Seamus was having a spectacular tantrum. He was angry because he hadn't been included in a great new Harry Potter fanfiction that was being written. His Irish temper had gotten the better of him and he had gone overboard slightly on the shots of whiskey; six empty whiskey bottles lay scattered on the floor. A raging drunk Seamus was not somebody to fuck with, and that's exactly what the Author was doing. "Goddamnit, I just want somebody to write me into a situation with naked chicks! Is that so much to ask?" Seamus slurred loudly. "I just want to be included with all of my friends" he continued softly, displaying his pronounced bi-polar disorder. He grabbed the last of the whiskey out from under his bed and curled up on the floor with it, rocking back and forth on his ass and sobbing quietly. Eager to get away before Seamus had another mood swing and started killing people, the Author slunk out quietly while Seamus was engaged with his whiskey.
Ginny had finished treating Ron's significant injuries and was back in her room. It was unfortunate that she had put some clothes on, but there was nothing to be done about it. This isn't some fetish-obsessed M-rated fic, is it? But then Ginny got out her schoolgirl uniform and a whip, and the illusion was shattered. The Author was a sexual pervert who used his characters for his own twisted desires, no doubt about it.
Eager to repair His reputation, the Author forced Ginny to actually put on some decent clothes that covered almost 50 of her skin and attend a church service. Unfortunately, it was a "contemporary" service, which meant that everybody was clapping and singing Christian rock songs. The sermon consisted of saying "You have to be totally down with Jesus' never-ending love", "God should be your main homey", "Get a back-stage pass to heaven" and other random bullshit for twenty-five minutes. Thankfully, Ginny passed out soon after the sermon started, and when she awoke the service was over. To avoid getting invited to the youth group by teenaged Christian militants, Ginny went into an empty bathroom and apparated the fuck out of there.
Hey guess what! Sirius isn't dead lolololololololololololololol!11! No, really.
Going through that veil thingy had been a disappointment for Sirius. He had expected to die, at least, and get some mystical afterlife or something kick-ass like that. His expectations were crushed when he saw what was really behind the veil. There was a dank small room, with poor ventilation and little light. He thought at first he might be in hell, but after a few days of nothing happening at all, he figured he could just go back out through the veil. Wrong. He felt some mystical force (the Author) hold him back whenever he got close enough to the veil to touch it. So for the past few months, he had been sitting in this little room, with absolutely nothing to entertain himself except his own thoughts (which became incomprehensible after a few weeks, even to Sirius himself). Periodically he would unthinkingly get up to go towards the veil, but the same invisible force kept slapping him back down.
The Author was having a great time watching Sirius sink into dementia (or whatever the state is called where you don't think anything for two months). Sirius wasn't having that great of a time, though. Occasionally another person would fall through the veil (mostly poorly-trained and clumsy department of mysteries workers) but they always killed themselves after a few days, so they weren't any help. Plus, their bodies took up considerable space and smelled pretty bad.
One day The Author decided to let Sirius out, just for the heck of it. He walked out of the veil at the precise time the Burrow exploded. Having not done much of anything in two and a half months, Sirius took this new opportunity to go watch porn and smoke large quantities of weed. What a testament to his character and personality. He could do something noble like go visit Harry or something but instead he decides to get high. Hippie. Goddamnit.
"Neville, you can't just tell people that you want to have sex with them. It's not socially acceptable." Hermione was explaining gently to Neville. "It tends to put people in an awkward position". Neville looked down at his shoes and mumbled uncomfortably. "I just…you know…wanted……..sigh….". With that, Neville walked out of the house, his huge fatty fat tubbo lardy man jugs bouncing along with him. Hermione was still in the fucking pant chains. Dejected and alone, Hermione went into her natural defensive state: cutting. Since she had incredibly limited arm movement, she began to roll around the floor, banging her wrist occasionally against the floor.
Hey, you know what's funny? Only three people are going to read this chapter, and you're one of them! Isn't that fucking hilarious? The Author thinks so too. Back to the story. Or not. Whatever…I don't feel like writing any more.
No, I'm not bitter. Why do you ask?