Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You all get a cookie, except it might take a while. The last time I made cookies I set the microwave on fire. And it's kinda hard stuffing it in the computer............my email still doesn't work.
Sorry it took so long to update, it has been bloody INSANE with school and swimming.
Oh, hurray. I got a flame. And a VERY rude one rubs hands together evilly. Bring on the bitch attack! (I love this!)
Dear Tir,
You are either very rude or very much PMSing. If you were just having a bad week, go get yourself some chocolate and ignore this reply. If you're just rude, enjoy! (If you're a guy, you're obviously gay, so I won't go there.) Everything you said is in quotes.
"First of all - I'm not reviewing your fics. They are shit, as I can tell already."
I laugh at your stupidity. You are, in fact, reviewing my fic. When you pressed the button that said, "Submit Review", you might have accidentally posted some criticism that could be (gasp).............helpful! The horror!
You skimmed my profile huh? If you had left up a signed review I might be able to return the favor. I like LotR, but not the books. Do you have a problem with that? No, the words aren't too big for me. I actually did read the books, but I just don't enjoy the old style of writing. Deal with it. Not all of us have a pole up our ass. Too bad, or you could start a cult.
Oh, and I do know how Bilbo got the Ring. And not just from the movie. I read The Hobbit at least six or seven times, and enjoyed it. "You're an idiot. You disrespect the fandom by even uttering its' name. Get a life." I disrespect the fandom by uttering its name, huh?
Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. Lord of the Rings. (gasp)
Get a life? I do have one, obviously, as I am typing a reply to your brainless and time-wasting complaints, which would require me to breathe air and my heart to beat, which proves I am living.
My horrible spelling and grammar? That's only on my profile, not my fics. I typed that profile because I was bored and didn't feel like spending too much time on it.
Ah, yes, Orlando Bloom. (Did anyone else notice his initials are the same as a brand of tampon???) I'm over him, as of, oh, maybe three months ago? I really need to work on my profile.
"Also ... why the HELL did you start reading Harry Potter if you so obviously do not like the main character? You must be thicker than I thought, for saying Harry is a MS. Come on, you retard. The book titles have his name in them! Did you not notice that when you picked up the fucking book?"
(Shakes head) Tut, tut, tut. Now, that wasn't nice, was it? Language, language, language. Firstly, Harry annoys me. Not when the original author writes, of course, but it's just his poor little martyred hero attitude I dislike. When I picked up the fucking book, I didn't know what the book was about (more or less) or what it was like, now did I? I'm not psychic. I'm psycho. There's a difference. And don't use that word (retard). It's a very discriminating term, and shouldn't be used, even when you're flaming someone. It is actually very hurtful to some people.
"As for your hatred for Country Music - you're insulting a nation there, deary. But don't worry ... we hate you too. I'm guessing you're Canadian then? Here's some advice - stay in Canada."
What nation am I insulting? America? Oh, I would never be that stupid. I actually like President Bush. He stands up for what he believes in, and works unselfishly for a better world. But we're not here to get into politics. Stay in Canada? Oh, I plan to. Where are you from? Texas?
"And you so obviously must be a prep and an airhead - only they can be so stupid."
And I SO obviously must be a prep? Haha! PREPPY ALERT!!! You just contradicted yourself there, deary. I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair when I read that.
So, Tir, allow me to give you some constructive criticism.
1) Take the pole out of your ass.
2) Find yourself some friends.
3) Try to get some self-esteem; you obviously need it if all you do is flame at people. Or if you're just PMSing, get yourself some chocolate.
4) Stay the hell away from my fics.
5) Go fuck yourself. You seem to need the attention.
Have a nice day.
Chapter 3
Luna woke up in a dark dungeon, her head ringing like she'd drunk ten beers the night before. She closed her eyes and wished that was the case. At least she would have actually drunk beer. This wasn't fair, a hangover with no beer. Blame it on whichever stupid person decided beer was illegal in hospitals.
After about five minutes of closing her eyes and crossing her fingers (desperately wishing for a beer) all to no effect, Luna decided to open her eyes and see if she could get out of this place. Or at least get a sweater and a tent.
"Hello?" She called. "Heeeeelllllllllllloooooooooooooooooo? Anybody there? Harry, you there? This isn't funny! You there?"
"Obviously not, or he would have answered your incessant screeching." The drawling tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Cold sweat trickled between Luna's shoulderblades as she recognized the voice.
