Chapter One: The Dark Lord in the Hizouse.

Two men appeared out of nowhere like some kinda wizards or something. They exchanged small talk as they walked up to a handsome manor house that grew out of the darkness. There was a white peacock. Remember that, it has no impact on the story. They entered a large room, lit only by an imposing fireplace. Dark figures sat along the table. Through the darkness looks of scorn for those born of a lower status or living lives of compassion etched their faces. It was obvious that the members of this group, to reiterate, were powerful masters of dark and evil arts. Or Thatcherian Toris.
"Yaxley. Snape." came a high-pitched voice that Ralph Fiennes couldn't pull off. "You're very almost late." The source of the voice came from the head of the table. Before the fireplace sat a man or something. Might've been a sleestack. Maybe that Gorn thing from Star Trek but with less nose. "Snape," said the noseless man with red eyes (he has red eyes by the way) "sit here." He indicated the seat next to him. "Yaxley. You sit at the bitch table," he droned, gesturing to the small table in the back where a long-haired albino and a Russian sat in tiny chairs, their knees up to their chins. "So...?" he continued after they'd taken their seats, "whatup?"
Yaxley spoke from his scrunched position. "We've taken over the minds of some of the ministry higher-ups. As for the boy-"
"The boy is being moved Saturday-" Snape said cutting accross Yaxley, but only figuratively. For now. "They won't use the flu network because they don't trust the Ministry. They won't apparate to the new location because mfflmffl." Snape said muffling the last few words with his long, thin fingers.
"They won't apparate because what, Severus?" prodded the Dark Lord.
"Because mfflmffl," responded Snape, smothering the end of his sentence again like Great Great Aunt Ester that night when you just didn't want to hear her say another word about how much milk costs these days. We heard you Ester. We don't have room for a damn cow in our apartment.
"Mfflmffl," repeated the backlit figure, his lipless mouth betraying a hint of a smile, a smirk, a grimmace, a snicker, a scowl, and a grin, his red eyes glinting. He had red eyes, by the way. "Excellent. We'll take him then. I'll need a new wand. Mine appears to be gay for Potter's wand. Someone from the bitch table give me theirs. Uhhh... Malfoy. You don't get to have nice things." With reluctance Lucius Malfoy stood and presented his wand. Voldemort (for that was the name of the creepy baby-looking man) compared the two wands and noticed how much smaller, thinner and limp Malfoy's was.
"Voldemort! I love you baby! Look at me!" came the voice of a dark woman from the middle of the table. Batshitrix LeStrange was waving, blowing kisses, and lifting the front of her robe, showing petite breasts not seen since Fight Club.
"Daddy loves you, baby," Vodlemort said, clicking his teeth. His giant, long, thick snake Nagini wrapped around his shoulders, not representing a penis at all.

Chapter Two In M'bedroom

Harry Potter sulked in his shitty room at Number four Privett Drive. He was cleaning out his trunk, which he'd put off cleaning for six years. Oh, he was SO gonna do it during the summer holidays after his first year, but he'd just defeated the non-corporeal Voldemort and he figured that he deserved a rest. Then the summer after that, he had so much nothing to do. Then the summer after that he just couldn't be bothered. Then during the summer after his fourth year he wished his trunk could just hold infinite items, and that just made him lie in bed dreaming of the perfect trunk. Yeah, this perfect trunk could hold all kinds of stuff. Why, this magical trunk could keep a whole flat's-worth of junk in it. Yeah. Oh, but it would be heavy. Maybe it could float? Nah. Oh! What if it had hundreds of tiny legs underneath it? And it was mildly sociopathic? His thoughts went on like this, his trunk getting more and more cluttered. The year after that his godfather died and he just couldn't bother doing anything. Last year, he just didn't want to.
But this year he'd clean it out. He pawed through it pulling out objects, memories, and bits of exposition. There was a LOT of exposition in the trunk. A bit of mirror with a bit of piercing blue eye in it. A button reading "Potter Stinks!" in big letters. Written in much smaller type blinked the words "Reserve your copy of The Half-Blood Prince at Barnes & Noble." A locket with a note in it. An entire copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. He thought about each object in turn, laying the foundation for red herrings and plotpoints further on in the book. These introspections reminded the reader of some of the important events of the last six books, and catching up anyone who'd waited until book seven to read the series.
He sulked with super-human teenaged angst like Spiderman. Maybe Ultimate Spiderman. The latest edition of the Daily Prophet caught his gaze. He opened up to an obituary written by Elphias Doge for Harry's surrogate Gandalf, I mean grandfather, Albus Dumbledore.

When I first met Albus, I was eleven and we shared a car on the Hogwarts express. A brainy girl who could barely act joined us. We all became fast best pals. He was quite a guy with a previously unmentioned brother and sister. The sister died. Remember that.

At the top of his stack of papers was a copy of the Daily Prophet after the takeover by Rupert Murdock. The cover held an article by Betty Breathwaitfordshireington.

I had the pleasure of sitting down and talking to Rita Skeeter recently in her home. I wanted to discuss her new book Dumbledore- The Huge Asshole.
"Oh, there's so much to say about ol' Albus," she said with great affection. "He was a bit evil, you know. True, we all know him as a compassionate man with twinkly, piercing blue eyes who spent his life preaching unity and working to educate our children in a warm, though highly dangerous environment," she reflected with a tone of voice sweeter than your great aunt, the one you didn't smother, "but he was a bastard. He had a sister who was a retard or something."
Skeeter chuckled, her laugh as soothing as tiny churchbells on the feet of angels. "One person told me he raped puppies and smeared their feces on his chest."
This reporter felt more fortunate than even magically printed words can say to have spent this short time with the wonderful human being, Rita Skeeter.

Chapter Three: The Dursleys Out of Our Misery.

"POTTER!" bellowed uncle Vermon, interrupting further exposition for the moment.
"What do you want?" retorted Harry, walking down the stairs and joining the Dursleys in their sitting room, or foyer, or whatever they call the place the t.v. lives in England.
"We've changed our minds for the sixth time," responded his walrussian... walrussish... walru- his big fat uncle with a mustache. "We're not going with the Magical Witness Protection Agency."
Just then there was a knock at the door. Vernon opened it to reveal a man in a top hat, spectacles, paisley shirt, tutu, fisnets, frogman flippers and a Madonna cone bra. Most wizards didn't know how muggles really dressed. "Hello, then," he said, "I'm here to take you lot away. Put your safety in my hands."
"FINE!" Vernon responded. "I've nothing better to do." He and his mousy, horsy, waspish wife left.
"Oh," added Vernon as the door shut behind him, "Actor call for Equus has been moved up to 5:00 on Saturday."
Dudly, Harry's giant hooligan cousin approached. "Thanks for saving my life, Harry" he said, shaking Harry's hand.
"No worries, mate," said Harry appreciatively. "You're not such a bastard after all are you? Give us a cuddle then." The two mismatched cousins embraced and departed perhaps for the last time until we find out whether or not Harry survives this book.

Chapter Four: A Clusterfuck of Harrys

Soon all of Harry's best friends and members of the Order of the Phoenix arrived. Mad-Eye Moody laid out the plan, his creepy blue eye spinning in his skull, making it creepier and cooler than some enchanted eyepatch like in the movie.
"Right then," he growled, "rather then find a way around the trace or anything sensibly covert, we're going to turn everyone under thirty in the room into a Dopplepotter and leg off on brooms, winged skelehorses, a flying motorbike, a flying carpet, and an elephant with a feather that gives it confidence.
They executed the plan seamlessly and everyone took off. The moment they were high enough for Harry to look down at the house and say "I can see my house from here" instead of just, "Oi, this motorbike flies," they were surrounded on all sides by large group of death eaters on brooms, or as marine biologists would call them, "a pod."
"COOOOBRAAAA!" they shouted in unison as they set upon the Order. Spells, jinxes, and flashy lights sailed everywhere like the fourth of July. Wait, it's England. Like Guy Fawkes Day. Voldemort flew without a broom, which is apparently very spooky indeed. Snape cut off Goerge's ear with a spell. A killing curse hit Hedwig, thus preparing the reader for the disappointment to come. A small hoot that sounded like "O rly?" escaped her beak as she dropped dead in her cage.

DA: 0
DE: 1/2

Chapter Five: Moody Blues

Everyone somehow got away, except for Mad-Eye Moody who at this point was probably dead, but not until the reader got proof. Since it wasn't really he that we got to know in The Goblet of Fire, we didn't care that much. The remaining order and the fake Harrys reconvened at Tonks' parents house. The deatheaters couldn't get into this house because it was covered in magic. Only too late did they realize that they could've cast these enchantments on a bus and driven everyone to their next destination. Upon hearing of this, George's lost ear grew vengeful and joined the dark wizards. He looked adorable in his tiny ear-sized cloak and deathmask.
As they spoke of further plans, Harry's scar split his head with pain and he was granted seemingly convenient access to Voldemort's thoughts at just the right time. This vision let us know that the Dark Lord was having wand troubles. Our wives all reassured us that it's all right. It happens to every wizard at least once in their life.

