Roarian please stop posting drabbles you are depressing me with the stories (sweet sweet stories) that will never become more than drabbles.

Pretty please?

 

Needs more Sacchin.

 

Nah, he's too busy lifting.

 

Well, it looks like I caught a case. This came up as an idea after re-reading book six:

What if Slughorn wasn't as incompetent as he's portrayed, what if there's a much more sinister side to him. This isn't that long, only 300ish words or so. I have no real intention of working more on this, hope you enjoy.
_______________________________________________________________________________________

Professor Slughorn was a man of importance. Or so he liked to say. He had many connections, had brought together some of the most famous people to create new partnerships that had gone on to create lasting effects in the Wizarding World.

Why, he was the man, who had brought together the Weird Sisters, he was the inspiration behind the latest iteration of the beloved Holyhead Harpies. He was the genius who had gotten the Nimbus brothers in contact with the prodigal son who had gone on to create the Nimbus 2000. He was, as he had always known he would be, a man of great influence. It was no hard feat to realize why the Hat had put him in Slytherin

Therefore, when the young man who sat in front of him had come to him for connections, he knew he had done his job once again. To have someone indebted to him was to have power over them. To hold power over them was to own them. He owned many, many trophies. Each one was a unique and powerful tool to him, and each one owed him many, many favors

“How can I be of service, Mr. Riddle?” He asked, peering over his glasses at the handsome young boy who also happened to be a master wand-worker and a rising star in the political world at the young age of 17. This boy would go far, and he, Slughorn, would own him too in time.[/

“Sir, I’m just wondering, what do you know of Horcruxes?” Slughorn presented a façade of grimaced displeasure but inside he whooped with glee. The boy’s insincere attempts at flattery and innocent curiosity could not be hidden by the master of manipulation. He had him right where he wanted him. This would be by far the most extravagant trophy yet.

 

So...thread sticky, please?

 

The "Wired sisters" is a band of twenty somethings in 1994/5 and the Nimbus2000 was thrown onto the market in 1991. Nice idea otherwise.

 

Eh ... an experiment with first-person POV. I think I'll stick to third-person, but there's this:

The day was a good one, a calm peaceful sort of day that made a person want to kick up their feet and relax for a bit. Unfortunately for me, I had been roped into endorsing the official naming of the Hermione Weasley Ward at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The honorary naming of the house-elf rehabilitation ward had been long in the works, seeing as the old bitty had lived far longer than anyone ever thought she would.

Not that I had any room to talk on that particular front. The late Mrs. Weasley had only lived to see her 212th birthday. I will live to see the rest of eternity provided that I don’t do something stupid, like get myself blown to smithereens or eaten by a dragon, or that the immortality juice doesn’t eventually fade from my veins a couple millennia down the line.

‘Luck bastard,’ some might think.

‘Who wouldn’t want to be immortal?’ the plebeians might ask.

I must admit that the whole forever young business wasn’t without its perks; still, the drawbacks were fucking brutal. I wasn’t sure which magical god-like creature I should blame for the aches of my immortality. Perhaps I ought to place blame on the combination of the two rather than the individual creatures, as one was hardly anymore to blame than the other.

Where a basilisk sheds its skin to maintain its youth and a phoenix goes through its burning days to sustain its immortality, I’ve been forced to spend a month every twenty or so years in crippling pain. Not just pain, like the mind addling pain of the Cruciatus Curse; no, a slow burning, never ending sort of pain, like I decided to take an month long acid bath, after having consumed large doses of Skele-Gro and various other potions intended to restore blood, muscles, internal organs, nerve endings and so.

The first time that I had experienced the painful effects of my immortality had been during the lunar cycle leading up to my twentieth birthday. It had started with the new moon, 1 July 2000, and had lasted until the following new moon, 31 July 2000. As suddenly as the pain had hit me at the beginning of the month, it had left me at the end of the month. In between, I had existed within a fierce haze of pain that no pain reliever known at the time had been be able to dull.

I still wasn’t exactly clear on the details of my life at that time. All I knew was that my ex-wife and her family had had me admitted to St. Mungo’s upon my ex-wife finding me collapsed in the shower. According to my medical records, which I have read multiple times over the years, I had been subjected to every test that existed back then, both magical and muggle; and according to every one of the test results, there had been absolutely nothing wrong with me. If anything, the test results had showed that I had been in perfect health. The only abnormality that the healers had been able to find had been in my blood work.

