#There's also the cursed fanfics form 2007 aus

[lirlovesfic]

The Choice

A Doctor Who fanfic

Summary: After GitF, the TARDIS brings the Doctor, Rose, and Mickey back to the estate to solve a problem involving the TARDIS herself. But when they see a familiar face, the face of someone who should not exist, they realize the problem is deeper than they thought and could endanger the Doctor’s very existence. Primary characters: Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler. Genres: Romance, mystery, adventure, drama, character study, HN AU, fobbed!Nine, sick TARDIS. Pairings: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose Rating: Adult

Warning: brief, non-explicit depiction of domestic abuse

a/n: I am currently working on editing this chapter-by-chapter, with the hopes of completing a chapter a day until I catch up with myself. As I mentioned in a previous post, I’m doing it to try to get back into the swing of writing and to build some momentum in order to finish this. Also, there have been some tiny things nagging at me for a while (grammar, punctuation, etc.) so I’ll be correcting as many of them as I can find as I go. The story will not change. In fact, most of the changes are going to be so minor that I doubt anyone (besides myself) will notice. But to keep me on target, I’ll be posting it all here as I go, with links to the other websites it’s on. I hope you enjoy it.

Catch up: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

This chapter: on AO3, on TSP, on ffnet

Chapter Thirteen—London, 15 July 2007

The night sky glowed red and gold, reflecting the fire on the ground. Fire was everywhere, burning everything in its path. Golden sand to fields of red, trees of silver to towns and cities, everything was ablaze.

Screams filled the night…

John sat up in bed. As the sounds of a woman screaming continued, his sleep-fogged brain realized the cries existed in reality, not just his nightmares.

Rose, he thought.

Convinced that Jimmy had returned and she was in danger, he was on his feet, pulling on his jeans, and out the door within seconds.

Once outside however, it was apparent that the screams were coming from the floor below rather than from Rose's flat across the courtyard. It was Rita and Chuck again. But this time, instead of being angry, Rita was clearly frightened.

John ran down the walkway and headed down the stairwell. Behind him, doors opened as the residents of the Estate again turned out to witness the spectacle, drawn by the same urge that drove people to slow down to witness an auto accident.

When he got to their floor, he found Chuck grasping Rita by the shoulders and shaking her. No one was moving to aid her. A second later, Chuck was on his knees, one arm behind his head, held in place by the pressure John was placing with his thumb and middle finger on his palm and the back of his hand.

"That's enough!" John ordered. Chuck struggled to get away, and John increased the pressure on his hand. "No more! How many stupid apes do I have to deal with in one day?" His voice was laden with disgust. He turned his head and scowled at the crowd. "And what's wrong with the rest of you? Why is it that I'm the only one helping her? No, you're all satisfied to stand around gawking while a woman gets hurt. Useless, the lot of you!"

On the other side of the courtyard, Rose woke to the sounds of screaming. Her first instinct was to go back to sleep. When she was growing up, screaming in the middle of the night wasn't uncommon on the Estate. Her mother had always forbidden her from leaving the flat to witness that dark side of the neighborhood, and as a young child there had been nothing she could do about it anyway.

But she was no longer a young child. She had faced Slitheen and werewolves, Sycorax and Daleks; humans didn't hold the same fears for her as they once had. She slipped on her shoes and headed out of the flat.

The commotion was emanating from the building across the way. She crossed to the railing, but despite the streetlights, she wasn't able to identify who was involved in the fight. It was just too dark.

A commanding voice carried across the courtyard. "I said no more, so knock it off!"

John, she thought.

"Knock it off!" he shouted again.

Rose pushed her way through the gathering crowd and ran flat out down the stairs and across to the other building. Even though she was in the best shape she had been in since she was seven, she was still out of breath by the time she reached the floor where John was.

The Estate was fairly small, and when she had lived there she had known most of the people who lived on it, but she was still surprised when she recognized the rowing couple. Her friend Rita was standing with her back against the wall of the building, one hand cupping her cheek. Even in the dim light coming from the courtyard and from the open doors of the nearby flats, Rose could see she was crying.

John stood in the middle of the walkway behind Rita's longtime boyfriend, Chuck, who was currently kneeling in front of him and whimpering, Chuck's right hand held high behind his head between two of John's strong fingers.

