Week 6 Storytelling: Don't kill me, Mr. Voldemort

My body shuddered in fear as the ghastly pale, skeletal figure slowly drew his wand from his robe. He was one of the most powerful wizards in all of fiction—how was I supposed to defeat him?

Landing face-to-face with the Dark Lord was not my intention when I fell into the book.

That is, I never intended to fall in at all.

I had just finished my cup of tea, wishing James was still around to tell me which part of the world the leaf originated in, even if I would never remember. My eyelids had fluttered shut as I read a passage from my favorite book, wishing I could be part of that world—of flying on broomsticks and half-giant friends and mischievous night explorations down castle hallways—when I suddenly was.

Inky letters flew past me, and it felt as if I had fallen from a great height, and suddenly—I was in the story.

Except I hadn’t landed in the scene where Harry chases Malfloy on his broomstick, or meets the friendly Hagrid for the first time, or even when he’s sentenced to detention by the sniveling Snape.

No, instead I stood face-to-face with the Dark Lord, my memory filling in the gaps as I took in my surroundings—the dark forest, the death-eaters surrounding me, the general dismal gloom in the air—I was in the last book, one of the last scenes. Except Harry was nowhere to be seen. It was just me—standing before Voldemort, trembling as his beady eyes bore into my own.

I patted the pockets of my sweatpants frantically. Surely, I’d at least have…

I had a wand. I drew it and pointed it the pale man, my heart pounding out of my chest. And then it occurred to me—

I couldn’t do magic.

At least, I was pretty sure I couldn’t.  

I couldn’t for the life of me remember any of the spells used in the books—all the Latin had swam away, along with the inky letters that made this story so comfortingly…fiction.

“What will it be then, weakling?” Voldemort’s voice was colder than the icy air numbing my fingers. “Cruciartis?”

The excruciating pain spell. No thank you, Sir Voldemort.

“I…I—” Sweat poured down my forehead despite the chill in the air. I knew there was no way I’d have the strength to fight him on my own—even with the wand. I was tired and weak, a feeling only intensified by the loneliness that surrounded me lately.

He scowled and straightened his wand, aiming for my chest. “Speak, coward.”

He was going to kill me.

And then I remembered why I loved Harry so much, and why I’d been drawn back to the books these past few months.

Harry is alone, for much of his life. Even after he makes friends at Hogwarts, he goes home to a cruel Aunt and Uncle and longs for his parents—both of whom are dead.

Like my own, after that awful drunk driver…

A lump wells in my throat.

—And Sirius, his godfather, his friend…also lost, like my James.

All his love seemed to have passed on, and lately, I can’t help but feel like everyone I care about is gone, too, and they’re just waiting for me on the other side.

“Please, Voldemort,” I whisper with tears in my eyes. “Please, just—don’t kill me. Please.”

His pale face twists into what I can only guess is a smile. “You don’t want to die, hm?”

“No, please. Please—torture me, or, or control me—whatever you want, but please—don’t kill me.”

Voldemort smiled and wrapped his spindly fingers tighter around his gnarled wand. “Ha. You fool…Avada Kadavra!”

Green light shot from his wand and I raised my own, ready to control it with any ounce of magical instinct that might live in me.

But his spell hit my heart, and the forest disappeared. The dim light and gnarled trees were replaced with a piercing white light and…voices.

I turned toward the sound, hopeful.

It worked.

My mother and father were there, eyes brimming with tears. And James, he rushed at me before I could get a good look at him, bear-hugging me to death before he pulled back to kiss me.

For a moment, I forgot where I was, what was happening, lost in relief and longing. But then my dad stepped forward, gently touching my shoulder.

“You have to go back,” he said. “It’s not time yet.”

“I know,” I said, though my heart ached to stay with them, talk to them, be with them again. “I came because I need your help.”

My mom smiled and nodded. The three of them surrounded me, each one placing their hands on my back as I turned back the way I’d come. I glanced back at James—one last time—before I stepped toward the light, each of their hands giving me a little bit more strength.

The light disappeared and the sudden blackness punched my vision, but I stood firm, holding my wand against Voldemort’s spell with everything I had in me.

A hideous scream pierced the air as he noticed the change—the force of my spell against his, the sudden life brought back to my body.

My body tensed and shook, straining under the effort to hold my force of light steady against his darkness, a great ball of light glowing and growing in the air between us.

And then it was gone.

I fell forward onto something hard, my brain pulsing as if it had its own heartbeat. I glanced up—a photo of my parents smiled at me from its place on my lavender wall, and the sharp corner of a book jabbed into my cheek. I was back, lying on my bed, alive, in my own world.

Had it been a dream?

I sat up, and something jabbed my leg. Slowly, I reached my hand into my pocket.

The wand.

I pulled it out and placed it gently on my windowsill, beneath my smiling parents and the photo of James and me on a picnic. I laid my head against my pillow, grateful for its softness and security, and feeling—for the first time in months—a little bit less alone in the world.

 

(The End)

Bibliography: How Mr. Rabbit was too Sharp for Mr. Fox, by Joel Chandler Harris (1881) & Harry Potter, by JK Rowling (1997-2007)

Author's Note: After listening to the story of Brer Rabbit, I wanted to incorporate the "don't throw me into the briar patch" trick into my own story. In this story about Brer Rabbit, Rabbit is caught by Brer Fox, and Fox keeps asking, "What should I do to you, Brer Rabbit?" because Rabbit has been so cocky and uncatchable before, and Fox wants revenge. Fox says, "I could drown you..." and Rabbit says, "Oh, yes, please, drown me, Mr. Fox, drown me real good! Just whatever you do, please don't throw me into the briar patch!" They go on like this several times, Fox naming a torture and Rabbit agreeing, just so long as he isn't thrown into the briar patch. At the end, Fox of course throws him in the briar patch, because he wants to harm him as much as he can. But, that's exactly what Brer Rabbit wanted, because he was born and raised in the briar patch.

So I took Brer Rabbit's trick and applied it to a story about a young woman who falls into a book and is suddenly face to face with Voldemort. SPOILER ALERT: In the last book, Harry faces Voldemort, and he essentially dies. But while he's "dead," he sees his parents and Sirius—all the people he loves who have died—and seeing them gives him the strength and encouragement to defeat Voldemort, the all-powerful evil wizard. (Actually, he sees them before he dies with the Sorcerer's Stone, and then he dies and sees Dumbledore at King's Cross Station...because Harry had to die because he was a horcrux, a piece of Voldemort's soul, and to defeat Voldemort, all of the pieces had to be destroyed...) but anyway. Those are the elements I took from Harry Potter for my story, so I guess I switched them around a little bit. I had my character die so she could gain strength from her loved ones and then defeat Voldemort. She tricked Voldemort, begging him not to kill her so that she could momentarily die to see her family and have them help her.