A 17-year-old girl was standing in front of a pillar at a very busy train station. Her piercing green eyes searched the crowd quickly. Then she closed her eyes and walked straight into the pillar." Harry learns of a new relative.

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"Are... are you okay?"

Slinky blinked, trying to parse the words being spoken to her. The world was still blurred a bit, except for the sharp pain on her nose. She sat up from the station's concrete platform and put a hand to her face, which when she pulled back was covered in blood. Her nose was also extremely tender, and didn't feel particularly... solid.

"You just kind of... ran into that pillar..."

Slinky finally trained her sharp green eyes on the boy that was bothering her. At first she thought it was Harry Potter, but upon a second look he was just a plain old rubbish londoner. No lightning bolt at all. He was bending down to help her up, but she would have none of that!

"I do as I please! I am a mighty and powerful wizard!" She even had the bright purple rose tattoo on her cheek to prove it, a token from when Voldemort had attempted to kill her. Her brother Harry had only gotten a richochet of the Dark Lord's Avada Kedavra spell - she was the one truly deserving of all of his fame, and it was this year that she was going to prove it. If only Voldemort's spell hadn't also caused her to be transported to a parallel dimension that she was trapped in until she learned enough magic on her own in order to return to her true home to claim the fortune and glory that was rightly hers!

The muggle boy must have just taken her to be delirious because he ignored her odd pronouncement, choosing instead to help Slinky to her feet. Once standing again, she jerked her elbow away from him ingratiously.

"I don't need help!" she snorted, the motion setting her spring-like pair of silver ponytails bouncing. With vision still slightly blurred she looked again at the numbers above the platforms, making sure that she was at the right spot. The numbers clearly said '8' and '9', and she had run directly at the pillar between them, as that handsome white-haired boy had told her. A pleasant one, that boy, and his two jolly fat friends who seemed to always be laughing.

"Are you sure?" The muggle boy asked, his continued persistence irritating Slinky to no end. She wouldn't be able to try entering the pillar again as long as this muggle stayed around! He was completely wasting her time!

"Yes, fine! Go away!" Her hand fell into her stylish jacket and pulled out her Urple Wand - crafted from Lovewood with a Nymph-hair core that was gifted to her by Father Time during her stay in the Dimension of Fairies - with the intention of charming the frustrating boy so he'd forget all about her and go on his way. But when she jerked from his grip yet again, she perhaps overdid it. Overcome by another wave of vertigo, she stumbled backward and fell off the platform, just as the horn of an oncoming train sounded...

* * *

"How are we supposed to get to Hoggwarts now?" Harry asked frustratedly of his two friends. They sat on a bench a ways down from Platform 9 3/4ths, ambulances and other emergency officials buzzing about the closed station pending the cleanup and investigation of some accident that had occured nearby early that morning. Apparently some girl had gotten hit by a train.

"I'm not sure if something like this has happened before," replied Hermoine. "I can only assume they'll delay the departure until tomorrow, or at least until this clears up."

"Bloody inconvenient if you ask me," Ron mumbled irritably. He idly slipped a few crumbs to his pet rat through a hole in the grubby cardboar box he was kept in, tied up with the rest of his luggage. Scabbers suddenly squealed and dove back further into the box, prompting the trio to notice the return of Hermoine's cat, Crookshanks. The orange feline had a strange stick in it's mouth as it arrived at Hermoine's feet and began to generously rub itself against her leg.

"Don't pick up strange pieces of junk, Crookshanks," Hermoine chided as she pulled the corkscrew shaped wand from Crookshanks mouth. The young witch gave the odd corkscrew shaped wand an odd look. "What do you suppose this is?"

"Looks like some tacky art thing," replied Harry. "My aunt buys them all the time. The garage is full of boxes of the things."

"Well I hope no one payed much for this," Hermoine replied, tossing it into a nearby bin.

"They really are quite tame, aren't they, Sam?"

Sam Gamgee did not really agree, but gave a miserable "Yessir, Mr. Frodo," as he clung to the spike-finned back of the Fell Beast. The black flapping thing winged its way slowly above the clouds. The two hobbits on its back were a little green in the face, but unhurt.

"It didn't protest much at its nest in that maze of rocks, did it?"

"Nosir, Mr. Frodo."

"It's very strange, but it makes a certain sense. It must be tame. How else would anyone control such a monster?"

"If that's what you think."

