Dear Reader: This story is very much a parody. If you want to know when it takes place in the HP timeline, I'm afraid it doesn't…at all. It's just ridiculous, so please be content with such. It's rated Mature for indecent cursing, rabbits tearing the Weaselys apart and Harry's vanity. I don't own Harry Potter. I have to sneak him into my house, actually.
Chapter 1: Carrot cake
Hermione Granger kept her sins hidden in a box beneath her bed, alongside a horrendously hued assortment of Weasley sweaters and a creature that had been formed from the mold in Ron's brain. Its name was Rwan.
Compared to its flamboyant neighbors, the box itself was unremarkable. Square and worn, it was smaller than what some others of its kind might've been like, though this was prominently due to an inverted engorgement charm rather than any piety on her behalf.
No, if one were able to defeat the swift attacks of Rwan and break the Voldemort inspired dark magic surrounding the box and not turn into a giant sperm as a result of the spells, they would've found a temple of sins with long corridors and fluorescent lighting on the inside.
The Head Girl truly had a kadazzle of secrets apart from time turners and foreign lovers.
The demonic and convenient penseive had reinforced a dark obsession in the young girl's life. Each night, she would dutifully sneak up to her bedroom and spend an hour going through her color-coded sins, marveling at her evil potential.
At one point, she had considered claiming the newly unoccupied position of Dark Lord, taking up the title of Mahdor-yralih. (That had been during her phase as a Hindu-feminist. Her hairiness had rivaled Hagrid's.)
Yet, she had pushed this idea under the bed as well when she saw what they did to Voldemort upon his capture. Becoming Fudge's concubine just wasn't her life aspiration. No one had suspected the Minister's sick fixation; a baby was apparently on the way; they were going to call it Pineapple.
Having enough common sense to not take candy from Voldemort during his 854th attempt to disembowel Harry, Hermione also wisely decided to hide her inner longing and wait. She still enjoyed reviewing what she could've done, though, if she was a lobotomized worm who drank too much before she rode off on her broom…like the rest of the Gryffindors…
On that uncommonly quiet Friday, Hermione was interrupted midway through her practice when she flipped over a memory of wanting to hang Ron up as a piñata on the Whomping Willow after their quickly dispatched romance. Watching chocolate frogs leap free from the boy's exposed stomach, she realized that she hadn't seen the carrot top in quite some time.
The young lady shifted noisily on the bed, this unwanted thought pressing into her peace like a cheerleader at a fat kid camp. Of course, she reassured the tumorous guilt damming her senses, her seventh year had been rather busy. Gambling with Filch, saving the world and illicit romances with house elves were toilsome enterprises, but usually Ron would toss himself into the cycle. He would say something demeaning about her intelligence and fling boogers at her; she would lock up more sinful thoughts in the box.
A slight blush formed on the apples of her cheeks and rolled down her neck as she realized her intellectual misstep. Ron's disappearance and the lull that followed had just been, well, very nice. It was almost like having a book covered in icing for dinner. She quickly labeled this under fuchsia for 'fantasies'.
Twirling a rotini like strand of hair, she analyzed the facts. How long had it been since she'd seen him, then? One week? Two? Surely not three….The hand slid from her unmanageable hair and ran down to grip its twin for comfort. If Ron had been gone for three weeks, why hadn't anyone said anything?
The girl considered certain attributes of the school: the damp hallways, the obnoxiously violent gay boys... After surviving these AND Voldemort for so many years, could he possibly be dead? It was absurd! And yet, he was Ron…
Snapping up from the crimson covers like a resurrected zombie, Hermione's oval eyes rolled around her expansive brain.
If he was dead, she would be the one to blame solely because of her genius. Although an entirely unfair assertion, it would not stop Molly Weasley from breaking Hermione's legs with a rolling pin, cookie cutting her young flesh with a rusty can and serving her to the rest of the Weasley brood.
She rubbed her ink scented skin apologetically, imagining what she would look like as a Christmas cookie. A gingerbread boy perhaps…
Not bothering to put on a robe or slippers, Hermione vaulted down the stairs to search for the only other boy who could know of Ron's whereabouts and perhaps save her life.
Harry Potter was staring fixedly into the common room mirror as if it was a pinup poster of Fleur Delacour. Other curious Gryfindors, despite having formed a human pyramid, were unable to see their savior's actions due to a lake of drool expanding around him. But, the boy didn't seem to mind this environmental change, nor the typical reflection in the mirror.
