Disclaimer: Don't be fooled: I'm not, in fact, JKR. Shocking, I know.
This is right up there with Impractical Heroics, HP's Guide to the Dark Arts, Hero's Welcome, and Next Great Adventure as fics that I wish I could blame on a drug habit. To quote Cicero, Cave crackficus. You have been warned.
Beta'd by the fantabulous DWS, who liked the Owwie version better. Le sigh.
Harry Potter and the Insert Title Here
After a few days spent cooling his heels in Privet Drive, Harry was at the Burrow, doing his best to enjoy the wedding preparations. Which was kind of difficult, since Gabrielle Delacour seemed to have appointed herself his own personal stalker.
"'Er first victim," Fleur had sighed, dewy-eyed, when Harry had complained the previous night. "Eet eez so sweet!"
Delacour women scared him. For that matter, so did Granger women and Weasley women and, frankly, every female he'd ever come across, starting with Aunt Petunia and building up from there.
Scowling, Harry leaned against the kitchen wall, surveying Mrs. Weasley's worn domain. An overabundance of food covered every horizontal surface; the table sagged under the feast's weight and the counters groaned in agony. Atlas had it easy, in comparison.
Mrs. Weasley had slaved for a good two or three days to make all the food for the reception. At one point, Charlie Weasley had foolishly suggested to his mother that she just order catering. Her response had been swift and painful.
No one had seen Charlie since. Perhaps, Harry idly mused, he'd hidden from Mrs. Weasley's wrath under the mound of bread rolls currently crushing the nearest counter. It was probably the safest place in the house, what with the twins at their worst and the Order constantly embroiled in vicious arguments.
Now, though, the house was strangely quiet – everyone was outside setting up tables for the reception, charming a dance floor into existence, and so forth. Mrs. Weasley herself was taking a rare break to make sure her many and varied sons were all dressed up and ready for the service, which was to commence in about a half hour.
Harry glanced down at himself and winced – Mrs. Weasley had bought him new dress robes a few days before, all dark green with gold trimming. He couldn't wear them without feeling like a complete tosser.
At least no one had found him yet. He smiled grimly to himself, satisfied that he'd be left alone for a while longer.
Then the door creaked open, and a pale-haired, blue-eyed bitch-in-training slipped into his haven, smiling like a shark, only slightly less toothily.
"'Arry," Gabrielle greeted him, fluttering her lashes.
"Urgh," Harry replied, sagging against the wall in defeat.
"Bitch, please," Ginny snapped, brushing past the younger girl as she stormed into the kitchen. "There's precocious, and then there's slutty," she added, glowering at her young soon-to-be sister-in-law. "Beat it, sweetie."
Gabrielle gaped at the redhead, and Harry did too, though he didn't have Gabrielle's excuse of mortal offense – he was staring because Ginny looked glorious in her pale green dress.
"Gah," he murmured in awe.
"Hmph," Gabrielle grumbled, sneering.
"Flounce away," Ginny ordered, hands on her hips (which, Harry noted, were showcased very nicely by the dress).
"You – "
"Flounce, little veela! Flounce like the wind!"
Lower lip trembling, Gabrielle stormed away. Harry would have watched her go with a sigh of relief, but he was too busy trying to study his ex-girlfriend without looking like he was studying her.
"Just so you know," Ginny informed him, finally snapping him out of his hormonal reverie, "I'm not going to wait for you. So you'd better defeat Voldemort quickly, Harry. That is, if you ever want to play Broomsticks and Quaffles with me."
"Erk," Harry squeaked, eyes wide.
Ginny gave a self-satisfied nod, and then leveled her best glare at him. "Now. Stop hiding and go help Ron get dressed. He's tangled in his collar. Mum went overboard with the lace again."
Harry spent the entire wedding replaying Ginny's words in his mind.
Broomsticks and Quaffles? If she meant – if that was referring to – if he missed out on…because of Voldemort….
But it'd take forever to hunt down the horcruxes!
He weighed his options in his mind. Broomsticks and Quaffles (and possibly even Goal Posts) versus saving the world. Saving the world, or Goal Posts?
The dirty kind of fun, or the freedom of the magical world?
This just wasn't fair. None of the other boys in his dorm ever had to make a choice like this!
There were a lot of other girls out there, of course, millions upon millions of fish in the sea, but Ginny…
…well, Ginny was the only fish he really wanted to play Special Quidditch with.
