So, this thread is for random word spews: odd drabbles, incredibly short scenes, that have no coherent plot or idea behind them.

Drabbles/word-spews like this are seen in iRC all the time - basically, this just opens it up to anyone on the forum. Unorganized random crap that just spews from your brain.

Plot bunnies, ideas, and scenes that have things planned out with antagonists, conflict, etc., should go in the Plot Bunny Thread - if you want to write more than drabbles/word-spew, Nuhuh has an excellent 500 Words-a-Day group you can join. Full stories should go in the WBA, obviously.

Hell, you never know - your word vomit may inspire someone else to write something more detailed in the Plot Bunny Thread/WBA, or may generate interest in seeing more of said word-spews. Mostly, though, it's to get the creative juices flowing, and help overcome any writer's block you may have.

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So, I'll kick it off with some random crap - a response to an odd convo on iRC about vampires, when they need to replace the blood they lose when they're 'on the rag'.

* DarkSyaoran is now known as DarkSyaoran[Away]
<Jorm`> Although I would like to see a decent vampireOC/Harry story - one that isn't a buttfuck-fest.
<Anarchy|writing> my anthology story was a vampire story
<Jorm`> Or inspired by fucking Twilight.
<Anarchy|writing> i realized that it had no real plot so i never finished it
<Anarchy|writing> the main character hijacked a nuclear battleship and blew some stuff up for no real reason
<Anarchy|writing> blew up a bunch of communist zombies
<Jorm`> Maybe she was on the rag.
<MattSilver> Sounds like most of your other stuff.
<Anarchy|writing> because it was a disease
<Jorm`> It's gotta be bad for vampires.
<Anarchy|writing> the communism, not the zombieism
<+xion> .::[ Lamora ]::. Rule of law And not the one I have been expensive
<Jorm`> "Darling," she whispered seductively, "it's my "time of the month"." Harry froze, a look of terror on his face. "And as you know, I need to replace the blood I'm going to, ah, lose." Harry sighed and held out his wrist in resignation. "Oh darling," she said, laughing lightly, "that's not very sensual, is it?" Harry swallowed nervously at the look of hunger, for something other than blood, that had spread across her face.
<Anarchy|writing> once i get this chapter done, i have an idea for hp/fd that I want to mess with before I innevitably write it off as a bad idea

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"Darling," she whispered innocently - he shifted uneasily in response. "It's my 'time of the month'." Harry froze, wide-eyed. "And as you know, I need to replace the blood I'm going to, ah, lose." Harry swallowed noisily and, resigned to a night of feeling light-headed, held out his wrist. "Oh darling," she said, laughing lightly, "that's not very sensual, is it?" Harry nervously laughed at the look of hunger she was now sporting - for something other than blood.
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And here's one where Daphne Greengrass smashes Anarchy's crotch with a sledgehammer:

"Time to make the 'nut-cracker' more than just a classical music piece!" And with that, Daphne swung the sledgehammer down hard on Anarchy's seldom-used crotch.

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So, yeah. If it pops into your brain when you're taking a dump, or something, and you don't want to do anything with it in particular, just dump it here for others to read.
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A/N: I'd written this in the space of about a week after when I was taking a break from writing Thunderstorm early on and never picked it up again. Thank god for that, it's got more problems then I know what to do with. If nothing else, it illustrates fairly well how far I've come since then. Not posting this in WbA because I'm not continuing it, ever. Cookie if anybody guesses the secret.

Hallow Victory​

“I thought he would come,” said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.” Nobody spoke. They seemed as scared as Harry, whose heart was now throwing itself against his ribs as though determined to escape the body he was about to cast aside.


He had wanted one last moment with James, Sirius, Remus – Lily. But it mattered not; soon he would be with them forever. He slipped the Resurrection Stone onto his finger, perhaps as a subconscious gesture of what was to come.

The silence grew thinner, brittle and fragile. Voldemort fingered the Elder Wand, eyes lost in the distance. The Elder Wand, which had belonged to Snape since that night on the Astronomy Tower.

Harry moved toward the firelight and slipped off the hood of his Cloak. He understood it now; it would not hide him if he did not wish it to.

So he was revealed in full, and the silence shattered like a thin frost. The Death Eaters erupted in cacophony – most gave exclamations of surprise, but there were a few laughing as well.
Voldemort’s red eyes had locked on his the moment he had appeared, but he did not feel the tell-tale probing of Legilimency. Maybe he was sure, somehow, that this was Harry and not an imposter.

Harry dropped his wand – what had been Draco Malfoy’s wand – as he was not sure he could avoid raising it against the inevitable end.

There was some sort of commotion going on, but Harry didn’t notice, so far was he lost in thought.

Draco Malfoy’s wand, which had also contributed to Dumbledore’s death by disarming him on the Astronomy Tower.

Harry bit down on an insane chuckle that threatened to escape him.

Draco Malfoy, the owner of the Elder Wand, not Snape and not Voldemort. Draco Malfoy, who Harry had disarmed in his own house. The Elder Wand was now pointed at him, but it was his wand, and Harry watched with a sick sort of bemusement as the green light left it and headed toward him, left with time for only one thought.

He was now the master of the Deathly Hallows, when it was too late to matter. Oh, the glorious irony.

Harry awoke on a damp patch of grass, a familiar voice calling his name. “Potter! Are you alright?” He was so very comfortable, though, why couldn’t it leave him alone? But the voice was persistent and it was not to be denied, as it started shaking his shoulder as well. “Potter!”

And with a sudden, painful moment of recollection, it all came back to him – his incredible realization at the end, and his death, and his eyes snapped open to see a mane of red hair framing delicate features.

Ginny? Then his vision cleared and he saw it was a years-younger Lily Evans, looking concerned above him.

“Well, this isn’t so bad for being dead,” he murmured.

Lily slapped his shoulder and let out a short laugh. “Don’t think you haven’t tried that line on me before, James. But seriously, what happened? Did you fall and hit your head?” She examined him with a more critical eye, while Harry came to the conclusion that something had gone very wrong.

Lily, meanwhile, must have come to a similar conclusion, because she had jumped up and drawn her wand on him. “Who are you? You aren’t James Potter with those eyes!” she barked at him.

He raised his hands, and trying to inject some humor into the situation, he quoted, “I come in peace.”

Then he realized that, if he had in fact somehow traveled back in time to a Lily Evans still at Hogwarts, than the movie and iconic quote had not yet come out. Indeed, Lily was looking at him rather nonplussed. She seemed to sense that he was no threat, however, and she lowered her wand, though she still kept a firm grip on it.

“Who are you?” she repeated the question. “You aren’t a student.”

“Err- Harry,” he said, figuring that giving his first name away could do no harm.

“Well, Harry, what are you doing here?” she asked, drawing on an air of patience that seemed to come to her from long practice.

Harry stood up and dusted himself off, noticing with distant amusement that his Cloak was still on his shoulders and the Resurrection Stone still on his finger.

“Uh…” What should he say, exactly? He couldn’t exactly admit to being from the future. “This is Hogwarts, right? I was trying to apparate to the gate, but I think I missed…”

She looked at him, doubt evident in her eyes. “You can’t apparate on Hogwarts grounds – it says so in–”

“Hogwarts, a History, yeah,” Harry interrupted, well-aware of the answer. Her reaction reminded him so much of Hermione, but he pushed that thought away. He didn’t want to think of Hermione now.

“I was hoping to meet with Headmaster Dumbledore, actually,” he continued, hoping to stall her questioning. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the Headmaster, but he figured he could always stun her from behind and leave the castle if he changed his mind on the way.

“Well,” she said, seeming to accept his explanation for now, “I can take you to the Headmaster’s office, if you would like.”

“Yeah, thanks. I haven’t been here before, so I’d probably get lost if I just tried to wander around,” Harry replied, running his hand through his hair.

