Harry Potter and the Brisket Loaf

by evil-underlord

This is it. The final year of Hogwarts, the final reckoning, when evil is defeated and the whole world is turned on its head.

2. Part 2

Chapter 17

'I don't care if you think that you're a police officer, you can fuck right off out of my office and stop telling me how I should or shouldn't run my school.' Professor McGonagall was shouting.

'That's the job of the minister for magic,' Hooch added slyly.

'And I'd fucking tell him to fuck off too,' McGonagall raved.

'Excuse me, am I interrupting something?' asked Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts, entering the office. The stunningly beautiful and frighteningly intelligent professor Minerva McGonagall stopped pacing and looked up at him. Next to her the amazingly attractive and startlingly clever Madam Hooch suppressed a girlish giggle of amusement. In front of them the object of McGonagall's anger defiantly stood her ground. She was obviously highly gifted in many... Wait a minute, Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts held back his thoughts for a second to do a double take. Was that a beard? It looked like one, if an ethereal one. A spiritual beard.

'Ms Next was just leaving,' McGonagall said icily.

'That's Officer Thursday Next of Jurisfiction to you,' the other woman said 'And I am not going until you have agreed to the changes in curriculum as required.'

That's funny, Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts thought. Her voice seems to be that of a man too, not in terms of acoustics, but just in the way it sounds...

McGonagall idly took out her wand and began to twiddle it between her fingers. 'I assure you that you are going, young lady. I do not take orders from people who associate with that kind of punnery.'

'Professor, respectfully, this is an order from the Council of Genres direct. This is not something that you can just ignore. These children need to learn basic life skills, you have a duty of care.'

'Listen,' McGonagall said flatly. 'I care for my children my own way. And as it is there are enough different books running about in this story for its own good already, and I don't want yours muscling its way in uninvited. I didn't like it, I think that you are a Mary Sue, or a Gary Stu or whatever, and just because you have this parasitic world that claims access to all of the rest of us fictions, don't think that we want you here. Now go.'

'You have not heard the last of this,' Next started. 'There is power-'

'In bad gags and bad writing? I don't think so.' Quick as a Mexican gunslinger, maybe even Eli Wallach, McGonagall flourished her wand. 'Nullus Personis,' she spat and all of a sudden the police officer had never even been there in the first place.

'I think that you just wiped out everything Jasper Fforde ever wrote,' Hooch whispered. 'What with all of the connections that those books contain.'

'Ooops,' said McGonagall. 'How careless.'

Chapter 18

The black car slid through the velvety darkness of night, like a patch of solid shade. Except for the Hi-beams and the hazard lights. But still, it was very velvety. Snape stared out at the unseen alpine scenery that passed him in the dark, surprised that the car had still not reached its destination, yet troubled more by the thoughts which kept circling his mind like sharks: sleek, dark and never able to stop swimming.

Chapter 19

'So, what are you actually doing here, Professor?' McGonagall asked.

'I need to check the archives,' Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts said, 'I am curious about a book which I found in my study, and I would like to check out its earlier editions. To test a theory, so to speak.'

'I don't suppose that that will be a problem,' McGonagall said. 'You do know that the archives are kept in an impossibly difficult to access set of vaults, with all sorts of time delays and stuff, and only about enough oxygen for half an hour, in quite exceptionally claustrophobic little plastic rooms set within the vast dungeon. And I think there might be some laser grids down there as well.'

Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts knew that this might be a problem, because of his intense fear of enclosed spaces, the only fear he actually had, that had come about through a very hazily hinted at, underdeveloped, childhood trauma – when he had fallen down a hole. However, because he was so hard, and cool, he didn't want to mention that this might be a problem. As much as anything because he was used to completely ignoring his own back story at any given moment anyway.

'Oh, and you'll have to wade through Dumbledore's collection of pornography as well.'

'Not a problem,' said Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts.

'Wait until you see it,' said McGonagall darkly.

'Furries,' Madam Hooch said with a low wonderment. 'Hundreds of furries.'

Chapter 20

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were gathered in the Gryffindor common room.

'Are we ready then,' said Hermione. 'Because I think that I've located the next horcrux. Hufflepuff's cup.'

'What?' said Harry. 'Oh yeah, horcruxes. I was wondering when you were going to start locating them.'

'I got bored of waiting for you to, Harry,' Hermione countered.

'I got distracted, ok?'