Shaking his head in an attempt to get his mind back in something resembling order, Harry decided he really, really needed to find a way to defeat Voldemort in record time. Lives weren't the only thing at stake any more.
The idea came to him at the reception, when Ginny started flirting quite blatantly with Lee Jordan. The fact that Lee was obviously uncomfortable didn't really make Harry want to hurt him any less.
Harry thought for a second, after he'd blinked the red out of his vision, that the Monster was once again in his chest, clawing to get out. After a moment, though, he figured it was more likely indigestion.
Too bad he couldn't just Accio Ginny away from Jordan…
He paused, eyes widening as his thoughts raced. Accio…
It could work. It had to work. The very future of his Broomstick and Quaffles depended upon it.
There was no time to think, only to act. Ginny was giving Jordan some very Monster-inducing looks.
He raced to the border of the yard, almost tripping over a long, straggling line of gnomes returning to their homes after their most recent eviction. Once he made it to the fence, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled out his wand.
Er, the wooden wand, not the Special Quidditch one.
It was a beautiful day, sunny and spring-cool. Seemed right that today would be the day Voldemort finally made like Trevor and croaked.
"Accio Gryffindor's Sword!" he said, hoping it wouldn't slice up anyone on its way from Hogwarts.
He frowned. This would take too long, if the sword came as slowly as his Firebolt had back in fourth year. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to contemplate everything that would be lost if this didn't work – and soon. Then he reached out, somehow, to the sword, pulling it harder towards the Burrow.
Several startled screams sounded. "It's a bird!" Ron, hovering near the tables of food, reassured the crowd.
"It's a plane!" Hermione denied scathingly.
"It's Supe…" Arthur paused, then turned to his son's best friend. "A plane? One of those Muggle contraptions used for flying? My goodness! I've always wanted to see one!"
The sword rocketed towards Harry, faster than a speeding bullet, pointy end first. He gulped.
"I didn't think this through," he groaned, and dove for the ground. There was an odd twanging noise a split second later, and Harry looked up to find the sword had buried itself nearly to the hilt about two inches to his left.
He stood slowly, his legs shaking, and managed to pry the sword out of the earth. By the time he was done, he could make out two figures running straight for him – Hermione and Ron.
Hoping he didn't look too shaken, Harry set the sword point-first on the grass and tried to lean on it nonchalantly, only for it to slice through the earth and send him stumbling against the fence. Ron had just enough breath left to snicker.
Scowling, Harry yanked the sword up and brandished it. Ron quickly shut up.
"Hermione," Harry said, trying not to get too distracted by the way the sword was glinting in the light, "you might want to warn everyone that things are going to get…strange."
"Harry, what on earth are you doing?" Hermione demanded, not looking nearly so gorgeous as Ginny had. Though from the looks Ron was stealing at her, Harry suspected that not everyone shared his opinion.
"What needs to be done," he replied determinedly, not giving an inch despite the pinched look on Hermione's face that told him she was working herself up to a good nag. "Please, Hermione," he added, giving her his best patented Little Boy Hero look. "Trust me on this one, all right? I was right about Snape, wasn't I?"
"What's that got to do – "
"Well, yes, but I don't – "
"So trust me to be right in this."
"If I knew what 'this' was – "
"I knew I could count on you," Harry said, surprised and pleased when Hermione only mouthed wordlessly for a moment and then shook her head in defeat. Ron watched, awed.
"Mate," he said, breathless, "you won an argument with Hermione! If you can do that, you can do anything."
Harry felt a new swell of confidence, even as Hermione let out an outraged screech and turned on the redhead, snarling. Ron was right. Hermione…she was the true challenge. Voldemort would be easy, in comparison.
"You might want to get back to the crowd," Harry interrupted his best friends' quickly escalating argument. "This is going to be messy."
"What? Harry – "
"Please, Hermione. Ron. Go."
The two glanced at each other, then nodded at him. "You better not be doing anything too dangerous," Hermione warned him, before they turned and headed back towards the reception. Harry waited until they'd had time to explain that something was happening, then cried, "Accio horcruxes!"
He did the same thing he'd done with the sword, mentally urging the horcruxes to come as quickly as humanly possible. A minute passed, and then a stone hit him hard in an arm. A cup bashed against his other arm, and a chain of some sort whipped against his cheek hard enough to break the skin.
Harry barely had time to duck before Nagini arrived, looking like an unusually realistic and airsick balloon.
