The Fall of Harry J. Potter

Harry Potter wasn't just a normal boy. He was actually a wizard.

"You're a what?" said Hermione Granger, a girl Harry had known for the past seven years.

"Hermione," said Harry sweetly. "You're a fucking cunt."

"Honestly, Harry, she's got a point," said Harry's other best friend, Ronald Weasly, in a tired and boring English accent. Harry lived in England, with every other wizard on the planet.

Harry sighed for about three minutes. He hated Ron sometimes. But other times . . . he loved him.

While Harry had been sighing, Hermione and Ron were thinking up ways to get Draco Malfoy expelled or eaten. "Or both," Ron suggested at one point. Hermione had laughed quite annoyingly and Ron had to slap her to get her to shut up. Harry finally stopped sighing and looked at his two friends longingly. Sometimes, he just hated Hermione's big, annoying hair. But other times . . . he loved her.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione said bemusedly. "You're sweating profusely."

Harry looked shocked and appalled. He didn't even know what "profusely" meant. But he knew he had been insulted, and he got up from the Gryffindor table and stormed away, shouting at the top of his lungs in a very pompous manner.

Ron had been too busy stuffing figgy pudding into his mouth to notice what was going on. He looked up gloomily at Hermione. "Where's Harry gone?" he asked, his mouth still full. He knew Harry was prone to fits of rage and storming off places. Sometimes he just hated that famous Harry Potter. Other times, however . . . he loved him.

Confused about his feelings, Ron decided to stare at Hermione's chest for a while. That always made him feel more heterosexual. It made Hermione feel like a dirty old dishrag that had been used to clean a thousand cars and one very dusty nightlamp.

"Ron, you're doing it again," she said with malice.

Ron looked up and met her eyes. For once.

"Well, dammit, Hermione, someone's gotta be looking." He pointed to the Ravenclaw table behind them. About five other boys were also staring at Hermione's chest. It made her feel like a house-elf. Dirty, filthy, and disgusting. Her eyes narrowed and her frown turned into an evil scowl.

Ron sighed and apologized, cursing under his breath. He hated it when Hermione gave him that look. He hated her! But at the same time . . . he loved her chest.

Harry was now marching through the corridors of the massive school, still fuming from Hermione's comment. Everything seemed so stupid to harry, all the talking paintings and annoying ghosts. everything that had gotten him in so much trouble over the past few years. It all came crashing down on his head when his old nemesis Draco walked up to the same swinging stair way harry was waiting for. Some new first year students were following Draco around helping him with everything since his last henchmen had died at the hands of Harry's mischief.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Draco sneered. His words cut like a lightning bolt onto Harry's forehead.

"Listen Malfoy," Harry started. He stared at Draco for a long time. All these years, he had really hated Draco. But sometimes . . . he loved him.

"Hello? Excuse me?" Draco had grown impatient of Harry's daydreaming. All he wanted to do was wipe the floor with him. But Harry wouldn't snap out of it. Draco tried hurling some terrible insults.

"Oi! Orphan!" He shouted loudly. Some other students who had lost their parents looked up, confused and hurt. Harry continued to stare.

"Harry, you stupid fairy! You and your damned scar, and your damned doing everything better than me!" Draco paused. He had meant to insult Harry, but that last comment had just hurt him. Several people who had scars looked up, confused. Other people, who had done everything better than Draco, also looked up, scratching their heads and feeling a little insulted.

Harry was thinking about Dumbledore now. That wise old man . . . Harry began to cry. He was, after all, the reason that Dumbledore was dead, and the reason the school's new Headmaster was Severus Snape.

Draco felt really awkward. Harry was just sitting there crying. He didn't want to be around when Harry went into his next mood swing and started throwing things, yelling, and not making sense. He quietly snuck away, leaving Harry huddling in a pool of his own tears, sweat, and now vomit. He looked up. A roundish figure was now walking towards him.

It was Neville Longbottom. Harry stopped crying. No one at the school was allowed to cry in front of Neville, who'd had the worst life of them all. He was still recovering from cancer just weeks after all his relatives had simultaneously died in a car crash, a flood, and a terrible bar mitzvah disaster.

"Harry, what's - " Neville only got that far before he bagan coughing violently. Blood spurted from his mouth and onto the stairs in front of Harry. Some even got on Harry's robes. Harry really hated Neville sometimes. Other times . . . he loved that fat boy. Mostly for his courage in the face of a horrible death of Muggle cancer, which was incurable in wizards.

"Nothing," said Harry, knowing what Neville was going to ask. He patted his faithful friend on the back, which was a big mistake, because he collapsed on the ground in a coughing fit and promptly died.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" screamed Harry, loudly enough to attract Snape's attention from the other side of the school. "What have I done? Everyone I truly care about dies! This is the worst life ever! I HAVE SO MUCH ANGST." Harry began crying again, and was seriously considering deleting his livejournal, when Snape appeared.

Snape was Harry's least favorite teacher. And Harry was Snape's least favorite student. And it showed when Snape spoke, in a creepy, barely audible whisper, to the unfortunate Mr. Potter.

"Oh, you stupid boy, you've gone and killed Neville. He was the key to everything, don't you understand? Oh, I hate you so much, Harry Potter. But sometimes . . . I daresay I love you, old chap."

Harry blinked, stared at Snape for a moment, and screamed. He got up and ran to tell Ron and Hermione what had happened. He told them practically every detail of his miserable, boorish little English life and they ate it up like delicious chocolates. Harry found the both of them making out on Ron's four-poster bed. Hermione's shirt was off, so Harry just stared at her for a while. Finally she noticed the extra presence in the room and shoved Ron onto the floor.

