Greatheart's Den

Brilliant Greatheart. I have always wondered about other characters thoughts and activities.

Very cute tale. Thanks!

Well, for once Seamus didn't blow anything up! Nicely done, sir!

Thanks. That one was a 'chalenge' story from HPANA, where the theme was simply 'February'. A search gave me primrose and Imbolc/St. Brigid which made me think of Finnegan. And this is what came out.

Trivia question - where did I 'borrow' the accelerated time' idea from? ;-)

Great story as usual, wasn't there a series of old Star Trek that had accelerated time, with Spock hearing things that sounded like flies buzzing can't remember for sure, but this was great! Thanks

Or the movie 'Over The Hedge', when Hammy has an energy drink? Either way, what a hoot!

Samtibbs got it in one! Here's your cookie - chocolate chip with mint ;-)

Thanks Greatheart I do love my cookies and mint choc chip sounds great! Thanks for it and the great story! Keep writing we love them!

(Note, this is an old HPANA 'challenge' story, I think the theme was John Lennon. This is the G-rated version ;-))

So how did I end up in New York City? I hate cities. Also loathe, detest and despise them. Crowds. Rude pedestrians. Rude drivers. Everybody stuck and flipping each other off. (Okay, so the first big city I ever encountered was Boston. If that doesn't sour you for life you have rawhide for skin...)

It wasn't my choice. Something _drew_ me here. I woke up in New Salem, Massachusetts, looked around, got in the car, drove to Amherst and bought a train ticket. Five hours later I'm in Grand Central Station. And I have no idea why. No bags, no change of clothes, not even a toothbrush. And my gums are sore...

I don't feel so good. The wound on my leg is throbbing a bit, but that's not it. The light seems too bright. My eyes are burning. And it stinks. i mean it STINKS out loud, did everyone in this place forget to bathe for a week? Do they use garlic for mouthwash?
And loud. Are they all deaf, shouting at each other like that?

Maybe it was that bite I got. A wolf bit me. When I reported at the emergency room it the Environmental Police Officer came to the hospital and assured me it was not a wolf, but a coyote. Yeah, right. I know what a coyote looks like. They do not weigh a hundred pounds. And they're mangy. There are wolves in eastern Canada, possibly in Maine and northern Vermont and New Hampshire. And one mean one in Massachusetts. It bit me. Came right out of the woods and nipped my leg, hard. Sauntered away like it didn't have a care in the world. And the look on it's face as it turned back, just before it vanished. Chilled me right to the bone. It looked _happy_, I swear it.

Two days later I'm bandaged up, pumped full of antibiotics and a bit nauseous from the Percocet, and I'm wandering around in the Big Apple. I don't think it's the drugs; I'm a child of the 60's. Fried my brains in all the approved ways back in the day. Am I finally paying for my mis-spent youth? Heck, two divorces and thirty years of crappy jobs ought to be payment enough.

It's cold. I'm shivering as I walk around Central Park. I know it's the park, it's huge. Part of me wants to run in all that green. Funny, I hate running. Hated it even when it was the thing back in the late 70's. Darn knees still hurt.. No, they don't, really. Legs feel pretty good today. Probably the drugs...

Ahead there's a particularly ugly building. A small brass plaque says "The Dakota." Why does that sound familiar? Gives me the creeps. I cross the street, there's a memorial of some kind. "Strawberry Fields". Dunh. Right. This is where he died. John Lennon. There's a guy strumming a guitar nearby. "Mind Games." The guitar is out of tune, or the guy just stinks. The way my ears are ringing it's hard to tell. A couple of people throw dollar bills in the open guitar case at his feet. He bows, a showman. starts into another song ,"Imagine." At least he's not singing. Good thing, I'd probably bite his friggin' throat out.

What made me think that? I'm not a violent person. Heck, I hardly eat meat anymore, mostly veggies with a bit of fish or chicken. Funny, but a big rare steak would go pretty good right about now. My head is whirling a bit. What am I thinking? Why did that wolf look at me like that? What did she want? And why am I thinking of it as "she"? No, darn it, it was a she-wolf. Good looking animal too. Sleek and powerful and whatamIthinking??!! Darn thing bit me. Could have been worse, animal that size could have killed me. What did she want?

