Cheers hgf

 

This thread is my favourite on the board Nice work, all of you.

@Peace: The only crit I'd have of yours was the closing line. Something with a little more weight and punch to it I think would have rounded it off nicely. As it was, the bit about the Malfoys dying was nice, then it felt a little like Snape was rambling and petering off slightly as he continued into the lots of company bit. But that's just me, heh.

 

Lovegood​

x-x-x-x​

“Harry, could you explain to me why I am the only girl you’ve never slept with?” Luna Lovegood was unusually focused, her silvery eyes intent on the dark haired wizard.

“Now that’s an exaggeration Luna,” Harry said, eyes darting around for an exit. There were none. He was trapped in a room with the Quibbler’s printing press, Luna and a single exit. An exit that Luna was blocking.

Being the focus of Luna’s pointed attention was never a good thing, as more than one Death Eater had discovered during the war. She was one scary witch. Pretty, scary and smart. It was a hell of a combination.

“Ginny doesn’t count, everyone knows she’s a witches witch. Well, everyone except her mother. Aren’t I pretty enough Harry?” Luna asked, pressing herself up against the wizard.

Looking down at the shorter witch Harry noticed that she was displaying some rather impressive cleavage and didn’t appear to be wearing a bra.

“You’re very pretty Luna, beautiful even,” Harry replied, shifting in the vain hope that Luna wouldn’t feel his growing erection.

“You slept with Millicent Bulstrode.”

“I was drunk,” Harry interjected, “and I had George obliviate the memory the next day.”

“And Pansy Parkinson.”

“Only after I found out that she always blueballed Malfoy, that she wouldn’t even blow him. God she was a cocktease. Until I got to her.” Harry smiled in satisfaction at the memory. Getting one over Draco Malfoy never got old.

“Haven’t I been a good friend, didn’t I stick by you during the war?” Tears started to well up in Luna’s eyes. “Is it because I gave you Bellatrix’s head for your seventeenth birthday? Is that it? Am I too bloodthirsty?”

“What? No. That was the best birthday present ever,” Harry said enthusiastically.

“Then what is it Harry?” Luna beseeched.

“Well, you know how guys talk, right?” he asked hesitantly. He knew that some women took offence to men talking about women that they had slept with. Hermione in particular took it poorly.

“Girls do to,” Luna confided. “That’s how I know you do that thing with your hips when you get really worked up. Hermione says that it’s the best thing ever!”

“Her and her bloody double standards,” Harry muttered even as he felt the pride of a male whose sexual prowess was discussed by his lovers. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, Ron told me about how you’re ... adventurous.”

“Blonds do have more fun,” Luna agreed.

“Well there’s fun and then there’s your fun. I mean, Ron told me about the threesome ...”

“I thought guys liked that,” Luna protested.

“With two women,” Harry corrected. “Not two men. No heterosexual male enjoys a devil’s threesome.”

“That makes sense,” Luna said after a moment’s thought. “Ron did seem rather uncomfortable, though Justin enjoyed himself.”

Harry nodded. Everyone knew that Justin swung both ways. Him getting caught in a broom closet with Hannah Abbot and Kevin Entwhistle on separate occasions within a week in their sixth year had seen to that.

“What else?” Luna asked. “That can’t be it.”

“Ron told me what you did with the carrot when I visited him in hospital. That’s just not on Luna.”

“But I thought that wizard’s liked kinky witches?”

“Not kinky like that. We like witches who invite other witches over to play and I personally don’t mind playing with ropes. Silk rope mind you, it doesn’t chafe.”

“Considerate,” Luna said with a nod. “Say Harry, would you like to tie me up? Then you’ll know where my hands are.”

“Only if you promise not to bring any food other than whipped cream into the bedroom.”

Luna smiled and looked around the printing room. “Who said anything about a bedroom?”

---------- Post automerged at 09:30 PM ---------- Previous post was at 09:27 PM ----------

Cheers GL and I agree with you about the closing line. I wasn't sure how to end it quickly so I took that final line from the Denzel Washington film Man on Fire. I would have preferred to end it with Snape dying - something to keep in mind if I expand it I suppose.

 

I was planning on using almost exactly the same line in my version. Great minds and all that, eh?

 

I'm pretty sure it's been used before. It's too obvious not to have been. Use it anyway is my advice.

