He's Not Dead Yet
Hey, sorry for the wait. I've been in a creative slump again, plus I've been getting into Lord of the Rings (I finally decided to read Tolkien's works after years of putting it off), and that has left me with lots of fanfic ideas (in particular crossover stuff with Harry Potter; you may see some ideas for said fics popping up in my "Little Bouts of Randomness" in the near future).
Also, any allusions to a giant pyramid in the Bermuda Triangle are based on an image I found on the internet. Don't know how valid it is (unlikely valid) but the picture was fairly inspirational (in terms of photoshop and human imagination).
Anyway, I don't own Harry Potter or anything else.
I'm Going to Lay Down Some Sheep Poison
Harry, his girlfriends, and his regular friends were hanging out beside the lake, enjoying one of the few final summer days of the term. It was cool, but pleasant enough that everyone had taken the chance to do their studying outside before the approach of winter. Hermione, as usual, had the biggest and probably densest textbook she could find held up to her face as Crookshanks lounged in her lap. Tracey had pulled out a picnic basket and was setting up lunch. Fay and Luna were quizzing each other on knowledge of magical creatures. Susan was writing in her notebook, drawing up ideas for new and improved security measures. And Daphne was wading in the shallows of the lake with her sister Astoria, both splashing each other playfully.
In short, it was exactly the type of peace and quiet that Harry had always yearned for.
Then why the hell couldn't he relax and enjoy it?!
His fingers tapped impatiently against the grass, his eyes kept darting around as though he expected some kind of attack any moment, and every snap of a twig or rustle of leaves made him want to jump up and start shooting off spells. It was maddening to go on like this, knowing that, despite the efforts of Madam Bones and the Aurors, Voldemort and some of his top Death Eaters were still at large. It wasn't even Harry's "hero complex" that was causing him to be so jittery; it was just that he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself entirely until Voldemort was safely disposed in a hole in the ground (or incinerated, launched into space, or smushed beneath a 16-ton weight; he wasn't picky).
"Don't worry, Harry," said Fay, who recognized the look about him. "The Dark Wanker and his Death Munchers can't hold out much longer. Frankly, I'd be more paranoid about a certain pair of Weasels." Her glance fell in the direction of Ron and Ginny, who had taken to stalking Harry and his group. "Don't know when to give up, they don't."
"I'm just waiting on them to do something stupid," Harry said. "They take one step out of line and they'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'psychopaths.' And, yeah, I know Moldyshorts is doomed, but there's the chance that he's going to try something and he could still harm someone. And even when he's gone, his followers can still regroup and maybe garner some support abroad and launch another attack. Then we could have an entirely new war to deal with and-"
"Someone's being pessimistic again," said Tracey.
"No, Harry's got a point," said Luna. "If there were fewer Death Eaters, there wouldn't be so many of them, numerically speaking."
"Uh, right," Harry added. "But what'd need to happen is for the Death Eaters to go down before Voldemort does."
Unknown to Harry, Luna was getting one of her premonitions. The slightly manic smile on her face was ignored as those who spent so much time around her had become accustomed to that particular expression and knew they would be better off just not asking.
News of a sudden upsurge in the brutal murders of Death Eaters and blood-purists was greatly celebrated as the holidays approached. And Harry, too, took this as a blessing. He seemed more relaxed than ever each time he read the obituaries and saw the lists of pureblood-supremacists who'd perished in sudden and violent ways. He decided not to question this stroke of good luck; after all, everything else had been going smoothly lately, and tradition had indicated (and as his girlfriends pointed out) that there would not be any big confrontation or attempt to legitimately kill him until the end of the year.
Instead, Harry chose to focus on schoolwork and the holiday season. He was especially delighted to discover his girlfriends had decided to give him his Christmas gift early and had pulled him into the Room of Requirements to give it to him one snowy evening. That he was somewhat bowlegged for the rest of the week probably had nothing to do with anything that might have occurred that evening.
Sirius walked about in a perpetual good mood as his wife's pregnant stomach became more pronounced. Though the abject displays of uxorious devotion and paternal pride did get a little grating, especially for his lovely wife; but Bathsheba took it all in with a smile, a headshake, and an "oh, Sirius." Though Sirius' giddy demeanor did not detract from his teasing of Remus to find a nice girl himself; if such comments happened to only occur whenever Tonks was around, it was pure coincidence.
Albus Dumbledore was, for the first time in months, feeling quite cheerful. After months of being constantly on the run, he finally had a plan that would get him back the fame, respect, and adulations he deserved. It was a good plan. He knew Voldemort would have to make a stand soon and chances were it would be towards the end of the school year (as seemed to be the norm for attempts on Harry Potter's life). After having snuck back into Britain, he'd managed to glean enough information about the approaching battle from one of the Death Eaters; before the poor soul had met his untimely end (such a tragedy, in Dumbledore's opinion, that the man had been killed by someone before he could be redeemed once Voldemort was gone).
