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Disclaimer: I own not any of these characters, with the exception of the Piano Man, my very own Elwyn Banning. Otherwise…
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Sirius Black, Hermione Granger, Lavender Brown, Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy © J.K. Rowlings
Darren Shan and Kurda Smahlt © Darren O'Shaughnessy
Artemis Fowl and Butler © Eoin Coifer
Edward Elrich and Alphonse Elrich © Bones Studio / FUNimation (grrr…)
Legalos, Pippin Took and Merry Brandywine © J.R.R Tolkein
Sora and Riku © Square-Enix and Disney
Klaus Baudelaire © Lemony Snickett
Oh. I thought I might mention. This is me. So, therefore, you must expect some hints of slash and other forms of adult references. Hehe. XD
Inspired by a comic by Nyanko-Chan of DeviantART, and Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.
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The Stand
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It was one of those stereotypical cold, wet and dreary nights deep in the heart of a cold, wet and dreary township. It was the sort of town where one would be pushed into the mucky gutter, and everyone else passing by would be too busy to offer them a kindly helping hand. Some weren't even busy – they would stop, look at the person, then point and laugh.
It was a town filled with all sorts of scumbags and troublemakers, from petty pocket thieves right up to mobsters, corrupt politicians and pop stars. They ruled their town with an iron fist, refusing to relinquish their power and killing any who stood in their way.
But no matter how terrifying they were, there was something darker out there in those dirty streets.
Something terrible.
Something so horrible that to even whisper its name would cause several heart attacks to those close enough to hear the breathed syllables. Not even I, this Narrator brave enough to sit before you and tell you this story, dared say that name.
This story takes place in a dank, depressing tavern that made the Hog's Head look romantic. Set off the street in a dark alley, it was below ground level, one having to walk down several slippery steps in order to reach the doorway. This being said, the high-set dirty windows on that side of the room only allowed a small amount of light filter through, lighting the few small private booths located over there. There were a few plain wooden tables scattered higgledy-piggledy across the room, and beneath the dark counter (stained and discoloured, either from age, alcohol, or even blood) were tall stools. There was a single light, hung from a rafter in the middle of the ceiling, a simple light bulb with a metal cage around it to prevent it from being snapped off and used as a crude weapon. It had happened before.
The atmosphere of the tavern was none too pleasant; those that sat with their heads in their glasses had the sad, depressed look of repressed men, their eyes dull and without hope. Spread across the room in various positions, they talked to each other in soft murmurs, though every now and then, a short young man towards the centre of the room, wearing a red coat, his hair long, blonde, and worn in a braid, his eyes strangely golden, would occasionally stand up and break the silence by screaming something about the fact that he was so short. He would then be calmed down by the over-large man in armour sitting next to him, and the blonde would sit down with a huff. When this would occur, everyone else in the room would go silent for a second, stare at the young man, then go back to their own drinks and conversations.
The conversations themselves were of nothing greatly exciting - two young men in a darkened corner of the room, the blonde one English, the dark-haired Irish, seemed to be discussing some sort of ancient relic which would end up destroying a race of fairies who lived underground; a blonde man with pointed ears sat, banging his head on the table, as the two tiny men on either side of him raced to see who could finished a glass of beer almost the same size of them first; sitting with the short blonde man, a boy, his hair dark, a mite too young to be in a place such as thing, was being urged to drink something by his older friend; at the bar, a young man slept fitfully, his arms wrapped around a mug filled with something dark and red; while further up the bar, another blonde was complaining about his love life to the large, Eurasian barkeep. In another corner, a man with long, greasy black hair and an ugly hooked nose sat repeatedly stabbing a picture over and over again. Off to another side, another blonde man sat at a piano, playing a low-key, sad song, his singing just as low and sad.
However, not all were depressed – for instance, there was one red-haired young man sitting in a booth off to the side, who seemed to be enjoying himself. Hanging off either of his arms were two girls, one pretty and blonde, the other a bushy-haired brunette. He seemed to be taking turns between making out with the girls – he'd turn, pash one girl for about a minute, then turn and pash the other girl, and so on. Between snogs, the girl not being kissed would glare at the other with such ferocity that it was almost scary.
Despite the random shouts of the short blonde in the middle of the room, all was quiet. All was peaceful, in a depressed, peaceful sort of way.
The door swung open.
Conversation ceased as all turned to the see who it was.
The sound of rain.