 

Can someone give me a challenge?

I've been wanting to take up writing again recently, and this thread seems as good a place as any too start.

 

-----
​

The number seven. That's what it always came down to.

I was born at the end of July, the seventh month of the year. I cycled through seven wands before I found my Holly and Phoenix feather, eleven inches. Not many people know it, but I had my first bout of accidental magic on my seventh birthday.

With the help of people I don't deserve, I destroyed seven horcruxes.

The diary.

One.

The ring.

Two.

The locket.

Three.

The cup.

Four.

The diadem.

Five.

Nagini.

Six.

And myself.

Seven.

Seven pieces of a soul. Seven products of such horrible unspeakable things that it makes me uneasy just to think about them, even now. Seven fall-backs of a man so terrified of death that in his panic he came around full circle and into its awaiting arms.

I'm not afraid of death. Death is something that I would quite frankly welcome at this point. I feel spent. As if I've done everything destiny intended of me, in seventeen years. Convenient, I suppose, given my situation.

"What the hell do you mean you're dying!?" Hermione's hysterical voice brings me back. I sigh and attempt to explain to her what I can't even put into thoughts, let alone words.

"Think back to the prophecy, Hermione." She knows it by heart as does Ron, but I decide to refresh her memory. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ..." I pause soberly and see silent tears streaking down her face. We both know what comes next.

"And either must die at the hand of the other. For neither can live while the other survives." I exhale slowly and force my emotions under lock and key. It wouldn't do to lose my head in this situation.

"But you- you beat him Harry! You can live now!" She stammered. My face twisted as I tried to explain what wasn't meant to be.

"I died on Halloween that night at Godric's Hallow. I stopped living the same day my parents did. Everything after that has been borrowed time. Every day after that, I survived. And you're right, Hermione. I can live now. For every death Voldemort shaped into a horcrux, I'm given one day to truly live. And then my time is up, and I'll return to where I should have gone all those years ago." Hermione sobs and buries her face into my chest. I wrap her up in a tight embrace and don't let go for a glorious few minutes.

Then I lean her away from me and look deep into her red, shining, beautiful eyes. "Come with me." I order softly, and we both stand and exit the abandoned classroom I'd brought her to in the first place.

We walk the ruined halls of Hogwarts, and before Hermione's eyes, I heal. Rubble rights itself to form shining new walls, shredded paper reforms into the portrait homes of the paintings, and all manner of ruin is tucked neatly away into its designated nook. We arrive outside of the castle and gaze upon the mangled exterior. I wave my wand once across my line of vision and suddenly I'm a first year again, looking up at the glorious visage of Hogwarts in all of its glory.

A swish and a flick surrounds the castle in old magic I couldn't even begin to define. The wand in my hand sings, needing nothing but my magic to direct it to perform feats of magic beyond any wizard's capabilities. A twitch of my wrist and every enemy corpse vanishes, not a spot of blood left behind. I turn to Hermione and find her looking at me with the same awe and respect one might a god.

I shake my head ruefully. "Nobody deserves this power, Hermione. Nobody. When I die it will disappear. It's served its purpose. As have I." I finish gently and she manages to fight back tears, choosing to embrace me again instead.

"I don't want you to go. You deserve to live. You deserve it." she mumbles into my shirt. I clutch her tightly and smile.

Leaning down, I whisper in her ear. "I have seven days to live. What would you do?" She looks up at me.

"I'd do whats right." She says softly, regretfully, and pulls away. I yank her back and hug her close. She looks shocked and I give her my most winning smile.

"I plan on it."

-----

So, uh... 774 words, took me about an hour. Tweaked the quote a bit, hope you don't mind.
​

 

A NEW CHALLENGER HAS APPEARED: Katricia
Line: Some say that his tears are adhesive, and that if he caught fire, he'd burn for a thousand days... all we know is, he's called You-Know-Who
Length: 1000-1800
Time: 60 Minutes

 

I don't really like it much but I've missed writing and this challenge seemed as good as any.


"Nothing personal, Ron."

Silence reigned and Ron's ears rang with that unspoken swollen air.

"Hermione, I'm tied to a chair in my own house."

"Okay, that was a lie, it's entirely personal... also not your house anymore."

"Hermione I'm-"

"If you say you're sorry I'll hit your diseased groin with a diffindo."

