The Man known as Harry
(Those created will not die unless their author dies or their story ends. If the author is already dead, then the character will die when their time in the book is finished. This is the first rule of recreation.)
"Harry Potter. Age 17-18. Chapter 1. Last paragraph," said J.K. Rowling, loud and clear, as she read the book which was seated prominently at her hands. The book's name was "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows", otherwise known as the last book in the sensational Harry Potter series and is the winner of many, many literary awards. As soon as J.K. finished reading, a loud beep came from one of the intercoms that was placed prominently on the ceiling in her little white room. "We're sorry, Joane, but we really need you speak up. Unfortunately, our mic can't hear you," said the deep voice that came out of the nearest speaker. J.K. Rowling, the book's author, normally would have be calm about these sort of things. She would have been easy going, and she wouldn't mind it so much. Despite this, due to the amount of times she had to record and the many hours it took to do this one, simple line, J.K. was simply unhappy with the results. "Look. I've been sitting here reading the same goddamn line for three bloody hours. Can I at least have a moment to leave this place. Just for a bit. Maybe to get some tea or something." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Rowling. I can't let you do that," replied the voice. In a mixture of ferocity and unhappiness, J.K. sat down in her seat again, and waited for the intercom man to tell her what she needed to do next.
In what seemed to be less than fifteen minutes, J.K. became nearly twice as impatient and temperamental as before. Like always, J.K. asked the intercom man the same question she's been asking him whenever she became particularly annoyed at him. "Why am I here again?" "You know why. You wanted to participate in this project. Besides the millions, if not billions, of dollars that you acquired for your series, you would have nothing to lose. If we recall correctly, didn't you tell us, 'The day Harry Potter was finished, you felt unreasonably depressed?'" asked the voice. J.K. mumbled, "I guess so." "Well, then, you know what to do."
***
J.K. propped herself in the chair again, and stared at the two metallic blocks that laid side by side, equidistant from each other and arcing from the tips. J.K. sighed one more time, and whispered that it was going to be all right. That once she was done, she was going to go back home, feed the cat something, and then drink a nice glass of tea. Maybe even get Pottermore updated (which, she knew in the back of her mind, would be a pipe dream). Taking in a deep breath, she read the passage again. "Harry Potter. Age 17-18. Chapter 1. Last paragraph," she said. A few flickering lights were all that came out of the reading. Getting up slowly, J.K. put her hands on her hips. After only a minute or two, she yelled, "Hey, I'd like to go now. I'm tired of all of this, and I'd really like to go home and maybe make myself a nice, hot cup of fucking tea." "I'm sorry, Joane, but we can't let you-" "Screw that! I have to go home! You promised that I could-" "Not until the project is done, Joane! Not until we reach the results we're looking-" "Well, what! We've been doing this for more than five hours! That's what we agreed on! You don't just think you can keep me locked up forever, can you?" shouted J.K. Rowling, her arms crossed in a fiery rage. "We can't just-" "How many times do I have to tell you! I want to -" Suddenly, with the sound of ignitions from the two blocks of steel, a white circle formed in the middle of them. Blinding J.K., it was only seconds before a gray matter appeared to be climbing it's way out of the portal. For the first few minutes, nobody could see what happened, but as color slowly came back into their sights, the gray matter became to look more defined and real. In almost no time, a blind and disorientated Harry Potter became noticeable.
Sluggishly crawling out of the dimming light, the nude Potter took a few steps forward. Surprised, J.K. couldn't help but feel overwhelmed, confused, and lost at the sight of her creation just minutes after her temporary blindness dispersed. As she moved forward towards the battered Harry Potter, and couldn't even believe that he was there, standing just a few inches in front of her. "This can't be possible," she said to herself, but it was. It was almost as if the boy that she had made finally came back to her at last. The boy that she created and had his life made and remade over and over again came to her at last. However, as J.K. motioned over to her creation, in only mere seconds, Harry stumbled onto the floor. "Quick! Get the medics! We need him alive!" excitedly shouted the voice through the intercom. In almost no time, a group of men in white suits came in to take Potter away.
"Wait, where are you taking him?" she asked, her concern growing. The men in white suits didn't reply as they took him in. "Where are you taking-" she shouted, but before J.K. could finish her sentence, a three of the white suited men came over to her, held her down, and injected her with a clear liquid. Her screams were drowned out by a third man as he pressed his hand against her mouth, her mind slipping into blackness as he continued the act.
*(Author's note: HAI GUYS!:D I know that the psuedo fanfiction I'm writing is a little bit dark, but hey, if you have any questions, comments, or tips, just let me know and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Also, chapter two should be upa sometime in the near future, so stay tuned and stuff. KBAI!)