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Old October 9th, 2009, 6:01 am
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: Teddy Lupin discovers he's a metamorphagus.

Entry #3

Mrs. Tonks had finally allowed her grandson Teddy to take his new bike to a nearby garden where he usually played with some of his young friends.

It was in the afternoon and the sun was glowing. Its says reflected on the cotton-like clouds. The fascinating scene went totally unnoticed by Teddy Lupin, who was so eager to try his new muggle bike Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny had given him for his 7th birthday.

Uncle Harry had described to Teddy and his Granma Tonks in the fire place that morning how to ride the bike. However, Teddy in his excitement didn't listen to half of what Harry had said. He was always fascinated by muggle toys, and was not upset by the fact that they were easily damaged.

Granma Tonks had told him to wait untill his Uncle would arrive for his birthday celebration and show him exactly how to use it. But little Teddy wouldn't listen to his Gran, who finally allowed him to take the bike where he used to play with some muggle children.

Teddy not knowing how to ride his bike, had pulled it by the handle all the way to the garden, two streets away from his house. He finally reached the place where he always met with his friends. He was the first to get there. He didn't wait long before Jin and Jimmy the twin brothers appeared at the edge of the garden.
Teddy ran his finger through his brown hair and grinned at the two boys. They grinned back identically and wished him a nice birthday.

"Where's Tommy?", Teddy wondered. Tommy their other friend usually came with the twins, for the three of them lived in the same street.

"He stopped by the kiosk to buy some sweet.." Jimmy answered.

"..to celebrate your birthday." Jin completed. "Show us the new bike, Teddy."

Jin grabbed the handle of the bike, mounted it and started cycling. Teddy watched him with amazement.

Teddy's friends didn't know about him being able to do magic. His grandmother had always reminded him of the dangers of using magic in front muggles. Teddy was good at controling his magic. He never used it in front of his friends.

He was watching Jin closely, when the blonde boy whose name was Tommy appeared carrying a fat bag full of sweets.

"Hey Teddy! Happy birthday." Tommy said excitedly, his focus shifted as he spotted the new blue bike and the sweets bag fell onto the grass.

The boys took turns in playing with the bike. Even Teddy managed to ride it for a short distance.

They sat in a small circle and emptied the sweets bag. The boys started unwrapping the biscuits and colourful candies. They exchanged a few words mostly about the bike through mouthfuls of sweets.

Tommy took out a blowing gun pack and handed a gum to each one of the boys. They laughed together at the sight of the blue-haired boy on the wrappers.

There was a brief pause, then as Jimmy glanced around, his eyes fell on Teddy, and for some reason he let out a scream of shock. Teddy and the other two looked around trying to figure out what was wrong. And then Jin and Tommy stared at Teddy in horror. He couldn't understand what was going on, but before he could ask, the three boys were running at full speed back the way they had come.

A few minutes later Granma Tonks took in Teddy's sad expression, his hunched shoulders and most suprisingly his blue head.

Teddy was upset more than suprised when he saw his Grandmother's expression. Her wide warm eyes were opaque with deep thinking mixed with some disapproval. Teddy couldn't understand why his friends ran from him after the happy evening. Or why his Gran seemed to be so upset.

"What's happened, Teddy?" she asked with concern.

He told her what has happened in the garden, "... then they all ran away."

"Don't you think it's because your hair has turned bright blue?"

"Blue?" he nervously ran his finger through his hair, as though he could know its colour simply by touching it "I didn't realise.. I didn't mean to do this in front of them.." he said shamefully.

In a kind tone his Grandmother explained to all about his rare ability and how he should control it like any other sort of magic.

"..I'm sure you'll be able to control it better when you get older. Your mother couldn't control it very well before she was nine. Nevertheless, Teddy I must warn you that using your ability in front of muggles is highly dangerous. I'll have your Uncle stop by the muggles to modify the kids' memories and probably the parents, too.
And we might need to stop mixing with muggles too much."

Teddy left the kitchen with mixed emotions. He was proud of having inherited his mother's ability of changing appearance at will. But was feeling upset about his Gran's new decision of avoiding his muggle friends.

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Old October 16th, 2009, 5:57 am
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: The conversation between Voldemort and Draco about the Dumbledore task from the perspective of Narcissa's prized petunia plant.

Entry #1

Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.

There he was again. Good thing Narcissa kept me in the corner of the main hall. The only time he made his appearance in here was when he arrived and left, the latter being hardly ever.

“Oh dear,” Narcissa muttered as she frantically ran past. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course, unless you think he’s not up to it? Just like his father…”

“No! No! He’s—he’s ready,” she hesitated.

“I knew you would comply. Yes, he is—perfect,” he growled the last word. “Now, about the boy.”

Footsteps were heard, lighter than before.

“Thought more about the proposal I offered, have you? You know how important this is. You know how important you will be to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Narcissa’s son replied.

“Is that your answer? You will do it then?”


“Mistress is wanting me to water her precious petunia,” the icky house elf mumbled as he poured delicious water into my pot.

I enjoyed the water, but missed Draco’s answer to the odd looking man.

“Who’s side are you on?”


“Giving me the answer I want to hear, are you?”

“No, sir.”

“Need reminding on what our special task is? Yes, I want you to, no, need you to rid me of a mortal enemy.”


Straining, I tried to hear what went on. Who did he want Draco to get rid of?

“I will return when you have a definite answer.”

There he was standing before me, his gray face and red eyes ever looming.

“I—“ Draco appeared. “Yes, I’ll do it.” He stuck his arm out, pushing his long black sleeve upward.

“Good. Good. You may do justice to the Malfoy name yet.” He laughed menacingly.

Old October 16th, 2009, 5:59 am
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: The conversation between Voldemort and Draco about the Dumbledore task from the perspective of Narcissa's prized petunia plant.

Entry #2

What Petunia Heard

I was sitting and enjoying the lovely sun, relaxing in my holder, minding my own business when I was very rudely interrupted by the maid banging my window shut with a loud thud. I was very annoyed and disgruntled and sulkily sat back to watch the flurry of movement that was the maid hurriedly trying to make the study look presentable. Evidently a guest was expected. I smirked to myself, watching the woman frantically dusting the table. Serves her right for not having done her duties properly all this while. Just because Narcissa had been too distracted lately to keep an eye on her, what with her husband being in prison and all, she had been dreadfully lax. I wondered who the guest was. Narcissa always saw visitors in the parlour; the study was usually Lucius’ domain.

The woman bustled out, and moments later Narcissa entered, leading her guest in. I couldn’t see who it was, she was blocking my view. I tried to crane my neck to peer around her but failed. I looked at Narcissa instead. She had lost a lot of weight and looked very pale. I felt bad for her; she wasn’t coping very well with Lucius being in jail. I was fond of her, I was her favourite plant and she made sure to care for me herself, and even talked to me daily. Of course, lately she hadn’t had the time for more than a greeting. She moved aside and I curiously looked past her. Imagine my consternation and horror when I recognized him, it was none other than the man (can one even call him that?) who had been gracing the front page of the newspapers lately, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord himself. He glanced around the study and when his eyes fell on me, a shiver ran down my stem. His gaze was so chilling – if I had been a parrot, I would have squawked in fright!

The Dark Lord had made himself comfortable in Lucius’ chair.

“Your home is charming Narcissa”, he was saying.

