Title: Not Even in Your Wildest Dreams
Summary: Why some ships should never happen.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. And I don't own these ships; most of them I wouldn't want to own anyway…
A/N: Sorry if I bash your ship. I'm bashing some of my own, but sometimes you just have to admit that IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN! You can flame me if you like, but I will take no one who does seriously. I'm doing this because all of these ships are impossible. If you need proof of the impossibility, just ask for it. Also,
Warning: These are written horribly and quickly. I will most likely come back and write them at another time. UNBETA-ED. If you'd like to you could. Just PM me or leave a review and you've most likely got the job. Also, some later chapters may contain slash.
Chapter One: Harmony, The Ship that was Never Even Built
Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common room alone, dozing in a quiet little corner. The rest of the House was most likely at dinner, and his wonderful girlfriend Hermione was off in the library doing her homework. He was supposed to be doing his, but sleeping sounded much better at the moment.
All of a sudden the room went ice cold. Half asleep, he barely noticed anything was off until the pain hit. It was his scar and it felt like someone was trying to break out of it with a hammer and chisel. His eyes flew open, only to meet those of his parents' murderer.
"Well, well, well. Little Harry Potter was taking a nap," the slithery voice hissed. Cackles from the Deatheaters echoed around the once warm and welcoming room. "Did I disturb you?"
Harry had jumped to his feet as soon as the evil man had opened his mouth. "How did you get in here Voldemort?"
"That is not of any importance, boy. What is is that you are going to fight me. Right now."
Harry sneered at him, ignoring the searing pain shooting through his skull. "And what if I refuse?"
The blood-red eyes narrowed. "You die."
Harry, deciding that this could be the final time he ever had to deal with the raging madman nodded his head stiffly. "Be prepared to die Voldemort." He drew his wand and raised it as Voldemort did the same.
A Deatheater, unrecognizable behind the mask, came between them and signaled the start of the proper duel. As soon as he moved out of the way, the Fat Lady's portrait swung wide and a bushy-haired seventh year came walking in, staring at a thick tome.
The duelists started in surprise when she spoke. "Harry-Sweetling, have you finished your homework?" She looked up just in time to see her boyfriend Harry look over at her with wide eyes, giving Voldemort the perfect moment to go in for the kill.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The last thing Harry heard was a scream coming from Hermione, cursing her bookworm-ish ways for being the death of the Boy Who Lived For Only Seventeen Years.