She gave him an odd look, but set off at a brisk pace toward the castle. Meanwhile, Harry’s mind was churning.

How should he approach the Headmaster? He could hardly claim to be a distant relative of the Potters – the Headmaster knew his family and would see through such a deception in short order. He remembered how Snape had approached Dumbledore to begin his career as a double-agent, and then a brilliant idea struck him. An insane idea, certainly, but he was sure he could make it work.

He followed behind Lily in silence while he turned the ideas over in his head. Lily looked to be a seventh-year, so this would be the ‘76-77 school year. There had been a slight chill outside despite the sun, so it was either an unusually cold day or it was actually earlier in the school year.

Harry was still ambivalent about meeting Dumbledore. While this would not be the same man as the one who had arranged his death, he had the potential to become him. Harry realized now that Dumbledore liked to play games, even if he didn’t think of them as such, and resolved to avoid being put into a position where he was in debt to the Headmaster. He would have to approach from a position of strength.

While Harry was lost in his thoughts, they had arrived at Dumbledore’s office. A whispered passphrase and the gargoyles leapt aside, and Harry followed Lily up the stairs to the Headmaster’s office.

Lily knocked on the door and Harry heard Dumbledore’s voice from within. “Come in, Miss Evans.”

Harry followed her into the office and looked around in aching familiarity. It looked like not much would change in the next twenty years. The previous Headmaster’s portraits were all still there, Dumbledore’s trinkets littered his desk, and Fawkes was still lounging on his perch.

And so was Dumbledore. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat at seeing his dead mentor alive and well – a strange mix of emotions with anger, grief, and hopefulness prominent among them.

He had to suppress his emotional response, however, as Lily was introducing him and he needed to hear what she had to say.

“Headmaster, this is Mr.… ah, Harry.” She frowned as she realized that he had not given her his last name. “He says he’s here to see you.”

The Headmaster’s face did not betray any hint of surprise or confusion. “Indeed. Thank you for bringing Mr. Harry here, Miss Evans.”

Dumbledore gave her a polite dismissal and she left the office, shooting one last curious glance at Harry over her shoulder.

They sat in silence for a moment, but Harry was familiar with this tactic for initiating conversation so he just examined the office, a feeling of comforting familiarity settling on him.

Dumbledore caught his attention and held out a dish. “Lemon drop?”

Harry didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he took a lemon drop instead.

Dumbledore let out a hum of good cheer. “Did you know you’re the first person in half a year to take me up on that?”

Harry gave him a small smile. “No, but I’m not surprised.”

Dumbledore decided that if Harry wasn’t going to start talking, then he’d have to do it instead. “So, Mr. Harry, do you have a last name?”

Harry gave a small shrug, not meeting Dumbledore’s eyes. “I prefer not to use it. Just Harry is fine.”

The atmosphere seemed to tense; Dumbledore had taken something from Harry’s statement, but he did not know what.

“Oh? And what brings you to Hogwarts, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, intent gaze not leaving Harry’s face.

Harry decided that a blunt approach would be the best. He doubted he would be able to catch Dumbledore off-guard, but perhaps he could surprise him enough to have him avoid asking tricky questions.

“I’m here to provide information about Voldemort,” he said, before remembering that most people were afraid to speak his name.

Dumbledore’s bushy brows rose a fraction. “Indeed? Do you hail from his ranks?”

“No!” Harry denied vehemently. “I’ve never followed him. I can’t give you the source of my information, though. I’m under an obligation not to reveal it,” he lied.

Dumbledore was still suspicious, however. “And what guarantee do I have that you come to me in good faith?”

Harry had anticipated this question. “I can make an Unbreakable Vow to the effect of my opposition to Voldemort and to tell you the truth where matters concerning his forces and activities are concerned,” Harry replied.

Dumbledore watched him over steepled fingers, pondering his words. “No, an Unbreakable Vow for such a simple matter is too restrictive. While the chance of our situation changing in such a way that your vow is rendered harmful is incredibly unlikely, I see no reason to take chances. What do you know of Veritaserum?”

Harry shifted in his seat, remembering Snape’s words on the subject. “Three drops and I’ll be spilling the truth,” he replied, not seeing how he could avoid revealing his secrets.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, but a lesser known use is to apply a smaller quantity. With two drops you will be unable to tell a lie, but you will be able to keep silent if you do not wish to answer the question. With one drop you will be able to lie, but you will have noticeable difficulty and it will be immediately obvious to those watching.”

Harry had not known that, but he supposed it made sense. He trusted Dumbledore not to lie to him about something like this, considering that he might have already known.

“Are you agreeable to taking one drop of Veritaserum?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded, already feeling nervous. He had never been under its influence before, though he had read somewhere that it was similar to being under the Imperius Curse. On the other hand, overpowering Veritaserum was more than a matter of willpower. It had an antidote, he knew, and he suspected that a skilled Occlumens would be able to fool it, but he had neither the antidote nor the ability.

The Headmaster rummaged around in his desk, bringing out a small vial of a clear liquid, which he recognized from the disastrous ending of the Tri-Wizard tournament. Using a dropper to gather some, he placed one drop on a teaspoon he had conjured while Harry had been distracted.

Trying to calm his racing heart, Harry took the spoon and swallowed. A second later he felt a slight disassociation, as if his mind had been distanced from his body.

Satisfied, Dumbledore began his inquisition. “Is it your intention to oppose Voldemort?”

Harry allowed the answer to be pulled from him. “Yes.”

Nodding, as if he had expected this, Dumbledore continued. “Do you mean harm toward any individuals at Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” the answer slipped from him. He didn’t regret it, as he expected a follow-up question.

And indeed the question came. “Who?” Dumbledore asked, a slight frown appearing on his features.

“The Death Eaters,” Harry replied. He had managed to avoid naming names, as he was not done bargaining yet.

Then Dumbledore came in with a question that Harry hadn’t been expecting. “Do you believe in pureblood superiority?”

Harry thought he might have laughed had he not been drugged. “No.”

Dumbledore sat back, appearing satisfied. He withdrew a thin, almost transparent purple potion from his desk, which Harry assumed was the antidote. Dumbledore offered him the vial and Harry knocked it back, settling back down into reality.

“Well,” Dumbledore said, “I do believe we can come to an agreement, Harry.”

“Good,” Harry said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Now, what is it you can offer me, and what do you want in return?” the Headmaster asked, interest plain on his face.

Harry smiled. Dumbledore was not a stupid man, but Harry had not expected him to figure out that he was going to ask for something in return either. “Well… I know about the Order of the Phoenix, but I don’t know what information you already have. I can give you names of most of Voldemort’s Inner Circle, as well as some of his newer recruits. I know of some of his people in the Ministry. I can give you some impartial advice, which I think you need. I can fight for you, if necessary. I have stood against his Death Eaters and survived, and I have fought against him and survived as well.”

“You have fought Voldemort?” Dumbledore asked in barely-concealed shock.

“Several times,” Harry affirmed, allowing Dumbledore to see the truth in his eyes.

“So young…” Dumbledore whispered. His gaze sharpened and he looked at Harry. “And what do you want in return for your knowledge?” he asked, disbelieving that such good fortune would come to him without a price.

“I want to be enrolled as a seventh-year student and be given freedom to move outside the castle when necessary,” Harry said.

If Dumbledore was surprised by his request, he did not show it. He stared at Harry for a brief moment, the nodded. “That can be arranged. I will begin drawing up the paperwork as soon as we are finished. Now, Harry, tell me what you know of Voldemort and his forces.”

