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Chapter 1 : Werewolves and Beautiful Voices
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The glass orb fell through the air with a shattering crack. Well, no. It was more like a crack but there’s no real need to go into details about the crystal orb because, of course, this story is not about a crystal orb. The title of a story often has absolutely nothing at all to do with the actual story but as long as it sounds sufficiently clever and impressive enough to draw readers in then nobody cares much.
This story takes place among the chaos and screaming and bloodshed of the final showdown between Harry Potter and Voldemort…Voldemort. It is very inconvenient and a sign of Voldemort Voldemort’s truly evil spirit that he has no last name and thus all authors and teacher must struggle for all time wondering how to address him when they are particularly angry at him, which is of course all the time.
This story’s main character is Fenrir Greyback, who has nothing to do with crystal balls or reflectivity, but who when out story starts is slumped across the bottom of a staircase that leads out of the Great Hall.
When he awoke (well really now reader, what are you thinking? Of course the main character of our story wouldn’t die so quickly, you numpty) he decided quite rightly that he didn’t want to stay around any longer.
If he got hit by another crystal orb on the head then he might have to go hunting for some Tylenol, or (Merlin forbid) some tramadol-acetaminophen oral, and he was in the employ of a potentially crazy but very powerful wizard who hated Muggles and all things Muggle, which definitely included Muggle headache remedies, sadly enough.
Because although Fenrir had to act as though he was completely in Voldemort’s service and with his heart and soul and feet and any other bodily parts (tangible or not) that Voldemort might require, but once he came to terms with the realisation that he would not be able to use Muggle headache remedies if Voldemort triumphed he quickly changed his mind. After all, after his transformation his head always hurt like nothing else, and he did have a soft spot for Muggle headache remedies.
Before Fenrir could make a move out of the door, however, a beautiful female voice came flying out of the high corridor overlooking the battle, pouring itself gracefully into his ears so that he was immediately bewitched.
“I have more! More for any who want them! Here –” the voice cried out, and before he could move, there was another crystal orb flying through the air, shining all the colours of the rainbow, before smashing into one of Fenrir’s comrades, who lets out a strangled cry and collapses, struck down by the beauty of the orb.
Strange, because Fenrir had never thought that Dolohov was an appreciator of true beauty.
Of course, Fenrir was gripped with a wild desire to find out the name and (more importantly) the blood type of the woman to whom the voice belonged, and so he rushed out of the Great Hall without a second glance, ignoring Voldemort’s look of utter disdain towards him. He had fallen in love, so completely and utterly that he wasn’t even struck down by the Killing Curse because, of course, love heals all wounds, including dead bodies.
He rushed up staircases (which moved inconveniently) and through doorways shouting “Oh, beautiful voice!” which admittedly has never been the best way to find someone, but he was in the throes of true love and so of course all his faults and mistakes must be forgiven at once.
Somehow while he was running, Fenrir noticed that there as an eerie silence throughout the castle, and then Voldemort’s voice echoed throughout the castle so loudly that Fenrir could hear the students covering their ears in the Great Hall. He was saying something about valiant bravery and losses of retreating forces, but quite frankly none of it was interesting.
When he finally reached the balcony that he had seen from the Great Hall, the owner of the beautiful voice was nowhere to be seen. “Voice!” Fenrir yelled miserably. “Oh, where is the beautiful Voice?”
Suddenly there was a very large hue and cry from the Great Hall below the lovestruck Fenrir. He would have ignored it as he had everything else, except that he thought that maybe the Owner of the Beautiful Voice might be down there, so he ran over to the balcony and strained his already–weak eyes in an attempt to see the Beautiful Voice. If she was in danger, he would rush down and sweep her off her feet like he had already dreamed a thousand times even though he had only heard her a minute ago.
The fight appeared to have restarted, and he was looking down at the sea of struggling people and flashes of multi-coloured wandlight, which for a second remind him of the infinitely beautiful crystal orb, glittering as it flew through the air like a bird. Why would none of them help him? He was on a Quest to find True Love and they were all there embroiled in a pitiful struggle for power. It was really quite sad.
Suddenly Voldemort Voldemort, his leader and guru in all things that were not love, caught his eye and promptly began a series of spastic movements with his eyebrow and nose–hole, obviously trying to communicate a complicated message as Fenrir stood above him uncomprehendingly.
Because, of course, Fenrir had been learning the special special and sweet sweet skills which were Occlumency and Legilimency and Voldemort himself had pronounced that his natural skills were so perfect that Fenrir would be accepted into his service forever and ever and ever amen, a chance for which Fenrir was profoundly grateful.
However, he had never anticipated that his blocked and perfectly guarded mind would become the subject of Voldemort’s creepy and frankly rather moody obsession with him. Quite honestly, Fenrir could say that he was always glad to get out of Voldemort’s presence for a while to make werewolves out of some completely innocent children, in the vain hope that perhaps some of them would one day come to keep him company.