DA:0
DE: 1.5

Chapter Six: A Fright in the Attic.

"We should probably tell him the truth," said Hermione, one morning days later at the Burrow.
"Right then," said Ron. He and Hermione led Harry to the attic. Resting on a small bed in the dank basiliskbestos-lined room was a hideous red creature covered in boils and mumbling in goulish. "He's going to sleep in my bed during the schoolyear so nobody will think that I, your best friend am on the lamb with you."
"It's ugly, red-haired, pockmarked, and unintelligible," observed Harry. "No one will be able to tell the difference."
"Cor blimey," Ron retorted. "Bob's yer uncle."

Chapter Seven: I, Being of Vague Mind and Little Help

Harry woke up on the morning of his seventeenth birthday with another convenient clue about Voldemort's search for wands. Ron gave him a book on how to pick up witches that he was sure would help Harry finally get into his sister's trousers. Ginny took Harry upstairs and gave him a book entitled How to Get Into My, Ginny Weasley's Trousers. He was excited to receive it. This meant he wouldn't have to borrow copies from Seamus and Dean.
As they set up a quick birthday party for Harry, Minister for Magic Liono Scrimgeour arrived and gave Harry, Ron, and Hermione the bequests that left them in The Last Will and Testement of Albus Percival Wulfric Algenon Salazar Godrick Hermione Brian Dumbledore. To Hermione he left an ancient copy of Lady Frothingshire's Big Book of Fairy Tales and Dark Magic bound in human flesh. To Ron he left a magic lighter and a diploma to show him that he had the brains the whole time, at which point Ron incorrectly attributed the basic Pythagorean law to an isosceles triangle instead of to a right. To Harry he gave a snitch. Slowly, suspiciously, Scrimgeour slipped the secretive snitch to it's successful seeker and successor. Dumbledore also left Harry the Sword of Gryphondor, but not until it was absolutely essential to the plot.
After Scrimgeour left, Harry remembered that he'd first caught the snitch in his mouth in a play that would later be known in quidditch terms as "the teabag." Harry kissed the snitch and words briefly appeared on it:
I open when you are about to fucking die.
"I wonder what that means," Harry speculated.

Chapter Eight: No Open Bar When You Invite the Great Aunts

It was the day of the wedding and much rejoicing was to be had. True to the logic that had preceded in the series, the people closest to Harry all gathered in one location together, letting down their guard, determined to not allow an obvious impending attack on the party spoil the mood. Fred and George picked through Fleur's cousins until they found the two with the most visible tramp stamps and snuck off. Harry was disguised as a ginger boy with polyjuice potion, a plan no deatheater could possibly have guessed.
In the middle of the reception that followed, a silver talking lynx daemon from the "His Dark Materials" series appeared.
"The shit has hit the fan," the lynx reported. "It's also seized control of the fan's blades and killed all of the fan's children. And the shit's coming this way now"

DA: 0
DE: 2.5

Chapter Nine: A Place That's Been Previously Established

Unlike everyone else at the wedding that day, Hermione did have the sense that was given to the common chipmunk. This was revealed after apparating Harry, Ron, and herself to a safe location. She took out a magical beaded bag that had changes of clothes, Harry and Ron's packed bags, books of interest, a full campsite, a timelord and his companion and anything else you might need whilst on the run, unless you wanted something to eat.
After defeating a couple of death eaters in a cafe, the trio ended up at Grimmauld Place.

Chapter Ten: Uncle Tom's Cabinet

Instead of sleeping in beds, Harry, Ron, and Hermione chose to spend their nights in sleeping bags. One night, Harry found a letter in Sirius' room that his mother had written when he was a baby:

Dear Padfoot,

Isn't it funny how absolutely everyone knows you as "Padfoot?" No one would ever suspect that you're an animagus who can turn into a dog the way we bandy that name about. Harry got the baby broom you gave him for his first birthday. I can't tell you how secure I am as a first time mother seeing my child who can barely walk fly around the house without protection.
Oh, how I wish I could drape him in the oddly long-lasting invisibility cloak and let him wander around in that, but Dumbledore borrowed it. Something about spying on McGonnegal and seeing if some sort of carpet matches drapes. I heard an interesting story about Dumbledore from Bathilda, which I will relate on the following page…

But there was no second page, leaving the reader guessing yet a-fucking-gain and building up suspense. Across the hall was the room of Sirius' brother Regilus Arcturus Black, or as his friend's referred to him ,"Ol' R.A.B." It was then that Harry, Ron, and Hermione figured out that Regilus was the man who stole the horcrux locket, just like everyone else realized at the end of book six.
To find out more, they grilled and ordered surly old Kreacher the houseelf about the circumstances leading to the stealing of the original locket, and learned that he's not just a bile-spewing jerk, but a sweet old soul who just needed a hug, foreshadowing the misinterpretation of another total bastard in the series.

Chapter Eleven: The Excuse to Bring Back Umbridge.

Lupin arrived at Grimmauld Place and assured them that everything was tip-top ship-shape, except that all muggle-born wizards were being sent to Guantanamo. He showed them the latest edition of the Daily Prophet in which editor J. Jonelethium Jammeson described Harry Potter as "a menace." Lupin also let it be known that he would be leaving his pregnant wife for her own good. Harry called him a coward and a low down scrub, y'all. Lupin would have left in a huff, but he stuck around to argue the point minute longer and so left in a minute and a huff. Thank you, Groucho Marx.
Kreacher arrived with Mundungus Fletcher who'd stolen the horcrux locket.
"Disarmio!" Harry shouted, blasting the wand from Mundungus' hand. He stood over the old sneak and interrogated him, his stare cold. "Mundungus, we're bored here and this story isn't getting anywhere. You need to give us another path of action to put us in much worse danger, but a danger that allows us to be clever and sneaky."
"Well, I gave the locket you're looking for to a frog-like old woman with a bizarre fascination with cats and an annoying half-cough," said Fletcher.
"Jackpot," said Hermione dreadfully.

Chapter Twelve: War is Peace. Big Brother is Watching You

The news just got worse. Severus Snape was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts. Helter and Skelter Carrow were hired on as teachers. The Minister for Magic fired eight federal attorneys mid-term under suspicious circumstances. All seemed bleak.
Weeks of monitoring and plotting came to a head when they put their cunning plan into action. In a way that only Brittish people can handle a Mission that seems Impossible, they decided to disguise themselves as ministry employees. Hermione disguised herself as a little grey-haired witch. Ron's potion made him look short and ferrety instead of tall and Weasley. Harry's potion turned him into my roommate Lucas.
The inside of the Ministry had changed. Instead of an ornate fountain of an elf, a wizard, and a centaur that totally didn't come to life in the fifth movie there stood a statue of two wizards on a throne of poor people, blacks, indians, homosexuals, and single mothers. "Strength Through Unity," read a plaque at the base of the statue. "Unity Through Magic."

Chapter Thirteen: The Bureau of Magical Toris

Beneath cover of invisibility cloak, Harry snuck into Dolores Umbridge's outer office. Outside, scratching upon tiny desks was a fleet of quills writing propaganda. A source-finding charm showed Harry that the quills were being remotely controlled by cheaper, equally compotent wizards in India. In the corner, a team of wizards with magical film cameras were remaking "Birth of a Nation."
Using a enchanted lawn jockey, he distracted the camera crew long enough to sneak into Umbridge's inner office. Unable to find the locket within, he ripped the spyscope off of the door and stole Moody's eye.
No one will notice the absence of an all-seeing, constantly vigilant, creepy, blue, disembodied eye hanging on a door, thought Harry, pocketing the eye and hiding back under the cloak.
Harry snuck down to the basement to find the others. Standing along the walls were countless tall, cloak-clad figures, sucking the joy out of the air. Harry could feel the cold sensation of the happiness leaving his body, of dispair setting in as if he'd just watched "Requiem for a Dream." Inside a courtroom, Umbridge and Yaxley were accusing Goody Proctor of not being a witch as Hermione transcribed the proceedings. He and Hermione stunned everyone, grabbed the necklace, and ran off with Proctor. In the hallway to the eleva- to the lifts they grabbed all the muggle-born defendents and made for the exit.
Ron joined them. He told them that somehow the absence of an all-seeing, constantly vigilant, creepy, blue, disembodied eye hanging upon Umbridge's door had alerted Ministry Security to a break in. Sorry to sound repetitive there, but Rowling makes no apologies for it.
As they apparated out of the Ministry, it was destroyed by a subway full of explosives and the corpse of Hugo Weaving in a Guy Fawkes Mask.

