|The Chosen One
Author: Dragonist PM
Harry Potter forgets to hit continue when Voldemort finally kills him. Now, to his slowly dawning horror, he has to repeat all seven years of Hogwarts... one side quest and boss battle at a time.Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Fantasy - Harry P. - Chapters: 5 - Words: 9,823 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 26 - Follows: 44 - Updated: 08-16-11 - Published: 05-23-11 - id: 7017016
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A bolt of lightning periodically flashed through the sky. Oddly enough, the dark mark and what looked like a three dimensional representation of the deathly hallows sign were floating in the middle of it.
The Chosen One, leaning absentmindedly against a handrail, didn't hear the whistle as the train departed. Instead, the Chosen One grimaced. "The fuck is this on about?" The three words seemingly floating in the sky simply flashed.
"No, damn it! I want answers! What the hell I am doing here!" The lightning flashed once more, before the world abruptly shifted, and the Chosen One tried not to puke.
There was a whimsical tune in the air, violins and harps harmonizing in a way that inspired reflection, contemplation, and migraines. A set of train tracks twisted down through the sky. The occasional whistle of steam could be heard faintly, but the Chosen One was much too busy staring at the words flashing across what appeared to be a black, starry expanse of sky to listen.
The Chosen One blinked in disbelief. "What's going on now?" The words echoed slightly. "The fuck is this?"
Settling down into an alert sort of crouch, the Chosen One looked up belligerently at the sky, vaguely hoping that that He Who Must Not Be Named would pop up sometime soon. As far as nefarious plots went, this one was most assuredly the most boring yet.
Some time later, He Who Must Not Be Named had yet to appear. Slightly puzzled, the Chosen One looked around for some way to tell the time. The sky was still as dark as ever, the tracks still empty, the moon hadn't seemed to have moved, and other than the blocky words hovering a few yards away, there was nothing to be seen.
The Chosen One stood up, refused to look around, and spoke loudly. "Well, it seems like there isn't anything at all wrong here. Damnit. It's been so long since I had a nice bit of time free from fighting all evil and sundry, I hardly know what to do with it."
A second after the last word was spoken, the Chosen One lunged forward, spun around on a heel, and glared, only to be disappointed once more.
The Chosen One bit a lip. He Who Must Not Be Named had never let an opportunity like that go to waste before. For the first time, the Chosen One started to look a bit worried. Also, the music was starting to get annoying.
"Listen," The Chosen One called out. "I think we might have a mistake here… I have places to be, people to help, I don't have time-" There was a brief flash of white light. When it was gone, the Chosen One peered up from what passed as the ground to see a new word floating in the air below the others. The sky now read:
The Chosen One hesitated for another moment until the repetitive music would allow no other course but action. Edging closer to the words, the Chosen One attempted to touch the newest one. The words, however, seemed always to stay a few feet away. Feeling slightly silly, the Chosen One coughed slightly before speaking again. "Uh… Help?"
The Chosen One's breath caught as the world suddenly rearranged itself. A new arrangement of hovering words now lay in front of a seaside shore at dawn. The music hadn't changed. Picking the first set of words that came in sight, the Chosen One spoke once more. "Er, The Story, please."
Once more, the word rushed forward. Everything was black, including the Chosen One, who was rather surprised to be rendered so suddenly invisible. Words began to scroll down from the sky.
It is the year nineteen-ninety-one, and it is the Chosen One's first year at Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. But all is not as it seems. The eleven year old Chosen One is about to face an ancient and most feared enemy when the entire wizarding world is threatened by the return of He Who Must Not Be Named. The power to either save or damn the world rests solely in the Chosen One's hands.
The Chosen One blinked as the world rearranged itself back to the night sky. While rather vague, "The Story" had sounded like some rendition of the Chosen One's own first year at Hogwarts.
The Chosen One took a closer look at the floating words. A pair of them had an odd angle. The Chosen One spoke more confidently this time. "Load Game." Then the Chosen One watched in fascination as the spoken words disappeared, only for new ones to reappear in their place.
NO SAVED FILES FOUND
A few moments after the Chosen One had finished reading the last word, they disappeared, with the former set fading back in.
"This," The Chosen One finally declared, "Is the strangest thing I think I've ever seen. So fuck it. New Game."
The world shifted once more. Suddenly, the Chosen One was in the middle of a seemingly all encompassing room. The floor was divided into four different tile patterns, with a yin-yang symbol in what the Chosen One presumed was the center. The Chosen One waited there for a moment, taking the entire room in. To the south west, the tiles were green and silver checked, to the south east, they were blue and bronze, to the north east, they were red and gold, and to the north west, they were yellow and black.
All in all, it was quite the hideous picture.
The Chosen One took a couple steps to the left. When the Chosen One reached border between the green and silver tiles and the yellow and black tiles, the Chosen One hesitantly stepped over.
This time, there was no dramatic shifting of background. Instead, three shadowed figures rose from the floor. The Chosen One tensed, but they made no movement to attack or come closer. A word hovered over each of them.
"Mudblood," The Chosen One started. The shadowed figure began to fill itself in. The end result was not the most perfect of renditions, but it was easy to get an overall feel for the figure. A rather tall boy with dark skin stood frozen in the perfect sneer. A lip curling, the Chosen One quickly moved on.
"Halfblood?" The next statue fleshed itself out, as the other returned to shadow. A shapeless, androgynous form shifted into an almost solidly built girl with a long face, pale skin, and a fair splattering of what could either have been zits or freckles. Judging by the reddish tint to the statuette's hair, the Chosen One supposed they were freckles.