During the months that had followed the ordeal of my first regeneration, the accepted consensus had been that I had been poisoned. It hadn’t been until around Yule of that year that a healer from Italy had identified the make-up of the supposed poison and had revealed to me in a private sit down that the components of the poison were basilisk venom and phoenix tears and that the poison had been within my system for at least seven years. I had felt a cross between shock and dawning comprehension, as the man had babbled on in a nervous, pale faced manner about how the poison had integrated itself within my system and had learned to revamp itself and infect the new blood cells that my body created, as if it weren’t a poison at all but closer to a magical virus, like the ones that afflicted vampires and werewolves. With great regret on his face and in a very grave tone, the man had told me that he didn’t believe I could be cured and that he wasn’t able to promise me that the episode of pain I had experienced would be an isolated event, nor was he able to predict what other side-effects I might eventually experience.

That last bit had scared me more than I’ve ever cared to admit and more than anything else the man had said to me.

In the years between my first regeneration and my second regeneration, I had learned just what other side-effects I was to live with, as well as had drawn a few conclusions about my condition.

It had been upon my return to work as a Junior Auror on 2 January 2001, after St. Mungo’s had finally signed off on my physical fitness, that I had made my first discovery of one of the many side-effects that I was live with for the rest of my eternal life, though I hadn’t exactly known that I was immortal at the time.

On that cold, January day, Minister Shacklebolt had taken the day off from his duties as Minister of Magic to put me through the pace.

“A special welcome back worthy of the Man-Who-Conquered,” he had said.

During our mock duel, I had conjured a wood wall as a barrier against his barrage of Stunners. With a single, well aimed blasting curse, he had destroyed my wooden barrier, sending splinters flying everywhere. As I hadn’t gotten a shield up in time, I had ended up fairly cut up. To my fellow Aurors’ amazement and my horror, my skin had begun to knit itself back together within a matter of seconds without aid from a single healing spell or potion.

By the time that my next birthday had rolled around, I had no longer needed glasses and not a single scar had marred my body. In three years time, I had learned that even the deadliest Dark Arts curses weren’t able to affect me for very long, let alone kill me. At the age of 27, I had learned that I’d never be able to have children. Two years later it had become all too noticeable that I hadn’t been aging.

That fact, combined with my impotency, had led my wife of eight years, Ginny Weasley, to declare that she wanted a divorce. She had claimed amongst our friends and family, as well as legally, that I’d never be able to fulfill my duties to her as a husband. In a way she’d been right, but I had also seen that deep down she simply hadn’t been able to handle my immortality and all that came with it. She had married Oliver Wood a little over a year later, and I had been happy for her, when she had announced that she was pregnant with their first child five months after their wedding.

On 20 July 2020, my second regeneration had hit me as suddenly as my first. After a month of unbearable pain, it had ended on 19 August 2020.

My most prominent conclusion over those twenty years had been that the basilisk venom and phoenix tears, which had infected me down in the Chamber of Secrets at the end of my second year at Hogwarts and had laid dormant for seven years, had activate with my first regeneration; the trigger for which I had theorized to have been my reaching my full physical maturity.

The pattern of my regeneration was easily worked out, when I experienced my third regeneration around my sixtieth birthday. When my eightieth birthday had rolled around, I had been expecting the pain and had been able to prepare for it. By my hundredth birthday, I had become certain of my immortality and its limits. Short of decapitation, being blown to bits, or getting eaten or ripped apart by a beast, it was impossible for me to die, just as I’ll never age past the twenty years of age that I appeared to be.

 

Not related to Harry Potter, but we don't have a similar thread for anything else, so yeah.


"For all the things Orochimaru did, he at least gave me motivation to become better." Jiraiya lifted his bowl of sake, looking at Minato.
"The bigger the goal, the more you reach," Minato commented and hmmed, looking at the nearest window. The outside was dark, and his own face reflected back at him. "You are right, of course, sensei."
"It's - healthy for folks like you to find themselves a rival to overcome." Jiraiya placed down his drink. "You should find a rival."
"I might know someone..." Minato smiled at his own reflection, then winked. "I simply need to surpass him in all aspects. Even when he gets better. Especially when he does so."

