torsdag 23 juni 2011

Jag ger er: crappy fanfiction från min författardrömperiod

Jag kan inte fatta att jag gör det här då det är så pinsamt att jag mest vill gömma mitt ansikte i händerna redan jag har postat inlägget, men vad gör man inte för att ge sina läsare lite underhållning?
Nej, skämt åsido. I sken av min Harry Potter-läsning, J.K Rowlings senaste tillkännagivande om Pottermore och Aftonbladets påstående att Twilight-fandomen uppfann fanfictions så kom jag osökt att tänka på mitt eget fan fiction-läsande och ... -skrivande.

Jag har alltid läst fan fictions, mest olika HP-fanfictions av varierande kvalitet - vissa riktigt underbart bra och andra ... inte lika bra - och under några förvirrade år så skrev jag även egna fan fictions, men tröttnade alltid efter dem efter bara något kapitel. Det ni nu ska få se är icke tidigare sett material som jag hittade på min gamla laptop. Eftersom jag fick den på hösten när jag gick i årskurs 8 så är det svårt att säga när följande text skrevs, men eftersom min engelska känns ganska godkänd så skulle jag gissa på 9:an-1:an på gymnasiet ungefär.

Bara en liten förklaring: Detta är alltså en prolog till en fanfiction som jag aldrig skrev särskilt mycket mer på, då jag insåg att min huvudkaraktär är Mary Sue Deluxe (hell, hon heter till och med Sarah!) och jag inte kunde tona ner henne för att det då kändes fel. Sarah skulle alltså ha varit 2 år yngre än Harrys föräldrar och varit förlovad med Sirius Black. Det är all förklaring som behövs. Typ.
Just ja: först är det skrivet ur okänd Dödsätares perspektiv (tror att det var tänkt att det typ skulle vara Lucius Malfoy eller Dolohov) och sedan så är det Sirius.

End of November 1981

He sneered as he looked down on the girl on the floor. Her will was completely broken now, finally. The beautiful golden red hair had during the last days been transformed to a tangled damp mass, changed beyond recognition. Normally she would wield it like a shining banner, softly streaming down her back or blowing in the wind, like a lion’s mane. She had a lot of confidence. A lot of strength. No, she hadn’t. She had had confidence and strength. He laughed softly as he thought about how she had behaved when they first brought her in. The scratch marks on Dolohov’s cheek proved that even though she didn’t have her wand she wasn’t going to let them imprison her without paying the price. Now he saw nothing of that fire. She was just… empty.
It hadn’t taken much to put the light out in her eyes. As he studied her hunched shoulders, the pale skin that was visible where her robes had been torn as she had struggled to break free, the dirty hands that she had hidden/hid her face in, most certainly to cover all signs of tears from view, he began to understand why Dolohov loved tormenting her so much. This was a real improvement. And all that had been needed were a lie, one false sentence. Three little words that had ruined her world.
“You haven’t heard? Black got the Kiss.”

It had been Bellatrix’ idea, carefully planned before she left the mansion with her husband, brother-in-law and young Barty Crouch Jr. Too bad that they had never returned. Too bad they had been sent to Azkaban. Bellatrix would have loved to watch the girl and her despair. Her tears. And who could really blame her for crying? Not 20 yet and she had already lost her future. She was bound to meet her end here, one way or another. Bound to rotten away in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. Or to be given to the Dark Lord if he would return, though he doubted it. One way or another it meant death for her.


At the very same moment the Death Eater walked away from the dungeon, up the stairs and into the luxurious parlour of the mansion, another man woke up from a dream many miles away. Once it had been a happy dream, it had meant peace and love and everything he wanted in life, but now it meant nothing but despair. It only meant that the scars were re-opened again. That the guilt started to flow through him once more. That the mocking voice in his head once more went over his mistakes.

The chill air was filled with despair, but with the dementors just outside the cellar door it was to be expected. They seemed to feel that he hurt more now than he had done when he arrived here. How many weeks had he been here? Or were it only a mere few days? No, he had definitely been here a couple of weeks. It couldn’t be months, could it?

His clothes were torn and as he followed his jaw with his fingers, raw after trying to claw out through the walls after a night with particularly bad dreams, he felt the harsh stubble that had slowly began to grow into a beard. A beard. He had never thought about grow a beard before he was at least 80, but then he hadn’t exactly expected to be thrown into Azkaban either.

When he first arrived here he thought he would soon be out. He wallowed in his despair, the sadness and emptiness and the memories that were all he had left of Lily and James. He took out his anger at the walls; pounding them with his fists and imagined that he they all bore Peter’s face. He thought it would soon be ruled out as a misunderstanding. That she would convince Dumbledore that he was innocent, that she would explain to the Ministry. He knew she would never leave him in here one minute longer than she could help. She loved him and she knew Peter had been the secret keeper, she knew that he never would have joined Voldemort, never betrayed his best friends.

But after a while he started to doubt. The dementors were drowning his hope in a sea of cold misery. Maybe she believed him to be a traitor. Maybe she didn’t love him as much as he thought. Maybe she was so blinded by her rage at Peter that she didn’t wasted a minute to remember that he wasn’t with her. That he was wasting away in Azkaban.

When three days had gone he began to fear for her. She would never be so cruel. He had seen her in the crowd as the Ministry wizards arrested him. He had seen the look of shock, of horror on here face and of exhaustion. Then she had disappeared. One second she had been standing right there and the next she just wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Somewhere between the moment when he met her eyes and the time it took for him to crane his neck to keep the eye contact she had disappeared. And that was what drenched him and left him soaking in fear right now. She was dead too. Like everyone else he had loved.
He had feared it, but trying to ignore the unwelcome thought for so long. But now it was time to realise that she was gone. It was his loathed cousin that had made him loose his last straw of hope that he clung to so hopelessly. The way Bellatrix had smirked when she had went past his cell. Her triumphant words still haunted him: “Her last words were your name”.

It had made him crumble to an animalistic insanity that burned through his blood system, increased with every heart beat. They had torn down everything he lived for. Everything he loved. Now he was stuck with nightmares of them, of James, of Lily and of her. All of them smiling. And it hurt to know that he could have made a difference. He could have protected them, but he hadn’t. His mistakes had lead to their deaths.


Och efter det här så skulle det komma ett "9 år tidigare" och berätta lite hipp som happ om hur hon lärde känna Lily Evans, Snape och marodörerna och hur de blev förälskade. Och det finns ingen logisk anledning till att Dödsätarna inte bara tar död på henne. Tur att jag räddade världen från att behöva läsa särskilt mycket mer av mitt klotter!

Nu är jag dock sugen på att börja läsa riktig fan fiction. Hm, kanske finns det någon bra AGoT-fanfictionförfattare där ute. Får kolla upp det!

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