Fan Girls, Lend Me Your Ear by Luvscharlie
Warnings: So. Much. Crack.
A/N: Originally written for the 2010 hp_canon_fest on Live Journal . This was a lot of fun once I got started. I had no idea how much I rely on nonverbals until they are unavailable to me. Totally different writing style than I've ever attempted. Audrey's last name is stolen shamelessly from Horton Hears a Who
I should probably introduce myself before I go into the reason I've come forward to tell you this story. I'm Percy Weasley. You know, the one during the war who was a bit… I'm going to go with lost, though my brothers would probably be a bit more colourful in their expressions of that time period.
Anyway…
After you become a war hero—What? I am a hero. I mean, I might have been a little late to the game, but were you there? What's that? Read about it? Oh, you read about it? Is that right? Well, then aren't you just the authority on the matter? I'll just go ahead and hush now. Why should you bother actually listening to someone who was there? Yes, I know. So you think you might be ready to shut your gob and listen? Rude? Okay, maybe a little, but seriously, you sort of asked for that.
As I was saying, I'm told there's this person—Rowling?—where are my notes? I'm fairly certain that was her name. Oh, they're around here somewhere. Ooh, here's the parchment. Yes, Ms.—well, I'm assuming it's a female as most men have better sense than this. Ms. J. K. Rowling. Clearly, too embarrassed to tell us her real name for fear we might come looking for her to set the record straight. Um-hmm. Ms. Rowling appears to be one of those hero writers. Someone becomes a hero (and in my family there were quite a few of us—myself included- I was!) and everyone wants to run about and write a story about it.
I note that she didn't write one single word about all the spy work I did during the war for the Order. What's that? You didn't know about my spy work? Didn't read that in any book now did you? Yes, well, it's not any surprise that you wouldn't have. I mean is it really a secret if everyone and his brother knows about it?
What's that? My brother, Charlie told you I wasn't a spy? Well, he doesn't know everything. I was—huh? Oh, he confirmed it with the Minister. Oh. Okay, so I wasn't a spy. But I could have been. I'm just trying to prove a point. That Rowling woman didn't know everything that went on in my life before the War and—wait, let me get this straight. She wrote about my family before we became war heroes?
I am aghast. She's not even just a hero worshipper looking to cash in on my family's fame. She must be related to that Skeeter woman. She sounds just as dreadful. She knew about my girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, you say? Oh dear. Did she write about it? She did? Dear Merlin, if my wife finds out about that, she'll—I mean, I can't even think about what she'll do. I swore that rumour about me and Penelope Clearwater was simply that—a rumour.
Oh dear, oh dear. This whole thing just keeps getting worse. Audrey will have my bollocks for—I probably shouldn't say anything else. Heaven knows, I don't want to go giving her ideas. Audrey's a creative enough witch as it is and it's not as though I can trust you to keep a secret.
Anyway…
It's come to my attention that this Rowling person, who we've already established is a rubbish writer—okay, maybe those were my words, but still—She seems to have had this mad need to go about drawing these little trees with names attached to them, and one of those names happens to be my wife's. Honestly, you Muggles do the strangest things; nothing better to do with your time than go about drawing trees and writing names on them. It's really no wonder you get nothing at all accomplished in the ordinary course of business. Anyway, it appears that this tree drawing exercise of hers has excited these people known as fan girls. Is that what you are? A fan girl? Oh sure, now you decide that you don't want to answer me. Well, I'm not sure what a fan girl is exactly, only I'm told my brother Charlie has a whole lot of them, so I'm assuming they can't be all that bright. Hm? Don't you want to respond to that? No? Let me just say that whether you're a fan girl or not, I'm fairly certain that I don't like you very much.
Okay, maybe this tree writing thing's not exclusive to Muggles. I mean, according to Ronnie. He's my little brother, big war hero now and all that. Honestly, I didn't think his head could get any bigger, but boy was I ever wrong. What's that you say? Envious? You must be joking. Me? Jealous of him? And sure, now you decide to find your tongue again. Yes, I'm fairly certain you and I are not going to be friends.
And by the way, I'm telling the story here. You're just supposed to listen. I can tell how open minded you are going to be about this. Already name calling. If I wanted that, there are plenty of people around who would be only too happy to tell me what they think of me. I'm pretty certain the only reason most people refrain is out of respect for my father. Boy, if that isn't salt in the wound.
Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted…and yes, I am looking at you. Ron, my little brother who I am not the least bit envious of—just for the record—Ron said that 'The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black' had a tapestry with one of these tree things on it, and branches with family members' names on it. This tapestry was apparently at Grimmauld Place, not that I ever had occasion myself to view it. Ron saw it during my "lost" phase. And there certainly wasn't enough of Grimmauld Place left standing for me to see for myself after the war. But let's face it, the Black family are as mental as Muggles ever thought about being. So the fact that they'd have one of these tree things is really no great surprise. Of course, I'm sure that they'd never tell anyone they nicked the idea off 'filthy mudbloods'. Oi, their words, not mine. Don't go getting all shirty with me.
Still…
This Rowling person seems to have kicked up a good deal of speculation about my wife, and for the most part these internet people seem to have gotten it all wrong… or so I'm told. Now I don't exactly know what the internet is, another one of those Muggle contraptions, I suppose, but I'm told that it's just rampant with theories about my wife.
I'm even told there are stories about us having sex! I can't even talk about that because it makes me blush which is bad for my complexion. Totally unbecoming.
Of course, there is at least one area I need to clear up. I'm told there are tons of stories about my debauched sex life with Oliver Wood and things we supposedly did in the Quidditch locker rooms during our time together at Hogwarts. Some of them even suggested that I used my title as Head Boy to convince Oliver to do these things. I won't even go into the things I'm told these fan girl people say about Professor Snape. It sort of turns my stomach. How many ways can I express my shock? This has led me to conclude that these fan girl people are a group of degenerates. Does that sting? If it doesn't, then it should. Grant it, Charlie seems to like them, but he would. Those are exactly the kind of people I would expect Charlie to keep company with.
These rumours about my circumspect sexuality have led me to the conclusion that I must defend my honour. I mean, let's face it, my family's reputation after Bill and Charlie (much less the twins) went through school has had its share of dings. These wild stories are casting dispersions upon the title of Head Boy and my character in general. And I simply cannot let it go unchecked. I'll have you know that I was a vir—okay, this is a bit embarrassing, so forgive me if I can't exactly meet your eyes when I say it—but it must be said. Audrey Wickersham deflowered me!
And now I need a moment because that was far more humiliating than I had first thought it might be. And if you could stop staring, that would help.
Deep breath, Percy. Take a nice deep breath. What? Sometimes talking to one's self helps one to refocus. Do you know nothing?
Okay, I think I'm ready to proceed. I just must set the record straight. I tend not to talk about my sexual conquests, choosing to take the high road and be a gentleman on most occasions, but Oliver's a professional Quidditch player these days and these fan girls are probably wrecking his reputation right along with those of me and my wife. I've come to suspect these fan girls may really be some of those Death Eaters who got away after the final battle and we were never able to round up. I always did suspect the female ones were the worst. This seems to have confirmed that belief. And don't think for one moment if I discover you're one of them, I won't report you to the Minister because I will, in a heartbeat. What's that? Oh, you know what I did on the Minister's desk with Pansy Parkinson. Well, that was years ago—and well no, my wife doesn't know but, it's not like we were married when that happened—I mean did you tell your partner every thing (or everyone) you did before you got married? I didn't think so!—Okay, okay. I won't turn you in. Jiminy! Some people cannot take a joke. Look, this is me smiling, just pranking you. I'd never turn you in… not now anyway. And we can forget about that whole Parkinson thing, right? Right? You're not answering. Oh dear.
And so, as I was saying before that little joke of mine, (remember it was a joke, no need to go being all offended), I've decided that these rumours of my circumspect sexuality have led me to the conclusion that this situation calls for drastic action. I'm a private man for the most part. I don't talk about my sex life (though apparently some people—Parkinson, for instance, have no qualms about it), much less advertise it to the world. Once more, if you believe that I do, then you're confusing me with my brother, Charlie, though Merlin only knows how anyone could make that mistake. I shudder at the thought. No, I will not show you my bum! Honestly! What's that? You've heard Charlie has a Hungarian Horntail tattooed across his left arse cheek. Well not that I'd know anything about that—but I will not be proving that I don't. Not now. Not ever. Goodness me. Anyway, I've decided that this calls for a straightening out. No, not the tattoo thing, the me and Oliver Wood thing. I think that might be the only thing that will slow these fan girls down… is if they hear it directly from me.
And the first one of you who tells my wife anything about this, I will deny it with my dying breath, right along with denying that vicious Parkinson rumour—I knew I should have obliviated her afterwards! And don't doubt Audrey'd kill me, so you'll have my death on your conscience. That woman can be vicious when she wants to be, and this would certainly incite her to murder. Me, sharing our bedroom tales outside the bedroom. I never thought I'd stoop to such—it's debauchery. That's what it is.
