.

Just saying.

 

Look, lousy challenges will be eliminated easily when no one answer them. Don't get your knickers in a twist.
tl; dr: Chill, Sunkarapk.

A/N-0: All glory to the Grinning Lizard.

[Merciless]​

“Please… have mercy…”

Draco Malfoy’s pleas fell on deaf ears. In fact, it seemed to amuse him even more; green eyes colder than ice shone with dark malice. Drawing out his wand the man on the throne drawled.

“I’ve changed my mind, Draco. For your insolence, I will kill one of parents tonight. Now who should that be?”

Draco darted his eyes to the bloodied and tortured forms of his parents, then yelped as the green-eyed man lifted their bodies and suspended them in mid-air with silent Levicorpus spells.

“Choose.” He whispered. Draco whimpered. “One of them is going to die. Acknowledge that. Believe in it. One of them will die. Accept it. Then make your choice.”

“No… please…” Draco was sobbing openly now. “You’re supposed to be the good guys, Potter! You can’t do this!”

Narcissa screamed as her left forearm dropped to the ground, courtesy of a swift Cutting Curse from Harry Potter. Standing at the side of his throne, Ron Weasley followed up the curse with a Flaming Sword Curse, cutting off another inch below the elbow but cauterizing the wound at the same time. Harry’s eyes flashed in his lieutenant’s direction for a second, but returned his attention to the sobbing young man in front of him.

“You’re the bad guys, Malfoy. Surely you can take a little mindless violence and make tough choices?” Harry said, twirling his wand almost casually. “Give me what I want, and I’ll let you and mummy or daddy go.”

“The Dark Lord will hunt us down and kill us if I do that!”

“Let me put it in perspective for you.” Harry smiled coldly. “He hasn’t gotten to you yet. We have. And we will kill you if you don’t cooperate with us."

“Unless you want to start choosing which of your parents’ limbs to save?” He aimed his wand at Lucius’ chest. “I don’t know, Ron. Do you think a Heart-Exploding Curse can actually work on dear Lucius here?” He scratched his chin absently. “Wait. Maybe I should disarm him permanently. Get it? Disarm?”

“No! Wait! I’ll tell you everything!” Draco Malfoy screamed.

Harry smirked. “Of course you will.”

*

Ron looked down at the mess with an undisguised look of disgust on his face. Malfoy had spilled his guts, both figuratively and literally thank to Harry’s Entrail-expelling Curse. The canines that used to be his parents were feasting upon the remains. Ron knew that Harry would wait till the dog-Malfoys have their fill before undoing the transfiguration; he could imagine their screams when they realized they had cannibalized their own son while—

“Something wrong, Ron?” Harry asked in a concerned voice.

“I’m fine, mate.” The redhead said. “Actually, no, I’m not. I’m just sick and tired of it all. Sometimes I wonder if we have become as bad as the Death Eaters.

“Remember the good old days, Harry? When there were good guys, and bad guys, and we knew who was who?

“What ever happened to us?”

Harry sighed heavily; avoiding his last surviving friend’s inquiring eyes by turning to watch the dogs. A flick of his wand and the Malfoy-turned-canines began going into heat.

“This fucking war happened. Death and destruction happened.” He said at last. “Every day wizards and muggles alike are killed. Every day the Wizarding World struggles for its freedom. We must not waver, old friend. We must win because we cannot lose. Everything depends on us.”

Ron shut his eyes for a moment. “I understand.”

“I’m glad.” Harry said, and suddenly Ron found himself Petrified and on the ground. He looked up to see Harry pointing his want at the Malfoys again.

Harry? Ron’s eyes flickered at his friend, unable to believe what had just happened.

“It’s nothing personal, Ron. OK, that’s a lie, it’s entirely personal…” Harry said calmly while the frozen Ron began to panic. He had heard Harry spoken like this before. It was always followed by some unspeakable horror. “Like I said, we must not waver.

"You just did.”

Ron’s eyes widened as the canine-Malfoys turned in his direction and growled. Harry had settled back into his throne-like seat, and Ron stared disbelievingly at his friend.

“I cannot allow that. For what’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Is he going to watch while dogs tear his best friend to pieces?

“Goodbye, Ron. You have been a good friend for a long time.”

Ron finished his one last thought as the dogs sank their teeth and claws into his throat.

He is.
---
A/N-1: 750 words in about an hour.
A/N-2: Abusing Ron and Draco is so easy and so much fun.