At her appearance, both Rita and Chuck froze, as if the shock at seeing her had made them forget the row that had brought her there.

"Rose?" Rita asked incredulously.

"I thought your boyfriend killed you," Chuck said.

John, however, didn't seem surprised at all to see her. He jerked his head towards the flat.

"Rose, take Rita inside while I finish dealing with this stupid ape here," he ordered.

Rose wrapped her arm around Rita's shoulders and led her into the flat. She shut the door behind them.

The flat was smaller than the one Rose had grown up in, a twin in layout and size to Mickey's only far cleaner. The front door opened up to a small living room, barely large enough for the chair, sofa and television that were in it. On one side of the room were doors that led to the kitchen and bathroom. The single bedroom was in the back.

Rose led Rita to the sofa, and they both sat down. Rose spotted a box of tissues nearby and handed Rita a couple.

"So, when did you get back? I thought you were still travelin'," Rita said. She wiped her face with the tissue and blew her nose loudly.

"I've been back about a week," Rose told her. "But that's not important right now. What happened?"

"Oh, you know Chuck. Same ol', same ol'."

Rose sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"He's been shaggin' everythin' in a skirt," Rita told her. "We've been rowin' 'bout it, and this time, well…"

It was obvious what she meant. There was a large bruise forming on her left cheek and jaw, and her left eye was beginning to swell.

"Rita, how long are you gonna let him do this to you?" Rose asked. "You need to kick him out. For good this time."

"I want to," Rita said. Rose raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "No. Seriously. After this I'm done. But I can't kick him out. Flat's in his name."

Raised voices carried through the thin door to the flat. Chuck was cursing at John. They couldn't hear what John said in response, but his tone was even and firm.

"You must have somewhere to go," Rose said. "I know you have some family somewhere. What about your mum?"

As the cursing outside continued, Rita shook her head. "Can't go there. Mum's new boyfriend is creepy, yeah? Stares at me all the time."

Rose sighed. "Been there. What about Marie? Or Joe?" she asked, naming Rita's siblings. Both lived only minutes away.

"Marie and her husband have three kids now, and his brother is livin' with them too. And Joe's in a bedsit. You know how they are. There's barely enough room for him, let alone me." She paused thoughtfully. "Might be able to stay wi' Dad for a bit. He's always hated Chuck. His flat's pretty small and he's got his girlfriend and her kids there, but I could probably sleep on the sofa for a couple weeks."

"Sounds like a plan," Rose said. "Next step we call him, let him know you're comin'. Where's your phone?"

Rita pointed at the small table crammed between the sofa and the chair. Rose handed it to her and then headed back outside to give her some privacy.

Across from the door, John was leaning against a concrete support beam, arms crossed in front of his chest. He was alone.

"Where's Chuck?" she asked.

"Gone," he told her. "For now. But he'll be back." He jerked his head in the direction of the flat. "Is she okay?"

Rose shrugged. "She will be, if she doesn't take him back again." She crossed the walkway and rested her arms on the railing. The crowd that had formed in the courtyard and the balconies of the other buildings was dwindling as people returned to their homes. John joined her at the railing.

"Everyone's going home," she said.

"Stands to reason. Show's over."

At the sound of the door opening behind them, they both turned. Rita stood silhouetted in the doorway, the light from the flat shining out from behind her, illuminating the walkway.

"Joe's comin' to stay tonight. That's my brother," Rita said, explaining who Joe was for John's benefit. "We'll figure out everythin' else in the morning."

"I'll stay until he comes," Rose told her. As Rita reentered the flat, Rose turned to John. "You wanna come in too?"

"Nah. I'm fine here."

Rose nodded and began to head back into the flat, but before she crossed the threshold she turned back. He had returned to leaning on the post with his arms crossed in front of him. He looked like a security guard or a bouncer at a club.

Or simply just her first Doctor.

He gave her a small smile, and she smiled back before rejoining Rita.

~oOo~

Less than half an hour later, Rita's brother arrived. He and Rita both thanked Rose and John for their help in dealing with Chuck. After the door to the flat had closed behind them, John and Rose remained in the walkway. When neither moved to leave, an awkward silence descended between them.

"What time d'you think it is?" Rose asked after a moment.

"About half three, I imagine," John told her.

"Well, I guess I should get home," she said.

"Yeah, you probably want to get back to bed."

"Not really. Actually, I'm wide awake."

