ok guyz... i'm back!
LOLOLOL.
anywayz, i'm sorry 4 da wait again!1134!1 My bad guyz!1011mehoymemoy!davidspade!
oh, and thanx to all my co0l reviewers! you guyz get hugs! lololol. and cookies. roflmao.
Uhm, ok... basikally dis chapter is about... ah crap i dont no! lol ya i do but i suck at summaryz. just read 4 urself!
LOL
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LOL!1111!1!ELEVENTY!
DiScLaImEr: I DoN't OwN hArRy PoTtEr! Lol
Netspeaking of Which (And the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow)
- - -
In an indescribable place, two people were sitting on a bench. One was a young boy – the other was male, but besides that, also indescribable.
"Hey," said the boy, "aren't you the Author?"
The other glowered at the boy. "Yes."
"Do you have a real name?"
"Silly boy," chuckled the Author. "It would be stupid for me to reveal too much personal information on the Internet. That's why I'm completely indescribable."
"Oh." The boy shrugged. "What's the point of this chapter, anyway? Don't you need to go ahead and write the rest of the third chapter?"
"I am, you waste of oxygen," the Author growled, running his hand through his hair – or did he even have hair? Hm. "But it's being rather pesky to write at the moment, so I got bored and started writing this."
"Why are you wasting your time on this? Why don't you just write the third chapter?"
"I just told you that, moron. I'm trying, but it's slow work at this point. But this won't make the wait for the third chapter any longer for any of my oh-so-dedicated readers who grovel at my feet." The Author grinned smugly, apparently unaware that there were no such readers.
"What's the point of this chapter, anyway?" asked the boy. "And why is it called an interlude?"
"Because there's a break in between the action!" he exclaimed irritably. "And the point of this mini-chapter is to introduce a major character – me – that hasn't been introduced yet, only alluded to. Really I thought I'd be introduced earlier, but the fic has a mind of its own."
The boy nodded. "Ah. But is this chapter really going to be the shortest chapter?"
"Yep. It's going to be 500 words, or the shortest a chapter at one of the sites I post at can be."
"But isn't this chapter just kind of an author's note?"
"No! I am a major character in this fic! I must be introduced!"
"Man," breathed the boy, "you've got a bigger ego than the average professional athlete."
"Are you kidding me? Ego?" The Author laughed. "No way. Me, egotistical? I think that's an oxymoron, just like 'US Border Control'."
"Ouch. Harsh."
"Yep."
"So…"
"I think we've still got about a hundred words to go before we can wrap up this interlude."
"Uh, okay." The boy shifted in his seat. "So… croutons – delicious, or an insult to salad?"
The Author bit his lip, thinking. "You know, that's a very interesting question. I myself only eat them if I'm starving, but I know plenty of people who do eat them. But really, who invented the crouton? What is its purpose? The government should investigate this. It's not as if they've already got their hands tied with a deficit that doubles the gross national product of many countries."
"How long is this chapter going to be?"
"500 words."
"Oh. We're almost done, then."
"Darn it. I really wanted to talk more about these –"
-
The boy blinked. "Wait. The scene didn't change."
"Oh." The Author nodded suddenly, as if just remembering something. "Well, it seems that having a 'chapter' like that was kind of borderline because it was kind of like an author's note."
"Hah! Told you!"
"So really that was just a waste of time."
"So that was the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow?"
"Yes. That was the Chapter They Wouldn't Allow."
"Oh. But what about the other sites you post at that would've allowed it? Are you going to keep the scene in for them?"
"Sure, why not?" He grinned smugly for the second time in as many scenes. "My oh-so-dedicated readers will lap up anything they can get."
"Yeah… right."
The Author slapped his hand on the bench. "And now the scene will change."
-
"So, Eugey…"
Eugendoodle-Smith raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Eugey?"
"Your name is too damn long," Ron snapped back irritably. He sighed and flattened the cowlick in his hair absentmindedly. "Anyway, how are you going to find this person that we need to find?"
"You mean the Author, right?"