Chapter Fourteen: The Mystery Blond Guy

After settling in at a campsite, placing protective charms, and erecting a blue canvas Tardis with a complete flat inside of it, Harry received another brain-splitting, yet convenient insight into what Voldemort was up to. Hermione discovered that she'd learned nothing from having to leg it out of the wedding quickly. She still lacked the sensible forethought to pack an assortment of canned foods and non-perishables, just in case they had to go on the lamb again.
"Bloody Buggery Hell." Ron swore.
Bloody Buggery Hell indeed.

Chapter Fifteen: Ron Gone?

After a failed attempt to get food it was discovered that Harry was somehow being adversely affected by the hateful, soul-infecting talisman of evil he wore around his neck. Rather than put it in his protective mole-skin pouch, the three decided to wear it in shifts, thus spreading the anger, fear, and frustration around, making their lives of uncertainty, constant traveling, and isolation that much more bearable.
"Oi! Why can't we get some bloody food better than this shite?" Ron asked one night after forcing down a mouthful of bootleather.
"Well, I'm sorry, but boots are all I know how to cook!" cried Hermione, her temper stretched thin.
"Accio salmon!" they heard from outside as a group of wizard and goblin shadows were cast onto their tent.
"Boy, the world's gone to shit," One of the men said.
"I know," said the voice of Dean Thomas, one of their friends from school. "Let's recap all of the ways the world has gone to shit."
"Yes," agreed a goblin, "but let's pepper our recap with tiny morsels of hope."
"Accio Ron's mom's bacon sandwitches made with love!" a voice Harry recognized as Ted Tonks conjured. "How about that Harry Potter, eh? Swell feller, that 'un."
"Yeah," agreed Dean. "If only he would come out of hiding and lead some sort of resistance.
"All's I'm saying," continued Tonks, "is if he were on some sort of super-secret quest that would lead to the downfall of Voldemort, I would do everything in my limited power to help him achieve it without question or explanation."
"Yeah," said Dean through mouthfuls of bread pudding. "Shame he's not within earshot to hear us.
"You know what they say," said one of the goblins, "You can wish in one hand and cast crap conjuring jinxes into the other and see which one gets filled first. Oh, and I slyly snatched and switched a sword Severus Snape saught with a substitute," he added through mouthfuls of alliteration.
The party dispersed, seeing something dangerous in the campgrounds that Hermione hadn't.
Later, to find out what happened to the original sword, Hermione pulled out a painting of Phineas Nigellus to ask him. He was less than eager to be of help because of the censorship bar she had drawn on his painting with spell-o-sharpie. Also, he was winning a hand of poker against some dogs when she'd called him.
Because they were hungry, frustrated teenagers with an anger-inducing locket getting passed around like an evil dooby, one of them got up and ran out. It was Ron.

Chapter Sixteen: Home is Where the Baggage Is

Hermione cried and wailed over Ron for days, confirming that she deeply loved him for the readers. Her silence was broken when she noticed that the same symbol she'd seen Luna's dad wearing at the wedding was an illustration in her Children's book; a symbol that looked to the readers in their mind's eyes like the illuminati all-seeing-eye, until they got to the illustration heading Chapter Twenty-One.
They decided to go to Godric's Hollow, birthplace to Harry, Dumbledore, Merlin, Rincewind, and Penn Gillette. They wouldn't be caught off-guard this time. Hermione went on endlessly about the clandestine approaches and strict security measures they'd have to implement. Like any trained man, Harry nodded his head and said "You're right," at just the right moments, like when she'd pause or look directly at him with her eyebrows raised expectantly. The whole process took a damn week, ensuring that this book would follow a similar chronological pattern to the others. What might might have taken other, better organized wizards two months to do would be stretched out for most of a year for them.

Chapter Seventeen: Bathilda's Long Snake Moan

They visited and left the cemetery under the cloak. Harry found the house that was his home for one brief, innocent year, until the night that the Dark Lord had blahblahblah. As he held the gate and wept, a sign sprang from the ground.

On this spot in 1981, the Potters gave their lives for their son.
This house, invisible to muggles has been left blown to shit to remind us about all the pain in the world.
Besides which, no one would ever want to buy it.

Doing the math quickly, Harry realized that this story must be taking place in 1997. He grew tremendously thankful that he was not American and didn't have to wear flannel and grow a goatee. Over the years people wrote magical graffiti upon it. Someone even put one of those Andre the Giant "Obey" stickers on it.
A creepy old woman walked up to them.
"Ptttppptttppppttttt!" she raspberried at him. Harry knew at once that this was Bathilda Bagshot. "Gruuuuuhhh…" she moaned, hobbling an about face and motioned them to follow her. The cold demon locket around his neck started beating like the heart of a teenager about to unhook his first bra. This was a promising sign. They followed her back to her place, an enclosed area that held the possibility of having an anti-disapparating charm over it.
Once there she rolled her limp head in the direction of the second floor.
"You want me to follow you, alone upstairs?" Harry asked.
"Hisssssssss!" Bathilda, her face waxen, bloodless yet bloodshot and half-falling off replied.
"Alright then."
In her bedroom he made a discovery worthy of Velma from Scooby Doo. "Wait a minute. You're no writer and longtime family friend at all, are you? You're really-" he pulled the mask off revealing the Snake Monster of the Abandoned Funpark, "Nagini!"
"And I would have gotten away with it too-" she began in parseltongue, but was interrupted by Hermione running into the room, casting Molotov cocktail charms willy-nilly. Harry grabbed her arm, jumped through the upstairs window and disapparated, successfully outrunning the obligatory fireball before Voldemort could arrive.
Harry's mind split with pain and he saw the dreadful night his parents died from Voldemort's perspective.
"Well, this is the place," the cloaked figure thought. "Time to get to killing, I guess." You know the rest.

Chapter Eighteen: Fox News Presents: Dumbledore? DumbleDON'T!

Harry's wand had broken in the conflict with Nagini. He felt scarred, abandoned, impotent. His magnificent wand had kept him alive through so many fights, so many classes, so many billions of dollars.
Suddenly, it struck Harry that there hadn't been one single quidditch game yet this year.
He read some passages from Dumbledore- the Huge Asshole. Rita's bile-crusted words revealed to him who the mystery blond man was and reminded him that Dumbledore's sister was "a retard or something."
At long last he realized what a dumbass Dumbledore had been and railed and cried to the heavens, cursing his name.

Chapter Nineteen: Doe. A Deer. A Silvery Gaseous Animal Projection of One's Fondest Desires

Harry took the first watch of surliness the next day. A silvery doe ran by in the distance. Said doe led him to a freezy icy pond with, HUZZAH, the sword of Gryffindor in it. Whoever wanted to get the sword to him could have just left it out in the open or embed it in a stone, but nooooo… No, his life was meant to be difficult, wasn't it? Harry thought it prudent to jump into the water in his underwear without a single warming charm cast upon his person to retrieve it. Once in the water, the necklace got wise to Harry's intentions and started to strangle him. Harry pushed toward the surface, so the locket grabbed a bottle and smashed it over the bar. There was a bar under the water. Just as he was about to lose air and get cut like a bitch, Ron jumped across the underwater bar and wrestled the bottle out of the necklace's hand, pulling Harry up to the fresh air of the surface.
With a parselword of open, the lock sprung wide, evil eyes staring out of the golden hearts.
"I'll swallow your soul!" roared the necklace, forged in the deepest, hellish depths of Claire's.
"Stab it, Ron!" roared Harry.
"You stab it!" Ron roared back.
"No, you stab it!" reiter-roared Harry. "I got the last one!"
"What last one?" counter-roared Ron. There was a lot of roaring.
"They're all gonna laugh at you!" roared the locket. "I can see your dirty pillows!"
"Whot?" Ron bellowed.
"Your momma never loved you! She still wishes you'd been a girl."
"Oi!" Ron countered.
"Your mother sucks cock in hell!"
"You just implied she was alive!" It went on and on in this manner for a half-hour. The necklace would taunt him and Ron would stand over it, sword poised to strike. It sprouted deformed figures of Harry and Hermione that taunted him in grim caricatures of their voices. He still stood over it with a sword placed in such a manner that merely releasing it would have destroyed the horrid bauble like a guillotine. It had its puppet Harry and Hermione engage in lewd and nearly demonic acts not dreamt of outside of Japanese animation studios and still he didn't strike, eager to see himself taken down peg after peg.
Finally, the sword flashed and he smote the trinket. All trace of the dark, one-seventh soul evil gone from it, it lay on the rock harmless with the letters BFF barely readable upon its surface.
Back at the campsite, Hermione beat Ron with reeds while he recounted his experiences on the lamb and how he'd found his way back to them.

DA: 1-for the locket.
DE: 2.5

Chapter Twenty: Xenophobia Strangelove… Xerxes Goodluvin'? Xxxenophile Feelgood!

