Disclaimer: I most sincerely apologize to J.K. Rowling, who would never ever do what I just did.
Author's Note: This is a rather pointless little humor fic, centering around a terrible pun and ending with a lovely crack pairing. Ye have been warned!
The once-peaceful grounds of Hogwarts had become a chaotic battlefield. The most loyal members of the now-defunct Dumbledore's Army bravely fought the most elite Death Eaters in Voldemort's posse.
The fight was not on a grand scale by any means, except perhaps magic. In fact, had anyone been in the mood to reflect, they would have considered it an almost intimate encounter.
Harry wanted it that way.
However, if he had known what was about to happen, he might have changed his mind. If a stray hex had not flown straight for Voldemort, if the Dark Lord had then sidestepped a bit more gracefully, Harry would most definitely have been dead.
Voldemort, twisting in the air to dodge the hex, misjudges the distance and plunges face-first into the mud instead of landing on his feet. Pointing his wand at Harry, he glares with red-hot hatred.
Harry knows he is going to die. He intends to take Voldemort with him, though.
And as he thinks "Avada Kedavra"...
...Voldemort splutters the same with a mouthful of mud.
"OAKVADA KEDAVRA!"
And Harry became a tree.
Much later, Hermione would wonder why the effects of the spell remained after its caster had died. Ron chalked it up to the permanence of Avada Kedavra, and after much hair-pulling and paper-crumpling, Hermione admitted it was as good a reason as any.
And Harry? Harry just thought it could have been worse. And in a way, he found being a tree relaxing. No one managed to interview him successfully in his new form, and after a while even Rita Skeeter, notorious for boring through even the most thick-skinned, gave up. As an added bonus, his curiously lightning bolt-shaped knot could barely be seen under all that bark.
Best of all, Witch Weekly never had a clue about his passionate fling with the Whomping Willow.