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Full title of this deviation is "How Rowling Could End the Series (but probably won’t)"

True predictions shall be bolded

~Use the room of requirement to get everything they need
     ~Ask for horocruxes, get a map
     ~Ask to kill Voldemort, get some sort of a weapon

~ A Magical Venus Fly Trap eats Voldemort on the battle field. It was tended lovingly by Hagrid and Neville

~Voldemort is defeated by cheering charms/any other happy type charms.

~We finally find out where conjured things come from.
     ~(Remember those socks you lost in the wash last week?)

~Dumbledore’s Army declares war on Laura Mallory.

~Have Harry wake up and realize it was all a dream, there never was a Voldemort.
~Have Voldemort wake up and realize it was all a dream, there never was a Harry Potter.
~Have Tom Riddle wake up and suddenly have new direction in his life.

~Have the entire series turn out to have been a lecture in Professor Binns’ class.
~ “And that,” said Professor Binns, “Was how You-Know-Who was defeated.  Any questions?”  He looked around.  As usual, the entire class was asleep.

~Voldemort pulls a Darth Vader at the last second:  “Harry, I am your father.”

~J.K. Rowling decides that she doesn’t have enough characters, and so introduces a new one she found in one of those fan fictions online.
~  The new student walked to the front of the classroom.  “Hello, my name is Mary Sue.  I have amazing long silver hair, and gorgeous sapphire eyes you can’t help but stare into.  For the rest of the year I will be the primary love interest of Harry, Draco, Ron, and any other character I deem even remotely attractive.  If you don’t like it, come you’d better come duel me now.  I promise that I’ll go easy on you since my magic is ten times stronger that Voldemort’s, and my brain power surpasses Hermione’s by a lot too.”

~ J.K. Rowling gets tired of her genre and switches to erotic fiction.
~ “Harry, kiss me now,” demanded Cho Chang, determined never to leave him again (Next three chapters censored for content).
~ J.K. Rowling gets tired of her genre and switches to Doctor Seuss rhymes.
~Harry’s wand fired,
Wazzam, Wazzum, Kazzap
But he missed and hit Ron
Who shouted, “Oh, snap!”
~ J.K. Rowling gets tired of her genre and switches to Shakespearian tragedy.
~Rocks fall, everyone dies.

~ Crookshanks attempts to eat Pigwidgeon, Ron's pet owl, but the bird turns out to be Cornelius Fudge in disguise.

~Hermione does the smart thing:  “Accio earmuffs!  Accio mandrakes!”

~Harry poses nude for photographs.
~Wait a minute…

~Lupin is caught without a collar and taken to the pound.
~Sirius Black returns as “Sirius the White.”
~Wormtail spreads the plague through the DE camp.  Everyone dies.
~James’s true resting place is revealed to be the wall of Voldemort’s big game trophy room.

~Harry decides to stop being emo and just get on with his life.
~Ron gets in touch with his feminine side (Ron in pink robes?)
~Hermione dumps Ron for Harry.
~Malfoy kills Harry.
~Crab and Goyle get into Oxford.
~We’ll let you decide whether or not there was magic involved with that one.
~Neville organizes the students into a rebellion and takes over as the main character of the book.
~Dumbledore really is the giant squid!
~*cricket cricket cricket*

~The Slytherines are should we say this..too evil? And kicked out of Hogwarts.
(Need one for Gryffendore!)
~Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw are revealed to have been pitting S&G against one another all along so that they could quietly take over the world in the mean time.
Full title of this deviation is "How Rowling Could End the Series (but probably won’t)"

So a friend and I are making a presentation for a club we are in. We have a fairly good start, but we wanted input from other people. So these are humorous things that could be in the seventh book. If you can think of anything to add to the list, please do so, or if you don't think something on the list is funny, tell me! I want this to be a good presentation. Also, if you add something, tell me if you want credit, I'll be happy to add your name to the end of the slide show.

Edit: Now that the book has come out, I look back on this and wonder how the heck we guessed everything we did. Anyways, as it said above, predictions prooved true are bolded.
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Have you forgotten what happened that day?
How we all screamed and ran and covered our eyes
How death ended so many precious lives
How children cried for moms and dads
Who would never come to comfort them again.

Have you forgotten the images we saw?
How the smoke filled the screen
How the screams filled our ears
How perfect strangers huddled together
The rich and the poor trying to comfort one another

Have you forgotten the brave sacrifice?
How people ran in when everyone else ran out
How they battled the flames and the smoke
How they went back again and again
And went back one last time, and won't go home again.