"That'll be the adrenaline in your system," he said. "Fight or flight response. Normal reaction to a row, even if you aren't directly involved in it." He let out an irritated huff. "I'm just glad her brother's here to sort it. I'm tired of doin' it. This whole thing's a bit too domestic for me."

She grinned. "She was lucky to have you here to help her."

He grunted noncommittally. "Nothin' anyone else wouldn't do."

"Liar," she said, and she grinned at him affectionately for a moment before turning serious again. "No one else was helpin' her. Only you."

"And you," he said pointedly.

"We make a good team," she said.

"That we do," he agreed.

A light breeze blew through the walkway. Rose wrapped her arms tightly around herself and shivered. "Might be July, but it's still cold at 3 in the morning."

"I'd offer you my jumper, but I didn't put it on before I left my flat. All I've got is my T-shirt."

She grinned at him again. "Yeah, I noticed," she said cheekily.

John raised his eyebrows at the overt flirt. Before he could reply, she shivered again. He frowned. "You need to get inside." He paused for a moment and then continued hesitantly, "I don't suppose you wanna go have a cup of tea with me."

"What, now?" she asked. "Dunno if anything's open, and I'm not exactly dressed for it." She was still wearing what she had worn to bed, an oversized sleep shirt, bright pink and patterned with something that wasn't clear in the dim light. Underneath she was wearing exercise shorts, and on her feet were her trainers, but no socks.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I noticed," he said. "What's that on your shirt? Looks like… little moons wearing nightcaps?"

Her eyes widened, and she quickly glanced down at herself. She laughed nervously. "Uh, no, actually. Actually they're… bananas in nightcaps."

He grinned. "Bananas are good. Full of potassium. Just never thought of 'em as sleepwear."

"It was a gift," she explained.

He nodded. "Actually… about the tea… I meant in my flat. I don't have much in, but I've got that. So, wanna come up?"

She bit her lip and smiled shyly. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."

"Fantastic."

~oOo~

As John led them into his flat, Rose looked around the main room. It was Spartan in appearance: nothing was out of place, not a cup, not old takeaway containers, not even a piece of cast off clothing. In some ways it was exactly what she would have expected, stark, with no nonsense furnishings and nothing beyond the bare essentials, exactly the opposite of her mother's flat. There were no pictures on the wall, no photos of family, no stray paperbacks or magazines or tabloids spread out over the table and floor. Even the rundown condition of the worn furniture and the threadbare carpet—worn down to the floorboards in spots—in the room seemed right. They reminded her of the metal grating and the tears on the jump seat in the console room of the TARDIS.

But it still seemed wrong that the Doctor, even a human version of the Doctor who didn't remember he was the Doctor, should live in a tiny, rundown flat on the Estate and not a bigger-on-the-inside Time and Space ship that traveled among the stars.

"You go sit down while I make the tea," he said. "You take milk or sugar?"

"Both," she told him, still shivering.

John frowned. "Hang on one minute." He disappeared into an adjoining room and returned with a blanket—and his leather jacket. After dropping the blanket on the sofa, he handed the jacket to her. "Put this on," he ordered. "I'll be right back."

As he left the room, she slipped on his jacket. She had worn it before, and it was just as warm as she remembered. As she wrapped herself in it, she clutched the collar tightly closed and buried her nose into the deceptively soft leather. Wearing it felt like being enveloped in a big hug from the Doctor, something she hadn't had since he had left a week earlier. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of the leather and his aftershave and him. Her mouth curved into a small smile, a smile that slowly faded. Even though he was here, she missed him, missed how well he had known her, missed their shared history—a history that hadn't happened for him yet.

And she missed his next self, his thick brown hair and sideburns, his brown pinstriped suit, his deep, chocolate brown eyes that could see into her soul…

Whether blue eyes or brown, whether leather or pinstripes, she missed the Doctor. John might be the Doctor, but with his memory gone he was missing an enormous part of who he was, and she missed that part of him.

Still shivering a little, she sat down on the sofa and pulled the blanket over herself. I just hope the Doctor and Mickey sort this soon, she thought.

~oOo~

A few minutes later, John carried two mugs into the room. He stopped just inside the doorway. Rose was on the sofa, buried under the blanket he had left for her. Peeking out from under the blanket was the collar of his leather coat.