'From hunting down the wizard who killed your parents?'

'No,' said Harry, pronouncing it with spectacular petulance. It looked like the Caps Lock light might be coming on very soon.

'Look,' Ron said, muscling in on the squabble before it could erupt fully. 'Voldemort hasn't made a move in months, which means that he's either planning something big, or he's waiting to see what we do. The problem is, that he holds the upper hand, his is the default win. If we do nothing, then Voldemort survives, as no-one other than Harry can kill him. Are you following me?'

Three heads nodded as one.

'The advantage that we have,' Ron continued, 'is that Voldemort doesn't see it this way at all, on previous form. He wants Harry dead, completely gone, so as to remove the threat I suppose. This in spite of the fact that he has his body and his powers back in full, and that it was Dumbledore who was pursuing the horcruxes, now eliminated by Snape.'

'WHO I WILL KILL!' shouted Harry.

'Yes, quite,' said Hermione, wiping spittle from her eye.

'Seen as we haven't made a move on the horcruxes yet,' Ron continued his continuing, 'Voldemort may feel that we never will.'

'In short?' Ginny asked disdainfully.

'We have no strategic information, and we desperately need to get some.' Ron stated 'The best way to do this is to make a cautious move against our enemy and to monitor any reaction. This means that instead of spending this afternoon's free periods titting about like wankers, we're going to go for a stroll. Would you believe it, but the next horcrux is only in the bloody Shrieking Shack.'

'Apparently Tom Riddle used the old place as a shag palace as well,' Hermione said.

'Explain?' asked Harry.

'When we're moving,' she replied.

'Right then everyone,' Harry said. 'Suited and booted are we?'

'Locked and cocked and ready to roll.'

The 1960's tarmac footpath that led from Hogwarts school of Witches and Wizardry and Magical Stuff to the small Danish village of Hogsmeade in the Scottish valleys of north-west Europe had been set in the 'Clifton' style of slightly convex surface bordered by wood tramelling with a half-ton 'Magimix', one-man big, hot, flattening thing. Although less popular than the 'Armstrong' style, its kind could still be found linking the facilities in many a children's playground in the southern reaches of the country. The party of young heroes that traversed its length, which at a walking pace might take one an even three-quarters of an hour, comprised two witches and two wizards, bold in... no that's wrong. The party should have had a fine and noble Warrior, an Elven mage, her untrustworthy but useful companion the Halfling thief. With maybe a wise Cleric to bring his stout justice to the fray. Or is that the wrong book?

Oh yeah, shit, I'm looking at my TSR guidelines here.

'Oooh, I'm a Dark Elf, but actually I'm really nice, and all the other Dark Elves hate me.'

Shut up you twat, you're still defining your entire self against the outmoded eugenicist, brain-pan measuring anthropology of intrinsic racial characteristics. Like evil. Come on, give me something interesting to chew on.

And like, what happened to the hardcore feminism of Outhbound, that was a great book. Now I have to put up with detailed descriptions of the damage caused to bird anatomy? And how long it takes to fucking heal? Give me a break.

And I'm not even going to start talking about the fucking wheel of time.

The four magical children sat in the saloon bar of the Three Broomsticks, sipping their drinks and edging away from the crazy man at the bar, who was holding court at Madame Rosmerta. (Who, incidentally, was thinking, what did I do to deserve this? and then, Oh yes, that, followed by, but I was under the Imperius curse, which eventually reached the same, oh yes, because there was that as well.) Sunbeams tore through the dusty atmosphere and caught the dancing motes in a fiery golden tableau. The smell of ancient varnish, stale smoke and sawdust boiled up from the heated wood of the tables and filled out their noses uncomfortably.

'So you're saying that Hufflepuff's heir was at school at the same time that Slytherin's was,' Harry was saying. It had been his idea for them to repair to the pub for a little Dutch courage before the fight. And as everyone knows, adventures always start in a tavern anyway.

'It's not that unlikely,' said Hermione.

'But you're telling me that they were boffing as well?' Harry spurted incredulously.

'These things happen,' Hermione continued evenly. 'It's not uncommon in the boarding-school environment. Close proximity and all that.'

'But Riddle was a freakazoid,' Harry complained.

'A powerful one though, a lot of people find power attractive. How else would Bill Clinton have got the interns sucking his cigar?'

'Bill who?'