 

Actually, anyone who's responded to a challenge can post one.

Also, go fuck yourself.

If you want to give some actual feedback on the challenges someone posts (because they are a little too specific), fine, but even if Peace hadn't contributed more to the board, thread and fandom in one month than you have in six, that kind of comment would still be errant cuntery.

 

Oops. My bad. Sorry Peace. I didn't see that you responded to a challenge. Sorry again to all of you.

 

Well, here goes. It's not as good as I would have liked, and the actual idea was somewhat interesting. I may actually clean this up some and see if I could go somewhere with this.

He had never liked fire when he was younger. Fire destroyed. It consumed and burned indiscriminately, caring not for what was destroyed so that it could continue. The Wizarding World was like that Harry thought as he looked upon the Ministry of Magic. The pureblood aristocracy would do pay anything, do anything, kill anyone to remain in place.

It is said that power corrupts. Harry kenw the truth of that. But worse than the corruption of power was the corruption of complacency. Wizards just knew that "this is how it is so this is how it must stay".

"When will this end," Harry thought. He had contemplated it many times in the last years. "Only when it is made to," was the conclusion he came to. And ultimately, it was up to him to make it so.

He stood in the Atrium of the Ministry, clad in imposing black and blood-red dragonhide and an unmistakeable aura of magic emanating from him. His gaze swept dispassionately over the burning area. A chuckle almost escaped him when he thoughht about the irony. That the very Ministry which had so much in common with flame could be so easily torn apart by it.

Clouds of smoke drifted lazily up from the burning fires, twisting randomly. Harry waved his wand and the smoke began to form shapes. A wand, a train, a gavel, a lightning bolt. The smoke writhed from shape to shape, each with a different meaning and story behind it.

"Potter!" A yell cut through the crackling of the fire causing Harry to look up. A squad of aurors swept out from deeper into the ministry. Elite aurors. Harry could tell bu the golden stripe down each of their crimson robes. There were five of them. The ministry must have been desperate to stop him if they sent so many. He noted that the minister himself had come up behind them with a sixth elite auror as a bodyguard.

Rage boiled over in Harry as he recognized the voice of the lead auror. He was sorely tempted to just start throwing curses. But held it in. He would get his revenge soon enough.

Civilians were huddled in small groups all over the atrium, and at least two groups of aurors were spread throughout; holding shielding spells around each group. They were afraid Harry would attack the ordinary wizards and witches, but Harry wasn't so far gone as that. He was here for a specific purpose.

"Throw down your wand Potter and come along peacefully," the lead auror commanded.

Harry laughed. "Come now old friend. Lower your hood. Do I not even merit a face to face talking to anymore?"

The lead auror tensed but lowered his hood. Ronald Weasley looked back at Harry with anger in his eyes.

"Drop your wand."

"Do you really think I will Ron," Harry asked.

"I doubt it."

Harry locked his eyes on Ron. "Why? Why did you do it Ron?"

"What are you talking about Potter?"

"Why did you betray her... us?" Anger blazed behind Harry's green eyes forcing Ron to take an involuntary tep backwards. "We were ready to do it Ron. You knew we were. The three of us could have rebuilt this world," Harry said, gesturing to the blazing remains of the Ministry.

Harry reached down by his feet and picked up the golden head of the wizard from the atrium statue. "The pureblood agenda was and is destroying our world." He tossed the head in the air and shattered it with a blasting curse. "We had a plan Ron. A plan to change the world and you betrayed it? Why?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you Potter," Wealey bit out.

"No. No you don't," Harry said. "After all what does it matter that you betrayed Hermione and I. But most of all her. She trusted you with the Secret. You were our Secret-Keeper and you gave us up. For what? So you could keep your job? For money and a Wizengamot seat to go along with your pureblood name?"

Ron opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Harry.

"Don't bother. We both know that is exactly why you betrayed us." Harry's aura flared dangerously. "She died in there Ron! You arrested her, and testified against her and she DIED!"

"She was a traitor," Ron said. "A traitor and a mudblood with delusions of grandeur."

"Listen to yourself Ron," Harry snarled. "Mudblood? Have you forgotten what we spent our Hogwarts years fighting against? But you gave up the ideals we fought for in our youth. Gave up a woman you loved once."

"And as much as murdered the one I loved."

"Enough with the reminiscing," Ron commanded. "Hand over your wand." he gestured to his men to spread out. "Or we'll force you to."

