dachelle: (carl is so lolz)
[personal profile] dachelle
So, I wrote this teensy little ficlet based on my crack!dream. Um, enjoy, I guess. Oh, and the name of the curse came from [livejournal.com profile] macphista.

The battle between Harry and Voldemort raged on top of the hill, their wands locked in combat. Harry felt himself weakening. Voldemort's blows had left him bruised and bloodied. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer. Just then, Voldemort cast a spell that knocked him off his feet. He landed hard on the ground. Harry saw Voldemort's terrible smile looming above him, his wand raised, ready to deal Harry the killing blow. And at that moment, Harry remembered a spell that Dumbledore had taught him, during one of their late night sessions together at Hogwarts. A spell so terrible that even speaking its name could cause fear and trembling in the greatest of wizards. "It is a spell," Dumbledore had told him, "that produces a fate worse than death. Use it only if you must." And then he had whispered the secret in Harry's ear, making Harry's eyes go wide, and his skin break out in a cold sweat.

It was the spell Harry had hoped he would never have to use. But now, seeing Voldemort there, his wand at the ready, he knew he had no choice.

"LOREM IPSUM!" Harry exclaimed, putting the last of his strength behind the words, wand held high. A spark of light shot out and exploded into the night. The earth itself seemed to wait with bated breath in the silence for what was to come next.

But there was nothing.

The Dark Lord began to laugh.

"Is that all?" he sneered, drawing his wand back again and pointing it straight at Harry. "Avada Kev -"

At that moment, a strange popping sound emerged in the air next to Voldemort's head. The Dark Lord paused, his eyebrow-less forehead furrowed in confusion. The air where the pop had happened seemed to fold in on itself, and from that fold a creature emerged. It hopped out, and then hovered in the air beside Voldemort. Voldemort stared at it. It blinked back at him, bulging, boggling eyes above a silly curve of a smile, sitting on top of a metal, twisted body.

It was a paperclip.

And it talked.

"I think you're trying to use an Unforgivable Curse!" the paperclip exclaimed jauntily. "Would you like some help?"

"No," Voldemort replied coldly, shooing the apparition away, as if it was beneath his further notice. "Now," he said, turning his attention back to Harry, "where were we? Ah, yes," he said, a sick grin on his face. "Avada Kev -"

"You could try the Cruciatus curse," the paperclip suggested. "Would you like more information on Cruciatus?"

"I believe I know what Cruciatus is, thank you," Voldemort said. "If you'll excuse me, I have some rather more pressing business to attend to." He gestured towards Harry, who was still lying on the ground, his nose and mouth bloodied. The paperclip's bulging eyes followed the lead of his hand, and it turned back to Voldemort, smiling.

"I think you're trying to kill Harry Potter!" it exclaimed, quite pleased with itself. "Would you like some help?"

"No, thank you," Voldemort replied acidly. "I can cope without the aid of a talking paperclip or staple or...whatever you are." He raised his wand again, ready once more to deal Harry the killing blow. Harry winced, closing his eyes in anticipation, his left forearm shielding his face.

"I think you're trying to purchase office supplies!" the paperclip chirped. Harry opened his eyes. "Would you like some help?"

"No!" Voldemort cried. Then he paused, as what the paperclip said registered with him. "Office supplies? What...?" He shook his head, his expression clearly reflecting his frustration. "Where did you acquire that ridiculous notion?" He turned towards the paperclip, which blinked at him, stupid grin still plastered across what passed for its face. "Who are you?" Voldemort demanded. "Where did you come from?"

"I think you're trying to figure out how babies are made!" the paperclip replied, completely oblivious to Voldemort's dangerous tone of voice. "Would you like some help?"

"NO!" Voldemort shouted. "I would not like some help. I would not like any help at all, ever! I would just like to kill Harry Potter" - he pointed at Harry, who by now had picked himself off the ground and was watching the spectacle with interest - "and then I will be all-powerful and eternal. ALL OF WHICH I CAN DO WITHOUT YOUR HELP. So return to the foul pit from whence you emerged, and BEGONE!" Voldemort punctuated his rant with a flourish of his wand.

The paperclip hung in the air for a moment, its smile faded. It blinked, and bent its body slightly from side to side, mulling Voldemort's words. Finally, it spoke.

"I think you're trying to kill Harry Potter!" it exclaimed, the smile returning. "Would you like some help?"

"AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!" Voldemort's scream of rage echoed throughout the night. The paperclip just hovered there in the air, grinning and blinking.

At that moment, Ginny ran up the hill towards him. Harry felt grateful beyond words that she had survived the battle with the Death Eaters. Her face was smudged with dirt and blood, her hair tousled and her clothing singed, but her mouth spread in a smile when she saw Harry, and they embraced.

"Ron - Hermione - Neville -" Harry started to question, but Ginny shook her head.

"They're all alright," she said, "but we'll talk about it later." Her attention turned to the paperclip, which was still tormenting Voldemort with its ceaseless questioning. "What is that?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"That," Harry answered gravely, "is the Lorem Ipsum curse."

"The Lorem Ipsum!" Ginny's exclamation came as a whisper. Harry could see her shudder as the words passed her lips. "Even for the Dark Lord, Harry, that is a cruel curse."

"I had no choice," Harry replied. He looked straight into Ginny's eyes. "He would have killed me, Ginny," he said seriously. Ginny gulped and nodded, but Harry could see she was still troubled by his use of the curse.

Meanwhile, the paperclip had not let up its assault on Voldemort.

"I think you're trying to achieve global domination!" the paperclip twittered. "Would you like some help?

"Oh, yes," Voldemort responded sarcastically. "Please, please help me. After all, I'm only the Dark Lord, the wizard who split his soul into seven Horcruxes and survived the killing curse. What could I possibly know about magic that cannot be better explicated by a nattering piece of twisted metal? So, please," he said, pulling out his robes and bowing, "enlighten me."

The paperclip blinked at him.

"I think you're trying to find out about Horcruxes!" it squeaked. "Would you like some help?"

And at that moment, Voldemort did something Harry thought he would never see the Dark Lord do. He fell to his knees, his wand dropping from his hand as he clutched his horrible, featureless face, and began to sob, while the paperclip danced around him.

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny cried, hiding her head in Harry's sleeve. "It's so terrible. I can't bear to look!"

"I think you're having a nervous breakdown!" the paperclip observed, looking down at Voldemort. "Would you like some help?"

"Come on," Harry said, putting his arm around Ginny's shoulder. "Let's get out of here." They walked back down the hill towards their friends. Behind them, they could hear Voldemort's weeping, punctuated by cries from the paperclip of "Would you like some help? Would you like some help?" Ginny began to turn her head, but Harry stopped her.

"No, Ginny," he said, holding her tight. "Don't look back. Just walk away."

In the days that followed, Harry was heralded as a hero. His picture was splashed across the cover of the Daily Prophet. The Boy Who Triumphed, he was called. But Harry didn't feel very triumphant. Voldemort had been taken to St. Mungo's and placed in a special, solitary ward. Solitary, that is, except for the paperclip, which continued its incessant questioning, to the sound of Voldemort's moans of anguish. The Dark Lord's punishment would be decided later, but there were many who felt - Harry among them - that the Lorem Ipsum was punishment enough. Harry knew it had to be done, knew he'd not had a choice, but he still felt guilty, hearing that terrible voice chattering away, seeing those dumb, blinking eyes and inane grin. Harry's scar might never hurt again, but the nightmare of the deathly Clippy would haunt him for the rest of his days.
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