"... Hermione, I'm sorry. You might not want to hear it but I am."

"No you're not, I can tell. We have been married for seven years, Ron. And while that may have ended once all the blood in your body went south I still know you like the back of my hand. You're only apologising because I've got you under my control now. You have no wand, no weapon, no mobility, no way out and no way to defend yourself while I have my wand and my pride. You're at a disadvantage. And trust me I know how that feels."

"She didn't mean anything! It was just a fling!" Ron's voice was rising as his desperation mounted.

"A fling? So you betrayed me for something as silly as a fling? It would have been better if you had been in love you know. I could understand, maybe, but a fling? A bit on the side? That's just lazy. You weren't happy with me so you went somewhere else. You didn't try to fix it, you didn't try to communicate with me you just let it die and didn't wait for it to finish before you moved on."

"That's not it at all Hermione! Fuck I was just-"

"Don't swear, Ron. Only those with inferior communication skills need to resort to cussing to get their point across. This is bigger than you. This is bigger than your little thoughts and your little emotions and your little problems. This is about us. About our family, about our children and our marriage and about how you let it go for a bit of sugar."

"I didn't want to let it go, Hermione! I was just lonely and she was throwing herself at me. I couldn't resist!"

"I'm sick of your voice. I’m going to do what I came here to do and then I’m leaving and I’ll never see you again and you’ll never see your children again. Stupefy.”

Ron’s eyes closed and his head fell forward onto his chest as his consciousness faded and suddenly Hermione was alone.

She didn't say a thing as she reached into her old beaded bag from when she was a girl. She pulled out a black leather document wallet and unfolded it on the couch. The inside of the wallet revealed several scalpels of different sizes, some string, a diagram of the human male anatomy complete with major veins and arteries and a small book titled House Elf Castration.

Hermione flipped the book open to the contents page and ran her finger down the page.

“Preparation and Method, page 13,” she said to the leaden room. There was the sound of rustling, dry pages like spiders' legs scuttling through the forest.

Hermione untied Ron and laid him out on his back on the hardwood floor.

“Let’s see you go back to her once I’m through with you.”

 

I liked that Sacrosanct, I really did.

 

Huzzah for violent and scary as fuck feminism!

 

Toss a challenge my way. Preferably something fairly short. I really liked that one Sacrosanct.

 

Someone toss me one, too. I need to start writing again.

 

A New Challenger Has Appeared: ???
Time: Whatever
Length: over 750
Line: "Ollivander's Wands est.382 BCE has been my home for decades now."

It's pretty obvious who or what I want to read about with that one.

A New Challenger Has Appeared: ???
Time: Whatever
Length: 750-1000
Line: When will this end? Harry thought

A New Challenger Has Appeared: ???
Time: 1 hour
Length: 500-750
Line: "Why are we in a broom closet, Malfoy?"

 

I'll take the second one. But I'm going to go to bed for now. We'll see what comes to mind tommorow.

 

I'll take it, but it's 4am here. Might write it tonight or tomorrow, I've got an idea.

 

A/N: I maybe ran a bit wild with it

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

"Why are we in a broom closet, Malfoy?"

Harry looks impatient and nervous and annoyed, palming his wand; On his return to the dorms from the kitchens, Malfoy has all but thrown him in here, without warning, shaking all the while.

With determination, Harry conjures blue flames and prepares to retaliate - with words if necessary, with force if need be. The green eyed teen gazes at the Slytherin steadily. Only the look of Draco's face stalls Harry's indignant response - Malfoy's face is white, an unnatural paleness far beyond his natural coloring.

The Malfoy heir turns and seals the closet's door, with a multitude of spells that Harry hasn't even heard of and then sags against it, panting. His eyes are unnaturally bright, Harry thinks, as if from fever, or perhaps psychotropic potions. For long seconds he doesn't speak, only taking in large gulps of air, trying in vain to calm his breathing. Minutes pass, Malfoy still isn't speaking - Harry's patience runs thin; he snaps.

"What the hell is going on Malfoy? If this another of your idiotic schemes I'll hex you into oblivion!"

His outburst contains more discomfort than anger. He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but Draco's behavior is starting to spook him - simply because it's so different from the norm. Draco Malfoy in Harry's presence is one (or all) of three things; smug, annoying, condescending. For him to act this way, it means that something extraordinary has happened. Harry hates extraordinary happenings. Their occurrence usually spells danger for him and his friends, often of the lethal variety.