"Don't you see Ron," Harry laughed. "It is time for all of this to end. I will make it end." Without a single pause Harry whipped his wand around his body and a wave of light shot out in all directions blowing the aurors off their feet. Harry sprinted towards the stairwell deeper into the ministry, covering himself with shields.

Ending this living hell was all he had left...

 

Your writing's getting better brute, still room for improvement but I'm hardly one to talk about that. Quick question - what story is the quote in your sig from?

 

Chapter 38 of Oh God Not Again! by Sarah1281.

 

Yep that one. God I thought it was funny.

And thanks for the comment on my writing Peace. Makes me feel better about the work I have been putting into bettering it.

---------- Post automerged at 10:41 AM ---------- Previous post was at 10:25 AM ----------

Here's a challenge for anyone who wants it. I am sure someone will have something fun to do with it.

Challenged: ???
Time: Any
Length 1000+
Line: "Ah, Mr. Moody. In accordance with the wishes of the Last Will and Testament of Mr. and Mrs. James Potter you have been granted guardianship of their son."

 

Bloody Healers.

Alastor was beyond impatient. Here he was, bed-ridden, at a time when many of the Dark Lord's vermin were running for their bolt-holes. It was a cold comfort that he and his squad had captured the Lestranges at Longbottom Manor, but at least one of their accomplices escaped, and now he was stuck here, one leg (and one temper) short.


"Mr. Moody..."


"That's Senior Auror Moody, ya bustling harpy. When can I get a new leg?"


"I have no notion. It may be weeks, as the wizard known to make prostetees--"


"ProsTHETics!"


"... has been missing for a while. He was last seen drinking to the health of the Boy-Who-Lived by the flagon-full."


"Who?"


"Why, Harry Potter, of course!"


"Is that James' son?"


"The very one! They say that his parents are both dead, but that Harry fought off the Dark Lord and even killed him."


"Well 'they' are idiots. What manner of infant is capable of fighting off a Krup, much less the Dark Lord?"


A rat-nosed man appeared in the doorway and replied, "What manner indeed? That will be a suitable quest to fulfill, now that your days as an Auror are done."


Alastor moaned. "Oh, spit me on a pyre and be done with it. What're you doin' here, Mulready? I'm not done as an Auror by a long shot, and ye've nothing to pin me with, these days. Barty's Aurors can nigh on murder the Minister so long as they can feign a believable suspicion."


"I'm here as executor of a will. Given your usual traveling habits, I felt it was my best opportunity to catch you while you were someplace publicly accessible."


"Can't you just send me post like normal solicitors?"


"Ah, Mr. Moody. The circumstances in this case require a bit more of a direct hand. You see, in accordance with the wishes of the Last Will and Testament of Mr. and Mrs. James Potter you have been granted guardianship of their son."


Alastor coughed and glared at the slimy little rat-man.


"Either you or James Potter has a very twisted and poor sense of humour."


"You know well enough that I lack a sense of humour as you define it, and I would not speak ill of the dead, especially when they are so well-regarded. Whether you believe it or not, you have been identified as the next appropriate guardian, now that the Longbottoms have been rendered insensate--"


"You'll speak of them with respect, as well!"


"I don't disparage them in the least. Whatever their accolades, they are incapable of tending to their own needs, much less those of a orphan boy."


"Why're you on this task, Mister Mulready?"


"For the simple joy of seeing you squirm with a moral dilemma. You are the legal guardian for a baby who will no doubt be regarded as the most famous wizard in the world. I'm sure the press will be very interested in everything you choose to do to guide him into adulthood. The press will surround your house, grocers will sell details of your purchases, and I should think the Ministry would want to see the little sprout as he encounters the world, from the safety of your embrace."


"I'll not do it!"


"I have heard mention that Minister Bagnold is interested in holding a photo session wherein little Harry will be handed, by her, into the arms of his caring guardian. By the way- how's the leg?"


Alastor's face contorted into several gargoylish expressions. He wouldn't- he couldn't live his life as the Prophet's poster boy, but the prospect of handing little Potter off to Merlin-knows-who that Millicent Bagnold would anoint as his replacement... well the possibilities brought bile into his mouth.


"You just drop that infernal paperwork on a table and be on yer way, Mulready. Ye've got until I can find my wand--"


The little rat-face smacked the folder onto a rolling tray and spun away to leave. He stopped at the door and gave Alastor a cruel look.