Have you forgotten our fervent prayers?
How we hoped for survivors
How we poured out donations
How we came together for one cause
Even as our hopes were dashed time and again

Have you forgotten the horrible tragedy?
How thousands died without reason
How each day children are parentless
How loved ones made that one last call
Before crashing a plane to save us all

Have you forgotten the value of life?
How we swore we would avenge them
How we said we would bring killers to justice
How we promised that we would make the world
A safer place for all children

Have you forgotten the day that changed our lives?
So I realise I haven't written any poetry in a while, and I'm sorry, I just haven't been depressed. I'm not particularly depressed now, just angry about the people who want us to pull out of Iraq imediately. Its stupid. Period, end of story. What you would get would be far worse than the Taliban ever were. No we need to see it through. Even if you don't agree with this, at least read the poem, there's something else.

Style notes: Don't tell me that you don't like my punctuation, I have it like it is for a reason. Other than that there are a few end rhymns, but nothing throughout the entire poem.

Yeah, if you can't tell what this is about think back to September four years ago.
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I havenít always been a cat.  I was, in fact, at one time a relatively happy human being.  Inside I still am one.  Thanks to that witch, though, Iím a cat to everyone else.  At least, I think it was the witch who changed me.  It might actually have been the cats themselves who transformed me to save me from the witchís curse.  A little known fact if you ever happen to be in a magical duel:  curses aimed at humans donít ďstickĒ to animals.  Regardless of how it happened, though, Iím still a cat.

When a person becomes a cat, they learn some new things.  For example, that scraggly old cat I used to know at Mr. Fluffybottom is really a cat elder, Blazing Dawn.  Heís much more impressive now that Iím a cat.  Thankfully he seems to be more amused than annoyed by the name I used to call him.  He was the one to teach me most of what I know about being a cat.  I know that sounds funny, but being a cat isnít as easy as it sounds.  I had to relearn everything Iíve ever known, from speaking to walking.  Hey, donít laugh!  The whole tail thing really throws things off!  Anyways it was Blazing Dawn who first told me cats donít operate on the same time continuum as humans.

To humans there is one day in a day.  Now while this may seem redundant and strange, it isnít, not just yet.  In one human twenty-four hour period there are three cat twenty-four hour periods.  These three days, the Day of Light, the Day of Shadows, and the Day of Darkness are basically the human morning, afternoon and night, only much longer.  Cats live at a much faster pace than humans, thatís why we age so much faster.  Weíre out of time.

This may seem crazy, or should I say crazier than what Iíve already told you, but for cats the first two days, the Day of Light and the Day of Shadows, are considered to be days of rest and relaxation.  Rest for what you ask?  Rest for the third day, the Day of Darkness.  That third day gets pretty crazy, and no one sleeps at all.  Thatís why cats seem to sleep most of the human day; theyíre recovering.

Itís only on the days off that you can people watch, and even with the need to catch up on sleep, most cats find some time to do it anyways.  The habits of people seem very strange to cats, especially the whole fake fur thing.  After I became a cat one of the first questions they asked me was why humans wear clothes.  Iíve thought about it for a long time and the only answer I can really come up with is the answer I gave them then: so they donít get cold.  Clothes seem so stupid now, and if I ever become human again I might just join a nudist colony.  Or maybe not.  Naked humans are just as funny looking as clothed ones, or so Iíve been told.  Yeah, people watching has an almost sport like quality of seeing who can find the weirdest looking human of the day.

Speaking of weird looking humans, if you happen across a woman with black hair thatís looks like its streaked white with age, and sheís wearing a black dress with a large pointy collar, stay away from her.  Sheís the witch that changed me into a cat.  Sheíll change you too, she told me she fights people for fun.  She has a collection of spells that she saves for fights like that.  I think I was lucky with only being turned into a cat.  As a human I was only a minor wizard, just barely old enough to leave his master for the first time.  I donít really remember much of what happened that day, and what I do remember is strange and scary.  That woman had me cornered, my back to a wall, my magic drained.  She was about to fire one of those special spells at me.  I braced myself, wishing I would disappear, but nothing seemed to happen.  Finally I opened my eyes.  Something definitely had changed about me.  The ground was a lot closer, the witch a lot bigger, and most importantly my allies a lot more numerous than I ever could have imagined.  While the witch moved slowly about cats jumped out of seeming mid air (some of them, hearing a summons, did.)  Now out numbered and defeated, the woman gave up and left me alone.  This was lucky for her as in the next several seconds more cats than I have ever seen in my entire life popped out of literally no where.  It took a few minutes to get everything straightened out.  The cats werenít angry that I was joining them; in fact they werenít even surprised.  This sort of thing evidently happens from time to time.  Blazing Dawn was appointed there in front of the Cat Council (who had shown up a few minutes after the warriors) to teach and protect me until he deemed that I could take care of myself.  I have the feeling that I am going to be with him for a good long while.  