Something was wrong, though – more and more objects hurtled towards him, until he had to curl up under the fence in a fetal ball to avoid being killed. Death was definitely not a part of his plan. At least, not his death.
Finally, the furor died down. Harry slowly uncurled, rolling out from under the fence to find himself facing a heap of old and precious items.
Horcruxes. And not, apparently, just Voldemort's. There had to be at least fifteen items in the pile. Apparently there were quite a few more immortal evil beings out there than he'd suspected.
"Bloody hell," he groaned, picking up a horcrux – this one a journal – at random. This was going to be hell to sort through.
He glanced at the journal's cover, upon which was boldly written Property of Dick Cheney, then tossed it back into the pile. There were some evils even he refused to deal with.
Shuddering, he kicked at the pile, dislodging a tapestry that had been covering Nagini's remains. She'd apparently been skewered by a high-velocity silver plate during her landing – one less problem to deal with.
Irritated, Harry snapped, "Accio Voldemort's active horcruxes!" He wasn't sure it'd work, but it was worth a try.
Fortunately, it did work, and Harry managed to separate Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, and what looked like a very old inkwell, from the rest of the junk. Biting his lip, Harry wondered how to destroy the horcruxes – the diary from second year had been easy enough, but Dumbledore had crippled his hand when he'd destroyed the ring.
Well, maybe hacking and slashing would be enough. It was the Gryffindor way, after all.
Harry hefted the sword, then brought it down on the locket with all his strength, the sharp edge slicing through the charm with surprising ease.
"That was kind of anticlimactic," Harry muttered, slightly disappointed. He'd halfway expected a light show of some sort, or at least a minor explosion.
In short order, he'd gotten rid of the ink well – which had a small raven etched on the side – and the cup. Horcruxes destroyed, Harry once again closed his eyes, this time focusing on Voldemort himself – or rather, his location.
Harry couldn't make out exactly where his foe was, but he somehow knew it was to the north. Turning to face that direction, he brought the sword up, brandished his wand, and shouted (because frankly, there hadn't been nearly enough drama so far), "Accio VOLDEMORT!"
"Oh no," Hermione moaned, when she heard the faint shout in the distance. "Harry, you…"
The next several words out of her mouth don't bear repeating. Despite this, Ron repeated them almost daily for weeks.
It was a few minutes before Harry caught sight of his arch nemesis. He spent the time trying to think of something witty to say for when Voldemort did show up, but frankly, he just wanted the entire business to be over so he could get to the aftermath.
With any luck, there would be lots and lots of Special Quidditch.
At last, however, a high-pitched squeal reached Harry's ears. He squinted, and made out a tall, pale figure tumbling through the air straight towards him, robes billowing in the wind. Harry was pretty sure he caught a flash of boxers decorated with pictures of little corpses, but didn't have time to be disturbed.
"Hey, Voldie," he said, right before Voldemort hit the sharp end of Gryffindor's sword.
"Oof," the villain grunted, staring down at the shiny metal sticking through his middle. "Potter, you bastard! Owwie."
And thus the greatest dark lord of the century breathed his last.
All in all, everyone was pretty pleased with Harry. He'd destroyed the Dark Lord (he'd never forget Fleur's teary eyes as she explained that his timing had made her and Bill's wedding 'ze social event of ze century'), found Charlie under the bread rolls ("They were the only safe place," the redhead shuddered. "Never seen Mum so furious."), and earned everyone's respect for saving the world with a few Accios.
Well, the respect of everyone except Hermione and Ron. Hermione just called him a first-class idiot, then hugged him hard enough that he thought his ribs would snap. Ron slapped him upside the head for spoiling their chance to skip a year of school, but Harry was used to head wounds, so he wasn't really bothered.
Then Molly got teary and Arthur pelted him with questions about airplanes, until Ginny rescued him, leading him towards the house and glaring at anyone who made a move to follow them. Gabrielle pouted and complained about 'zat girl stealing my 'Arry', but frankly, no one really cared.
"I knew you could do it," Ginny told him with a grin that made her eyes crinkle at the edges.
"Well, with the proper motivation…" Harry shrugged, echoing her broad smile. She took his hand and squeezed it tightly.
"I would have waited, you know. I just didn't want to have to wait forever."
Something in Harry's chest unclenched, and his cheeks went red. "So what you said about…erm…Quidditch…"
She paused and turned to him, winding her arms around his neck. "Let's fly," she murmured, and kissed him to a chorus of outraged yowls from her brothers.