Title: The Sacrificial Lamb
Rating: PG (a tiny bit of language but nothing serious)
Disclaimer: The story you're about to read is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to any HP fen, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Author's Note: This was done both to commemorate the date (06/06/06 *snicker snicker*) and as a means to banish my writer's block. Yes, it's supposed to be all overly dramatic and it's unbeta'd so if you catch any spelling/grammar mistakes, don't hesitate to point them out. Anyway, blame carlanime for this.

The world was dark, darker even than the dreaded Day of Publishing when the hopes and dreams of so many innocent Harmonians had been heartlessly dashed against the cold, hard, jagged rocks of canon. Even though he was blindfolded, he could feel himself being carried by many sets of hands and hear the sound of many footsteps echoing against stone walls. An ominous chanting came from up ahead, growing steadily louder until it became a frenzied cacophony.

Suddenly, the blindfold was pulled from his eyes, drowning him in unholy brightness for a brief but hellish moment. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the light, he wish they'd hadn't for before him stood the most horrifying effigy he'd ever clapped eyes on, all firey red hair and Gryffindor quidditch robes. Before the statue stood a massive stone altar and before that, at least three or four dozen worshippers, all wearing hideously overlarge, handknit sweaters with what he presumed were their initials knitted on the front. They seemed lost in religious ecstasy, chanting wildly in faux Latin.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the assembled as an imposing figure in an intricate version of the statue's quidditch robes stepped up to the altar.

"Brothers and sisters, the time of the Dark Lord is at hand," the figure thundered, making an overly dramatic gesture. "Tonight is the night when all our plans shall reach fruitation!"

"Praise Lady Angua. Praise her, praise her," the crowd of followers shouted in near-unison.

"We have caught one of the wretched, delusional ones. Neophytes, bring forth the enemy."

The crowd parted as the four holding him carried him forward and placed him, bound, before the altar.

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" Lady Angua fixed him with a menacing stare.

"Yes," he said defiantly. "Your 'dark lord' is a whore."

A chorus of shrieks and howls erupted from the crowd of worshippers, many of them calling for his immediate demise.

"Silence," Lady Angua bellowed, making another grand gesture before turning her attentions back to her prisoner. "Is that all you have to say for yourself infidel?"

He said nothing, instead choosing to maintain a sense of defiant stoicism.

"Very well. Priestess Gun, prepare the prisoner."

The chanting began afresh as one of the cultists, presumably Priestess Gun, grabbed his head and forced his gaze upwards towards the statue. To his horror, the statue's eyes, which until this moment, had been closed, began to open, the chant growing louder and more frenzied, the more open they became. His stoic facade quickly crumbled as he screamed his last, horrified scream.

THE END