"How much farther to Mount Doom do you think, Sam?"

Sam gulped down his fear and peered uneasily over the side. "Not far. It's like looking into a summer bonfire down there."

Frodo Baggins' hands were white from hanging on to the spike in front of him. "Go down," He asked the Fell Beast. It gave a spirited roar and they felt the descent in a wide, dizzying spiral. The stink of ash and gas worsened.

"We'll have to ride this thing out again, won't we?" Sam groaned. "I don't know much for flapping beasts and creatures, but this just seems downright unnatural to me. If we were meant to fly in the sky, don't you think we'd have had wings?"

"Yes, you're right. But it is faster than continuing on foot-- could you imagine it, Sam?"

Sam could. "Would fill up a book or two with just, 'we walked to Mordor,' Mr. Frodo. But- agh- this isn't any pony. Do you think it's wise to ride it without a saddle?"

"It doesn't seem to make much of a difference either way. It seems resolute to keep us from falling, in any case. Why?"

"Because it seem to be getting mighty sore on the back, if you know what I mean, sir."

Frodo looked down. Indeed, where he was sitting was rubbed raw from their clinging legs and their packs. The black hide of the Fell Beast was rubbed slightly reddish, if leather could ever be tender. It had several pustules and warts from unclean conditions and they seemed to be irritated.

When Frodo brushed one cautiously, it burst in a shower of steaming-hot blood and lavalike pus. The hobbit screamed in disgust and surprise.

The Fell Beast didn't like that. It had been descending gradually in slow, careful spirals, but suddenly it spooked and plummeted through the heavy cloud and smoke cover. It flipped over. It looped-de-looped. It barrel rolled. Frodo tumbled from his spot on the creature's back, but when the world stopped spinning, he found that Sam --bless him, Sam!- had caught him by his elven cloak. The Fell Beast had caught Sam's pack gingerly in it's considerate jaws. The two hobbits dangled quite safely-- a stomach-turning drop separating them from the floor of the Black Land of Mordor.

Uneasily staring at the thin wisp of sickly clouds beneath him, Frodo felt a missing weight around his neck, and a stab of primal panic.

"The Ring! I've dropped the Ring!"

--

The One Ring was quite happy. It was here, in Mordor. It was close to its master. Sauron's eye swiveled, saw it fall-- Yes! Perfect! Such good fortune!

Unfortunately, it was falling directly into the open mouth of the Orodruin itself.

Sauron ordered all of his Nazgul on their flying mounts to catch it. They were nowhere near close enough. Sauron focused his thought on it, cursing that his body was gone. But there was nothing that could be done.

The One Ring apologized for its bad timing.

Sauron assured it that no, it's OK, it's not it's fault, they were hobbits on a flapping hell beast and the One Ring couldn't have won anyway.

The Dark Lord of Mordor watched as the One Ring plopped into Mount Doom and was un-made. The Nazgul didn't survive long enough to get to the now-located Ring Bearer. The armies of Mordor collapsed into the blasted land they'd come from. And Sauron rolled his Great Eye before being reduced to not much more than a powerless essence.

Frodo and Sam eventually made it back-- two hobbits on the back of a frightening, yet quite civil monster (Named later in historical records Mananca the Gentle)-- and a certain book and a half was reduced to a few sentences involving the riding and tame nature of Fell Beasts.

And that was the end of that.

Alright, I'll take a crack at this.

Chaos by tangledribbons
In the summer after his third year, Harry Potter finds a CD and changes the fate of the wizarding world. Rated T for later content.
***

Chaos had struck the Quiddich World Cup. The Dark Mark had been fired into the sky, and even after the foreboding symbol had made itself known, and even after the chaotic harassment of the spectators had all but died down, tensions were high, and people were fleeing the site in droves.

But Harry Potter was not worried. For he had it all figured out.

"How can you be so apathetic?" Hermione spat at him, trying to break through his glazed stupor. "Don't you realize what has just happened?"

With a knowing grin, he turned to face his nervous friend. "I know exactly what happened. We don't have to be high to look in the sky."

Hermione's face turned beet red. She exploded into a tirade about what could have happened, who it could have been, what spells they could have used, death eaters, Voldemort, cast the thingummywats into the plickensholber spell, yeah yeah.

"Are you even listening!?" She exclaimed.

"Listen. If Magic is all you ever know, then it's easy to miss what's really going on."

