Pottermore or less of it?

Considering that at the moment a Pottermore craze is going on, I have to reshuffle my writing. Personally, I only like going through the chapters, but have finished book 1. If anyone knows when book 2 will be available, let me know. Anyway, since you're all in the mood for Pottermore, I have to ask what you would like to read next? My Harry Potter fan-fic? I have to warn you though, my style of writing isn't like J.K Rowling's, and it's quite different. I find myself with a window of opportunity. I can write anything I want now. I have the chapters planned out in my head. All you have to do is tell me, what would you like next? Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Welcome to Blogland? Or Stolen. Some of you who are members of my other blog will know that I decided not to continue showing you that, since I hope to get it published latter in life. But I can trust you all. And look down, everything I put here is copywrited. So tell me what you would like. By tomorrow, I'll decide and write that, but you have one day. Make it count.

Harry Potter: Prologue- Notes

Notes by Finwik Rodin, Studier of Wizard History- Medieval Times

Recently, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rose and was killed by Harry Potter, the Chosen One. The ministry was reformed and put to proper use, muggles minds were wiped and peace came over wizards. But this incident made me think of other dark wizards in history. Especially in my area of expertise, Medieval Times.  I looked in book after books of wizards who used dark magic to cause havoc, but they were nothing compared to You Know Who. Then finally, I came across the barest of mentions on a slip of burnt paper. Here is a direct quote from the book:

“Perhaps history’s greatest threat. The darkest wizard of all time was going to rule us all. It was luck that we managed to live. Even Merlin, the most famous wizard of all time was no match for Mo-”

The text ends there. Mo is not much to go on, but I looked through dozens of other texts relating to Merlin, looking for a name that begun with Mo. Not one had any mention about someone with the letters Mo starting in their name. Then, in my desperation, I stumbled upon a book written by a Merlin hater. Most of the copies of the book had been burned, but I found has one of the last copies in the world. Merlin was famous for creating most spells that are used by wizards every day. He was not known for fighting.

But according to the Merlin Hater book, that was exactly what he was famous for. He had apparently fought a dark wizard, and lost. Merlin may not be a fighter, but everyone knew that the few times he had fought no one had stood a chance against him. Most of the book was about Merlin stealing the spells and being a coward. But I did manage to find the name

Morgan.

Now I had something to go on. I looked for books about Morgan, and found little to quench my thirst for knowledge. A few books saying that he had brought wizards to their knees and nothing more. However, when I asked someone in a library about Morgan, someone overheard and told me that there were 58 vaults in Gringots that Morgan had filled with his stuff. I thought he was insane, but this was my best lead and went to investigate. When I asked a goblin about vaults to someone called Morgan, he surprised me by saying that it wasn’t rare in the old days for rich people to own as many as 100 vaults. However, most were closed as heirs wasted fortunes. Records didn’t go back that far, but there were so many vaults in Gringots that 58 would go amiss. However, a human working there told me that some people mentioned the name Morgan on their way to vault 441 the other day. A requested a goblin take me there, and to my surprise, he said the vault was open for anyone to go in, as request of the owners. I went there, and all I found was a book, handwritten, all about Morgan. I took them with me and began to read. Text is below [abridged]

“If you are reading this, you are either a Follower, or someone who knows enough about Morgan to look here. If you are a Follower, then we are doomed. If you are someone who knows about Morgan, this is your warning. The rein of Morgan is not over.

Morgan was born sometime in the Middle Ages. It is unclear when exactly, but it was around the time Merlin made the tongue tying curse. Morgan, like every other child in Great Britain, went to Hogwarts, very new at this stage. Morgan was put in Slytherin, and became one of the most infamous in the house. Best known for destroying a tower in fifteen minutes, killing eight students. No one had any evidence the Morgan was behind this, but they still expelled him. He was sixteen at the time, but was already one of the best wizards alive. Expect for Merlin. Merlin, a great wizard, the biggest threat to Morgan’s plans. Morgan wasn’t interested in blood, or how pure it was. All he was interested in was ruling mankind. Not just the wizards, but the muggles too. But to do this, he needed to become greater than anyone else. Greater than Merlin.

