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Ayn Rand’s Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone
- Thread starter Nilly
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Had potential, but meh.
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I liked the Charlotte's Web rewrite better. From that:
“This is my egg sac, my magnum opus, my great work, the finest thing I have ever made. Inside are my eggs, five hundred and fourteen of them. I counted them. I got started counting, so I kept on, just to keep my mind occupied. I guarantee it is strong. It’s made out of the toughest material I have. It is also waterproof. The eggs are inside and will be warm and dry. In a day or two I’ll be dead. I haven’t strength enough to climb into the crate. I doubt if there is enough silk in my spinnerets to lower me to the ground.”
A tiny spider crawled from the sac. It looked just like Charlotte. The little spider waved at him. Wilbur moved closer. Then more baby spiders crawled from the sac and waved.
“My children,” Charlotte whispered, almost too faint to hear. “Whether or not you deserve the name of Charlotte’s children is up to you, to earn or to lose. You must expect no special treatment simply because I gave birth to you.”
“ᴡᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ,” the spiderlets chittered back.
“Before I go,” she said, “I will give you the only lesson there is to learn, and it is this: What is freedom? To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing.”
With that, she died. Her children seized at once upon her body and began to consume it, wasting none of her valuable nutrients. “ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪғᴛ ᴏғ ғʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪғᴛ ᴏғ ғᴏᴏᴅ,” they chorused.
“At last,” cried Fern, waving happily at Wilbur as he disappeared onto the back of a truck after five long and happy years on the farm, “I’ve got enough money for that freight-car. Think of how many pigs I can fit on that!”
Everyone had learned a wonderful lesson about capitalism.
“This is my egg sac, my magnum opus, my great work, the finest thing I have ever made. Inside are my eggs, five hundred and fourteen of them. I counted them. I got started counting, so I kept on, just to keep my mind occupied. I guarantee it is strong. It’s made out of the toughest material I have. It is also waterproof. The eggs are inside and will be warm and dry. In a day or two I’ll be dead. I haven’t strength enough to climb into the crate. I doubt if there is enough silk in my spinnerets to lower me to the ground.”
A tiny spider crawled from the sac. It looked just like Charlotte. The little spider waved at him. Wilbur moved closer. Then more baby spiders crawled from the sac and waved.
“My children,” Charlotte whispered, almost too faint to hear. “Whether or not you deserve the name of Charlotte’s children is up to you, to earn or to lose. You must expect no special treatment simply because I gave birth to you.”
“ᴡᴇ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀsᴛᴀɴᴅ, ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ,” the spiderlets chittered back.
“Before I go,” she said, “I will give you the only lesson there is to learn, and it is this: What is freedom? To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing.”
With that, she died. Her children seized at once upon her body and began to consume it, wasting none of her valuable nutrients. “ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪғᴛ ᴏғ ғʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪғᴛ ᴏғ ғᴏᴏᴅ,” they chorused.
“At last,” cried Fern, waving happily at Wilbur as he disappeared onto the back of a truck after five long and happy years on the farm, “I’ve got enough money for that freight-car. Think of how many pigs I can fit on that!”
Everyone had learned a wonderful lesson about capitalism.