Harry nodded, and began talking. It took him several hours to cover the pertinent information, and he ended up leaving out a lot of details for several reasons. The first and most obvious was that this was the past (he hoped so, at any rate) and some of his information was based on events that just hadn’t happened yet. The second, equally important, was that he did not want to appear too knowledgeable to Dumbledore – he wanted to demonstrate his worth, but he had no reasonable explanation for having this information. While he was sure that Dumbledore would draw his own conclusions, he didn’t want the Headmaster delving into unreasonable explanations should he disclose something that even Dumbledore couldn’t find an explanation for.

Unreasonable explanations like time travel, however unintentional (though, Harry had to admit, it was possible that Dumbledore had already thought of the possibility of time travel, given Harry’s uncanny but not identical resemblance to James). But it wasn’t to be helped, and Dumbledore hadn’t said anything so far.

Meanwhile, they were discussing tactics to rid themselves of as many Death Eaters as possible without raising Voldemort’s suspicions.

“I believe I will be able to take care of Rookwood, Yaxley, and Macnair. I have a great deal of power at the Ministry, and nobody will think it unusual if I come across information indicating them to be traitors,” Dumbledore stated. “This may also have the side effect of making Voldemort more cautious while attempting to infiltrate the Ministry, but I cannot say that would particularly disappoint me,” he continued, eyes twinkling.

“Perhaps this will make Lucius Malfoy easier to remove from power,” Harry mused. “I have a hard time believing that his influence comes only from his money and name – he must have support of others with power in the Ministry.”

“You may be correct,” Dumbledore said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. “It has never been a secret that much of his success in the Wizengamot has come from the perceived support he enjoys from the Ministry. If we can show that his supporters are primarily Death Eaters, it may make others wary of dealing with him, for fear of being painted by the same brush.”

“If we can pull that off, then we can drastically reduce Voldemort’s monetary support as well as crippling his information network. That leaves his fighters, and I’m not sure how to deal with them safely apart from trying to ambush them,” Harry said. “I mean, we could always try kidnapping them one-by-one from their homes and dropping them off in the Ministry Atrium, but I suspect that would only work once,” he joked.

Dumbledore chuckled. “Indeed, if only it were that easy. However,” stroking his beard, “perhaps I can push for the use of Veritaserum on convicted Death Eaters – testimony that high-ranking members give would lend a great deal of weight toward bringing in other suspects.”

Harry nodded. “After that, it may be as easy as searching their homes for Dark artifacts, or things like that. Or maybe you could push for conspiracy charges for anybody with a Dark Mark? I mean, provided that they knew what they were getting into, and weren’t under the Imperius.” Harry remembered Regulus with a slight bitterness, though it was aimed at Voldemort first and foremost.

“It is something to consider,” replied Dumbledore. “I believe that we should wrap up for today, however. It is growing late, and there are a few other matters which we must discuss. Primarily, your sorting and class schedule. What classes do you wish to take?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” came the immediate reply. “Charms, Transfiguration… uh, Potions, I guess, and Care of Magical Creatures.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “I do not doubt your prowess in the field of Defense, but perhaps you will allow me to test your Transfiguration and Charms knowledge? If you would, say, nonverbally conjure a glass and fill it with water?”

Harry flushed in embarrassment. “Actually, sir, I – ah, I misplaced my wand during my latest… adventure.”

“Indeed? If you will then describe the process for me?” Dumbledore questioned.

Harry nodded and began describing the steps for conjuration and the Auguamenti charm. The first had taken him a long time to master, while the second was something he had extensive practice with.

“Excellent,” Dumbledore complimented. “I think you will manage the Hogwarts curriculum without any difficulties. Now, to the sorting.”

Dumbledore stood up to get the Sorting Hat, and Harry experienced a brief flash of panic. Would the Hat reveal his secret? But he could do nothing about it now; there was no excuse he could think of for not putting on the hat.

Dumbledore placed the Hat on his desk. “Now, just try this on, Harry. It is Hogwarts’ famed Sorting Hat – it should only take a moment.”

Seeing no other option, Harry took the Hat in his hands, and with some trepidation placed it on his head. He only hoped that it would see his desire for secrecy.

“My, what do we have here? A bit late to the party, aren’t we, Mr. Potter… oh, I see. How interesting. I must say, though, that I agree with myself – you would have done well in Slytherin, and your current plan is definitely proof of such-”

Harry started. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that the Sorting Hat might not put him into Gryffindor, but thinking upon it he realized why the Hat might consider Slytherin for him. However, he couldn’t afford to be placed there.

No! You can’t put me in Slytherin – I need to operate in secrecy, and I can hardly do that from there! You need to put me back in Gryffindor, though I suppose Hufflepuff might work too. They probably wouldn’t question me too hard there, Harry thought at the hat. Then he thought about his father, Sirius, Remus – perhaps he could even stop Peter from defecting, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. And, of course, Lily was in Gryffindor, and the thought that he might not be able to see her every day now that she was alive and well pained him. On second thought, just put me in Gryffindor.

“How very insistent you are. You do fit in Gryffindor, though – the circumstances surrounding your appearance attest to that, to say nothing of your other… adventures throughout your years. Very well, I will not deny you a chance to seize happiness where you can find it. Perhaps you can bring some good to this world,” the Hat thought, oddly wistful.

“Gryffindor!” it exclaimed, and Harry sagged in relief.

He took it off his head and handed it to Dumbledore, who was watching him with a curious expression. However, the Headmaster abstained from asking about the lengthy conversation, perhaps sensing that an inquiry into the matter would be less than welcome.

“Well, Harry,” Dumbledore said, placing the Sorting Hat back onto its shelf, “we have one last matter to take care of. You must complete the paperwork for a transfer. While I understand your reluctance to use your true last name on these forms, a last name nonetheless we must have. Do you have any ideas in mind, or would you perhaps like me to make a few suggestions?”

Harry pondered this for a moment. “Well, I can’t take the names of any Pureblood families, and it would probably be safer to stay away from the names of any other prominent magical families. How about Wilkins?” he suggested with a slight grin.

“Wilkins,” Dumbledore repeated, trying to figure out if there was any significance attached to the name. Not recognizing any notable magical or muggle figures by that name, he dismissed it as something from the young man’s past. “I believe Wilkins will do just fine. Now, sign here, please, as Harry Wilkins.”

Dumbledore passed Harry a rather long piece of parchment, filled with legalese that Harry skimmed over. Taking the quill that Dumbledore offered him, he scribbled his name and adopted surname at the bottom.

Harry handed the parchment back and stood up, ready to leave, when Dumbledore spoke up. “Just one moment, Harry. I will call up Miss Evans, our Head Girl, and have her escort you to Gryffindor Tower.”

Harry froze and sat back down with as much casual ease as he could muster, giving the Headmaster a weak smile.

Trying to calm his racing heart, he took another lemon drop. If nothing else, it gave his hands something to do.

By the time Harry had calmed down, Dumbledore’s head was already stuck in green flames. “– and please send her up to my office. Thank you, Minerva.”

Dumbledore seated himself and began a more subtle questioning. “So, Harry, if you do not mind fulfilling an old man’s curiosity, where is it you plan to go on your trips outside of Hogwarts?”

Harry, for his part, was indecisive. He didn’t want to tell Dumbledore about the horcruxes before he found any, as that would no doubt make him suspicious. On the other hand, he couldn’t pass it off as simple wanderlust either. He did need to go out and find the horcruxes, after all. “Well, sir, I’ve been looking into Voldemort’s past recently, trying to find out how exactly he made himself so powerful. I’ve had little luck so far, though I have a few leads I’d like continue to pursue.” Harry felt that was plausible enough for the Headmaster to accept his explanation, yet vague enough not to reveal any sensitive information that Dumbledore couldn’t have found out by himself.

As Dumbledore was about to inquire further, a knock sounded at the door. “Ah, Miss Evans, please come in!”

Lily strode in, sparing Harry a brief glance before turning to Dumbledore. “Headmaster?”