But I guess it only makes sense, in order to clear both Audrey and Oliver's good names, not to mention my own, to go back to the beginning. Okay, not back to the very beginning because Audrey and I met in first year, but it was sixth year when things started to get… interesting, I guess that's the right word. Oh boy. This is not going to be easy to talk about.
Breathe in. What? I told you, it helps me. Seriously, don't you ever listen? You should try it some time. You just talk yourself down. I'm getting off topic, aren't I? At this rate it's going to take all night, and I have far better plans than talking to you all night, if you know what I mean. Wait, you do know, right? Cause I've never been very good at innuendo. I mean, I try but it just never comes out the right way. And I don't know how to wink. I try to do that too, but both eyes always close and then I can't see so I don't know if you're just looking at me like I've gone off the bend or even worse making faces at me. Fred and George used to do that when we were children and I guess that led to the insecurity… and now I really am prattling.
Okay, moving right along…
So let me take you back to my sixth year at Hogwarts and tell you the story of how I first came to notice my wife. I mean really notice her, if you know what I mean. Do you know what I mean? Hey, don't blame me for talking down to you. You were the one who thought I was gay. Thus, I get a little leeway here to assume the whole lot of you fan girls—yes, I do believe you are one of them—are morons. There, I said it. Oh, don't go getting all defensive with me. I have a story to tell, so shush.
The year was 1992- oh wait, I probably didn't need to tell you all that. I'm told you fan girls do your "research," but forgive me if I tend not to believe you do it very well after those Oliver Wood rumours. Oi, no reason to get snippy. I have a valid reason to believe your researching skills are a bit lacking.
Anyway, as I was saying…
The year was 1992, and I was just starting my sixth year at Hogwarts. I was, of course, a prefect. And somehow or another—don't ask me how because I still have not the slightest idea, Audrey Wickersham became a Slytherin prefect. I'm told that Alice Nicholson lost her privileges because she was the prefect from that house in fifth year, but I'm told she got caught with her skirt up in the Slytherin boys' dormitory and—what's that? You say you didn't want to hear about all the debauchery in Hogwarts, you're only interested in the story of my wife stealing my virginity—Gasp! I never said she "stole" it. And besides it's my story, I can tell it as I choose. And I see, you're not interested in the goings on in Slytherin where the true debauchery took place. You only want to smear the names of those of us who actually have a bit of honour. Disgusting!
Now back to what I was saying. I can only assume Audrey was chosen as replacement for Alice Nicholson (who was caught having a threesome in the boys' dormitory—'cause it's my story and I'll tell the parts I choose, so there!) because she was the best of the worst. I mean, it's not like there was anyone else in that house worthy of the title; that's for sure. And at least at the time, I didn't think Audrey was either. As long as you promise to use a bit of discretion here, I still stand by that statement. She was as mean as they come, and Slytherin house got the reputation of cunning because of members just like Audrey. She was a master manipulator.
Audrey's also a right pain in the arse… a right pretty pain in the arse, if the truth be told, but a pain nonetheless. I mean she was a pain. Now, she's a lovely woman who—she's not going to hear about this, is she? Because even though she's my wife, I still can't lie that blatantly. I love her and all, but that doesn't mean she's not a Slytherin through and through. Boy is she ever.
Audrey was a haughty, uptight Slytherin girl back then. And you know what? It takes a lot for me to call someone else uptight. But if the robe fits… Audrey still is uptight, but that's beside the point, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't print that. My sofa's hard as a rock and I really hate sleeping on it.
Back at school she was a swotty little twit. Always handing out detention slips just for the fun of it. Once, she even tried to give me one. Claimed I was roaming about in the halls, mischief making—me, Percy Weasley! Can you believe it? I mean I was a prefect for Merlin's sake. I had rounds! Who in their right mind would accuse me of mischief making? And you know what, when I went to the Headmaster and told him that I did nothing to earn this detention slip, he didn't believe me. Me, who never was a story-teller. In fact, he made me sit through detention with Professor Snape of all people.
