Title: The Chronicles of Bad Fanfiction.

Disclaimer: (rolls eyes) Dude, GET REAL!!

Warnings: Slash, bad humour, general lameness, language, rape, suicidal thoughts, self-mutilation, etc.

Setting: After HBP.

A/N: This is a place for all my fanfiction parodies to go. Each one will be a separate chapter. The first one is a Harry/Malfoy parody. Please don't take offence; I actually love this ship. It also amuses me. No offence is meant to anyone by this story, including homosexuals, people who have been raped, people who are suicidal or self-mutilate, or just the general population. Please review!

- - -

It was the summer before Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts. He was feeling awfully depressed, as he was forced to stay with the Dursleys alone, even though Ron and Hermione had clearly stated that they'd accompany him. Jerks.

Harry gave a sigh. He was depressed. He was cutting himself. He was suicidal.

He wanted Draco Malfoy.

Yes. Harry had come to this conclusion in between the horrible beatings his uncle ('vErnnin') gave him, and between the not-so-occasional occasions when his cousin raped him.

"Harry!" his uncle spat, banging on his door, which immediately broke away from its hinges, tumbling to the ground to the rhythm of 'Bittersweet Symphony'. "I hate you! Your aunt hates you! Your cousin hates you! Oh, and 'cause I'm just sooooooo original at insults, WE HATE YOU!"

Harry, who would've already jumped to this conclusion in canon, bravely holds his tears back, until his uncle leaves. Then he cuts himself. And contemplates suicide. And fucking Malfoy.

Did I mention he's depressed?

This continues on for several more chapters, much like the first. Oh, and did you hear about Dudley's new bird? It's called Buster. And it's soooo much bigger than Hedwig.

Harry's poor owl didn't stand a chance against the King of Birdie-Rape.

So. Harry and Hedwig sobbed on each other's shoulders. And then one day...

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, peering out his window. "What are you doing here?"

"Isn't it obvious Potter?" Malfoy sneered. "I need some help. The Dark Lord is on my trail."

(Hear we may start to wonder why Malfoy goes to his arch enemy for help, when he's most likely furious at the fact that he killed one of the people he loved most in the world. Obviously, Harry doesn't.)

Harry stared into Malfoy's eyes. He was... beautiful.

'Did I just think that about Malfoy?' Harry wonders, in a boring internal monologue that would usually continue for several pages, but in this case, you are being spared the horror.

(And, yes Harry, you did.)

Malfoy was beautiful. His eyes were sparkling orbs of the deepest, coldest blue. His hair was long and golden, seemingly spun from the finest of all... hair spinners? He was wearing a black silk shirt, and black leather pants. He smelled like moonlight. (WTF?)

Gawd, he was beautiful.

Malfoy peered up coyly from beneath his eyelashes. "Like what you see, Potter?"

Harry blushed. "I-"

"We can't be together, Potter!" Malfoy cried, turning away. "My father, your status in the world... it just wouldn't work out."

"What wouldn't?" Harry asked, confused.

Malfoy blinked. "Did I say that out loud?"

Harry nodded. Malfoy blinked.

Again.

"So, can I stay here, Harry?" Malfoy pleaded.

"Harry?"

"I- I-"

They stared deeply into each other's eyes. It was the moment that defined their relationship.

"Harry," Malfoy breathed.

It was then that they realised they were fighting a battle they couldn't win. And, frankly, they weren't quite sure they wanted to.

"Draco," Harry breathed back. (. . .)

In one movement, Harry had pressed his lips to 'Draco's'. Their tongues battled/wrestled/sparred/fought/struggled for dominance.

(And the readers look around for their puke-buckets.)

"I love you, Harry," Malfoy confessed, drawing away, finally. "But... we can never be together. You see-"

"Let me guess," said Harry, thoughtfully. "You're a Veela? And my prophesised 'mate'?"

"How did you...?"

"I read fanfiction, too."

(Insert really squicky sex scene, including the obligatory phrase 'pulsing echo of manhood'.)

(Readers look for therapy...)

"Damn. I love you, Harold James Potter."

(It's Harry, I tell you!)

"I love you too, Dracotemis Luciususususus Malfoy."

"Wicked. Let's get hitched."

"Sure, Drakie-baby."

So. They got married, in a big ceremony, with lots of flowers and chocolate. Then they decided that, since they were gay, they had to act gay. Harry and Draco each took a vow to never wear anything but pink, and drink nothing but mineral water. They had lots of little babies, named (insert Marty Stu name here) and (insert Mary Sue name here). And the author happily continued her life in utter ignorance of how babies were made, and how the word 'vErnnin' was spelt.

A/N: Please review, guys! Any advice or criticism warmly accepted!