She was staring off into space, lost in thought and frowning slightly. When she caught sight of him she gave him a bright smile.

"Warmer?" he asked as he crossed over to her.

She nodded. "Loads."

"Good." He handed her one of the mugs and joined her on the sofa.

"Ta," she said. She took a sip. "Mmm, good."

"So how do you know Rita and Chuck?" he asked.

"Rita and I were in school together. Chuck was in the same band as Jimmy. We used to all hang out together." She paused for a moment. "Y'know, I used to be so jealous of the two of them after Jimmy took off, but it didn't take me long to realize I was the lucky one, yeah? If Jimmy hadn't left, that could have been me in there."

John shook his head. "You're too smart for that. It may have taken you a bit, but you would have eventually wised up and dumped him."

"I'd like to think that was true, but I dunno," she said. "I was really messed up back then. Would have done almost anything to keep him."

"You seemed a little down before, when I came back with the tea," he said. "Is that what you were thinking about?"

"No," she said. "Was actually thinking about something else." She paused, as if she was wondering what to say, or if she should say anything at all. He waited her out, hoping she would open up to him. It must have worked, because after a moment she began to talk again. "'S just, I needed to talk to someone, but when I rang him I couldn't get through."

His stomach tightened into a knot. For days he had forgotten, or intentionally ignored, the fact that she had spent the last two years traveling with someone. An older man, according to the newspaper.

"The person you'd been traveling with?" he asked. He forced himself to use a light tone, rather than the jealous growl that threatened to come out.

She looked taken aback at the question. "Yes, actually. He was supposed to be back by now, and when I tried to call him I couldn't get through."

"So you're worried."

"Yeah."

"Is there anything I can do?"

She shrugged. "Not really."

"Why don't you tell me about him," he said.

Her brow furrowed, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip, an unconscious habit that John had discovered usually meant she was nervous.

"Uh… I don't know what to say," she said. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me. Why don't you start with his name?" he suggested. "How you started traveling with him. Where you went."

"Well, his name's the Do—I mean, his name's… James McCrimmon, but everyone calls him the Doctor," she said. "And he travels, all over. Like, everywhere. We've been to Scotland, Anc—Rome, New… uh, New York, Utah, France." That last location was accompanied by a tiny frown, but then her face cleared. "Once we were headed to Naples, but we ended up going to Cardiff instead. He said he was gonna take me to Barcelona, but we haven't gone yet."

"He doesn't have a job? He just travels around? What, like on holiday?"

" 'S more than that. Wherever he goes, he helps people."

"You said he's a doctor. Is he part of a group… like Doctors Without Borders?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't help like that. Well, sometimes I s'pose, but mostly not. He just helps people with whatever they need. He's… brilliant. Can do most anything he sets his mind to. And I help him."

"Like an assistant?"

"No," she said. "Not an assistant. More like… a friend, yeah?" She met his eyes. "I try to help him, as much as I can, but I don't think he really needs my help." She paused, just for a moment, before she continued in a softer tone. "See, he's all alone. His family's all gone. Mostly I think I'm just someone to keep him company."

He searched her face. The look of melancholy she had worn earlier had rapidly changed to merriment while she was talking about her travels with the Doctor. Now it had just as quickly turned into sadness.

"Rose, were you…"

"Was I what?"

"Never mind. None of my business."

"No, what?"

He hesitated, just for a second, before asking what he really wanted to know. "Were you and he…"

Her mouth twisted into a small smile. "No," she said. "No, we weren't. Aren't. We're just friends."

Without conscious thought he took her hand and squeezed it. "You wanna know what I think? I think, wherever he is, he's probably fine," he told her. "He probably just got held up somewhere. And Rose Tyler, I think you're absolutely fantastic. If he thinks of you as just someone to keep him company… then I don't care how brilliant he is, he's a complete idiot."

She burst out laughing. "If you knew, if you had any idea…"

He gave her a wide grin. "And you can tell him I said that."

"Oh, I will. Believe me, I will."

Still chuckling, she stretched and then winced.

John frowned. "Is your back bothering you again?"

"A little bit," she answered.

"Did you have a hot soak before bed?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, and took some paracetamol. It helped a bit, but what really helped was that thing you did back at the garage. What was it called?"

"It's a form of acupressure. Take off the jacket and turn around."

She slowly slipped off the jacket and set it on the edge of the sofa before turning and facing the opposite direction.

