A/N: For the past ten years, JK Rowling has enthralled her fans with tales of Harry Potter. Detailed, imaginative, and unpredictable are three words I would use to describe the stories JK has woven for us. And I am eternally grateful for the world that she's created, one I play with often.
However, as a fellow author and avid reader, I was sorely disappointed with Deathly Hallows. It was predictable and trite, falling short of the high expectations I'd set for this final chapter in one of the most successful book series in the history of literature. I understand that not everyone agrees with this opinion and respect that.
For those of you who do agree with me, however, this is for you. This is Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows as I think it should have gone. But, and let me make this perfectly clear, this story will not be a "fan girl's wet dream," to quote a friend. I will attempt to keep all characters as they were originally written (pre-HBP), not deviate too much from the original plot, and stick to the rules of the universe (rules that JK, unfortunately, seemed to have forgotten in DH).
On the other hand, this is fan fiction and I reserve the right to change anything I (or you) want. Yes, you. I'm writing this just as much for all my readers (assuming I have any) as I am for myself. So if there is anything you want to see in particular, anything that really upset you in Deathly Hallows, let me know. I'll see what I can do. And at the end of each chapter, I'll hold a poll. The results won't always determine what I write, but they will have a strong impact.
Thank you for your time. I hope you find as much enjoyment from reading my version of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows as I had writing it. Comments, as always are appreciated, but be warned that any flamers will find themselves on the receiving end of my Bat Bogey Hex.
Joanne Murray nee Rowling sat quietly by one of the many windows of The Killiechassie House, sipping a fine Earl Grey from a rather plain cup. Looking down at the slightly chipped dish, she smiled, reminiscing on days past when 19-th century Scotland estates and Georgian homes were merely the things of dreams.
Mrs. Murray was a simple, God-fearing woman. And the world's first billionaire author. Yes, mustn't forget that as well. Joanne had made her mark on society by writing a book series entitled Harry Potter. And, though the press had uncovered many secrets from her past, they were never able to discover the most intriguing of them all.
Jo, as her father dubbed her, had been dreaming of Harry Potter for thirty years. It started off small at first, a word here or a picture there, but soon Jo found herself swimming in a sea of dreams unlike anything she'd ever imagined. A whole new world was created in her mind, one filled with beautiful magic and frightening possibilities.
The visions, as she came to call them, were sporadic and nonlinear. It took her nearly twenty years to piece it all together. There were some questions still left unanswered, but Jo knew she could contain it no longer and thus began to chronicle the adventures she'd seen played out in her dreams, filling in the blanks as she so desired.
What a vivid imagination my brain has! She thought.
She never could have guessed that her dreams were real and would not have believed it if you told her so. Until now.
Unbeknownst to Mrs. Murray, she was not alone in her quaintly decorated parlor. Another figure was hidden in the shadows, watching her silently, waiting for the most opportune moment to confront the unsuspecting authoress. It presented itself rather quickly, as Joanne set down the cup of tea and rose from her chair, leisurely making her way towards the door.
Smirking beneath its hood, the figure stepped from the shadows, effectively startling its target. Before Joanne had a chance to scream for help, the figure had grabbed a hold of her arm and with a light 'pop' they were gone.
The room in which they appeared was dark and obviously impenetrable, but that didn't keep Joanne Murray from screaming bloody murder. Pulling out a long, thin stick, the figure mumbled a few words under its breath, effectively silencing the frightened woman.
Joanne looked up in shock, unwilling to believe the implications of the last few seconds. Shaking her head and gathering her wits, Mrs. Murray lunged at her kidnapper in an attempt to remove the only obvious weapon. The cloaked figure snorted and danced out of reach, whispering more undeterminable words that shot rope from the stick and bound together Joanne's hands.
Gasping, Jo could no longer deny her earlier fears. This was a real, live witch. One who quite possibly meant her harm. The horrified look on her face must have given her away, because the figure finally decided to speak.
"I'm not going to hurt you, silly bint. I just want to show you something."
Surprised to hear a decidedly feminine voice coming from such a seemingly sinister figure, Joanne barely had time to register that the woman was walking towards something in the center of the room. Cautiously following her kidnapper, Joanne was intrigued when she reached a deep silver basin, filled with swirling silver mist. She gasped again and made to talk, before remembering her forced silence. With a wave of her wand, the other woman removed the enchantment. Jo cleared her throat and tried again.
"That's a Pensieve."
"Obviously." The derision in the woman's voice made Jo take a step back. "It's what's inside that I want you to see."
Jo wiggled her bare toes nervously. "I don't know if that's such a good idea."
The woman sighed exasperatedly. "Listen, I don't want to force you, but I will if I have to. So just do us both a favor and take a look, okay? I swear, nothing bad is going to happen to you and when you're done I'll take you straight back to your home."
Considering this, Jo shifted from foot to foot before giving the woman a small nod and slowly submerging her head into the silvery mist.