'Never mind. the point is, they used to do their shagging out here, in the shrieking shack, so that no-one would know – or maybe just because she liked to feel the wind or something, there's no accounting for taste. And Voldemort, like the trophy bagging chauvinist shit that he is, seems to have thought that it would be well funny to put the horcrux he made out of Hufflepuff's cup in the spot where he used to, shall we say, sample her wine.'

'Alright troops,' said Harry draining his glass. 'Let's move out.'

As the walked up the (front-garden) path toward the ominously looming shack of shrieking, Ron tailed behind with Hermione. He spoke to her in a low, urgent voice: 'There's something more to that story, something that you didn't want to tell Harry, I'm sure of it.'

'You're right, Ron,' Hermione said. 'But I hope that you'll understand why. Its something that may not be true, and I sincerely hope that it isn't. Harry works best on the spur of the moment, every time he's had all of the facts in advance he's cocked it all up, so if what I dread is true, then I want our illustrious leader to react, not act, because otherwise we haven't got a chance.'

'What's you're worry?'

'That the grail that Harry saw in Voldemort's memory was not a relic of Hufflepuff's at all. It was just a piece of silver plated tin tat that a batty old woman had convinced herself was a relic of a bygone age. I have a horrible feeling that Hufflepuff's cup means something else entirely. Something more metaphorical. I sincerely hope that I am wrong, because the consequences of that thought are too horrible to imagine, but even so, I do not doubt that the horcrux will be guarded.'

'Hurry up you two,' Harry called from the shack's entrance. 'Let's do this thing.'

The four entered the spooky building. Despite the strength of the late afternoon sunlight that fell on its outer walls it was only a murky gloom shot through with cold and dusty spikes of blinding brightness that penetrated the buildings filth-caked windows and misaligned timber walls. The sparsely furnished interior was picked out in chiaroscuro blacks and greys, everything hidden under a layer of dust and the disarray they had caused four years ago was itself undisturbed. This disconcerted them even more. Harry took the lead, his wand drawn, as Hermione said 'I think that there is an upstairs to this place that we haven't yet seen.'

'Has no-one seen it since Voldemort used it as his love palace?' Ginny asked.

'Not if he put the kind of charm on the door that I think he did,' Hermione replied. 'Lumos,' she said, waving her wand so that it cast its own eerie light.

'Lumos,' the other three said in unison.

'Now, Ginny,' Hermione said under her breath, 'as the resident Elf, would you like to search for traps?'

'What does that mean?' Ginny asked.

'Nothing,' Hermione said. 'Just my little joke. Everyone always wants to be the fucking Elf. Right, I hope that I've got this right.' Hermione pulled two tiny pouches out of her robes. 'Talc and silver. Here we go.' Hermione began to chant in an occult tongue. As she did so she took a pinch of powder from each pouch and sprinkled them into the air in front of her where they seemed to hang in suspension, intertwining as the words flowed through them. A tension filled the air, as if something might crack that was held in place only by Hermione's will. At the last minute, when all seemed almost lost, Hermione relented. She traced a symbol with her wand through the floating powders and shouted out the words 'try'kletha hagthaar slup,' and the world segued suddenly back into place. The powder before Hermione glowed greenish blue and formed itself into a mist of power that swirled, searching, through the room. In a far corner it seemed to find what it had been looking for and it raced into itself, coalescing and then vanishing in a bright burst of light.

And where there had been nothing before, now a staircase stood that led up to the second floor of the building. Sweat stood out on Hermione's brow, but she looked relieved.

'What did you do?' asked Ginny.

'Cast Detect Invisibility,' Hermione replied. 'It's ritual magic I found in an old book from the 80s. But that staircase had been hidden for a long time, and the power that hid it was immense.'

'Well, what are we waiting for?' Harry half shouted. 'Let's get up there, get that horcrux and melt it down for scrap.'

'After you, dear leader,' Hermione gestured.

Harry bounded up the stairs, kicked the door down SAS style and-

'HOLY FREAKIN' BALLS,' he shouted as the grey and desiccated looking arm almost tore his head off. Harry rolled into the room under the creatures reach and it turned round to face him. The other three ran up the stairs after him and then stopped short, staring at the leprous, walking corpse that was Brunhild Helgasdottir, last heir of Hufflepuff, as she bore down upon Harry Potter. There was a light of intelligence in her eyes, but it was so horribly twisted, so downtrodden and desperate in its captivity, that they could not bear to look upon her.