“Oh, hello. I knew you would be here, of course. The Inner Eye sees all. I was just gone to get some more crystal orbs to fling through the air.”
Fenrir whipped around suddenly at the re–appearance of the Beautiful Voice and was not at all disappointed with what he sees. The woman behind him is a paragon of Beauty, with large eyes, a thin body and neck draped with glittering beads and shawls. Her voice, now that it was no longer running rampant through the hall, was a soft and misty shade of delicate which enraptured Fenrir.
“Hello,” he breathed. Voldemort Voldemort was looking extremely disgruntled from below him, until his attention was taken by that pesky Minerva McGonagall and he was forced to stop trying to kill Fenrir with a look. Perhaps those rumours about being a Basilisk had caught up with him.
“Hello,” the Mysterious Lady replied with a smile, before pushing past him to drop another crystal orb on Thorfin Rowle, who also yelled out a strangled cry before dropping. Strange that, Fenrir thought. Perhaps he would have to re–evaluate his comrades before judging them so quickly next time.
Voldemort was looking up at Fenrir with a look of utter disbelief on his face and began twitching his nose–hole again but was forced to stop when that old sycophant Horace Slughorn joined in the duel between him and Minerva.
“I was looking for you,” Fenrir confided.
“I know,” the woman said. “I could hear you.”
“Oh,” Fenrir said, slightly crestfallen. He hadn’t wanted his appearance to be a total surprise, but a nice surprise. Like the kind of surprise you get on your birthday where you know you’re going to get a gift but you don’t know what it is yet. “What’s your name?”
The woman looked at him and after a bit of gazing into each other’s’ eyes, Fenrir discovered that the woman was thinking that this man might not be a prince but he had more sense than the Prince did to get a name straightaway, and of course this string of thoughts made absolutely no sense to our main man, who was stuck look awkwardly into the eyes of the woman with the most beautiful voice in the world.
Voldemort Voldemort looked up and was elevated to a state of rage to see one of his most useful supporters wasting his life by making eye–babies with somebody other than him and perhaps even falling in that dreaded L-word. Voldemort would have blasted Fenrir to bits right then and there, or perhaps asked him out to a baseball match, leaving our story in no fit state to continue, but thankfully that incompetent Kingsley Shaklebolt joined the duel against him so that Voldemort was forced to concentrate on his attackers.
“My name is Sybill Trelawney, and you are Fenrir Greyback, of course. I can see all in my crystal orbs,” Sybill said, and with the ease of a master, she whipped a crystal ball out of her bag and began spinning it on the tip of her index finger. “You are on the Dark Side, Fenrir Greyback, but I can sense some goodness in you as well. You are with You–Know–Who, but there is a way to be good again. I can see it!” She was nodding enthusiastically now, her beads clattering in a pleasant jangle around her neck. “You have a great destiny in front of you, Fenrir Greyback.” Our leading man was now sufficiently enraptured with our leading lady, who had exhibited behaviours both mysterious and coy.
The crowd was shouting something completely indecipherable to Fenrir’s ears, but Sybill Trelawney tilted her head on one side like a pretty little swan and then declared, “Ah! The Boy Who Lived lives! He shall have a long life, become Minister for Magic and have twelve children. Yes, twelve. I told him so, but he didn’t seem to believe me. Well, now let’s see who’s right.”
Then there was this really boring showdown between Harry and Voldemort with way too much talking and not enough spells, and in which Fenrir was fully expecting both of them to win because that was the best and most realistic situation ever, and so when only Harry Potter won half of his prediction came true. “Do you think I could be a Divinator?” he asked Sybill humbly. “Half of my prediction came true just then.”
“I’m so sorry, Fenrir,” Sybill said regretfully. “But you do need to have a one hundred percent accuracy track record, and the correct term is Divininger.”
“Oh,” Fenrir said sadly. “Well, what’s your blood type?”
A/N – Aaaaand this is where I stop my crazy mind. If any of you were thinking about asking, yes, tramadol-acetaminophen oral is a real substance which is used to cure headaches/pain. :P
The Prince that Sybil Trelawney was thinking of was from Cinderella, of course, which belongs to Hans Christian Anderson, who is blatantly not me. The quote There is a way to be good again was given to me as part of the Khaled Hossini Quote Challenge, from the book The Kite Runner, and does not belong to me either, sadly enough.
The quote I have more! More for any who want them! is said by Sybill Trelawney on page 519 of the UK edition of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Um…yeah! What do you think of my first ever parody? I don’t think it made any sense, but it was written in the middle of Camp NaNoWriMo so I have a sort–of valid excuse. I think. Anyhow, there is a review box below and I would love to hear your thoughts and comments on this! :D
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