"What?"

In a swift, clean motion, Harry Potter got to his feet, walked a few feet into the forest, grabbed a man in the bushes, dragged him out by the arm, stood him in front of Hermione, then knocked him out with crowbar he had been apparently holding the entire time.

It was Barty Crouch Jr. The escaped Azkaban convict.

Hermione looked at her friend, completely dumbfounded.
"How could you have possibly known?"

"Have you ever stopped to look around?" He asked in response. "Like, really stopped and looked at the simple things?"

Hermione remained silent.

Harry nodded sagely. "For instance... Music is magic, pure and clean. You can feel it and hear it but it can't be seen. You can't even hold it, it's just in the air."

Right then, Hermione was struck with a revelation. He had been listening to a CD that someone had thrown out in the middle of the campsite. He had been enthralled with it ever since they left the stadium. What had been on there that had inspired such practicality and reasoning in her friend?

"Pure motherf***ing magic, Right?"
"This sh*t will blow your motherf***ing mind."

Harry Potter's fourth year at Hogwarts would certainly be an interesting one. For he now was a master of magic. And a worker of miracles.

Ok, here goes my shot.

Setting Severus Snape Up by Azuria Asiyarana Annabellah
Harry, Ron and Hermione have decided to place an advertisement in the Daily Prophet under the Singles' Column. Their mission: To find a perfect lady companion for their Potions Teacher, the one and only Severus Snape. But things soon get out of control!

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the Great Hall. They were enjoying their breakfasts when the owl post came. A Daily Prophet landed in Ron's bowl, spreading porridge all over his face.
He sighed and took the newspaper, reading but the headlines. He was about to pass it to Harry or Hermione when an article called his attention.
Ron went pale and held the newspaper closer to his eyes, probably to make sure he had read right. Then the put the paper down and went paler to the point that the only things still coloured on his face were the freckles. Harry and Hermione watched him in silence.
“Ron, what's going on?” Harry asked. He looked concerned.
As an answer, Ron folded the paper and passed it to him, pointing at a certain article. Harry grabbed it and read:

Teacher that believes 1+1= LOVE
Potion teacher of Hogwarts, black hair and eyes, 5'7”, looks for a woman,
25-40 years, preferably brunette, who likes sundowns and pets.
Contact:

There was a small picture of Snape at one side of the advertisement, and it was signed H.R.H.
At that point, everybody in the Great Hall was laughing and pointing at the three Gryffindor. Malfoy was smiling devilishly, and the Weasley twins were rolling on the floor, literally.
Then Snape entered the room, with a Daily Prophet in his hand, and walked straight to them. When he reached, he leant over Ron and Hermione, between them both, and spoke softly:
“You three, to my office, now.” The last word seemed to be shouted, as much as you can shout while speaking in a soft voice. “And, mister Potter, I don´t like sundowns. Nor pets, mister Weasley.”
“But we didn't...” Harry tried to explain, but Snape was already walking away.
The kids stood up. They still couldn't believe the whole situation.
"We.. we will be able to work it out, won't we?" Hermione said.
Ron and Harry just looked at her and started their way.

"Storys are told around the campfire and Aragorn is probably going to be dead by tommorow"

***

"Here's my story", Gimli began, as the rest of the Fellowship huddled closer to the fire in the cold Middle-Earth night. A few of them were grilling some meat on little spokes of sharpened branches. In the distance, a wolf howled.

"This was some time ago, when Aragorn was paying a visit to my father in Eberor, and we were in a tavern drinking. The topic of, erm, courtship cropped up. Aragorn suddenly got very serious, leaned towards me and asked, 'Tell me Gimli, I am seeing this lovely dwarven girl I met here a few weeks ago, and I am wondering if you had any tips because, um...' He leaned in even closer and whispered something that I shall not repeat here since I am a gentledwarf."

"And?"

"Well, my response was, 'you do realize dwarven women don't have beards, lad'?"

While the rest of them were in fits of laughter, Aragorn snuck to the tent and grabbed a package of something. In the morning when Gimli woke up, well rested, he found out that he had been completely wrapped up in tin foil.

"See you tomorrow once you've caught up with us - Mount Doom won't wait, after all", Aragorn quipped and the Fellowship, sans Gimli, set out.

"Oh, he's going to be so dead by tomorrow", Gimli grumbled as he struggled free of the foil.

All you need to do is graph it out: