This story has been…accused?...of not having much of a plot. Now setting aside just how accurate that may appear to be at the moment, there is a…well I was going to say point…but maybe that's not the best word for it. Anyway, there is a story arc, which will be revealed at the end, at the moment, we're just catching up with all the characters and setting the pieces on the board ready for a final and decisive play. Well, maybe. Besides, it makes us laugh, we hope it makes you laugh, and said lack of plot makes it easy to insert a giant squid at any point should a certain someone keep reviewing.
Mwahahahahhahaha.
Onwards, ever onwards.
Going to make coffee ice cream now, but if you enjoy our unique blend of Parody Without a Point (PWAP) may I direct you to our bio page and 'Tree's a crowd' and 'OotP!… I did it again'
We'd also like to point out that the schism on the Revels front has yet to be healed.
Going now, before author's note ends up longer than the chapter,
Enjoy.
Bye
No really going now.
See, gone.
Mmmmm….Coffee.
Chapter 4 – That's Shallot
Arthur couldn't take much more of this. He was used to being invisible, holding an office in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office wasn't exactly high profile, and even as Minister of Magic, he was still a Weasley, used to being one of a crowd. He had a bit of an indistinguishable back up wizard complex when all was said and done. He liked being in the shadows, quietly industrious. He was mildly proud that the Sorting Hat had told him he would do well in Hufflepuff, but he had heard a disturbing joke involving badgers on the Hogwarts Express, and thus informed the hat right off he was going into Gryffindor. You don't mess with Gryffins, not with those beak and claw issues.
Unfortunately, having a prominent role in the defeat of the most evil wizard anyone could remember (except for old codgers like Dumbledore) meant that he wasn't allowed to fade into the background. The bright ginger hair didn't help either. Not to mention (except clearly we're about to) the fact that he was married to a Death Eater. Had been for years, and simply hadn't noticed that one arm was covered in plastic all the time. He was, it's fair to say, a less that observant kind of chap.
No one could hide the pity in their eyes, and Arthur hated it. He wasn't just a Weasley, but he was also a Gryffindor. And we all know that Gryffindors are proud creatures with delicate sensibilities. With this in mind, Arthur took the only viable way out. He tendered his resignation and ran, ran away.
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The banging from across the what, for want of a better word we will call a street (although mud track may be a better description) woke them from their not so gentle slumbers. A side effect from their brief period of intimacy was that in times of unusual activity they shared dreams. And nightmares. They were currently in one of the latter, dark and sinister with tap-dancing badgers. Not that leaving the dream made them any more pleased to be awake at 3 am.
"Lumos" they muttered, and an eerie light bathed the hall as the South of France synchronised stumbling out of bed team performed a perfect display. Shame nobody was watching really (Big Brother goes without saying). They turned as one and stared out of the window.
"Looks like some poor bugger finally bought the house next door. And I see by their stripy top, beret and the string of onions around their neck that they are a clueless wizard impersonating a Frenchman"
"What's wrong with the house? Is it haunted?"
"No, you pillock, the main problem is that their neighbours are diabolically cunning, scheming, manipulative, arrogant, self centred, sadistic social climbing bastards and not harmless fruits at all"
"Speak for yourself"
"You mean you actually want to be a pomegranate?"
Snape smirked at the sickened look on Sirius's face and accompanying "Eeeeww…." They really should never have explained that joke to him. Gryffindors would always be too trusting to the end of their days. Shame, but it did provide him with some petty amusement at times like these.
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Across the street, unaware of the eyes watching him, Arthur Weasley struggled to get his large and random collection of Muggle rubbish, as well as the few useful items he owned through the doorway. Eventually he solved the problem by removing the entire front of the house. A few levitation charms later he was as at home as he was ever going to be.
He couldn't believe it. He had lost his wife, his job and his family honour in the revelations after the war. To add insult to injury, he had just lost 25% of the structural support to his new house and the roof was sagging, and all in the name of plugs. Life just wasn't fair.
On the plus side while his new, soon-to-be habitual abode was somewhat more accessible than its architect had originally intended, a stray kitten wandered in with all the cuteness of fluffy kittens worldwide. It was also carrying a small basket of croissants and had a pink bow tied around its neck. In the minature sleigh attached to its hind quarters was a magnum of champagne on ice. All in all it was very much like what the greeks had done at troy, except at this point there was no Mr Bloom in sight….let's face if there was, would we be wasting our time here?
After relieving the kitten of its burdens with alacrity, Arthur scooped up the little bundle of fluff (still with its pink ribbons, as even the most kleptomaniacal of red-headed wizards knows not to try and wear one on account of the clashing issues) and announce to the world in general, or maybe just his observers from across the street who may or may not have had anything to do with said kitten's appearance,
"Awwwwwwwwwww….aren't you just lovely. I bet you're really sweet and loyal and always remember to review the fanfic you read. I think I shall call you Wiccan. My Wiccan PussyKat."
[A/N: If you don't get it, go read our reviews. So back to the plot, or lack there of…]
Fred and George were, whilst loaded, about as useful as a degree in Archaeology and Anthropology given their current residency in St Mungo's.
Bill was in Egypt, and currently unreachable. Gringotts had sent him to search for the lost tomb of the mystical (and quite possibly mythical) Queen Neferpipi, known from the inscriptions at Karnak temple as The Once and Future Queen (Regina quondam et futurum, if they had been into the whole latin thing, which will have to do as word doesn't have a hieroglyphics setting. It's something that disrupts my day-to-day life.) Since the temple was lost, Bill concluded in a fit of Weasley logic, if he wanted to find it, he needed to be lost too. He made like a tree and buggered off into the Sahara.
Charlie was oblivious to everything but dragons and Ron was, well, Ron, on a glamorous assignment to the Ministry that he could not reveal. Arthur may have been a Weasley, but he wasn't stupid. There was actually a Weasley book giving advice to younger generations on handy excuses for being poor and desperate while keeping a shred of dignity. That Ron was using the Ministry excuse meant he was probably packing dragon dung.
The final battle (yeah right) between good and evil, Harry and Voldemort, was over and had left its mark on Ron who now relied on monthly potions to keep him alive. It creeped Arthur out that his youngest son was effectively a parasite. To live, he needed the blood of a hero. Harry's blood.
And as for Percy the prick, well, there was one revelation during the trial that Arthur was pleased to hear. Percy wasn't his. He was a product of Molly's (now not so) secret liaison with Voldie's second favourite minion, Lucius "the infamous nympho" Malfoy. It explained the bug up his arse at least.
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"Where you goin' love? Cor blimey me ol' cock sparrow up the apples and pairs… South of the river at this time of night? You're 'avin' a giraffe aincha!"
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Ref
The pomegranate thing is entirely from our own sick and twisted imagination. To find out who told who what about this rather delicious and mythologically damning fruit, check out Sirius Trouble.
1984
T H White, 'The once and future king'