"What's the big idea, 'Mione?" He screeched. Harry finally noticed how much Ron sounded like his owl, Hedwig, who had also died when he tried to retrieve his mail from her one morning. Harry began crying at the memory of his beloved pet.

"Oh, he's crying again," said Hermione, slipping on her shirt and pulling out her wand. She pointed it straight at Harry's eyes and screamed, "Prozakkius!" Harry's tears dried up immediately and a large, fake grin stretched across his face.

"Thanks," Harry said, as Ron climbed back onto the bed and gazed up at him lovingly. "Listen, something really . . . disturbing has just happened." And he told them all about Snape's harrowing confesion.

For a minute Ron and Hermione didn't say anything. Then, Hermione threw up all over the place. "Hermione!" Ron bellowed, slapping her. "I just washed these bloody sheets! And I'm not using 'bloody' as some stupid English buzzword this time, they were really bloody from the last person Harry unintentionally killed!"

"Will you shut up!" Harry screamed, tears streaming down his face as he remembered Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas lying on Ron's bed with giant axes in their backs, Lord Voldemort standing above them wearing his latest disguise: that of Cho Chang, Harry's secret crush. Ah, but she was dead now too. "We're talking about my problems here!"

"You're absolutely correct, Harry." said Hermione matter-of-factly. She didn't mean to say it that way, but being a pushy little know-it-all, she couldn't help it. "Now, tell us what happened."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, you cunt, I've already told you." But his words fell on deaf ears, because Ron and Hermione had resumed making out on Ron's vomit covered bedspread. "Oh, to hell with the both of you," Harry muttered, leaving the Gryffindor commonroom.

He was halfway down the steps when he realized that he didn't want to run into Snape again, so he ran back upstairs for his invisibility cloak. With it, he could be invisible. He approached the Fat Lady, who asked him the password. "Gryffindor," Harry said sarcastically. The passwords had been so easy to guess recently that Harry had already faced Voldemort twenty times in the past week. He went up to his room and was about to open the door when he heard Ron say his name. He stopped to listen. Hermione was talking too, but he had no idea what they were talking about. He put his ear to the door.

"Well Harry doesn't know yet, we can't just tell him," she was saying.

"It would ruin him," Ron agreed.

"But he has the right to know!" said a third voice that Harry recognized instantly. It was Luna Lovegood. That password was just too easy to guess. Harry was going to have a talk with Snape about that . . . but after today . . .

Harry stopped thinking. The voices had all suddenly gone quiet. Harry opened the door slowly, and what he saw almost made him burst into tears for what must have been the 13th time that day.

Lord Voldemort was standing in the room, towering over the three small children. Well, the three awkwardly shaped teenagers.

Harry gasped. Lord Voldemort was the person Harry hated the most! Out of everyone! But at the same time . . . Harry loved him. Thinking about this made Harry blush almost as red as Ron's hair. Deciding that he couldn't deal with this right now, Harry quietly shut the door and snuck back out of the commonroom. As soon as he stepped out into the corridor, Voldemort appeared before them.

"What?" yelled Harry. "But you were just - I saw you in - How did you - ?"

Lord Voldemort simply laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed. He had a good guffaw at Harry's expense. He chortled and chuckled with glee. He snickered and sniggered and snorted and giggled. Harry stood there, quite unamused.

"Ah, Harry," said Lord Voldemort at last. "So we meet again, old sport. So, so, how shall I kill you this time?"

"There is no 'this time'." Harry said coldly. "You've never managed to kill me, you great bafoon!" Lord Voldemort's smile quickly faded.

"You wretched boy," he seethed. "You have gotten the best of me for the last time! Now I shall finally have my revenge! Expelliarmus!" His spell sent Harry flying into the painting of the Fat Lady, who was singing terribly. Harry really hated that stupid painting. But sometimes . . . he loved it. Someday he would have to tell everybody how much he loved them. It gave him extra courage, and he stood up quickly to face off with his nemesis. But as soon as he stood up, he had fallen back down.

"I've broken my leg!" He squealed, and Lord Voldemort doubled over in a crippling laughter. Then he fell on the floor and rolled around for a few minutes, continuing to laugh, guffaw, giggle, chortle, and snigger at poor Harry's expense.

"You haven't broken your leg, boy!" he cried, when his hideous ha ha's had finally ceased. "I've broken it! Now I'm going to kill you!" True to his word, Voldemort took out a knife and stabbed Harry in the stomach at least seventeen times. Harry was counting, but he had lost count after seventeen. That's why we'll never be sure. Then Voldemort took out a vile of heroin and stuck it into Harry's arm, injecting all of it. He pulled out another vile and injected that into Harry also. Harry felt a strange sense of happiness that he couldn't describe. He though about all his years at Hogwarts, where he had gotten into heaps of trouble and faced off with Lord Voldemort too many times to count. He thought about Ron, his best friend, who was probably making out with Hermione right now. He thought about Hermione, too. She was so smart. She had helped Harry so much. And now, Harry wouldn't be able to help her raise their child, the one that was growing inside of Hermione at that very instant. He thought of Cho Chang, the first girl he ever kissed - and the first girl he accidentally killed. He thought of all of his teachers, most of whom were now dead.

And then he felt nothing at all.

Hermione held a baby in her arms as she and Ron walked away from the graveyard where the great Harry Potter had been buried. Tears were running down her face. She had told Ron the baby was his, but only because she didn't want to end up a single mother. Ron believed her, because he was pretty stupid. He patted the baby's head, and thought about how lucky he was to have a baby that sort of looked like his best friend. Ron was really quite stupid.

Above, in a tree, Voldemort was looking at the pair of them as they walked down the street.

"Oh, those two," he said, blushing.

And he ran off to kill a bunch of happy children.

THE END.