Harry Potter would have to die, though. Not quite yet, as Dumbledore still had to find those Horcruxes. The upcoming battle would merely be Dumbledore's chance to swoop in and be the hero of the day. Then, once he'd finally talked some sense into the Ministry, he could arrange to have things put back to how they should be, how they were before. Harry had far too much freedom; that scheme Dumbledore had concocted with Walter Davis had fallen through, but that didn't mean he couldn't still finagle the plan back on track and get Harry under his thumb again. Walter Davis was one of the only people willing to remain his ally. All he had to do was get Walter to force his daughter to get Harry to marry her, and then Harry's fortunes and titles would be safely ensconced in the care of Dumbledore's ally as Walter would have absolute control over any assets his daughter would inherit upon Harry's death.
What Dumbledore didn't realize was that several monkey wrenches were about to be thrown into the works.
Marissa Davis nee Rowle had been waiting for this day. Oh, yes she had. The letter she'd written to Tracey had told her daughter not to come home this holiday under any circumstances. While to most Marissa's behavior towards her daughter appeared negligent and even rather heartless, Marissa did love her daughter more than anything else. That was why she couldn't have Tracey home for Christmas, why she'd been convincing her daughter to stay away from home as much as possible (Marissa would forever be indebted to the Greengrass family, and to the Granger family who had taken Tracey in last Christmas).
If that marriage contract between her daughter and the Goyle heir had gone through, Marissa would've sliced her husband's throat and have had done with it. All the times she'd pushed her daughter to find someone, anyone, she could be happy with had all been to prevent her daughter from suffering the same fate she had. And now, at long last, she was going to be free. They both were.
The potion had taken much trial and effort to brew. Something designed to make it look like Walter had merely died of a heart-attack, an old family potion that was completely undetectable. It had taken her this long to make because she'd never been particularly skilled at potions and her opportunities to attempt to brew it had been few and far between as Walter had never completely trusted her docile demeanor, not after how she fought back so viciously on their wedding night.
But here was her one chance. She'd make sure all her husband's affairs were in order so that Tracey would be set for life; Marissa would then follow her old friend Narcissa's path and head off to the French Riviera (Cissy told her she had a spare room in her suite for Marissa). Marissa had her own money waiting for her; her brother Thorfinn's 'tragic' death recently had left her as sole heir to the Rowle family and she had been holding up her inheritance as long as possible to prevent it from immediately being snatched up by her husband.
As she slipped the potion into the pudding, the night before the holiday train would leave Hogwarts, Marissa thought for a moment this might get her placed permanently on the "Naughty List." But that was a small price to pay when she would be off the next morning to alert St. Mungo's that her husband was suffering a heart-attack, mere minutes after he'd already succumbed to it.
She'd left a letter for her daughter at Gringotts, to be given to Tracey after the will was read, explaining why she'd done what she had. Marissa felt she would just be in her daughter's way, that Tracey might never truly forgive her even after she read the letter, and so she was going to bow out graciously and head in search of the freedom she'd thirsted for since she was a young woman, now reignited.
Tracey, meanwhile, was spending a pleasant holiday surrounded by people who could openly show they loved her. Harry had invited them all, each of his girlfriends and their families, as well as Neville and the Longbottoms, and Neville's girlfriend Hannah and her parents, to join him and his family (Sirius, Bathsheba, Remus, and the Tonkses) at the vacation home he'd decided to purchase in the tropics (manors were all well and good, but he needed to see the sunshine again). It wasn't so much a vacation home, though, as much as a small island in the exclusively magical real estate center in the Bermuda Triangle; something which caused Mr. Granger to exclaim, "I knew it!" as soon as he was told where the island was located.
"Does that mean Atlantis is also hidden here?" he'd asked Sirius.
"Don't tell me you actually believe in Atlantis of all things," Sirius chuckled. "That's nothing but an urban legend. Everyone knows that Atlantis was named after the underwater shopping district."
As it happened, in the center of the Triangle there was a giant pyramid made of some sort of glass-like substance that was unbreakable. This pyramid was the largest magical shopping district in the world and was named after Atlanta Kallikrates, the witch who colonized the magical islands of Bermuda.
"What causes all those disappearances, then?" asked Mr. Granger. "And all those storms?"
"Accidents of nature," Sirius explained. "Natural energy radiates away from the islands, causing freak storms and tidal waves. The islands are protected, but not by any kind of magic. People are just stupid enough to keep tempting the weather."
Of course, the weather in the very heart of the islands was superb and the families and friends took every available opportunity to enjoy it. The Bayly family, as it turned out, happened to have an island of their own not far from the one Harry had purchased. So, many an pleasant evening was spent that Christmas holiday in the company of good friends and family.