Guitar guy starts another tune. "All You Need Is Love." Hokey tune, always thought it sounded like British polka. Yeah, it's been kinda lonely since Louise left. Said there was no passion left in the house. In me. Maybe she was right. Life had gotten pretty routine. Work, eat, sleep, sex twice a week, Tuesdays and Saturday, same old same old. It was comfortable. Routine. Bleah.

What IS that smell? Mmm! Two hundred feet away a guy is pushing a hot dog cart. I sprint over. Just a dog. No, no onions, no mustard, none of that crap. Wow, that's good. But I still want that steak. I wonder how she likes hers? Raw, of course, dummy.

I head back to the train station. Gotta get home. Stop at the meat market, get two Delmonicos. Do she-wolves drink Merlot?

Thanks for the 'g' version! Interesting concept - like the touches of smell & hearing changing!

Owwwoooo werewolf in New York, interesting story, how long do you suppose it goes on before he realizes what really happened??

thanks Greatheart, good story as usual!

This is a dark one.

"The Walk and the Choice"

"A twerp. Yes, that is precisely the word. Twerp. But a useful little twerp. I shall have to reward him, twerp or no."

The tall, strangely pale man walked slowly but steadily through the dark. His every sense was tuned to his surroundings, ever alert to threats from the unknown. So close, so close. Soon, the greatest threat that loomed over him would be gone. And the final piece would be in place.

"Worm-tail. His friends used to call him Worm-tail. A werewolf and three animagi, all playing at childish games. At that age I already dreamt of immortality. And now it is in my grasp. One friend betrays another, and they are mine. One turns, one dies. Friendship is for the weak. And the foolish."

His steps led him down a narrow, dark lane. Soon he would round the last corner leading to a small, hidden house. Not hidden to him, not any more. Fear was such a useful tool. And when that failed…when that failed, one was presented with an opportunity.

"Tonight, I become what I have dreamt of. Immortal, protected by the deepest, the purest magic of all. Death will protect me from death. What delicious irony. One dies in infancy so that I, the most mature, the most accomplished wizard of any age, can live forever. Such irony, but so appropriate. Why should this child, this small thing, get in my way. I who have faced the darkest thoughts and looked into the deepest mysteries, and not run away like a frightened child. My teachers? Scared, small minds, every one of them, even Dumbledore. Afraid of power, afraid of death, afraid to become what they, what we wizards, were always meant to be."

His steps slowed, he rounded the curve in the road, wand in his hand, hanging by his side, scarcely concealed in his long, flowing cloak. The dark material contrasted with his pale, almost too smooth skin. His eyes glowed, a pale hint of red coloring the light brown of his irises. Almost there.

"Kill the father, he is nothing. A blood traitor at best. The mother? Let her live. Let Snape have her. Snape. A coward, that one, but useful in his own way. Clever, but too afraid to act. He wants her? A small enough reward, for betraying her son to his doom. Will he tell her? Imagine the exquisite pain of that. Yes, Severus, you brought me the prophecy, that this child would destroy me. So the child is the price of the mother. I hope you enjoy her. And if you ever step out of line, well..."

The small house was in view now. His strange, vaguely reptilian eyes could barely make out the outline of the cottage, veiled in darkness and mist, and the traces of the concealing charm. No matter, the three inside were betrayed, and would soon be no threat at all. He walked towards the door, his steps coming faster now, his eyes shining even brighter.

"Something stirring inside. Can they have sensed me? No matter, they are nothing to me. Nothing but my future."

Wand at the ready, he blasted the door apart and stepped inside.

Hmmmmm!!!

Do you suppose that is what was really going through Voldy's mind at the time?? Confidence sure, but did he really believe killing Harry was all it would take that no other Wizard would ever challenge or defeat him, personally I think it was his over confidence that killed him in the end! You are right it is a dark story for Dark times! Thanks!