Now that she had taken his jacket off, it became obvious that the sleep shirt she wore was thinner than the shirt she had worn to work, and in the light of the room it was also obvious she wasn't wearing a bra. That in addition to being in his flat in the middle of the night made the situation far more intimate than it had been in the shop in late afternoon. His heart pounded in his chest, and it felt like butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach. He took a deep, steadying breath.

Although his hands weren't cold, he vigorously rubbed them together and then cupped them over his mouth and breathed on them, warming them before lowering them to her shoulders. She shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked in a low voice.

"No," she said softly.

He swallowed hard before beginning to gently massage her shoulders and back. "Take deep, slow breaths," he said.

He worked his hands from a spot between her shoulder blades upwards to the back of her neck. Her skin was so warm, so soft. She sighed, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from turning the gentle massage into a lover's caress, prevent himself from dipping his head and placing kisses on the sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder. He moved closer, close enough to smell a trace of her shampoo. It was intoxicating. He closed his eyes and took in the scent as his thumbs moved in circles over the pressure points on the base of her skull. With a quiet hum, she relaxed against his fingertips.

Finally, after several minutes he had to stop as any more would have done more harm than good. He moved his hands back to her shoulders, reluctant to completely pull his hands away from her.

She turned to face him. Her eyes were wide and dark.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're very wel—" he began.

"Not just for the massage," she said. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for helping Rita, and for dealing with Jimmy, and for listening to me talk. Thank you for just being here with me." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and then rubbed the spot with her fingertips. Impulsively he pulled her into his arms and leaned back against the back of the sofa. She rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him, bonelessly molding her body to his. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

"Rose Tyler, I'm so glad I met you," he said.

"Me too."

[liskantope]

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (AU version) -- Chapter 1: McGonagall and the Muggles

This is the first chapter of a Harry Potter fanfic I wrote in college, back in spring and early summer of 2007. It contains 8 chapters and an epilogue which I finished just prior to the release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, which was 11 years ago today. I believe I rewrote chapter 8 in the weeks afterwards (and maybe changed the epilogue accordingly?) in response to a (valid) criticism that its dramatic tone didn’t fit with the rest of the chapters, but I tried not to let that rewrite be influenced by my knowledge of what happened in book 7.

I call this Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows (AU version). I don’t mean “AU version” in the sense that this is an AU fic but in the sense that this is the final book in the Harry Potter series that could have come out in an alternate universe where Rowling for some reason abruptly stopped taking her work seriously.

My idea was that in the months preceding the release of book 7, I wanted to write a sort of silly parody version of what could follow from the first six books (I was inspired by such a fanfic that had come out preceding book 6, don’t know where to find this now), one which technically satisfied every bit of information we knew about the upcoming book 7 and which sort of lampooned a lot of the hype over the mysteries that would presumably be resolved in book 7. I was deliberately trying to imitate the narration style of the actual Harry Potter books (turns out I’m pretty decent at imitating other people’s styles, just not as good as I’d like to be at cultivating my own style of fiction prose.) To the best of my memory of pre-July-21st-2007, here were some things on many HP fans’ minds:

The title would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows, but what the heck could “deathly hollows” be?!

There would be an epilogue, and the very last word of it (hence of the whole Harry Potter series) would be “scar”. (This turned out not to quite be the case, but I can’t remember if we found out that she had changed this prior to the book actually coming out.)

There was “more to Aunt Petunia than meets the eye” (or JKR said something to that effect in some interview), and we would be finding out what it was.

Of course the biggest question on everyone’s mind was on the true nature of Snape. I remember signs and posters going around that blared, “SEVERUS SNAPE: GOOD OR EVIL?”

Fan theories were rampant that Dumbledore wasn’t really dead at the end of book 6; some of them were pretty wild and didn’t die even after JKR said “Dumbledore is definitely dead.”

We were finally going to be introduced properly to Aberforth Dumbledore.

We were all pretty sure that the initials RAB on the fake locket referred to Sirius’ brother Regulus Black, but who knew, JKR might surprise us.

Many relentless Harry-Hermione shippers were still holding out hopes for the Harry/Ginny and Hermione/Ron pairings that seemed pretty established by the end of book 6 to not work out, still trying to argue that JKR herself dropped hints that Harry and Hermione actually belonged together.