The blonde is still not speaking. Harry, now getting annoyed, acts.

"Right, that does it you git. Aquamenti!"

A thin column of water bursts from the Holly wand, hitting the other boy in the face, drenching his clothes in the process. Malfoy splutters, coughing all the while and Harry, almost smiling at the blonde's ridiculous appearance, stops the spell.

The shock seems to wake the Slytherin. Lightning-fast, he stands and draws his wand. In a moment he is dry and seems to have to have regained some of his composure. He casts a warming charm on his clothes and Harry mimics him. It does seem a bit chilly in the cramped closet.

Only, the Slytherin's eyes remain unnaturally bright - again their sight makes Harry think of a fever. Perhaps the blonde has caught something, due to the coldness of the night? Malfoy is silent for a moment, seemingly in thought, wand held tightly in his left hand. At long last, he speaks.

"Even at a time like this Potter, one can count on you to act like a bloody imbecile." he says in a clipped tone.

Harry is incensed. Malfoy is back at his usual self - that means it's time for him to leave, lest he is tempted to cast one of the Curses he's been practicing.

"Get out of my way, you idiot. You've wasted enough of my time - if Filch or Snape give me detention for being out in curfew, you and I will have words.", Harry spats.

The blonde doesn't respond for a moment. Then he sidesteps from his position in front of the door and replies, casually "By all means Potter. Feel free to proceed to your death."

Harry almost makes the first step, but again, something stops him. He spies a strange smirk in the Slytherin's face, but it's the other boy's tone that affects him. There is no mockery, no smugness. His word is simply... factual.

"What the bloody hell d'you mean by my death?", Harry retorts angrily. Strangely, as Malfoy gets calmer, Harry is starting to feel more and more nervous. Death threats from the Slytherin is nothing new, but the entire situation feels surreal.

Harry's blood runs cold. It's not helped by the coldness of the room. What if Malfoy is alluding to a Death Eater attack? Some of them are in Azkaban, true, and Dumbledore has mentioned nothing about a possible attack, yet Voldemort is erratic. Who can truly predict a madman's actions?

With deliberation, heart rate climbing, Harry raises his wand between the Slytherin's eyes. "Are your daddy's friends here Malfoy? Why aren't you running with them? Are you that much of a coward, bolting to protect your pathetic hide instead of joining your Master?", he accuses.

Malfoy looks unflappable. For a long minute, once more, he stares, keeping quiet, maddening the Gryffindor.

"Answer me!", Harry thunders, "or I'll put you under bloody Tormenta!"

The Slytherin, realizing a threat, unfreezes. That, at the very least, he knows to respond to.

"Torturous Dark Magic, eh Potter? How very amusing.", he sneers. "As for the rest of your moronic assumptions... unfortunately, for all of us, there are no Death Eaters in Hogwarts.", he pauses, and looks at the door. His next words are almost too quiet and spoken with fear.

"No, there is something much more terrible than Death Eaters out there."

Harry feels a chill run down his spine. The Slytherin is confusing him - Harry doesn't like being confused. Bravado he feels, is the answer.

"For fuck's sake Malfoy. How the fucking hell is it unfortunate that there are no Death Eaters here?! And what in the name of Merlin is more terrible than them!?".

The blonde turns to the door once more. He sighs, wearily, and starts to speak.

"It's no surprise that you are clueless Potter. Always have you stumbled around blindly, relying on chance and the favor of those more powerful. Always you have succeeded, through no effort or skill of your own. Well, almost always. Some have paid the price of your failures, have they not?"

Harry flushes with shameful anger. He usually withstands Malfoy's insults easily, but this time they hit far too close to home. Instinctively the Gryffindor goes to retaliate - with fists, words or wand, even he doesn't know - but Malfoy is faster; he turns, a magical dome spreading around him, his face a mask of utmost seriousness;

"What is the date, Potter?"

Harry is caught off guard. Baffled by the question, he blurts mechanically;

"What the bloody hell does that have to with anything?!"

The Slytherin, countenance filled with graveness repeats

"Please, dim-witted mediocrity that you are, even you must know the date."

