Harry Potter

what should have been

Part Harry And Voldermort Face Off Again And Frankly We Are Getting Sick Of Reading About Them Facing Off And Wished Dumbledore Could Die Again

"Oh no..." breathed Harry, suddenly feeling more pain then he had ever felt before but this time it was emotional pain, the emotional pain that comes to us all when we realize that we have killed our beloved headmasters (coincidentally forgetting that they tried to eat us when we were babies). Haven't we all felt such pain? Harry felt it now, sinking to his knees, covering his weepy eyes with his grime-smeared hands, which made dirt get into his eyes and hurt them, making him feel even more pain. He whimpered, forgetting for a moment about everything but his own little problems.

Are things not funny anymore, Harry-boo?

"Shut up Brittany!" he shouted to the shimmering giraffe, who danced away, laughing at him drunkenly.

"Oh Boy Who Lived...come here, Harry. I need to talk to you."

Harry turned to look at the figure that had approached him so silently, and gasped. The tall figure was hooded and only two glittering reptilian red slits could be seen in the blackness (unbeknownst to Harry, the glittering reptilian redness was caused by red glitter eyeshadow overload). He recognized the figure as...

As...

Wait for it...

Voldermort, AKA the late Dumbledore's baby-eating cupcake butt. He was trembling with fearsome might or mighty fear, Harry didn't know, he was kind of a thick hero after all. He fought a lot of bad guys. Or, technically, just one bad guy in lots of evil forms. Harry counted it as different bad guys, because it made him sound cooler and not like some psycho who felt lots of pain and saw giraffes (shimmery ones, at that). But enough about Harry's trials and tribulations, we've read enough about them to kill the rainforest. We all know Harry's had a hard life and is now suffering a nervous hallucination-loaded breakdown. Yay for him.

Voldermort took a step forward, looking all evil and snaky and like a very bad guy. Which I guess he was, but keep in mind that he was tortured inside, because his baby-eating Dark Wizard partner-in-crime had just been stabbed, poisoned, pushed off a cliff, hit by a helicopter, attacked by mountain lions (Fanged Red-Eyed mountain lions, none the less) and then squished by a six ton weight with spikes. So he looked really sad in an evil way as he walked forward more, lifting his wand into the air.

"Oh Harry Harry Harry...you killed my duckie-bum! Oh, duckie-bum! Thou hast forsaken me!" cried Voldermort, who was a bit of a drama queen.

"D-duckie-bum? That's nearly as bad as cupcake butt!" snorted Harry.

"DON'T DEFILE DUCKIE-BUM'S PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS NAME!" screamed cupcake-butt – ahem, sorry, Voldermort.

"If your nickname is duckie-bum then you're jus' cryin' for defilement, suckah." Said Harry, acting like a gangster because deep inside he was really scared because Dumbledore had taken away his wand and Voldermort wasn't standing on the edge of the cliff so he couldn't cheat and shove Voldermort off.

"This is for you, duckie-bum!" sobbed Voldermort, before he tilted his head back and let loose a primitive, animal howl that sounded like a dying wolf smashing an amplifier with a radio playing rap music by a baboon. Harry screamed and his ears suddenly felt more pain then they ever had before, even with his hands clamped against them. When the scream finally stopped Harry was surprised to see Voldermort crumpled on the ground like a smashed and defeated cupcake. He stepped closer to the crumpled cupcake tentatively, ready to leap away at the slightest movement. He took another step...and another...and another...until finally he was standing right beside Voldermort, ready to snatch his wand back so he could have half a chance at defeating the Dark Baby-Eating Lord. When suddenly, he head a sound. It sounded like a head of buffalo, but not as loud, plus the animals who were making the noise didn't have hooves. Or horns. And they weren't big. Actually, on second thought, they didn't sound like buffalo. More like...squeaky things. Harry turned slowly, and saw something that made him utter a high, girlish shriek.

They were wombats.

And not just any wombats.

Combat wombats.

In case you're one of those totally stupid uninformed ignoramuses who don't know what a combat wombat is, let me explain it to you in words a simpleton could understand: a combat wombat is a wombat whose pelt is camouflaged and who knows martial arts and has a menacing death squeak of doom. Harry had only thought them a myth – until now. Until now, when he stared upon these small yet utterly malicious camouflage wombats, his insides jelly. The lead combat wombat (and he knew it was the lead one, because it wore a tiny baseball cap with the inscription "I am the leader" on it and all the other wombat's tiny baseball caps said "I am not the leader" on them) stared at his with its glittery red eyes that really glittered, it wasn't just eyeshadow. As they advanced, tiny yellow teeth bared, Harry's only thought was:

Hey...so THAT'S what Voldermort was calling for...cool...hey...they bite! Ow! Then, he passed out. When he came too again he saw the faces of the combat wombats leering over him, whimpered, and passed out again. When he came too AGAIN he didn't see any crumpled cupcakes or combat wombats, so he didn't faint again. Instead, he managed to get upright and look cautiously around. He didn't see anything except for lots of large rocks and trees, all the perfect shapes for Dark Lords or combat wombats to hide behind. So, going upon his deep inner senses, he giggled and ran forward, shouting to the whole of Hogwarts:

"Hah! I defeated the Dark lord again! I am so cool!"

"You loser! You did not! He just came through Hogwarts and hurled cupcakes at us, screaming something about a duck's butt or some crazy thing like that!" said some Hufflepuff second-year that Harry considered to unimportant to know his name.

"Oh," said Harry "darn. I guess I'll go defeat him again then."

He walked more or less aimlessly down the Great Hall, looking at the frosting smears on the wall; the only trace left of Voldermort that he knew of. Which to say, wasn't much. Considering that a few minutes later Voldermort jumped out from the shadows and latched onto Harry's neck like a mosquito. Harry gasped and clawed at Voldermort's arms, but to no avail. He was trapped. Suddenly, Voldermort yelped and fell from Harry's back, clutching his ankle.

"That traitor! It bit me!" he shouted, pointing at a lone combat wombat that had ankle-blood dripping from its lips.

"Yay! Come on, my wombat friend! Run!" called Harry, already turning to flee, the wombat at his heels.

He ran down the great hall, Voldermort screaming angrily and shooting deadly curses at Harry's back. But it was too late; Harry had slammed the Great Hall's giant doors, protecting him from the curses, and therefore, death.

Or so he thought.

As it turned out, the large doors of the Great Hall are not supped to be slammed. In fact, it's deadly when they're slammed, if you happen to be the slammer. Because when Harry slammed those huge doors, it loosened the rock in the walls. It loosened the rock in the walls a lot. So much, in fact, that a large chunk came out of the wall and landed on Harry's thick skull, killing him instantly.

"Ow," said Harry, trying to be different in his death then his headmaster had been. Of course, in the end, it didn't really matter; they were both dead as clipped toenails now. On the bright side, the wombat that had saved Harry's short life was alive.