“Thank you, My Lord. I will just send Draco in.”

She left the room and my mind was buzzing with questions. Draco? What did he want with the boy? I wasn’t particularly fond of him, but Narcissa was and for her sake I hoped it was nothing sinister. I realized how unlikely that was and would have sighed if I could. He was sitting right in front of me, and idly twirling his wand in his fingers. He had unnaturally long fingers; they wouldn’t even have fit behind the tiny handle of a watering can.

Draco entered the study then, Narcissa right behind.
“Leave us please, Narcissa”, the Dark Lord said firmly. “I wish to speak with Draco alone, man-to-man.”

She looked as though she wanted to protest but thought the better of it and left the room, shutting the door behind her. No doubt she would be listening at the keyhole.

“Draco. You have thought about what I said at our previous meeting?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And you will do what I asked?”

“Yes, my Lord. I am ready.”

“You are sure that you will be able to succeed where greater men than you have tried and failed?”

“I will use every bit of cunning and resourcefulness that I possess my Lord, and I am sure that it will be enough.”

“Very well. So today you replace your father as one of my loyal Death Eaters. You will swear an undying vow of deference to me and you will be branded with the Dark Mark. You will seek to undo the foolishness that your father has committed and will restore the glory of the name of the Malfoys. You will complete the task that I have set you within a year, unmindful of all the danger and obstacles in your way. You will be the first Death Eater of your generation, the guiding light that will inspire your peers. Do you comply?”

“Yes, Master. This will be the final year of Albus Dumbledore’s career. By the end of this school year, he will exist no more. I pledge this.”

“Very well, Draco. I am pleased to see you rise and take responsibility this way. You will do very well. Perhaps you will regain your father’s lost position as my right-hand man.”

Draco merely smiled weakly at this. He didn’t dare betray any emotion or the Dark Lord would have been on to it in less than a second. I could tell that he was petrified though. I have always been proud of my ability to read human emotions.

“Your initiation will be on the twenty-first of this month. Be worthy Draco, of the honour that is about to be given to you. You are the youngest wizard to ever be inducted into my elite band of followers. Be proud and prove yourself. I will see you on the twenty-first at my Headquarters. I will expect to hear your plan of how you will accomplish your task. Any aid that you require from me, do not hesitate to ask. If you succeed in this Draco, you will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

So saying he eased himself out the chair with surprising grace, and glided to the door. With one hand on the doorknob, he looked back at Draco who, to his credit, looked pale but resolute, and said in his high cold voice, “Do not fail me Draco, Lord Voldemort is not kind to those who fail to accomplish what they set out to do. I do not pity the weak. Show me that you are not weak. The Malfoy family is on its last and final chance. The fate of the entire family is in your hands. The consequences of you not fulfilling my task will be terrible to behold, and not just for you.”

With that, he opened the door, and with one swish of his cloak he was gone. Narcissa rushed in, her face white and blanched, identical to her son’s. With a pitiful cry of horror, she fell to her knees and began to weep.

Old October 16th, 2009, 6:00 am
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: DH Missing Moment - any moment between Ron and Hermione at Grimmauld Place withouth Harry - i.e. when he was sleeping in Sirius' room or taking his turn to spy at the Ministry.

Entry #3

As the dirty door slammed shut, a loud crack filled the air.

"He's going to be fine," Ron said, putting a reassuring hand on Hermione's. A look of worry was creasing her face.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath. "I hope so." After a short pause, she spoke again, "Come on, let's see if we can find something."

"Again?" Ron moaned. "We've searched this house around a million times."

Hermione looked at him severely. "Yes, again. And we've only searched this place once or twice to make sure that there were no more traps left. And today, you're going to stop whining and do some research for once."

The expression on Ron's face was one of complete shock and mingled horror. "What?"

"Research," Hermione repeated, "Regulus's room is full of old newspaper clippings on Vo-"

Ron gave a funny little spasm and shouted "Don't say that name!"

Hermione gave him a disparaging look and continued, "You-Know-Who; one of them could have a clue on where a horcrux could be."

"Merlin's beard, why do I have to help?" Ron groaned, "It'll be like having classes again and the term hasn't even started yet. Besides, I'm no good, you know that you're the only one who'll be any use at this."

Hermione glowered at him but felt half amused. "You're not getting out of this."

Once they made it up there, Hermione found the collage of old newspaper clippings and handed them to Ron, "Start reading," she instructed.

He gave her one last look of hopelessness, took the collage and went back down to the drawing room.

Hermione went down to the thick wad of newspapers she had found when they first searched the room for the locket. The clippings were hidden in a drawer and from what she could see, they were all about Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

When she had plopped down on the sofa next to Ron, he looked up to see the stack of newspapers. His disgruntled look intensified as he looked back down to his own reading.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Murders McKinnon Family

Late last night, You-Know-Who murdered prominent owners of McKinnon Cauldrons, a shop in Diagon Alley selling top quality potion materials such as cauldrons, weights and bottles. It is rumored that they were part of the Order of the Phoenix, a secret society set up to take down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters.

"I've never known a nicer couple," says-

Bengy Fenwick Presumed Dead

Bengy Fenwick's Bristol manor was found completely ruined. On January 8, Muggles in the area reported loud noises coming from Fenwick's manor. Aurors were quick to make it to the scene, only to see his home in ruins. His manor was searched but no bodies were found, except for what appears to be Fenwick's left arm.

Fenwick had once been a famous duelist in his younger days . He won third place in the 1934 International Dueling Championship. When competitive dueling was finally banned in Britain, he wrote many books about the Dark Arts and dueling skills-

Caradoc Dearborn Missing

Caradoc Dearborn, the son of well known Wizengamot member Claude Dearborn, mysteriously disappeared last night from his London home. Witnesses saw a limp body being levitated out by a group of hooded men, including Lucius Malfoy, a wealthy pureblood. Measures are being taken to find and question and arrest all involved-

It was only until several hours later and many gasps and looks of horror until Hermione let out a particularly prominent gasp and waved a yellowed newspaper clipping in front of Ron's face and shook him awake.

"What?" Ron asked groggily, letting out a yawn.

Hermione handed him the article she had been reading, "That one," she said, pointing to an article at the bottom of the page.

Severus Snape Cleared by Hogwarts Headmaster

A week after the fall of He-Who-must-Not-Be-Named, Severus Snape was charged with various offenses he had committed as a Death Eater including assisting many well publicized murders.

"He had never been a bad person," a friend of Snape's said. "He may have hung out with the wrong crowd for the time being, but he used to have friends who had supported him. I remember he and Lily Potter, a Muggleborn Gryffindor, had been wonderful friends during their Hogwarts years, and he was never that bad back then. I'm sure with the proper guidance, he won't go back to his old Death Eater ways."

Not everyone in the wizarding community holds this opinion-

But before Ron could finish, an ear splitting crack filled the air, followed by the slam of the front door and loud footsteps.

Hermione gave a flick of her wand and the newspapers instantly disappeared. She snatched Ron's arm and disapparated to the kitchen, which was completely unrecognizable after a long day of cleaning from Kreacher.

"I've got news, and you won't like it," Harry's voice shouted.

"Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner," Kreacher croaked.

"What happened?" Ron asked.

Severus Snape Confirmed As Hogwarts Headmaster


"Don't mention what we found to Harry."