So without further ado, here’s chapter 1 (I’ll post the rest of the chapters one by one over the next few hours).

The menacing form of Lord Voldemort was standing over the thin, bespectacled boy, aiming a long, threatening wand at him. Harry Potter, whose muscles were aching fit to burst, once again pointed his own wand at Voldemort and shouted the only spell he could think of.

“Expelliarmus!”

Voldemort’s wand went flying out of his long, thin hand. Voldemort himself, however, didn’t flinch. He merely reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out another identical wand.

“Bet you didn’t realize how many tail feathers that phoenix gave away, did you?” sneered Voldemort in his high, icy voice. “You shouldn’t have believed what Ollivander said about there being only two, you silly, naïve child.”

Harry, much as his arm muscles were screaming in pain, raised his wand again and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Once again – it seemed like for the hundredth time – Voldemort’s wand went flying. And once again, Voldemort calmly pulled a new one out of his pocket.

Harry feebly raised his own wand and croaked, “Expelliarmus!”

A second later, Voldemort’s latest wand was long gone, and Voldemort grabbed his next wand out of his pocket. “You cannot defeat me, Potter!” he shrieked gleefully. “There is not even any need for the Avada Kedavra curse! I have exactly twelve thousand five hundred and nine wands with me here, and long before I get to the last one, you will have died a slow, agonizing death of pure boredom, and I will be able to rule the world!”

Harry raised his wand, struggling to draw the breath to disarm Voldemort again, and woke up screaming. “AAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!”

He tried to calm down, take deep breaths, and let his eyes adjust to the dark. It was just one of the usual nightmares. A few seconds later, his eyes focused on his Uncle Vernon’s nose, which was inches from his own.

“What the ruddy hell are you screaming about?!” whispered Uncle Vernon. Harry could actually feel his bushy moustache bristling with rage. “This had better be something good! You woke me up from my favorite golfing dream again!”

“Just another nightmare,” Harry muttered. “Get out of my personal space, will you?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me that way!” growled Uncle Vernon. “I’m not the one who keeps waking up at night shouting for no reason.”

“I’ve got a lot of pent-up stress at the moment,” Harry said exasperatedly. He knew it was unlikely to do any good, but it seemed that he might as well try once again to reason with his uncle. “You see, I know that one of these days, maybe very soon, I’ll have to meet up with Voldemort again. And seeing as neither of us can live while the other survives, there seems to be a good chance that I’ll die. After all, normally there are four possibilities: that we both live, that he lives and I die, that I die and he lives, or that we both die. As I’ve explained to you before, the possibility that we both live is eliminated. So only one out of the three remaining possibilities involves – “

“DON’T YOU GET SMART WITH ME, BOY!” Uncle Vernon shouted. “You spend all your time sitting around feeling so damn sorry for yourself! Last summer it was that axe-murderer godfather of yours that you were moping over, and this year it’s one of your paranoid ideas about some guy you think is going to kill you! Doesn’t it occur to you that I might be under pressure as well? Last night I dreamt that I didn’t get the pay rise I wanted, and did I wake up the entire household because of it? One more nighttime scream out of you, boy, and you’ll be scrubbing the bathrooms twice a day for the rest of the summer! And I’ll know that you won’t use that… that thing of yours to help you, because you keep getting expelled every time you do use it!”

“I guess my only hope for cleaning the bathrooms will be that you don’t overeat at that drill thingy anniversary buffet again,” said Harry coolly.

“That does it,” said Uncle Vernon silkily, although the veins in his forehead looked ready to burst more violently than a mimbulus mimbultonia. “I’m locking you up again!” He was getting more excited now, breathing more heavily, and talking more and more rapidly. “I’m hiring someone to watch your window this time so that no Weasley loonies can come up with some freakish flying car! And I’m taking your… thing! So that even if you do decide to use you-know-what again and risk getting in trouble with your people’s wretched, incompetent government, at least I won’t have to deal with a peck, I mean a pack of owls nearly flying straight into my eyeballs!” He took a tissue out of his pocket and, holding it in his right hand, gingerly picked up Harry’s wand from his nightstand. Harry saw no way to resist.

Aunt Petunia came in. “What’s going on here?” she snapped.

“Oh, I’m just trying to teach the boy a lesson about getting clever with me,” said Uncle Vernon smugly. “Aren’t you impressed by my assertiveness, Petunia?”

