A/N: I rather like Harry Potter (though the old stuff was better), and I love the Sorcerer Hunters, but here I make fun of both mercilessly. It's like mocking your family, I guess. So no one be offended—I'm flaming my own passions as much as yours. The quotes are from memory, because I didn't have the patience to go look them up.
Harry Potter's hand trembled as he gripped his wand. Having tracked down all the Horcruxes (Horcruxi?) and finally tracked down Voldemort, which we're all reasonably certain he'll do eventually, he was at a loss. A rising tide of panic threatened to overwhelm the overblown righteous indignation and Hero Complex that had driven him so far.
"Come and dance with death, young Potter," said Voldemort, his soft, incredibly evil voice failing to allay his total incapacity for original dialogue. "Bow to death, Potter. It has been your fate since the day you chose to stand against me!"
"I'll never join you!" Harry shouted, and, fearing a lawsuit from the all-powerful Star Wars lobby in the Ministry of magic, changed tactics. "You're not immortal anymore! You're going to pay for all the lives you've ruined! I'll make you pay!"
"So you think, Potter. So like Dumbledore in your weaknesses. And it took only a servant of mine to kill Dumbledore. Do you sincerely believe you might challenge me?"
Harry thought about pointing out that he, a teenage dork with a lousy personality and uncertain talents, had evaded the forces of evil largely unscathed for years, but was prevented by the amnesia demon of formulaic fiction. "If you think that, why'd you bother killing my Mum and Dad?"
"Enough of your insolence, little Harry," spat Voldemort. Harry found himself rooted to the spot. "Look into my eyes, Potter. See your death therein. You'll be united with your darling parents very soon!" He raised his wand for the killing curse.
Suddenly, the unspecified chamber was filled with rousing battle music, and a puff of smoke burst from the doorway. A bright, sourceless light illuminated five figures from behind. Squinting into the light, Harry thought he could make out three witches and two wizards, in foreign looking robes. Had the Order of the Phoenix finally figured out there seemed to be dozens of them compared to a handful of named death eaters and as-yet largely unrallied dark forces? (Though that wouldn't explain the nifty score.) Though he had intended to do this alone, now that it looked, yet again, like he was gonna die, Harry was glad for the assistance.
An unseen voice rang from somewhere on the ceiling. "Here on the Spooner Continent, there are two kinds of people; those who can use magic, the sorcerers, and those who cannot, parsoners. The way the Sorcerers treat the Parsoners redefines cruelty. But there are those who protect the weak… They are… Sorcerer Hunters! Dun dun, dun dun, dun dada dun dun! Da dada dun dun dadadada!"
Toto suddenly ran across the room to pull open an invisible curtain, revealing a short redhead of indeterminate gender with a megaphone and voice changer. "Leave me alone!" said the miffed author. "I forgot my soundtrack! Now kick each others' asses!" Irritably, it closed the curtain and returned to its mildly off key rendition of the cool Sorcerer Hunters battle music.
"What the hell is going on?" Asked Voldemort, entirely breaking character for a moment for amusement's sake.
"Your torture of innocents is at an end, Sorcerer," said the man Harry had mistaken for a witch, understandably. He drew a tarot card from the magical anime pocket dimension whence all things spring.
"Dun dun dun dun…"
"Shut up!"
"Stay in character, Marron! Crossovers aren't funny unless you're in character!" The author glared and retreated again to its lair.
The androgynous Eastern Magic master shrugged and flourished his card, causing a pillar of ice to engulf Voldemort. Harry watched, in near total confusion, as the ice trembled, threatening to release the Dark Wizard.
"Move it, Parsoner, you're only in the way!" An incredibly muscular blond ripped Harry from where he had frozen, leaving the soles of his trainers on the floor. For a moment, everyone giggled because the English call gym shoes "trainers." Then the massive lunatic hurled him aside, where a girl in glasses and a red trenchcoat caught him with superhuman dexterity.
"Don't worry, sir, this won't take us long." She bowed, shy smile, oddly high-pitched voice, and politeness all converging to make her seem the strangest of all.
There was a burst of light, and Voldemort broke free, having required the time to parry a distinctly un-British form of attack. "Who are you?"
"We… are the Sorcerer Hunters…" breathed a deep, seductive female voice from over Harry's shoulder. "And it is time to pay for your crimes."
Temporarily disarmed by the only dialogue more wooden than his own, the Dark Lord could only snarl. The owner of the voice took a superhuman leap from the shadows, revealing herself as an incredibly busty redhead in exceedingly scanty clothes.
With a roar of fury, Voldemort threw the crutatis curse at the effete card-wielder. He dodged, and stood, looking polished and unruffled. Also extremely gay, but the general consensus was to let that slide. After all, he looks really good in eyeshadow.
"You would be wise… To keep your magic far from my little brother!" Said the man behind Harry, and generally stupid looking douche with the aura of one with occasional bouts of heroism, usually attached to the presence of pretty girls. Auras are telling things. "Heed my warning, old man!"
"Insolent fool!" Voldemort hissed a vile sounding curse, and a jet of purple light sped for the man, who bowled over. Harry was sure the worst had happened, though h had no clear idea what was happening, but then the man stood.
"I may not be strong," he said quietly. "And I may not be able to use magic… But I have one special talent." He spun, his eyes glowing. "I absorb the attacks of my enemies…"
"Zooanthropy," observed the gay magician, looking somewhat bored with the proceedings.
The man slowly transformed into a hideous monster and beat the everliving monkey snot out of Voldemort, leaving a bloody pulp. Then the author reappeared from its den. "As much fun as I'm having, I want to go to bed and I don't think I'll be able to come back to this."
In resolution, the Sorcer Hunters turned into their adorable child selves and wandered away, and Harry Potter went on to become slightly less annoying and the minister of gobstones. The end.