What's that? Oh. My. God. There is not a story about that. Tell me you're lying. Please, tell me. I let him do what with his wand? I did not! These fan girl people are out of control. I'm taking this directly to the Minister and—what? Well you do have a point. I would have to let him read the story about Snape shoving his wand up my—I'm going to try and pretend I never heard about this. Merlin, I'm going to need obliviating by the time this conversation with you is over. That's the stuff nightmares are made of. And trust me when I say that's not a nightmare I want to have. You all can even make detention seem naughty—okay well, yes, detention is naughty, but not naughty that way. Goodness, does your mind ever leave the gutter?
Okay, I need a drink. Maybe a good stiff glass of Firewhisky will get me through the rest of this story. And maybe if you could just stop talking. No seriously. Not another word out of you or I'm not telling the rest of this story. You can just make it up. Something tells me you're going to anyway.
Some people called me a stickler for the rules, but I was nothing compared to Audrey Wickersham. I only gave out detention slips when they were absolutely necessary. Running in the corridors is simply not acceptable. I mean, do you have any idea how much paperwork is involved when someone slips in the corridor and injures themselves? Do you?
Stop it! You're not supposed to answer. That was a test. One which you failed miserably, I might add. You're not talking now, remember? You promised. Okay, you didn't promise, but that's beside the point. But I'm making up the rules—Control freak? I am not. You know what? Okay I am, but this is my office and I get to make the rules! Not another word out of you.
Okay, well, I don't really know how much paperwork is involved either, but I'm sure it's a good deal. And do you seriously think I had time for added work, what with my studies and all?
You really aren't very good at this not talking thing at all.
Becoming Head Boy takes a lot of hours of hard work studying. I mean, I'm not like Bill. Things aren't handed to me on a silver platter. I have to work for them. Don't you dare call me envious again. You did not grow up in my family. Do you have any idea what it's like being Bill and Charlie's little brother? NO! You don't. Trust me, those were not easy footsteps to fill. Everyone loved them. Well, don't ask me why! Like I would know. Nothing but a couple of prats, if you ask me… not that anyone ever did. Everyone thought they were fabulous. They never had to work for anything they got—okay, maybe a tad bit envious, but who wouldn't be, right?
Grant it, I was probably the only one in my family (not counting my mother), who had any affinity for rules. I'd be willing to wager a good many Galleons that if you looked up the word "rule breaker" in the Wizards' World Encyclopaedia, you'd find a picture of my brother Charlie, and probably during one of his streaking episodes at school… yeah… don't ask. Really, it's far too embarrassing a tale to tell. And given some of the things you've already told me, you have an imagination plenty vivid enough to think it up yourself.
What'd you say this time? I mean I told you to hush, and now you're talking again, and at this rate I really am going to be here all night. Oh, you think I'm going off subject a bit, and that if I really do want to get out of here I'll stop prattling and get to the heart of the story. Well, you have a point there… though I'm still not happy that you broke the no talking rule. I mean you do realise that rules are in place—yes, even ones I make up myself because I'll have you know I'm very good at making up rules—for a reason.
And who drank my Firewhisky? Me? Really? Funny, I don't remember that at all. Do something productive, won't you, and pour me another.
I guess I was talking about Little Miss Stickler for the Rules Audrey, and how she came to be my first—well, you know. And could you hurry with that drink? I'm going to need that bit of fortification to tell you this story.
You see, during my sixth year at school, that whole Chamber of Secrets nonsense was going on, and Dumbledore was taking extra precautions with everyone, even us prefects. He decided that even we weren't to be walking the corridors at night alone. I guess it's not hard to imagine who I was paired with. Boy, you're really bad at this. No, it wasn't Penelope Clearwater, or else this would be a Percy and Penelope story, and this is supposed to be a Percy and Audrey story—and oh, that was a joke. Well no, I didn't realise that. I mean you do realise you came to see me, right? I don't always understand or appreciate joking. See, this is my serious face… or my something face. I can't really feel my mouth anymore so I can't much tell what it's doing. My lips—they are still there, right? This is fine quality Firewhisky. I need to order another bottle of this while it's still on sale at—Um hm. Yes, carrying on then. Back to my wife… where was I? Well, if you'd stop distracting me…
Oh yes, the pairing up of prefects during the whole Chamber of Secrets debacle…now that whole fiasco nearly closed Hogwarts, and did you know that my little sister—What? Fine! Have it your way. I will try and stay on subject, since you clearly have no desire to learn about real history—only concerned about who does whom in a cupboard at school—what? No, we did not do that in a cupboard…mostly—okay, once, but that doesn't count because—I am getting a headache, which is clearly all your fault. Okay, breathe. Get hold of yourself, man. Control-breathe-control is important. Audrey is going to kill me when she hears that I told you about that—I suppose asking you not to discuss it would be pointless. I thought so.