"Wasn't planning to," Ron said darkly. "I know how he'd react. But I can't believe the git, he betrays his friend and then he betrays Dumbledore."

"He didn't have to be Harry's mum's friend, whoever said that he was could've been making it up," Hermione replied, biting her lip.

"Oh come off it Hermione," Ron groaned, "I can't believe you. You showed me the article, and you're still defending him."

"I'm just saying that it's possible that it wasn't the facts!"

" Just because he's a teacher doesn't make him a foul, evil murdering git," Ron said stubbornly.

Hermione could find no response for this and after a few minutes of silence, Ron's snores filled the room. She took his outstretched hand and she too silently drifted off to sleep.

Old October 16th, 2009, 6:01 am
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: Voldemort and Quirrel's time together

Entry #4

The Mirror has Two Faces

“That insipid, oversized oaf!” Where did that thought come from? Professor Quirinus Quirrell glanced around, trying for the millionth time to find the source of the voice ringing in his head. It had gotten to the point that he could no longer distinguish between his thoughts and those of the mysterious commenter in his psyche. It was true enough, however, that he happened to agree with the voice. In his time as the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts, he’d had more than a few chance meetings with Rubeus Hagrid to know that the half giant had an incredible knack for being very inconvenient.

Quirrell was a man of books, at least he’d started out that way. When it became known that the Defense Against the Dark Arts post would be opening up (“It should have been me!”), Quirrell had sought an audience with Professor Dumbledore to post for the position. At first, the Headmaster had disappointed the rail-thin, meek professor with a pronounced stutter, but in the end, Quirrell had been quite pleased with the outcome. Dumbledore had recommended that Quirrell get some practical experience in the world, before he tried to teach the students about defending themselves. Curiously, it seemed like Dumbledore had his own agenda, but Quirrell did not understand what it was.

He traveled the globe, picking up various trinkets and objects that helped him understand the Dark Arts. He glanced around his room (“Think about Albania!”) and took in the various mementos of his year abroad. There was the battered crockery from Poland, the vampire tooth necklace from Transylvania and the bright purple turban cloth from Baghdad. (“Useless! They are all useless! Do what you came to do!”)

Quirrell shook his head. He remembered, most of all, his travels through Albania. He remembered finding the cave. Actually, he didn’t find the cave, so much as having been led to it. He remembered entering the cave, with the notion of possibly finding moonstone, a good item to have when werewolves were about. Finally, he remembered, nothing. He had no recollection of what happened in the cave or of what he found. Instead, he woke up in the middle of the forest, feeling a powerful sense of calm and understanding, especially where the Dark Lord was concerned.

Frankly, Quirrell didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The Dark Lord was an immensely powerful wizard. He’d noticed how, even now, his name was not spoken by the common wizard and witch. He’d walked away from that wood in Albania a changed man, a disciple of the Dark Lord. That would make him the perfect DADA teacher. (“You fool! I am the perfect teacher, if only that idiot Dumbledore had realized that!”)

Quirrell froze where he stood. The voice was there again. It was echoing in his head. It was, on the one hand, warm, like basking in the glow of the sun, but on the other hand, it was frightening, like the opening of a crypt. At times, when he was tired, Quirrell found himself arguing with the voice.

“I tried! Hagrid got to Gringott’s before I could. He took the stone.” Quirrell didn’t know if he thought the words or spoke them aloud. Either way, the voice responded.

(“Dumbledore will probably hide it at Hogwarts.”) The voice echoed in the room. Quirrell felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He reached back and felt a bump that hurt to touch. When he returned his hand to his face, he saw clumps of hair, his hair, in his fingers. He shook and ran to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He was sweating and he felt another spasm of pain in the back of his head. The bump was more pronounced and huge clumps of hair were falling to the ground.

He looked back in the mirror and gasped as his eye began to twitch. The tic was exaggerated and every time it moved, his head was struck by another bout of pain, like something was cutting itself out of his head. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, his hands on the edge of the sink.

(“The only way to get something done is to do it myself, I suppose.”) Quirrell’s hand went to his lips. Had he spoken those words? What was happening to him? The pain shot through his body, up through his chest and out the back of his head. The intensity was blinding. He started screaming, his mouth aching from the exertion.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” His screams tapered off, the single word continuing. His voice became calmer. “Noooooooo!” His breathing grew quieter. “No.” He stood, the pain completely gone.

“No.” The voice was Quirrell’s and then it wasn’t. “No one should rely on inferior wizards to get the job done.” The voice wasn’t Quirrell’s any longer. The body that had been Quirrell stood and shook its head from side to side. The hands reached down and picked up a small hand mirror. Holding the mirror behind Quirrell’s head, a face, seemingly bursting from the bald spot on the back of Quirrell’s head, was staring back through the mirror. The features were flat, but the eyes were a bright, fiery red.

When Quirrell spoke, the stammer was gone. “I will find the Philosopher’s Stone. I will return. This body will help me.” Quirrell/not-Quirrell walked back into the living room and caught sight of the purple turban cloth. Without a thought, he wrapped the turban around his head, hiding the second face behind the sheer cloth.

The voice that spoke was Quirrell’s but the words belonged to someone else. “I will return. I will make them pay. They will rue the day they ever stood against my power. I will make them all pay, Dumbledore, McGonagall and especially Potter.” Quirrell’s lifeless eyes narrowed. “Oh yes, Harry Potter will pay.”

He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to nine in the morning. He’d have to hurry to catch the Hogwarts Express. The face of Quirinus Quirrell showed no emotion, but the face of Tom Riddle, Junior; Lord Voldemort; the Dark Lord; hidden beneath the turban smiled in anticipation. He was on his way back. He was ready to return.

Old October 22nd, 2009, 5:37 pm
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: The Night I became a Death Eater

Entry #1

'A Death-Eater, without the Dark Mark...'

Sirius made a move to hug his tattered robes closer to his body. Beneath his fingers he could feel the layers of dirt caked on to his prison issue robes. They were gritty and stiff and disgusting. He had to wait until after the crude excuse for a chamber pot was emptied and the tin tray used to serve his meals was taken away before he could assume his Animagus form.

Sirius couldn't sit any longer. He stood up and leaned against the rough stone wall of his prison cell. He ran his hands over the rough stone walls. He savored the rough texture against his palms. His hands were soft enough to put a Malfoy to shame he was sure. If he were able to, he would have laughed at that. Not one of the maniacal laughs of those teetering on the edge of sanity, but a genuine laugh like the kind he used to share with James and Remus and, ... and Peter.

He became a Death-Eater, in the eyes of almost everyone that Halloween night. The sadistic side of him welcomed the slow poison that was Azkaban. It pushed the images away. The images, that flashed before him every time a dementor passed by.

Sirius pulled at his hair and stifled a frustrated yell. He began to pace in his cell. Three steps to the left, spin on his heel, three steps to the right, spin on his heel. Three steps to the left... His breathing became heavy and the images started to come up again.

“Lily, you seem to be troubled. Did the two of you have a row, did someone else in Order get hurt or-”

“No,” said Lily, shaking her head. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Lily took a deep breath. Months of being on the run and constant fear had finally caught up with her and her previously unblemished and cheerful face was showing signs of ageing prematurely.

“I think it was a mistake,” she breathed. “I think it was a huge mistake.”