"It's the bloody twentieth of bloody December!", Harry retorts furiously. Malfoy is making him lose his balance, cutting insults mixed with strange behaviour. And now the blonde is checking his... watch?

"Alas, no Potter. If only it were the twentieth. You see, Midnight stroke three quarters of an hour ago.", Malfoy informs. Taking a breath, his voice rises abruptly , "That means it's the bloody TWENTY FIRST OF BLOODY DECEMBER!".

Harry makes a face at Malfoy's shouting at the end. The blonde is obviously unbalanced, yelling about dates and whatnot. Harry thinks he has an idea of how to handle the Slytherin now.

"Right, Draco, it's the twenty first. Now go sniff some more Black Lotus or whatever hallucinogenic potion you're taking. I've had enough of your insanity."

Harry makes to dispel the spells on the door; without warning the Slytherin lunges at him. The Gryffindor is, if not strong, at least agile and dexterous. He should win in a physical fight between the two, yet Draco fights like a man possessed. Harry's wand tumbles from his fingers; wrestling, both teens fall to the floor scuffling around, miscellaneous items of the closet banging in the enclosed space. After what seems like an hour, but is only a minute at the most, Malfoy manages a punch in the Gryffindor's solar plexus. Harry doubles over in pain and shock, while Malfoy stands over him, watching, an unholy light burning in his eyes.

"Don't you understand fool?!", he screams, "Midnight of the Winter Solstice! The darkest night of the year!", his voice reaches a crescendo "The Barriers are at their weakest - so insubstantial, even a pathetic wizard like you could pierce them!"

Harry, wind still knocked out of him, watches the Slytherin in fear. Perhaps Malfoy has reached psychosis, he thinks. All that Dark Magic - maybe it has left the other boy crazy, maddened by stray thoughts. He thinks to keep the blonde talking, until he can recover, maybe get back his wand.

"W-What do you mean by, ugh, barriers?", he asks the other, whizzing.

"The Barriers Potter! Do you know nothing at all? The ancient wards weaved around this world, it's vanguard against unspeakable horrors." Draco responds with a trembling voice, exasperation mixed with anger mixed with... fear?

Somewhat recovered from the hit, Harry thinks on Malfoy's words. That didn't sound like psychotic nonsense, he reasons. More like a recital of knowledge. He decides to inquire further.

"What are those barriers exactly? What's their purpose? And what d'you mean by unspeakable horrors?" he asks.

Malfoy straightens and adopts a lecturing posture "It is taught to all pureblood children", he begins, "that millennia ago, the human race was not the dominant one upon this world. Abominations, of demonic form and tremendous psychic might ruled the Earth. The Great Old Ones they were called and they were nigh invincible. To simply gaze upon one meant madness - of the kind were only death was a relief. " Malfoy pauses to breathe and gather his thoughts; Harry shivers, from the tale or the room's cold and watches, interested beyond himself.

"For hundreds of years, they feasted upon us. They drew sustenance from human souls, and when they fed, nothing remained of a human, but an empty husk. Only one was their weakness; the light of the sun, which they hated and feared."

Malfoy starts pacing, the action seemingly helping him think, "Doom was to be our fate, to be consumed utterly by our Masters."

"It was then, that magic was gifted to man."

Harry stands enamored by the story; he had all but forgotten their fight, or his bruises. Malfoy glances at him for a moment and continues.

"How or why we were granted this gift, no one knows. But year by year, witches and wizards started being born among the scattered human tribes. And slowly they became the wise men and women of their people, helping them survive. The tribes ran and ran, to places where the sunlight blazed brighter and longer, with the aid of the magic-users."

"And so centuries passed. Humans were still naught but food to the Old Ones. But man was strengthening. More children were born, and so, more witches and wizards. They started to learn, better, more cunning ways to control their magic. They brought greater numbers of men together, making tribes into large, disciplined caravans."

"Man prospered. For the first time in history, there was hope. For the wizards had crafted strong magics, potent enough to hide them from the Old Ones - even during the night. All was well."

Draco inhales,

"Until the Old Ones summoned their servants."

Draco exhales.

"The Old Ones were not of this land, you see. They had consumed countless other worlds, enslaving some the races they encountered. And their servants did not fear the sunlight."

"They must have been concerned, to react so strongly. Perhaps they feared magic, having not encountered a force like it before. For they ordered their servants to slaughter all humans they could find. Their aim was no longer sustenance, but extermination."