“Miss Evans, this is Harry Wilkins. He is a new transfer student, and he will be joining the seventh-year Gryffindors,” said the Headmaster, gesturing at Harry. “Mr. Wilkins, I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts. Please meet me in my office tomorrow at nine in the morning so we can gather your school supplies. Miss Evans, if you would escort Mr. Wilkins to Gryffindor Tower, with perhaps a short introduction to Hogwarts along the way?”

Lily replied with a nod. “Come on, Wilkins.”

Harry followed her out of Dumbledore’s office, noting that she took a longer route than he was used to, not bothering with any shortcuts. Meanwhile, he was treated to a compressed lecture which would have made Hermione proud.

Lily covered a brief history of the castle and other miscellanea that he might have been interested in had this been his first visit to the castle, but Harry wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. He spent the walk to Gryffindor Tower drinking in the details of Lily, all the little things about her that he could not have known without having seen her in life.

The first and most immediately noticeable thing was that she was short. At least a head shorter than Harry, who would be the first to admit that he wasn’t the tallest guy around. Then there was her hair. It was braided in a ponytail down her back and was longer than he remembered from the pictures he had of her. And her eyes – Harry had to admit that when people had told them he had her eyes, they had the right of it. Though, he thought, they served Lily rather better than they did him.

They arrived at the Tower and Harry almost choked when he heard the password – “Luna,” Lily had told him, had been Remus’ choice. And then Harry realized the obvious implication and wondered how nobody else had ever figured out Remus’ condition when there were so many clues lying around.

Stepping into the common room, Harry felt like the one time he had walked into the wrong dormitory by accident late one night, except the feeling was much stronger. A sense of disorientation – something was not right, but the dizziness passed and he went back to looking around.

Beyond the people inside, not much had changed. The furniture was the same, though a few couches had been rearranged. The decorations appeared to be similar as well. It was all the little things that had changed; Ron’s chessboard was missing, Lavender’s hairclips were gone, and it struck Harry then that he was probably never going to see any of his friends again, not as they had been.

Lily seemed not to have noticed anything wrong, for she showed him up to the empty seventh-year boy’s dormitory. The bed at the end was his, she’d said, and warned him with a smile to avoid “Potter and his gang” lest he become corrupted. She left, wishing him a good night.

Harry lay down on his bed and sank into thought. He would be getting a wand tomorrow, and though he knew that it would invite more scrutiny from Dumbledore, the thought of having his old wand back gave him a warm glow.

His thoughts turned to the horcruxes, and his mood soured. Harry still wasn’t sure how to deal with them. He would deal with the ring alone, and he noted with faint amusement that he was still wearing the one he had brought back with him. The locket, on the other hand, he would need help with. It was still in the cave, Regulus likely not even having joined Voldemort’s service yet, let alone defected. And while he knew how to get there and get inside, he had no idea how to deal with the potion. Harry was sure that given enough time, Dumbledore could figure out a way to get rid of it without drinking it. The diadem would be easy – he would make sure it was still in the Room of Requirements and leave it there until he could figure out how to get rid of it safely. Slaying the basilisk again wasn’t very high on his list of priorities, to say the least. The diary and the cup would be the hardest, Harry thought. Voldemort had given them to Lucius and Bellatrix respectively, though he had no idea when. Infiltrating Malfoy Manor might be possible, given his first-hand knowledge of its layout, though getting into Bellatrix’s Gringotts vault would be even more difficult this time around, lacking a sample for polyjuice. And all that was assuming that Voldemort had already given them the horcruxes.

Soon enough, weariness overcame him and the tide of sleep bore him away.

Harry awoke to the sound of general mayhem. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he reached out and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, only to freeze when a familiar voice penetrated his consciousness, one Harry had not heard for nearly two years and never expected to hear again.

“Any idea who the newcomer is, Remus?” asked a much-younger Sirius Black.

Harry, still hidden behind the bed curtains, started scrambling for a cover story. Much to his relief, however, a second familiar voice replied. “No. Lily mentioned he was a transfer student, but I don’t think I got his name.”

And then reality slammed back into Harry, who let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Think we should give him a proper welcome?” suggested a third voice, only just on the edge of familiarity. James?

Harry counted himself lucky when Remus interfered. “Maybe we should just let him sleep. No reason to irritate him on his first day here,” he said with a mild tone.

Harry decided this was his cue. “Actually, I’m already awake, but I think introductions should wait until I’ve had a chance to wash up,” having realized that he had fallen asleep in his clothing.

Harry nodded to the three boys – Pettigrew must still have been asleep – and made his way to the bathroom.

Standing under the shower, Harry thought about how he would have to act in his roommates’ company. He thought he wanted to get to know them, perhaps even Peter, but he doubted he would be able to assimilate himself into their group. He didn’t have much of a fondness for pranking, nor could he join them on their monthly romps under the moon, not being an animagus. That said, Harry still thought he could become friends with them.

Exiting the shower and drying himself off, he took a look at his robes. They were actually quite dirty, though Harry couldn’t do anything about their present state without a wand. Grimacing, he brushed them off as best he could and slipped them back on.

As he stepped out of the bathroom door, he noticed a slight tingle of magic wash across him, heralded by four grinning faces. Not having noticed any obvious changes, he glanced down and noticed that his skin had been colored bright red.

In all likelihood an illusion, Harry thought. A spell targeting his physical body would a different feeling, and the timing all but ruled out potions.

Harry chuckled. “Nice trick, gentlemen. How about I show you a trick of my own?”

Concentrating, Harry built up a small amount of magic inside him, and with a theatrical snap of his fingers, released it all at once. The illusion flickered and died, leaving behind four boys who were looking at him in various degrees of shock and awe.

In reality, it was a simple trick that had few practical applications – dispelling minor illusions happening to be one of them. He had learned it during the course of his preparations for the DA in his fifth year. His research had led him to wandless magic, and he had discovered very little of utility. Most of what could be done was of no use in combat – lighting candles, for instance. Wandless summoning was something he had taken a shine to until, after practicing for a month, his wand still wouldn’t budge from where he dropped it. So he learned what he could, and disrupting minor magic attached to him was something that took only a small amount of concentration.

He turned to Remus, whose eyes were shining with curiosity. “Maybe I’ll teach it to you later. My name’s Harry Wilkins, and you are?”

“Ah – Lupin, Remus Lupin,” Remus stuttered out, surprised to be the focus of his attention. “And these are my friends –”

“James Potter, at your service!” interrupted Harry’s lookalike.

“Sirius Black, most certainly not at your service!” exclaimed the very young and healthy looking Sirius Black. He noticed Harry’s stare and smirked. “See something you like?”

Harry smirked back. “Hardly,” he drawled. A sudden inspiration came to him. “Now that Evans, she’s a real looker.”

His attempt at riling James up had been successful, he decided, seeing the tightening at his mouth and the balling of his fists.

“Just kidding,” Harry winked. The thought of him making an actual pass at the girl who would become his mother was just disturbing.

He turned to the fourth boy, who extended a hand to him. Harry took it, and was surprised by the firm grip. “Peter Pettigrew,” he introduced himself. His voice was steady, and he wasn’t nearly as rat-like as Harry had remembered. In truth, he was surprised, though he was not disappointed that Peter seemed to be, well, a better person than his expectations had led him to believe. Perhaps it was not too late for him.

“Does anybody have the time?” Harry asked. He didn’t want to reveal his lack of a wand, however temporary, even to his roommates, but he saw no way around it. He needed to get to the Headmaster’s office by nine, and he wanted some breakfast before then too.

Remus cast a quick Tempus, which revealed it to be just edging by eight.

Harry nodded. “Thanks. Well, I’ve got an appointment with the Headmaster at nine, so what say we head down for breakfast?”

The four boys acquiesced, and the group left Gryffindor Tower.

