Harry Potter travelled wearily up the stairs. His day of studying had
gone well, but he had worked hard and was tired. As he opened the door, the
site before him stopped him dead in his tracks. There, nailed to the wall,
was his friend, Ron Weasely, looking like an image out of hell. He had been
pinned to the walls by his hands with daggers, in a hideous mockery of
crucifixion. His abdomen had been slit open, his intestines fed into his
esophagus, and the floor was slick with blood. As a final insult, a plastic
phallus had been shoved through a hole that had been crudely bored into
his skull. In addition, he was wearing a lovely blue bow around his ankle.
"Oh, dear goD!" cried Henry. "Who could do something to such a great and noble
friend?" Someone hateful and brutal and with exceptionally poor taste, he
thought to himself darkly. Suddenly, aware of his own danger, he fled. Careening
blindly through the hallways of Hogwart's Academy, he soon met up with his
friend, Hermione. The only problem was, Hermione was no longer alive. Crucified
in a manner similiar to Ron, she this time bore a large red stamp on her
head reading "PRESUMED DEAD". A closer inspection revealed she also had
a tasty, bread-like substance packed into her anus. "Oh, Hermione... who
is doing this horrible thing?" he moaned. After collapsing to the floor
and loosing his lunch into the still warm pool of blood, his grief and
terror strengthened into resolve. "I will find who is responsible for
this," he murmured to himself. Recalling a divination he had learned
earlier that day, he retrieved his magic wand from his belt. Holding it
with both hands in front of him, raised, and just below waist height, he murmured
"gluteus maximus dom homo erectus", concentrating intensely
on the rite. The scene played out before him. Yet there was no change.
Clearly, the rite was not sufficient to determine the course of events.
Realizing this was beyond him, he fled once more, running as fast as his
legs could carry him, to the main offices. The image that greeted him was
not one he would wish on his worst enemy. It was a scene of carnage spawned
only from the most hellish pits of the abyss. There were no recognizable
human beings, only remains. Blood made the floor slick. Blood spattered
the walls. Entrails had been ripped from the abdomens of all the
victims, who were completely unrecognizable. Their faces had been
gouged, and due to extensive genital mutilation, not even their gender
could be recognized. Their clothes were shredded rags that draped what
little of their bodies were still in one place. Harry Potter felt the
warm run of diarrhea down his leg as he dropped to the floor and vomited.
To Be Continued... (Maybe.)
gone well, but he had worked hard and was tired. As he opened the door, the
site before him stopped him dead in his tracks. There, nailed to the wall,
was his friend, Ron Weasely, looking like an image out of hell. He had been
pinned to the walls by his hands with daggers, in a hideous mockery of
crucifixion. His abdomen had been slit open, his intestines fed into his
esophagus, and the floor was slick with blood. As a final insult, a plastic
phallus had been shoved through a hole that had been crudely bored into
his skull. In addition, he was wearing a lovely blue bow around his ankle.
"Oh, dear goD!" cried Henry. "Who could do something to such a great and noble
friend?" Someone hateful and brutal and with exceptionally poor taste, he
thought to himself darkly. Suddenly, aware of his own danger, he fled. Careening
blindly through the hallways of Hogwart's Academy, he soon met up with his
friend, Hermione. The only problem was, Hermione was no longer alive. Crucified
in a manner similiar to Ron, she this time bore a large red stamp on her
head reading "PRESUMED DEAD". A closer inspection revealed she also had
a tasty, bread-like substance packed into her anus. "Oh, Hermione... who
is doing this horrible thing?" he moaned. After collapsing to the floor
and loosing his lunch into the still warm pool of blood, his grief and
terror strengthened into resolve. "I will find who is responsible for
this," he murmured to himself. Recalling a divination he had learned
earlier that day, he retrieved his magic wand from his belt. Holding it
with both hands in front of him, raised, and just below waist height, he murmured
"gluteus maximus dom homo erectus", concentrating intensely
on the rite. The scene played out before him. Yet there was no change.
Clearly, the rite was not sufficient to determine the course of events.
Realizing this was beyond him, he fled once more, running as fast as his
legs could carry him, to the main offices. The image that greeted him was
not one he would wish on his worst enemy. It was a scene of carnage spawned
only from the most hellish pits of the abyss. There were no recognizable
human beings, only remains. Blood made the floor slick. Blood spattered
the walls. Entrails had been ripped from the abdomens of all the
victims, who were completely unrecognizable. Their faces had been
gouged, and due to extensive genital mutilation, not even their gender
could be recognized. Their clothes were shredded rags that draped what
little of their bodies were still in one place. Harry Potter felt the
warm run of diarrhea down his leg as he dropped to the floor and vomited.
To Be Continued... (Maybe.)