18Disclaimer: (Courtesy of White Moon Dragon) "Mine! Mine! Mine!" Books are piled from floor to ceiling. The men in white coats manage to get past my wall of 4,734 copies of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and tap their feet impatiently. "Okay, men in white coats got past my fortress of books, I gotta go to my psychiatric evaluation. They say I don't own Harry Potter. WAH!"
Okay, here we go...
Harry Potter and the Curse of the Bad Fanfiction
Chapter 1: Angst. (I shall come up with a pathetically stupid "angsty" title later.)
A silence had spread over the houses of Privet Drive. Everyone was asleep; everyone except for Harry Potter, that is. At that moment, Harry was under the covers, wand lit. Yes, you heard right; Harry Potter had a wand. That was because he was a wizard, and not just any regular wizard. He had defeated Lord Voldemort (and evil man who was determined to kill him, along with everyone who disagreed with him or wasn't pure-blood; that made him a bit of a hypocrite, as he was half-blood himself.) not once, but five times. (A/N: Argh! I hate it when people do this! I mean, if somebody can't remember that, then they obviously haven't read the books. Oh, by the way, you can skip basically anything that is in bold. It's just my stupid Author's Notes.) By the light of his wand, Harry was looking through a photo album his half-giant friend, Rubeus Hagrid, had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He flipped through the pages, gazing at all the familiar memories. Then he stopped. His eyes filled with tears.
The picture of his parents' wedding.
Sirus.
No, he thought, don't think about it. But it was a hopeless battle.
Why couldn't I have just used the mirror? he thought miserably. No matter what Dumbledore says, it is my fault Sirius died.
That wasn't enough for him.
(Again I really, REALLY hate it when people do this)
Why, Sirius? Why did you have to come after me? Did you want to die? (That doesn't even make since.) Why did you have to leave me?
Harry walked over to the desk in his room, sobbing. The prophecy played through his mind.
The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...
"Why does it have to be me?" he choked out. "Why does it all have to happen to me?
"I know what I'll do," he whispered, so quietly that he could barely hear himself. "I already know Voldemort's going to win, right? Well, why don't I just save him the trouble of killing me?" An insane grin spread over his face as he looked down at the table.
A knife.
Perfect.
He picked it up, the tears still coming, thought he wasn't sobbing anymore. He held it over his arm.
"Mum, Dad, Sirius," he said softly, "I'm sorry. I don't deserve to live, but you did, and you still would be if it weren't for me.
"I'm sorry Cedric... Cho... Sturgis Podmore... Mr. And Mrs. Longbottom... The Prewetts... The Weasleys- Mrs. Weasley- You lost your brothers because I couldn't kill Voldemort soon enough... Frank Bryce... Bertha Jorkins... Marlene McKinnon... Benjy Fenwick... Edgar Bones... Caradoc Dearborn... Dorcas Meadowes... So many people gone because I was too slow to kill that stupid bass-turd!" (Hehehe.) He brought the knife closer to his skin. "And I can't even do it!" he said. He was crying again. "Does anyone actually believe that I can kill the most evil man who ever lived? Merlin, I can't even cast a Cruciatus that lasts more than five seconds! I could never do Avada Kadavra! Never!" He closed his eyes. "Kill or be killed." He pressed the knife into his wrist. Blood rushed down his arm. "I guess I'll be both.
He smiled, sliding onto the floor, as unconsciousness took over his body and mind.
Don't worry, Harry'll be okay. I'm sure Snape will miraculously show up and do some spells to heal Harry's wrist, and give him a couple of blood-replenishing potions he just happens to have on him. Unfortunately, that means the story's not over.
...ARGH! I hate suicide stories! Come on, pplz, Harry would NEVER kill himself! EVER! Like I said, I don't care if some people might find this story offensive. I'm making fun of bad fanfiction, so if anything in the story even SLIGHTLY resembles anything you've EVER written, then you need to take a long, hard look at your story(s.)
Oh yeah, I know it's short. Deal with it. There will be more. OOC-ness, more bad angst, fluffy romance that comes out of nowhere, slash, and to top it all off, Mary-Sues- Possibly some Mary Stus- and much, much more. Not all in the next chapter, though. Hehehe.
Go ahead and flame me. I dare you.