So, from sixteen until he was nineteen, Morgan disappeared. When he came back, he had power greater than ever seen before. He was the first wizard to ever master Necromancy, the art of controlling the dead. He could raise an army of corpses to fight for him, bring back shadows of the deceased to give him information, and even sometimes bring back someone fully from the dead on rare occasions. He refused to tell anyone how he got his newfound magic, instead giving a display of his magic by breaking all of the wizards out of Azkaban. He reasoned that the Ministry would focus on the prisoners, and taking those who were willing, he hid and built up power. He trained the people who went with them, calling the best Disciples, and the rest Followers. He led attacks on Ministry workers, picking them off one by one. Somewhere along the way, he found more secrets. He became more powerful, he found out more about artefacts, and most importantly, he found a way to become ageless without the philosophers stone. This also made him resistant against some spells.

Then he took the fight straight to the Ministry. By this time, he had over 600 wizards following him, and he took them all and attacked the Ministry, killing nearly everyone. This act forced Merlin to fight Morgan. Despite everyone saying how great he was, he was hiding from Morgan during this war. He was afraid.

But he was about to rule all the wizards in Great Brittan, and Merlin had to do something. He tried to set an ambush for Morgan, thinking he could take him if he was alone. Merlin was completely wrong, and almost died. He managed to Apparate away and got healed before he was about to die.

Merlin knew that he couldn’t face Morgan head on. So he made a news spell, now lost, that allowed a lot the surviving wizards that were willing to give him their energy for magic. Merlin became four times as powerful, and took Morgan head on. Morgan, thinking he could destroy Merlin easily, told his followers not to do anything. He fought Merlin, and realised that they were equals now. Merlin made a circle of fire, a magical tool that gives you more power, but if you’re knocked out of it, you die. Both a weakener and a straightener. Despite now being outmatched, Morgan did not call for help from his followers, instead he cast a petrify spell, which slowly turned Merlin to stone. They continued to fight as Merlin turned into rock. When it reached Merlin’s chest, Morgan blasted Merlin’s left hand off. The spell reached Merlin’s right arm, and just before it was completely turned into stone, he turned Morgan into ash; using a powerful spell that speed up the stone’s progress and in seconds Merlin was dead. All that was left of him was a statue and a legacy that would later be blown out of proportions. The ministry decided that all history of Morgan should be destroyed, and Merlin would become famous, but they would say it was just for his spells, and not for saving wizards from being ruled.

However, Morgan did not die. Because he had made himself ageless, and almost impossible to kill, he did not fully die. His ashes remain, and his followers try and bring him back every day. The ministry knew that Morgan was a necromancer and had a lot of control over death, and there could be a chance he could return. They created us, an organisation that we will not name for safety, to do anything to stop him. Since Morgan’s death we have expanded, and the ministry has forgotten about us. We hope that this falls into the hands of someone the ministry trusts enough to listen to. We have evidence that the followers of Morgan are close to succeeding in bringing him back. If this happens, we have no defence against him. The ministry is weak after the incident with You Know Who, Dumbledore is dead, and we wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Get this to the ministry. They need to know. We need to stop them before they go ahead with their plans.

Otherwise, we may as well be dead.”

I closed the book, shocked. Merlin a coward, killed by Morgan. Morgan rising again, and an organisation that the ministry started, but the ministry didn’t know about. They would never believe it. But I had to try, or we’d be dead.

I wrote this and sent it to the Aurors in the hope that they would tell the Minister. I can only hope that this gets to him. But I fear we are too late.

Hunger Games Chapter 1: Complex Machinery

It is important to understand that these events take place in the Hunger Games universe, they are after the events in the book trilogy and it goes on like those events never happened.

Chapter 1: Complex Machinery

Jonathan frowned at the complicated piece of machinery. He was good with mechanisms, but this was very intricate. The design seemed flawless; every bit of it like it was made by angels. But there was a problem with the handheld device. That was evident.

