AN: JKR's hidden notes, featuring alternate ways to get rid of our favorite Dark Lord have finally come to light! (Seriously... not.)
I don't own HP or Star Wars.
Let's shake it!
"He's lying… I can tell! Let me speak to him, face to face…"
Harry shivered as he heard a second voice emanate from the back of his Defense professor's head. When the taller man started unraveling his turban, his instincts told him to flee; who knew what was there after all! He might attempt to torture him with some of the garlic he hid in there!
Before Harry could make a decision though, Quirellmort had turned around, showing his true face. A caricature of a man was drawn upon the back of the bald professor's skull, its characteristics barely discernible or human.
"There is no escape from Lord Voldemort, boy… Give me the stone willingly, and I shall fulfill one of your wishes."
Who the hell did he think he was, the lamp genie?
"I don't want anything from you!" Harry yelled at him, clearly panicked. "You killed my parents, asshole! You-"
"How about this then," the shade of Voldemort said in deceptively silky tones. "Since you resent me so much for that, I shall simply bring them back if you give me the stone."
In all honesty, Voldemort could not see what the fuss was about; parents were definitely overrated. After all, he grew up without them, and he had turned out fine! Alas, he would indulge the boy if that got him the stone without any struggle.
Harry's eyes widened at the unexpected offer. His previous anger had all but evaporated upon hearing that there was a chance he would be meeting his parents somehow.
"Can you really do that? How do I know that it is not a trick?" Harry asked, voice filled with both hope and suspicion.
"Dumbledore," Voldemort sneered upon uttering the name, "will tell you that there is no spell to bring the dead back to life. But, he has not done the research that I have. He has not treaded the dangerous paths of magic, or risked his very soul to make new discoveries. I have. With this artifact, I can bring anyone back to life."
Harry subconsciously realized what that meant. Voldemort would also bring himself back. But he did not care. Getting his parents was worth anything.
His eyes shone with happiness. "So I give you the stone, and you bring my parents back. Right?"
Voldemort's ugly face tried to put upon a mimicry of a smile. "It is a deal, little kid." Finally. Now give me the stone, give the stone, oh yes…
"Pinky promise?" Harry asked in his most innocent tone, extending his right hand in a fist, with his pinky finger extended.
"Pinky - what?" Voldemort asked, partly curious, partly terrified.
"If you pinky promise, you have to keep your word no matter what. I have seen it before," Harry insisted.
Whatever gets the brat to cooperate. "Fine. Quirell! Turn around and seal the deal," he ordered. The servant obediently did so, and extended his right hand's pinky to meet Harry's.
"It is a deal then, little man. Pinky prom-AAAAAAHHHHHH – IT BURNS MASTER, IT BURNS!"
Upon making contact with his little finger, Quirell's body was set upon flames and in moments, it crumbled to the ground in a heap of ash.
"Hey, get back up! Where is my mom and dad?" the young wizard yelled furiously. And then he realized something. This had been the plan of Voldemort all along. To give him some hope, and then take it away, disappearing in his… ashes.
Even hours later, when Dumbledore was congratulating him on his noble character and self sacrifice, Harry was still pouting. Dudley had lied; pinky promises were definitely not foolproof.
You're my – what?
The day was nearing its end, and the sky had taken a deep red hue, unknowingly representing all the blood and death that had been spilt in front of Hogwarts School of Wizardry.
The final fight between the forces of good and evil had been devastating, bringing about destruction and chaos neither side could have imagined.
And now, as the day was almost over, the number of able-bodied fighters on either side had almost dwindled to nothing. Only two people could still be seen fighting; a raven haired teenager with round glasses and a lightning bolt carved on his forehead, and an older man whose face resembled that of a snake's were trading spells fervently, causing unimaginable collateral damage to the field around them.
They had been at it all day, and finally, Voldemort's experience was coming through. While Harry's magic had been steadily weakening, the Dark Lord held strong, outlasting his opponent's magical reserves. Every spell was like a hammer on young Harry's shield, making him skid backwards continuously.
