A-crew
Harry's Humvee slammed through the gates of Hogwarts like a motherfucking freight train. H to the Pizzy was back with a whole fucking world of pain ready to introduce to the D.E. bitches. Hardcore.
Death eaters swarmed the entrance hall like ants. Black robes stark against pansy pale white bitch faces. Pizzy sat behind the wheel, smirking that little smirk of his. "That's right bitches," he thought. "Come get you some of that special H-sauce."
There was a chuckle from the back. Pizzy looked up in the rearview and caught a glimpse of that wild red hair. Half-mad Ron had a wicked grin on his face. The Death Eaters had filled the hallway, waiting to seal the deal and claim the prize. Harry Potter's head on a stick. "Not today" thought the H-man.
Ron broke out into a maniacal cackle. His beady little eyes wild with insanity. That's the sign, that's what starts it all. First the laugh, then the boom. Ron pulled up a backpack and fished out a metal canister. He brought it up beside his ear and shook it. Oh yes he could hear it. Hear the shrapnel inside begging for blood and guts. Pulling open the sun roof with his left hand he quickly tossed it up and out of the car. The Death Eaters, tiny minds dumbfounded by the sight, watched their fate tumble a crude arc through the air.
Just after apex the canister exploded. H-man watched on, time seem to slow down at that moment. He had to saviour this moment. Let them all saviour it, he thought. Let them see the final result of their pitiful existence.
The supersonic shockwave came first, rattling the massive vehicle but causing no serious damage. Windows cracked and furniture rattled. The D.E. bitches could feel it passing through them, a strange sensation. One of the last that they would ever feel, they now realised. It was too late to react, too late to raise their puny wands in defiance to the misery of their own fate. Their pitiful lives were reduced to mere spectators as they glimpsed for a brief moment through the gates of hell.
The force of the blast came next, accompanied by the pure chaos of shrapnel and the cleansing fire of napalm. Death eaters were wrenched violently downward, limbs tearing from their torsos, bones being broken as their bodies were distorted into disgusting caricatures of human beings. Like little dolls they were thrown back, skulls crushing like watermelons against the smooth stone walls. That would have been enough. They were dead and that was all that needed. But no, Half-mad Ron needed his show. The shrapnel tore through the hideous piles of human flesh that were the death eaters, reducing arms, legs and torsos into tiny pieces. The napalm was like icing on the cake to him, smothering the whole room in the fires of hell. It stuck to the flesh, to the walls, to everything, and burned. Burned until there was nothing left. Just the way he liked it.
After a few minutes the flames receded. They stepped out of the car.
H. Pizzy, also called Harry Potter by those who wanted to die, was the first to climb out of the massive armoured vehicle. At almost seven feet tall he was more than a force of nature. Even under heavy combat armour you could tell that he was more than enough to take on a small country bare-handed and win. Tossing it into the fucking sea or something. Maybe just smash it into the fucking moon or throw it into the sun. He was good with the ladies too.
H-man was bristling with weapons. His main squeeze was a pair of twelve gauge automatic shotguns, one in each hand. Those massive paws of his easily wrapped around those fuckers. With a 100 round drum in each it was more than enough fun to keep him entertained for at least the next five minutes.
Half-mad Ron leapt out like a monkey on crack. His wild red hair bristling in every direction. Beady black eyes darted across the room as he looked for souvenirs of his latest conquest. He had his flame-thrower slung on his right shoulder, primed and ready for action. Scuttling across to the largest mound he carried a large backpack filled with who the fuck knows what. "Half-mad" isn't just a nickname. Ron is actually half mad. The other half is fucking crazy.
And finally we come to Hermione "The Bitch" Granger. She's the kind of girl who knows what she wants. She wants your head to make friends with the bullets from her M60 machine gun. If you don't want some of that then how about a little present from the underslung grenade launcher? She's the only one in the crew to have cut off the balls of a living death eater. Nobody fucks with The Bitch.
Ron was working his way through a charred pile of soggy human flesh. "Fuck it smells like roast pig in here!" exclaimed the H-man.
"Yo, Weasel!" he said. "Let's get the fuck goin' already." Pizzy flexed a bicep toward the nearest door. Sure most people would have to point but, fuck, those biceps were bigger than most peoples heads.
The Bitch formed up on the door. Oh yeah, definite contact on the other side. She could hear those death eater pansies quaking in their little pink booties. Heh, maybe she'll give them time to start with their "magic" words before she saws them in half with that goddamn cannon she's packing. Nah. Fuck 'em. She'd rather shoot 'em in the nuts.
H-man and half-mad Ron walked up. Oh yeah bitches. A-crew is in the fucking house tonight!