A tall, thin man, his hair long and matted with dirt and other unsavoury things, his cape tattered, strode into the room purposefully, took a quick glance around, then settled himself at the bar. The large barkeep took one look at him, grabbed a glass, filled it with something off the hose, and slid the glass down the counter to the newcomer.
"On the house, Black," the big man said with a grim nod. "Heard you'd been through some tough times."
All Black did was growl his thanks, then shove his face into the glass.
The greasy-haired man in the corner glared at the newcomer, his picture-stabbing becoming more rapid and violent. Several times, he barely missed taking off the fingers of his other hand, something I'm sure he wouldn't have been happy with.
Everyone else went back to what they were doing.
"Who are you calling so small that you could step on him as if he were a miniscule bug and not realise it until they post 'Missing' signs!" The short blonde screamed, jumping to his feet. The armoured man next to him quickly pulled him down again. The young boys opposite him blinked slightly in surprise – they were still getting used to their drinking partner's yelling habits.
"Ni-san!" The armoured man was saying in a surprisingly childish voice. "He wasn't saying you were short…!"
Once more, the door swung open.
Once more, everyone fell silent.
But this time, it wasn't the sound of rain that was heard. It was the sound that all in the tavern knew – a sound that all in the tavern feared.
It was the sound of a thousand screaming girls.
Those in the room held their breath, too terrified to move.
A slim figure threw himself into the room, pulled out a wand, and pointed it at the door.
"Close! Close, you stupid door, close!" He screamed, almost throwing his wand with the force he was flicking it. Miraculously, the door slammed shut, and immediately the sound of the screaming girls was cut off.
Collectively, everyone let out a sigh of relief. Then all went back to whatever it was they had originally been doing.
Breathing heavily, this newest arrival pulled himself to his feet, pocketed his wand, dusted off his robes, then set his glasses straight. He took a quick glance around the tavern, and, upon spotting Black, let a small smile creep onto his pale features, walking over and seating himself between Black and the sleeping man.
"Hullo, Sirius," he said softly, giving the elder man a pat on the back. Sirius Black grinned wolfishly back.
"Harry," he said in greeting.
Behind them, the greasy-haired man in the corner gave a yell of pain. No one turned to look at him.
"Hey, Butler," Harry Potter called the barkeep, who turned to look at him questioningly, cleaning a glass. "One shot."
Butler, the large Eurasian barkeep, raised an eyebrow.
"Aren't you a little too young for that, Potter?" He asked. Potter gave him a blank look.
"After the experience I just went through, don't you agree I need something strong?"
Butler blinked.
"Point taken."
Within seconds, he poured the boy a drink, sending it hurtling down towards him. Harry caught it easily, raised it in cheers, then threw his head back and finished it in one go. He pulled a face.
"Whoa. Hit me again, 'keep," he called. With a slight grin, Butler did as he was told, and once more, Potter swallowed the lot. He called for another.
Beside Harry, the sleeping man stirred, then lifted his head slightly, his irregularly-cut hair standing on end. He looked around blearily, caught sight of Harry, and groaned.
"'llo, Darren!" Harry cried, slapping the other on the back heavily. Darren Shan spluttered, almost knocking his mug over but catching it with superhuman reflexes. He grinned shakily at Harry.
"Yo," he said sleepily, and yawned. "How's it hanging?"
Harry couldn't help but grimace, his hand dropping to his lap to make sure he was still all there, if you get what I mean.
"Barely. I was jumped by a group of-" he went quiet, and so did everyone else in the room. They all looked at each other uneasily. Then the dark second passed, and once more, everyone went back to their business. Harry glanced around, then dropped his voice. "-well, you know. I think they wanted to sell it on E-Bay."
Darren winced.
"Yeowch." He said, shaking his head, then took a swig from his mug. Harry peered into it warily.
"Blood?"
"Yup."
There was a moment of silence between the two as they mulled over their own thoughts. Harry ordered another shot of whisky – Darren took another swig from his mug. On the other side of the room, the piano man changed his song, playing another slow and melancholy tune.
"Who did you call a short beansprout who is so insignificant that you ignore him!" The short blonde screamed, once more jumping to his feet. The armoured man next to him sighed, tugging him down once more.
"Ni-san…"
"You know, the other day, I was jumped by one of… them… too," Darren said softly, swirling his mug of blood languidly. "Claiming she was a half-vampire, half-vampaneze princess who was destined to save the world and have my baby (even though vampires and vampaneze are barren) and that she had the power to destroy Mr. Tiny, and that we were supposed to live together forever…" Darren chuckled shortly, shaking his head. "God, they're getting crazier every day."