Floating atop the water, he sat with a steady thread of drool dripping from his open mouth, lightly stroking the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. It was his coolest physical trait, worthy of worshippers and martyrs. As a poor underfed boy, the knowledge that he bore such a mark had been the only feature which kept him from throwing his face on a hot skillet along with the bacon.
The world just could not exist without such an amazing scar. It was just so…brilliant. He humbly allowed himself to be led by the scar's internal voice, which had taught him how to dethrone the Dark Lord (ice cream and love potion #9 were kept on separate shelves at the grocery store from then on).
Now, he had been given new instructions: to become a vigilante of the night, forsaking the magical world for his alter killer cool identity. He hadn't yet thought of a name for this character, but was brainstorming several options. Hot Boy and Sex-Ayyy had high marks on the list.
"You truly are beautiful," he whispered still petting the lightening bolt. "So amazing, like Voldemort in a miniskirt."
If his dear bushy haired admirer hadn't been standing in a foot of his drool looking like she'd been struck by a dingle bat, Harry would've mentioned some other private comments. Through half closed eyes, he disappointedly puffed, "What is it, Hairhiney."
"HERMIONE, HARRY!" the girl gushed and lunged for his neck, creating a tidal wave that wiped out any Gryffindors watching on the shore.
"Yes, of course, what do you want? I'm meditating…" Harry continued, riding out a low wave unperturbed.
Soaked and huffing from the exertion of plowing through Potter drool, Hermione decided she would lift weights after this ridiculous incident then drag the boy to Antarctica in his sleep. Visualizing Harry Potter surrounded by singing whales and dancing penguins calmed Hermione's vengeful side for another day.
"I was wondering if you'd seen Ron lately..." she peacefully inquired, smoothing down her house elf t-shirt (she had made several planning to sell them as a fundraiser for SPEW; however no one else wanted to wear Dobby and Winky's smiling farty faces kissing besides her).
The boy tilted his head to examine the scar from another angle.
"Harry?"
"Mmmm"
"Y'know, Ron, the tall redhead?"
"MmmMMmm"
"The one who's always following you?"
"UmmmMarvelous"
"No not really."
Hermione tapped her lips, foraging her genius for some other way to describe Ronald Weasley when a loud bang shot down their conversation.
A flabbergasted Ginny leaned heavily against the demolished entrance door, her tattered robes flittering to the ground with each struggled gasp. Behind her, an equally exhausted Neville stooped like a worn out turtle, though with considerably more clothes on.
(The Head Girl vaguely wondered if Ginny had ripped her own clothes upon seeing much more of the youngest Weasley's breast than what even a newborn baby was accustomed to.)
With an amazing burst of energy and several vicious otter like leaps, the younger girl splashed through the filthy water to Harry's side. Neville respectfully edged around the perimeter towards the party, having never wanted to be covered in any man's liquid.
Harry, though still staring at his reflection, managed to say, "Hello, Vaginny."
Hermione had to rush to the lone female Weasely's side in order to catch her swooning form. "Ginny!!? Oh, WAKE UP, you silly girl!!" she screamed, dunking the redhead under the water. A born again Ginny spluttered to the surface; still keeping her sinful eyes focused on Harry, the young girl's hand crept slowly to the few remaining buttons on her robes.
Prying the tainted limb away, Hermione asked in a clear voice, "What-the-hell-happened-to-you?"
"I found her," Neville interjected with a reluctant toe in the water. "She was running up from the dungeons all pale like and stuff. I thought for a minute she was Peeves out cross dressing again."
"Why'd you follow her, then?"
"Because…she needed me…just like…the world…needs me." The boy gazed valiantly off into the distance, a noble eyebrow raised while an unseen wind blew the ragged hair off his forehead. A crudely drawn red lightening bolt could be seen hidden beneath the sweaty strands.
Ginny stopped breathing into the boy's cheeky face and turned back towards Harry. "I-it's R-Roon," she finally said. "I f-f-f-found h-him…dead."
The present company stopped, each looking at the Head Girl like a herd of pill popping chickens. "Oh, damnit all," she muttered, and, tossing Ginny in the water, Hermione waded to the door.
The sound of the rescue team's feet slapping along the stone floor would've caused an avalanche in the dungeons if Slytherins were not so opposed to snow in their decorum.
Hermione thought ruefully that she would've preferred anything soft under her bare feet at the moment even if it was Ron's body. There was, sadly, no time to ease her discomfort without attaining said corpse.