“Actually, I’m not sure that punishing the boy is such a good idea, Vernon,” said Aunt Petunia, her thin, horsy face looking nervous. “Remember those people who threatened us when we picked Harry up last summer? If they come marching into the house, I’ll die of shame, especially if we haven’t had a chance to repaint the porch yet.”

“I’ll hire a guard to watch over the front door, too!” said Uncle Vernon. “I don’t care what it takes! Nobody makes fun of Vernon Dursley!” And with that, he walked out of the room with Harry’s wand, locked Harry in, and proceeded to barricade his room so that there was no way he could get out.

Harry could see no way out of his imprisonment this time without getting in trouble once again with the Ministry of Magic. He knew that members of the Order of the Phoenix would try to come for him sooner or later, but he had no way of knowing when, or how. He didn’t even have his owl Hedwig, as she was out hunting and now could not get back in. He lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, alternating between fantasies of wringing the necks of his aunt and uncle, then of Severus Snape, then of Dolores Umbridge, and occasionally of Voldemort.

Then, halfway through the second day of this confinement, Harry had an idea. There was a way of getting himself out of this situation without resorting to magic or even using a wand. He sat up in bed and whispered, “Kreacher? Dobby?”

There were two simultaneous cracks.

“Harry Potter, sir!” squeaked Dobby, his eyes staring up at Harry in admiration.

“Harry Potter, sir!” croaked Kreacher, his eyes staring up at Harry in revultion.

“I have a job for the two of you,” said Harry.

“Dobby will be glad to do anything for Harry Potter!” cried Dobby enthusiastically.

“Kreacher will also do anything for Harry Potter,” said Kreacher, not so enthusiastically, “but Kreacher really does not know what the world is coming to. Everywhere he goes is still full of mudbloods and half-breeds and other random pieces of filth. What is the point in living any longer?”

“If I don’t get out of here soon and get to work, there really won’t be any point in living any longer,” said Harry briskly, “so I want you two to help me get out of here. I want you to inform the Order of where I am and how impatient I am to destroy the Horcruxes and rid the world of the darkest wizard who ever existed. Well, don’t say anything about Horcruxes. And don’t make too big of a point of how impatient I am, or they won’t trust me. And don’t mention defeating the darkest wizard who ever existed, or they’ll think I’m full of myself. Just tell them that I really need to get out, because I’m slowly starving to death!”

“Right you are, Harry Potter sir!” squeaked Dobby, and he vanished with a loud crack.

Kreacher was not so prompt at disappearing. “Hmm, to whom from the Order shall Kreacher speak first, he wonders… perhaps Severus?”

“Don’t you dare even think about it!” shouted Harry, suddenly angry. “You know perfectly well that Snape isn’t part of the Order anymore, you numbskull! From now on, I forbid you to mention his name without putting a four-letter word in the same sentence! Now clear off!”

“Most unfortunately, Kreacher must do as he is told,” muttered the filthy house-elf, and with another loud crack, he disappeared.

Harry sat fuming. Any mention of Snape nowadays was likely to make his blood pressure rise, even more violently than it had ever done before. He decided to mentally play through his favorite fantasy of cursing Snape so that his greasy, hooked nose swelled exponentially. He was just getting to the part where his entire body was weighed down by the nose, which was scraping along a hot sidewalk baking in the July sun, when his thoughts were interrupted by Minerva McGonogall abruptly appearing in the room.

“Hello, Professor,” he said, grateful to finally see a wizard or witch again.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” said Professor McGonogall curtly, as she peered around the disorganized mess in the room through her square spectacles. “Don’t you ever clean up in here?”

“Could you skip the lecture please, Professor?” said Harry politely.

“Oh, very well,” sighed McGonogall. “Let’s see what I can do about getting you out of here.” She raised her wand and pointed it at the door. It swung open so quickly and easily that it looked like it might fly off its hinges. There was a stifled cry of pain from behind it, and Dudley’s porky face came into view. Dudley rubbed a rapidly swelling bruise on his head and let out a swear word.

“You go and wash your mouth out with soap, young Dursley,” said Professor McGonogall sternly. Dudley took one look at her and ran downstairs, shouting for his parents. A minute later, he came shuffling back upstairs with Aunt Petunia half-carrying him and Uncle Vernon bringing up the rear.