“Making Peter our Secret-Keeper.”


“I know, I know,” she sighed, getting to her feet. “I sound ridiculous. Peter is a trusted

She stood up and walked towards the fire, staring deep into the flames. I remained in place, my eyes following her every move.

“Yes, he is,” I replied. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“Something has changed,” she said just above a whisper. “He isn’t himself anymore.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I- I don’t know,” she sighed. “I can’t explain it. I just have this feeling.”

“Then how-” I began.

“Then why do I expect you to take me seriously without any actual proof?”

“Frankly, yes,” I said.

“Because I expect you to trust me,” said Lily, looking directly at my eyes.

“He expects the same,” I replied.

“Peter doesn’t have a child-”

“Peter would never betray us,” I insisted.

“Why do you-”

“Because I expect you to trust me,” I said swiftly, using Lily‘s previous statement against her.


“Lily, if I doubted Peter for a moment then I wouldn’t have let him anywhere near you,” I insisted, trying to allay her fears. “It’s safer for you three with me as a decoy.”

“You are absolutely certain-”

“I am,” I said, looking deep into her eyes. “Without a doubt.”

Lily’s signature green eye’s danced about before she nodded slowly.

“You can never tell James,” she looked beseechingly at me. “He’s always believed it to be the height of dishonor to distrust a friend.”

“My lips are sealed,” I smiled, quite pleased with how their meeting ended.

“You are a dear friend, Sirius,” said Lily, in a way that always made everyone feel loved. “Thank you for that.”

And Peter remained their secret-keeper. The perfect decoy.

Sirius was not a Death-Eater, he knew that and his innocence should have given him at least a little bit of solace but every time he relived this conversation he had with Lily, he felt as if he was a Death-Eater. A Death-Eater, without the Dark Mark…

Old October 22nd, 2009, 5:37 pm
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Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!


Topic: The Night I became a Death Eater

Entry #2

Shh, don’t make a sound. I don’t know how you got here, but please, just be quiet. No one must know that I am here. I don’t know how you are here in the first place. I told no one that I’d be here; this was my last chance. No point in you leaving now unless you wish to meet your death. Can you transform? Good, that’s perfect. Stay there, he’ll be here soon.

You shouldn’t have come.

Did you hear that? He’s come. This is the last chance I have please don’t get involved. I’d hate for anyone else to get hurt when they need not be. Hush now. I must go.

“I’m coming Pettigrew, keep it down I’m nervous enough as it is!”

“Why so nervous, Black? I thought you were ready for this?”

“Shut it. When will he be here?”

“The Dark Lord will be here soon enough. I must say, Black, interesting place this is. What happened to the manor?”

“Are you kidding? Too many people are there and I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone else. I didn’t want to hurt the ones that I have all ready, but what must be done needs to be done.”

“You’re too soft, Black. Rubbing off of your brother are we?”

“You’re one to talk, Pettigrew. Running off, pretending to be his and Potter’s best mate. They don’t know you for the rat you are.”

“Enough! What was that?”

“Erm—Nothing. There’s nothing in there, stay out! I said stay out!”

“I don’t see anything. Why so protective? You’re not planning on attacking, are you? You know the Dark Lord will always win.”

“I am not planning anything, Pettigrew. I simply don’t trust you rummaging through this place. I want it to be the same for when the muggles come back.”

“Awfully modest of you—“

“Pettigrew, silence. It is time.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Black, are you ready? You have completed all of your previous tasks, I now trust you are ready for whatever may bestow upon you?”


“Raise your arm.”

“My Lord, what about the others?”

“For the last time, Pettigrew, you shall be silent!”

“Here you are.”

“Ah, very good, Black. Your family will be proud.”

“Doubt i—ARRAH!”

“Remain still!”


“At last. Everything is complete.”

“My Lord, should we call upon the others?”

“I believe he said to remain silent, Pettigrew.”

“No. I believe it is time. Your arm again, Black. I said give me your arm!”


“Yes, My Lord?”

“Ah, very good, Malfoy. I expect the others to be here soon. Very good.”

“Is Black ready, My Lord?”

“At such a week state, hardly not. Crabbe, get him a chair.”

“I am fine.”

“You must regain strength. Crabbe, do as I have ordered!”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“Now listen up. Where is Lestrange?”
“I am here, My Dark Lord.”

“Excellent. It is in my understanding that Black and yourself are related?”

“Yes, My Dark Lord. We are cousins.”

“Is it true that you do not get along with the other one? The traitor?”

“It is, My Dark Lord.”

“Interesting. It is also rumored that he is a part of the Order as well?”

“It is true, My Dark Lord.”

“Then your task is simple. You will take young Black here. I need spies around every corner. I will not be defeated by some little dueling club run by Dumbledore followers.”

“I will linger around Black Manor and see what I will hear there. Sirius has a way of-slipping, my Dark Lord.”

“What will I do? Surely you do not need the both of us at my house?”

“No, Black. You’re task shall be much more—difficult.”

“My Dark Lord!”

“Quiet, Lestrange! I know what I am doing. Black, you will be a spy among the Order. As a part of this little club yourself.”

“Are you sure you want me to do this?”

“You sound surprised, Black. You haven’t changed your mind already?”

“No. No, of course not.”

“Good, now off with you. You too, Lestrange. The rest of you I will speak to you now. What was that?”

“It was nothing, My Lord. Something in the walls, nothing in the least to worry about.”

“It was no such thing, Pettigrew. This home seems too nice to have mice running around. Something just is not right around here.”

“Ah, what do we have here, Black?”

“I have no idea. I thought I was alone, here. It looks like I was wrong.”

“You’re lying to me, Black. I do not appreciate lying. Who are you? No answer? All right then. Black, come here.”

“Please don’t—“

“Now you know what you must do. Or else, I could always bestow the same punishment upon you?”

“But I—“

“Do it now and you will not be punished. NOW!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Excellent, Black. You have proven yourself to me beyond belief. I am sure now that this will recede the lying. Now go. The Order is planning against me as we speak. Go, the both of you.”

“Yes, My Dark Lord.”

“Of course.”

You shouldn’t have come.

Old December 3rd, 2009, 7:42 pm
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kala_way  Female.gif kala_way is offline
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Joined: 5236 days
Age: 36
Posts: 1,423
Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!



Entry #1

Topic from round 1:

Describe a prank which earned the twins a detention with Filch.

Topic from round 2:

What goes on with George after the death of Fred.


George patted the large bump in his cloak tenderly and grinned at his twin Fred, who grinned back identically but perhaps more evilly.

"In the morning break?" Fred mouthed the words to George.

"Certainly," replied George.

They were sitting at the back of the Defence Against Dark Arts class, holding their copies of 'Defensive Magical Theory'. In front of them, were Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson.
Their whispered-conversation carried over to the girls who were also holding their copies of the same book yet giving them no attention at all.

Angelina peered back at the twins and Fred gave her a hearty wink. She giggled and turned her head to the front. Alicia, however was eyeing the visible bump in George's cloak questionably. He patted it once more and then jerked his head inconspicuously toward Professor Umbridge, who was sitting at the front of the class.

The commotion at the back of the class had drawn the attention of their squat teacher. She crossed the room toward the twins, who eyed her with anticipation. George leaned against the desk so she couldn't see the bump in his cloak.