'Sectumsempra.' Harry shouted, brandishing his wand. A great gash suppurated stickily across her chest, but no blood welled out from it. Brunhild laughed at her dry veins and ploughed her fist into Harry's chest, driving him back to the floor and almost crushing his ribs. Harry gasped for breath and his hand reached out instinctively, grabbing for help.

'Hey, ugly.' Ginny shouted. 'Get yo' hands off my man.'

The corpse turned slowly to eye the newcomers. 'Hah,' it spat. 'He is not your man, nor will he ever be.' It spoke with a curious double voice, The voice of Brunhild overlaid with the voice of Voldemort. 'He is mine to kill,' the horcrux continued. 'He has always been such. The prophecy was made. So it be spoken, so it be done.'

On the floor, Harry's groping hand found edge of something cold, metal wrapped in leather, hidden beneath a discarded burlap sack. He edged himself toward it and found that it was something he could grip. Like the hilt of a sword.

'Wait,' said the horcrux, looking more closely at Ginny. 'I know you, I was you once, long ago. You are not so unlike-'

'JUST FUCKING DIE,' Harry screamed, swinging the sword up from beneath the sack and in an arc over his head. It caught the creature on its shoulder on the downswing, cleaving inward through its lungs and heart. The massive trauma was too much for even the withered body to stand, for it was still alive and not truly undead. It crumpled to the floor, the part of it that was Voldemort dying first with a withering scream of rage and disappointment. As it lay on the floor, the part that had been Brunhild disappeared as well, a thankful look filling her eyes, as if she was waking from a dream. 'I have found the rest of me, now,' she said. 'They could not hold me apart for long, for I do not belong here. Goodbye.'

Harry looked at the weapon that he held, now limply, in his hand.

'Gryffindor's fucking sword,' Harry said. 'It always seems to turn up just when it's needed.'

Chapter 21

'Every time I go to one of these fucking auditions it's like a piece of me dies,' Voldemort spat. He slammed the motel door shut and slumped into the big chair.

'I take it that you did not get the part, sire?' Lucius Malfoy asked in a smooth way that really wasn't a question.

'No, I did not get the fucking part, Lucius. I didn't even get a 'we'll call you' as I was leaving the stage.'

'"We'll all go to Hollywood," he says,' Lucius mumbled to himself. '"We'll all become famous and live for ever," he says.'

'Shut up, Lucius, and get me a beer,' Voldemort snapped. 'Don't these people know talent? I'm a classically trained actor.'

'There are no beers, sire,' Lucius said.

'No beers? Why the hell not? What about a brandy or a glass of port. I'll even drink some of that dodgy Schnapps that we got at the airport in Spain.'

'We do not have any of it left. Sire,' Lucius continued in an infuriatingly smooth style. 'We do not have any money.'

'Would you stop talking in that stupid, superior tone,' Voldemort ranted from his seat. 'For fuck's sake, you really know how to push my buttons, don't you? What about Draco's diner job? What about the money he's making there?'

'That covers our rent, sire. Nothing else. It's just not fair that he should be looking after you when it was your responsibility to look after us all.' Lucius looked over to his son, who cowered in the corner of the room, ostensibly reading a book about conspiracies. Lucius went over and sat down next to the young man, putting his arm protectively around his shoulder. 'It's ok, son,' Lucius said. 'We're just having a discussion. It's about adult things, so nothing for you to worry about.' Looking back up toward Voldemort, Lucius said: 'We still do not have enough money for food.'

'And whose fucking fault is that then? Both Narcissa and Bellatrix got call backs for Draculess: I Vant To Suck Your Cock, if they'd gone through with that I could have taken you all out for a slap up meal at Wendy's, but no, they had to be too fucking precious.'

'Do not speak to us like that.' Lucius drew himself up.

Voldemort stood, raving. 'I'll teach you to answer back,' he shouted, balling his fist as his eyes started to cloud over. Draco drew back further into the wall behind his father. And then something cleared in Voldemort's face. 'Ahh, fuck this,' he spat. 'I'm going out.' And he stalked through the door and slammed it hard enough to shake the wall.

Silence crept back into the room. The air felt burnt, somehow blistered, with a taste that the humming air-conditioners could not remove. Lucius relaxed, still staring at the door.

'Dad,' Draco whispered.