Am I sure? Heck no! But Voldemort -was- attacking Harry in response to the prophecy, and I believe he would have made his sixth-and-final horcrux after succeeding, so this was just my attempt into getting into that whole scenario. His superiority complex was threatened -only- by Harry and the prophecy, so...

Difficult getting into some minds, a megalomaniac like LV especially! ;-)

You are so right Greatheart, it must have been a horrible blow to his ego to have been bested by Harry so many times, and the first when he was a mere babe, then each time because something unexpected helped him, (parents, prior incantium, even Narcissa and Dumbledore ) I think you captured the emotions and thoughts perfectly, keep up the good work we love it!

Gives me the shivers to think that could be what was in his mind. Poor Snape though, if only he had known. *sighs*

I think Snape knew. I suspect he was pretty free of delusions about LV, even before the attack on the Potters. Being a half-blood himself, and possibly suspecting the same about Tom Riddle, he could smell a rat. LV's underestimation of Snape cost him greatly ion the end.

Sorry should have been clearer, meant to say that if he had known it was Lily's son LV would choose things would have maybe been different.

Weesa wrote:Sorry should have been clearer, meant to say that if he had known it was Lily's son LV would choose things would have maybe been different.

Ahh, got it. Yeah, Snape messed up, but ultimately redeemed himself. I said it elsewhere, and still maintain, that JKR created a classic 'tragic hero' in Snape. The world of literary scholars should take note - there's probably several Masters' theses in that!

Morning

yep I think you are right Greatheart, Snape as the iconic tragic hero is the stuff that made JKR great, she could fold layers as well as any Samurai sword maker and any literary student worth his salt could take that and could easily create a thesis worthy of a Masters or more, pulling in on fan ficts like yours would enrich it further, thanks for a job very well done!

"Robert’s Kitten"


Meow!

Hunh? Crap, I don’t have enough problems and now my mind is going. I' m screwed, no doubt about it. Heading down at high speed. Downhill dammit, it' s all downhill from L5. I’ m dead, and now my mind is going screwy too.

I'm a pilot, a simple shuttle pilot, always by the book, always careful, but Lady Luck doesn't give points for that. A malfunction in the control systems is the hand she dealt me, and now it's playing out. I' m falling, dead in a few more minutes. And my mind is going. Panic reaction? I studied engineering and math, not psychology.

Meow

There it is again, weak, faint, but I did so hear it. There' s no cat on board, not even room for a co-pilot on these L5-to-Luna shuttles. No room for a litter box or a cat to squat in one.

Meow

Nuts. A stinking malfunction; my booster throttle jammed open, rocket fired until my fuel ran out. I'm off course, headed straight down to Earth. Whole control system's screwed, no radio, controls are dead, and I’m heading to Earth. To crash and burn. All alone.

Meow!

The kitten again. Crazy. A few more minutes and I' ll be dead, but why crazy too? Can't I at least die with dignity? Isn't that what us bold space pilots do?

Meow!

Thought I saw a shadow move, there in the corner. Seeing things too. Dying and delusional; at least I'm not drooling and pissing my suit. I wish the radio worked, not that calling for help would make a difference, but I could tell June goodbye, and I love her, and I'm sorry and all. It's lonely knowing I’ll never hear another voice again.

Meow!

Okay, another human voice. Where's the cat? Sure, there are cats on Luna, a few anyway. They don' t like low gravity, so they' re not a happy bunch, but some people simply must have their cats, and tough luck for kitty.

Meow!

It would be nice though, having a cat, I could scratch its ears, rub the fur, hold it for a few minutes before I hit Earth' s atmosphere and burn. It' s a damned lonely ride, dying alone.

Meow!

Planet’ s getting huge in the view port now, I' m really moving. At least it' ll be quick.

Meow!

Yes, kitty, we' re going to earth, going home. Funny, I' d planned to go back to Massachusetts next year, when my tour was up. Take in the Berkshires, go to Fenway and catch a Red Sox game. This homecoming isn't going to be quite so much fun. You lonesome too?