Having no further leads as to the whereabouts of horcruxes, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, uplifted by their reunion and common goal decided to follow the line-circle-triangle path of investigation to Praise Xenu Lovegood, Spacey Lovegood's father and publisher of the Weekly World News.
They walked up to the Lovegoods' front door, down a path that wound between a garden full of what looked like growing Audrey II pods licking their lips, and a pool of hungry piranhas.
"He's mad, he is," observed Ron as they knocked.
A small door within a door at face-height opened and a man wearing cotton candy for a beard bellowed out "Nobody sees the wizard! Not no one, not no-how!"
"What wizard?" Ron asked. "Y'mean you?"
"You Freemasons can't have my crabapples!" the candy-floss-faced wizard responded. "I'm saving them for the return of Hale-Bopp!"
"Oy, you old nutter!" Harry shouted, "It's me, Harry Potter, innit?"
"The witch's Harry?" the batshit old wizard exclaimed. "Why, that's a snorkax of a different color! Come on in!" He opened the door and led them inside. The room was round in an almost uncomfortably inverse way. The walls were covered with various unrelated objects. Every table stacked high with books and miscellaneous objects of little interest. It felt to Harry as though someone had set up a thrift store in the middle of a Crackerbarrel. To the left there was a cabinet labeled "Hex-Files." To the right, pinned to a cork-board was a large map of the world with photographs and pins showing where Dr. Suresh had identified potential Heroes.
"Have a seat," said Xenophilius, revealed now to be wearing a wizard's pointed hat made of tinfoil and a lead apron, "Luna will be detained indefinitely,"
"Along shortly?" volunteered Harry.
"Of course, what did I say?"
"Detained indefinitely."
"Who wants rancid fish bladder soup?" Xenophillius interjected. "I pan-broiled some thumb-tacks for flavor."
"He's mad, he is," observed Harry.

Chapter Twenty-One: Take a Look. It's In a Book. A Runic Rainbow

Lovegood's horrible organic fare left them nauseous and in desperate need of a fairy tale. Hermione pulled out Lady Frothingshire's Big Book of Fairy Tales and Dark Magic and read them The Tale of the Three Brothers . They gathered in a circle around her chair.
"There were once three wizard brothers Gruff," she began. "One night they came to a river too big to cross. Being wizards, they magicked up a bridge. This was a smart move because they couldn't figure out how to transport their wolf, goat, and head of lettuce across the river in a boat that only seated two. Halfway across, a hooded figure stopped them. It was Death. He offered them each a prize for tricking him.
"The first brother loved pirates and asked Death to make him as headstrong and duel-happy as a pirate. Death made him a wand that would win any duel. ANY duel. Unless the duel involved Dumbledore.
"The second brother loved zombies, so Death gave him a stone that could make zombies.
"The third brother loved ninjas and asked Death to make him as stealthy as a ninja. Death gave him the +5 cloak of obfuscation off of his back to make the third brother invisible. Once Death's cloak was removed, she was revealed to be a reasonably attractive woman with eye-of-Horace eye makeup that goth girls would emulate through the 90's.
"The first brother died in a foolhardy duel like a pirate. The second brother was eaten by his own zombies. The third brother was able to lead a long and happy life in his stealthiness.
"The moral of the story: Ninjas are better than pirates and zombies combined. Also monkeys and robots."
"There you go," said Xenophillius Lovegood. "Those are the three deathly hallows. Put 'em all together and you'll either assemble Voltron, or become the Master of Death."
"You're mad, you are!" exclaimed Hermione. "How could there be a super-powerful wand, a magic invisibility cloak, and a necromancer's ring in a world where people fly on broomsticks and print photographs that move? It makes no logical sense!"

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Titular Chapter

Heehee. "Titular." They retreated to a new campsite after they fled from an attack I didn't feel like mentioning in the previous chapter. As they bickered about the realistic possibilities of the Deathly Hallows legend, "Mugglecast" queued up randomly on Ron's scrye-pod.
After hearing the warmly familiar voices of their friends, the discussion turned again to the Deathly Hallows.
"Come on, Hermione!" roared Harry. "We know that some crazy wand-stuff is going on with Vol-"
"Don't say it, Harry!" cried Hermione.
"-de-"
"It's taboo, mate!" roared Ron.
"-Mooo-" Harry continued, drawing out the last syllable.
"Nooooo!" the contributers to Mugglecast screamed.
"-RrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRrrrrrtttt…" Harry finished. There was a deadly silence.
"Voldemort," Harry added for good measure. He then spoke the name "Betelgeuse" thrice and, looking into a mirror did speak the name "Candyman" to his reflection five times.
There was a series of loud pops and a rasping, lupine, almost pedophilic voice shouted, "Oy! You lot are nicked for thought crimes! Come on out!"

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Venerable House of Towheads

Shit. Why did Harry have to say that? He turned to the other two in the unlit tent in time to make out the shape of Hermione pointing her wand at his face. "You tosser!" she mouthed before blasting him square between the eyes with a hex.
Rough, unmoisturized hands shoved Harry into a group of other captives and lashed the lot together. He felt his face. Underneath his glasses he could feel another set of glasses, but larger and wider-rimmed. A large, bulbous nose with a large mustache beneath covered his nose and upper lip. Giant, fake eyebrows grew out of the top of the glasses. On his head he felt what seemed to be a large rainbow clown wig. Looking down at his clothes, his sweater was covered by a t-shirt that read "No Fat Chicks." Hermione had disguised him, and cleverly.
As Fenrir Humbert Humbert drooled over Hermione, one of the other snatchers saw through Harry's disguise that couldn't work to fool anyone outside of the show "The Monkees."
"Oi! This is 'Arry Potter, it is!" the snatcher called.
"Jackpot!" the drooling wolf-perv ejaculated. Ejaculated as in "shouted with glee." For now, at least.
One group apparition later and they were at the mansion that grew out of the darkness in chapter one with the white peacock out front that was worth mentioning. Naricissa led the group past portraits of the magical master race to the creepy drawing room with the mirror, and the fireplace, and the hurting.
"Draco?" she asked eagerly, "Mummy needs you to look at this boy and make sure it's Harry Potter."
"Go away, mother, I'm playing my PS3," her pointy, pasty prat replied.
"But Popkin, Mummy really needs you to just look over here and tell me this one little thing. If it's him, the Dark Lord will deactivate the self-flagellation charm he put on daddykins."
"Oi! Can't you see I'm busy, you cow?" he responded.
"But Draco, my darling dearest," she pleaded, "if we call the Dark Lord in and it's not really Harry Potter, he'll burn us all alive, pee on our wounds, heal us, and do it all again seven times."
"Fine," said Draco exasperated. He turned in his chair and looked at Ron. "Yeah, that's Potter," he agreed before returning to his game system.
"Excellent!" Lucius said, about to touch his Dark Mark and summon the Dark Lord to their dark manor in the dark night, perhaps having a dark brunch the next morning in dark celebration.
"Reeeaaaargh!" screamed Bellatrix as she stormed into the room casting stunning spells willy-nilly, topsy-turvy.
"Your aunt's having one of her batshit fits again, Draco!" Lucius roared. "Take the prisoners to the cellar quickly until she's less 'guano!'"
"Leave the girl!" Bellatrix shrieked. "I want to do things to her!"
Shortly, Harry, Ron and whoever else the snatchers had caught were locked in the wine cellar with Luna Lovegood, Olivander, the Beudelaire orphans, and the British A-Team. While the Baudelaires read something, invented something, and bit something, everyone else worked together to create an armored escape vehicle out of wine casks and power tools that were left down there for no apparent reason. The odd group worked without pause despite Hermione's screams seeping through the floorboards as Bellatrix magicked torments onto her unseen outside of Japanese animated movies with the word "stepmother" in the title.
"HERMIONE!" Ron roared, his incessant cries showing us again how much he totally loves her. Just then the merlot-powerd engine of the assault vehicle revved up.
"I say," said UK Barakas, "but I do so very much wish pity upon any fool that dares cross swords with the Brittish A-Team."
"Huzzah!" the English foursome cheered. They loaded up the machine with prisoners and crashed out of the basement. They ran down Wormtail, Dobby on the roof operating the bottle-cork gatling-gun. The tankard tank roared into the drawing room. Harry stole all of the Malfoys' wands as Ron kicked Bellatrix right in the Bonham-Carter and rescued Hermione. They roared off into the night, Dobby laying down cover fire as the British A-Team set off the wine bomb they'd planted and Bellatrix threw her silver dagger.
Soon all of the prisoners were dropped off at Shell Cottage and the British A-Team drove away to save a youth center in Bristol. Dobby slumped to the ground, a silver knife sticking out of his chest.
"Why?" cried Harry. "Why? Why did he have to die? And a chapter after he finally did something to get us to like him?"

DA: 1
DE: 3. That's right. Dobby counts as much as an owl.

Chapter Twenty-four: The Magical Sticksmith

Dobby's death gave Harry the opportunity to do some actual manual labor. It turns out that to block Voldemort's influence, all a man needs is a little hard work. He etched the departed elf a tombstone out of a garden rock:

Here Lies Dobby. At least he wasn't Jar Jar.