'Yes, son,' Lucius said, remembering himself. 'What is it?'

'I've been reading this book,' Draco continued, growing more confident with each word. 'And apparently there's this secret conspiracy, of the rich, and like those who went to certain schools and stuff, and they make all the decisions. And they always make sure that they keep the power for themselves. I think that it's really interesting.'

'Yes, it is interesting, Draco,' Said Lucius. 'Because the people you're talking about there. That's us.'

'Really.'

'Yes, really. We've held power for a very long time, through money and favours and knowing the right sort of handshake, and there's nothing that's going to take it away from us either. You'll be part of that too, you know?'

'Will I?' Draco wondered.

'Yes, you will.'

Chapter 22

'I was right,' exclaimed Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts. 'I knew that if I dug deep enough I would find it. It was lucky I had that really expendable squad of marines as well. That laser grid was really nasty. Really nasty indeed. The way it cut people up into little cubes and stuff, that all slid apart in a big gloopy mess of gore. But it doesn't matter, because I have the answer.

'Or some of it at least.'

In the dark red light of the archives, in the cold air, Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts' breath steamed. In the confines of his little Perspex booth, the billowing mist that he blew out came back into his face and he momentarily remembered his claustrophobia. This darkness, this redness, the coldness and the barrenness and the lack of sound, it was like he was regressing, like he had been clawed and pulled backwards into his mother's womb. If he had had one. He shivered. The records clearly stated it, until 1976 Home Economics had been a major part of the school curriculum, but then they had been abolished. A note next to the entry read, 'Rsn: ttl Hse Elf subjgtn. achvd,' while a footnote referred to the complete destruction of all books held on the subject.

Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts felt his mind working. It was a not unpleasant sensation. He put the archive back into its foolscap and filed it back into its teetering stack (tm). As he did so, in the confines of his Perspex box, his elbow jarred against another teetering stack (tm) of files, and a single manila folder fell to the floor. Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts picked it up and extracted its contents. It was a single photograph, that was upside down as he pulled it out so that the first thing Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts saw was the pencil inscription on the photo's matt back. It read: 'Plotus Devicius, killed during prologue.'

Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts gasped, his curiosity piqued. This was what he had been brought here to solve. Or it wasn't, but he wanted it to be. He really liked it, and felt really popular when people wanted him to solve mysteries. he turned the photograph over. It was horrible.

It was a wizarding photograph, so it looped itself like an animated gif, but this was the kind of loop that would only be created by the most twisted individual. So, like, most livejournal users then. The picture showed a man with his guts ripped out, and had been taken just as a crow had flown in to scavenge from the viscera. As it pecked and then disappeared, to swoop in again, like some demented, diminutive Promethean almost-ran, the wizard moved in what must have been the final twitches of his life, arranging himself into a pose of mystical meaning, to ease his passage to the other side.

And the guts. They had been arranged, into some kind of cryptogram, or a word, but a word in a language that Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts had never seen before in his life. It looked like this:

This image has been removed due to the fact that if anyone with half a brain saw it they would guess the entire rest of the plot. Incompatibility error 344. If you have any questions, please email the webmaster.

Chapter 23

Ginny sat about. It was the depths of winter: a little bit of time has passed since the last chapter, obviously. It's not like there's any kind of link between the two. It was cold and everything sucked. Well, actually, I suppose it didn't all suck for her, but it was a bit cold, and that wasn't nice. I just wanted to mention her. Though. Just, like because, you know. So there she was. Feeling cold.

Maybe Harry will come along and warm her up, put a bit of cheer in that heart. That might be sweet of him. Maybe he won't. Who knows. I don't think it matters all that much, though.

Chapter 24

Outside the snow fell, creating a blanket of quiet across the castle grounds. Two sets of footprints led into the forest. The one that was supposed to be scary and full of evil, dark thoughts, biblical intimations of knowledge and other erotic metaphors.

'Do you remember when we used to be scared of this place?' Ron asked.

'There's still a lot to be scared of, Ron,' Hermione replied. 'It's just that we've got most of the tools to deal with it.'

The weak sunlight was cut into strips by the bare branches of the trees, thrusting like dead-hand defiance into the sky. It lit their faces and seared the gap between them.

'Most of?'

'Yeah, most of.'

'So, you reckon, you could make a good fist of it?' Ron persisted. 'If we got lost, got in too far.'