“What did she do to you, Diddy?” crooned Aunt Petunia. “Poor diddy Duddikins! Poor duddy Diddikins! Poor little dinky doddle Dookidins!”

“Have you hurt my son?” roared Uncle Vernon. “I’ll tear you limb from limb! I warn you, I’ve been trained in wrestling, and my son here is a Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion! You don’t want to go around messing with us!”

“I have no time for any funny business, Mr. Dursley,” said McGonogall coldly, over Dudley’s soft sobs as he leaned his head on his mother’s bosom. “The evil wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is at large, wreaking havoc upon both our world and the Muggle world. His especial target is Mr. Potter here, but not even such uber-Muggles as yourselves are safe in these dark times.”

Dudley wailed even more loudly. “I don’t want some evil you-know-what to attack us! I d-don’t want to d-d-die! I h-haven’t even g-gotten to try out my new Nintendo game y-y-yet!”

“Don’t worry, my darling diddle Dudderfus!” cried Aunt Petunia tearfully. “Mummy won’t let him destroy you!”

“I’m not really supposed to use magic on you,” said McGonogall, who was clearly becoming more and more impatient, “and I’m not as good at side-along Apparition as Dumbledore was, and Harry can’t legally Apparate by himself yet. So it would be most considerate of you to cooperate. Kindly step aside and allow myself and Mr. Potter to pass.”

Aunt Petunia and Dudley stepped aside, but Uncle Vernon stood his ground. “I will not let that boy get away so easily!” he barked. “I’m afraid it is time that he paid the consequences for his actions!”

Just then, there was a crack like a whip, and an anxious-looking Mrs. Weasley Apparated into the room, wearing an apron. “What’s keeping you two?” she said. “Supper is getting stone cold, you know.”

“Sorry, Molly,” sighed McGonogall, looking over at her. “It’s just that these Muggles are having trouble with the concept of common courtesy. They’re just as Albus described them. I bet they wouldn’t invite me in or offer me refreshments if I surprised them at eleven in the evening, either.”

“What a sloppy room,” remarked Mrs. Weasley.

“Will you all give it a rest about the room!” cried Harry in exasperation as he started to pack.

“Come on, Vernon,” wheedled Aunt Petunia to Uncle Vernon, who was still standing in the way of McGonogall and Harry, swelled up indignantly. “Wouldn’t it be better to let him go? After all, we’ll never have to see him again. He turns seventeen in a week or two, remember? And think on the bright side. At least these people haven’t wrecked our fireplace or blown up any members of our family this time.”

Harry could see the usual inner conflict within Uncle Vernon, who was clearly fighting between the desire to oppose whatever Harry wanted and the desire to be rid of him forever at last. Finally, Uncle Vernon began to say, in a rather choked voice, “True, they haven’t even so much as exploded a pudding.” Just as he said it, however, there was a huge crunching sound, and the window shattered.

“Uh-oh,” said Harry to himself, although he couldn’t help grinning at the same time.

“What’s takin’ yeh so long?” grunted the voice of Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant Hogwarts gamekeeper from outside the window. “Come on, let me carry yeh outta here!”

Uncle Vernon muttered, “Mimblewimble!” and ran out of the room. Aunt Petunia and Dudley followed suit. McGonogall and Mrs. Weasley both glared at Hagrid, looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and Disapparated. Harry jumped out of the window and didn’t fall far before landing in Hagrid’s arms. A second later, Harry’s wand went flying out the window, thrown out, no doubt, in disgust by Uncle Vernon, and Harry caught it.

“There, take your thing!” came Uncle Vernon’s voice from out of the broken window. “And don’t ever show your disorderly-looking head at our doorstep again!”

“I’ll miss you too, Uncle Vernon,” said Harry gleefully, waving up at him.

Hagrid started walking briskly down Privet Drive, trampling a few squirrels in the process.

“How’ve yeh bin, Harry?” said Hagrid. “Seriously, yeh should talk to Grawp, yeh wouldn’ believe how smart he’s gettin’ nowadays. He’s studyin’ second-year calculus now, although he still has a little trouble remembering the dif’rence between sines and cosines.”

“Thanks for everything, Hagrid,” said Harry gratefully as Hagrid bore him across the street to where a grouchy-looking Auror stood waiting to escort him back to the Burrow at last.