Harry went inside and washed up. He then chose duty over awesomeness.
Harry, having somewhat mastered his curiously innate occlumantic link turned his attentions to Voldemort. The Dark Lord was at Hogwarts at Dumbledore's tomb, split open and desecrated. He saw him Dancing around with the Elder Wand, carrying around Dumbledore's corpse like a giant puppet. To add further insult, the Dark Lord called upon his dark powers to make it seem as though the corpse were singing a song while he drank a glass of water.

DA: 1
DE: 4

Chapter Twenty-Five: Let's plan! And Plan Some More! And Then Some More! At Shell Cottage

With Griphook's aid and double portions of his surl, the team started to hatch a plan to break into Gringotts.
Lupin popped by with the news that his wife, whom he'd not chosen to leave after all had given birth to their son.
"Thank you, Harry," he said. "Your low-down scrub y'all talk really got through to me. We'd like you to be Teddy's godfather."
"M-me?" Harry stutter-asked.
"Yes," said Lupin. "It seems unlikely that Dora and I will be killed in the final book of a series known for killing off the authority figures you most love and respect, but in the event that happens, we want you to assume a position in our child's life that Sirius almost had in yours."
"Don't worry," Harry reassured. "That'll never happen. These are dangerous times, after all."

Chapter Twenty-Six: Yes, But Our Bank Offers Protection Against Identity Theft.
With a Fuckin' Dragon!

The plans were set. Hermione put the finishing touches on her Belatrix LeStrange costume. She'd found a cosplay site that gave graphic instructions to make the costume as well as listing the best and cheapest places to buy components. Ron put on some bronzer and his costume was set. Harry and Griphook hid under the cloak. Surely a magical bank with the best security in the wizarding world wouldn't have detection spells for that sort of thing built right into it.
They apparated outside the Three Broomsticks and made their way to Diagon Alley.
"'Allo there, Miss LeStrange," said the bartender. "Going to Diagon Alley, then?"
Hermione had prepared herself to impersonate Bellatrix flawlessly. In the back of her dress, just below the seat she secreted a small purse full of fertilizer. She reached back and pulled out a few handfulls.
"Reeeeeeeeecheeee!" She screamed as she threw the clods everywhere.
"Throwing your shit and screaming today, are we?" asked the bartender. "Must be Tuesday. Right, then, on your way, I suppose."
They needed to distract the guards at the entrance to Gringotts so Harry activated another enchanted lawn jockey and sent it off. Inside, Hermione had some troubles convincing the goblin behind the counter who she was. In a moment of desperation Harry used the imperious curse upon him. That's when everything got simpler.
Holy shit! Imperiusing people was so fucking easy!
Why don't we do this more often? thought Harry. Our lives would be so much simpler if we did! Yeah, unforgivable curse. Whatever. On their way into the vault Harry imperiused a couple of women to make out with each other.
Most of the goblins in the bank now under their constant, mindless control, the four thieves and their goblin mind-hostage rode the Indiana Jones-style cart down to the deepest vaults of the bank. Before crashing to a halt at the end, they passed through a magical waterfall that stripped them of all of their concealment and mind-control charms. Why such a waterfall or similarly-enchanted doorway wasn't at the entrance of the bank to prevent anyone from trying to sneak in AT ALL, no one asked. A huge, shackled dragon guarded the LeStrange vault and its neighbors. They kept it at bay by spritzing it with "bad kitty" bottles.
The door to the vault was opened. The floor was covered by scalding hot pennies sitting on d-cell batteries and every object on the shelves was surrounded by the metal fasteners of seatbelts left in the sun on a summer day.
"Look! The cup!" Harry shouted pointing his wand to what was clearly Hufflepuff's golden cup. "Hermione, get me a broom out of your little magic purse. I'll fly up to it without risking injury."
"I didn't pack one," Hermione replied.
"Guess I'll just have to barge over there," Harry said, plunging into the pond of hot, Lincoln-faced copper. Midway, he tripped over the fresh coffee release catch and the vault began to fill with piping hot Joe. Harry retrieved the goblet and the vault door opened, spilling scalding java, white-hot pennies, and pans from the oven held with dishcloths instead of proper oven mitts. Allowing no time to nurse their burns, Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned a stunning-spell hose on the crowd of security goblins outside.
"Harry!" yelled Hermione, "release the dragon!"
"Surely the goblins can't have been so stupid as to not protect the dragon's chains from-" Harry's words were cut short by Ron releasing the dragon's bonds.
"Merlin's nutsack, but those goblins are bloody stupid," he mused. For this statement, Griphook kicked him in the shins and took the sword of Gryffinndor. Before Harry could take it back, Ron hoisted him onto the back of the dragon and they took off in what will probably be a very expensive, and highly memorable sequence of shots in the seventh movie.

DA: 2
DE: 4

Chapter 27: We Haven't Been Back to Hogwarts Yet

Our three heroes dropped off of the dragon into a lake. When they swam to shore, they regrouped and relaxed.
"Well, that's done," said Harry. "Now we have to figure out where the last horcru- FUCK MY HEAD! My head hurts a lot! Shit, it's like the queen migraine had a thousand migraine babies and they're all drunk! Please let me die!" It was obvious that Voldemort was about to allow another crucial bit of information pass to Harry through their link. As he watched Voldemort talk to the goblin from the bank, he wondered why these painful, blinding insights never came when the dark lord was doing something innocuous. He's an angry guy, after all. He could get royally pissed when he cut himself while eating a hard-boiled egg and that would cause a good amount of mind-link-opening anger. And why was he so pissed now that the goblin was telling him about the break-in? He hadn't even mentioned the cup yet. But then the goblin did mention the cup. The last figurative star-shaped peg was fit into place and the Concentration game that was Voldemort's mind exploded, sending the oddly-shaped pieces of rage everywhere. He killed everyone he could see, Bellatrix and Lucius using other death-eaters as human shields. Once every person was dead or disapparated, he turned himself into paint and killed everyone in the portraits. Then he burned down the house, salted the earth, and peed on the ashes. Though this calmed him, he bit off the head of the white peacock in the yard just to do it. He decided to check on his other horcruxes too. The pain in Harry's head subsided and he found himself lying in the grass.
Harry stumbled to his feet. "He's going after the other Horcruxes. We need to get to Hogwarts, like now."
"Harry, we can't just go in now," Hermione argued. "We have to spend a few frustrating weeks coming up with a plan with painfully exploitable loopholes."
Harry protested. "We can't fall back on that now. It's time to finally resort to non-stop action. These last ten chapters have to span one night. This night. Now get under the cloak and let's stumble blindly into Hogsmead."

DA: 2
DE: 3. One point called on account of killing your henchmen.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: But That Mirror's Supposed To Be In Hell

They apparated into Hogsmead. Before you could say "Blackstone" a shrieky alarm arose and the streets filled with death eaters.
"Right, Harry Potter," one deatheater shouted into the night, "we know it's you. Come out peacefully and we promise that Voldemort won't kill you until he gets here."
"How do we know it's Potter?" another deatheater asked.
"Well, it has to be," said the first deatheater.
"What if it's another old man putting his cat out?" the second deatheater asked.
"Look, mate," the first deatheater countered, "I don't pretend to know the way Potter thinks, alright, but I do know that the alarm set to tell us when anyone sets foot in the streets, and I know it's Potter this time."
"Why?" asked the second deatheater.
"Pitch of the shriek."
"Pitch of the shriek?" It went on like this for some time. Harry, Ron, and Hermione used this opportunity to sneak into the Hog's Head Inn. Inside, Aberforth, Dumbledor's brother took them upstairs to hide them like Jews above a German factory.
"Your eye was the eye in the mirror? Jip!"
"Good to see you too," replied Aberforth.
"We need to get into the castle now," said Harry.
"Can't be done," argued Aberforth. "They sealed every secret entrance. Nope, no way to do it. Not a one."
"But we have something to do that's very important with very little time to do it in. Dumbledore gave us an important job. You don't understand."
"I don't understand? Let me tell you a story that'll eat up twenty of the precious few minutes you have to waste.
"Blah blah blah sister. Blah blah blah mother. Blah blah blah scholastic acheiver. Blah blah blah retard or something. Blah blah blah ponce." He went on like this for sometime.
"Stand and deliver! This is war!" Harry shouted.
"Alright, I'll get you into the castle. Let me just talk to the painting of my sister."
Soon, but not too soon, a young man who looked like Neville with the wuss slapped out of him stepped out of a hole behind the painting.
"I've come here," Ace Longbottom said, "to kick ass and eat every-flavour beans. And I'm all out of every-flavour beans."

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Remember That Tiara?