On the way to the Great Hall, Harry was pelted by questions from all sides, most of which he attempted to deflect or avoid. Some answers he just made up on the spot, not seeing how he could get away with not answering.

Over the course of the trek, the four boys learned that he was Harry Wilkins, aged seventeen. He was a half-blood whose parents had died when he was young, and he had been tutored for his magical education. He had decided to come to Hogwarts for his seventh-year to sit the NEWTs.

They arrived at breakfast, where many students were already eating, and fell into chatter amongst themselves. Harry stayed quiet for the most part, soaking in their conversation. It was delightfully normal.

Finally, he excused himself and left for his meeting with Dumbledore. He had a trip to Diagon Alley to make, and a wand to acquire.

Diagon Alley.

They had flooed to the Leaky Cauldron straight from Dumbledore’s office. After emerging from the back, Harry looked around in curiosity. The atmosphere was not quite like any he had ever seen before. While a few shops had changed, everybody seemed to be tense. It was not the open nervousness and fear displayed after Voldemort’s appearance during Harry’s fifth year, but neither was it the casual happiness from before that. It seemed that Voldemort’s terror was already spreading.

“First stop, Madam Malkin’s,” Dumbledore said, glancing over Harry’s robes with a twinkle.

And then Harry remembered something very important. “Uh – Headmaster, I just I don’t have any money to pay with.” While he had never indulged himself on the Potter fortune, he had gotten used to knowing that it was there if he needed it. Now it belonged to James, and it was unlikely he would ever see a knut of it.

“Not to worry,” Dumbledore brushed off his concern. “Your supplies are covered under the same fund as your tuition.”

Harry relaxed. It had not even occurred to him to question how his education was being paid for, but it seemed that Dumbledore was going through proper channels.

After they had bought his clothes, textbooks, and potions supplies, they stopped before Ollivanders.

Dumbledore drew him aside. “Did you lose your wand on one of your, ah, excursions into Voldemort’s past?”

“You might say that,” Harry mumbled. In retrospect, dropping Malfoy’s wand had probably been a very stupid thing to do, but he had not yet found cause to regret it.

They entered the wand shop, with the tinkling bell announcing their arrival. Ollivander wandered out of the shelves to greet them, looking younger but as disturbing as ever. “Ah, Headmaster. How nice to see you. And… I must say I do not recognize you, young man.”

“Harry Wilkins,” Harry introduced himself.

“Indeed,” replied the wand maker, peering at him in curiosity. “And you find yourself in need of a wand, Mr. Wilkins?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry replied, shuffling his feet. Despite getting to know the man during his stay at Shell Cottage, he had never become very comfortable around him.

The wand maker shuffled off to the shelves and brought back a box. “Very well, try this one. Oak and dragon heartstring, eight inches, rather pliable.”

And so Harry tried wand after wand. He was forcibly reminded of his first time at the shop as the pile of wands on the counter grew larger. Glancing over at Dumbledore, he saw the Headmaster watching on in amusement.

“A tricky customer, but no worries! We will find something for you yet,” Ollivander announced from somewhere deep in the shop. “Well, let’s see. An unusual combination, but perhaps…”

Harry watched as Ollivander brought out his wand, “– Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches.” He reached out with a steady hand and grasped it, and felt the familiar warmth rush through him as he flicked his wand and produced a shower of red and golden sparks.

“Curious, curious…” Ollivander muttered.

“Excuse me, but what’s curious?” Harry asked. He already knew the answer, of course, but he wanted it out in the open. He wasn’t going to stand for Dumbledore keeping secrets from him this time around.

Harry noted the glance Ollivander gave to Dumbledore, but the wand maker spoke anyways. “The phoenix whose feather resides in that wand had given two feathers, and the other feather, well, it is the core of the Dark Lord’s wand.”

“Really? We have brother wands?” asked Harry, trying to put on an appropriate expression of surprise. “Are there any, ah, unusual effects because of that?”

Ollivander raised an eyebrow, looking surprised at this turn of the conversation. “Why, yes, indeed. Should your spells ever meet in combat and you force your wands to fight, Priori Incatatem will occur. If that’s all, that will be seven galleons.”

Harry turned to Dumbledore, who had a rather blank expression on his face. He watched the Headmaster count out the coins and they left the shop in silence.

“Well, Harry,” Dumbledore began, voice serious, “your wand may prove useful if we ever encounter Voldemort in combat. Take care not to lose this one.”

Harry ducked his head in embarrassment, though not for the reason Dumbledore suspected. Dropping his wand, honestly!

On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry managed to spy the date on a newsstand – Sunday, September the fifth. And that was another burden off his shoulders, Harry thought. He had only missed half a week of classes, and he was sure he could catch up without any problems.

After they arrived at Hogwarts, Dumbledore secured a promise to meet again in a week, to make sure that Harry was “doing fine in his classes”.

Agreeing, Harry went back up to Gryffindor Tower to unpack his new trunk. Using his new wand to unpack, he found it responded nearly as well as it had before he lost it. He supposed that while he knew it very well, the wand itself had not learned to work with him yet. Wand lore wasn’t all that confusing when you treated your wand as a friend, he thought.

The next week passed in a dreamlike daze. Harry’s classes proved rather easier than he expected. Perhaps his year on the run had taught him more than just warding spells, he thought. Silent spellcasting came more easily in Charms and Transfiguration, and he found himself less rusty in potions then he would have thought after a year of not practicing at all.

His attempts at befriending the Marauders were somewhat successful. Peter and Remus seemed to enjoy his company, and Harry found to his surprise that Peter in fact resembled the older Remus more than his younger counterpart did. James and Sirius found him too straight-laced for their tastes after he refused to help them prank a group of Slytherins, though Harry couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. He had seen what bitterness came about from that and had no wish to contribute to it.

Lily… Lily was something else entirely. She was everything Harry had expected her to be and more – in his opinion, those who had espoused her virtues to him had understated how brilliant she was. Smart, funny, intelligent, kind, and an absolute genius – and he supposed she was rather pretty, though it was strange to think of her as a girl instead of as his mother. They had hit it off right away after Lily noticed that he had an academic inclination, which, Harry had to admit to himself was newly acquired, yet refused to be drawn into the troublemaking that drew the other boys in his year.

At times, he even managed to forget about Voldemort, though those periods were brief, with reminders around every corner. He was still developing plans on how to steal and destroy the horcruxes, not wanting to go off half-cocked and getting himself killed. Harry was rather relieved to learn that the Diadem was still in the Room of Requirements, as he wouldn’t have had the first clue as to where to look for it otherwise, other than somewhere in Albania.

Thus the week passed and Harry found himself riding the staircase up to Dumbledore’s office once again. He wasn’t sure what the Headmaster would want to talk to him about, as he very much doubted it had anything to do with his schoolwork. Perhaps he wanted to discuss the war, Harry thought, but surely the Headmaster had better people to bounce ideas off of, like Moody?

He entered at Dumbledore’s customary greeting and much to the Headmaster’s surprise, once again took him up on his offer of a lemon drop.

“Actually,” Harry grinned, “these aren’t half-bad.”

Dumbledore laughed. “Indeed, Harry – if I may call you Harry? – not many discover the joys of this simple candy, for to them it is a mark of my eccentricity and they become afraid to indulge. I hear you have been doing well in classes, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “They’re a bit easier than I expected, but not by much. Potions is still plenty hard,” he chuckled.

“And how do you find Professor Slughorn, Harry?” Dumbledore enquired.

Harry shrugged. Slughorn hadn’t yet tried to force him into attending any Slug Club meetings, and he hoped to keep it that way. Attracting unnecessary notice would only make his life more difficult.

“Slughorn is fine, I guess,” Harry replied. “I’m trying to avoid his notice, really. As fun as they sound, I don’t really feel like attending his gatherings.”

