It Happened In Walmart: The Truth Of The Matter Comes Out

It Happened In Walmart: The Truth Of The Matter Comes Out

Nothing belongs to me except for my cliché plot.

Minerva McGonagall happened upon a fresh batch of jelly doughnuts on her weekly shopping trip, and as she debated whether to buy one or not, a shortish blonde woman opened the case and secured a pastry for herself. It was someone Minerva would have recognized in an instant.

"Why, Ms. Rowling, it's been ages!"

"Hasn't it?" the woman, indeed as described, replied. "Almost a year!"

"Indeed. I've been meaning to talk to you about a few things," Minerva said, looking troubled and taking a jelly doughnut. J., as she had become accustomed to calling herself, tugged her cart along as she and the character she supposedly created walked together.

"Oh?" J. prepared for the worst. She didn't know that Minerva had worse than the worst in mind.

"My first concern, Ms. Rowling, is the minor matter of fact-checking involving my husband."

"Your…what?" J.'s mouth hung wide open.

"Albus."

"Sorry, but Albus is not only dead but he's…"

"You've been misinformed. Where, exactly, did you get this information?"

"From the Prophet" J. looked at the ground, and then tipped a can of soup into her cart.

Minerva rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding. Do you even remember what kind of crazies write for that? Oh, that reminds me." She pulled down a box of Fruit Loops.

"So…what is true?" the blonde broad asked of the stern teacher with the night-black topknot.

"Let me fill you in on some key points. First of all, I'm only 46. There's a lot of smack talk about my age in the later books, which were set a good long time ago anyway. Second, Albus isn't all that old either; neither is he dead nor gay. He's 53 and living in London. Snape wasn't all that greasy. Flitwick wasn't all that short, and Voldemort wasn't all that scary."

"Um…so. I guess I owe you an apology," J. mumbled.

"It's not me you should be worried about. I'd talk to Albus if I were you. He did appreciate that you mentioned his love of lemon drops, but…oh, there he is now." Then, to Dumbledore, "Hey, hon', look who's here! She wanted a word with you."

J. blushed, in the presence of the greatest wizard of the age, someone she had wronged grievously. Someone, who in fact, did not have long white hair or the beard that so many had come to recognize. He had but a soul patch on his chin, and his hair was a graying auburn. "Sorry about the last couple books. I didn't do some crucial fact checking in some areas, and your reputation got damaged."

"It's alright, Ms. Rowling. It's not your fault that the reliability of the Prophet has somewhat changed since you were at Hogwarts. At this moment, I have another historian filling in the cracks, one Falcon Green of Yorkshire. She will help you tidy up this little mess. Here's her address; feel free to send her an owl. Her first amendment to the Hogwarts story is our story." Here, Minerva and Albus shared a glance. "Told by Minerva's close friend Bridget Harper, of Brooklyn. It's called Ever Severe. Not finished yet, but still a good source. That, or you could find Bridget yourself."

J. blushed. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to pick up some kids at soccer practice."

Minerva's hand moved up to her head in a 'this sucks' expression. "Drat it all, Albus. Kate and William are still at band practice, and it's noon already. I'll go bring them home.

All is explained.