 

An Iron Man 3 Sequel thingy that I wrote a while ago. It's a spin on a few Iron Man comic storylines of recent years that tie into Extremis, which was a good part of IM3.

Tin Man Chapter 1 (of probably 1)

Aside from that, I found this, a snippet of original stuff.

Cheers.

 

Some non-HP word vomit. It's supposed to be the end/beginning of a story, but I can't figure the rest of it out right now. Maybe it will come later, or not.

*************

The exhaustion that had built up over the previous ten days was hitting him all at once, as if it knew that with his victory over Ser Dayne that this damned tourney was finally over. His legs shook, unable to support his weight and the armor he still wore. Only by sticking Ice into the well trodden ground of the arena and using it to support himself was he able to remain standing. His arms felt like lead weights, heavy and unyielding. He could hear the blood pounding in his head as his breath came in irregular and heavy bursts.

Ned Stark raised his head and stared up at the Royal Box. End it, he thought, staring straight at the Old King, End this farce of a tournament.

King Aerys II Targaryen met the young Stark's gaze, his violet eyes colder and clearer than Ned expected. A sneer spread across the King's face that sent a shiver down Ned's spine. A sudden gesture of the King's hand made Ned tighten his grip on Ice's hilt. Minutes passed in silence.

A murmur spread over the crowd, nobles and common folk alike. Ned craned his neck to see what had caused such a disturbance, but no sooner had he begun than one of the jousting gates opened. Five figures in splendant white armor and white cloaks entered the field; The Kingsguard, minus Ser Dayne.

They marched across the muddy and trodden ground towards him. Ned's eyes shot wildly from one to the other, fear slowly turning his insides cold as the ice of his homeland. He tried to stand upright, but his legs refused, and it took all his strength to keep from falling to the ground.

Is this how it will end, he thought as he closed his eyes. Opening them, he sought out the Royal Box once more, not for eyes of cold violet but instead of warm brown. Their gazes met, a soft smile spread across her face, and Ned knew peace. His breathing calmed, and his blood stopped its insensate pounding. A renewed vigor spread through his body, allowing Ned to stand straighter and without the need of Ice. Just in time, it seemed, as Ned tore his eyes away from his Princess to the Lord Commander, who was now standing in front of the young Stark and observing him as if he was searching for something.

The White Bull and the Quiet Wolf stood in the eye of a storm. Neither moved or spoke as the noise of the crowd grew louder and louder.

The Lord Commander nodded, as if pleased by what he saw, and spoke. “Eddard Stark, take the knee.”

Ned blinked, confused, before his eyes caught sight of what the leader of the Kingsguard carried – a cloak of pure white – and widened in surprise. Swallowing Ned lowered himself to one knee.

“Do you swear to protect and obey the King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm? To ward him with all your strength, to give your blood for his?”

Ned lowered his head. “Yes.”

“Do you swear to keep his secrets, to offer him counsel, and defend his name and honor?”

“Yes.”

“Do you swear to protect his family; his wives and mistresses, children and bastards?”

Soft, brown eyes and a lovely smile flashed through his mind. “Yes.”

“Do you swear to take no other vows? To have no wife, to have no children? To know no lover?”

“Yes.”

Ned felt something heavy be placed over his shoulders. “Then rise, Eddard Stark, and join your brothers.”

 

Idea inspired by some old talk in the Harry/Fleur thread. Not particularly polished.

/~/
Sweet, life giving air rushed back into her lungs without warning as she collapsed bodily to the cold, stone floor. Distantly, she recognized that the man who had cast both curses on her must be dead. Oh, Harry, she thought morosely as a wave of anguish that had nothing to do with her soon-to-be-dead captors passed through her. It hadn’t been so long ago that he had been all too unwilling to slay Voldemort’s followers, much like Dumbledore before him.

“There’s a line in a war like this, Fleur,” he had told her. “It’s a line between what is right, and what is easy.”

She wondered if it had truly been her fault that he crossed that imaginary line in the sand; if it had been solely her influence, her lies, and her betrayal that had made him so unflinchingly ruthless in his pursuit of Voldemort and his followers. Had it been her? Or had the war and the weight of all the expectations piled on his young shoulders finally proved too much of a burden for him to shoulder?