'I reckon,' Hermione said, without sounding too sure.

They walked a bit further, the snow crunching beneath their boots. Ron suddenly thought about the spiders, running wild without the one that Hagrid had called his pet, but quelled himself. This was not the time or the right part of the woods to be bringing that up. The woods were very large and they'd known Hagrid long enough to have a good understanding of the bits each inhabitant viewed as its own and which were the bits where a human would be undisturbed if he ventured inside.

Hermione waited for the textual digression to finish overrunning its course before she continued.

'You know what,' Hermione sighed, her breath billowing out in a great cloud of rolling vapour that disappeared into the frozen air. 'I reckon I could.'

She reached out her arm and took hold of Ron's hand. Neither looked at what she had done, as if it might break a delicate magical spell, but they walked a little lighter on the snow. The sun didn't sear their skin at all.

'I had a thought,' Ron said. 'If we're here, in P.O.V. then where's Harry?'

Chapter 25

'I'm Harry Potter. La La La. Look at me, look at me. I'm Harry Potter. La La La.'

'Thank you, Ron,' Hermione said, somewhere far away. 'That was very noble of you.'

'Yes, Harry,' Ginny said. 'I know who you are. Now get back down here.'

Chapter 26

'What a tawdry story,' said Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts.

'I know,' replied the Giant Squid. 'But you've got to admit that it's funny.'

'I am under no such obligation,' Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts blustered huffily back.

'Don't act so high and mighty, just because I beat you at the Game of Knowledge.'

'It's not my fault I don't know anything about sport.' Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts ground his teeth. 'Why can't we play poker while the Bridge Club is on holiday, you said that some of the guys might be around this week.'

'I thought that they might, but you know how it is. Great Cthulhu drank so much last time he came out that there's no way he's waking until the Earth shifts on its axis and all the stars are realigned.'

'And Prince Adam?'

'Baking spice bread. The p-'

'Yeah, alright. I get the picture. You don't want to invite any of your friends over.'

'That's not true.' This time it was the giant squid's turn to sound cheesed off. 'You can't just blame me because all of your ladies have got families to visit over Christmas. It's a stupid ceremony anyway, for a stupid weak dead god who sacrificed himself for your ungrateful lot rather than stand up for himself. My god could eat your god for breakfast.'

'That's not nice,' Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts said flatly. 'You're just snapping now for the sake of snapping, and you know that he's not my god anyway. I've been touched by His Noodly Appendage and you invite that wrath at your peril.'

The two stared out over the loch, the afternoon light glinting playfully from the waters. They were silent for while, watching the boats that constantly rounded on each other, firing great broadsides and bursts of grapeshot as they circled inexpertly though the almost still waters.

'How goes the ship war, then?' asked Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts.

'It's more of a naval battle, don't you think,' the giant squid attempted to correct.

'No,' Professor Robert Langdon of Harvard University Hogwarts stated. 'I prefer the word ship war. I think that it's a better word.'

'Well, they're mainly taking pot-shots at each other. No-one ever really wins, do they,' the giant squid mused. 'Except,' it continued. 'The HMS Pumpkin Pie sank recently. We had a bit of a feast, then, I can tell you. Fangirl meat is very tender, you know. The strangest thing though, was that it didn't go down to enemy action at all. It was holed by an anvil, went straight through the decks and smashed out of the hull. Splintered a good bit of the keel too, she had no chance.'

'Where did an anvil come from, out here?'

'God knows. The sky? Like I say. God only knows.'

Chapter 27

Snape stared out of the window into the dark of nothing, the dark that contained only his fears and regrets, against which he was arrayed like a feeble speck of sand surrounded by the ocean. The black car continued its black journey, but there, in the distance, was the darkness turning to grey? Was that a hint of red? A new dawn? Nay. It is fire. Fire and darkness. Fire and death. Snape looked away from the window and into the body of the car, turning his back to the false dawn, the lie of the light. There was nothing here but darkness. The car drove onwards into the night.

Chapter 28

'What about Hagrid?' asked the ptoad. 'Lovable, stupid Detritu- Hagrid.'

'I haven't forgotten. I love all my characters equally. I wouldn't just phase a main character out of the story because I realised that they were a liability, a boring-to-write walking plot device and just a general mistake from start to finish.'

'Where is he then?'

'In the mountains. Fighting giants and stuff, like he has been for the last two books.'