"I believe young Master Potter has yet to be weaned, Senior Auror Moody. You may wish to hire a wetnurse. I have a list of trustworthy candidates..."


The solicitor escaped just as Moody's flame whip carved a burn into the door frame.


The healer poked her head in, looking ready to berate him until she saw he was armed. "Where in the world did you hide that one?"


"OUT!"


Once alone, Moody sighed.


"Expecto Patronum."


A wispy-white dog appeared. "Go to Professor Dumbledore. Message is: 'I'm to be Potter's guardian. This is a bad idea. Handle it!' You got that?"


The misty avatar barked and sped away through the window.

[[[]]]​

When Alastor woke again, it was dark in his room. He immediately turned on his bed to face his visitor, his four-inch reserve backup wand glowing red at the tip.


The quiet but sure voice of the Headmaster of Hogwarts spoke, "Calm yourself, Alastor. After all, I was invited."


"'Bout bloody time, Albus."


"Yes, well, I don't know if you'd heard but a war just ended. Things have been a bit unruly, across the land."


"Yeah, and I'd like to know how you intend to handle this most recent bit of insanity."


"I don't see it as insane, as much ill-advised, but you have to admit- if James Potter wished to assure that his son would be protected, he could do much worse than the Ministry's most decorated--"


"And most-wounded--"


Albus smiled while nodding. "...and most-enduring Auror as his reliable fall-back, particularly when his own friends seem to have come to such terrible straits on their own."


"That's as may be, but I'm not the fathering type, Mr. Dumbledore. What d'you plan to do about this?"


"Well, as it turns out, I have an alternate arrangement already in place. I have sequestered the famous Boy-Who-Lived with muggle relatives that have no interest in our world. If you'll provide your signed agreement, we can make this fostering permanent."


"This seems a bit too tidy, Albus. What're you playing at?"


"Alastor, I am arranging things as well as you could want."


"Exactly. Friends and comrades we may be, but you don't play a hand unless all the cards have meaning. Why're you so keen to see the boy raised away from me?"


"It's nothing against you, Alastor. I am not convinced that Voldemort is truly gone. Until I can be sure, Harry's relatives provide an unusual protection that should prevent any of his followers from acting against him. If I'm right, Harry Potter may be the most important wizard in the world. Not for what he has done, but for what he may have yet to do."


"And if you're wrong?"


"Then he will be raised as well as any other muggle-born wizard, and that can hardly be a bad thing, in these times when muggle society develops so rapidly."


"Aye, I see the wisdom in it. Promise me one thing."


"What's that, Alastor?"


"Before that boy reaches his majority, I want a go at mentoring him. I'm not letting my responsibilities lie- any son of mine, by writ or by witch, is going to know how to defend himself."


Albus smiled. "I promise that you will have your chance."

[[[]]]​

 

Awesome. That's exactly the sort of thing I expected. Could you imagine what Harry would have been like if he had actually been raised by that paranoid ex-auror? Funny as hell to think about.

 

Don't just think about it, go read it. Although that is a Rorshach, and some people don't like 'em (his writing isn't top notch, even more so in this, his ideas folder. But his ideas are great, and he is DEFINITELY someone I'd recommend.). It's part one of (I think) three, but goes off the rails completely later, but, as I said, it's a Blot, and you should therefore expect that.

 

Thanks. Never noticed that before having only read select stuff out of his ideas. I love Blot's stuff, but I think the raised by Made-Eye plot would make an at least decent story. His was funny, but over the top as per his usual style.

 

Sorry to break it to you, but no, not everyone can post a challenge. You have to accept and write a challenge before you can issue one. That said, once I get off my ass and write the response to the last one I accepted, I'll try out at least one of yours from the last page.

Here we go.

===

Ron's hand was clenched so tightly inside of Georges own that the shaking carried through to both of their arms, and the red splotches around the second-youngest Weasley siblings eyes stood out against the sheet-white color of his face.

"Get over here already, would you? I can't hold him still much longer!" George hissed over at his twin, who was rummaging around within their parents nightstand rather helplessly in search of a wand.

Ron shuddered again against the pain in his tongue where the candy had burned through, but he resisted the urge to start crying any further to keep his brothers from berating and shouting him down.

"Aha!" Fred exclaimed enthusiastically as his fingers wrapped around something long, thin, and to his surprise after drawing it free, vibrantly purple.