The vocal, passionate, convincing piece of her that always moved to absolve her of guilt – the part that turned the other way when Order members began to go missing after she passed along information to her contact – said it was the second one. That the pressures of war had, in the end, forced Harry to give up the moral high ground that he had clung to so desperately after his mentor’s death.

The quiet part of her that ached to have some, any, small influence over Harry, regardless of how she had betrayed him, claimed that it was her fault. Her mission had been simple: get close to Harry Potter, and report on his doings to her contact. Nothing more, nothing less. Falling in love with him hadn’t been a part of the plan.

Silent tears began to leak from her eyes at the thought, beginning their trek down her face as she raised it to the sounds of battle.

Spellfire had reduced much of the once resplendent hall to rubble, and a kaleidoscope of color greeted Fleur’s blue eyes as she watched the five men still standing duel for their lives. Four wore the mask and robes of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. One wore jeans and a black jumper.

It wasn’t a fair fight.

One of the masked men twirled his wand, causing a piece of rubble to morph into a vicious looking grim that leapt for the man in jeans almost before it was fully formed. Harry’s blasting curse obliterated it before it made it five feet, before his wand transitioned into a flawless parry that sent a lethal looking spell through a window. A horizontal sweep of his wand sent forth a wave of power that knocked two of his foes off their feet and sent them careering away.

Ducking out of the way of a red spell that had been aimed at his chest, Harry conjured a slab of stone to block the sickly green light of a killing curse. His wand moving faster than Fleur’s eyes could track in their watery state, he banished the resulting shrapnel back at the Death Eater. The stone fragments caught the unsuspecting man in the chest and neck, and he dropped limply to the floor.

His feet moving so that he would face the two Death Eaters he had banished when they rejoined the fray, Harry swished his wand upward, a golden shield springing to life to absorb a barrage of curses his fourth opponent sent his way. Wordlessly, Harry twirled his wand in a complex pattern, and a torrent of twisting, golden flame erupted. The flames covered the distance between him and the Death Eater in the blink of an eye, and the masked man could only scream as his body was consumed.

To Fleur’s eyes, in the middle of a warzone, surrounded by strife, and his golden flames banishing the darkness of night with the strength of the sun, Harry Potter had never looked so magnificent.

That same illumination disappeared a moment later, and the hall seemed to be in total darkness in its absence for a moment.

It passed as the green light of twin killing curses lit the room, the telltale rush of death only ending when they met two thick, stone tiles Harry had raised from the floor. Spinning out of the way of the shrapnel, the dark haired wizard parried a red spell with the tip of his wand before a corkscrew motion turned the floor beneath the feet of a Death Eater into quicksand. The man was powerless to stop himself from being dragged down, and his struggles were halted when he took a white spell that had leapt from Harry’s wand with a bang like a gunshot to the face.

All but stupefied at the deaths of all his allies, the final Death Eater stood trembling. Suddenly, he turned to Fleur and raised his wand, a curse on his lips. The French witch felt a singular spike of fear that lasted only an instant, until the pale blue light of a lancing curse tore through the final man’s skull.

Her blue eyes shifted to Harry, who stood with his wand still outstretched from delivering the killing blow. Slowly, he lowered it, his eyes moving to survey the now ruined hall before finally settling on her.

To her astonishment, Fleur felt no fear as she met Harry’s green irises. She felt only that same anguish from earlier at the thought of having betrayed this man so completely; anguish at her own foolishness, for falling prey to Voldemort’s machinations, at being responsible for the deaths of five members of the Order of the Phoenix by passing information to her contact, and for believing for a second that there was any hope that Bill would be returned to her after being captured almost eighteen months previous.

From her prone position on the floor, Fleur managed to push herself into a sitting position by bracing herself up against a chair, one of the few untouched parts of the hall. Blue eyes met green once more as her head came to rest upon the armrest, tears now freely cascading down her pale cheeks.

“Are you going to kill me, ‘Arry?”
/~/

 

A part of the interim chapter for Warpath. It's unlikely I'll be able to actually finish since most of my time is spent at my recruiting office getting my ass handed to me, and I'm way out of practice. Either way, the snippet wouldn't leave me be so here you go.

