Hello all! I'm back a little later than I expected, but I promise, I'm going to try to update one story a week. Ok, promise is a really strong word… but I'll try.

This chunk be dedicated to JustMe, I promise the teasing will soon end.

There is that 'p' word again!

Anyway, still own no Harry Potter Pie… not even a crumb, still have nothing but a cheap-ass hammie. Oh, I also don't own Metabolife or Lemon Fresh Pine Sol. Well… I own one bottle of each, but I doubt that gives me copyright privileges. So, please sue me not!

#blah# are Harry's thoughts, and random 0000000's are time breaks. R & R I beg of you, and read on!

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Chapter 3

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Harry burst out of the dining area in a flurry, slamming the door into the wall in the process. #Laugh at me will you?# He stormed his way down the corridor, squeezing himself against the wall occasionally to avoid passing mail carts, the last of which ran over his foot.

After a moment or two of hissed swearing at the rapidly retreating cart, and careful Lamaze breathing, he attempted to resume storming. Head down, arms swinging, he had hobbled all of five steps when he ran squarely into a leather-clad torso. He barely had time to register the collision, much less look up or apologize, when he found himself squished against the wall with a blade at his throat.

Moving as if standing front and center in a tiger's cage, Harry carefully glanced up at his attacker. Standing before him was a slightly grubby, very paranoid human.

"Moses on a muffin, Aragorn! You scared the life out of me!" he cried, pushing angrily against the man's chest. "Are you on Metabolife again? I'm pretty sure Management told you to lay off those, thanks to your last little jitters-induced maiming."

Aragorn drew back his sword and resheathed it. Just over his shoulder Harry could see a blond elf lowering an arrow that had previously been aimed for his forehead. Harry huffed in indignant rage, "You too, Legolas? For Merlin's sake, you two could've killed me! Although I can't say I'm really surprised you're here; don't you two ever leave each other's side?" Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a pointed look but said nothing more on the matter.

"Our apologies, Harry the Green, we mistook you for the enemy," Aragorn said, bowing absurdly low, one hand over his heart. Legolas did the same.

Harry looked down at the green shirt he was wearing, "Listen, mates, I've told you before… yes, I'm a wizard, but the color I'm wearing has nothing to do with…oh just forget it." It was never any use to get into these type of conversations with characters from other stories. It only led to a lot of confusion and accusations of madness. Besides, it was kind of worth not correcting them sometimes, like when last week Pippin had called him "Harry the uh… Periwinkle."

After a much longer moment than necessary, Aragorn stood up again and turned to Legolas. He spoke fluidly to the elf in a language Harry didn't understand. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. #I hate it when they do this! It's not as though Legolas can't speak common!# As a matter of fact, Legolas set the record for the best language test score the Office ever had. (To avoid pesky issues like language differences in crossover stories, the Management decided it best if every character learn a 'common' language. If they don't pass the language test, they don't get written. Tests are held every Thursday night in suite 2B, if you're interested.)

"Ok, that's it! Enough out of both of you!" Harry bellowed, "Apology accepted, now if you'd excuse me, I have a story to get to." He waved his arms around in one last display of anger, and thankfully both Aragorn and Legolas had the decency to look sheepish. Harry whirled around and tromped down the hallway, all pain in his foot forgotten for the time being.

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Harry found himself outside of the office of Scripts, Outlines, and Indexes about a half an hour later. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

It was similar to being down on the trading floor on Wall Street. Machines for miles were buzzing and ticking, shooting out page after page of stories. A long row of counters, with the laughable sign of 'customer service' hung slightly askew above it separated Harry from hundreds of people scurrying about, collecting, collating, stapling, and copying. A steady pile of finished scripts were piled on a large desk behind the counters. Behind each section of counter was a weary looking person trying half heartedly to accomplish, well… anything really. Dozens of characters, some Harry recognized, some he didn't, were clustered together in little groups around the room. They all were holding recently acquired scripts, and either celebrating the contents, or grumbling to each other about what the fates had handed them.

He walked up to the only available counter and looked at the name plate. "Hullo there, uh, Lance," he squinted at the plate, "is that Bass like the fish or Bass like the instrument?" he asked with a smile.

The blond haired man behind the counter narrowed his eyes at him, "Never even heard of me have you?" he asked bitterly.

"Uh, well, I spend a lot of time in a cupboard," he said in a placating tone. He had heard horror stories of desk workers going ballistic in the Office and didn't really fancy being a statistic.

"Yeah, well I used to be in a boy band. I starred in a hundred stories a week. A week! Then that little mop head Justin just had to go fucking solo! You know what happens to characters who don't have stories to star in? They get stuck with desk jobs! They get to deal with jerks like you! They get to be on their feet for eight hours and eat their lunch in a room the size of a cigarette pack! They get to smell like toner when they go home, and they get to listen to stupid questions! So, it's not like you really care or anything, but it's BASS like the FISH, your highness!"

By the time he had finished his rant, he was nearly lying on the counter, his face inches away from Harry's. Then just as quickly as the rage had started, it was gone. He slid back down to a standing position and asked, "Name, story universe and genre please."

Harry, still wide eyed and trying to control his breathing, managed to squeak out, "Harry Potter, Harry Potter, and uh… romance." His hand twitched in reflex to grab his wand in defense, and only an ingrained sense of self preservation stopped him (because rest assured my friends, Management was much worse than a boy band member scorned.)

Lance Bass (like the fish), turned away and dug through the pile of scripts. While he was turned Harry couldn't help but notice that no one in the room had appeared the least bit surprised at Lance's hateful outburst, and he made a mental note to never ever speak to the man again. At just that moment, Lance turned back to him, and Harry plastered on a fake smile.

"Here you are Mr. Potter. Forty six pages of pure smut with you as the lucky star. Enjoy it while it lasts because you'll never know when one of your costars will grow a pair and decide he's sooooooooo much better than..." but before he could finish Harry had snatched the script and was well on his way out the door.

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Harry read over the script, huddled in the corner of one of the conference rooms. As he turned each page his face got more and more scrunched in distaste, until by page forty six he looked like he was trying desperately to keep down a half a bottle of Lemon Fresh Pine Sol.

#Ok, readers# Harry thought desperately, #if you just stop reading right now, this script never has to be acted!# Hey! Don't tell them that! #Stay out of this! This is between me and them!#

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Half an hour found Harry in front of Studio 39D, script firmly in hand. He had pleaded for fifteen minutes for you all to stop reading, but that has all been removed for your reading pleasure. He then paced for fifteen minutes, cussing and going over and over the script.

Harry leaned his head against the door, firmly imprinting 39D backwards on his forehead. He took a deep breath and entered the studio. It was fairly quiet, the all the set was built and ready to go, as it always was, although Harry never saw a construction crew.

He walked over to the catering table and poured himself a paper cup of pumpkin juice. Taking a long sip, he nearly sprayed half of it out his nose when heard someone behind him.

"About time you got here, I thought I was going to have to act this one all by myself."

TBC…. sorry, last time I leave you in the dark, I promise! THE 'P' WORD AGAIN! Any guesses on who Harry's costar is, I'm sure many of you know. #wink# Please please please review!