Harry Potter Fan Fiction Attempts

Hahahaha, hahaha. Hahahahahahha. I make myself laugh. A lot. This is actually a LOT funnier than when I wrote it. Try the very first clip of my only Harry Potter fanfic:


Chapter 1: The Outset


The year is that selfsame in which Harry Potter and co. arrive also as first-years at Hogwarts. It is the bare second week of their first term there, and therefore they are still learning the rules, ways, and particulars of this most magical place.

Vera, as few will be surprised to note, managed to arrive just on this day, late because her grandmother insisted (for a week and a half) that she would come see Vera off at Platform "Nine and Three Quarters". Therefore Vera was held back by the inability of her muggle grandmother to go through the wall on the first day, and the following days had to stay in the hospital while said grandmother had reconstructive surgery on her nose.

And thus Vera arrives at Hogwarts, fresh out of the train, and is quickly sorted into the great house of Ravenclaw. Herein begins the adventure. Well, it doesn’t start like an adventure. But you'll see, you'll see.

Vera ran down the hallway, shoving her glasses further up her nose as she struggled with the immense load of books in her arm. Somewhere inside her sleeve she'd lost her wand; but that wasn't important, it was the first day of her classes - and she was already two weeks behind! She remembered to mentally thank Grands for making her the only new student to be almost two weeks late for term.

There were stairs right here she was supposed to turn into and go down, and Vera did this with alacrity, barely missing a step as she fled down them as if chased by a pack of ogres. It was only when she was halfway down when she began to hear footsteps, coming from below, above her. This dubious sound, echoing within the clatter of her own steps, quickly halted her progress as she took a breather in the middle of the stairs, hoping desperately that the up-comers were either students, or some teacher that was in too much of a hurry to notice her.

As the sound grew louder Vera could hear two voices, and sighed with relief. ”She’ll will throw a fit if we’re late for the third day in a row!” one of the voices said breathlessly. “And with that weird trick of hers you’ll never know if it’s her cat watching or if it’s actually her.”

“That trick is so bloody cool!” said the other voice, slightly higher pitched, and more excitable sounding.

His voice seemed to pinch Vera’s ears, especially with that strange way he emphasized the “bloody coolness” of whatever trick that was. I’ll bet he’s a redhead, she wagered to herself, and, having recovered her breath, began to walk down the stairs again.

That proved to be a veritable mistake.

The two that had been running up the long stairway towards her charged around the bend like a pair of rats on fire. She let out a startled squeak and dropped her books. In slow motion, the books tumbled down the stairway and onto the oncoming feet of the upstairs stampeders. She watched in horror as the first one, a medium-ish figure with a Gryffindor robe, stumbled on her Herbology textbook. The second figure, a redhead (Hah! she thought to herself. I knew it!), caught his shoe on the robe of the first one, and thus the two crumpled in an undignified heap on the stairs.

Vera sighed, and the glasses promptly fell off her nose. She glared fiercely at the stupid thing, and then turned to glare at the two who’d been running up the steps. “How rude!”

The both of them scrambled upright, grabbing a few of her books as they went, and offered them back to her. “Very sorry,” said the first one, straightening his glasses on his nose. He had a strange lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, half-covered by dark hair, though it barely merited her stare.

“Sorry,” echoed the redhead, brushing his robes off in an agitated manner. “We were late for McGonagall’s class, y’see, and-“

“Wait,” Vera interrupted. “Did you say ‘McGonagall’? Where’s her room?”

“Up here,” explained the first one. “You’re lost too?”

“It’s my first day,” she said haughtily, and sniffed at them. “I can’t help if it someone gave me the wrong directions.”

"Oh," said the first one apologetically. "Sorry. We'll show you the way if you want. By the way, I'm Harry - Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley." He nodded at the redhead as Vera hid a snicker. What kind of a name was Weasley? He looked like a Weasley, whatever one looked like.

"I'm Vera," she said, continuing to glare at them, "and you are standing on my book. My book. And you quite nearly tore the cover off of my Herbology text. Harry Potter? The name sounds familiar, but... Get off my book!"