Dumbledore rested his chin on steepled fingers. “Indeed, avoiding attention is likely wise. That said, do not feel that it is necessary to sabotage your own work to avoid Professor Slughorn – if needed, I will divert him.”

“Thank you, Headmaster. And no, I haven’t been sabotaging my own work,” Harry chuckled. “My potions skills aren’t all that amazing in the first place.”

“Quite,” said Dumbledore. “In any case, the reason I called you up here is to discuss the information you provided. I have begun to make my move in the Ministry, and I hope to reveal and capture his primary agents there within a few weeks. Now, as for the Lestranges…”

Dumbledore delved into tactical discussions and Harry tried his best to respond in kind, drawing on all of his knowledge of the Death Eaters from the future. While he had fought them a few times, it had always been after their escape from Azkaban. Harry thought that while their time in the prison might have dulled their speed, they would have had more experience in the future, as the war would not have ended for another five years.

As their discussion was drawing to a close, Harry asked the Headmaster one last question. “Sir, I’d like to let you know that I’ll be leaving the school grounds next Saturday.”

“Oh?” the Headmaster asked. “And if anything should happen to you?”

“I’ve taken precautions to make sure that everything I know and suspect becomes available to you in that case,” Harry replied. He would be leaving a note with a magical timer, after which the writing would appear. Harry planned to be back long before that time, but it never hurt to be cautious.

Dumbledore nodded, accepting his explanation. “I do believe that is all for today. Have a pleasant day, Harry.”

 

Holy shit T3t. Drabbles dude.
---
The shield floated a few centimeters above Steve Rogers' head. Harry could see him visibly struggling with the urge to leap for it. "You made your point Potter, we don't have time for games. Let's just-"

With a flick of his wand the shield dropped on to Cap's head, and by sheer reflex he reached out and caught it...just as it began floating up again. And so Captain America, hero to children the world over, was suspended a few feet off the air, trying desperately to hold on to the shield that was doing it's best to shake him off while the world's most elite fighting force choked back their laughter.
----------

 

It's word vomit. There's no better place to put it.

 

The sheet sprouted papery wings and fluttered it's way to the wastebasket, where it promptly crumpled itself and jumped in.

"Was that really necessary? I liked that passage. Couldn't you put it somewhere else?"

"It's word vomit. There's no better place to put it." Harry banged his head on the desk "Remind me again why I have to write my memoirs? Writing all this down makes it seem...unbelievable"

Ron popped a bean into his mouth and winced "Well, apart from setting the record straight...money. Lots of money." He chewed again and winced " Merlin, is this, is this sulfur? Oh yeah, did I mention that there's lots of money involved?"

 

A scene I cut from FFF.



The full moon providing most of the light, her heart skipped a beat. A werewolf?

Time slowed, her thoughts racing between each following ‘thump’ of the heart.

Her hand almost started shaking, when she struggled to remember what differences there were, and what could help her. The silver bracelet that Harry had given her wouldn’t be of any help – silver was one of the things that didn’t work contrary to Muggle beliefs.

No – it was a normal wolf – the realisation arrived, yet it was slightly too late – the hesitation to cast anything, left her standing still, whereas the wolf was already crouching for...

A jump to the side?

A shadow darted past a place where the grey one was standing. There was a silent snarl, and then – complete silence as two dark forms started circling each other.

A bark sounded from nearby and a third shape arrived, positioning itself between her and two circling... wolves?

By that time, she stopped really looking, and started running.

 

Back in the dim and distant past, when the idea for Hallowed was that it would be a post-DH story, featuring Auror!Harry and a very different plot line, I wrote this. Italicised section a quote from DH, obviously.

“I’m putting the Elder Wand,” he told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, “back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won’t it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That’ll be the end of it.”

Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other.

“Are you sure?” said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Hermione quietly.

“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

XxXxXxXxXxX​

The sandwich was, thankfully, excellent.

I sighed happily as I finished it off, sinking deeper into the armchair as sleep tried to claim me. I dismissed Kreacher with a wave, and he disappeared, taking the empty plate with him.

The common room seemed to have been untouched by the battle, bar the shattered window, and a scorch-mark on the ceiling from a stray spell. I was alone, Ron and Hermione back down in the Great Hall, and it felt brilliant. I was relaxed, for the first time since Dumbledore had died. I jabbed my holly wand at the fireplace, sparking flames from the logs heaped in the grate, and sat back and watched them dance, feeling my eyes begin to droop.

When I awoke, I was in my old dorm bed, and the sun was low in the sky. I’d been asleep all day, although I felt like I could sleep for another week at least. I felt I’d earned that, if nothing else. Grabbing my jacket, I headed for the door, but paused after a couple of steps. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I withdrew another wand.

The Elder Wand.

In my fatigue, I’d forgotten I had it. I hadn’t really taken the opportunity to examine it last night, and I roamed my eyes over it now. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was etched into the grip, as it was the Resurrection Stone, but aside from that there was nothing – physically – to distinguish it from any other wand. It was about ten inches one, the wood so dark that it seemed almost black, and in very good condition considering all it had been through over its long existence. It occurred to me that I didn’t know how old the Wand was, but I knew it would be several hundred years minimum. It was no wonder Dumbledore had been able to keep it a secret for so long; if you didn’t already know it was the Elder Wand, you’d never guess just by looking at it.

But then, I wasn’t just looking at it. I was holding it. I don’t know whether it took a while to register, or whether I’d simply been so drained from the battle that I hadn’t noticed, but now I could feel the Wand. The first time I had held my holly wand, back in Ollivander’s all those years ago, I had felt the power surge through me. I now felt the same from the Elder Wand – but this was no warming, cheerful burst of energy. The Wand’s reputation clearly hadn’t come about just because it was more powerful; just as my mother’s wand had been good for Charms, this was a wand designed for destruction, and killing. I shivered, suddenly not wanting to touch the Wand anymore, and I thrust it back inside my jacket.

The common room was empty again, but the Fat Lady’s portrait was hanging open, and I could hear sounds of frantic activity outside. I climbed out, ignoring the Fat Lady’s whoops of congratulations and adulation, and made my way down the grand staircase. It was a sobering experience: I’d been too dazed the previous evening to notice how much damage had been done, but the castle was a wreck. Some of the moving stairs were crumbling away, some steps missing entirely, and it seemed like half the portraits hanging on the walls were burnt or torn apart.

 

Harry prowled the halls, look for the black-haired witch. He knew all her favorite spots, but it was just a matter of time in crossing paths. The Marauder’s Map had helped.

Eventually, he found her in spot number four, grooming her long hair in front of a wall mirror next to a suit of armor. She saw him coming in the reflection, and turned around to confront him.

“Hey Greengrass,” Harry called out. “I was wondering if you would like to –“

Just then, another girl came around the corner. She was stunningly beautiful, but not beautiful enough to actually stun him, or maybe Veela magic could literally work like a stunner. Harry didn’t want to find out.

“’ello, ‘arry! Would you do me ze honour of accompaneeeieeieing me to ze Yule Ball?”

Harry smirked. “I’d love to Fleur.”

Not wanting to be forgotten, Greengrass asked. “What were you saying to me?”

“Oh. It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry turned to leave. His plan had worked perfectly.

 

[A very different version of Harry's conversation with Luna after Sirius' death in the Department of Mysteries]

"We live in storybooks, Harry. Slytherin is Mordred is Grindelwald is Voldemort; Gryffindor is Arthur is Dumbledore is you... we all live on, ready to re-embody our roles in another generation to play out our dramas in a new set of fashionable attire. Magic works best when you are feeding the narrative, or being funny. Perhaps that is why Professor Dumbledore is so powerful. He has an excellent sense of humour."

"I... I'm not a hero, Luna. I'm not King Arthur."

"Not king, perhaps, but you're the reluctant center with a noble heart."

"And you are... the Lady of the Lake?"