Professor Umbridge didn't say a word. She merely leaned against the wall just behind the twins. For, she seemed to discover that this was the best policy in dealing with the twin brothers, and perhaps with their friend Lee Jordan, as well.

Students at the Slytherin table looked at the back of the class curiously. Wondering why their teacher had left her place at the head of the class.

"Tsk Tsk" Umbridge clicked her tongue, in an attempt to control things before they got out of hand. "Back to our reading, please."

Fred and George feigned concentration by rocking forward and backward in their seats, while moving their lips randomly.

Half an hour later Fred and George finally left The Defence against Dark Arts class, closely followed by their friend Lee Jordan and the two girls Alicia and Angelina.

"Now, George, I'm really curious. What is that?" Alicia Spinnet asked George pointing at his bumpy cloak.

"Ah.." Fred said animatedly. "This is what we think.."

"..our dear Headmistress deserves." George finished.

Lee was looking at the girls with a knowing look.

"What's --" Alicia started on Lee. However, George cut across her saying, "Excuse us, Gentle ladies and men.."

"We need to get going," Fred said rubbing his hands together. "We'll see you after the break."

"When the job is done." George said with finality, as he and Fred set off in the opposite direction.

Fred peered over his shoulder to make sure the Slytherins, or more accurately the members of the 'Inquisitorial Squad' -which Umbridge had introduced to them that morning in class- are not going the same direction as them.

They made sure their way was clear before heading toward the staircase and down to the first landing.

The corridors were deserted. Fred and George made their way to a secret tapestry they discovered just a few days ago and planned to make of it their 'base' during that mission.

It was a tapestry of a middle-ages-warlock, one of his hands trapped in a jar while he feebly attempted to free it.
George looked out for Fred while he unlocked the tapestry to reveal the opening behind. As soon as Fred managed to do the trick, George warned him about footsteps in a nearby corridor.
"Done," Fred said simply. He slid his hand through the tapestry, it came in and out as though the painting was made of smoke. The wizard in there, however remained undisturbed.

The two of them walked through the painting, and for the first time they got to see the full content of the small opening. It was too dark in that old place. There was barely room for five people. And George almost hit the wall. Light filled the place as Fred waved his wand, pointing at their surroundings. The wall which George had hit turned out to be some kind of cabinet.
George pulled it open looking curiously inside. Unfortunately it was an empty one.
Fred stuck his head out of the painting's back to the corridor outside. While George started undoing the lumpy package hidden under his cloak.
George was halfway through the process when Fred saw three students appear at the end of the corridor. Fred could identify them as the three Slytherins from their Defence class. The new Inquisitorial badges were gleaming on their chests.

"Look out, George" Fred said warningly as he withdrew his head quickly.

George stuffed the contents of the package aside, and peered out of their hiding place with Fred. They saw the three Slytherins staring stupidly at where Fred's head had been.
The twins couldn't help but laugh at the sight of their bewildered expressions.

"What are you two up to?" Montague called somewhat rudely, in an attempt to hide his confusion.
The three of them stood a few feet away, as if afraid to approach the bodyless heads.

"Come and see," George said with a wink.

"We have coffee and tea." Fred added and laughed with George.

Boldly, the three Slytherins followed the Gryffindors' heads inside.

"Messing around the school, aren't you?" the other Slytherin said, as he looked with some amazement at the perfect hiding place.

"You think you'll be getting away with that, don't you?" the last one said.

"We don't need to." Fred said waving his hand warily, as if he'd said that a hundred times.

"I'm afraid we'll have to take some points from Gryffindor," the largest of the group said.

"Yes, I quite agree," said Montague."Perhaps, a hundred and fifty points will--"

In a swift move, George shoved Montague head first into the opened cabintet. The boy collapsed from the force and the suddenness of the attack. The cabinet shook badly and Fred locked it with his wand, laughing broadly with George, who turned around to face the two raging Slytherins.

Wands were out, curses flew out of them and rebounded everywhere in the small chamber. Two curses finally managed to make their way to their own casters who fell unconscious on the hard floor.

Fred and George wrenched the cabinet open and to their suprise it was empty. The boy they'd just shoved inside was gone. They stared at each other torn between amusement and amazement. They burst out laughing. And Fred tapped the cabinet with his wand muttering, "Specialis Revilo".

They spent the rest of the morning break examining the cabinet. And they finally agreed it was the same vanishing cabinet they found back in their fourth year.

They left their secret hiding place after the morning break was over. The three -or now two- Slytherins lay in there unconscious and the third was surely enjoying a trip somewhere they didn't know.

However they didn't manage to fulfill their main mission, of setting their stock of fireworks in the school corridors.

As usual, Filch was waiting for them at the end of the corridor with a wide grin on his lips, which mirrored the ones on the twins' lips.

"Late for class? You are in trouble, chaps" Filch said. "The Headmistress will be happy." he added happily.

"Not yet," Fred said thinking of the fireworks which were hidden in George's cloak once more.

"Follow me,"

Perhaps they should've listened to their sister about setting the fireworks when everybody was at the Great Hall having dinner...


That night George lay in his four poster bed watching the remainigs of their fireworks zooming past the windows of their dormitory. It was one of the best days of his life. He laughed with Fred that evening more than they did the rest of the year. And above that, he and Fred had found the Vanishing cabinet once more and managed to identify the charm put on it.

He turned over in his bed, grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment that was lying on the bedside table with the list of their projects. George scribbled down the word 'Vanishing cabinets'. He peered in the darkness at Fred's bunk. His twin was grinning at him, and he grinned back feeling gratitude for having Fred as a twin. He couldn't feel more grateful or happy.


George woke up early in the morning. He got out of the bed lazily, and struggled to get to the mirror. He looked more different than ever. It seemed that he now aged everyday instead of every year.

Years had passed by and changed things as they went.
And the greatest change that George had passed through was the death of his twin, Fred.
That was something - and the only thing- he couldn't cope up with. Every morning prodded and stirred the sad memories. Brought the horrible facts all over again.
Instead of waking up and looking into his grinning lively twin's face, now he looked into the mirror to find his grim lifeless face looking back at him.

George was dreading the day ahead. He was going to visit the place which he feared most after the death of his twin. Feared for the memories it would bring.

As if drunk, George got dressed and without having breakfast he left the Burrow before the rest of the family woke up.

George stepped out in the quiet morning, turned on the spot and a few seconds later he reappeared in Diagon Alley. Everything seemed quiet and calm. However, George felt insecure and even fearful in his loneliness. Despite the fact that the country hadn't been safer than that in his whole life. It was like he had never been taught to walk and work alone.

He walked deeper in the alley making his way to Weasely Wizard Wheezes shop. Which he hadn't visited in months and had never visited alone before.

The festive colours of the shop didn't suit his mood. He unlocked the front door and forced his legs to carry him inside. It was too dark to see anything. For a long while George stood there afraid of turning the lights on and facing the empty dreary shop alone.
With a long sigh, George waved his wand and the shop glowed with light. Feeling blinded from the sudden brightness, George started looking around at the boxes of sweets, magical-muggle cards, fake wands, and many other Weasley products.

A brown parcel, which was sitting on the counter caught his attention. He grabbed it and tore the brown wrappers causing some papers to fall out of the package.
He knew what was that. Ginny -as he expected- had sent him all his stuff from Auntie Muriel's place when she'd found out he was going to reopen the shop.
George pulled a long parchment from the bundle which read:

The Weasely Twins projects and plans' list.

