Disclaimer: Come on, do you really think Jo would write what's coming next?

Author's Note: This marks the arrival of yet another parody in the HP fandom. I hope you find it entertaining…and catch the nods to the ridiculous clichés that are often fond in mediocre fanfiction.

This is done purely for humour; thus many liberties have been taken with the character's personalities. If that is not your cuppa tea, feel free to check out the other stories on my profile.

Also, props to anyone who can catch the many references to different movies, plays and historical figures.

"Was this the face that launched a thousand ships...?"
The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus by Christopher Marlow
^v^v^v^

It started, as these things usually do, with a young woman.

With the face of an angel, lashes as long as a hippogriff's wing span, liquid eyes that were so deep that the Great Squid took up residence there every winter, insert-melodramatic-metaphors-here…you get the point. She was hot.

So incredibly gorgeous was she, in fact, that she had captured the heart of the Chosen One himself. But more about that later.

How, you ask, did this fair young lady even enter the sacred heart of Hogwarts in the first place?

After all, aren't there complex wards in place to prevent unwanted visitors from entering without express permission? Aren't wizards and witches prevented from Apparating into Hogwarts itself?

Well, it was actually very easy.

This witch was The Most Powerful Deity in The World.

Do you accept that at face value?

I hope you do, because this author assumes that the readers can fill in the blanks themselves. After all, why bother wasting space with valuable background information when you could just skip to the part where the 'main character' meets and greets the Golden Covered Trio. Actually, if we're following that train of thought, why even bother having the story at all?

But this author digresses, and hopes you will accept her supreme apology. She promises that she will no longer insert herself in annoying interludes into the story.

Anyway, she appeared in the middle of the Great Hall as naked as the day she sprang from Lucifer's womb—for anyone that beautiful had to have malicious intentions. Every male eye—and a few female ones too—trained instantly upon her luscious breasts and curvy hips that were cocked at a precise 37-degree angle to entice onlookers. Her lips parted, and hark, the sweetest voice graced the air, caressing the ears of everyone who was present.

"My name is Freyaphrodite Venushera. And I am a transfer student from Haiti."

Immediately, the roar of applause rang throughout the hall as the students accepted her without question. Never mind that they had all lived throughout the rein of Voldemort. No, their natural suspicion simply did not make an appearance.

All except one.

Hermione Granger, largely accepted as the smartest witch in the entire universe and beyond, pressed her lips together and glared as the girl snapped her fingers and a set of clothes appeared instantly on her body. That they were incredibly revealing and did not at all adhere to the school uniform did not seem to perturb anyone. In fact, many teachers joined the students in staring at the three-inch strip of skin between where her "shirt" ended and where her skirt began.

McGonagall, who was not beyond appreciating fine teenage flesh, licked her lips before pushing up from her seat and proclaiming, "Miss Venukyr…Miss Vekry…Miss V, you are to be sorted into Gryffindor."

"What?" At this injustice, Hermione stood up in protest. "Professor, that's a complete perversion of our system! Sorting exists for a reason—"

"Now, now," said Dumbledore affably. "Miss Granger doth protest too much. Just because you are afraid of…Miss…Ve…I'm not even going to bother trying to pronounce your name…Miss V's beauty, is no reason to be petty and vindictive. 100 points from Gryffindor."

"The term hasn't even started yet!" Hermione cried.

"Then I'll suppose you'll have to begin in the negative, yes? 50 more points for being logical."

"And she doesn't even have a real name!"

"Hermione isn't a real name," pointed out Dumbledore, infuriatingly illogical.

"Have you even read Shakespeare?" snapped Hermione.

"I find him to be a dreadful bore."

"Well, her name is just a bunch of gods put together! I know my mythology," she said, a joke that was largely missed by everyone save Terry Boot. But he's not important at this juncture. "And I highly doubt a Haitian would—"

"Miss Granger, there is no need for racist comments. 60 points from Gryffindor."

Hermione sat down dejectedly, recognizing a defeat when she saw one.

To make matters worse, the girl had decided to grace their part of the table with her presence, sitting too close to Ron for Hermione's comfort. Hermione had liked Ron for ages, but was much to shy to voice her love—which was obvious to the entire population of Hogwarts—except for Ron. So Hermione had settled for driving off any predatory rivals with a swift glare and a Confundus Charm.