The four people in the room who weren't old and surly exclaimed and hugged each other.
"A couple more of my lad's'll be here soon, there Abby," said Ace. "Don't worry about alarms, they'll be Apparating directly into the Hog's Head."
"Why the hell didn't we do that?" asked Harry.
"Oy! Drunk Dumbledore! You said there wasn't a way in!" Ron said to Aberforth with not a little accusation.
"I'm old and surly. Now bugger off!" With that the four young not-surlies disappeared into the tunnel. Though Neville's trip from Hogwarts to the Hogs Head through the portal had taken only a paragraph's worth of speech, the trip back took four pages of backstory catch-up. It seems that the Carrow siblings had brought in Count Olaf to help them teach suffering and wittily written, though unrealistic torment.
The passage opened into a giant tree fort where the three were greeted by bright cheers from the classmates they'd left behind.
"It's Potter! It's Potter!"
"Harry!"
"Hermione's back! There goes the grading curve."
"It's Ron! His shoulders have gotten so wide!" Wait, no that last one was what the girl sitting in front of me said at the opening night showing of Order of the Pheonix said. Everyone was there. Seamus, Ernie, Anthony, and the Patils, and the lost boys from the movie Hook were catching wicked air off of an improvised half-pipe in the corner.
"Right then," Ace Longbottom said addressing the crowd, "Now that Harry's back, we're going to make a plan and take the wind out of the deatheaters' sails." He drew out his wand and snapped off the safety with a small shower of silver sparks. "Lock and load, lads. Nobody lives forever."
"HUZZAH!" the crowd ejaculated, which is a fun word to type.
"Wait!" Harry roared. Again with the roaring. "We're not going to take over the school like some sort of teen comedy. We have... a thing to do."
"What thing?" Micheal Corner asked.
"It's a thing," said Hermione. "A seeeecret thing."
"Well, we can help," said Ernie.
"No," said Ron. "It's a just-the-three-of-us thing."
Just then, Luna came in with Dean. They had almost the exact same conversation about the "secret thing" again twice more, first for Luna and Dean, then again when Ginny, the Weasley Twins, and Lee arrived. Harry paused first to swoon over Ginny in a way that only a man who has known ginger love can.
Harry pulled himself together. "Does anybody know about any special object Rowena Ravenclaw might have had? A ring, a commemorative plate, a marital aid?"
"There's her diadem," said Cho, Harry's sort-of ex. "It's a tiara that is said to give the wearer a plus two to their intellect when worn, but cannot be used with other headgear. It's lost, but there's a likeness of it on her statue in the Ravenclaw commonroom. You can see it really well from the makeout couch in the corner. I can take you to it."
Ginny broke in, "No, Luna can show him. He won't snog crazy." Twatblocked, Cho sat down.
Harry and Luna, under cover of invisibility cloak snuck up to the door of the Ravenclaw dormitory. The bronze eagle posed them a riddle. "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"
"I suppose dinosaurs were laying eggs before evolutionary magic created chickens," Luna answered.
"Sure, why not?" the knocker replied and opened to allow them entrance.
The tiara itself was unremarkable, but worth a dangerous trip through the castle to look at.
"Boy, are you styuuupid," said Alecto Crowley, I mean Carrow before pressing the Oh Shit button on her arm.

Chapter Thirty: You Can't Fire Me If I Run Like a Bitch

Alecto fell down stunned. There was a banging on the door from her crazy brother Amycus. The door knocker spoke.
"Where do lost socks go when they don't come out of the dryer?"
"I don't know! I don't wash!" he roared. Soon Prof. McGonegall came and opened the door with the correct answer, "Your mom's a whore." Trust me, it makes loads of logical sense. There was a bit of a scuffle that ended with the Carrows being strung up in a magical net, but it doesn't really advance the story much and will probably be edited out of the movie anyway, so I'll just abridge the scene by saying Harry and Luna met Prof. McGonnegall in Ravenclaw tower. The professor then casually used the imperious curse which was looking less and less unforgivable all the time. During their conversation, not unlike the same conversation he'd already had four times in the last three chapters, Harry saw through Voldemort's eyes that the Dark Lord had learned of the locket's disappearance.
Harry and McGonegall made plans to fortify the school while he did his business. As they descended a staircase, Severus "Friend or Foe" Snape stepped out in front of them. He walked over to a window, did that backwards peace sign the British are so fond of and flew off into the night. Wow. He's soooooo misunderstood.
The rest of the teachers gathered. McGonoegall doled out orders. "Sprout, you go put your ample defensive botany knowledge into guarding the castle. Flitwick, start casting all of the protections you can. Slughorn, round up all of the elves and give them bows, arrows, and long, blond wigs and put them in the towers for cover fire."
"Hoo-rah!" the occult faculty chorused and set off.
Then Percy came back and the Weasleys were happy. Whee! His mother cried and magicked up some bacon sandwiches.

Chapter Thirty-One: The Shit Hits the Fan. Big Time

The faculty and students gathered in the Great Hall. The ceiling showed the stars in the sky on this still, clear night. Why they didn't just make the roof of the Great Hall out of glass instead of enchanting it to accomplish the same effect, no one knew.
A creepy voice filled the air inside. "Give me Harry Potter and I won't kill you all horribly," it said.
"There he is!" shouted Pansy Parkinson. "He's right there! Let's give him to the Dark Lord! If we do that he'll spare us! Maybe even let us join his evil army! Then we can kill muggles and muggleborns and establish a master race!" This was greeted by agreements from everyone in the Slytherin section.
"Alright, I'll say it," said McGonegall. "You slytherins are all racist supremists and you should probably all be jailed to protect the world at large since every last one of you is going to kill or torture someone someday." Murmurs of agreement came from the three remaining houses. "Since you won't be doing anything to help anyone here, and likely won't for the rest of your lives either, I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to leave. Please don't let the Womping Willow hit you in the ass on your way out."
Go ahead. Picture Maggie Smith saying that.
The Slytherins left, keeping them out of the good pages of history books once again. Let's pause on the Slytherins for a moment. Imagine if all of the most pretentious, privileged, and superior people in your school, roughly one quarter of the students, were in their own house and wore special green and silver scarves that basically said, "Look at me! I'm an asshole."
Dear reader, hold onto that image of the green-clad, sour salutatorian with a beach house as I gloss over Harry's almost pointless and paper-wasting conversation with the Gray Lady and pretend that he just happened to remember the only tiara he'd ever seen in his life that hadn't been on a bride's head.
Harry saw Ron and Hermione come out of the bathroom after draining the snake, but not in that way. They held up the vanquished evil cup which, as horcruxes go, really wasn't so evil. It's not like it tried to kill anyone like the locket, the snake, or the diary. What the hell could a cup do, though?

DA: 3
DE: 3 The score is tied at the middle of the 8th. Whoa nelly, fans, but I don't know how this fresh-faced team of sophomore players is going to handle a heavy hitter like ol' Voldy "Snakeface" Mort.

"We need to get to the room of requirement," said Harry.
"Right," said Ron, "but first we need to free all of the elves and get them to safety. While we're at it, we should set up an organization to help transition them from their longstanding roles as slaves and help integrate them into a freethinking society with rights and opportunities equal to those of human beings."
This was it. The moment we'd been waiting for through seven loooong books. Hermione's face flushed with desire and she crushed her lips to his in a hungry embrace as she tugged at his clothes with her nails, sending them both to the floor, Hermione astride.
"Aguamenti!" said Harry, hozing the two down with a water conjuring spell.
As sounds of destruction emanated from the fight outside, the big three found the room of requirement, turned into the creatively-named "Room of Hidden Things."
"Let's split up," Harry urged, "we'll be less safe that way." They divided for their common purpose. Naturally, Harry was the one who ran into Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.
"Malfoy," Harry sneered. "And so many people were coming to your defense because you weren't the guy who pulled the trigger on Dumbledore."
"Yeah, I'm a bastard," Draco agreed. "Confirmed."
"Avada Kedavra!" Crabbe yelled like a kid who was given Ritalin and a gun instead of therapy and direction. His killing curses missed their marks, but his freaking living fire? That worked. The floor and all of the hidden crap went up like a losing football coach's car as serpent-headed flames consumed this hidden magical thrift store. Harry, Ron, and Hermione flew to safety, just above the flames on wooden sticks with dry straw tied to the ends. Harry saw the three junior death eaters stranded, about to be consumed in what looked like Hell itself with the serpents of fire. Against all good arguments to the contrary, they flew down and saved Draco and Goyle.
Outside, the Weasley boys battled some death eaters and Fred fell down dead, his bowtie still spinning. Geroge's disembodied deatheater ear laughed in triumph.

DA: 5 I'm gonna give Crabbe's death to Harry and company. Once you use the killing curse, you're an irredeemable fucktarded asshole.
DE: 4 No, not Fred! Why couldn't it have been Fred instead?