Half way down the list two words were shining in violet ink. 'Vanishing Cabinets', the words read.
With a quick look at the rest of the list, George felt something slid across his cheek, and a drop of tears fell on the parchment held in his shacky hand. It fell right on the word 'Twins', staining it, then rolled down the parchment. George wiped the wet drop from the page, and the word 'Twins' was gone.

There was a sharp rap on the door behind him. George wiped his face on his sleeve hastily. He turned around to face the first customer of the day. However, it turned out to be Verity, the girl who worked with them -and now only him- since the shop was opened.

"Hello George," she said somewhat brightly. And when he didn't respond she started looking around the shop. "A lot of work needs to be done."

The girl was totally her self. She was acting as if the shop hadn't closed for months and as if there were three in the shop. Not two.

George was glad the girl didn't bring up the subject. She'd sent him a sympathetic letter immediatly after it had happened. Which was quite enough for him and more than what he'd asked for.

Verity opened a wardrobe in a corner and pulled out the colourful uniform and pulled it over her head. She started removing empty boxes from the shelf and putting everything in order. Using her wand she siphoned the layers of dust from the shelves. She was working energetically as ever. As if Fred was still around urging her to keep working.

George stared at her blankly as she worked around the shop, pulling full boxes from closed wardrobes and laying them on the clean shelves. He couldn't comprehend how some one could have such energy and enthusiam to do such things.
The door of the shop opened again and this time Ron and Ginny stepped in. He knew why they came and he didn't like having them around for that reason. He knew they wanted to cheer him up and help him recover from his loss.

"Morning George!" Ron said.

"You left without breakfast," Ginny said casually, "Mom sent you this," she layed a covered plate in front of him.

He shoved it aside and said, "Thanks,"

"You'd better eat it now, you know," Ginny pressed.

George was strongly reminded of his mother's manner. Yet another knock on the door prevented his suprising attempt to tease Ginny.

Harry entered the shop the same moment his eyes met George's. Harry crossed the room giving no attention to the others. George took Harry's out stretched hand and shook it. For some reason, George found it easier to relate to Harry more than the others. As he now shared the feeling of loss Harry felt through his whole life.

George soon deduced they were all here to 'celebrate' the re-opening of the shop.
In addition to his siblings and Harry; Hermione, Lee and Angelina came one after one.

Soon George felt the necessatiy to escape the festive air. He left the front room and went to the back chamber taking the bundle of papers with him. The room had a gloomy neglected air, as Verity hadn't cleaned it yet.
George sat on his chair and pulled out another parchment from the bundle. He could hear their voices from the other side, happy and excited as they started serving the day's customers.

The parchment in his hand included a diagram he'd drawn with Fred. It was the diagram of a Vanishing cabinet pair. It was too painful to look at the notes Fred had scribbled, while knowing that he was gone and never coming back to finish the project with George.

George wasn't sure when it happened, but Angelina and Lee were sitting at either side of him. For some reason he felt that he didn't mind their company. He knew they weren't around to 'cheer him up' but because they would stick to him no matter what.
His question now was, whether he would be able to carry out all the job alone. The immediate answer was 'No'. However, another voice inside him voiced that Fred would've been outraged if Weasley Wizards Wheezes' light had dimmed, if their work and efforts crumbled, and most importantly if George had given himself up to misery and memories.

George sighed deeply, and Angelina patted his back.
"You'll be fine George, we'll be with you." She said kindly.

George returned to the main room. Lee and Angelina followed him outside. He found Verity and the others helping customers to what they needed. All except Ron, who was for some reason, examining the Love Potions' shelf.

"You always can do something useful," George said from behind him.

Ron whirled around his ears suddenly glowing red.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he said faintly.

"It's me who should ask, isn't it?" George said with a nasty grin.

"What do you want?"

"This," George handed him a small rolled parchment. "You can buy me those parts,"

"Where can --"

"Knockturn Alley," George said, "Cheapest price, best quality. "Got it Ronikins? Will you manage? After all, it's dangerous for kids."

"Yeah, got it" Ron grumbled his ears turning a brighter shade of red.

"I expect you here soon enough, ok?" George said as Ron set off to buy the stuff.
"And don't let me catch you looking at this stuff ever again." George called after him, and he thought he heard Ron stumble at those words.

George looked at his young brother. There was no fun making fun of Ron without Fred to add and evil side to the joke.

There was no fun in anything without his twin, George was now certain of that fact. He couldn't have felt more depressed in his life.

Old December 3rd, 2009, 7:43 pm
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kala_way  Female.gif kala_way is offline
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Age: 36
Posts: 1,423
Re: Last Author Standing - Entries!



Entry #2

Topic from round 1:

Azkaban Story

Topic from round 2:

A Hallucination Story

The Echoes of a Nightmare

At first, he only saw the figure in his dreams. The feeling wasn’t as intense as the visions he’d felt when the Dark Lord had been probing his mind, yet he would wake up in a cold sweat as the sheer clarity of the image would consume his thoughts. This time, however, he was awake and clear as day, he could see the figure standing among the milling crowd of holiday shoppers scurrying about the pavestones of wintry Diagon Alley. He tried to look away, yet he could not. What he was seeing was impossible, yet his body was reacting as if what he was seeing was real. His palms were sweaty, his breathing shallow and rapid and his heart pounded in his chest like a kettle drum. His viridian eyes were wide in shock as he studied every inch of the man who should not be standing there. It had been over five years since their victory over Voldemort, yet Harry Potter was seeing the Dark Lord, in all his glory, ruminating with his trademark sneer amid the wizards and witches who seemed oblivious to the danger hovering near them. Harry had to do something. He reached inside the folds of his robes for his wand, but he couldn’t draw it. His hand was held fast in its place. Panic started overtaking his conscience.

“Harry!” He snapped to reality and looked to his side. Ginny was standing there, her hand on his wrist, keeping him from drawing his wand. “Harry, what’s wrong?” There was concern in her voice mixed with a bit of frustration.

Harry looked at her and then pointed outward. “Don’t you see him?”

“See who?” She responded, her eyes following his pointed finger. “I don’t see anyone.”

His head snapped over to where he’d seen Voldemort and then he hesitated. Absently, he rubbed his long forgotten scar with his fingertips, more out of habit than from any real sensation. His face was a mass of confusion and Ginny shifted the bags she was carrying and led him by the hand towards a nearby bench. She brushed off the newly fallen snow on the seat and guided Harry to the cleared place. She sat next to him and raised her hand up and touched his cheek softly with her fingertips.

“What is it, Harry? What did you see?” She fixed his eyes with hers and he felt the warmth of his love for her engulf the panic he was feeling. Her crimson hair bounced lightly in the winter sunlight, small flecks of snow clinging desperately to her locks, only to be melted, seemingly, by the sheer fire of her passion and love for him. He smiled wanly.

“I thought,” he hesitated, scarcely believing his own recollection, he took a deep breath, “I thought I saw Voldemort standing over there.”

Even though she’d already checked the area, Ginny took a slow, lingering look in the direction Harry had been staring. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, he seemed real as day, but now? I don’t know.” Harry responded. “It’s just that…”

Her other hand gripped his tightly. She leaned in and placed her soft lips on his own, brushing over them briefly, ever so lovingly, sending a spark of electricity down his spine. She pulled back and smiled at him. “You can tell me, Harry. You can tell me anything.”