Tracey would not receive the news of her father's death and her mother's sudden departure until she returned to Britain as owl mail was inaccessible to the Triangle.
The rest of the following semester passed with little that was worthy of note. Bad guys were still scheming, Harry was still developing new ways to bring the magical world into the 20th-21st century and enjoying the company of his girlfriends, the OWLs were approaching, Sirius was getting more and more excited about the anticipated arrival of his child, and more and more blood-purists disappeared.
It was in June that the final blow was about to fall.
The Death Eaters, what few remained (except Bellatrix, who still refused to leave Voldemort's side), were holed up in their hideout at the YMACA. Their master had given them a precise date for when they would launch their final attack against Potter and all he stood for. It was a good plan, a lot of work had been put into it and Rookwood had even taken the trouble to write it all up on some very nice stationary (that he'd stolen). The Dark Lord had informed them not to contact him any time until the strike; at which point they had better go to the exact location of the final battle or risk suffering his ire.
What Voldemort didn't know was that not one of his Death Eaters would live long enough to see that final battle.
As his inner circle sat together, going on and on about why they hated Muggle-borns, they heard a loud thumping sound from out in the hallway. There was a sharp squeal and a cry of pain as the guard in front of the door to their conference room was disposed of. The Death Eaters all looked at each other, shrugged, and went on complaining. There was a loud ruckus as someone else must have entered the hallway. A series of crashes, squeaks, and horrific bangs finally planted a seed of doubt in their minds.
"Probably just that National Bocialist meeting in 22A," said Yaxley. "McNair, could you go check?"
Walden McNair, sometimes known to his friends as…"Tim" reluctantly rose from his seat, set down the five aces of spades he'd had in his hand for their poker game, and cracked the door open to tell the other residents to bugger off. What he saw made him slam the door shut and turn back to his comrades, face white as a sheet.
"What is it?" Lucius Malfoy demanded. "What's wrong?"
"It's here!" McNair gasped, a terrified glint in his eyes. "The Beast of Caer Bannog."
"What is that?" asked Yaxley.
"A creature so foul, so cruel tha' no man yet 'as fought wit' it an' lived! Bones of four-fifty men lie strewn abou' its lair! So, my friends, if you do doubt yer courage an' yer strength, come no further, for death awaits yeh all with nasty, big, pointy teeth."
Lucius and the other Death Eaters exchanged looks.
"I think we'll chance it," he said. "Open the door, McNair."
McNair grudgingly stepped away and cracked the door open for them to all look out. No one could see anything at first, but they were all getting anxious.
"Right, I'm going on," Lucius decided. "Keep me covered."
"What with?" said Crabbe Sr.
"Just keep me covered."
"Too late! There 'e is," McNair gasped, pointing out into the room. All that the others could see was a fluffy, white bunny rabbit.
"Where?" said Lucius.
"There!"
"What, behind the rabbit?"
"It is the rabbit."
Everyone turned to stare at him in disbelief.
"You silly sod!"
"Wha?"
"You got us all worked up."
"Well, tha's no ordin'ry rabbit. That's the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered rodent yah e're set eyes on."
"You tit!" snapped Yaxley. "I soiled my robes I was so scared."
"Look, that rabbit's got a vicious streak a mile wide, it's a killer!"
"Get stuffed," said Nott Sr.
"It'll do you up a treat, mate."
"You manky, Scottish git," said Parkinson.
"I'm warnin' yah."
"What does he do, nibble your bum?" snickered Yaxley.
"He's got huge, sharp…er, he can leap about…"
"Go on, Amycus, blast its head off," ordered Lucius.
"Right, silly little bleeder," said Amycus Carrow, drawing his wand. "One rabbit stew coming right up."
"Look!" shouted McNair.
The rabbit let out a squeak as it lunged for Carrow's throat, ripping his head off.
"Merlin's pants!" Lucius shouted.
"I warned yah," McNair said in a sing-song tone.
Luna Lovegood skipped into the living area of the Founders' Quarters with a pleasant smile on her face, decidedly ignoring the uneasy stares being directed her way.
"Uh, Luna?"
"Yes, Hermione?"
"Why are you covered in blood?"
"Hmm, that's an interesting question, Hermione. A better one, though, would be: why are you not covered in blood?"
"You haven't been doing anything we might not approve of, have you?"
"Of course not, Hermione! I assure you, what I was doing is of no consequence and you most certainly didn't see anything."
Hermione felt she would be best served to not say anything else and go back to her book. Everyone else decided to do something to similar effect.
Author's Note: Again, sorry about the slow updates. I've reached that point where I'm starting to near the end and I'm getting strapped for ideas about how to wrap everything up. Thanks to everyone for being so patient.