Chapter Thirty-Two: Fuck 'Im. I Never Liked Him Anyway

So that was the day the music died. Fred dead. The jester who only wanted to bring joy to the wizarding world and make some coin on the side. A truly noble and lovely human being. Gone.
Oh well, at least we still have another, though slightly damaged Fred.
Hermione looked to the remaining Weasley brothers in their ducked position. "I'm so sorry," she said through tears.
"That's alright," George joked. "We'll be even easier to tell apart now."
"We can't let it end like this," said Hermione, "We're going to track down Voldemort and choke the snake!" The saddest part about this moment was that Fred had been waiting his whole life for a setup line like that.
Harry intentionally used the occlumantic link to see Voldemort's thoughts. He was flicking lit matches at Lucius Malfoy.
"Your pain bores me," said Darth Nonose. "Go fetch Severus. I have some death for him." Harry recognized the setting. Voldemort was in the Shrieking Shack.
The three squeezed together once again under the cloak and made for the Whomping Willow even though all Hogwarts exits had been blocked off.
"Hey!" shouted Draco at a group of deatheaters. "I'm one of you! Look at my sweet wrist ink! I'm a total bastard! Just ask anybody!" Ron's fist materialized out of the cloak for a moment to punch Draco off of his ass. Then the readers were magically transported into the book where we were all given a free kick to his ribs.
The Slytherin House glass was shattered, its emeralds pouring across the floor in a slippery and very symbolic way. Hagrid, in a display of excessive compassion for animals not seen outside of one of those PETA people who have comPLETEly lost touch with reality tried to protect the giant, venomous spiders that were invading the castle on the Dark Bastard's orders.
Sure enough, the path from the Whomping Willow was open despite Aberforth's previous assertion of a closed campus. At the shack, Harry peeked in on Voldemort and Snape talking.
"Severus, my most trusted," said Voldemort. "I have something for you." He handed snape a box with adorable unicorn wrapping paper on it.
"Can it wait, my lord? I should go get the boy," Snape reasoned.
"Oh, I think you'll like this present," Voldemort added
"Can I open it while I get the boy? I really should go get the boy," Snape urged.
"OPEN it!" Voldemort insisted angrily. gently separating the tape from the paper, Snape unwrapped the gift and folded the saved wrapping paper, tucking it into his cloak. He started to open the box when Nagini popped out, biting him in the neck and filling his bloodstream with her horrid venom.
"Oh, you got me that time, my lord!" Snape said as he fell to the ground, dying. Marveling at the joy one can find in the little things and how very clever his Jokey-Smurf-worthy prank had been, Voldemort wrapped his boa around him like... well a boa and flew off. Harry de-cloaked to walk up to Snape and spit in both of his eyes, relishing the image of Snape having to pay the ferryman with his loogies on his way to Hell. Snape's eyes were too full of silvery, gaseous tears. Likewise, every orifice was leaking silver thoughts. Hermione bottled it, hoping it to prove a fine herbal remedy.

DA: 6
DE: 5. I'm counting Snape's death for both sides.

Chapter Thirty-Three: Snape. Snape. Severus Snape- DUMBLEDORE!

Voldemort called off his forces and delivered another ultimatum for Harry to give himself up. The three teenage heroes slunk back to the castle, surveying the damage and reeling from the lines of dead bodies among whom were Lupin and Tonks, their baby now orphaned and Harry's responsibility. Shit. A dad at seventeen. Harry ran upstairs to the Headmaster's office. He poured Snape's last thoughts into the pensieve in the cupboard and figured that even Snape's hellish mind would be a welcome change from the shitstorm downstairs.
Harry plunged his face into the silvery surface and landed in a deserted playground. A little girl with green eyes like his swung on the swing until she flew off in an accurately literal way.
"Hey, no fair, Lily" a horse-faced little girl shouted. "Mom says you can't do that, I'm telling."
"It's alright, Petunia, my sister and potential aunt to any children I might have," the girl known as 'Lily' said, "I can manage."
"But I want to be magic too! It looks so cool!" Tuney said. "If I don't get magic, I'm going to grow up angry at magic and think all wizards are freaks and big jerks."
"Aw, but you aren't mean enough to do that," Lily said as she flew around.
"HA! I see your undies!" an odd boy with dirty, black hair in the shadows called.
The scene changed and he was back at Platform nine and three-quarters.
"I don't want to go to your stupid school anyway!" an older Petunia barked. Good money said that she was probably going to be the person who suddenly got magical powers in a later book before Rowling changed her mind.
The scene changed to Severus and Lily sitting on the beach. A brash, young man that looked like Harry but without his mother's eyes walked up and kicked sand in Snape's face. Lily left with James Potter.
The scene changed again. It was that great disillusioning bit where Harry's father levicorpused Snape and he flew up into the air as if caught in a beartrap. Ah, memories. In the distance he heard Snape call Lily the "c-word." Snap. There's no getting out of that dog house once you've paid the c-note entry fee.
The scene dissolved to Snape and Dumbledore talking on a hilltop somewhere.
"Let me get this straight," Young Dumbledore said, "You betrayed the baby Potter to the Dark Lord hoping that he'd kill the baby and the father and leave Lily for you?"
"Basically," Snape confessed.
"You really are an irredeemable bastard, aren't you?" Dumbledore said.
"Probably, but I swear that if anything should happen to them leaving the child alone in the world that I'll do my best to treat the only living connection to Lily's memory like uncurbed dog evidence."
The scene dissolved to Dumbledore's office. The headmaster's hand was burned and blackened.
"How unfortunate," said Snape. "You'll die from this."
"Too true. I may as well go out with some purpose." Dumbledore agreed. "Are you still bastard enough to kill me?"
Snape nodded, his greasy curtains of hair pulling together a moment.
"Oh, and Harry, it seems is a horcrux. He'll have to be killed by Voldemort if he's going to kill Voldemort." Harry a horcrux? It's sooooo obvious now! How could we not have seen it earlier? Looks like I owe my roommate five bucks.
The scene dissolved. Phineas Nigellus ran into his picture frame to alert Snape to the teenager's location fourteen chapters ago. He cast the doe patronus out to find them, a doe that represented Lily who's animal image had something to do with her husband's stag patronus. How curious that Snape would cast such.
"There," said Snape to Dumbledore's portrait. "Now Potter will be able to get the Sword of Gryphondor at the bottom of the freezing pond in the dead of winter."
"Didn't the goblins pull a switch on you, old chum?" the portrait asked.
"Yes, but... wait... Where's the real sword now if I just sent a fake to Potter?"
Dumbledore's portrait shrugged.
Every one of these scenes has been illustrated on Deviantart, so just go there and enter in "Deathly Hallows" in a search and you'll find them. Some very talented young illustrator women seem to have a gooey attraction to this chapter. Someone even did an illustration of Snape clawing sadly at the Mirror of Aerised where Lily was reflected. Arty chicks dig emo.

DA: 6
DE: 57.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Dead Parents Again

Harry pulled his face out of the basin with the grim knowledge that he had to die. And then somehow defeat Voldemort. That was the important memory in the pool that he needed to see. All of the rest wee just the memories of a jerk wasting his last, few, precious moments of life. Harry slipped on his cloak and walked through the castle, invisible as a ghost, well, the invisible and not entertaining kind. As if he were dead already he walked by his friends mourning losses, and soon his own. He delivered the "Goodbye World" monologue from Our Town. The situation felt like Hamlet and just as wordy.
He walked out to the forest. He put the snitch to his mouth and said, "I am about to fucking die." The snitch opened, as one would expect and gave him the ring with the resurrection stone. He turned it thrice and all of his best dead pals showed up. Lupin and Sirius looked at Harry as happily as two dead people could. He turned to see his parents.
"Well," said Lily Potter. "Is it time for our yearly conversation from the world of the dead. How are you , son? Are your grades good?"
"Does dying hurt?" Harry asked
"Nah," said Sirius. "Everyone should try it."
Harry found Yaxley and Dolohov acting as sentries in the forest. He followed them back to Voldemorts lair. As the two, their invisible pursuer and his zombie family followed, Harry turned to his mother. She gave him an encouraging nod as if to say, "Come on and die. Come to Mommy. We'll be able to have Christmas together."
Harry entered the fire-lit clearing of Agragog. Voldemort seemed to like using sets from previous books in reverse order as if going through the books backwards to create some sort of literary circle. Harry threw off his cloak and presented himself. A tumbleweed, a species of plant not native to Scotland, blew by.
"Bang" said Voldemort.
The end.

And that's the game! Dumbledore's Army came in from behind with a strong score of 5 offset in the end by the killing of numerous generic characters, but the Death Eaters finished strong by taking out the captain of their opponents with a score of 58 to 5! Let's go to Lee Jordan for the wrap-up if he's still alive.

Chapter Thirty-Five: The SOOOOOUUULLLllll Train!

