Wings
By stealacandy
A/N: Not really a proper bash, unless it's bashing the advertisement buisness, that is.
Disclaimer: I own a lot of alcoholic bevereges. Too many, some might say, although their quantity tends to diminish rather rapidly at times. I don't, however, own any energy drinks, as of tonight, and I certainly don't own any world famouse slogans. Or world famouse novels such as Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azerbaijan, for instance. (I actually read a piece in some American newspaper about the new book, "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Afganistan". I figured Azerbaijan made more sense, though. Or "Harry Windsor and the Prisoner of Afganistan", for that matter. Or Montbatton, or whatever he calls himself these days.)
Wings
By stealacandy
Harry could hear his mother scream. "No! Not Harry, Please, not Harry! Take me instead!"
Voldemort was laughing.
Harry reached into his pocket, looking for any spare bit of chocolate he might find there, a half eaten frog, crumbles of Honeydukes' best - anything. But he came up empty.
On the other hand, and the other pocket of his Quiditch robes, he found that can of strange drink left from the after party of their last match. It was slim, tall, white and blue. Not having anything better to do, he opened it, and took a sip.
The horrified spectators of the Quidditch match bar the Slytherins, who were gearing in anything but horrour, wathced as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived probably not much longer, though, things going as they are, plunged down to his death after falling from his broom at high-altitude and top-velocity following a chase with Snitches and dementors. All of a sudden, out of the blue, and white, the boy hero sprouted wings, and flew away.
"Harry!" yelled Hermione. Then: "Wha- Oh, my!" she exclaimed.
When asked about it later, all she had to say was: "Redbull gives you wings"...
A/N: Takes place in the ill-luck, dementor ridden Quidditch match in the Prisoner of Azkaban, if you haven't figured it out yet.
- mo