As V settled her body practically on top of Ron's lap, Hermione covertly drew her wand and pointed it under the table, deciding to go with a non-verbal spell. As she flicked her wrist to the left, a voice said, "What are you doing?"

Hermione jumped and fell off the bench.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," she hissed at Neville, straightening her skirt and attempting to act as though nothing was wrong.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you," said Neville, confused. "Why was your wand under the table?"

"I was polishing it."

"During dinner?"

Hermione gave herself a mental head slap.

Next time, make sure no one can see you.

"I-yes," Hermione stuttered, her heart thudding to the bottom of her stomach at Neville's unconvinced face. Do something Granger!

"Right…"

Just as Hermione was about to dissolve into a panicked mental breakdown, an idea occurred to her. She gave him a falsely confident smile. "Didn't you know that six o'clock is the optimum time for wands? If you massage the wood thirteen times and then give it a good polishing, it will work better for you the next time you do Transfiguration. I read it in Famous Wandmakers of the 18th Century."

"Really? I should try that."

"Try what?" came the silken soft strains of V's voice.

She was now curled up with Harry, after apparently making the rounds from Ron to Seamus to Draco Malfoy to Dean to Ernie to Cedric (back from the dead) to Remus (apparently teaching again) to Sirius (apparently alive) to Luscious Malfoy (Um, Ew) to Ron once more to Snape to McGonagall.

All of them were looking extremely satiated and tired. Snape was even taking a nap on Dumbledore's shoulder, and the headmaster seemed to enjoy this quite a bit, judging from the secretive smile on his aged face.

Hermione shuddered mentally at the misdeeds being committed right under her perfectly prefect nose. This was simply a disgrace to the natural working order of society. How dare this unnatural swamp thing invade her school, seduce her sort of boyfriend, and then proceed to cheat on him with the Boy-Who-Was-Currently-Snogging-Lucifer's-Daughter and several other miscellaneous people?! There was no limit to the sphere of her control and the damage that she could inflict. Now, Hermione was certain that poor Neville would be sucked under the vixen's spell as well.

The symptoms would be all too clear, and far too advanced to stop.

First, a vacant glaze would enter his eyes as every thought of every other girl was wiped clear from his brain.

Then, he would begin to drool copious amounts of saliva, and look at V as though she were the best chocolate truffle that money could buy…and then some.

The last stage of Vism would be final and irrevocable love, and the death of all rationality.

Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the world to end.

But Neville was apparently made of stronger stuff. He simply eyed her with a bit of curiosity and said, "Hermione says that if you polish your wand during dinner, it'll work better."

The double entendre woke Seamus from his post coital induced nap and he shouted, "That's what she said!" He and Dean exchanged high fives, then collectively slumped back into unconsciousness.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Finnegan."

V let out a throaty, high, low, charming, beautiful, wonderful chuckle. "Well, Hermione, I think you're wrong."

The world stopped spinning.

"WHAT??" shouted the Inhabitants of the Entire Wizarding World and Some Knowledgeable Muggles Who Know the Capacity of Hermione Granger's Very Large Brain.

"Yes," said V, her glorious eyes gleaming with a watery tear of great sadness. "Hermione Granger is Wrong. I know everything, you know. I have read every single book that was ever printed in the entire world and talked to God, Confucius, Hadrian, Nero, Jesus Christ, Mother Theresa, Kofi Anan, Sadaam Hussein, Barack Obama, Winston Churchill, Merlin—"

"We get the point," said Neville curtly. "You're smart."

"But it does make sense," said Dumbledore, nodding.

"I'm better than Hermione in every single way," said V, sickeningly sweet. "I'm smarter than her, every boy wants me, and my fashion taste is impeccable!"

"Stripper," coughed Neville.

"This is why I shall be the star of everything!" she proclaimed, ignoring Neville's outburst. "Forget Voldemort, let's talk about my love affairs with every male in Hogwarts. Who cares about Harry? I'm much more interesting!"

If Harry hadn't been a mess of hormones, he most certainly would have protested.

"But I willdefeat Voldemort tomorrow after classes!" V shouted, gesticulating wildly as the entire population of Hogwarts (sans Hermione and Neville) looked on avidly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go sex up Harry in my dorm room!"