I realize that I havenít told you what happens on the Day of Darkness.  I probably should tell you because very few of even the most learned mages know what really goes on.  The Feline Wars have been going on for hundreds, probably thousands of years.  It is a conflict that is carried on by tradition, and has become a necessary part of the cat culture.  Their whole system of life would come to an end if the Wars were to stop.  They know because theyíve tried peace, several times.  The wars are always revived, though, usually by mutual consent from the participants.  You see, the combatants donít hate each other, and usually no one gets hurt too badly.  Sure, thereís a nicked ear here and a crooked tail there, but those are more for show than anything.  Iíve even heard of combatants helping to heal one another if they accidentally get carried away.  Sometimes two cats of opposite sides will even live (relatively) peacefully, in the same house.  I asked Blazing Dawn how this could happen, and he told me that what I see now isnít the real conflict.  Itís just a practice for the day when the cats shall have to unite and fight a common enemy, or be destroyed.  He wouldnít say anything more about it though.

Oh dear me, I realize that Iíve neglected to tell you my name.  Actually itís only a temporary name, but its all I have, unless you count my human name.  My original name was Iukif Kosa.  I know, weird, but I didnít exactly get to choose it.  My temporary cat name is no less weird.  I am currently formally known as Little Oncehuman, though most cats just call me Oncey.  Some day I will have a more respectful name, but for now the cats think Little Oncehuman is most appropriate.  You see, cats are given their names during their first battle on the Day of Darkness.  The name they receive directly reflects how they perform in combat.  Until they have fought, however, they are called by the name given to them by humans, or a human like name given by their mother.  Because I never had any of these and my human name was deemed unsuitable by the Cat Council, I think it was actually deemed too hard to say, I am now Little Oncehuman until my first battle.  They say they add the Little because I have a slight figure, but I think they add it because I am thought of as just as annoying in my question asking as a kitten.  Those little guys never shut up unless theyíre eating or sleeping, and even then there is the possibility that they will talk.  I personally ask many questions just because I have always been naturally curious.  In cat society, though, obvious curiosity is the mark of a kitten, or someone who canít control themselves.  While in the future I might care about my social status as such, right now I care far too much about understanding my new world to bother with ridged, out dated customs (supposedly cat traditions havenít changed in the past six thousand years.)  I need to know as much as I can about my new life before the day that will almost certainly change my life forever.
Well, you all have waitd for it, so here it is, the completed first chapter of Out of Time. So sorry that it took me this long to complete, its been a hectic summer. More chapters of Raging Water are on the way, though I probably won't upload any tonight.
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I’ve built walls around myself. A strong but simple fortress of four walls. They’ve weathered brutal assaults, hurricanes of emotion – painstakingly sorting the waters of mine and foreign emotions, and keeping them separate. Now one by one, they’re being torn down.

It all started as a normal day at work. My office was blissfully silent, its four walls mirroring my own. Form after form is skimmed, filled out, tossed aside. Numbers, names, data, I’m only paid to analyze them. I barely glance at the names as I review employee evaluations. That’s someone else’s concern; I’m not responsible for breaking the news to the unlucky ones. All I have to do is analyze, and sort into three piles – good, needs improvement, and detrimental to the company. Every name, every person behind every name, they all live outside my walls – that’s why I’m the best at what I do.
There’s no sound but the scratching of pen on paper. Then suddenly there’s more. A shrill, insistent siren cuts through my singular concentration. Lockdown. A familiar drill that mirrors my constant psychological state. No one goes in, no one goes out. It doesn’t bother me that this time it’s not a drill.

I barely look up from my work. My door is already locked; I had my window boarded up long ago. I vaguely register that people must be panicking, but it’s a fleeting thought. Whatever is going on surely doesn’t concern me. I’m safe behind my walls.

A gunshot sounds in the hallway. Someone screams. I mentally remind myself to get the room soundproofed.