George glanced over nervously. "What kind of wand is that?" he demanded, anxious to get this over and done with. Fred stared at it as if unsure of what to say, before frowning and turning to the other two.

"I don't know, what if its in here, it has to be the spare I heard them talking about last week. I think it might be broken, though, or else why is it colored like this?" he responded and jumped as it began to shake in his hands.

"What did it do that for?" he added after another few moments, more and more unsure about what they were trying to do with a possibly broken wand.

"Throw it away already! We might as well try raiding Charlies room!" George told him, but Fred shook his head.

"We don't have much time left before dad and Charlie get back, you git! We've got to try with what we have- and you, shut it!" he added with a sharp look at Ron's trembling lips, trying to curb the inevitable noise before it was too late.

George squeezed his fingers extra hard and gestured for his twin to start already. "Do you swear not to tell anyone else about this?" Fred ordered after stepping between them and thrusting the awkward wand over the other twos hands.

Ron opened his mouth to reply when the doorknob turned and their father stepped in, calling back, "Just a moment, Charlie, I--" and stopping dead as his eyes took in the sight before him.

Fred hissed out a breath between clenched teeth at the same time as George, saying rapidly, "I swear, this isn't what it looks like!" and trying to hide the wand behind his back.

"Dad? Whats up?" Charlie's voice echoed down the hall. The look on their fathers face seemed to change, then. It rolled from surprise into confusion and then, as Ron began crying in earnest, to anger.

"What, exactly, are you two doing to your brother?" he demanded in a deceptively quiet tone. The twins paled. He never used that kind of tone, as if imitating their mother.

"Nothing! Just a little magic trick!" Fred tried. The buzzing of the object in his hands continued rather obviously. Their father strode into the room and gave just a moments hesitation at what he saw grasped therein behind the boys hands, almost seeming to be taken aback, before he scowled and vanished it.

"You two are going to sit down and explain in full detail what has been going on here!" he ordered sharply. "Now!"

George dropped to the floor, having long ago released Ron's fingers, and Fred promptly followed up and sat down right beside him as if drawing strength and solace in numbers.

Ron ran up to their father and held on around the elder wizards knees, muffling his wailing and tears as Arthur placed a hand reassuringly over his head.

Half the house could hear the echo of his voice ten minutes later when the twins finally explained the situation and what they had been in the process of doing, followed up almost immediately by the rather higher pitched shrieks and slap of a conjured belt waylaying them at the nearest available patch of skin.

===

Roughly 673 words.

 

Thanks for answering the challenge Zenzao, I like what you did with it. I look forward to reading what you do with one of the other challenges. Cheers for the corrections about who can post challenges (luckily I had responded to a couple of challenges before posting my own). And yeah GL my challenges could have been better thought out. Maybe I should practice the 'measure twice, cut once' rule when it comes to posting challenges?

Or at least wait a bit before posting challenges after I watch four hours of Angel.

Now that that's out of the way: Challenge, please.

 

Didn't mean to come off as a dick or anything last time, Peace. I've seen some of your challenges in here and just meant that as a general correction. Glad you liked what I did with the challenge, and here's one of your other two-- though I should note that it has been years since I watched Angel on an annual basis, and what I scanned on the wikia didn't help as much as I would have liked, so possible out of characterness to follow.

Takes place roughly after she becomes part of the Hell division of Wolfram and Hart.

"Mr Potter, my name is Lilah Morgan and I represent Wolfram and Hart law firm. We have an offer for you." A smooth feminine voice intoned rather calmly, given the situation.

Harry's dark emerald gaze flashed in the new-comers direction as if in disbelief, then ducked his head to avoid the returned spell fire from his opponent.

The woman was standing around in a sharp business suit and had a placating, if slightly domineering, smile on her face as chaos exploded all around the battlefield in which she now stood.

'I'm losing it.' He thought and promptly dismissed her as a hallucination brought on by the adrenaline high and blood loss coupled with his general lack of sleep over the last two days.

He leaned around the barricade of rock acting as a very useful shield and sent off three silent Sectumsempra's in the opposing direction and nodded in satisfaction at the howl of pain that accompanied his action-- until she spoke up again.

"Honestly, Mr Potter, it would be in your best interests to pay attention to what I have to say," she tried again. He scowled and, after a moments hesitation, dashed out from the rock in time to dodge the dark yellow implosion curse hurtling toward his former hiding spot thanks to another Death Eater's wand.

