Harry Potter's Sixth Year in Bad Fanfiction
Rampantly rampant adverbs, outlandish adjectives, trite phrases, overused plot devices, and other general insanity unfolds in the most hilariously hilarious year ever!
BY LARGEMARGE
Disclaimer: I do not own the phrase "sick freak;" I ripped that off from Glenn Beck. Borrowed is what I really meant. Nor do I own Princess Bride, from which there is one reference in this chapter. And once again, I don't own Harry Potter; but if I did, I would most decidedly not be giving my stories away for free, but would be living it up on a yacht in the Caribbean.
DEPRESSINGLY DEPRESSING DEPRESSION
Harry awoke to a hand ruffling his hair. "Foolish boy," a voice murmured. His eyes snapped open.
"Snape!" he said accusingly.
Snape jumped back, looking guilty. "Sorry Potter. Ahem." He wiped his hand on his rather darkly billowing robes.
"You said it was temporary insanity!" Harry said with exasperation.
Snape hung his head, for a moment looking rather foolish. "It's those puzzling fatherly emotions again. I mean, I know I hate you..."
Harry sat up. "Look, I don't even want to know. It's too weird."
"All right, all right. It won't happen again." Snape turned his back on Harry and took a moment to compose himself. When he turned around again it was with a familiar sneer on his face. "Awake at last, Potter?" he sneered. "Good. I believe your family is waiting for you to prepare breakfast."
Harry sighed with relief. This was more like the Snape he knew and hated. He pushed his legs over the side of the bed, but Snape put a retaining hand on his shoulder, his façade breaking momentarily.
"Wait, Harry. Are you sure you're feeling well enough to get up?"
Harry pushed the hand away with exasperation. "Yes, Snape, I'm feeling much better."
"Oh, good." The sneer was back. "Well, perhaps you'd better get your lazy carcass out of bed then, Potter," he snarled. "As for me, I've got much better things to do than taking care of Dumbledore's little pet. Get me out of this stinking house," he muttered darkly to himself before disappearing from the room in a billow of robes.
Harry sighed with relief.
For a short while after Snape left things were slightly better with the Dursleys. At breakfast that morning Uncle Vernon actually said to him, "Uh...boy, I've got some leftover scraps of egg here you can eat," passing him the remains of his breakfast, though he looked rather longingly at the food as Harry devoured it.
The next morning things were back to normal, however. Harry was awakened by Uncle Vernon's bellowing yell. "Get down here and make us breakfast, you freak! And there's no greasy-haired vampire to save your bacon today!" Harry heard them all having a laugh over that down in the kitchen, so he hurried to get up and dress before going downstairs.
The days soon ran together, much the same. Harry was beaten daily by Vernon and usually ended the day by fainting from exhaustion, hunger, or pain; and sometimes a combination of all three. Luckily Snape never appeared again, something he was very grateful for. He had found the potions professor's visit disturbing, to say the least. He didn't even tell Ron or Hermione about it when he wrote them.
But the days weren't the worst part. It was the nights. The nights...when he visited. When Harry was subjected to all the horrors that Voldemort perpetrated. Torture and killing and murders...night after night Harry's scar burned like it was trying to split apart his head. Though he tried to occlude his mind before going to sleep, nothing seemed to help, and Harry soon drifted deeper and deeper into a lethargic depression.
"Hey, boy, isn't it time for you to get back to that freakish school of yours?" Uncle Vernon asked him one night, after dumping Harry's beaten and broken body into bed after a particularly savage beating.
"School...Hogwarts...sssstime..." Harry slurred through the haze of his mind.
"Uh-huh. I thought as much," Uncle Vernon said. "Well, I suppose you'll be wanting to get some supplies and things. I'll drive you into London in the morning."
"Ssssokay...Kunkle..." Harry mumbled.
"Oh, now I insist," Vernon insisted. "First thing then. Get some rest, you sick freak. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything."
Harry dreamed of Sirius that night. Sirius, falling through the veil...over and over and over and over and over...in the background of his mind wildly wild evil laughter echoed. Harry awoke covered in sweat, piteously calling for Sirius.
But Sirius was dead.
