Hermione Granger: Vampire Hunter
A nice proper synopsis.In an alternative universe, situated a safe distance from anything of any real literary distinction, something dark is stalking the streets of Hogsmede. Who in the wizarding world will stand to fight this unspeakable evil? That's right. With the help of our two favourite flaming homosexuals, a necrophilic harlot (though only on a technicality) and Ron, everyone's favourite injustice-fighting femininja is on the case.
Author's note.Two days after coming on exam leave, I had a thought. Should I use my new found freedom for the good of mankind? Should I earn some money and travel? Train hop up to London and take on national politics? Or just sit in my room for three months, drinking milkshake and watching every episode of Buffy ever made? Well, ten weeks and about a stone and a half later, here I am. I need a life or more shifts at Oxfam (woo for sudden morality) or for term to start again. Onwards though.
Also, could someone in passing please tell me whether it's polite ettiquette to reply to reviews or whether this is considered a bit creepy?
Chapter One.
Nothing awful occurred down in the village of Hogsmede until the night of the twenty sixth of October, when the extra hour of darkness brought about a sudden surge in the numbers of creatures of darkness walking the streets by night. This rather displeases both those of a disposition to be displeased but for the rest of the residents, who know to carry the odd piece of garlic or a stake, are fine with it. Generally, creatures of darkness cause less fuss than, say, bedbugs, which can be right buggers, or the odd rampant goat, which has been know to take a human life.
But news of the unrest soon reaches the school nearby, and Hogwart's teaching staff, worry mongers that they are, the majority of them fly into blind panic at the prospect of having their students taken out by things with teeth. Consequently, the students are placed under a rigorously guarded constant curfew, allowed out only for bouts of improving physical exercise.
This regime change has little to no effect on the majority of students either, with, of course, one notably irritated exception.
For who is there to stand up for the oppressed over such issues like littering and salacious couples in corridors?
Hermione Granger, the student council's poster girl, decided to undertake a quest of a different variety, which she explains to her most understanding companion at breakfast the following morning.
"I am going to eradicate this vampire problem once and for all," she tells Ginny Weasley over toast and mysterious purple yogurt.
"Seriously?" The youngest, most lascivious Weasley is bemused. "How do you know they're vampires?"
"Oh come on, you read enough bad teen novels to see the signs! Men in black! Panting virgins disappearing from the streets! The mysterious disappearances of stake manufacturers! It all points to one thing. Vampires." Before Ginny can make the observation that killing the undead is quite a change from making first years aware of the location of litter bins, Hermione ploughs on. "So I thought, what would any good, wholesome member of the magical community be doing to stop this vile plague? And I came up with an answer. Hunting them down like dogs."
A little perturbed, Ginny voices a thought.
"You know that killing vampires is illegal for a wizard or witch, right? Because they're magical too. I mean, occasionally, a trigger happy muggle with a crossbow bags one and gets off scott free but it's a crime for us. We're supposed to know better."
"I know. Sodding nanny state. I read up on it. The law does say that but," she pauses for effect, her voice thick with smugness, "it also declares that should a vampire attack your person or property, you are permitted to use reasonable force in defense, so long as you have issued said vampire with a clear, reasoned verbal warning before hand." Oh dear, Ginny thinks, she's been giving this too much thought. "I have taken the liberty of proposing a little something. Hem hem." From the breast pocket of her blouse, she pulls out a neatly folded square of paper, makes a good fuss over opening it and reads it aloud. "I, the assaulted and/or owner of this property chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains of being staked, beheaded, set aflame, shot or otherwise injured for riotous behaviour that endangers human existence or property."
"God save the King?" Ginny adds, giving her the thumbs up but frowning somewhat. She's rather against the idea of slaughtering members of the undead. Those that she has known have been charming and always prepared to buy her drinks. "They're not all bad you know. Kidnapping a few virgins is neither here nor there. I mean, Hufflepuff's nearly full at the moment. Maybe some decrease in the student population could be a good thing. Encouraged, even."
"Just because you're safe, you man grabbing harlot," someone behind them adds. Ginny makes an ugly gurgling noise, something, Hermione thinks, between a cackle and a gross regurgitation, and slaps the handsome young man behind her on the thigh.
"Oh, you can talk!" she giggles, in a manner better benefiting a character from a Carry On film. "Is this a flying visit or are we being graced by your presence for breakfast?"
