Chapter 3: Tied Ends

There followed a brief lull in the action, at least as far as Harry was concerned, for nearly a week. One afternoon at the end of Potions, however, Snape called him to the front of the room.

"You and I have an appointment to see Professor Trelawney this evening," Snape told him. "Given that Chapter Six of 'The ThriceWrought Challenge' was your dream, I haven't the faintest idea why she would want to talk with the two of us, but there you have it."

Harry had his own thoughts in the matter, but he kept them to himself. He worried, though, about the peculiar timing of this impending conversation. It served no readily clear purpose in plot-advancement, and it made him wonder if the writer was subtly shifting the plot to serve her own unknown agenda.

Hopefully she just put this part here because it didn't fit in anywhere else, he thought…but he still worried. He needn't have done, however, for he was right on the money.

After dinner, Harry and his father walked to the hospital wing, arriving shortly before the appointed time. Trelawney's bed was curtained off, but the privacy screens didn't prevent sound from escaping.

"Death!" Trelawney's voice declared from behind the curtains. "I see the Grim—it's everywhere! Death is all around!"

"So…how's that workin' for ya?" a deep voice with a Texan drawl asked.

"Do you not hear me?!" Trelawney wailed.

"I hear you just fine," the drawl replied. "But it seems our time has run out, and there are two gentlemen here to see you."

At that, the curtain drew back, and a portly, balding man with a bushy mustache stepped out. He nodded to Harry, then to Snape, and, with a toothy smile, said, "She's making great progress." He exited, leaving the two Snapes to face Trelawney.

She looked much as she had in Harry's dream: Her glasses were gone, her hair was frizzed, and she seemed a little frightened.

Snape's jaw had fallen open, and he stared at her in shock. "Hermione!"

Trelawney—um, Hermione—well, Mrs. Snape, at any rate, nodded miserably.

"I'd heard about the nervous breakdown," Snape continued, "but I never thought you'd be reduced to—" He caught himself and broke off. "That is, you don't look much like…oh, to hell with it!"

"I changed a big," Mrs. Snape allowed. "But the clue that should have given it away right off is that both Hermione Granger and Sibyl Trelawney are played by actresses named Emma."

Harry and Snape exchanged thunderstruck looks. "She's got a point," Harry said in an awed voice. "I'd never thought of that!"

Snape frowned, though. "But then, wouldn't that open up the possibility that Bilbo Baggins is Gandalf?" he pointed out. "Or that Sam Gamgee is Boromir?"

Harry and Mrs. Snape stared at him for a long moment, which was shattered by Mrs. Snape's smacking Snape over the head with a pillow. "Now you're thinking too hard, Severus," she said snippily. "You still think too hard!"

"As I recall," Snape growled, "that was one of the few things you considered endearing in me, darling."

Mrs. Snape looked as if she was going to burst into tears, but, perhaps thinking of Cho "The Hosepipe" Chang, she thought better of it.

Harry thought it best to interject before things got any uglier. "Um, Mum? Dad?" he said quietly.

Both turned to give him the Look of Death. He cleared his throat and offered a small smile. "Look," he went on, "I know things are a bit rough for you right now, maybe you're a bit angry—"

"A bit angry?" Snape echoed. "She left me for Sirius Black! I'm fricking pissed off!"

"Are you still on about that?" Mrs. Snape snapped. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry before you believe me?! I can't undo the past!"

"I never wanted to marry you in the first place, you frizzy little minx!" Snape roared.

"And I never wanted to get knocked up!" his beloved wife shot back. "But we don't always get what we want, now, do we?"

"Don't you dare bring Harry into this!"

"I'll bring in the Pope if I damn well please!"

"All right, all right, all right!" Harry shouted. "Will you both please just shut up!"

"I will if she does," Snape growled.

Mrs. Snape sniffed haughtily. "Sure."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "This is a parody fic, you two," he reminded them. "Not one of those angsty romance ones. We're allowed to have a sitcom ending here, okay?" He looked them each in the eye. "Now. Mum, you've obviously got some bitterness issues going on, but can we set those aside for a minute?"