'Oh.'

'See. I know everything.'

'And Hagrid is so not ripped off from your books. Put a sock in it. I may have stole a lot of things, but I didn't steal him.'

Chapter 29

Hagrid hew about him with his mighty axe as the flames consumed the monastery. 'Take that, death eater scum,' he roared. 'You may hide yourself in the mountains, but Hagrid finds all!'

'Ma siamo monace,' a black-robed woman cried as she cowered before him. 'Nuns.'

'Cease your babbling, witch,' Hagrid bellowed, and he brought his axe down in a mighty arc that cleaved her in twain. And he laughed. He laughed at the destruction, for it emboldened his spirit. He was mighty. He was a warrior for good. He Was Hagrid.

Chapter 30

The Sword of Gryffindor is a 45 ½ inch long, single-tempered hand-and-a-half, or bastard, sword. Forged by the smith-god Weyland in the dark depths of time from a shard of iron pulled out of the roots of the world ash Ygdrasil and first quenched in the blood of the Jotun, its blade is decorated with the legendary exploits of Thor, mightiest and bravest of the gods. Its blade has remained sharp ever since its forging while its balance is so perfect that it has been said to almost leap in front of its wielder's enemy's blows and to riposte as if with a mind of its own. (Is this too much?) In other words, it was a non-magical sword +1.

This may explain why a weedy twelve year old was able to use a sword that was almost as big as he was. The bastard sword itself, so called because it can be used either one- or two-handed, and so is neither one thing nor the other but a bastardised mixture, and not because you have to be a real hard bastard to use one, has long been the weapon of choice amongst fantasy heroes. Despite the fact that they are really tough to use and really expensive to make, everyone from Hawk the Slayer to the Beastmaster has used one, so why shouldn't Harry?

After many years of its use, as recorded in the mighty prose sagas and eddas of the Hebridian Vikings, the sword was eventually entrusted to the wizard Godric Gryffindor, whose own name is believed to be a distortion or derivation of the word 'Thor', who added to its already inimitable charms a bunch of his own. He enchanted it to become a sword +4, defender. Earning himself a tidy sum of experience points in the process and thus bringing him up to the level 10 required to join the other three in his party in their school-building endeavour.

This may also explain why Harry was able to even lift the thing. God, I'm getting tired already and I haven't even done a page of this stuff. And this tweed is getting really hot. My editor says that this is a really good way to fill up space and to keep all of the nerds happy, but... Oh, lets just get on with it.

Since Gryffindor's original enchantment, the sword has had a further influx of magical power, and is currently an intelligent weapon with a charisma of 13, an intelligence of 12 and a wisdom of 11. It communicates through empathy and has the following powers, granting the user free use of evasion and free use of uncanny dodge (as a 5th-level Barbarian) as well as allowing the user to Detect thoughts (100-ft. range, 1 minute per use) 3 times a day, but it will not always allow the wielder to know about or have free access to these abilities. Its alignment is- oh, fuck this. I don't care if this is how most people write thrillers, with endless, tedious descriptions of weaponry. I'm going to make a cup of tea.

Chapter 31

Harry wouldn't leave his sword alone. 'His' sword, as he now referred to it. He had got himself a sword belt and scabbard and he wore this all day as he marched about the school. 'Constant vigilance,' he called it. He said that he was always ready for the attack, when it came. They had infiltrated the school before, and they could do so again, and Harry was adamant that they would not get to Ginny. He had to protect her, so he said, because she would always be in danger. Spiderman has many enemies, and so too does Harry P. He had to protect them all.

Chapter 32

'We're going for pizza,' Voldemort said.

Bellatrix looked up, bored, from the kitten that she held above the copper bowl, her knife paused against its throat.

'Come on,' Voldemort said.

Lucius muted the TV. 'Who's going to pay?' he asked.

'I'm doing a ritual,' Bellatrix moaned. Draco hoisted his book higher so that it covered his eyes.

'I'm going to pay,' Voldemort said, trying not to lose his enthusiasm. 'I got the job, so I'm going to treat us all. I know that I've not been the best, lately, but I think that things are really going to change now. I'm going to make the effort. And to apologise, I want to treat us. treat us all. As a family. Can't I do that?'