Harry finally gasped as a particularly strong whipping spell shattered his Protego Maxima and brought him to his knees, right at the edge of a cliff near the borders of Hogwarts' grounds. He had nowhere to go now.
"You are beaten. It is useless to resist. Don't let yourself be destroyed just like Albus did," Voldemort said in a triumphant tone.
The bruised and bloodied face of Harry Potter sneered uglily at the memory of Dumbledore being soundly beaten earlier on, and our hero raised his wand again, attempting for a surprise attack.
Voldemort was prepared though, and with a wordless snarl, a dark streak of cutting energy left his wand, severing the Chosen One's wand arm. Harry could only scream through his pain, as he watched desperately his torn limb, wand still clutched in its palm, fly through a bloody arc before it fell off the cliff, to be swallowed by the valley below.
"There is no escape. Don't make me destroy you, Harry. You do not yet realize your importance. You have only just begun to discover your power. This fight will end right now if you will it. Join me, and I will complete your training. With our combined strength, we can finally end this conflict, and bring order to this country."
"I will never join you!" Harry uttered through the haze of pain he was feeling.
"If only you knew the power of dark magic…" He paused for a second. "Albus never told you what really happened to your father."
Harry was beyond furious. "What was there to tell me? Everyone knows what happened. YOU killed my father!"
Voldemort stared at him dramatically for a long minute, saying nothing. "No. I am your father."
"No, it is not true… that's impossible!"
"Search your feelings deep within you," the snake-like man pressed on. "You know it to be true."
"NOOOO. NOOOOO!" Harry writhed on the ground, the pain in his heart a thousand times worse than that of his amputated arm.
Voldemort did not budge. He still stared at the fallen young man expectantly.
"Harry, you can destroy Fudge. Trelawney has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule Magical Britain as Father and Son!"
Harry was desperate. The dark army had taken a serious hit in that day's battle. However it was all for naught, since he had lost so many of his beloved friends and allies in return. And finally, the culminating point of the day: he'd lost the fight to Voldemort. Add to that the unlikely revelation along with the madman's sick offer, and he was ready to finally give up. He wildly looked around, his gaze finally setting beyond the cliff's edge, down to the jagged, unforgiving rocks in the valley below, patiently waiting to swallow whoever fell off.
That was it. He would jump.
All his problems would be solved. He would be with his loved ones again, finally.
He would be in peace.
He turned back for a last parting shot to Voldemort, his father. His father? – Oh God! How disgusting! His thought synapses - too fast to be stopped from going down the slippery slope - made the next logical connection; if Voldemort was his father that meant the man had actually gotten laid. And that meant… oh no…
Those mental pictures that would haunt him for the rest of the eternity were enough to make Harry's stomach twist violently, and with a loud heave he vomited explosively.
As it happened, he was facing Voldemort at the time, so the first projectile ended up on the Dark Lord's robe, while the second one formed a puddle around his right foot. Voldemort, the most accomplished duelist, the man with snakelike reflexes, could have easily shielded himself from the onslaught, but his surprise had stopped him from doing so.
His look finally hardened as he surveyed the mess that his son had made, and he took an abrupt step forward to teach him a lesson.
"Why you little- aaaargh!" Unfortunately, he had forgotten to check his surroundings, and therefore slipped on the vomit puddle, his kinetic force making him arc right above the fallen Harry, and off the cliff.
"NOOO!" He yelled desperately just as his body was splattered messily on the rocky terrain three hundred feet below.
Dumbledore, who had just arrived at the scene, looked on from afar. He leaned heavily on his conjured walking stick, twinkling happily despite his debilitating injuries.
"Well done, my boy, well done. The prophecy has been fulfilled," He muttered at last.
Albus had never been prouder. His young disciple had finally conquered his archenemy, if in an unorthodox manner. And he really could not believe it himself that in the end the power the Dark Lord knew not turned out to be vomit, and not love. But a prophecy is a prophecy after all, so they have to be respected no matter what! Right?