"I know what you mean, Shan," Black growled. "I had one come up to me earlier today saying that she was an old classmate of mine who had saved me from being kidnapped by Merpeople when we went to school or some rot like that."
"I had another one saying she was Steve's half-sister and that her true name was Moonfyre Kisaragi and that she was a witch stronger than even Lady Evanna," Darren said, taking another swig of his drink.
"How about one swearing she was a dog who could turn into a human, and swore that we had a relationship when we were in dog form?" Black countered. Both he and Darren paused, going over what he said. They shivered at the same time.
"Ew," they said.
"Who did you call-!" The blonde began, but was cut off when the armoured man clamped his large hand over his brother's mouth.
"Ni-san!"
Between Sirius and Darren, Harry put down his sixth shot. Now, he was swaying slightly on his seat, his glasses askew.
"You know what?" He asked, pointing his finger at Darren. "You know? I'm sick of this."
"Sick of what, Harry?" Darren asked, though he knew perfectly well what he was sick of.
"Well… you know…" Harry trailed off, then shook his head, his voice rising. "Them. I'm sick of them claiming to be my long-lost soul mate. I'm sick of them randomly walking up to me and groping me. I'm sick of them thinking they have the right to break into my house and steal my collection of Draco's stolen underwear!"
The blonde in the corner, who had been discussing something rather suspicious with the Irishman, looked up and glared at Harry.
"I want them back, Potter!" He growled. Harry turned around and pulled a face.
"Only if you come over to my place and wear them for me, Draco darling, maybe that little green number," he said with a giggle. Draco's face went pale than its normal unhealthy pallor, and he quickly turned back to the Irishman.
Harry giggled again, then grew serious, planting his hands onto the counter.
"Oi, Butler, hit me again!" He cried. Reluctantly, Butler filled him another glass and sent it flying down his way. Harry caught it deftly, then somehow pulled himself up, so that he was now standing on the counter. Darren and Black exchanged glances.
"I'm sick of them walking up to me and saying that they're Voldemort's daughter, and that they're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and that if I fell in love with her I'd be able to help her kill her father!"
By now, he was getting attention. Everyone else was stopping what they were doing and slowly turning to look at him, somewhat amazed by what Harry was saying.
"I'm sick of being approached by them claiming to be half-Veela and more beautiful than Fleur, and Gabrielle, an-and Ginny put together!"
He threw his head back, sculling another shot, then waved his glass around.
"Oi, Harry!" The redhead with his two girls called from his booth, a large, dopey grin on his face. "Gerroff the counter, you're drunk, mate!"
Harry whirled around to glare at him.
"Hey, Ron," he growled, still glaring. "At least you get paired with Hermy and Lavender. At least they're cannon!"
Ron huffed, and turned to pash Hermione. Lavender crossed her arms and glared.
"Oi, Lavender," Harry called. The blonde looked at him and pursed her lips.
"What, Harry?" She asked distastefully. He sneered at her.
"Let me just tell you a few things: a, Ron is Hermy's! B, men don't enjoy being called baby-names! C, men also don't like wearing jewellery! E – oh, wait, is it d? Or f? Anyway, Ron dumped you in the middle of the book, so bugger off, you tart."
Lavender's face crumpled, and within seconds, she ran from the room crying. There was a ragged cheer around the room. Ron didn't even notice her go – Hermione had grabbed both sides of his face to make sure he was entirely attached to her.
Harry gave a lopsided grin, bowed sloppily then turned back to the rest of the room.
"I'm sick of being forced to screw women I don't even know!" He cried, continuing his monologue.
The miserable-looking blonde man at the counter, who had previously been complaining to Butler about his love life, looked up from his mug of blood.
"At least you get to screw women, Potter," he said sadly, and sniffed. "I'm forced to shag men."
Darren frowned.
"I thought you liked screwing men, though, Kurda," he pointed out. Kurda Smahlt shrugged.
"I do, but only to a certain extent – according to them, I'm some sort of man-slut who screws every man in sight. Do you know how badly that has ruined my reputation? And anyway," he paused, shuddering. "I've been… forced on by Mika and Vancha. At the same time."
He closed his eyes, dropping his head at the memory, and gave a loud sob. There was a moment of silence, while Butler patted his back consolingly. Kurda shuddered again, and glanced up.
"And for the record, I have not had a relationship with a blonde elf-like piano man."
