Some day, this will be a "Last.fm/NetFlix/Amazon for web fiction" (both original and fanfiction) where you can search across many different hosting sites or rate what you've read and get recommendations. However, life keeps throwing more urgent projects my way, so I don't know when it'll be ready.
Harry Potter and the Wastelands of Time, Chapter 25Still standing before the window, a look of eternal calm on my face, was how Voldemort found me some time later.
The heavy door swung open on silent hinges and the Dark Lord stepped into the cell, regarding me with his head held back, his nostrils flaring. Robes of darkest midnight concealed his hands, yet I imagine he gripped his wand at the ready, awaiting any surprises from the Chosen One.
I started strumming on my air guitar. "'You can't start a fire… you can't start a fire without a spark…'" I hummed Springsteen at his best. "'I'm dying for some action – I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book!'"
Voldemort was not amused – he never was – but then only one of us was really born to run.
"You didn't let me die," I said, slinging my six-string over my shoulder.
The Dark Lord nodded. "Obviously. You live so long as you are useful to me, Harry Potter. You will tell me how you come to be here, in the Lost City, how you knew of the Vault in this tower, and what you know of its combination."
I tapped my chin with one of the fingers left on my bad hand. "And if I refuse?"
"Does any part of you doubt that I will do what I must to make you speak, Harry?"
I shook my head. "No, you're a prick, I get that. What you need to understand, though, is that I won't break despite what you throw at me. That's not why I'm here, anyway."
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