Harry sat up in bed savagely, a dangerously dangerous glint of anger in his eye. Resolutely he moved to take a seat at his desk, pulling out some parchment and a quill.
Dear Professor Dumbledore, he wrote
My life is an endless hell and I don't think I want to live anymore. Sorry I can't kill Voldemort for you; you might try Neville Longbottom. Despite his ineptness at everything magical, there have been several major hints over the last few years that he has dangerous powers lying latent within him.
Signed,
Harry Potter
There was nothing he could do, nothing that would help. His parents had died because of him; Cedric had died because of him; Sirius had died because of him. And there was nothing he could do. People continued to die, and Harry was helpless. He knew it was a well-known fact that all teenagers are riddled with angst, and so it was only natural that he should now be contemplating suicide.
He tied the epistle to Hegwid's leg, but the stupid owl refused to leave, somehow sensing what message the letter carried. After repeated attempts to get the idiot bird to fly away, Harry finally lay back with an exhausted sigh on his bed.
Well, who cared about the letter anyway. He didn't need Dumbledore's permission to commit suicide. How should he do it? Slit his wrists? Maybe some of Aunt Petunia's muggle sleeping pills? Uncle Vernon's gun? Maybe he could Avada Kedavra himself. If he stood in front of the mirror and shot the curse at himself, perhaps it would reflect off the mirror and kill him.
Harry mused over the possibilities for a while, finally deciding on the Avada Kedavra. It seemed like the most painless possibility, anyway.
"Avada Kadavra!" he yelled at the mirror, pointing his wand. Nothing happened.
Perhaps he wasn't angry enough. Perhaps he had to have more hate in his mind for it to work. He summoned up thoughts of Voldemort and Umbridge and Snape and Fudge and Wormtail and Malfoy and the Dursleys and every other person who had made his life a living hell.
"Avada Kedavra!' he shouted again. Still nothing happened.
Maybe he had to hate the person he was trying to kill. Harry summoned up all the loathing that he felt for himself, the reasons why he didn't feel he had the right to live any longer. He raised his wand for the final time and opened his mouth.
"Boy! What's all this noise in here!" Uncle Vernon burst in the door. "Put that...that thing away, you freak!" he roared. "You're trying to curse your mirror? I swear, after everything we've done for you, it's never enough. I see I've been too lenient with you lately...well, I'll soon make up for that."
The wand fell from Harry's nerveless fingers and the only thought he could summon as Vernon proceeded to beat him to a bloody pulp was, I'm even a failure at killing myself...
The next morning Uncle Vernon didn't mention his late-night beating of Harry, only smirked as Harry whipped up breakfast, obviously favoring his right arm, which was broken, and breathing in painful little puffs, since all his ribs were broken. He was in such agonizing pain...such painful pain...such truly awfully dreadful throbbing throughout his whole body...
"I'll take another piece of bacon," Dudley murmured.
Harry expertly flipped a piece of bacon onto his plate.
"Ready to go, Harry?" Uncle Vernon asked a few minutes later. "We're going into London to pick up some magic supplies," he explained to Petunia and Dudley.
"But...but..." Dudley protested.
"Don't worry," Vernon assured, "I still hate the freak."
"Oh, okay." Dudley settled back to devouring his breakfast and Petunia sighed with relief.
"Harry! We were so worried about you!" Hermione squealed, throwing her arms around him. "You've seemed so...despondent in all your letters..." Immediately, however, she pushed him away and looked closely at his face. "Harry! I can feel all your ribs! Haven't you been eating? And those dark circles under your eyes..."
"Oh, it's nothing," Harry insisted. I've just been going through terrible agony the whole summer break, agony that nobody even cares about...agonizing agony, he thought to himself.
"Oh. Okay, then," said Hermione. "My African safari was amazing!"
"Hey, mate," Ron said, coming up behind and throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. He didn't notice Harry's painfully painful grimace due to his dislocated shoulder. "Sorry you couldn't come to the Burrow on your birthday. Dumbledore said he had it taken care of."
"Yeah, it was great," Harry said without emotion.
As Ron and Hermione moved down the street talking animatedly about upcoming classes, Harry silently cursed himself for being so inept at suicide. I'll do better next time, he vowed to himself.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Now if you review I'll name my first child after you!