The song being played on the piano jolted as the player missed a note, but it continued on, so that no one in the room noticed his brief sob.
"I know how you feel, Kurda," a soft, boyish voice from the centre table came. All eyes rested on the young brown-haired boy who sat opposite the short blonde. The little brunette looked around awkwardly, and gulped. "They… they make Riku… they make him rape me… over and over again."
The platinum haired boy next to him looked grave, wrapping an arm around his friend in a completely mate-like manner.
"And I can't say I'm proud of it," Riku said with a nod. "I'd never want to hurt Sora."
Sora shivered in his friend's arms.
Opposite him, the short blonde folded his arms, also nodding gravely.
"Yeah, they always pair me up with Roy Mustang, of all people! Do you know how painful that man is? So bigheaded and cocky and 'Oh, look at me, I'm so special because I can click my fingers and make you go BOOM!' and, 'OH MY GOD, LOOK HOW SHORT YOU'VE GOTTEN ED!'" Ed Elrich cried, then jumped to his feet. "But not only Roy – they've also approached me, saying that they're the Goddess Alchemist, (always the Goddess Alchemist, never anything slightly more creative) the most powerful alchemist the world has ever seen, and that they're part homonoculus that has found a soul, and, oh! Have my baby, Ed!"
"Ni-san!" His brother Al cried, yanking at Ed's arm. Ed gave a huff, and sat down abruptly.
"They don't understand just how stupid they are!" Ed growled.
"Some believe they aren't stupid at all, but rather they believe they have an intellect to match even mine," the dark-haired Irish boy sitting with Draco said with a smirk. "You don't know how many times I've been informed by one of those stupid little scantily-dressed… individuals… that they have twice the amount of brain power and could easily come up with plans thrice as fast as me."
"Which we all know, Artemis, is untrue," Butler, the barkeep, said with a wide smirk. Artemis Fowl smirked back.
"Indeed, Butler, indeed."
Harry, having picked up his ninth shot glass, looked around the tavern shakily, nodding with each case he heard and swaying dangerously.
"See? See? How can we live like this?" He asked, and took a little sip from his glass. "We, who are the heroes of our fandoms! We, who should have nothing to fear!"
The two little men who were drowning themselves in their glasses glanced up.
"Oi, that's right," one, the elder of the two, said with a hiccough. "Frodo and Sam are too afraid to even leave their holes because of them!"
"Yeah, and Rosie's prepared to go all-out Sauron on every one of them she sees because Sam's so frightened!" The other cried, and hiccoughed as well. The first glanced at the second.
"Didn't she say he's not performing in bed, Pippin?"
"I don't know, Merry, but what say we have another pint!" Peregrine Took cried.
"All right, you're on!" Merriadoc Brandywine cried back, and whirled around with his hand raised. Before he was able to make his order, though, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed under the table.
"Merry!" Pippin cried, and dived under the table to fish his friend out before he drowned in more ale.
Between them, the blonde-haired elf shook his head sadly, then looked back to Harry, his fine features set. He was a beautiful, even for an elf, his golden hair long and silky, his eyes a soft, chocolate brown, his fine body shape able to be seen under his even finer clothes –
"Excuse me, Miss Narrator," Legalos said suddenly, glaring with those beautiful eyes of his, so sharp they were almost like daggers "-please refrain from commenting on my appearance so extensively, or else I will pull out a real dagger and attack you with it."
Oh. Shutting up.
Legalos cleared him throat, and glanced back towards Harry.
"You may be feeling rebellious about this, but what are you going to do about it – one man against thousands of them?" He asked softly. Harry blinked, swaying on the spot.
"I hadn't thought of that."
"You've got me, Harry," Black, his glass cradled in his arms, said with a firm nod.
"Since half the entire vampire nation has been paired up with each other, you have our entire support," Darren said, raising his mug.
"Hear hear," Kurda called.
"And you've got the Keyblade behind you, too," Sora said. Riku nodded his agreement.
Ed folded his arms, his automail arm that gave him the name 'FullMetal Alchemist' creaking.
"Need I say you have the alchemists as well?" He asked. At the back of the room, Artemis sighed.
"Butler?"
"Yes?"
"Should we?"
"It's your decision, sir."
Artemis sighed again.
"Well, I suppose they are getting on my nerves," he said with yet another sigh. "Very well. You have this Fowl behind you, and no doubt I will be able to persuade the LEPrecons to join your cause."
Legalos looked grave.
"You have my arrow."
