The trouble with substance:
Author's Note:
In this fanfiction Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape and Sirius Black are alive as well as Fred Weasley. Now I can give the excuse of Albus and Severus being needed for the story and as for Sirius and Fred well I like them.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or anything in it, I am merely doing this for entertainment and a chance to better my writing and gain some constructive critism. There might be the odd thing in here you recognise and if you do it does not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended. Please feel free to read and review.
"After too many cups of coffee a famous hypochondriac hostage negotiator (Severus Snape) receives an important phone call.
That was the front page of newspapers all over the continent for weeks, but no one knows the full story, yet. Soon I shall reveal the real horror of that day. It all started one Saturday evening, back then I was a very well-known hostage negotiator. I was always sick, but people tend to ignore these things when you're as good at the job as I was. Severus Snape, it was a household name in those days.
Anyway, on that Saturday, Chuck died. Chuck had been my faithful dog for 12 years and because I had no wife, kids or friends and spent most of my time talking to uncouth ignoramuses about their hostages he, rather depressingly, was the only positive social interaction I got. So, against my better judgement I decided to bury my troubles in potent liquor. Not my best decision. In fact it was one of my worst.
The next morning I woke up with a hangover so severe it was like Zeus had gotten aggravated and struck me with his master bolt, except for the fact I wasn't a tiny smoking hole in the floor. Of course at that very moment I had to get an important phone call. It was from the president, and it was one of the worst phone calls of my life.
The call, I found out later, was about a terrorist threatening to destroy the twin towers. He had somehow conveniently gotten the lock down password and trapped them all in there, just waiting to be picked off. The same thing meant to save them if there was ever another bombing was trapping them right in the danger zone, ironic huh? I wish I had listened to all this the first time around but no, I was just trying not to fall asleep.
(So for those flunking history here, twin towers rebuilt in 2044, 17 years ago.)
Anyway, after that I was carted off to a bureau to sit like a duck and wait for the terrorist to contact us. That day to keep me up I had 23 cups of coffee, 20 cups too many if you ask me.
Finally, the terrorist deigned to contact us, 5 long, boring hours later. Everyone crowded around me. Now remember, I was indisposed, fatigued, wracked with grief and in addition I'd had way too many cups of coffee. Now, with the added feelings of stress, being given hopeful looks from all around the room, I snapped. I did the only thing I could think to do at that point; I slammed the phone down and passed into to the realm of dreams.
That day 986 people died. I never forgave myself for that. Neither did the rest of the world. For that very reason I lie here dying, the excruciating pain of being burnt alive, being cooked slowly and torturously the excruciating pain trying to overthrow rational sense. Trapped in my own blazing house by the families of the 986 people who lost their lives on that fateful day. I tell you, don't make the same mistakes I did. Be careful with alcohol and if you ever see that terrorist, Tom Riddle, on the highway to hell, kick his butt for me."
When Harry Potter finished his story about what life would be like for his chosen teacher without magic, the whole hall was silent. This activity, which had been had been devised by Albus Dumbledore to relieve the tension after the final battle, made even Severus Snape looked a little green.
"Come on up Sally Ann Perks, I'm done now you can read Professor McGonagall's story."
Here we go again.