Okay, okay. Well, Audrey and I were paired up, which I already told you. Boy, what a pain in arse she was. 'Percy do this; Percy don't do that. Percy why are you such an old fuddy-duddy?' And I am not, for the record, any type of fuddy-duddy, old or otherwise, nor was I back then. I simply wasn't a rampant rule breaker, like some people. But that doesn't mean I didn't do my share of mischief… okay, it was once, but I did once break into Professor Snape's private stores—oh, get your mind out of the gutter, you are disgusting! I'm going to need another drink now. To even suggest such lewd and—well no, I really don't expect any better from the likes of you now that you mention it, but still- I mean, it was not my fault that my mother and father did not have the Galleons to buy me all the expensive ingredients that I needed for Seventh Year Potions. And would it really be fair for my marks to suffer simply because my family wasn't exceedingly wealthy?
Well, I didn't think so either. Thus, I have broken a rule or two—okay one! God, picky, picky. All these little details. Let me just tell you, no bloke would want you around when he was telling the size of his cock, cause I think you'd go and bring something out to measure it-Well forgive me. I don't know what came over me. That's no way to speak to a lady, not that I'd consider you worthy of the title, but still, I should be mature enough to rise above these things. It must be the liquor talking.
Well, one night Audrey and I were out doing our rounds down in the dungeons, and even I—brave though I am—shut it!—have to admit that I was quite frightened what with all the talk of the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets, but I would have expected Audrey to be a little braver, what with her actually being a member of Slytherin and all. I mean most of us suspected Slytherins knew what was going on, and it was only the other Houses who were in the dark. But she seemed just as on edge as I was which surprised me greatly. That's not to say it slowed her down from deducting house points. She was just itching to say '50 points from Gryffindor,' I'm sure, and she gladly would have. It's just that the corridors were mostly empty with the curfew being so strictly enforced.
I have to admit that after a few nights of patrolling with Audrey, she started to grow on me—and when she'd walk in front of me, the way she wiggled her tight little bum when she walked. Gods, I just wanted to grab hold and—BLIMEY, no more Firewhisky for me. Here, you take the glass… and don't let me have it back no matter what I say. It makes my tongue loose and I say things I don't mean and… Huh? Tell me I just heard you wrong… please. Rita Skeeter's gotten wind of that 'me and Snape story,' you say? Give me a second, here, you know, to regroup… I think I'm going to need that glass back… yeah, well when have you ever listened to me before? Hand it over. Not half empty. Do you really think news like that merits a half empty glass? Have a heart… one of us should have one. Mine feels like it might leap from my chest and explode at any moment.
Ah, that really does hit the spot. Another, if you don't mind… or even if you do. I've had a rather hard night… hehe, I said hard. I've heard you fan girls just love that word. Oh, lemme just straighten my glasses here—no, you're still there. Too bad, that. When did you grow boo heads—boo heads, did ya hear that? I said boo. I meant two of course. Two heads. You look so funny. Extra head coming right out your shoulder.
Sometimes Audrey has two heads, one on her head and one in her mouth—get it? Huh? You're not berry—I mean, very smart. Not at all. Lean over here and I'll whisper it. It's a little off colour—wouldn't want anyone else to oberhear. I was talking about her real head and my cock-head in her mouth. Hee, I know, right?
Ooh, my. I really don't feel so well. Do you mind pushing that rubbish bin over here? I think I might need that. Oh, I really think I should be getting home before I'm too sick to Apparate. What's that? I didn't finish the story? True. True, indeed. But I've had a bit of a change of heart since having this conversation with you.
I mean, sure I could set the facts straight and tell you all about my first time with Audrey. But frankly, I suspect if you all were to write it, I might come off a little more suave than I was back then in reality. And maybe that's not such a bad thing.
I mean if I went and told you what really happened, you might be disappointed… or my reputation may suffer—not that it isn't already, but even if you're telling stories of me and Oliver Wood—which for the record, completely did not happen—I bet you're still making me better at it than I really was back in those days. So why should I go and ruin the illusion? If I went and did that, what would you fan girls have to do? Huh?
That's what I thought. You'd have all the bits of information and there'd be nothing left to speculate about or do. And if you weren't occupied, heaven only knows the kind of trouble you'd get yourself into. I can't have that on my conscience, can I?
And now you're going to want to leave before I have to make use of this rubbish bin. Not even the other fan girls are going to want to read about that.