While this figure was slightly more appealing than the first, the Chosen One felt a bit leery. This wasn't what the Chosen One was searching for, and so, the Chosen One spoke once more. "Pureblood?"
The last shadow lit itself up, formerly formless mass shifting into sculpted features, skin and hair that were practically the same shade of white, and a pointed little nose.
The Chosen One stumbled back as if struck, mind whirring with hate. A moment later, the feeling was gone, but by then the Chosen One had stumbled all the way back from the green and silver tiles, across the free space in the middle, and on to the red and gold tiles on the other side of the room.
Three more figures formed themselves, the same words from before hovering over them. "Pureblood," the Chosen One barked out, half worried that the pale figure from before would form itself again. Thankfully, the Chosen One was disappointed.
Blackish gray shadows twisted and turned, forming a boy quite different from the former. This one had bright orange-red hair, a rather gawky set of limbs he would no doubt grow into in time, and what looked like a smudge of dirt on his nose. Although the Chosen One was very happy to see a different form than the one from before, the sullen look on the redhead's face was rather disconcerting.
Deciding to restart at the bottom, the Chosen One spoke more softly this time. "Mudblood." As the word echoed, the shadowy figures changed once more. The redhead was back to shadows, while the leftmost figure started to lighten.
A rather stubborn looking girl with wildly bushy hair and a determined expression on her face stood with her arms crossed. The Chosen One looked her over a bit longer than the redhead, but she didn't seem quite right either. When she started to drift back into smoke, though, the Chosen One thought she might have started to crack a smile.
"Halfblood." The Chosen One said.
The Chosen One knew that this was the right one. Whispering shadows slid away to reveal dark hair, pale skin, and greenish-blue eyes. He looked rather frightened, almost, with a pair of circular, wire framed glasses dominating his face. The Chosen One refused to look away. "Halfblood," the Chosen One whispered.
Suddenly, the other two shadowy figures, as well as the headache inducing room, spun away, leaving the Chosen One and the chosen half-blood figure back at the starry night sky. This time, however, a glittering train bearing the placard Hogwarts Express waited at the border of starry sky and dark ground.
BOARD THE TRAIN?
The Chosen One looked around, faintly exasperated but mostly uncaring. "Yes, yes," The Chosen One spoke, "best get on with it!"
No sooner were the words said that the Chosen One's chosen figure began to move, the colored wisps of shadows solidifying as the boy became even more detailed. The Chosen One watched as the young boy boarded the train.
Then the chosen one shut his eyes, grabbed onto the edge of his seat with both child hands, and almost bit his tongue as the train jolted him forward into life.
THE BEGINNING: THE SHACK
Harry Potter lived a relatively normal life with his family, the Dursely's, until his eleventh birthday. Now, strange things have started to happen, one after another, ever since the zoo incident and the arrival of his first letter from Hogwarts. When a strange sort of giant arrives at the shack the Dursely's and Harry Potter had been staying at, little does Harry Potter know that his true story is about to begin.
The chosen one, currently named Harry Potter, blinked as the world drifted back into focus, the strange sort of summary fading away. He looked around cautiously, but no else had seemed to notice it. He wasn't quite sure if that was because it was only for him to see, or if it was because they were already otherwise occupied.
"I'm not going to pay for some crackpot senile fool to be teaching him magic tricks!" A rather fleshy man was bellowing at a rather larger man. Well, maybe not a man, per se, Harry mused. More like a… giant.
A couple of words hovered above the man's head. They read Vernon Dursley. The chosen one supposed that he must be one of Harry Potter's, er, his, family members.
The giant, taking notice only of the man's spoken words, seized his umbrella and began whirling around his head. "Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!" There was a flash of what appeared to be violet light, and when Harry could see again, he noticed the one of the other occupants in the room. A fleshy boy with the word Dudley floating above his head squealed, clutching at his fat bottom. A curly pig's tail poked through a hole in his trousers.
Vernon Dursley made a sound like a cross between a roaring lion and cat coughing up a hairball. When Harry turned to him, he saw that his name had already faded away. As Harry puzzled out this latest happening, Vernon Dusley gathered what appeared to be his wife and son into a different room, leaving Harry with the giant.
The quickly fading words above the giant's head read as Rubeus Hagrid. As Harry tried to sound out how the man's first name would go, the giant spoke on. "Be best if you don't mention that to Dumbledore - I'm not supposed to be doing magic."
Harry waited for a moment until it became apparent that Hagrid was waiting for him to speak. He had half a mind to just say no, and see how the giant would react, but was hoping to get this over with rather quickly. "Don't worry about it."
Hagrid relaxed. "That's alright then. Now - uh - I'm supposed to be takin' you shopping for all yer books and things, but it's getting' late. Is it alright if we wait till tomorrow to do al' that?"
Two words appeared in between Hagrid and Harry. They read Yes and No. Harry didn't feel that tired, but it didn't seem worth it to argue. "Yeah, that's alright."
When Hagrid didn't move, or react in anyway whatsoever, Harry fought the urge to scratch the back of his neck. "Er, that's alright? It's fine? Sure? Let's do that?"
There was still no response. Harry wondered if Vernon had somehow found a way to sneak out of the other room and shoot Hagrid dead without him noticing. "Come along now, yes, yes, it's-"
"You can kip under this," Hagrid started moving again, throwing Harry his thick black coat. "Don't mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I might have a couple o' dormice in there still."
Before Harry knew it, he was moving on autopilot. He snuggled under the coat, and the second he closed his eyes, everything went dark and silent.