Mrs. Snape glared at the far wall for a moment, then sighed loudly. "All right," she agreed.

"Dad, I'm sensing a bit of resentment, but are you willing to look past it for now?"

Snape rolled his eyes but shrugged and nodded his acquiescence. "Fine."

"All right, then." Harry took a deep breath. "Mum, just answer one simple question. Do you love my dad?"

Mrs. Snape's jaw trembled violently. "Yes," she sniffled.

"Okay." Harry turned to Snape and raised his eyebrows. "Dad—I know it's hard, but think sitcom, here—do you love my mum?"

Snape sat down very hard in a conveniently placed chair thoughtfully provided by the narrator. "Yes," he mumbled.

Now Mrs. Snape did burst into tears. She leaned over to catch Snape in a bear hug, and Harry thought he saw the beginnings of a goofy grin on his father's face.

Yes, he thought. My work here is done. I can now skip ahead to the next part of the story.

---

The narrator obligingly made the jump for him, writing him directly to a point in time about five minutes later. He left his parents to their teary reconciliation and departed the hospital wing for the library. Halfway to his destination, though, he came around a corner and slammed full-on into someone coming the other way.

Both of them stumbled backward, mumbling apologies, until Harry saw who the other person was. Ron's face went red to the very tips of his ears, and Harry knew instinctively (and because the writer told him so) that he himself had gone very pale.

"Um, hi…Harry," Ron mumbled.

"Weasley," Harry said stiffly. After all, he was a Slytherin now and had a reputation to maintain—and in any case, hadn't Ron ended their friendship twelve days before, on account of Harry being Snape's son? "Fine evening, isn't it."

Ron flushed even redder. "Look, Harry," he stammered. "I know I was a big prat to you a fortnight ago—"

"Twelve days," Harry corrected. "The narrator just said so."

"Okay, twelve days," Ron amended. "But my point is, it was wrong of me and stupid and—" He shrugged helplessly. "I miss having you as a friend."

"Sure you don't just miss me because Hermione's gone?" Harry countered nastily. "I can fix that. She's in the hospital wing snogging with my dad."

Ron went a bit green (which looked rather odd, given that his face was still red). "Well, I miss Hermione, too," he admitted. "But I'd miss being your friend anyway." When Harry still looked skeptical, Ron's expression turned pleading. "C'mon, Harry—think sitcom. This is fanfic, after all; what we do doesn't have to have any basis in reality."

That left Harry with no recourse but to grin and offer his hand. "All right, then," he said. "Friends?"

Ron, too, grinned and shook his hand. "Friends."

"I was just on my way to the library," Harry told him. "Want to come?"

"Sure." Ron frowned. "What are you going to the library for?" he asked. "It's not Hermione-withdrawal, is it?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno, really," he admitted. "I've an idea that it's got something to do with an upcoming plot twist.."

"Oh." Ron nodded. "Well, while we're waiting for the plot twist, let's go through the old Hogwarts yearbooks. There's a picture in the 1986 one of a hilarious prank someone pulled at the end—"

He froze abruptly, staring straight ahead. Harry, frowning, followed his gaze, but all he saw was a silvery figure in the distance.

"Um, Ron?" he said.

"I'll catch up to you later, Harry," Ron answered, his voice sounding a little funny. "I just remembered—I'm due for a French lesson just now."

"Ron?"

The silvery figure moved toward them. "Oh, Meester Weasley!" a familiar voice called. "Ah'm waiteeng."

Harry tilted his head in utter befuddlement. "Fleur?!"

"See you around, Harry," Ron told him, then bolted down the corridor. Before Harry could react, Ron and Fleur had disappeared around a corner.

A deep sense of foreboding filled him. "There was no point to that exercise," he muttered. "Unless…" His head snapped up and he started running after them. "Ron, wait!" he shouted. "She's the plot twist!" He rounded the corner they had just turned, but the corridor was empty and dead-ended ten feet in front of him.

Ron and Fleur were gone.