Response to Jillie Beans Song and Dance challenge. The idea is to take a favourite album and make fics around the theme/melody of the songs.

I chose Sawdust, from The Killers. Those songs are B-sides, remade songs and were never meant to happen.

And neither was this fic.

One-shots.

First up: Harry Potter

And I don't own anything!

Sam's Town (Live from Abbey Road)

My mind can't really digest what's happening at the moment. It's clouded with the haze of not only sleep, but surprise and sickness.

There is shouting and laughing. Black figures all around. My glasses are not on, so I can't see them clearly. But my ears tell me that these people are Death Eaters.

How did I end up here?

Oh, right. The grip two of them has on my arms tells me. They must have dragged me out of the bed. Yes, I think I felt grass under my feet some minutes ago.

Sickness is taking a hold of my body. It has for a while, but right now I really understand how serious it is.

And then he comes, Voldemort. He says many things, stupid, irritating and bla, bli, dah. I don't want to listen to his sputtering madness, poisoning his words. The words that seem so beautiful when he speaks are nothing but illusions.

And the worst thing is that he, like Dumbledore, believes his own lies. His followers follow him; there are always lies to satisfy their minds, so I can't blame them. But they're liars, and those who lie should know their own lies, not believe them.

I pity him.

"Any last wishes, Potter," he asks, after what seems eons of speech and waiting.

"Yes" I chough, the bitter taste of blood filling my mouth.

"And what is it, child" he whispers. I know that the fear he has for death makes him honest on this point. If he can fore fill this wish, then he will do it.

"I want to take my last phone call" I choke out, feeling the blood in my mouth escape.

Voldemort's voice huffs in disgust.

"What number?" a voice growls next to me after much arguing among the Death Eaters.

"5567894" I mutter under my breath, before I chough wetly once again.

I hear some more arguing, but I don't get the words. I'm loosing it, I know it. Maybe I'll die before I get the chance to talk to the one guy who'll do my last bidding. The one who actually will help, because he believes I will do what I say.

"Take your time" a voice suddenly growls beside me, and I can feel the phone close to my right ear.

"Who is this" a deep voice asks, hazy of sleep.

"Morgan? It's me." I reply, relieved that I can still hear and speak.

"The freak?!" Morgan gasps, and his voice get's clearer. "Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour?" he asks angrily.

"Because my time is running out." I confess, raising my voice a notch.

"Oh" Morgan says, this time a bit more friendly. "The cancer! Has it…"

"Yes, it has spread through my body" I cut him off. It's one of my uncle's lies, the one he tell others. My own disease is a bit different, but cancer is the closest thing in the muggle world.

So I don't care, even though it's called Gruber, and the Aveda Kedavera spell is the cause of it. I have been isolated for six weeks, since it can infect others. These stupid people probably hasn't even thought of it, even though I have coughed blood.

"Therefore I need to tell this now, while I have time" I imagine Morgan's dark face in front of me, with those dark curls and old face, unshaved. "You know that case which closed down, officer?"

"Yes I remember. We had no proof of child abuse. Are you going to tell me that your neighbour actually did it?" his voice raises in annoyance.

"What day is it" I ask instead, hearing short barks around me.

"Wednesday." Morgan sighs in the other end. "What the hell does that have to with this?"

"When the clock reaches 18.00, go silently to their house. Barge in if you have to. Then go to the shelf. A staircase is behind that shelf. Down there, you'll might see your bloody proof." I retort icily.

There is silence in the other end. "How do you know?"

Because punishment time is at twelve in the weekends, and 18.00 in weekdays. Didn't you know? I want to say, but no, not now. Too many people, too much truth and he wasn't even a friend.

Not tonight.

Maybe never.

Instead I snarl angrily "I might have read his mind some time ago."

"Some of us do" I laugh when my retort is met with silence. "I know many who do. But know this, I'll die soon. Humans get choices, Heaven, Hell or Earth." I make an attempt to make my voice dark and angry. "My choice is already made, Morgan. I see London from here. It's the most beautiful sight ever."

The phone is taken away. A smile of triumph is glued at my face. I did not lie. I can see London. It's beautiful, with those sparkling city lights greeting me...