"The human race no longer consisted of rag-tag bands of survivors, however. They were many, they were armed and magic-users protected them. The war began in earnest."

"At first the humans were hopeful. The elements, shaped by magic, eradicated the armies of the Old Ones. Fire and lightning and the sea's waves battered their attackers. With every victory, they grew hopeful - they could win back their world, destroy their Overlords."

Malfoy's eyes blaze with intensity.

"They were wrong."

"For every demonic servant they killed, a hundred took its place. The Old Ones' power was almost limitless; they could summon armies with but a thought. The human race never had a chance."

"Within months, three quarters of their population were butchered. Driven now by a terrible fear, the most powerful magic-users sent a summons across the world; all wizards were to gather in one location, in the center of the Earth: the equator. The great gathering, as it came to be known."

"Those ancient wizards - they knew not of wand or staff or focus; father taught to son and mother to daughter, that magic was shaped by intent. To focus that intent, gestures were used - and so were the first rituals created."

"The mightiest of the magic-users realized their folly just as the gathering neared completion. They had thought to pool their might, strike with all of their strength a final blow against the Old Ones. They realized, it wouldn't be enough."

"Throughout the years of shaping their power, they had learned: magic was made stronger by offering. Toil and sweat for a spell of labour; flesh for strong enchantment; blood for protection."

"But the greatest offering had always been life."

"As the wizards saw with second sight the Old Ones endless armies encroaching, battering their protections, testing their strength, they gave into despair. The end was nigh for them. All that they had built, all their struggles had been for nothing."

"A final plan was devised."

"The greatest offering had always been life."

"It begun and ended in the Day of the Longest Light - the Summer Solstice. The last few thousands of magic-users had finally gathered. As the sun reached it's highest point in the sky, one by one, every wizard and witch prepared to meet their destiny."

"The greatest offering had always been life."

"Crying, singing, screaming their defiance at the Great Old Ones, every magic-user added her will to the spell. They commited ritual suicide. And their will was absolute."

"Go now unto the Dark."

"It was too much for the enemy, for all that they were almost Gods. The magic scoured the Earth, powered by the willing sacrifice of thousands. The Old Ones, their servants - all were banished, to the Darkness between the Stars."

"They did not go quietly. At their final moment, they cast their malevolent will upon this world. Floods and earthquakes and storms ravaged the land, killing all but a few hundreds of humans."

"It is from those few hundreds that humanity was reborn."

"It is from the ancient sacrifice of those witches and wizards, that this world is until today protected from them."

Harry waits for a minute, then realising that the Slytherin has finished his tale. The blond seems spent, the tale having taken something from him. He gazes at the other boy.

"Malfoy? You alright?", he asks.

"Your concern is ever so touching Potter.", Malfoy replies, rubbing his temples. pulling his robes for warmth.

Comforted by the sarcastic rebuke, Harry turns his thoughts to the story he has just heard. Maybe, he thinks, this is the wizards' creationism. Most religions of the world have a story of cataclysm - why not the wizards? It seems so outlandish a tale - and yet, it conjures powerful emotions in him, terror and pride in equal parts for the Old Ones and the ancient wizards respectively.

He debates internally, but cannot help himself to hold this question;

"Why did you tell me that legend Malfoy?"

Draco doesn't even look up. He seems tired now and cold, weary of everything. His answer is in monotone.

"This is no legend Potter. It's factual history. It's in our blood. From father to son and mother to daughter. Even to this day, the Barriers that were raised against them protect us. But they weaken tonight, they weaken so much. It is our great misfortune that someone has taken advantage of it."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOMEONE TOOK ADVANTAGE OF IT?!", Harry cries. It's not possible that Malfoy is implying that...

"There are cults Potter, of wizards and muggles both, that worship them. Even today."

Harry feels the stirrings of horror in his chest. Surely not...

"There are books, forbidden tomes, that detail their summoning."

Harry springs up and pulls his wand.

A tired, defeated voice.

"All it takes is a page of the Cthäat Aquadingen and five Slytherin fools."

"You're talking the piss Malfoy!" Harry bursts.

The Slytherin raises his head a final time. His eyes are bloodshot now and the cold gives his face a blueish hue.