"Sure. Or one of the Yseults. It depends on how attractive you find me, I suppose. Ginny is Gwenivere, so I'd not invest too much of your heart in that relationship."

"So if we started to date, would you become--?"

"I'd get demoted, actually, because I can't be the virgin seer then. But at least we could enjoy each other's company. That's the fun part of forcing your role to change. You can get up to all sorts of mischief while the Fates are working on the rewrite."

"How do I get out of my role- start acting evil?"

"Nothing so drastic. Dumbledore handed off his Arthur hat to become Merlin simply by refusing to become Minister. You need to find a better Arthur. It'd be a terrible thing to do to Neville, but I'd understand."

 

A drabble I wrote awhile ago.

Ravenclaws​

"Li, do you have a moment?"

Su Li rolled her eyes and closed a tome as large as she was. Dust scattered about the library. "What, Cho? I have a History of Magic essay due in a week, you know."

"Have you ever wondered why the Sorting Hat only puts the Asian students in Ravenclaw? I looked it up and in the history of Hogwarts, only Padma's sister has gone to another house."

"I don't have to wonder. I know." The girl's cheeks dimpled smugly in authentic Ravenclaw fashion.

Cho glared as she waited for her diminutive housemate to continue.

"The answer is obvious," Su Li said. "Well, it is to me, anyway."

Cho grumbled and slumped into the chair.

"Are you sure you truly belong in our house, Chang, I mean, aside from your being Asian? I guess I could just say it, but it'd just be so Gryffindor to want the easy way out..."

"Fine." Cho folded her arms and pursed her lips as she mulled over the problem. A minute later, she affected a smile. "Thanks, it really was obvious after all!" she chirped and bounced out of the Library.

Su Li sighed and muttered under her breath, "Pity she didn't tell me."

 

A bleeding Harry Potter was sprawled on the ground, shivering, Dementors looming around them, kept at bay with fading specter of Prongs. A girl was trying to heal his wounds, and apparently, was having little to no success.

"You know," he grinned at her, teeth clenched from the pain. "You should kiss me."

"What?" She stared at him, eyes widening. "Why?"

"You know, Dumbledore always said that my hidden power is love. Maybe it would, I don't know, help me make a better Patronus?"

"But I don't love you," she protested. "And you probably don't even like me."

"I do love you," he coughed. "You're beautiful."

She shook her head. "It's not going to help." She still leaned towards him and placed a peck on his lips. "Well?"

"I don't think that counts as a kiss. But I'm certain I almost felt a spark of power."

"Fine." She leaned lower, kissing him with more energy than before, her tongue touching his in one awkward, yet passionate moment. "Now?"

"Expecto Patronum!" He tried. It didn't work. "Well, we tired."

"Fuck you, Harry Potter!" She exclaimed. "You knew it wouldn't work!"

"Still worth it."

The Dementors were approaching.

 

Wait, wait- I have one for this:

[This is an AU ten years after Harry kills Voldemort]

Harry hadn't intended to become an underworld figure, but since leaving behind all the Weasley Ministry bullshit, he had let his aggressively altruistic nature get the better of him. By defeating too many arsehats in Knockturn, he had created a power vacuum. It was Luna's fault that he hadn't just left the place to collapse from within. At her advice, he was now looking for allies to help maintain a kinder, gentler black market.

"Cho? The last I saw you, a Dementor had you in its grip and there was no one close enough to do anything about it."

She slinked down the staircase, a single layer of embroidered red silk rippling across her skin, except when her toned right leg would slip loose of the fabric, exposing her golden flesh from ankle to hipbone. Each stride made her teats bounce; the movement must also have been teasing her nipples with the way the silk was displaying her evident hardening peaks.

Her voice was smoky with a Scots burr, yet still tentative and vulnerable, just as Harry remembered her sounding at school. She said, almost as an apology, "Harry, my parents are from China. A Dementor holds no threat for me."

"I don't understand."

Luna leaned up and whispered in his ear, "Asians have no souls. They're cold-hearted beasts. You shouldn't trust her."

He stopped Cho with a gesture and turned his half-mad companion to face them away from Cho for a private moment. "Luna, it's Cho- I've seen her grieve and get flustered and... and... show passion... y'know? I mean look at her!"

Luna smiled with her typical guileless lack of concern. "Oh, don't misunderstand me, Harry. Shag her senseless; I certainly would. Just don't trust her. One fifth of the entire world population hail from the ranks of these deceptive automatons. They're really just insects with delusions- nothing more, nor less. If not for atomic bombs and addictive opioid bug-killer, plus the occasional Dark Wizard learning to replace sex with murder while searching for power in the mysterious Orient, they might have overwhelmed us and the true human race would be extinct."

"Luna! Honestly, how can you say that?"

"Think, Harry. There are over one billion Asians in the world, but the Patils, Cho and Su Li are sent to Hogwarts for an education? And they're the only ones? Magic is creativity given free rein, and there isn't enough creativity in a billion Asian-strain humans to sustain enough wizards to maintain their own school for magic. It's only because we succumb to their inhuman allure that even a few weak-willed half-breeds are able to dredge up enough magic to qualify for a Hogwarts education. She doesn't even have a personal name- both Cho and Chang are family names; she must be a joint venture of some sort- possibly a homunculus constructed from two or more weaker babies, merged to produce a half-passable witch."

Harry continued to stare at Luna, though a pained grunt of disbelief escaped his throat.

She continued, "Of course, the Japanese have been cultivating their European cross-breeds for quite a while, which explains the Kyoto school, and why most of their students have blue or green eyes. I believe it may even be part of the admission criteria."

"That's sort of mean-spirited, yet you say it like you're a horse breeder."

"I suppose in a way, I am. Feel free to fuck the filly, Harry. Just don't make any foals, and don't walk where she can kick you." Luna patted him on the shoulder and strode towards the other door out of Harry's new lair.

Cho called out to her, "Luna? Tell me- how is Harry?"

"He tastes a bit like tangerines and salted cashews."

The Asian witch licked her lips.

 

[These are scenes after Harry had a threesome with Inara and River, and nobody else knows he is on Serenity, though his presence saved Book and Wash. Yeah, this is from fix-it fic along with poorly done smut and Gary Stu, immortal Harry who was also the founder of the Companion's Guild. But I think this part is genuinely funny).]

A last few days were very special for Wash. Not because something unexpected happened, but because they simply were.

After he miraculously avoided death he decided to start getting up earlier than anybody else, even his wife to her surprise, to simply enjoy as much of his life as he could. That's why he was checking some repairs on the Serenity when he heard the door to Inara's chambers opening. He was planning to announce his presence when he saw something that would made Jayne go to his bunk. From Inara's room emerged in dancing manner River. She stopped, turned around and kissed standing behind her Inara who was wearing only a sheet.

Before Wash's mind could register it all, he saw another person, this time a man with the greenest eyes he ever saw. He also kissed Inara and after that River.

Then he disappeared. Just like that.

Completely unsurprised River went to her room and Inara closed her door.

Wash slowly laid down his tools and went back to his room.

"Already back?" asked his surprised wife when he lied back on the bed. "What happened to not wasting your day?"

"I think that it's very important to have enough sleep," said unusually serious Wash. "Otherwise your mind will start playing trick on you."

*

The next day the whole Serenity's crew was enjoying their breakfast. Everyone was excited, because today was the day of finishing repairs and they would finally be able to fly off the planet. Even the Captain was in so good humor that he let Shepherd, who arrived few days ago with spare parts, to make a small blessing for the occasion.

When everyone was eating, Simon noticed that his sister was unusually bright and her smile turned on a warning red light in his brotherly instincts.

"Is everything alright, Mei-mei?" he asked.

"Yes, Smion. Like never before," she answered.

"You didn't have any nightmares?"