Booms begin to resonate from my door and it starts to buckle inward. My pen skids on the paper, turning an ‘a’ into a ‘d.’ Another bout of thunderous booming is accompanied by a sickening crack of wood splitting. I’m forced to stop writing as my pen slips from my grip. With a loud bang the door burst off its hinges. Suddenly a switch is flicked and I can practically taste the panic in the air. The screams aren’t so distant now. They’re indistinguishable from my own. My head aches and it’s all a blur as a masked man in black forcibly grabs me and drags me into the hall, into the chaos, into the see of emotions. That’s when my first wall crumbles, my north wall, the wall that separated my calm little island from the bodies of emotion surrounding me. It was not so much a wall as a dam, and as it is lowered, I become swept away in a sudden rush of emotions. Fear, panic, anger, all mixing and crashing around me, upon me.

We’re brought to the cafeteria. The cafeteria – the place I’d spent so many lunches, alone. Always with a paper in hand – something to read, work to do. I was never a very good conversationalist, to say the least. It was never a quiet place, but to me the conversations were all jumbled, like overlapping radio stations. All I heard was white noise. Now it’s still not quiet, but I can’t tune out. A full-blown SOS is being constantly sent and received – short wave between concerned coworkers, and long wave on cell phones smuggled out of view of our captors. It’s cacophonic. Too much noise, too much fear to tune out, but too much to comprehend, to focus on, to analyze.  

I pick out a strange sound from among it all. It sounds like a baby crying. I scan the crowd for the source, and I spot them in a corner. Mother and daughter. I try to remember if it’s one of those bring-your-child to work days. More likely she just was forced to bring her along or leaver her home alone. I try to place a name with her face. Susan, maybe? No longer are these people just faceless names scrawled on an impersonal form. What’s happening to them – to us – is very real. I wish I’d realized this before.

“Susan” catches me looking at her. I smile awkwardly, and then mentally slap myself. Do you smile in a situation like this? I feel like I should comfort her, but I don’t know how. Experimentally, I walk over. Her daughter shies away and hides behind her. Is my manner really that scary? Now that I’m closer I can tell that their faces are tear-streaked. I try to talk to the woman, to comfort her. All the while a voice at the back of my head keeps nagging about not even knowing her name. Somehow, though, I feel like that would be the wrong question to ask right now.

She’s babbling incoherently between sobs. I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. Her daughter is still hiding, but I finally catch her eye. I wish I hadn’t. No one had ever told me how expressive a child’s eyes can be. No, that’s not right. It shouldn’t be other people’s responsibilities to tell me these things. I should know them. Looking into those fearful, desolate eyes, I feel separate from them, and yet all the more attached. I’m just beginning to learn sympathy, but I still know nothing of empathy.
For now, sympathy is enough to break down my next two walls. My east wall and west wall were precariously connected. If one fell, the next was sure to follow. They were the walls that kept me from choosing sides. They kept me from striving, and from backing down – running away. That these unknown captors would make a child so terrified was enough to turn me against them.

Despite the power I held over my coworkers, it dawns on me that I never really knew them. I never knew that the man with the plaid tie spoke German. Now he’s babbling away in distress on his cell phone. One of our captors strides over to him and swipes it away. The plaid-man flinches away as if struck. A few seconds later, he is.

Names flood into my head abruptly. The faces are no longer nameless. I notice the tiny, seemingly inconsequential things. Mark parts his hair distinctively to the right. Terry appears to be hyperventilating. Was Todd always that tall? In a corner, Nora, an accountant, is hastily scribbling numbers on a clipboard. Perhaps she finds solace in them, their simplicity, and their anonymity. She reminds me of myself. Separate, analytical, cut off from the others. Why didn’t I ever notice her before? In another corner, Brian’s struggling against the masked men. Was he always so defiant?

My gaze falls back to Susan, huddled with her daughter. Susan – the name falls into place now. A spark of defiance is sparked within me as well. Why is no one standing up for these people? Surely they can’t all be as detached as I was. A familiar part of my brain makes a side note that if we get out of this, we need serious group counseling to increase our productivity. I shake the thought away like a wet dog shakes off water. If I don’t focus on the current situation, none of us will have jobs to come back to.

