Warnings: minor gore, drama!physics, homicide, ridiculousness
Disclaimer: I own not of the Harry Potter, all rights and proprietorship remain where they originally lay, with J K Rowling and co; I also do not own Jaws or 300, and the rights to those two movies remain where they were before you read this disclaimer.
Bring up the lights!
A stranger sidled up to Harry as he stared off into the waves, standing at the edge of the dock. He'd gone to the beach with Ginny, Ron, and Hermione to celebrate the second anniversary of Voldemort's death away from the prying eyes of the wizarding world, but there'd still been a few well-wishers like this one who successfully sought them out. The man's arm went around his shoulders, and he'd meant to duck out of the hold, but a wandtip pressed into his neck froze him in place.
"Oh, Harry," the man whispered in a familiar dusty rasp, "I've only been gone two years and you're already losing your edge." Harry felt each muscle in his body tense in a ripple of disbelief. Without his direct permission, his face turned to that of his captor's. It appeared Voldemort had possessed a relative unknown as blue-grey eyes stared back, half-lidded and glowing with malevolence, from an unfamiliar face. "I know what you're thinking." Harry blinked; he hadn't quite got around to thought yet, though he was imagining the theme music of Jaws for some reason or another.
"You're thinking," Voldemort continued softly, the next measure of Jaws nearly drowning out the bickering of Hermione and two Weasleys at the shoreline as they decided whether or not to intervene in Harry and 'the stranger's' surprisingly lengthy conversation, "that I can't possibly be back. Not without a Horcrux. Normally you'd be right, but I know things that can horrify the darkest of minds…" The music was getting vaguely more intense and Harry kept himself from fidgeting with monumental effort. Auditory hallucinations could mean he wasn't really hearing the voice of Voldemort from this poor man. "Things that would curl a weaker man's whiskers…" Nope, that was all Voldemort. The music sped up forebodingly. "There's one shot after all the Horcruxes are gone for this to work… Only one and only once…" Voldemort was saying, "It takes two years to bring back the practitioner… And it never would have happened if you had just kept my Horcruxes' destruction to yourself." Harry had stopped listening at 'one shot,' cogs turning in his head as the music began to crescendo. "For that, Harry, I simply had to seek you out first, and thank you." Ginny and the others had gotten into hearing range, evidently deciding to interrupt, and Voldemort said enthusiastically, even sadistically, "Thank you, Harry Potter, for all you've done for me."
The music was drumming in his ears as Harry used the unguarded moment of triumph to duck under Voldemort's arm, snapping the wand with his nearest hand and Sparta-kicking Voldemort off the dock in one fluid motion, just as a ridiculously monumental Great White shark surged open-mouthed out of the water.
Voldemort and shark met each other with the same expression of shock, but the shark recovered quicker. Jaws clamped shut and Voldemort's host's head, a bit of his upper torso, and one arm went flying in different directions, blood spurting like hot ketchup all over Harry and the three wizards standing behind him. The shark retreated beneath the waves and the music eased, Harry nodding his head firmly and reaffirming his belief that theme music could never lead him wrong.
Ginny couldn't react, her arms held out to her side as if to keep the blood on them from touching her equally gore-soaked outfit, and Hermione was desperately trying to think of how to cover up her best friend becoming a murderer, so it fell to Ron to make sense of the situation.
"Bloody hell," he said, looking over the edge of the dock at what was left of the host body floating in the waves. The redhead spared a glance at his satisfied friend, and looked back at the waves, "Could you, next time, just tell 'em to bugger off?" Harry favored him with an amused expression, and Ron shook his head.
"Look, no one else actually saw Harry make that kick, right?" Hermione asked aloud, before her eyes narrowed, "And neither did we, of course."
"We did not," Ginny lied faintly, blood dripping down her fingers to the deck.
"Course not," Ron agreed absently.
"It was a natural death," Hermione decided, "You even reached out after him, didn't you, Harry?"
Harry opened his mouth to explain the real situation and put his friends' minds at ease, but Ginny seemed to be lowering herself into the water to get the blood off, and Harry couldn't emphasize enough how bad of an idea that was, so he lunged after her and occupied himself pulling her back onto the safety of the dock, instead.
A tapping of red soaked fingers together, and Hermione had formulated her cover story. "Alright," she said, "here's how it all happened."
Unnoticed, Ron sat heavily down on the edge of the dock and pulled out a silvery flask from his jacket pocket as Hermione babbled behind him and Harry held Ginny's hands patiently while she made her slippery way up the ladder. Unscrewing the lid, he took a deep swig, and stared out at the gore-soaked horizon thoughtfully, "I could use a shark like that."