Harry nodded gratefully and took a deep breath. “I’ve been dreaming the same thing, for the past few weeks. He seems so real.” He reached up and touched his scar.

“Why are you doing that? Are you feeling something in your scar?” Ginny asked worriedly.

Harry stopped rubbing the scar and stared at his hand, as if noticing the gesture for the first time. “What? Oh, no, sorry, Gin, just force of habit, I guess. I don’t feel anything like when he was alive.”

Ginny exhaled in relief. “Be that as it may, we can’t assume that you’re just making this up.” Harry reveled at the concern and love in her voice. It was amazing what true love can mean to a man. She didn’t doubt him for a second. Instead, she took his word at face value. If he was seeing Voldemort, than he was seeing Voldemort and now she wanted to see how to help him. She smiled once more, brushing snowflakes from his wild, unruly ebon locks. “We should go get you checked out. Maybe someone is cursing you?”

Harry nodded, finally glad to have some direction to follow around this nightmare. Tom Riddle, Jr was dead. His killing curse had rebounded on him and he’d been struck down. There were no more horcruxes so there was no way for him to return, right?


The North Sea can be a treacherous place, during the best times of year, but in the winter, it was a nightmare for even the most experienced of sailors. Azkaban Prison sat atop a rocky promontory jutting straight up from the darkened waters like a mighty fist shaking in rage at the world. For centuries, the sea battered its sheer cliffs as if in anger that the island even existed. At some point, the rocky crags melded with the vertical granite walls of the prison proper. The small areas that were not walled in were patrolled continuously by sphinxes. The Ministry had gone to a tremendous expense to import the magical guard creatures for the purpose of keeping access to the prison limited. Gone were the Dementors, long proven unreliable both as guards and in their loyalty to the Ministry. Instead, a large cadre of wizards and witches trained as aurors were resident in the prison, all having sworn unbreakable vows, not to the Minister of Magic, but to the prison’s charter, which could only be amended by the Wizengamot, thus preventing any one person from gaining control of the prison, ever again.

Access to the prison could only be achieved by packet boats. These were small, hardy sailing vessels which braved the withering fury of the sea. The vessels’ crew had no idea where the prison was physically located, the boats themselves were charmed to guide themselves to the prison and back to Scotland, taking varying and serpentine courses to dissuade those that would try to follow them. One such packet bobbed mightily on the crest of yet another wave, the sea trying to upend it and its . A heavily cloaked figure gripped the one of the shrouds, legs locked in rhythm to the violent swaying of the boat. The hood of the cloak was pulled tightly over the passenger’s head, more to conceal identity than to ward off the omnipresent freezing waters of the sea. The captain of the courier boat shouted and pointed in the distance. The hooded head turned and followed the captain’s outstretched arm. Azkaban Prison loomed in the distance, buffeted by ferocious whitecaps and bracketed by fingers of lightning crashing atop its ominous roof. Soon, the figure thought, soon.


“Well, it’s not a charm.” Harry sat on top of a high, three legged stool in the center of a round room in the Office of Aurors. Gawain Robards shook his head side to side, causing the large, round reflector affixed to his head to twinkle in the harsh overhead light of the room. Ginny, now accompanied by Ron and Hermione, sat on a long bench along round wall of the room.

“Are you sure, Gawain?” Harry asked plaintively. The gray bearded Head of the Office of Aurors nodded his head firmly. Ron snorted.

“Well that means one of two things, either the Dark Lord is back, or,” Hermione rolled her eyes, as if anticipating her husband’s penchant for inserting his foot into his mouth, “Harry has gone completely bonkers. Ow!”

Harry looked over and saw Ron rubbing the side of his arm, where Ginny had landed a solid punch. Ron offered a hurt expression. “I was going to choose the first option, you know.”

Gawain hadn’t seemed to notice the exchange. “You know, we’ve ruled out Legilimency and charms.” He turned and offered Ron, a first year apprentice in the Auror program a disapproving stare, causing Ron to flush. “And I don’t believe the Dark Lord has come back.”

“What? Are you saying that I am bonkers?” Harry asked worriedly. Gawain shook his head.

“No, Harry, what I’m saying is that there could be another possibility. We ruled out magic in the form of charms or spells.” Gawain said, his thoughts drifting.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Which leaves potions.”

Gawain nodded. “I suspect this could be a version of the Sera Metus, the potion of terror.”

“The potion of terror?” Ginny asked.

“It’s very rare, and from what I understand, very difficult to make. It takes years, from what I understand, but essentially what it does when ingested is make a person see the person that frightens them the most. In small doses, this manifests in a dream, but in larger quantities…” Gawain shrugged his shoulders, but Harry nodded.

“It could manifest as a hallucination.” This elicited a nod from Gawain. Ginny had a frightened look on her face.

“Gawain, what happens if the dose increases even more?” She looked fearfully in Harry’s direction.

Gawain sighed. “The subject will eventually lose all touch with reality. It’s followed by madness which is irretrievable.”

“Are you saying that someone poisoned Harry?” Ginny asked, anger seeping into her voice, along with a resolve do some bodily harm to someone.

Gawain held up his arms. “I don’t know. As I said, it could be, but I don’t know. I’m not qualified to figure it out. “

“Who is?” Ginny asked curtly. Gawain told them.


As the packet boat approached the prison, it sprung out of the ocean, as if lifted by an invisible hand. Ever so slowly, it drifted towards the side of the prison. The passenger stole a glance over the side rails of the boat and noticed that an escort of black clad wizards astride brooms was keeping station on either side of the boat. Each of the broom-riding wizards had a mirrored mask over their faces, which only reflected the darkness and gloom of their surroundings. The passenger took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, trying in vain, to ignore the presence of the additional scrutiny.

The boat slowed to a stop alongside the dark wall of the prison, somewhere halfway up the wall from the ocean. There was a small landing with a dark passage. There were four more wizards, again clad in black standing on the landing, like their brethren in the sky, these wore mirrored helms, obscuring their features from those on the boat. The captain of the packet leaned forward and whispered to the passenger.

“Wait until we debark the prisoners and the dispatches, then you can go in.” The shadowy figure nodded slightly and stood, unmoving as several of the crew levitated several paralyzed forms along the gangway and onto the landing. From there, more masked guards appeared and took charge of the prisoners. The crew never had to set foot in the prison itself. The captain walked up to one of the guards. This one had a dark red stripe on his shoulder, denoting some sort of rank.

“That’s three prisoners delivered, including the Deatheater Macnair.” He handed over a rolled parchment to the shrouded guard who scanned its contents. After a moment, the guard rolled up the parchment and nodded. He turned his head and seemed to stare right at the passenger. The captain nodded apologetically.

“Familial visit for Prisoner 647.” The guard’s gaze seemed to linger on the passenger. After what seemed an eternity, the guard captain raised his arm and gestured for the passenger to approach. With the barest hint of movement, the guard captain led the passenger into the cavernous mouth of the entrance to Azkaban Prison.

One policy that the Ministry had implemented was granting permission for family members of the inmates’ one fifteen minute visit per year. This passenger had made the trip every year for the past five and would not be denied. Instead, the passenger kept his gaze fixed forward, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head.