"Yes," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes. "But how did you know? We never told you in the last chapter."
"Oh." Eugendoodle-Smith shrugged. "It's quite simple, really. I'm psychic on Tuesdays."
"He sure is," said Voldemort knowingly.
Harry chuckled snidely. "Psychic on Tuesdays? How does that work? Don't Wednesday and Thursday feel left out?"
"Wednesday and Thursday feel left out," Ron snickered. "Good one, boss!"
Eugendoodle-Smith shot a silencing look at Ron before explaining. "The Inner Mind is not to be trifled with or questioned, my young cohort. My Inner Mind prefers to show itself on Tuesdays. Not Wednesdays or Thursdays, and definitely not Fridays. Saturdays are completely out of the question. It also helps that the Astral Plane is slightly less logjammed on Tuesdays. The rush hours during the weekend are horrendous. Everyone wants to call their girlfriend, their mother, their gay cowboy lover –"
"Okay, we get the point," Hermione cut him off. "And nice rhyming, by the way. That was slightly poetic. Oh, and you dropped your drug addict surfer persona somewhere along the line, too."
"Whoops." He looked slightly embarrassed at his gaffe. "Might want to pick that back up again… bro."
"Oh, it's no problem." She smirked the smirk one who thinks they're oh-so-smart smirks. Yes. That smirk. "It's probably the Author's fault, anyway. Poor characterization."
Lightning flashed in the background –
"We're indoors!"
Lightning flashed outside the windows and all the lights flickered out. The CD that had been playing – a certain CD that rhymed with "Fevolver" by a band whose name rhymed with "The Schmeatles" (for outright saying the band's name might somehow violate copyright; don't ask how that works) – stopped playing and everything went quiet.
"Hold me, Harry," Ron whimpered.
"Gladly!"
It was then that the electricity came back on, though. Everything appeared normal…
….
….
…
Hermione glared. "Stop it!"
Sorry. Oh, well, everything appeared normal until they noticed that the CD was playing backwards.
"Harry, stop stroking Ron's cheek – the lights are back on," sighed Voldemort as he scratched the back of his neck. He glanced up and furrowed his eyebrows. "What the hell?"
"The blood of the innocent shall be spilt
When you mess with the Author's bedtime quilt.
Your stupid submarine is yellow,
Hey, Jude was just a good old fellow!"
"Those last two lines don't even make sense!" Hermione exclaimed irritably. "The singer is just referring to two songs by a band that rhymes with 'The Schmeatles'!"
"Would you please shut up, Hermione?
You're sounding like you're oh-so-whiny.
'We can work it out,' you say,
Help – that day was yesterday!"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, that time you referred to three songs in two lines. Good job. Really."
"Thank you for the sarcastic reply;
Now, for that, you are going todie.
Come Together, Let It Be, She Loves You, I Want to Hold Your Hand, Helter Skelter,
SHUT UP HERMIONE OR ELSE A BIG BEAR IS GOING TO SIT ON YOU AND STEAL YOUR SOUL!""Well…" The prefect blinked. "I'm not even sure if that deserves a response."
"THANK GOD."
"Just wondering," Harry piped up, "but what's with the band that rhymes with 'The Schmeatles' and backwards loops and such?"
"It's awesome."
"I never really got the point of it."
"You're clearly not high enough to understand it."
Harry looked at the ground, cheeks red. "I actually have experimented with a few drugs before."
"Clearly your drugs don't work."
"Hey," Hermione huffed, "that's a reference to song by a band that rhymes with 'The Terve'!"
"You never shut up, do you?"
"Reminds me of my ex-wife," muttered Eugendoodle-Smith irritably.
"Reminds me of this really annoying guy I met at a gay bar," muttered Harry. "'My ex did this, my ex did that' – if your ex was so great, then why'd you break up? Get a clue, people."
There was a great silence in the room that lasted for some time. This time was used to come up with the next paragraph, and due to writer's block, it was a very long time.
How long? Think of the gap between Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, both by JK Rowling (please don't sue the Author). You think that gap was long? Hah. Loser. You don't know anything about long. That's not long at all. (That's what she said.)
