My first chapter was received well by you devoted fanfiction.net users, so here is number 2. I have picked a target that almost everyone agrees should die- one Professor Snape. For those curious about how this fits with Order of the Pheonix, this occurs about three days into Umbridge's term as High Inquisitor. Those of you who like Snape, sorry, but his death is going to be a bit worse than Malfoy's.
Oh yeah, legal stuff: I do not own the Harry Potter series. If I did, my name would be J.K. Rowling, I'd be a English woman, and not wasting my time with this fanfic.
()-indicates thought.
CHAPTER 2
The Burning Fever
It was a week after Malfoy's death. The school still rang with news and rumors of it. Although Harry had immediately been suspected- the hate between him and Draco was an old wound- he was cleared of it soon enough. Oddly, the suspicion landed on Goyle, whose arm had been reached out to him- in their stress, the inhabitants of Slytherin had changed events in their mind to include Goyle shoving Malfoy off. Crabbe attempted to clear Goyle, but then Slytherin lumped them together and decided they were tired of Malfoy's tyranny and had decided to give him a free trip to the bottom of the stairs. Both were expelled two days later.
On that same day, Dumbledore had held a meeting, and everyone in school was gathered. Even those who didn't like Malfoy were shocked by his end, and that two students had been responsible for it. Harry kept his face shocked but dry, the proper face of someone who has just realized his worst enemy is dead, but inside he was laughing.
He had many reasons to laugh. One was simple enough. Draco Malfoy was dead, and little could spoil the humor that brought on. The second was more complex. He had found his place in the great scheme, not that of hero, but that of monster. And he was enjoying the hell out of it.
Another good reason for chuckling was that he had formed the D.A. This group, Dumbledore's Army, was formed to perform Defense against the Dark Arts in the student's spare time- ever since Umbridge was in, the bitch had made Defense against the Dark Arts a joke. She had also gained power, being named High Inquisitor the day after Malfoy's death. Oh well. Things couldn't always be perfect, as Harry found out.
The D.A. was going to change soon, although they didn't know it. Already he had moved them from approved jinxes and hexes into completely different spells- channeling and chanting, spells far more powerful than mere jinxes. Already Neville Longbottom- who seemed determined to become the best at these new spells- could perform the chant that made him a shadow, and Hermione could create a blizzard that froze anything in its path. Whenever anyone asked why they were studying such powerful spells, he simply replied, " Because Voldemort is." That stopped further queries. Dumbledore's army- which Harry hoped to make Potter's Army soon- was growing by leaps and bounds, both in numbers and power.
These were his usual reasons for laughing inside, but today he had a new reason.
Snape was going to die today.
What he would do was, like his plan for Malfoy, simple enough. Snape was giving them a healing potion for homework. Snape would cut his skin slightly, drink the potion, and then see if his would healed. If it did so fully, full marks were awarded. If not, varying grades were given depending on how much healed.
What Snape didn't know was that Harry wasn't going to give him a Healing Potion. He was going to give him a Bonding Potion. The two potions were very closely aligned, with the same color and smell- the only difference was that the Bonding Potion didn't heal at all. It linked the drinker with the potion. The drinker drank half. From then on, whatever happened to the other half of the potion occurred to the drinker. Harry planned on giving this potion to Snape and then keeping the other half. He would then do something very lethal with it- throw it out a window, perhaps.
In class that day, Snape asked for the potions. When Harry came up, Snape sniffed the potion and checked the color- blue. He nodded.
" Good so far, Potter," he muttered. He then cut his finger and lifted the potion to his lips. He drank some, and watched the wound. It didn't heal at all.
" Well, Potter, being famous doesn't mean your potions are worth anything," Snape said, clearly overjoyed that Harry had failed. Harry simply nodded and kept from grinning as he failed the test.
( You have no idea what I will do to you,) Harry thought.
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That night, Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room alone. He lifted up a small vial in his hand, and smiled. The light the full hearth gave the room reflected off his eyes, but didn't go in them. The darkness there was too complete to be pierced by mere firelight. The smile seemed as if it would suddenly turn to rending jaws.
Harry threw the vial into the fire, and watched as it burned away.
************************************************************************
In his private room, exactly one minute before Harry threw his potion away, Snape began to get into bed. And just as he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his entire digestive system exploded in flame. He died silently- as no scream could pass his lips. His bed burned down around him, and fire licked the walls.