Being a practising member of the British lower-middle classes, Hermione is made nervous by openly acidic gay men. Draco Malfoy makes her twitch. Ginny thinks this hilariously funny. To her, Malfoy is fantastic. He offers a whole new world of bitchiness, with the added bonus that she is no longer expected to sleep with Harry Potter.
"What do you want," Hermione asks, rather freshly, as she digs back in to her toast.
"Your vivacious charm knocks me down again, Granger," Malfoy says, curling his fingers through a handful of her frizzy little curls. She slaps him away and scowls. "I don't suppose you've seen my sweetheart have you?"
"Miss him on the way out of bed this morning?" she says, attempting an imitation of his luscious acidity and failing.
"Tish and pish, my lovely," he says. "We do more than just have riotous bouts of sex. We sometimes play chess."
Hermione makes a gargling noise in disgust, but before she can make any kind of angry retort, the cur is gone, gone to the arms of his lover, who has just entered the Great Hall.
"I don't know whether I prefer him as an imperialistic, narcissistic, bigoted twat or the love child of Julian Clary and Right Said Fred," she mumbles.
"You're just jealous because he being in love suits him and that Harry lost his virginity before you." Hermione chokes on her toast. "Oh, it's true. You're clearly just channelling your aggression at not getting shagged into fighting members of the undead. Face it, you're only fighting them because you're too scared to pick on a Ravenclaws and you think if you hit a vampire hard enough, their arms'll fall off and when it doesn't happen you'll either end up dead or at least really cross, and you'll blame it on me."
This usually happens. Being a Friend of Hermione, a title which both deserves and rightfully receives capital letters, Ginny has had to bear the brunt of various failed campaigns. September is the worst time of year. There are only so many times one can be berated for the shortcomings in the fight against litter before one gets really fucking pissed.
"I know what I'm up against," Hermione says, somewhat primly.
"I don't think you do," Ginny tells her. "You've never dated one."
"Aah, necromancy," Harry says, sidling down beside them. "Is there nothing you haven't tried in the name of experimentation and debauchery?"
Hermione tries to persuade the newly arrived Ron to share her opinion but he is distracted, firstly by verbally expressing his repulsion at Harry and Draco's blase base practises at the breakfast table and then by bacon.
"Sweetie," Ginny say, pushing herself between Draco and Harry in an act of extreme strength and gymnasticism, "you're not a vampire are you?"
"You'd be suprised the number of members of the landed gentry have been beheaded by piss-stupid peasants," Draco says waving an idle hand, forged, as he would say, by generations of cleverly engineered inbreeding.
Despite the apparent return to pigheadedness, the Malfoy's regard of others has improved, to the surprise and joy of the majority of the student body. Gone are the days of referring to Hufflepuffs as cannon fodder. Malfoy of the ruling classes appears to have entangled himself with Tess of D'Urbevilles, and this not being Hardy, it seems to have done him the world of good.
But enough with sentiment. To an increasingly disinterested audience, Hermione continues to detail her plans.
"I'm going to find the school's armoury," she says firmly. "There must be one. Magical schools are constantly under attack during the Reformation."
Ignoring this, Ron digs in to her breakfast.
"Are you saying," Draco says, suddenly taking an interest in her auto-conversation, "that Luther, in between nailing his ninety-five theses to the Wittenburg Schlosskirche and generally disputing shit with the papacy, gathered up a posse of Protestants to torch the magical youth of the Early Modern period?"
Hermione dislikes this. Her boys never answered back.
"Oh, piss off," she says crossly. No one ever brought up Muggle History with her before. Deciding to abandon her scheme of gentle coaxing and hints, she hits them with the metaphorical stick of menace.
"You all owe me money!" she says triamphantly. "So help me or I'll take you all to court for embezzlement."
"How come you owe her money?" Ginny asks Draco for lack of anything better to do, as Ron tries to barter his way out of duty and Harry licks marmalade off his hand.
"Oh, I never carry money," the erstwhile blond says, with a sporadic camp hand gesture.
What is left unsaid, of course, is that this is only because the wizarding world has yet to bring in cash machine to hex.
He may still be slightly against the integration of muggles into the magical community, but Draco Malfoy is not above the purposeful deceit of muggle, in pursuit of his own glorious happiness.
He's an aristocrate and a crook but it suits some. In his mind, it equates him with Casanova.
Oh, for the legendary vanity and ignorance of the rich!
Gymnasticism qualifies as a word, I think, because my mother uses it. This is how my world of communication works.
Bon nuit to you, good readers, if you made it to the end here, but do not fear, there's more to come.