"Wow, Hermione," Harry said suddenly, breaking the silence, "I didn't realize how hawt you had gotten over the summer!"
"Hawt?" she asked, ignoring how blunt that had been. "Don't you mean hot?"
"No, hawt! Or hott! You know, how the cool kids spell it!"
Regardless of spelling, Hermione had gotten quite hawt or hott or hot (or however you spell it) over the summer. Nice, tanned, long legs protruded from her fashionable skirt (only fifty pounds at your local Abercrombie/Hot Topic!), and her makeup really accentuated the rest of her facial features. Her previously bushy hair now flowed in long waves down to her shoulders, and she had the face of a goddess. Her shirt exposed just the right areas, and the lace of her lingerie could be seen if one looked hard enough.
"Damn," Ron whistled, "you be fine, girl!"
"I've got to admit, Hermione," Voldemort piped up, "you do look like a swimsuit model. Did you get implants?"
"No!" she exclaimed irritably. She then batted her eyelashes at them. "But you know, I have been trying to be more fashionable over the summer…"
Harry grinned. "Let's go swimming at your parents' house and snog (author's note: this must be said once in every romance fic just to prove that the author of said fic knows some term that isn't American), Hermione!"
"No, Harry, you and Hermione aren't canon anymore!" Ron wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Let's go back to my place, Hermione, and maybe make ourselves more comfortable."
"No!" Harry cried. "I can give you flying lessons!"
"Oh please! That's so cliched! I can fumble my words in such an awkward fashion that you think it's cute!"
"Oh, and that's not cliched!"
"It isn't!"
Somewhere in the argument Harry's glasses had disappeared along with his shirt. His rippling six pack was exposed (nicely tanned, of course), and Hermione knew that he had gotten such definition from Quidditch (author's note: wtf? How does riding on a broom give you definition?). He was quite handsome.
"Oh, Harry," she moaned, "you're so handsome! You even required an author's note in the middle of the paragraph, you're so hawt! (Author's note: don't you just hate it when there are author's notes in the middle of a story?)"
It was then that she noticed that Ron's shirt had also vanished, and his hair was styled in a wild and sexy fashion. He had the beginnings of a rugged beard now, and his muscles gleamed in the sunlight.
"Oh, Ron! You're just as hawt!"
"Hey," whined Voldemort, "don't I get a makeover, too?"
(Author's note: no. You got the pink hair.)
"Dang."
"Have I just been completely forgotten these last 529 words?" grouched Eugendoodle-Smith angrily.
(Author's note: yes. Deal with it.)
"Everyone," yelled Harry proudly, "come see how good I look!"
(Author's note: that was stolen from the movie 'Anchorman'. Bad Harry. BadHarry.)
"You know," Voldemort muttered under his breath, "all of these author's notes are getting somewhat annoying. They could distract the reader from the plot."
(Author's note: there is no plot. Oh, and this is the last author's note. Bye.)
Ron waved stupidly. "Bye!"
(…)
The group waited expectantly for the next note, not really believing that they had seen the last of them.
(…)
"You know," Hermione said quietly, pain evident in her voice, "now that they're gone I kind of miss the author's notes."
(Author's note: really?)
"Damned thing!" Voldemort raised his wand above his head dangerously, standing like a beacon of terror over all of them. For a brief moment his pink hair turned into flames. Figuratively speaking, of course. "You shall now face the wrath of one hundred readers promptly clicking the 'back' button on the page and you shall get a miniscule amount of reviews! Take that, you over-talkative demon!"
There were no more author's notes. Ever.
The former Dark Lord and prospective World Savior was quite smug. "Ha. Taught that fool a lesson."
"Yeah…" Ron looked at his rippling muscles to Harry's shirtless torso and then to Hermione's defined figure. "Why are we all suddenly so sexy, again? Weren't Harry and I fighting over you or something? And how'd I get a beard?"
"Actually, I don't know," Hermione confessed. For a second the world stopped turning as the populace of the Earth processed this twist. "Er… sorry for not knowing everything?"