"I did, but Inara helped me with them," she looked at the Companion who simply smiled at her. Even Jayne, who could turn everything into sex, didn't noticed anything suspecting in this. That's before he saw Wash's face who immediately started to choke on something he was drinking.

Jayne looked surprised at the pilot who was rescued by Zoe, then few times at River and Inara.

"Nah, no way that's possible," he murmured to himself.

"Really," asked Simon completely obvious to the rest. "And how did she do it?"

"It's a secret," said River. "But she satisfied my curiosity about something."

This time it was Jayne who started chocking.

"I know that you are all excited to be back in the sky, but be more careful how do you eat," said Shepherd after helping Jayne.

 

She detested this wand - it had been hers, after all. But still, on the whole, it was one of the few small sacrifices she had to make in order to maintain her deception, the picture-perfect life she had built for them both.

Even if it was based on a terrible lie.

A soft chime caught her attention; her eyes shifted from the neglected stick to the the nearby clock, a hand-built and charmed oak monstrosity from 'her' family. Her love's arrow had changed from 'At Work' to 'Travelling'.

She smiled demurely, her gaze not leaving his finely inscribed name; he wouldn't be long home, now.

Her eyes drifted back to the stove; everything was going according to plan. The planned dinner she'd prepared was almost ready, though the sauce would still need a few more minutes on the boil, and the treacle tart that he was so fond of was setting without a hitch in the fridge. The sexy lingerie she had ordered for their special night had arrived early that morning, and was now currently hidden in their bedroom's bathroom, awaiting use. They had both agreed, after all, to soon start a family of their own.

Perfect.

A loud crash, followed by an even louder expletive, suddenly echoed out from the living room. She shook her head in amusement - floo travel had never agreed with Harry, even with him now being the youngest DMLE Head in history.

But just as she was about walk out and greet (and, quite possibly, heal) her still cursing, floo-hating lover, she caught sight of her reflection in kitchen window.

Bright green eyes, modelled on his own, stared back at her, as did a pale, heart-shaped face. Long, luxurious tresses of vibrant lavender hair fell past her shoulders, the tips gently swaying against and tickling the top of her breasts.

It hadn't been hard - a close Stunner from behind, unnoticed and unheard amongst the Battle's chaos and cacophony; a dose of pre-prepared polyjuice, a quick strip and an exchange of their clothes...

A softly muttered Killing Curse to a unmoving and prone back...

Quickly, the exotic colour of her hair began to dull and lighten into a plain, rusty red; she kept it long. He loved her hair when it was long. Sparkling green eyes began to dull into a disgustingly plain brown, and her facial structure began to melt and blur as it assumed a very familiar appearance.

The one she had lived with and used for the past four years, whose original owner was currently dead and buried and rotting under her own supposed tombstone.

Satisfied and immensely relieved that she had caught the slip, 'Ginevra Molly Potter' went out to greet her loving and unaware husband, her hips swaying provocatively.

It was their wedding anniversary, after all.


--

Inspired by a small one-shot I saw on the net like this - those who are in iRC would know the one. I think I fucked this up, though, but ah well - drabbles.

 

...Wait, who's she supposed to be?

 

Tonks i'm pretty sure.

 

Yeah, it's definitely Tonks, though at first I thought it's Lavender (because of lavender hair, even if it didn't make any sense).

 

Yeah, I thought it was...Lily.

:facepalm

 

Yeah, it's Tonks; background was that she was in love with Harry, and she took her chance during an AU BoH to knock-off Ginny, and take her place.

When someone dies under polyjuice, their body remains in the form that it was shifted into - Ginny died looking as Tonks, and she was buried in her supposed grave.

I should have put a bit in to do with her personality - maybe make a B/S excuse that she had a "head injury", so that's why 'Ginny' was different from Ginny. Though the experiences of war could do that, too, I guess.

I thought I was clear on her implied identity, but evidently not enough. Maybe I should expand on this idea, sometime?

 

Inspired by a recent comment in the assassin house elf thread:

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Harry was sitting in the Headmaster's office, as he had often done in this year - his sixth. He was seated opposite Dumbledore, with the Headmaster's vast, cluttered desk between them.

They had just finished examining another set of Pensieve memories, and had had their usual discussion about the significance of the memories. Dumbledore appeared to be at his ease, and Harry thought he knew why. Harry didn't need many hints to understand what tonight's memories meant. He felt that he was finally coming to grips with Voldemort's nature, and wasn't that the point of these discussions? Harry was no master tactician, but he knew that it was important to understand one's enemy.

That reminded him of something, though.

"Professor? I have a question. It's unrelated to Voldemort himself. It's...it's more about the state of the war in general."

Dumbledore took a sip of his tea, and appeared to relax a bit more in his chair. "Ah? By all means, ask, Harry. You are as involved in this war as anyone. I cannot promise that I will answer any question you may have, but you have earned at least some answers."

"Well, it's about the house elves," Harry said. If Dumbledore was surprised at this line of inquiry, he did not visibly react to it. "Hogwarts has a lot of house elves working for it, doesn't it?"

"Quite right. Hundreds, in fact," Dumbledore said, nodding.

"And they can do some amazing things, can't they? Get past magical protections, make themselves invisible, throw things around with magic..."

"Right again," Dumbledore said. "Their magic does not work in the same way as a Wizard's magic. It is very difficult to magically deter a house elf, particularly when its activities are backed by an order from its masters."

"Right," Harry said. "It seems to me that they could be used to aid the war effort. They could spy on Death Eaters, or make themselves a distraction so that the Order's wizards could accomplish a task, or..." Harry paused. "Or they could be used as assassins. Not when it would be a suicide mission of course, but..."

But Dumbledore was shaking his head. He had sat up fully in his chair again, stiffening.

"Oh, Harry." Dumbledore sighed. Harry flushed slightly; he had judged that most of Dumbledore's earlier satisfaction had evaporated. "There is no such thing as a 'safe' assassination job. Any house elf undertaking such a mission would be in mortal peril, crafty creatures though they may be. We house elf owners have a responsibility to treat them with dignity, and not as mindless objects to be expended or discarded at will."

Dumbledore got up from his chair and began pacing the circular office. Harry remained seated, though he followed the old professor by craning his neck.

"Certainly, there is a great deal that a house elf could do in his duties as an assassin. Many of them are quite dexterous with knives. Given the element of surprise, it would be well within their abilities to embed a poisoned knife in a Death Eater's throat." Dumbledore's pacing stopped for a moment. He raised a hand, as if to forestall a rebuttal. "Oh, I know - they are rather short, aren't they? But they could throw the knife into a man's throat. And they're certainly tall enough to drive their knife into a female Death Eater's filthy cunt."

Harry's jaw dropped open. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice - he had gotten a rather wistful look in his eyes.

"Yes, right up the old passion canal. I am acquainted with a Death Eater by the name of Carrow who would likely benefit from such an intrusion. It would be the closest thing to a phallus her vagina would ever see. And did you know that House Elves are purported to be extremely well endowed relative to their body size? Carrow has a brother, and I can think of a good use for a house elf's endowment on him."

Harry had clawed himself out of the chair he was sitting in, and was now backing out toward the room's only exit. Dumbledore's introspective monologue continued.

"Indeed, that would be an acceptable outcome. Particularly if another house elf could cut open Carrow's fat little neck and bathe in his blood, while gargling the remains of Carrow's own micropen-" Dumbledore finally stopped talking and noticed that Harry had opened the door to his office. "Leaving so soon? It's not terribly late yet."

"Er." Harry stumbled about for an excuse, keeping his eyes locked on Dumbledore as if afraid that the old man would pounce upon him. "I just remembered that Hermione wanted me to help her build a nuclear reactor. I'm already quite late. Thank you for the lesson, sir!" He dashed down the steps.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

And with that, the thread finally has a drabble worthy of the descriptor, "vomit." :facepalm