,.,.,.,.,

Hermaeus Mora watched.

It watched and gathered what it coveted above all.

Knowledge.

Knowledge dark and arcane, able to erase entire peoples. Able to corrupt and slither in the minds of both Men and Mer.

Its eyes watched, ever attentive, in search of more.

But something else held its attention. Someone else.

To the North, in Skyrim. Its thousand eyes watched the Dovahkiin make his way to the West.

Yes, a powerful creature, able to vanquish The Worldeater. But his wroth blinded him to the truth, to the true danger encroaching upon his forsaken brothers.

"Oh yes." Thought Hermaeus Mora, its innumerable arms twitching in anticipation. "He will be of use."

The Keeper of Knowledge watched and waited as the fate it determined unfolded before it.

 

^ Haven't read Warpath, so i was pretty much lost. Anyway, somebody had to write a professional dueller Harry. First 300+ words.
....
He settled into his stance, closed and high; the lateral distance between his lead and rear foot only marginally broader than his shoulder's width, the slight bend in his leading knee allowing for greater mobility and repositioning speed.
The clarity of his thoughts once again surprised him; he had never before felt so calm, so confident of his skill. It was at once similar, yet so different from the thrill he felt while racing at the top speed on his firebolt. The tingle at the base of his spine, the gear his mind shifted into that meant a spell, any spell, he tried to cast couldn't fail, the hundreds of curses and their counters, sheilds and their wand movements, flashing through his mind fast as thought, and above all this the steady heat of the focus of his magic thrumming in the palm of his hand, all combined to give a heady feeling of omnipotence.
"Allez"
He stepped to the left, out of the path of a stunner, bright red almost blinding in the semi darkness of the ancestral Black duelling hall. A downward slash of eleven inches of mahogany and a whispered 'Stupefy' sent a beam of crimson roaring towards that direction.
He changed stances, Modified Cobra flowing into Traditional Gilded, footwork precise on the hardwood floor. Ears strained to catch the faintest whisper of movement, wand held loosely at chest level, tracking the shadows that seemed to move as the torches flickered.
A flash of blue, this time from the left. A jab of his wand and an upward flick, and the faint silver shimmer of a angled Protego shield burst into existence in its path, reflecting the spell towards its caster.
He sent two spread stinging hexes, high and low. Sirius stepped to the side of the low, batted the high aside casually with a Dueller's Shield and returned the favour. Showoff.
Harry parried the hex downward with his own duelling shield at the tip of his wand, sending a disarming spell back in the same motion.
"Stesso Tempo" he called.
He could show off too.

 

Four incomplete scenes from series of one-shots that I was once planning to write.

Everybody Loves Harry​

“Kiss me, Harry,“ said Hermione.

“W-what?” Harry was completely surprised.

“I asked if you missed me?” she repeated.

Now that made more sense, but it wasn't the first time that Harry misheard his friend. Actually, it was a quite often occurrence lately and was really troubling him. Especially considering what exactly he thought to hear her say.

That's why he went to US for two weeks. To distance himself from her and hoping it will help.

It didn't.

(...)

“Honestly, Harry. I tried to be subtle, but you can be so dense sometimes,” said Hermione and he wasn't sure if he was once more daydreaming or if this time it was real. “I want you here and now. Am I clear enough for you?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good. And no more daydreaming about me when you have me just here.”

“Do you want me to tell you what exactly I was daydreaming about?”

“I would very much prefer for you to show it me.”

* * *​

“What do you think, 'Arry?” Asked Fleur.

“Um...” He gulped trying not to stare too much. “They're very nice.”

“Just nice? Pity.” Said Fleur looking at the underwear. “Then I need to find something better to buy.”

Harry wondered how exactly he ended in this situation. When Fleur asked for help in choosing her new clothes he thought it was something like a dress or a jacket. Not this.

“Not that I complain, but shouldn't Bill be the one to help you with that?”

“Bill and I are past now. Unfortunately my affection for him wasn't enough to make me stand how his family treats me and we decided it's better if we split up before we are too involved in this relationship.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. There is a new man I have my eyes on.”

“And this,” he pointed at some garment she chose. “Is for him I guess?”

“Yes, you can say that,” she appeared from behind a dressing screen. “How is this?”