"Shame on you," Ron said, shaking his head. He sighed, unaware that he was about to act like many characters on Saturday morning cartoons. "And shame on us, Harry. We shouldn't fight like this. Hermione is our friend, and I don't want to ruin our bond over this and lose you and her."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, now completely moral and not in any way perverted. "If she picks one of us, the other should be supportive and all that stuff and completely forget about his purely emotional attraction to Hermione and be content with being just friends."
Ron grinned in a cheesy fashion. "Let the best man win!"
"Yeah, I –"
"Not if I have anything to say about it!"
Suddenly a blond wizard popped up in front of them, and all of them (even Eugendoodle-Smith, who had gone unmentioned for the last 407 words) groaned. "Malfoy!"
"Hey!" the Slytherin exclaimed indignantly, slicking back his hair. Hordes of fangirls swooned around him in the street. "Why doesn't anybody like me?"
"Let's see," Hermione said loudly as she ticked off the reasons on her finger. "You're a biased arse who doesn't like me for being Muggle-born and constantly torments me for that –"
"And you say that my mother's fat," Ron added, "and keep reminding me that I'm poor and my life has little to no value at all –"
"And your father screwed up possibly the most important task I'd ever given one of my servants," Voldemort stated, slightly irritable. "And you couldn't finish Dumbledore, even though you had the chance –"
"And you pretty much make my life a living hell at every opportunity," Harry finished.
"And you are a pretty boy!" Eugendoodle-Smith piped up enthusiastically, happy that he had only gone 147 words since his last mention.
"Well, you've got a few points." Malfoy was about to slick his hair again when he threw a look at the fangirls and winked. "By the way, you can call me Draco. You too, Author." Draco read this sentence and smiled smugly. "Good. Now, where was I… ah. That's right. I was about to proclaim my undying love for the Mudblood."
A vein in Ron's head throbbed violently. "How dare you call her that!"/I
"Right. Whoops. I mean Hermione." He sneered at Ron. "I was about to proclaim my undying love for Hermione."
Harry blinked. "Meheh?"
"Are you sure that you were a Death Eater?" Voldemort asked, dumbfounded.
"What the hell?" Hermione squeaked.
"I know, it's a little bit confusing. In fact, I don't really know why I'm suddenly in love with her myself. I think it has to do with the love-hate thing, or maybe the fact that there's a lot of so-called sexual tension." He paused and looked thoughtfully at the ground. "I heard some people say something about the actors being attractive, whatever that means. Anyways, I've brought this Timeturner to go back in time and make her love me!"
"Oh." Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "And you are telling us this so we have time to act because…?"
"Just felt like it," Draco replied. "Had to gloat and all before I inevitably renounce my evil ways and become good and redeem myself and all that junk. I'm trying to beat Snape to the punch."
Ron growled to himself like a wild animal. "Well, Malfoy –"
"Draco!"
"Well, Draco, I'm not going to let that happen!"
With unbridled ferocity the redhead dove at the defenseless Timeturner. Draco had no time to react – it was too late already. Ron's hand swiped at it and it went crashing to the ground before bursting into a million little pieces.
"Oh Merlin!" Hermione gasped, rushing forward. "Ron –"
Her cries were muted as she stepped into the dust and quickly vanished. Ron let out a guttural roar; Draco just stared blankly.
"Damn," he said. "Didn't expect that to happen."
"You!" Ron yelled, grabbing him by his shirt and lifting him into the air with previously unmentioned strength. The fangirls watched with great anxiety. "What have you done?"
"Well, in just about every Timeturner fic Hermione goes back to the Marauders' time," Draco breathed, a look of concentration coming over his face. "Don't know why – you figure that some of the time she'd end up somewhere else. If everything goes as it should, she'll probably fall in love with either Black or Lupin. Face it, dude. We're screwed."
Ron dropped to the ground in anguish. "No… it couldn't be…"
It was Eugendoodle-Smith that broke the silence.
"Hey! Only 463 words this time!"