"And our blades!" Pippin's voice came from under the table. "Oi, Merry – wake up!"
Harry glanced at the last four who had not spoken – Draco, Ron, Hermione and the greasy-haired man.
"Well, Draco?" Harry asked. "I'll give you back your underwear…"
Draco scowled angrily.
"Oh, all right!" He spat, then crossed his arms and glared at the table sullenly. Harry smirked, then glanced towards Ron and Hermione. He rolled his eyes when he saw that they were still attached to each other.
"Well, they're behind me, they're my best friends," Harry slurred.
And then everyone turned to the last one in the room. He was glaring down at his hand, which was strangely covered in blood though there was no injury. His knife was also covered in blood, as was the table in front of him.
I told you he'd cut a finger off.
"Oh," Harry said, and swayed. "Snape."
Severus Snape looked up slowly. All eyes were on him, except for those of the piano man, who continued to play away. Snape's upper lip curled up in a sneer.
"Do you know what I'm sick of…?" He asked softly. "Me. Being forced to take pleasure in having a sexual relationship with two of my most hated students, Potter and Granger. Being forced to have a sexual relationship with any (or all) of the Marauders-"
"You weren't complaining about it at the time," Sirius mumbled into his drink.
"-being forced to have a sexual relationship with almost every member of the Malfoy family. Being told to like 'bondage' and 'leather' and all of those stupid sorts of things. Being called 'Snapey-wapey' or 'Sevy' or something equally as horrid."
Snape paused, and sniffed. "As much as I hate you, Potter – I'm with you."
Harry clapped, and accidentally spilt his drink. Darren leaned over slightly so that the liquid barely missed him.
"Butler – hit me!" Harry called. Butler sighed, and complied, handing Harry another shot. He sculled it, and let the glass drop, which Darren reached out and caught neatly. "Right, then, men – oh, and woman. Tonight, we are going to stand together!"
There was a ragged cheer from the group.
"Tonight, we are going to stand against those that oppress us!"
Another ragged cheer.
"Tonight," Harry said, and paused for dramatic effect, eyeballing each and every one of the people in room, even Ron and Hermione – with the exception of the piano man, who was still playing away. "Tonight, we will make our stand!"
Everyone in the room gave a loud, brave cheer.
The door swung open, and a small figure came tumbling in.
The cheering died off – even the piano man stopped playing. All that could be heard was the sound of rain, and of the new person's panting.
He pulled himself to his feet, straightening his glasses and his dirty suit coat. Thus, having composed himself, he spoke:
"They're coming."
And then he collapsed.
"Dude," Harry said, seriously having trouble keeping his balance now. "Was that Klaus Baudelaire?"
But no one answered.
They were too busy to answer.
They were too busy… too busy listening to the sound.
That terrifying sound once more.
"They're…" Kurda whispered.
"They're coming, oho!" Harry cried, leaning over and picking up a bottle of rum. "Woo hoo, they're coming! Let them come! We'll show them! We'll make our stand tonight, oh yes we will! Oi, Piano Man – play us a song! Something brave, something great, something fitting of our last stand! I know – 'Piano Man' by Billy Joel, eh, eh?" He cackled at his own joke, cracking his bottle open and drinking straight from the broken top. Outside, the sound was coming ever closer.
Inside, there was not a sound to be heard, but for Harry sculling his drink.
"Oi – Piano Boy! Start playing!" He paused, and turned around.
There was no one left in the room.
"Uh… guys? Guys? Hello?"
He looked around uncertainly. "Um… what happened to making a stand…?"
The screaming girls were at the door now.
"…guys?"
And this is where even I left through the secret back door, which was used by every other person who had been smart (and sober) enough to leave the room before that terrible force stormed it.
What became of Harry? No one knows. Some say he stood brave that day, under a horde of raging thems, taking down at least ten before succumbing to their groping hands. Others say he broke down as soon as he saw them and begged for his life.
However, those who had been in that dank, depressing tavern that day knew that he had decided he would make a drunken stand against them –
The most terrifying force in this township –
The Fangirls.
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A.N Now that was fun. MWUAHAHAHAHA! I've been writing that all afternoon. Haha. Longest story in the shortest amount of time ever. W00t, w00t, schiznet, f00.
My apologies for the randomness and out-of-characterness. However, if I have offended you in some way, I do not apologise. I have a thing against most forms of Mary-Sues, as described loosely above. But don't worry, I even made fun of myself up there as well. So… yes…