The passage ran for a considerable way. It was dark, the sandstone walls dripping with precipitation. Their footsteps echoed in the dark. Finally, they came to a large, brightly lit room with a large desk stretching the width of the room. The three prisoners were completing their processing. There was a wizard behind the desk. Unlike the guards, the wizard’s face was visible. His features were stern while his face was framed by tight, bright red curls. Despite his boyish looks, and familiar features, there was a definite air of menace in his voice.

“Walden Macnair, you have been tried and sentenced by the Ministry of Magic for high treason and murder.” The man paused and opened a parchment. “I, Percy Weasley, representing the Minister of Magic, do acknowledge the sentence of one Walden Macnair to life imprisonment with no possibility of parole.” Percy slowly rolled the scroll up and stared at Macnair, whose head had been unfrozen for the pronouncement of his sentence. Macnair had a desperate, pleading look on his face, but the guards had not seen fit to unlock his mouth, which quivered in fear. For decades, Macnair had been a Deatheater, bringing fear and death to the masses, but in the end, he was a coward. Percy saw that and his voice dripped in content as he completed the entry ritual.

“Walden Macnair, from now on, you will be known as Prisoner 984. You will not be permitted to use your name any longer. You will obey the orders of your guards. Failure to do so will result in immediate and commensurate punishment.” Percy’s eyes blazed. “Captain of the guard, take Prisoner 984 away to serve his sentence.”

Two masked guards stepped out of the shadows and walked the frozen figure of the former Walden Macnair to his new home. Percy’s gaze lingered on the entourage and then turned to face the newly arrived passenger.

“You are here for your familial visit?” Although it came out as a question, Percy knew the answer. Members of the Minister’s staff had so serve a one week duty at the prison every three months. Each was aware of the prison’s charter and carried out the ritual that Percy had just done. “You know the rules. Violation will result in the revocation of any further visits. You will have fifteen minutes with Prisoner 647, and then you will accompany me back to the packet and off the island. Do you understand?”

The hooded figure nodded slightly, almost contemptuously

“Professor Slughorn?” Ginny walked into the Potionmaster’s office at Hogwarts. Harry, Hermione and Ron followed behind her. All around, there were various beakers and cauldrons filled with all manner of gurgling and boiling liquids. Hovering over a vial of lavender liquid sitting atop a burner was the toad-like figure of Professor Horace Slughorn.

“Drat! That’s not it!” Slughorn murmured to himself. He tossed the vial into a nearby trash bin, ignoring the resultant mini-explosion that followed. He looked up at his visitors and broke into a broad grin. “Ginny Potter!” He waddled towards them and extended his hand. “So good to see you, and Harry Potter, always a pleasure, and, of course, dear Hermione. Nice to see all of you!”

Ron seemed nonplussed. “Hello Professor, remember me?”

“Oh yes, nice to see you too, Robin.” Slughorn didn’t notice the frown on Ron’s face. Slughorn smiled at Harry and Ginny. “What brings you here? I’d love to have all of you attend a tea. I wonder if I get one organized on short notice?”

“That’s nice, Professor, but we need your help.” Ginny said. Slughorn raised and eyebrow.

“What can I do for you?” Slughorn asked, cautiously.

Harry took a deep breath. “It seems that I might have been poisoned by a draught of Sera Metus. Is there anyway to find out if it’s true?”

Slughorn’s eyes grew wide. “Sera Metus? That is serious. How far have you gotten in the symptoms? Dreams? Hallucinations? Manifestations? Random spell generation? Warts? Boils? Uncontrolled gas?”

Harry blanched and Slughorn smiled. “No worries, Harry, I made up the part about random spell generation.”

Ginny hid a giggle. “Just hallucinations, Professor.”

“Good, then we might have caught it in time. Let me see.” Slughorn went to his travel case and rummaged through the drawers. “Ah, here it is.” He held up a chocolate bar.

“Chocolate? That’s it? Chocolate?” Ron said incredulously.

Slughorn held up the chocolate bar to the light. “Of course, Ricardo, everyone knows that chocolate is a cure all for anything that impacts fear. Dementors, fear charms and especially terror potions. Chocolate solves just about anything. You just have to know what to look for. Try this, Harry, it will make you feel better.” Slughorn extended the unwrapped bar to Harry who took it.

A wistful gaze came across Harry’s face as he remembered a time another Hogwarts teacher had offered him chocolate to sooth an attack, that time from a boggart acting as a dementor. After biting into the bar, Harry instantly felt better. He ate a bit more and felt infinitely better. He smiled at Ginny and winked.

“I feel better, Professor.” Harry said.

“Splendid, Harry, splendid.” Slughorn beamed. Hermione, however, had a thoughtful look on her face.

“Professor, how do you make Sera Metus? Is there some way to track it? Maybe by ingredients?” Hermione asked.

“Well, most of the ingredients are standard, except for one item. Actually, that one item is the most critical component and its particularly hard to get.” Slughorn said.

“What is it?” Harry asked. Slughorn told them. Harry’s lips pursed together and he stood. “I know who’s trying to poison me.” He strode out the door, the others trailing behind him.


The room was bare, save for a battered wooden table and two chairs, positioned across from each other. The passenger sat at the table, hood still up. The far door opened and thin, pale man walked in. His skin was wrinkled and sallow. He was dressed in torn, striped rags. His hair, once lustrous platinum, hung limply around his shoulders and his cold gray eyes seemed to be without life. He walked to the table and sat down.

“Hello Lucius.” Lucius Malfoy brought his head up, a sparkle of life in his eyes. The passenger tugged at the edges of the cowl and pulled off the hood, revealing the long, blonde locks and bright blue eyes of Narcissa Malfoy. Still beautiful, Narcissa offered her husband a wide grin.

“You did it?” Lucius asked.

“Of course I did it.” Narcissa was careful to keep her hands on the table. Physical contact was not permitted. “I put the Sera Metus in the muggle root beer he bought for his home. He’s the only one that drinks it. In a few weeks, he’ll be driven mad and well on his way to a life of endless insanity.”

“We always get the last laugh, don’t we dear.” Lucius’ cheeks were darker and his eyes were full of life. Husband and wife reveled in their plan, hatched over the last five visits to the prison.

Suddenly the door opened. “I wouldn’t count on that, Lucius.” Harry Potter walked in the room, trailed by two of the guards. “Stay seated, Narcissa.”

“What is the meaning of this, Potter?” Lucius blurted, a trace of his old arrogance showing itself.

“It means that we’ve figured out your little plot.” Harry nodded at Narcissa. “Sera Metus has one very hard to find ingredient, griffin toenail. It’s very rare. In fact, there’s only one company that even imports into England.”

“Malfoy Import and Export.” Lucius muttered to himself. His shoulders drooped in defeat.

“Precisely and wouldn’t you know it? The production and use of Sera Metus is illegal. Has been for years.” Harry motioned to the guards. “Which means, Narcissa, you are under arrest. You’ll be coming back on the packet with us to face trial.”

The guards led Narcissa away while another pair entered the room to take Lucius back to confinement. Harry held up his hand.

“Look at the bright side, Lucius.” Malfoy stared sullenly at Harry, but raised an eyebrow. “It looks like you’ll be seeing more of your wife after all. She’ll be a resident here, after all.” Harry smiled at Lucius as the guards took him away.

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