"If only I was, Potter. It won't be long now. The nightmare approaches."

Harry truly feels it this time: frostiness spreads everywhere ; and a terrible hunger fills him, draining his energy.
Beyond the physical, beyond the mental, beyond what the dementors are capable of.

He !?imagines?! alien words slipping in his mind.

THERE IS NO ESCAPE

Unimaginable dread fills him.

The sealing spells on the door rattle and fade.

Silence.

 

My first attempt, about 1500 words in 3 hours.

---

Thy Last Enemy​

“Sir?” He had never seen this man in his life, but Jonathan Clarke recognized him immediately, for the old woman had showed him the pictures, even though he never really believed her tales.

And now a character from those stories had come to life, right in front of him.

“You’re late.” He addressed the stranger. “She was quite surprised you didn’t make it in time.”

“There’s a first time for everything, I suppose.” The stranger replied. “It’s hard to book transport from halfway across the galaxy.”

“I understand.” Jonathan nodded, but couldn’t resist asking, “Pardon me, sir, but how are you related? She is childless and her immediate family has all passed away.”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’. I’m Harry, just Harry.” The man—Harry—said before pushing open the door. “I’d like a few minutes with her if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, sir—I mean Harry.” Jonathan stuttered and hurried out of the room.

He didn’t realize until Harry was long gone that he never answered the question.

*

“I dropped the Resurrection Stone somewhere in the forest. I doubt anyone can find it now.

“And then there’s this.”

He pulled out the Elder Wand, and saw the reverence in Hermione and Ron’s eyes. He shook his head. “It is powerful, but I don’t want it.”

Taking a deep breath, he held the legendary artefact in both hands and snapped it. There was a spark, and Harry thought he felt a jolt like a static charge zapping him. But it was gone in an instant and he pushed it out of his mind. He threw the two pieces of the wand into the canyon.

“It’s over at last.” Harry Potter beamed at his friends. “Long and quiet life, here I come.”

*

“I love you, Luna.” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

“I know.” She smiled, and closed her eyes for the last time.

*

“You haven’t aged a day past fifty, old man.” Teddy Lupin wheezed. “How did you do it?”

“Dark magic, obviously.” Harry laughed, raising his wineglass so that his adopted son did not see the look in his eyes.

*

“Hey.” He took her hand and squeezed it gently. “You’re not going to abandon your poor father now, are you?”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and it pained him to see his little girl, once so vibrant and full of life reduced to such a state. “But I’m so tired. I just want to say goodbye before…”

“Don’t say it, dear…”

“…before I die. It’s a part of life, dad.” He swallowed hard; she hadn’t called him ‘dad’ since she was sixteen. “Didn’t you use to say, that death is but the next great adventure?”

“Yes, yes it is.” The words of that wise old man, spoken all so long ago, brought only a bitter taste to his mouth, as his youngest child slowly drifted into death’s embrace right in front of him.

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

*

…Diana Louise Paxton passed away on Sept 10th, 2121. She was survived by her sons, Duncan and John as well as her father, Harry James Potter…

*

“David.”

The mid-aged man turned at the sound of the voice. He had only seen the newcomer a few times in his life, but there was no mistaking who it was; the two of them shared nearly identical green eyes and greying, unruly hair. They looked like brothers.

“Hello.” David didn’t exactly know how to address him; he knew of course their exact relations, but it was just so awkward to say it. The other man, perhaps sensing this, spoke up.

“Just call me Harry. The ‘G’ words make me feel old.” The other man smiled, but it was humourless. “Tell me, how is your grandfather?”

“Not good, I’m afraid. Dragon Pox at his age…” David ran a hand through his hair. “I think he’s only holding on to life for you.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Duncan and I had never been close, and we barely kept in contact since I moved away.”

“He talked about you sometimes, though.” Two little blond girls appeared at David’s side, their brown eyes sparkling as they looked the stranger up and down. “Great-great-great-grandpa. You don’t look that old.”

Harry kneed down to look them in the eyes, his green to their silvery-grey, and for the first time David saw warmth enter his expression. “Hello. And don’t call me that—I’m just Harry. Who are you?”

“I’m Lois.”

“And I’m Lana.”

“Is it true that you live on Mars?”

“That you helped found the Colonies?”

“That you’re immortal?”