Harry jumped off of her book sheepishly, nearly into Ron, who dodged just at the last moment. She picked it up along with Herbology, and sighed. How completely inept of them. Vera rolled her eyes and searched around on the floor for the useless glasses. Where had they gone? She hoped they hadn't gone down the stairs. It wasn't as if she needed them, but...

As she stood, Ron looked extremely uncomfortable. "You don't wear glasses, do you?" he asked, shifting one of his feet. She heard a distinct sound of glass, winced, and nodded. This time she let them hear her sigh, as loudly as she could with dignity.

"Never mind. We'd better go before it's too late.

>> Disclaimer: I am not making fun of British accents. I am just VeraVera confused by them sometimes. <<
"Hermione can fix them," Ron said helpfully, as they all looked down at the shards of glass and twisted wire that lay carefully in Vera's hand. "She fixed Harry's glasses too."

"Don't be stuuuupid, Ron," answered the frizzy-haired girl, giving the redhead a severe look. "It makes a difference when the glasses are in two pieces rather than two - hundred. And besides -" Vera was starting to dislike that know-it-all attitude of hers. "Besides, why don't youuu fix them? As I hear, youuu were the one that stepped on them." Not only that, that noxious "eeewww" sound coming out of her mouth every few words made her sound like a complete prig. Not only that, she spoke loud enough to be heard all the way down the hallway, much less throughout the entire bloody school.

"All I want," Vera explained patiently, "is for my glasses to be fixed. That's all."

"And youuu," Hermione had turned her look on Vera, "youu were reading just fine in class without glasses."

Vera blinked at her and glared. "Wasn't."

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Look," Harry interjected, having remained silent for most of this time. "Why don't we all just go look up spells for it in the library?"

Ron was quick to agree with him. After all, Vera figured he was kinda like a sidekick or something, because he was always walking with Harry, but he was also always the one who messed up. And he had to always agree that "it" was a great plan, because sidekicks were there to boost egos. She wondered idly again why the name seemed to sound familiar.

"Hey, Potter," called an obnoxious voice from down the hallway. Vera immediately disliked the voice. "You and your friends having a foursome in the library?"

Harry muttered something under his breath, and Vera watched with some interest as his wand appeared magically from his sleeve. Well, of course it was magical. This was a wizard's school. Duh, she reprimanded herself. But, when things appeared magically, wasn't it supposed to be a figure of speech? Apparently not anymore. It made her wish that some of her relatives besides the non-wizard one had actually survived. Darn stupid luck. She pulled a piece of candy out of her own sleeve and ate it while Harry and the obnoxious kid, some blond guy with two ugly sidekicks, (Vera snickered at them under her breath) exchanged glares. Well, the blond guy didn’t seem too threatened by the wand, because he had both arms folded and a superior look on his face.

“The grrreat Hah-rry Poh-tter, standing with an idiot and two book-worms,” the blond kid began, and got no further before Vera began to laugh.

“Hah-rry Poh-tter,” she giggled, and the others turned to stare at her. “Hah-rry Poh-tter. I’m from America,” she explained, in between fits of laughter.

“Ah-merica?” the blond kid repeated in disbelief. “They let Ah-mericans into Hogwarts? I cain’t believe it!”

“Shove it, Draco,” said Hermione fiercely. Vera hid her candy wrapper in her sleeve and pondered if the girl had ever said anything so rude before. “I’m surprised they let youuu into Hogwarts."

The Old and the New

I've been unable to sleep tonight, due only in part to my earlier nap. I dug out a bunch of my old notebooks, and read them through, thoroughly enjoying most of it. My writing is terrible, and it completely sucks, except for a few stellar passages and some great one-liners (I'll share them later today, if I remember).

But, I love my story. I like the way the characters bounce off each other, and the way they interact. Secondly, I like my story. It's not the greatest or most imaginative or dynamic, but I think I'm able to write my characters so well into the story - they fit the story. You know what I mean about characters not fitting a story, or you should - it's like casting the wrong actor/actress for a part in a movie.

About three years ago, when I was 13 and 14, I was able to capture quite well the spirit I've now acquired and understand as a 16-year-old. How I managed to do that when I was so much younger and inexperienced, I'm unsure.