And she dragged a half-conscious Harry away to the consternation of the only two sane people.

"We have to do something," said Hermione grimly. "She must be stopped."

Suddenly, in a great display of dues ex machina, a strong gust of wind blew through the hall. A book dropped from the ceiling and smacked down on Colin Creevey's head.

"That's it!" exclaimed Hermione, scurrying over to where he lay on the floor.

She stepped over the growing pool of blood and picked up the book eagerly.

"Um…Hermione…" Neville said nervously. "I think Creevey's injured…"

"Oh, he'll be fine," she said dismissively.

"Help!" Colin croaked weakly. "I think my head's broken."

Hermione didn't even look up. "It's just a scratch."

"I can see brain matter!"

"Do you want me to shut him up or should I?" asked Hermione in a business-like tone, drawing her wand with a decidedly militant eye.

"What's your version of 'shutting him up'?" Neville asked suspiciously.

"It might or might not be the Killing Curse combined with me Oblivating you to forget we ever had this conversation."

"I was just going to drop the book on his head again, but I like your way better."

"So it's settled, then?"

"All in favor of Colin Creevey dying, please raise your hand!" Hermione shouted.

All four houses and the staff table raised their hands. Dennis Creevey raised his twice.

"Yes! Dibbs on his Wizard Card Collection," Dennis said.

"Good-bye, Mr. Anderson," said Hermione, donning black sunglasses.

"What the—?" Colin asked, confused.

"Just roll with it," Neville said, also donning black sunglasses. "I'll see you but you won't see me."

"Wrong movie reference, Neville. Avada Kedavra!"

"Fifty points for excellent spell work, Ms. Granger," said McGonagall, fanning herself with a hand. "Dear me, it's hot in here, isn't it, Pomona?"

"You're having a hot flash, Minerva," Sprout replied tartly.

"What's wrong, dear?'

"Why do you always have to sink your claws into every young thing that walks by? Aren't you happy with what we have?"

"Now is not the time, my dear." McGonagall looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Sprout stood, drawing attention from the non-comatose students and staff. "You said we had something special!"

"It was only one night..."

"I'll remember it forever," Sprout said dramatically. "Good night, Minerva!"

With a dramatic swish of her cloak, she hurried down from the High Table.

"Don't do this!" McGonagall shouted. She stood, toppling over her chair. "I love you! Monie, wait for me! My love!"

"Doesn't she mean Mione?" Flitwick asked mildly to no one in particular as McGonagall followed Sprout out from the Great Hall. "Isn't that Ms. Granger's nickname?"

"I don't have a nickname, sir," said Hermione through gritted teeth. "And you completely missed the point of that conversation."

"So…what's the book?" Neville asked, reeling the plot back on track. "Will it help us defeat V?"

"Here, have a look." Hermione handed the large tome over. "I've got to go dispose of a body."

"Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows?" Neville read out loud. "Hey, Hermione..."

Hermione looked up from where she was cutting off Creevey's fingers. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, it's disgusting, but trust me, Neville, we don't want the Aurors poking around here."

"That wasn't what I wanted to say—"

"And yes, I'll make sure his face is completely unrecognizable. I told you I'd take care of it, right?"

"Hermione," Neville said sharply. "I wasn't talking about Creevey's corpse. I was talking about the book. Don't you know that only Lily and the Marauders can have the whole 'reading the series' plotline?"

"Oh, damn, you're right," Hermione let Creevey's stump fall the floor. She wiped bloody fingers on her skirt and stood. "Well, how are we going to get rid of V?"

"I guess we can't just rely on divine interventions from the author anymore," said Neville sadly. He lobbed the book across the room where it knocked Ernie Macmillan's head into his blood pudding and whistled. "That's going to leave a mark."

Hermione snapped her fingers. "That's it! We'll go Dark and become Death Eaters. I'll get 'cozy' with Snape—"

"No no no." Neville shook his head furiously. "That inevitably leads to some sort of Marriage Law being passed."

"Hmmm. Well, while you're deciding what to do, I'm going to feed Creevey to the Giant Squid. I'll see you next chapter, all right?"

"Sure," Neville agreed, waving her on.

What were they going to do?