The Back Up Plan (A Harry Potter Fanfic)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, and terrible coughing fits issued from his lips. Harry Potter stood before him, watching with sorrow as his greatest enemy dies before him. He wanted to at least say a few more words to him, get him to realize the huge mistakes that he had done in his life. His grip on the wands in his hands became tighter as he stared at Voldemort’s now crumbling body.

He was about to step closer, when Voldemort started making strange gurgling noises. Harry was startled for a moment before Voldemort’s gurgles changed into malicious laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” Harry asked the pitiful heap on the ground that was Voldemort.

Voldemort continued laughing maliciously. “You think you’ve … won…” he laughed again. “This isn’t… the end… Harry… Potter…”

And just like that, the feared dark wizard’s body crumbled into ashes and was carried away by the wind…

The words however, fell on deaf ears as Harry Potter had long since lost his grip on consciousness and he fell, face forward, on the ground littered with rubble and dust…

I open my eyes and take deep gasping breaths of air. Cold sweat was running down on my skin and a rush of andrenaline surged throughout my body. I take a few more breaths to steady myself and look up at the sky. It was still dark out but faint traces of light can be seen along the horizon that indicated that sunrise was approaching.

I stood up from my bed, which was a bit messy for a lady, with pillows thrown across the floor and blankets flung and stretched in every direction, and made my way to the bathroom. There, I took a few more deep breaths and looked into the mirror.

A tall, tan and skinny fourteen-year old girl looked back at me. I frowned at my dishevelled appearance and looked through it. My long, curly, blonde hair stuck out at weird angles over my head. It was probably from my thrashing during my sleep. I stare at my eyes for a little while, looking for signs of lack of sleep. After taking a few more minutes to admire my emerald eyes which were outlined with flecks deep blue, (It was a small outline, really, but it was easily noticeable) I became satisfied that my lack of sleep wasn’t exactly showing on my beautiful face.

 “What was that dream about?” I ask to no one in particular. I live alone in this large manor that I got from a very rich man that I had to capture and eventually murder, after I was done with him. He was a muggle, I can tell, but somehow, he had managed to get his hands on a mountainous pile of Galleons. How he got a hold of Wizarding currency is a mystery to me, but as long as I have the money, hey, I can’t complain.

But my thoughts eventually drifted back to the dream that I had. I suppose that it was another one of my father’s memories, forcing their way into me. I gained some of his memories when I awakened four years ago from the spell that he had put me in. I still remember that day clearly.

I was eleven back then, and after opening my eyes for the first time in so many years, memories of my father, myself, and a voice immediately rushed into my brain. And then, there was this shadow that forced its way into my head. It hurt a lot. And it whispered a few words that I still remember up to this day.

“This isn’t… the end… Harry… Potter…”

At first, I had no idea who that was until I stumbled upon a pathetic street that was abnormally cheerful and WAY too loud for my tastes, also known as Diagon Alley, and I saw a poster of him. My father’s memories were too hazy at that time, considering that I just woke up and I was still trying to coordinate my movements and sort out my thoughts from his memories.