Chapter 33

Harry and Ron were playing wizarding Warhammer 40k. They'd progressed a bit from chess, you see. Harry's Space Wolf (naturally) army was being slowly overwhelmed by the superior tactics of Ron's Orc horde. Don't ask me how Ron was doing it, I've never been able to beat a Space Wolf player in my life. That was the most munchkinised army list I've ever seen.

Anyway. Enough of the author intervention. It's boring. The cup of tea was nice though.

Bollocks.

Chapter 33

Harry and Ron were playing wizarding chess, and Ron had the upper hand. As they played, Harry studied his friend, looking for signs of weakness. In doing so, he noticed for the first time the little stripes that adorned Ron's collar. When Ron noticed Harry staring he said: 'they still want you back, you know?'

Harry ignored him, silent for a second, and then he asked, 'what do those make you?'

'I'm a sergeant,' Ron said. 'And so is Hermione.'

'Only sergeant?' Harry asked dismissively.

'The structure's a little loose, Harry,' Ron said as he moved his piece. 'But I'm happy doing that, taking charge in the front line. They've split it into two regiments, I've got the 1st, with most of the old hands Bones, Bell, MacMillan, Smith, the Patils – who make a brilliant heavy support team – even Finnigan and Thomas are turning out to be top class marines. Hermione's in charge of 2nd regiment, our backup squad with some of the weaker hands. The Creaveys in close quarters spot, Spinnet on point, and the new members as well, Hudson, Apone, Vasquez, Drake and Spunkmeyer, Frost, Crowe and Weirbowski. She's doing a really good job of licking them into shape. But we really need you.'

'What about Neville?'

'He's the general. Luna's his trusted lieutenant.'

'I bet that he's really pleased with himself for that,' Harry said darkly. 'He's always wanted to be me. To be as good as me.'

'What are you saying, Harry?' Run spluttered. 'He wants you to be the commander. He wants you in charge.'

'What, he wants me to take his place on the hill? That's not Harry P. I need to be there, be in the thick of battle, smelling the blood of my enemies as I spill it with my own hand.'

'Harry, that's not what this is about. Neville isn't that sort of general anyway, he leads from the front, and he wants us there with him.'

Harry knew, somehow, suddenly, as his friend talked, the depth of Ron's despair at Harry's behaviour. The first glimmerings of distaste. Of disloyalty. And he marked them well. He knew too the next few moves that Ron would make on the chessboard, and he knew what he should do to crush this attack.

Chapter 34

'Thank you, my liege,' Lucius Malfoy said.

'That's ok,' Voldemort said. 'I wanted to treat us.'

'Well, it's appreciated. I know we've said things to each other in the past. But...'

'I understand, Lucius,' Voldemort said. 'And how are my special troopers doing,' he cried out as Draco, Bellatrix and Narcissa came back from the ice cream factory with their bowls piled high with silver balls and chocolate buttons, hundreds and thousands and all different kinds of syrups.

'This is brilliant,' Draco enthused. 'Thank you so much, uncle Voldemort.'

'Uncle Voldie,' Bellatrix said.

Narcissa watched her two charges indulgently, then she shifted her gaze to the two men who had remained seated and felt a frisson of excitement, imagining the spit-roast that she could look forward to this evening.

'Uncle Voldie,' Bellatrix continued, 'you never told us what your plan was, before. When you wanted to take over the world and kill off Harry Potter.'

'I know, Belly, I know,' The Dark Lord Voldemort said. 'It was, well, it was a passing thing. And it wasn't even about Potter. Not really.'

'No?'

'No, there was another prophecy. There's a hell of a lot of power there, at Hogwarts. And it's tied up for use in teaching the young.'

'Fat lot of use that,' Narcissa let slip.

'Exactly,' Voldemort said, letting his own gaze rest on Narcissa and then her husband, and himself thinking forward to the night that this display of largesse had bought him. 'That power could well be used by someone else. By me, I suppose. And I heard a prophecy, about how the power would be available only when the four founders had been turned against each other. Something about relics of the founders being used to destroy relics of the other founders. I'd had this in mind for a very long time, ever since I was a kid, it was even in my diary, and I'd done some of the work towards it already a few years ago. But, I suppose the idea wore off a bit. I've got a new purpose in life.'

'I love these chocolate frostings,' Draco said.

Chapter 35

Hagrid held his swollen man saber before him. Madame Maxine, her great orbs swollen with power... Hagrid lowered his sword and cleaved her in twain... I really can't write this. It's wrong.