Harry awoke naked and surrounded by mist in an abstracted world that had a lot of seating. Was he onstage for Equus already? But he had no time to prepare! What were his lines? He hated this dream. He wished for some clothes and their appearance reminded him that he wasn't having the actor's nightmare, but was just dead. What a relief. Under a chair, a scarred child whimpered.
"Death's not so bad, I guess," said Harry.
"You're only mostly dead, my boy" a familiar voice said. There was his old headmaster with him in Heaven or something.
"Dumbledore! You're alive! I mean dead!"
"I'm Dumbledore no longer. Now you may call me Dumbledore the White, you wonderful young man," the figure before him said.
"Who's that odd soulkid over there crying? Is that one of those unbaptized babies?" Harry queried.
"No, that's bullcrap," Dumbledore said. "I think it's more poetic if we don't come out and say who that pain-stricken soul who has obviously been severed many times is. Now, Harry, you are the true master of death. Congratulations. You can go back to life if you want."
"May as well," conceded Harry. "I'll just end up back in a divine train station eventually anyway."

Looks like Dumbledor's Army is back with veteran captain Harry Potter back in the game! We're going to take a point off of the Deatheaters score who now lead with 57 to 6.

Chapter Thirty-Six: The Moneyshot

"Well, that's done," Harry heard Voldemort's high voice say as he returned to the world of the living. He heard a pencil make a quick slashing sound indicating that something had been checked off of a to-do list. "While I'm here, I may as well gloat."
Hagrid carried Harry's still-warm and not getting colder body up to the castle, Voldemort and his sick ilk surrounding him. Voldemort amplified his voice by magic.
"Hey, everybody! I killed a seventeen-year-old boy!" Voldemort shouted. The survivors of the battle exited the castle to gather around. "Look how awesome I am! I killed a defenseless boy! 'Boy who lived?' More like boy who..." His voice faded a moment to find a scathing word that rhymes with "lived." "The boy who died!" he finished trying to sound self-satisfied. "Yeah!" he added. "Suck on that!"
"Tell you what, Voldypants," Ace Longbottom interjected. "How's about you suck on it until it's lubed enough to shove up your snakehole you noseless tosser?"
"Ah, my next victim," Voldemort responded. He froze Ace in place and put the sorting hat on his head.
"Make it quick," Ace quipped. "Your mother's expecting me in hell and I hate to keep a lady waiting."
With a venomous scowl, Voldemort lit the antiquated piece of millinery ablaze. The hat was barely on fire long enough to shout "Someone sort me some water!" before Ace broke out of the binding spell and pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the hat's mysterious depths. In one flowing swipe he cut off Nagini's head.
"Why Voldemort," Ace smarmed, "I never knew you were Jewish." The rest of the snake fell limp around Voldemort's shoulders.
And that's when everything got expensive.
The centaurs, racked with guilt burst out of the forest. Parents and other wizards flew in from Hogsmead. The Riders of Rohan crested the East hill. Jedi's dropped from their transport ship. The righteous legions of Narnia attacked, led by that Jesus lion guy. A fleet of water benders arrived from the North Pole. The merfolk in the lake jumped from the water, tridents raised, but they only ended up beaching themselves. And somehow this all ended up in the great hall.
The house elves, led by Kreacher swept in from the kitchens swinging knives and roaring "For ol' R.A.B!"
Mrs. Weasley and Belatrix dueled. No one stepped in to help even though by this point, the Deatheaters were outnumbered.
"What fun!" Belatrix shreiked. "I can orphan MORE children now!"
Mrs. Weasley screamed as she threw curses. "Shut your cockhole you sick cunt!" and with a flash of green took the bitch down.
Voldemort caught sight of Harry and the final showdown began. It was a one-on-one fight because that's more dramatic or something. They circled one another.
"Potter..." he spat.
"Hello Riddle," Harry said, reminding everyone that he's just a jerk and not a monster.
"You DARE?" Voldemort began.
"Yes I do, Tom Riddle."
"You-"
"Tommy Riddlefigger. Tom Tom Riddlemeister. Little Tommy poo-head."
"How do you plan to defeat me now?" jeered Volderiddle. "Going to kill me with love? Going to paint a heart on your chest and Care Bear Stare me into oblivion? I had Dumbledore killed."
"But he was planning to die, so there," said Harry. "Chew on that and hope it doesn't fall out of your lipless mouth." Harry then went on into a lengthy explanation as to why Snape was on Dumbledore's side. The audience checked their watches and coughed. This was getting drawn out.
"But I know something you don't know, Riddlepants," added Harry, "Draco defeated Dumbledore, not Snape."
"Ah," said Riddlepants, "But I know something you don't know. I am not left handed."
"Then I surely cannot choose the wine in front of you."
The sun hit their faces and they shared a simultaneous release. Of spells.
"Haiduken!"
"Shazam!"
Voldemort fell down dead. The world was completely safe at last forever and ever and ever. Huge rejoicing followed, not the least of which was a chorus of munchkins singing their liberations in eye-gouging technicolor.
Later, Harry needed to get away from the crowds of admirers. Luna offered her assistance.
"Hey, everyone!" she shouted, waving her arms. "Look at me! Aren't I silly?" Seizing this opportunity, Harry snuck off with Ron and Hermione to the headmaster's office.
"Congratulations, Harry my boy," said the portrait of Albus Dumbledore.
"I dropped the ring," said Harry.
"Are you going to go find it?" asked the likeness of the old person he respected most.
"Nah. I think I'll leave it there for someone else to find and grow cold and insane with its power like Gollum."
"But what about the Deathly Hallows?" Dumbledore asked. "We've been building up to them for a while know. We know they probably exist. It could be really, really cool. Hell, the book was named for them."
"I know," said Harry. "Eh."
"Excellent, my boy."

With a final score of 9 to 57, Dumbledore's Army wins, if not by points.

Epilogue: Everyone Has Kids

It was the year 2016. A family of five pushed carts into Kings Cross station. It didn't look anything like the Heaven Kings Cross except for the naked, crying, scarred child lying under one of the seats like Voldemort's soul. There I said it.
"But I wanna go to Hogwarts!" the little ginger girl cried.
"You can in two years, my little Lily Tonks Hedwig Potter," said her scar-faced father who was probably head of the Aurors now or something. His two sons began their argument afresh.
"Lookit me," teased the older brother. "I'm Albus and I'm gonna be a Slytherin!"
"Stop it, James!" his brother Albus shouted.
"I'm gonna be a traitor and a terrorist! La dee da!" he further taunted.
"James Sirus Cedric Dobby Potter, you leave your brother alone this instant." commanded Ginny, his potentially hot mother. When she used all five of his names, he knew she meant business, so he pushed their cart into the secret passage with all of the nonchalance of Fred & George back in Book 1. This is what happens when Potter men like James and his grandfather and namesake grow up in a loving home. They become jerks.
On the platform they found some Weasleys.
Ginny gushed at their daughter, now of age to attend Hogwarts. "Why, don't you look lovely in your new robes, little Miss Rose Tonks Granger-Weasley?"
"Only the best for my daughter," said Ron proudly. "Then again, I'm not exactly hurting for coin as I was in the old days, what with me being an auror or possibly co-owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."
"Excuse me," said Hermione, "but as you'll recall, I make quite a comfortable living myself as a lawyer or elf rights activist, or something."
"How did you do on your driving test?" Harry asked.
"Well, I had trouble on the ground," Ron began, "but it helped that I gained all of that car flying experience back in our third year. Now that it's the future, all muggle cars fly. Oi!" Ron called to his son who had broken away from the family to discuss Hogwarts houses with Lily. "Don't you go too far now, Hugo Colin Georgeorfred Granger-Weasley!"
Harry noticed someone. He nudged Ron and pointed over to the far wall where ol' superbastard Draco Malfoy and his nondescript wife were fussing over their son and daughters.
"Now listen to me, Rose," Ron told his daughter. "I don't want you messing around with that Scorpius bloke, even though loads of fangirls have already drawn you throwing yourself at him like Sally on Linus."
"Yes, dad," Rose said snidely.
"And that goes double for you, Hugo," Ron continued. "His daughters Capricorn and Ursa Minor or nothing but trouble."
"Guys, guys!" James said running back. "Guess what I saw? Our stepbrother Teddy snogging a girl I can only assume is Bill and Fleur's daughter because of the French-sounding name!" Hermione grew stiff and distant at the mention of Fleur's name just as she always did ever since that incident at the Granger-Weasley/Weasley-Potter Christmas party back in 2009.
The suitcases were packed and the kids were loaded on. Before he said goodbye to his father, Albus quietly asked him a hesitant question. "What if I'm in Slytherin? I don't want to be a terrorist!"
"Now, now, Albus Severus-Snape-Is-a-Swell-Guy Potter," his father said consolingly. "Just remember: one of your namesakes was a Slytherin head of house, and he turned out to be a fine man that tried to have me and your grandfather killed so that he could have your grandmother all to himself. Now get on that bus and think brave thoughts under that fire-damaged hat." Consoled, Albus boarded the Hogwarts Express for the first time.
"I think they'll be just fine," Ginny said, curling an arm around her husband's waist.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Nothing interesting will happen to them that'll make it worthwhile to continue the series any further.

The End