It made a most spectacular whoosh of noise and shower of flaming, jagged edged rock shards. Two of which embedded in his shoulders half an inch, drawing a grimace and snarl through clenched teeth, before his slashed his wand over one arm and banished them from his flesh- another grunt followed his momentary fire-whip to cauterize the wounds, and then he was charging forward again.

"Very well. We will be in touch, Mr Potter, once you have sorted this mess out." The same woman's voice called down to him, and he squared his shoulders in irritation despite the pain it brought on.

His shield charm nullified another retaliatory gesture and he hacked off their arm on the return.

---

Some time later, as the sun bled over the horizon and drenched the scene of mass death and destruction in its crimson and orange hues, and Harry Potter leaned back against the lone surviving slab of stone that had once stood in a circle of similar such stones- Stone Henge itself.

In his left hand he held the remnants of a small golden and black tea cup, upon which was reflected the coat of arms for Helga Hufflepuff's clan at the school. Flickers of gray smoke curled up into the morning air as the last remnants of the Horcrux were purified and eliminated from this world.

He swept one arm across his brow to clear it of the accumulated dirt, fresh and dried blood from his cracked open scar, and the occasional splash of his enemies own life fluids.

For the most part he just made it dirtier. "Well done, Mr Potter." Spoke up the same voice as earlier that morning. He turned his head slowly in that direction and felt his jaws clench at the serene crispness of her clothing and posture, looking as at-ease as ever.

"You aren't real, so bugger off." He ordered flatly. After all the mind-games Voldemort had put him through thanks to that damnable curse scar link they shared, he wouldn't be surprised to find out this was just another exploit to destabilize his mentality in a moment of abject weakness- he was exhausted in every sense of the word, missing nearly a quart of blood, and numb from sleep loss.

If he was in his right state of mind, the pain alone should have felled him by now. The woman just scoffed at him. "I am very much real and, as I told you two and a half hours ago, in a position to offer you something of great value." She responded.

"Are you, now? And just who the hell are you? I wasn't paying attention the first time around." He bit out furiously.

She didn't quite smile, but the look in her eyes shone in a way he had often seen Professor Dumbledore's own do years ago when he said something of interest or wit.

"Something like that... are you paying attention this time?" she asked him. He threw the broken Horcrux at her and watched as she snatched it out of the air, stared at the object for a moment with that same gleam, and pocketed it.

"Thank you, this will prove quite useful even if you say no," she said and then looked back up and into his eyes. "My name is Lilah Morgan and I represent Wolfram and Hart law firm. We can offer you aide in the collection of the remaining Horcruxes, including how to find them and what security measures are in place." She told him in a clearer voice that was no longer as... soft, almost mocking.

Harry pushed up away from the stone and pointed his wand at her head. "Right. The only person who happens to know that information is Voldemort, and with this," he tapped the partially open scar on his forehead painfully, drawing a grimace, "I can find out everything I need to know on the matter over time. So you can take your offer and go bugger yourself with it." He said firmly.

She stared at the stick of wood as if it were an irritable distraction, but nodded. "So your response is no. Very well. Take the next few months to reconsider, and if you change your mind... we'll know when you do." And just as quickly as she had appeared, she turned and began to walk off, vanishing into the darkness some ways off.

===

Roughly 950 words.

 

@Zenzao: Didn't particularly draw me in, but it was technically sound. Could have done with a bit of an explanation as to why the lawyer was special enough to be able to calmly chill in the middle of a battlefield, but word limits and all I suppose.


Someone hit me with a challenge? Crossover if possible, preferably with something that isn't too common but I'm likely to know.

 

No problem, I didn't think that for a second. Corrections are always welcome, I wouldn't have joined DLP if they weren't.

I like what you did with the crossover challenge.

 

Hey fellas, I'd like to take on a challenge - I've been doing a lot of writing lately but not fanfic writing, and I'd like to get something down in the three or so hours I've budgeted myself to write tomorrow.

 

A New Challenger Has Appeared: Zennith
Time: 2 hours
Length: 800+ words
Line: Voldemort (to Quirrell): "You imbecile! When I said, 'Use the boy,' that's not what I had in mind."

 

Welp, here's this. 1000 words written in about 45 minutes. I managed to avoid the crackfic ideas that this line initially brought up.


--------


I felt like I was floating.

It was almost like sleep, but not quite.