“Oh...” He forgot how to speak.

“Now that's a reaction I was hoping for,” smiled Fleur. “I will take this.”

“So,” Said Harry once he regained his ability to speak. “Who is the lucky guy? Someone I know?”

“Yes, I suppose you know him.”

(...)

“'Arry, 'Arry, 'Arry,” she said softly as she was moving slowly towards him. “You are not a little boy anymore, but you are still quite naive, don't you? Do you really think I would give you a free show if I wasn't interested in you?”

“Eeee...” he answered eloquently as she sat on his lap.

“Now, I payed the shopper a good money to not disturb us for quite a some time and I plan to use it accordingly.”

* * *​

“Watcher, Harry.”

“Tonks,” he looked at her. “How much did you drink?”

“And too much. Definitely not more than usual.”

“So why did you call me?”

“Honestly, I was feeling lonely and you are probably the last guy I know who is like a knight in shining armor and will not try to use my state for his own nefarious plans.”

“That flatters me, but what about Remus?”

“Oh, he wouldn't do anything too, but not because he's such a paragon of virtues. You know why wouldn't he?”

“Why?”

“Because he's a pussy.”

“What?” He asked incredulously.

“You hear me. He's such a pussy that you would suspect he was bitten by werekitten not by werewolf. Always so afraid to do anything.”

“OK, I think you had enough of drinking today.”

“Fine. Let me drink this then,” she pointed at other cup.

“What's that?”

“It's anti-hangover potion. I drink it now and have no trouble in the morning. It even gives you an instant fresh breath so you don't stink of alcohol.”

“Useful.”

“I know.”

(...)

“I'm not drunk anymore, you know?”

“And thank Merlin for that.”

“I'm sorry for my behavior last night. I shouldn't tease you so much.”

“Don't worry. I will not complain that a beautiful woman like you tried her best to get into my pants.”

“I was sure you will yield before the night ends, but you really are something else Harry,” she have him an odd look. “A real knight that should get his reward.”

She dropped her robe revealing transparent negligee.

“Tonks...”

“I told you, I'm not drunk. The alcohol doesn't affect my desires,” she said. “Take your reward, Harry. Unless you are not a knight, but a pussy.”

“That's it. Come here.”

* * *​

A young woman left Harry's room and entered the kitchen.

“Hello,” said a voice behind her.

“Aghh!”

“What happened?!” Harry shouted from his room.

“There is a girl here.”

“Oh, morning Luna,” said Harry once he entered the kitchen.

“Hello, Harry,” greeted Luna.

“Who is she?” Asked the woman.

“This is Luna, my flatmate. I told you about her yesterday.”

“I remember. Wasn't she suppose to be on some kind of journey?”

“Yes, on the journey of the self discovery. How that went?”

“Good. I learned a lot about myself, but if you excuse me I need to get a shower,” she quickly left the room.

“Luna...”

(...)

“Where is this woman?”

“Left. She was happy to sleep with the Hero, but once I made it clear that it's all she will ever get from me, she didn't see a point of staying here any longer.”

“I see.”

“You still with that long face? I was hoping that your journey will finally brighten you up a little.”

“Unfortunately, it only confirmed what I was already suspecting from my symptoms. I'm sick.”

“What?! Why didn't you tell me before?” Harry panicked. “I will call Hermione. I'm sure that she knows good Healers that can help you. What kind of sickness is it?”

“A lovesickness.”

“Merlin, Luna, you scared me for a moment that it's something serious.”

“But it's serious. A sickness that attack your heart and make you sad.”

“Why sad? Did you tell this man that you love them? Or is it a woman?”

“I can't tell him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he's my friend and I'm worried that I could lost him.”

“Come on, now. If you don't risk you will always be second guessing yourself. Beside I'm pretty sure that Neville at least fancy you.”

“Harry, you can be so silly sometimes,” said Luna and stood up.

It was then when Harry remember her saying to him that as much as she likes other people, she consider only one person to be her true friend.

“Luna,” he grabbed her hand. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she said with tears in her silver eyes. “I understand.”

“No, you don't,” he said gently. “I'm sorry that I got you sick. I didn't know that lovesickness is contagious.”

“Oh,” for once Luna was lost for words.