The jester in Harry Potter's soul began to laugh again.
It was the laughter of the dark.
Oh yeah, legal stuff: I do not own the Harry Potter series. If I did, my name would be J.K. Rowling, I'd be a English woman, and not wasting my time with this fanfic.
()-indicates thought.
CHAPTER 2
The Burning Fever
It was a week after Malfoy's death. The school still rang with news and rumors of it. Although Harry had immediately been suspected- the hate between him and Draco was an old wound- he was cleared of it soon enough. Oddly, the suspicion landed on Goyle, whose arm had been reached out to him- in their stress, the inhabitants of Slytherin had changed events in their mind to include Goyle shoving Malfoy off. Crabbe attempted to clear Goyle, but then Slytherin lumped them together and decided they were tired of Malfoy's tyranny and had decided to give him a free trip to the bottom of the stairs. Both were expelled two days later.
On that same day, Dumbledore had held a meeting, and everyone in school was gathered. Even those who didn't like Malfoy were shocked by his end, and that two students had been responsible for it. Harry kept his face shocked but dry, the proper face of someone who has just realized his worst enemy is dead, but inside he was laughing.
He had many reasons to laugh. One was simple enough. Draco Malfoy was dead, and little could spoil the humor that brought on. The second was more complex. He had found his place in the great scheme, not that of hero, but that of monster. And he was enjoying the hell out of it.
Another good reason for chuckling was that he had formed the D.A. This group, Dumbledore's Army, was formed to perform Defense against the Dark Arts in the student's spare time- ever since Umbridge was in, the bitch had made Defense against the Dark Arts a joke. She had also gained power, being named High Inquisitor the day after Malfoy's death. Oh well. Things couldn't always be perfect, as Harry found out.
The D.A. was going to change soon, although they didn't know it. Already he had moved them from approved jinxes and hexes into completely different spells- channeling and chanting, spells far more powerful than mere jinxes. Already Neville Longbottom- who seemed determined to become the best at these new spells- could perform the chant that made him a shadow, and Hermione could create a blizzard that froze anything in its path. Whenever anyone asked why they were studying such powerful spells, he simply replied, " Because Voldemort is." That stopped further queries. Dumbledore's army- which Harry hoped to make Potter's Army soon- was growing by leaps and bounds, both in numbers and power.
These were his usual reasons for laughing inside, but today he had a new reason.
Snape was going to die today.
What he would do was, like his plan for Malfoy, simple enough. Snape was giving them a healing potion for homework. Snape would cut his skin slightly, drink the potion, and then see if his would healed. If it did so fully, full marks were awarded. If not, varying grades were given depending on how much healed.
What Snape didn't know was that Harry wasn't going to give him a Healing Potion. He was going to give him a Bonding Potion. The two potions were very closely aligned, with the same color and smell- the only difference was that the Bonding Potion didn't heal at all. It linked the drinker with the potion. The drinker drank half. From then on, whatever happened to the other half of the potion occurred to the drinker. Harry planned on giving this potion to Snape and then keeping the other half. He would then do something very lethal with it- throw it out a window, perhaps.
In class that day, Snape asked for the potions. When Harry came up, Snape sniffed the potion and checked the color- blue. He nodded.
" Good so far, Potter," he muttered. He then cut his finger and lifted the potion to his lips. He drank some, and watched the wound. It didn't heal at all.
" Well, Potter, being famous doesn't mean your potions are worth anything," Snape said, clearly overjoyed that Harry had failed. Harry simply nodded and kept from grinning as he failed the test.
( You have no idea what I will do to you,) Harry thought.
************************************************************************
That night, Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room alone. He lifted up a small vial in his hand, and smiled. The light the full hearth gave the room reflected off his eyes, but didn't go in them. The darkness there was too complete to be pierced by mere firelight. The smile seemed as if it would suddenly turn to rending jaws.
Harry threw the vial into the fire, and watched as it burned away.
************************************************************************
In his private room, exactly one minute before Harry threw his potion away, Snape began to get into bed. And just as he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his entire digestive system exploded in flame. He died silently- as no scream could pass his lips. His bed burned down around him, and fire licked the walls.
The jester in Harry Potter's soul began to laugh again.
It was the laughter of the dark.