So...I was thinkin'. And I was like "Ehhh, what the fuck. Let's write something today." So here's today's drabble:

Basically, in the DoM, Harry trips, and falls through the Veil. He returns a couple seconds later, but he isn't "all there." He is murderous, and really doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone, especially the law.

All combat in the Veil Room, as the Unspeakables had aptly named it, ceased. First, Sirius Black had been pushed through the Veil by Bellatrix Lestrange (who was still giggling sporadically about it), then Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore's Gryffindor Golden Boy, had tripped on a rock, and fallen face-first through the Veil. Bellatrix guffawed at that, doubling over, tears of mirth streaming from her eyes. That was the only sound in the Department of Mysteries, until it suddenly ceased. Where Bellatrix's head had been only a couple seconds earlier, was just empty space. Immediately, blood spurted from the stump, and also the severed head, as her corpse toppled over, falling gracelessly down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. The combatants watched in utter shock and befuddlement (always wanted to use that word ^^) as a man stepped from the Veil. He was built, though not to the point of disgustingness or being a muscle-bound freak. He also sported a full beard, prematurely white. His hair was also prematurely white, with flecks of jet black intermingled. His eyes were really what set him apart. They were a sickly green, the same color as the infamous "AK" curse. He wielded no wand. Instead, he held a silver, ruby-hilted sword in his right hand, and a small Muggle pistol in his left hand. Using the afore-mentioned pistol, he fired a volley at the men and women cloaked in black. Whether or not they were wearing skull masks didn't matter to him. Three bodies dropped before the others ducked behind overturned tables. Unfortunately for them, they had never even seen a gun before, let alone fought against an opponent wielding one. The bullets tore through the wooden tables with ease and those who hid behind them screamed as bullets pierced their bodies. One of them, a blonde politician, screamed like a little girl as he was shot in his left asscheek. The white-haired man laughed rather maniacally as the blonde squirmed around, both hands gripping his ass, all the while hopping up and down in agony.
"Poor, poor little Lucy! Aww, did mean ol' Hawwy huwt your feewings?"
One of the black-cloaked fighters tried to make a run for it, while "Hawwy" was distracted by Blondie. The sword flew threw the air, impaling the coward in the head, crushing the skull as it imbedded itself in a stone column. Still keeping his pistol trained on the cowering, sniveling bastards that called themselves "Death Eaters," he scooped down to the floor and, seeming to sculpt it out of the stone floor itself, an assault rifle materialized in his right hand. He stuck the pistol into a holster on his belt and grabbed the rifle with both hands. One of the DE's peeked around one of the columns, and, seeming to not even bother aiming, shot once. The DE toppled backwards, a bleeding hole in his forehead.
Nott hid behind one of the columns, clutching to the crucifix around his neck as if it were a lifeline.
"F-f-f-f-father, H-h-hallowed be Thy n-name,
Thy k-k-k-kingdom c-c-come; T-t-thy Will be done-" he squeezed his eyes shut as the gunshots got closer and closer. An ominous shadow loomed over him.
"Shut the fuck up, you goddamn twat."
Gunshots rang again through the Veil Room, and Nott slid down the side of the column, blood smearing all over it on the way down. He gurgled for a moment, choking on his own blood, before the light of life left his eyes.
All spellfire in the Veil Room had ceased, and the survivors, those who hadn't fired spells against him, trembled at the sheer ease that he had brutally killed Britain's greatest magical terrorists. They turned, abruptly, from their inspection of the carnage, by the sound of his voice.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill everyone here," the man spoke quietly, but power seeped from his words.
Unfortunately, Mundungus Fletcher was not the brightest bulb in the world.
"Harry!? Is that you?!"
The man swept his hand swiftly in front of Dung's face. Dung's head flew from his shoulders.