There was this haze in my head that I just could not shake no matter how much I tried.

I could hear screaming, shouting in the background and I knew it should have meant something to me, but in that moment I somehow couldn’t care less. I was away from it all, the floating and freedom seemed to me the only important thing in the world.

But the feeling lasted just for that moment. Just for that moment, because then, beyond the haze, appeared this stabbing, sudden pain. It was there and then gone in a flash. I felt it in my forehead and my arms almost simultaneously. And I heard myself crying out in agony.

It was the shock of such pain that brought me back. That let me know where I was.

I shook my head to clear away the cobwebs as my situation finally registered.

The Mirror.

I could see the Mirror.

And I remembered it. I remembered the Devil’s Snare and Giant Chessboard, I remembered the winged keys and the flaming threshold. I remembered the Stone.

I remembered Voldemort. He was here. I remembered Quirrell. He was here too.

And then I saw him. He was cowering back against the wall of the small and rocky chamber, clasping at his arms with wide, stricken eyes.

He looked up at me and for a quick second our gazes met. And I could see such… terror. Terror in his heart and in his head such shame.

It was just a second, though. Then we both heard the voice, that disembodied voice arise from what sounded like the either. It was surprisingly calm given the smoke rising from the crumbling skin of his surrogate.

“There is no time, you fool. Give me the stone, Potter. GIVE IT. Or I will take it from you.”

No words escaped my lips, and yet I found myself shaking my head all the same.

I watched as Quirrell rose to his feet, visibly regaining composure with every passing second. That moment of fear and shame seemed more than mere seconds prior, it could have been lifetimes. He waved his wand and watched with a smirk as new skin stretched itself across where his wound had been.

“My lord, I cannot touch him.”

“That should be of little obstacle” the ethereal voice of Lord Voldemort countered.

I started moving again, finally. I took a single step back the direction from which I’d entered the chamber, and then another one. But before I could turn and run the man who had once been merely my professor conjured ropes and banished them in my direction.

There was nothing I could do. I was trapped, tied up, I watched helplessly as the bindings wrapped themselves around my body. There was nowhere I could go. There was nothing I could do. My wand was still lying helplessly on the rocky ground, several meters from where I stood. There was no hope of recovering it, and even if I could, what would I be able to do against a fully trained wizard, much less against my parent’s killer.

Quirrell began to walk towards me. There was this… gleam in his eyes that I could not place.

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear to watch.”

“Give me the stone, Potter.”

That ethereal voice sent chills straight through my bones. Still I shook my head. I could feel that Quirrell was now directly before me, was standing just within arm’s reach.

I was going to die. That was all there was to it. I knew I was going to die.

And I realized then what it was I was feeling.

Anger.

I was angry. I was so angry. There was nothing left in me, every other emotion seemed spent, even fear felt irrelevant now.

Something in me snapped.

I opened my eyes.

And this time, I sought contact.

I caught my Professor’s gaze and with all that anger, all that pent up frustration and fear and fury at the notion of leaving a life I’d only just begun, I willed him to feel what I felt.

And suddenly there was this… connection. I knew he understood, I knew he could feel what I was feeling. I had him. I let all my grief and pain and agony and fear flow out of me and into the man who had allowed his very own self to be overcome and controlled by the most evil wizard on the planet.

With a shout he spun away from me and fell to the floor, the momentary connection shattered. I felt myself falling back as well, and with my arms tied I could do nothing to stop my head from crashing down against the rocks.

I was floating once more. This time still aware of my surroundings, but the pain, the haze that I’d felt before was just as real now.

I could see, through the fog, as Quirinius Quirrell rose from the ground, a new look that I could not place plastered across his features. He took a step towards me. And then another.

That look in his eyes hardened, and now I realized that I could indeed place it. It was determination. I knew that look, I recognized it well.

He was standing before me again. I felt fear, but something else also.

Quirrell smiled. And then he touched his forehead to mine.

The world shattered.

I don’t know if it was him or me who was screaming, maybe it was both of us.

I could hear that ethereal voice cry out in terror, “You imbecile! When I said use the boy that’s not what I had in mind!”

Quirrell was laughing, then.

He was laughing still when his body crumbled.

I almost blacked out, but still was conscious to see the Dark Lord’s spirit flee the flailing and failing body of his former host.

I looked around.

Quirrell was gone.

Voldemort had fled.

And I was alone with that blood red stone still resting in my pocket.