ONESHOT. You sit on your throne, made of crushed bones and dreams, your wand held loosely between your index and ring fingers, like a proper wizard, perfectly and unnaturally polite.

Picking over the bones of a piece of fanfiction, you notice several glaring and embarrasing errors. You may not realize that these come from several old illnesses that have begun to attack fanfiction writers across the world.

Everything is strange to him in this new world, because Aunt Petunia has always insisted on normal. So he studies it with careful fingers and picks it apart with gentle pliers, so that he is prepared for everything. He studies the Wizarding World, like the Wizarding World studies him.

ONESHOT. In grade school, the teachers had told her that A was for apple. They were wrong, she knew now. She could almost remember what it had been like before.

Watch. See that manor over there on the hill? Some people say a great evil happened there, that inside are three people killed by nothing and no one.

How our favorite little Dark Lord could have died. ONESHOT.

The weight of the world bore down on him, crushing him, down, down, down. He was tired, so tired of everything. A flash of green light, green as his eyes, a bang, and the world ended. Peace, he knew not. One-shot.