“So, what do you think?” The person asking was the best engineer in District 3, but even he was confused. His name was Garif, and he was well known for being chosen as tribute in the Hunger Games, and having someone else volunteer for him. The boy who had volunteered was his brother, and the girl tribute was the girl he had hoped to marry, but they both died. Garif had been forced to watch as his brother died from a sword in his stomach and his love be killed as someone slit her throat. But that was many Hunger Games ago. So many that the 17 year old boy was now an old man. Garif had never married. He had just worked, building and fixing electronics and the like.

Jonathan looked at the device from a different angle. He wasn’t the best like Garif, but he was damn close. Garif had noticed his potential and had picked him to work in his workshop, where only the most complicated machinery went. Most people in District 3 worked in the factories, where they either built something for the capitol, or fixed something for the capitol. Garif’s workshop did the same thing, but they also tried to sneak a few things for the people to enjoy.

Jonathan was glad that he worked in the workshop. It payed better, and everyone knew he needed the money.  His mother had died giving birth to his little sister, and his dad had died trying to fix a gun and having it blow up, killing him. For five years, Jonathan and his little sister, Jasa, lived with their grandmother, but she was racked with disease, and Jonathan had to work for the whole family. He worked for food, medicine, clothes and all other needs. His sister was only five, and couldn’t work. Jonathan was thirteen, and worked at the workshop, and at three of the factories just to keep his family going. Last year, when he was old enough to be chosen for the Hunger Games, he added his name for a lot of tessera. It was plain luck that he wasn’t chosen. This year he had been a little more sensible. Without him, his family wouldn’t survive. They needed him. He had still put his name down for tessera, but not as many.

“Maybe it’s the relay,” Jonathan said, peering into the back of the device.

Garif snatched it back before Jonathan could do anything. “No,” he said. “I’ve already thought of that. I thought at one point that the connection from the battery and the wiring, but that’s not it either.”

Jonathan thought for a moment while Garif poked a screwdriver around inside it. Then idea came to mind. He grabbed it from Garif, ignoring the shout of outrage, and looked into it again, seeing the problem.

“What’s the first rule you ever taught me?” Jonathan asked, grinning.

Garif looked bemused. “Disobey me, and you’re out? No touching my tools?”

“Even if it’s a complex problem, sometimes the answer is a simple solution. Lose wires. I can see at least six of ‘em.”

He handed it back to Garif, who took a quick look inside and grunted. “You’re going to get me out of a job,” he said, but he was grinning.

He put it down and looked at Jonathan. “Reaping tomorrow. You okay for it?”

Jonathan took an unsteady breath. He was afraid of the Reaping. Everyone was. But Jonathan wasn’t a fighter. He was smart, but he knew that brains weren’t the main thing in the Arena. He wouldn’t last, and more importantly, his family wouldn’t last. They needed him too much.

“Never,” he replied.

Garif laughed roughly. “I’d be surprised if you were.”

“What’s it like,” Jonathan asked, before he could think. “Being chosen?”

Garif stiffened. For a moment he was afraid that the man would get angry and strike Jonathan. But then he dipped his head and spoke in a low voice.

“I wasn’t chosen for very long. But the few minutes that I was were the worst of my life. When they read out my name, there was a sigh of relief from the other children. No one screamed for me, no one wept. They all looked at me as I walked up to the stage. When they asked if anyone would volunteer, my brother said he would. He was eighteen, he had managed to last without being picked, but in his last year, he had volunteered. And I was relieved. I know I should’ve been, my brother just volunteered to fight other children to the death for me, but I was so relieved it wasn’t me.”

He looked at Jonathan. “No one will volunteer for you, will they?”

Jonathan shook his head. He had a few good friends, but no one would volunteer for the Hunger Games if it wasn’t family. It was just a rule.

“Then you better hope that they don’t draw your name.” Garif’s expression was filled with pity. “Go on. Get some sleep. All the other factories are closed by now.”

Jonathan nodded. They would be closed by now, all the factories closed early on the day before the Reaping.

Jonathan thanked Garif and walked out the sunshine. It would be about three by now. He went over to Mariana, who gave him some medicine. He thanked her and went of looking for someone who would still have some food. He found very little. That was the problem with working so much. With Mariana, he could ask her to set aside some medicine. But with food, that sold out quickly, and no one was willing to keep some when they could sell it and go home early.

Jonathan went home with his medicine and his little amount of food. He met some people on the way, and they said things like “Hi”, and “how’s your grandmother?”

A few of the richer, more annoying ones actually said “May the odds be ever in your favour”. They were idiots. Anyone who knew Jonathan, and that was most people, knew that he had brought a lot of tessera. Maybe not as much as last year, but still enough to make him one of the most likely to be chosen.

He got home, seeing his little sister talking with Kenisdra. She took care of Jasa whenever Jonathan was at work. Jasa was fiddling with some wires and Kenisdra was teaching her. Jasa had a knack with building things, like Jonathan. Kenisdra used to work at the factory, but in an accident she had lost her left thumb. She couldn’t work, but she still knew her stuff, and had been teaching Jasa. Jonathan grinned. This reminded him about how his father used to teach him until Jonathan had got too good to be taught. When most people think about deceased family, they get sad. But Jonathan only got happier. He didn’t know why, but he was glad. Whenever he thought about their deaths, however…

“And how are we today,” he asked as he walked through the door. Jasa jumped up and ran over to him. She tackled hugged him as Kenisdra stood up.

“Fine,” she said, looking at Jasa and Jonathan, smiling. “How was the workshop?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Finished quickly, half a day off, I can’t complain. And how’s…”

He trailed off. Kenisdra understood though, and a pained look crossed her face. “Not to good today dear,” she said in a quiet voice.

Jonathan nodded. He knew that she needed better medical attention then her thirteen year old grandson getting her a couple of pills. But there was nothing they could do. The doctor had some over and said that there was nothing he could do either. Jonathan knew it was a matter of weeks before she died. Most of him was sad that another family member would die. Part of him, the survival part of him thought one less mouth to feed, and a whole lot more money because he could stop buying medicine.

He hated that part of him.

He walked over to his grandmother’s room and slowly opened the door. She was lying there, seemingly sleeping. He walked over to a chair beside her and sat down. She heard this and opened her eyes, a weak smile breaking out on her lips. She was deathly pale, and getting skinnier by the day.

“How are you sweetie?” she asked in a weak, drained, tired voice.

Jonathan swallowed and tried to stop his voice from cracking. “Fine Grandma. And how are you?”

She looked up at the ceiling. “I feel dizzy.”

“I’ve got some pills.” Jonathan rummaged through his bag and drew a small container. He read the instructions and shouted out to Jasa to get a glass of water.

When she came over with one, Jonathan quickly crushed up two of the pills and stirred them into the water.

“You’re going to have to sit up to drink this.” Jonathan and Jasa helped her sit up and drink it.

She lay down again and blinked. “I feel sleepy,” she said.

“It says you might feel a little drowsy,” Jonathan said soothingly. “Just rest for a while. Get some sleep.”

She had fallen asleep before he had even finished talking. Jasa looked up at Jonathan with wide eyes.

“Is Grandma going to be alright?” she asked.

It broke his heart to lie to Jasa. “She’ll be fine,” he said, and ushered her out of the room.

But he knew that their grandmother had only weeks, if not days.

Soon they would be alone.

Their grandmother slept through the poor dinner Jonathan had prepared. He considered waking her up, she need food. But she was in so much pain; it was hard to get her to sleep. So he left her.

He got Jasa to go to sleep and laid down in his own bed soon after, exhausted. If their grandmother died, they would have to move in with someone else. It was the law. They might even be separated. Jonathan hated to think what would happen to Jasa if he was chosen. She would have to life with someone who would no doubt treat her badly. At least while he was there, he was old enough to refuse someone as guardian for both himself and Jasa. But if he left, they would say that Jasa was too young to make decisions and would give her to someone.

Jonathan closed his eyes, trying and failing to not dream about the Reaping, their grandmother dying and what would happen to them.

Hmm? What?

Why do I make a new blog? Why not? I'll put my stories here. My other will be for rambling. Most of my time will be taken up by Nix and Mist, but whenever I have free time I'll write something else and put it here.