Meow!

Come on, we're almost there.

Meow!

Hang on now, we' re going home. What soft fur you have…

(This wasn't my idea. Theodore Sturgeon used to tell the tale about how, when he was at a loss for story ideas, Robert Heinlein tossed off a line about ‘the soul of a kitten, lost for all eternity in space’.  This idea just stuck in my head. And what if Heinlein' s notion, in ‘The Number Of The Beast’ is correct, that a story told by a powerful mythmaker becomes a reality. It bothered me. I couldn't leave the kitten out there. If we meet in Valhalla, he owes me a beer for this.)

I had originally posted the previous in HPANA, but realized I'd never shared it here. So, here we are!

And yes, I do think that a powerful story becomes a reality of sorts, psychological or whatever you wish to call it. I've spent time in Middle Earth, and Hogwarts, and the United Federation of Planets ;-)

I always tell my nieces and nephews that reading can transport you anywhere you like all you have to do is pick up the book and step into the adventure.

This is Chapter one of a story I've mostly abandoned, I'm posting it because every once in a while it nags at me. Still have no idea what I'll do with it or how it might end. I wrote ten or so chapters of set-up and tied myself into plot-knots ;-) Anyway, see how it works, at least style-wise.

Chapter 1 - "Back Again - 31 Years Later”

"Brian Wollston!" rang out through the Great Hall. A young blond-haired boy nervously stepped up to the chair and sat. Professor Tweed set the Sorting Hat on his head.

"Hmm," the Hat murmured. "Interesting. Smart. Ravenclaw, perhaps? Plenty of courage, too. No, I think... Griffindor!”

Applause from the Griffindor table echoed as the boy made his way from the dais, the last to be sorted this year. His eyes shone as he was clapped on the back by his cousin Tom, a sixth year student.

"May I have your attention?" The voice managed to quaver slightly, even as it rumbled loudly through the great hall. The students all stopped talking.

"Thank you. Now that the first years have all been sorted into their houses, I have a few announcements to make," the Headmaster said, in a slightly softer voice.

"First, the dark forest remains, as always, strictly off limits. Students who venture in there are liable to suffer a very painful death. We wouldn't want that, and neither would your parents. Second, Professor Hagrid sends his greetings, and wishes all his friends to know that he is enjoying his retirement. Third, Professor Harris has retired as instructor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

A murmur filled the hall. Students had only begun to question who would replace Harris when the Headmaster spoke again.

"Silence, please! It is a great pleasure to welcome two new Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers into our school. Years one through five will be taught by Professor Bones.”

He gestured to a stoutly built witch seated at the head table. As a murmur started through the room, he raised his hand. "Yes, I know, it is most unusual to split the class between multiple teachers. But we have a special guest instructor, who will be teaching our NEWT level students.”

The room grew hushed again as he paused for a moment, then continued. "Now, it gives me great pleasure to introduce …"

A murmur rose from the hall as a slender man walked in through the side door. Brown tousled hair, touched with gray around the temples, framed a slim face in dark-rimmed eyeglasses. Striding toward the headmaster, he spoke in a measured voice which nevertheless carried throughout the Hall. "Hello, Neville, good to be back!" And then the two were hugging each other and slapping each other on the back. Headmaster Longbottom finally turned to the stunned faces in the Hall and said, "May I present, Professor Harry Potter."

Instantly the hall was filled with hundreds of buzzing voices. The Headmaster spoke up again. "Attention! Settle down! Professor Potter will only be with us for one year, having recently retired from the Ministry of Magic as Head of Aurors. I urge you to take full advantage of his classes. I did, and it saved my life, many years ago."

Turning to Harry, he asked, "How are Ginny and the kids?”

"Fine, they send their best. Err, I guess I'll sit and have a bite." Lowering his voice, he murmured, "We need to talk, right away.”

Professor Potter took a seat at the head table as the room began to buzz anew.