“Yes, oh,” he smiled and kissed her.

 

The Tonks and Fleur one interest me greatly.

 

Now, I realize that this isn't all that good, but it is something that I wrote in my spare time so I thought this thread would be a good place to put it. I don't really plan on expanding this, unless people see some value in the idea.
------


"You are banned! ;_;
You have been permanently banned from all boards for the following reason:
Angering the Administrator.
Your ban was filed on @$@$)@$_^@$. This ban will not expire.
According to our server, your IP is: #*^%@)#%@2(^#$. The name you were posting with was Anonymous.
Despite the length of your ban, you may not appeal it."


That was the last thing he remembered seeing. But now, there was only darkness, or perhaps even less than that. He could not see, he could not hear, he couldn't sense anything. The /b/tard did not know for how long he remained in this state, as somehow the ability to tell how much time has passed was also taken from him. There was only one thing he was sure of: He did not deserve to be banned.

His crime (if one could even call it that) was hardly among the worst committed over the years of /b/'s existence. And yet, he was banned, exiled this non-place, where there was only nonexistence. He had no hopes of ever returning to his homeland, where he spent all his years, trolling, fapping and doing everything a proper /b/tard should do.

He was about to accept his fate to be forever stranded here, when suddenly, without any warning, there was a giant flash. Not of light, but of mind. A wave of feelings, dreams and pure thoughts crashed into his own mind. He felt over 9000 reasons to exist and then he was free.

*

"Ron, Ron, wake up! We are going to Diagon today, to get school supplies!" He heard a young, female voice. No doubt a loli, he hoped that filthy pedobear wouldn't get to her, the /b/tard always felt a little sad when that happened. Now however, the reality of the situation came to him. He was in a bed, in some kind of pajamas and there was a young girl nearby, trying to wake him up, though using a wrong name. Was it possible? Could it be? Did they unban him? He did not dare to have hopes about that.

He got up, slowly opening his eyes. Orange, that was the first thing he registered. The room was almost completely orange. Thankfully though, there was no Annoying Orange, ready to make irritating comments. He read 'The Chudley Cannons' on the many posters and items in the room. He assumed that either this was some kind of sports team, or (the more likely option) another fucking forced meme.

Either way, this was clearly not a place he has seen before. Maybe a new board was introduced? He usually only browsed /b/ his home, /v/ where they hated video games and /x/ to see what those paranoid creeps had to offer.

Near the bed, was the loli he heard before, she wasn't that bad, though of course not his type, he preferred actually mature girls, most likely older than him. Other /b/tards laughed at his freakishly normal desires, but he responded that they could go fuck themselves. Naturally, that always sparked magnificent troll wars, but that's the nature of the board. She looked at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Clearly she saw something she did not like.

"Hey, normally I'd say tits or gtfo, but could you tell me where the hell am I?" He asked, keeping a respectful tone. It wouldn't be wise to make her leave him without answers. She only looked at him with a horrified expression and ran from the room. Wut? Did he have something on his face?

Worrying what he might see, he walked slowly to the nearby mirror hanging on the wall and looked at his reflection. Now, any normal person would freak out, started yelling and all that jazz, but not him, he was not of that kind. After all, he saw things that made others vomit.

As he examined his new face and body, he wondered what caused such a change. He was no longer in his home, that was sure, but why here and why with this young and red-haired-boy body? He supposed that he would find out soon enough.

*

Okay, so his name was Ron Weasley, that girl was supposed to be his sister Ginny and he had five brothers, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George, the first two living outside this house. His mother was named Molly and his father's name was Arthur. He took that all just fine, guessing that it was nice to have a family. However, he was pretty sure that he just stole someone's body. True, not deliberately, but he stole it nonetheless.

These redheads thought he really was that Ron and they thought his strange behavior was because he was nervous of going to school. Which was another important thing, that made all that other stuff pale in comparison. Magic existed. As in, actual wand-waving, spell-casting magic. And he was a wizard. He could live with that. After all, it gave him more possibilities in the wonderful art of trolling. He could not wait to get to this Hogwarts place.

*

The /b/tard did not know it at the time, but many miles from the Burrow, among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, a tall man appeared, with no face, in a clean, black muggle suit.

 

The idea is pretty awful. Don't bother with expanding it.