It couldn't be. He was dead. She had watched Ron kill him. Watched his body jerk and slowly crumple, taking an eternity to hit the ground as his pale features widened with shock, his mouth opening slightly with the pain that flashed in the instant before he died. Watched the way his dark robes had folded under his body, his silvery-white hair falling over his face. Admired the way he died. Almost. Felt an overwhelming sense of sadness that his life had been wasted. She had helped to carry the lifeless corpse away to be burned. Helped wrap it in a burial shroud and placed the sack gently on the wagon as it was pulled away, carrying the bodies of the dead away to be burned. No one had known her secret then, and nobody knew now.
Luna shook off the memory and took a slow, deep breath. She mustn't panic. She mustn't show fear. Slowly, Luna turned herself over and stared up at the hooded figure. "I always seem to face the wrong way, don't I, Draco? Just like you. Ron would have preferred if you looked at him when you died, but it's all good, at least you are dead. But that would be technically impossible because here you are, standing and gabbing your head off about the weather. But you aren't talking about the weather, just muttering about my yelling. So either you didn't die or you were dead. But no spell can bring back the dead, so unless I'm dead too, then this isn't happening. Somebody please pinch me, I must be dreaming."
Draco laughed. The sound echoed off the walls. Luna fought to suppress a shiver of fear. Again, cold sweat trickled down Luna's back, between her shoulder blades. It felt like a snake sliding slowly down her spine. She shoved away the thought.
Draco smiled, pulling down his hood to reveal his face. "No, this is very real. Unfortunately for you." Luna studied his face. It was more or less the same as she remembered, pale and pointed, with intense eyes that seemed to read her soul.
Draco seated himself on the single chair that graced the room and waving his wand, pulled her upright so she was floating about a foot off the ground. "We have questions, and you have answers."
The bored expression on his face scared her spitless. Luna tried not to show her fear, putting on a cheesy grin. "Me? Answers? You have the wrong girl, Draco, dear. Typical minion, can't get a thing right, eh?"
Draco smiled, his eyes shone with dark light. No, Luna thought, they didn't shine. They glittered. Like a tiger hunting. He shrugged. "Maybe you are the wrong person to ask, but there's one way to find out." Luna knew she was dancing with death as he raised his wand. "Shall we begin, then?"
Luna cocked her head sideways. She fought terror as it welled up within her. "No?"
Draco's smile widened. "Yes."
Screams echoed out of the dark dungeon, echoing off the walls. Piercing high shrieks, low groans of agony, gasps for air, and Harry's name cried over and over between choking sobs. There were no pleas for mercy, and none was granted.
"Where. Is. She." Harry's voice cut through the silence of the room like a knife. No one dared raise their heads from where they were bent over possible clues or their voices in opinions. Harry looked over the room, his green eyes dark with rage. "No one." He spat. "Absolutely no one knows."
A tall man glanced up from his book and rose slowly. His black hair was streaked with grey and even white touching at his temples, despite his mere forty years of age. He had not aged well. Scars and deep lines creased his sallow face, almost transparent with the stress. His left arm was missing. The Dark Lord was not forgiving.
"May I speak?" The man asked cautiously, his dark eyes holding a touch of fear.
Harry nodded.
The man raised his left arm. The stump sent a shiver through everyone in the room that had been there that dark night when the former Potions Master had been found in a gutter on the side of the road, his arm viciously torn off and shredded. The rest of his body had been in perfect condition except for one thing. He had been skinned alive, no flesh left on his frame, and had almost died, laying a pool of his own dark blood when Hermione found him and managed to get help in time.
"Voldermort knew I was a traitor, Potter." Snape said softly. "He thinks me dead. I would rather keep it that way, thank you." A murmur of agreement ran around the room. Snape waited for it to die out before he continued, his voice soft, yet holding everyone's attention. "He is not forgiving. He kills all opposition." The former teacher paused, and continued so softly Harry had to strain to hear him. "After he tortures and extracts information from them."
"What are you saying?" Harry demanded angrily.
Snape's eyes flicked briefly to take in the rest of the room before returning to meet his former pupil's. "I think you know, Potter."
"What do you mean?" Harry's tone carried a note of desperation. He couldn't mean what he was saying. Snape couldn't know what he was saying. He must be delirious. He must be.
Snape was silent.
"What do you mean?!!!" The sudden shout made everyone in the room jump. No one dared look up.
Snape sighed quietly. "I think this meeting has accomplished all it was set to do. You may leave."
There was a moment of silence, then a mad stampede as everyone raced for the door.
Harry slumped against the table. Snape looked him over as he turned for the door. "You cannot do anything to save her, Potter. Your rules. We cannot risk lives to save just one. The fact that she is your fiancée does not matter. So many others had to live by your rule, and the only way to lead is by example." He closed the door behind him softly.
Harry put his head in his hands and did something he hadn't done in a long time.
He cried.