Harry got back to his feet abruptly, his expression unreadable. “It’s… it’s good to see you, David.” He turned toward his descendent. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to see Duncan now.”

*

“Professor I need your help. I need to know of any books or records you kept on the Deathly Hallows.”

“Of course, my boy. I think the new Librarian put my notes in the archives, subsection D.” The portrait of Albus Dumbledore looked up imploringly. “What are you looking for, exactly?”

“I need to find out how to die.”

*

Lana, hearing her sister’s gasp, turned to see what had her so shocked.
She nearly fainted at the sight in front of her.

“Father?” She exchanged a look with Lois. Could this be some horrible joke her father pulled? She looked toward the coffin and the body.

“I’m afraid not.” The doppelganger said, offering his hands up in a gesture of peace.

“Who are you?” Lois demanded, drawing her wand, but Lana suddenly remembered why this man seemed so familiar.

“Harry—just Harry.” She whispered. Lois turned to stare at her sister in shock. “You’re Harry Potter, aren’t you?”

The man nodded. The sisters exchanged another glance.

"How is this possible?"

*

“What kind of magic is this? Nothing, not even the Killing Curse worked!” Harry screamed in frustration. Years of research and he was no closer to solving the problem.

The Dumbledore in the portrait pulled off his glasses and polished them on his robes. “I’m afraid I do not know.” He said at last. “I had thought them unusual artefacts created by young wizards, but they were far more powerful than I thought possible. Perhaps they did earn them from Death himself.”

“Can’t I give up the Cloak? Or better yet, maybe I should destroy it altogether.” Harry began pacing.

“But Harry, you already destroyed the Elder Wand.” Hermione Granger-Longbottom, former Headmistress of Hogwarts, said from her portrait. “I think you imbued some of its magic when you snapped it. If you destroy the third Hallow—”

“—I just may get its magic, too.” Harry slumped into his seat. “And the Stone is lost.”

“Take this not as a curse, but as a blessing.” Dumbledore said after a while. “Perhaps you are not meant to seek your death. Perhaps you should invest your time and energy in other things. Go and live a little more, Harry. The next adventure will come when it’s time.”

*

“I’d like a few minutes with her if you don’t mind.” Harry said mildly.

“Of course not, sir—I mean Harry.” The boyish man stuttered and hurried out of the room, the door closing behind him with a soft hiss. Slowly Harry approached the coffin of his last descendent. For all the generations that separated Lana Paxton-Lee from his Luna, the two looked remarkably similar; and now, as had his love from centuries past Lana had departed this world for the next.

“Your cousin, Sam Potter, passed away a week ago. I had to see him and retrieve a family heirloom, that’s why I couldn’t come in time.” He whispered, his hand reaching into his pocket and withdrew an old cloak.
“He was the last of the Potter line, descended from my son, your many times great uncle, Timothy. You would’ve liked him—Sam, that is.”

When will this end? Harry thought as he caressed her face. He had seen Luna and Diana, and Duncan and David and so many others live and thrive and wither and die. And now Sam and Lana, his last links to the world, were gone. He had outlived them all and he was so tired.

“Sam told me that the magic of the Cloak began fading about a decade ago. Dumbledore was right after all; not even magic last forever. I’ll be leaving for Earth soon, back to Britain and the Forbidden Forest, to renew my search for the Resurrection Stone. I need to know if it, too, is losing its magic, if the Deathly Hallows themselves are dying. Maybe, just maybe, there is light—moonlight, I hope—at the end of this long tunnel.

“Maybe there is salvation for me yet.”

---
A/N: some kind of movie-canon + immortal Master of Death + Green Mile fusion.

 

After visiting the Buffy thread and watching a couple of my favourite Angel episodes I came up with these:

Challenger: ???
Time: ???
Length: 750 - ???
Line: "Mr Potter, my name is Lilah Morgan and I represent Wolfram and Hart law firm. We have an offer for you."

And.

Challenger: ???
Time: ???
Length: 750 - ???
Line: "I'm from the Watchers' Council Mr Potter. I'd like to discuss your dark lord problem with you."
Caveat: The Council isn't offering to have the Slayer kill Voldemort or protect Harry or any one of a hundred bad ideas from ff.net. The Slayer kills vampires and demons, not dark lords.

 

Not everyone can just post a challenge. (that too a challenge which sucks)