Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie

Harry's insides seized up, his breathing ceased. Voldemort would most definitely find him now...and when he did--

Well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. There's no point in counting your chicken before they're hatched...especially when you're counting how many have died.

Forcing himself to reinstitute respiratory patterns (and desperately attempting to silence his efforts) Harry awaited what was most likely the inevitable..waiting for Voldemort to find him.

Harry, in order to get his mind off of the events probably due to pass soon, looked around his current space. Off in the corner, where it was darkest, he saw a bit of reflected light. Squinting and readjusting his glasses, he leaned a bit closer and a spider web was revealed to him. Stalking across its fine supports was a large spider, the arachnid coming towards a trapped fly. 'Just like me...' he realized, not wanted to watch any further. He was the fly and Voldemort was the spider, this insectual forshadowing was not something he needed to see.

Resorting to counting bricks, Harry noticed a small buzzing around his head. How very irritating...

While attempting to rid himself of the fly--

CLANG

--went the trashcan lid.

And that seemed to be the end for our hero.

He looked, terrified, in the direction of his nemesis, who seemed to be flying towards Harry on an unfelt wind. The fearful boy could not help but wonder if this was to further dramaticize the scene (which seemed ludicrous, no one was here to watch this event) or if it was a force of habit.

The wizard forced himself to stand up, straight and tall, to face this evil. "So, Potter," the Dark Lord's unnaturally high-pitched pierced the younger one's head, "we meet for the final time."

The intoned merely stared at Voldemort with utter hatred.

"Now...how will you die? I know for a fact that you don't have your wand on you...pity, it would have been so interesting if you did. But I suppose..." You know Who grabbed Harry by the neck, lifting him off the ground. "I suppose that it would only be fitting for you to die in a method that those muggles you love so much use." The seemingly-scabbed claw tightened its grip on the Boy Who Lived's neck, gradually making harry turn a light shade of blue...then a dark azure...and, in finality, purple.

Harry's mind gradually began to be filled with a near-death haze, and as it did, only one thing remained in perfect clarity: the spider's web. Instead of seeing the mangled form of a sucked-dry fly and a bloated spider, he instead saw the spider respinning its web...apparently the fly had gotten away.

'Yay...' sang Harry's mind, not yet realizing the full impact of the issue. The fly, the victim, had flown away.

And at that moment the boy's wings fell from the sky.

From up above, eclipsing the moon with a feminine form, came a figure garbed fully in pink, with streamers of the same color flying behind her. After her came a young man, also floating down from the sky but in a more reserved manner, dressed in a glinting silver. The girl, seeming to tumble in a controlled freefall, landed behind the Dark Lord and thwapped him with a pink pillow, immediately knocking You Know Who out and allowing the Potter boy to breathe for the first time in several minutes. Her cohort (or at least her assumed one) landed beside her, and checked to make sure that her victim was thoroughly knocked out.

Nodding to his companion, the boy was tossed what seemed to be a mud cookie--like from the dream, yes--from the pink-garbed one. He promptly blew into it (though nothing visibly happened), and then gestured to his partner.

She smiled at Harry and grabbed his arm, talking to him amiably. None of her speakings reached his ears, however, as he didn't believe this was really happening.

The silver one, noting that Voldemort was regaining consciousness, blew into the mud pastry again, a little more fevered than before. Apparently in response, something flew down from the heavens...something rather pink, which Cheshire gestured for his companion to get on. She dragged aboard Harry, who was about to protest (not that he wanted to be left with Voldemort, however), when the strange young man jumped on as well.

Voldemort, now awake again, looked utterly confused as he lay on the dirty alley floor and watched the pink couch and its three passengers fly into the night.