Gathering up my courage, I stand up. The enemy spots me and shouts gruffly, impersonally. I stand my ground, walk toward him. I demand to know what’s going on. I can see his eyes beneath his mask. They’re cruel and unforgiving. I’m just a pawn, a statistic to him. A part of me is angry – angry at what’s happening, and that I was ever like this. But it doesn’t show through. That part of me is still suppressed.
He tells me to sit down. I refuse. He pulls out a gun.

I hear sirens in the distance. They don’t really register. Not until there’s pounding and shouts at the door. I imagine I hear the letters, “FBI!” I feel relieved. These people will be safe. The same can’t be said for me.

The gunman becomes visibly nervous. He keeps his gun centered on me. There’s a desperation and fear in his eyes now.

The pounding becomes more insistent, and a finger begins to put pressure on the trigger. The gun shakes, but he steadies his hands. I can see him try to weigh his options, but he loses to fear, and anger. He makes an illogical choice; I can see it in his eyes. There’s nothing he can gain by shooting me, it will just increase the severity of his sentence. But if there’s anything I’ve learned today, it’s that humans aren’t logical, emotions aren’t logical. They aren’t supposed to be. What I’m doing isn’t very logical either. Now that help is on the way, I have no reason not to sit down and save myself. Yet I still feel as if I owe it to these people to stand up for them, for once. I’m not sure if it’s really doing anything to protect him, except maybe distracting the gunman, and giving him an easier target, but I am compelled to do it.

There is a creaking and a cracking now at the door. I can tell our rescuers are almost through. Eyes behind a black mask harden, and I know he’s made his final resolution.

The south wall is the last to fall. It’s the strongest wall; the first one that was constructed, and the one that’s weathered the most. It’s the wall that locks away my own emotions, keeping me as outwardly stoic and impersonal as the walls themselves. It takes a bullet to crack that wall. A bullet that causes me true fear for the first time since I was a child. Somehow I find the concept funny. The whole situation in fact. It’s so deliciously ironic, that I of all people would give my life for others. Right as the bullet hits, I laugh, and the sound feels strange in my throat. The door breaks open, and the trigger is pulled. Then my last wall collapses, and I collapse with it.
Story I randomly wrote a while ago. I'm gonna be editing a lot in English, so I realize it's still really rough.
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Kass, please correct me if I'm wrong.

This is :iconfaraith: Lord Celonce from her novel "Prince of the Universe". Her husband laughed at this drawing because I "put him in a skirt". I was working with a waist up[ shot I had to make something up for the bottom half.


At Faire.
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(*off topic* WTF?! Where the hell did the anime catagory go?! Either there's a glitch in my computer or something's goin' on.)

Dude! I finished a pic in less then two days!! That a miracle for my lazy ass! Go me! :w00t:

Anyway, 'tis a pic of ~Havoc892 's kick ass character Skye, I must say I had fun drawing her. ^^ I got slightly lazy with the coloring, and I'm not exactly pleased with it, but I'll do. :nod: I've been trying to work on my poses also.

Hope ya like!

Skye (c)
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... I do not like her shoulders. Nope, not one bit. >.< But other than that it's fine. I just decided to do a pic of Skye randomly the other night, so yeah. Here she is, was working with face styles a bit and perspective, I was trying to make it seem like we were looking up at her or something, but I guess that didn't work out to well. ^^;
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Ulgh . . . *flopps down onto the floor* Not feelin' so great right now. *ish sick; head feels like its about to explode* -_-

Annnyway. 'Tis Skye again. Another one for She has her pheonix wings out this time. ^^ By the way that's supposed to be a cut on her cheek. Didn't turn out the way I wanted, but I feel too sluggish to do anything about it right now.

Skye (c)
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This is Our Moment... And It will last forever in Our Hearts

That little thingy that You just read didn't actually happen.. I just thought it sounded good at the moment.. ^^;

Anyways.. Tis Skye (the Girl) and Veryl (the guy) gettin' all lovey dovey... *squee*

Tis a Payment of Sorts for ~Havoc892 for Merquise's Vengeance.

Hope ya like it, Hav! ^^

Skye and Veryl (c) :iconhavoc892:
Base - [link]
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I am alone
Upon the throne.
Door locked.

Steps outside the door
Soft and stealthy
Creek, creek, creek.
They go up the stairs.

Overhead a cry
suprise, fright
Pounding feet
Down the stairs

The nob jiggles,
Pounding, pounding, pounding,
A terrible scream.

I am safe, nothing can touch me.
Blood runs under the door.
Not my best poetry to be sure, but this piece was begging to be written, so thats what I did. I can't deny a begging piece of work.
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