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J.K. Rowling's Failed Attempts to Write an 8th Harry Potter

Harry Potter and The

Evil Version of Harry Potter?

Chapter 47: Wary Potter

"Pretty evenly matched, huh?" Harry asked, his wand in pieces.

"Seems that way, yeah." Evil Harry hissed, his wand in pieces.

"I was really looking forward to a big final battle," Harry lamented.

"We both were," Evil Harry lamented/hissed. "Clearly."

"What if we fought, like, a bunch of Voldemorts?"

"That's stupid."

"Yeah..."

"Yeah..."

Harry kicked the dirt at his feet.

Evil Harry kicked the dirt at his own feet, slightly harder than Harry did.

The End.

Harry Potter and The

Too Many Voldemorts

Chapter 64: Clusterf***ed

"Join me, Harry." Dana Voldemort hissed. "Join me and we can defeat the Voldemorts!"

"Die, Harry!" Paul Voldemort, Jr. hissed, raising his wand as blueish sparks flew from the wand towards Harry. And then he put his wand down to watch the result of the thing he just did with his wand.

"I will never die!" Harry shouted, dodging the Crebumpus Curse deftly.

A flash of sparky blueness certainly also burst from Dana Voldemort's wand, hitting Paul Voldemort, Jr. square in the magic. He fell back and hit the ground, cursing randomly with spells he remembered from being a wizard. "Shit!" He also cursed.

"Take that, Jeremy!" Dana Voldemort hissed, holding out his hand to Harry as if to hiss 'Join me, Harry.' which he did.

"Join me, Harry."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. The one he believed to be Paul Voldemort, Jr. was apparently Jeremy Voldemort all along.

Of course, Harry kicked himself. How could he have been so dim? The Mompy Gwip he met at Dragonhallow's Hollow had even hinted at it, now that he thought back on their conversation from earlier! It must have been King Voldemort III who had saved him from Professor Voldemort, who must have been the one trying to get him killed under the orders of Original Voldemort! If only Harry had-

"I'm not Jeremy, I'm Paul Jr.!" Paul Voldemort, Jr said hissily.

Harry couldn't believe his ears. All this time he had-

"You were still trying to kill Harry, though!" Hissed Dana Voldemort.

"Yeah, well..." Paul Voldemort, Jr. hissed.

Before Harry could decide whether or not to believe what his ears were hearing for him, something else happened. Something unthinkable, or so Harry thought. Suddenly and instantly, quite in that moment, the entire f***ing planet began to vibrate. A vibrant white-hot energy shot down from beneath everything and ripped into reality itself. A nearby lamp went kapowy and some other stuff happened that was even more bad. Air began to melt, and so on. More lamps fell.

"This is it, Harry:" Dana Voldemort hissed, like a snake but with words. "This is the moment when you must choose! Save the world, or join me and kill Voldemort(s)!"

Harry's scar began to burn with a white-hot pain that would have reminded him of the white-hot energy currently ripping reality all around him, but he was too distracted by the pain in his scar to have it remind him of anything.

"What is this like?" He screamed.

"Calm yourself, Harry." Dana Voldemort hissed, in the manner in which a snake might his if the snake could also talk. "You must not let the scar control you. Let the pain flow through you. Use the pain. Control the pain."

Harry didn't know what the f*** Dana was hissing on about, but he was willing to not be a prick about it and give it a shot, or at least investigate further. "What are you hissing on about?" Harry asked. "They should call you Crazy Voldemort!"

"Crazy Voldemort is on house arrest, Harry." Dana hissed. "Everyone knows that. But all you need to do is let the pain in, control it, feel with your feelings, and believe in yourself. And love, Harry. Something about love!"

Harry did exactly that, if anything just to stop Dana Voldemort's pathetic little hissy fit. The believe in yourself love thing worked and the planet was saved.

"Yay!" Shouted the planet.

The End.

Harry Potter but

Without Glasses

Chapter 84: Still Can't Find 'Em

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was tired of that nickname. He was 153 years old, after all, and was not in any mood to be called anything. "The Man Who Kept Living Despite Crippling Loneliness and Also Being Crippled From Magic AIDS" would be more appropriate, but even then Harry would probably not be in the mood for that nickname. Harry was no longer interested in nicknames of any kind. All he wanted was his glasses, which he could have sworn he put on his nightstand. On the nightstand his glasses were not, and a simple Accio Glasses spell only made magic hurl cups at him.

Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and every person he had ever or will ever love were long dead. "Dead and gone, dead and gone," Harry would often mutter to himself. Not today, though. Today his only mutterings were along the lines of "I sure could use my goddamn glasses right now," and "My only joy for decades has been the daily crossword, but I can't see a shitting thing. Also I miss everyone terribly. Life is a suckfest."

Harry muttered such things for hours, waiting for his hideous nurse to arrive so he could finally release his bowels. His mind wandered to magical things, and he muttered on and on. "Hey, how come magic is so fucking great, but I can't magic up some better eyes? You'd think magic would have crossed that bridge centuries ago. One would also think that magic should have cured all diseases by now, including the disease of crippling loneliness. Not to mention Magic AIDS and just regular old AIDS. Seriously, what the crap, magic? You can turn back time and transform people into cats, but you can't do the magical equivalent of laser eye surgery? Suck my dick, magic. Suck my dick forever."

Harry died that night after shitting himself in his sleep.

The End... ?




Cody "Johnston" Rowling can be found on the internet via Twitter, Tumblr, and I guess Facebook. He updates them rarely and with great contempt for each.

If you enjoyed this but thought there could have been at least 70 percent more cumming, you should probably check out Harry Potter and the Tight-Ass Orgy.

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