Several rather large icicles growing above their heads did occasionally fall and slow down the hurried pace of the Gryffindors. Hermione assumed that these had been charmed by the denizens of the dungeons; the cannibals probably had their mothers prepare the victims' bodies for dinner.
'Damn Slytherins',Hermione thought as they passed several frozen house elves, obliging grins and iced over tears still glued to their faces.
"What the hell was Ron doing down here, anyway" she mumbled aloud, the words echoing unceremoniously down the corridor. There were too many empty blanks concerning this expedition that she couldn't make up an answer to, an unacceptable circumstance for her. She had hoped that Ginny would provide some information about what she'd seen; instead the redhead had led them in silence, running on top of Harry so she could sniff his hair.
Contacting Professor McGonagall before heading into this iced over hell might've been prudent, but Hermione preferred to figure out if Ron was actually dead this time, personally and quickly. She had given other mistaken reports about the boys' deaths, but all had ended with the dentists' daughter awkwardly squinched up in a corner wishing Harry Potter and his sidekick weren't so damn immortal. Remembering the humiliation drove the redeemed girl to run faster and forget her aching feet.
The rescue team didn't slow down to discuss her question, either. It had been previously agreed that they would get the body and get out before dinner if possible. Roast beef and apple tartan were on the menu, after all.
The 'Boy who Lived' managed to swirl his head around, nearly knocking Ginny into a stone wall. "I bet he was shagging that Lavalamp girl. Kept telling me bout her. Not much in my opinion," he fluffed his perfectly disheveled hair, "she had a hairy chest."
"Would you all kindly close your caverns for Pnefocals and stop disturbing the Bladybloos under the ground, please? You're going to make him run away," an ethereal voice whispered loudly from farther ahead.
Harry skidded to a halt, stunned that someone would actually try to shush him; he whipped towards the willowy frame of Luna Lovegood with the fervor of a Baptist minister who had just seen a demon. "What the hell's that supposed to mean, Loogie?" he shouted before Ginny accidentally rammed into him and dragged his flailing body to the floor.
Swishing like a private dancer out of a shadowy hallway, a lightly dressed Luna stepped on Harry and Ginny's intertwined limbs and moved over to Hermione and Neville.
"Would either of you happen to have a Vergaty net? I think I could capture him if I had one of those. They of course are indestructible to spearmint and greasy teachers and…"
Hermione shot up her hand on a reflex, panting, "There is absolutely NO such thing as a Vergaty net AND I DON'T see why you would need it ANYWAY!"
Luna twisted a green beet on her necklace with a sigh and retreated back to her initial spot, one boneless hand motioning them to follow her while the other picked her lip. The group squirmed there way forward, looking down Luna's slender finger pointed towards an open closet. "Don't you see him!" she said.
At first, Hermione didn't see anything in the dark space except the dancing color spots and grazing clowns. But gradually she began to hear a clacking noise amplified in the emptiness. A shudder vibrated along her body; the noise was like listening to Flitwick tap dance in the Great Hall.
The Head Girl took a hesitant step to the sound, disregarding Neville's talk of a gruesome death or Ginny suckling on Harry's ear. No distraction (that didn't involve jelly filled treats) could stop her now; learning more about the subject had always been her first priority. She stretched her pupils to take in whatever light was possible without disturbing the specimen, and focused her entire face like a laser beam.
There! Was that lumpy ottoman shape an outline of a body? And did it move just then when she cracked her knee? No, no… The limbs, if they were limbs, weren't proportioned correctly; the arms were far too long or were they holding onto something else (a broken broomstick perhaps)?
But there again! She was sure it moved and slavered over the stick. And those two fat, spiky antennae on its head suddenly stood up as if the thing was searching for a different channel…No wait…Could they be…ears?
Neville shook Hermione's bent shoulders with a sweaty hand, whispering, "Let's go back, Hermione! It's probably just Snape eating a first year!!"
Aroused by Neville's seductive voice, the creature twitched and twisted around to face the intruders, a pair of glowing red eyes staring blankly back at them.
The Gryffindors bravely scurried back like a lion from an argumentative wife, but Luna clutched her hands together in awe. "Oh, isn't it wonderful! A perfect specimen!! I wish daddy was here! He always loved Floppsys!"
Hermione didn't see a Floppsy…just a huge mutant rabbit with sharp fangs gnawing on what she now identified to be a femur. Other stripped bones were scattered beneath the monster as were two shredded Gryffindor robes.
After a somewhat silent moment, a quickly disinterested Harry tapped his foot, imitating the beastly noise, and spewed, "Well is it fucking time for dinner yet?"