Teenagers are peevish, selfish, thoughtful, wild, and ever so empathic.

>Story rant here that may not make sense to the uninvolved<>The Lower Expectation (Zaya being the main character). To summarize very very briefly, one was an arranged marriage with the enemy, and the other an arranged marriage with one nearby. The outcast theme is predominant in each one, embodied however by different characters; of course in the former story it is Zaya who is the outcast, and in the latter it is her betrothed, a clumsy, unskilled, yet intelligent orphan who is heir to much. [Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about understanding it too much.] The third draft was a little stranger, of course with the arranged marriage thing [this pattern will be explained momentarily], but a less real story, a little more detached from the characters. Zaya is engaged, this time without her knowledge, to the son of a House that will gain much by his marriage to her. In this case, neither is the outcast, but it happens that they become outcast... One way or another.

The reason for the arranged marriages? Easy enough to explain. Of course, the world of Alenia is not unlike that of a modern world. They freed themselves from the constraints of written word and foretelling and surged ahead, and in leaps and bounds advanced society and culture. Yet there are drastic flaws that remain yet to be mended, and it is my idea that only through the work of individuals can this happen... That didn't explain it?

Sexism. But, of course. It's ever so subtle in the first world countries of today, and ever so blatant in the second and third and between worlds. Of course as a habit I would choose the subtler of the worlds, for I never had a talent for stating the obvious. Mind, my platform is all too typical. And I do not intend (nor do I ever) for the story, whichever one I choose, to be some kind of pulpit upon which I can decry the crimes of the world.

There is something else in there, though. It is all too common to have some sort of romance where the fated two hate each other, and by some chance one of them saves the other by sheer compassion and honor, and they begin to see that which is loveable in each other.

Bah. Hopeless sap. What about that which is there that is hard to face - possibly unforgiveable? It would be a rare woman who would be able to well forgive a husband's infidelity, and a rare man to do the same for his wife. Or rare that a pacifist could love a soldier, or a soldier feel no contempt for those who do not share his drives. But, it's not hard to understand why such a thing might come about. Examples: The powerful alliance of the two Clintons, not because of any kind of love or affection, but because each has political power that the other can use for advantage. Or less specifically, a rebellious son, even, who knows he must depend on his father and mother for support, and thus holds the family together by the sheer power of need.

One realizes quickly that need and love are not the same thing, not in the sense that we know them. And often the line between need and greed become subtly blurred, but that is not what is of consequence.

In times of need, those who understand the need will come together. It is when there is outside opposition that those inside come together.

What does that have to do with arranged marriages and sexism and teenage angst?

Simple. It's what I've been talking about all along: my characters.

Zaya, despite morphing a little from variation to variation, shows some interesting repeating characteristics. (Her name, by the way, means "zero" in Sutjin, and "one" or "alone" in Verlocun; it's also a nickname. Her real name is Mirashi.) She is tall, and unattractive to the eye, and feels oft unwanted; she deviates from social norms - by being athletic, or a bookworm, or a musician. Her personality is jaded and suspicious, yet fiercely righteous and protective of a family which she holds dear. She has hardly any opportunity to overtly prove herself a coward or hero, so one imagines that it is impossible to grasp her character as either contemptible or admirable. It's hard to tell you without letting you read the three stories, but what I'm trying to say, is that she is meant to be a character upon whom it is hard to pass moral judgment.

Thus will the characters be drawn together by need, and the obstacles faced with the strength of the bond created not by emotion, but by this need. The ends do not justify the means, but they are certainly satisfying.

=============
Found my Inferno story. It was better written than I'd originally thought it, and more amusing. I could clearly understand the references to people (janitors, leprechauns, swords, ladders, tour guides, cyborgs, idiots, and other denizens of hell), which was a good thing. I will, no doubt, steal some parts of the excellent story and put it into my new Inferno story (8 people consented to be in it, now)... And perhaps find someone to give me a new translation of all my Gaelic phrases.

More later; tired. If I find the typed version soon, I'll post up the introduction to my Inferno story here.