How should Harry Potter end?-DC

Three Ways to End Harry Potter

So here we are: at the end of the Harry Potter decade. The books have been printed and are under lock and key. J.K. Rowling has made her choices. Harry is either going to live or die. Eager readers still have to wait a fortnight or so for answers to these questions. Which is why three writers were asked to fill the void and draft Harry Potter endings of their own.

The Boy Who Died

By Damon Lindelof

Harry Potter must die. We Americans like closure. We want things definitively tied up. And by "things" I mean lots of people dead. And by "definitively tied up" I mean in excruciating ways that ideally involve lots of gratuitous explosions. Over here at the TV show Lost, we've announced our grand finale 48 short episodes from now. The pundits have already announced that they pre-hate it. The prevailing sentiment seems to be that our ending will be either too wacky to make sense or too anticlimactic to have justified the six seasons preceding it. J.K. Rowling finds herself with the opposite problem. Her story and writing have so captivated the world that expectations are through the roof. In fact, it shouldn't matter how Ms Rowling executes her final dive, but some people will judge all that preceded it based on how little splash there is when she hits the water.

Fair? No. But what do you expect from people who like unnecessary explosions and pithy catch phrases? We offer Harry our bloodlust. We want him to take a dirt nap. And that's because we want to be surprised. Because if there's one thing we like more than explosions, it's surprises. And even though 8 out of 10 of us want him to die, we know in our hearts that he won't. And that's because Ms Rowling wouldn't dare. She can't whack Harry because there are rules that must be followed when it comes to how one ends a grand mythology. And this is precisely why Harry has to die. When Ms Rowling first took us by the hand and led us down the path of her story she boldly titled her first chapter "The Boy Who Lived." We come to learn later that Harry has survived an assassination attempt. The most rewarding ending would be one in which he performs a similar act of self-sacrifice. I would just about giggle with glee were I to get to the last chapter and find it titled "The Boy Who Died." So yes. I hope Harry buys the farm. Even though I know he won't. However, maybe if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tossed one final spell at Harry? Like a mega-Avada Kedavra curse that nobody had ever survived? And if Harry, like, did some kinda Matrix-slow-motion move and used his wand to deflect? And then his opponent like totally exploded everywhere into a thousand pieces of reptilian flesh? That'd be fine, too.

Made in Hogwarts

By Larry Doyle

What'lly'have, then?" The old bartender's eyes glinted in the dark. He had a monstrous ruddy nose for such a thin, pale face, as if someone had stuck a gob of red putty on a skull. "Ogden's Old, all around," said Ron. "No more butterbeer for this lot." "Where's Tom?" Harry asked. "'E's unwell," said the bartender. "I'm Marmot. Odd Orville Marmot they call me. You might try the eel. It's the best in the alley." A vague fear stirred in Harry's chest as Marmot shuffled away, long spidery fingers dangling from the sleeves of his coat. "It's over," said Hermione quietly, placing her hand over Harry's. "It's ended." "And what an end," said Ron. "That bit about You-Know-Who being your dad. Didn't see that coming." Harry hadn't seen any of it coming. Certainly not that he himself had been the final Horcux, the host of Voldemort's soul the whole time. He realised it only when Voldemort was on top of him, clawing the lightning bolt from his forehead, gobbling it greedily. At that moment, Voldemort became mortal, and the next, he was hit by a bus. Harry looked about the Leaky Cauldron. It seemed darker and shabbier than usual. "I'll tell you something," Ron was prattling on. "I've had enough of wizarding after that." Two hooded men sat at a far table, not speaking to one another. Harry heard a scraping, and glanced down as a huge rat scabbered across his feet and disappeared. "I'm going to Hollywood," said Ron. "I've been meaning to ask you, Harry," said Ron, "about your life rights." Where was Ginny?, Harry wondered. "'Ere y'are," the bartender said, laying the tray of three fire whiskeys on the table. "Cheers." Something in his voice made Harry look up, and it was only then he noticed that Odd Orville's slitty eyes were scar.

Hermione Tells All

By Polly Horvath

You've been coming in a lot lately, you and that little tyke, haven't you, dearie?" asked the waitress. "Yeah, they turned off the heat again in my flat," said the woman, writing in a notebook. A baby rested in a carrier on the chair next to her. "You used to hang out a bit in town with them lot in robes. Haven't seen them around lately." "Dead," said Hermione briefly. "What, all of them?" "We had a bit of a dust-up," said Hermione, biting on her pencil.
"Potter?"
"Tripped."
"No! But he's OK.?"
"He's pretty much dead too. I admit I had a little something to do with it. But, you're a woman, I ask you, how many times should you have to ask them to include a vegan alternative?" "Crikey!"
"All right, I might have been a bit postpartumy but I'm all better now. Ruddy men!"
"Don't I know it, dearie. Still," the waitress said, looking at the baby, "I guess you had yourself a little romance. Which one was it? Potter? Ron? Percy, was it?" "Probably," said Hermione.
"And looking for a job now, are you?" asked the waitress, pointing at the newspapers with the circled ads on Hermione's table. "Well, that's the thing, isn't it? Once you graduate, oh, sure, you've got the ruddy degree in witchcraft and the dark arts but whatcha gonna do with it? Doesn't half pay the rent. I got me a new tack now. I'm writing some books." "So, writing a little fantasy, are you?"
"Not ruddy likely. Genre's been overdone to death. Nope, just writing about my experiences with the Death Eaters and Dark Lords and Dementors. Write what you know."
"Isn't that clever, luv." "Isn't it a bit tricky then, writing a bunch of books if you've never written anything before?"
"Nah, I got it beat. I figure it's all in arranging words in some sort of order. Sentences they call it." The baby started to cry.
"Hush," said Hermione, kicking the carrier to the other side of the room, "Mummy's writing."

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