Disclaimer: Neither I nor my co-author for this story is J.K.R., so we don't own anything except for the characters Jake and Lee and the plotline. Don't sue us please!

Chapter 1: Stupid Phone Booth!

"This is all your fault Jayklin."

"My fault? How is this my fault?"

"I don't know. But it's all your fault."

" . . .?"

If you're wondering what on Earth is going on, you probably don't want to know. But so that you can understand at least 1/100 of this fic, I'll try to explain.

"What? You were the one who bought the tickets!"

"But it was your idea to go to London in the first place!"

"But it was your idea to go on vacation!"

As you can guess, there are two people arguing at the moment. The argument seems to be over who is to blame for missing the flight back to America. But as these are both college girls, they never place the blame correctly. Here is a completely unbiased account of what has happened up until this point.

These two young, beautiful, very smart college girls, Jayklin "Jake" Tyler and Leeann "Lee" Everett decided, upon their summer vacation, to go to Europe, namely England, well known for its beautiful scenery, great shopping, and relaxing spas. (For more information on taking this vacation, check with your local travel agent.) They had a marvelous time during their three-week stay in London and they were ready to go home (on account of the fact that they were both flat broke). So they packed up and left to catch the plane to America. But, as they were nearing the airport, darkness and depravity struck again.

They got stuck in traffic.

And as you can already tell, they missed the plane. Now be sure to learn from this, kids. Make sure you leave at least five hours early for the airport because . . . all together now: stuck in traffic miss plane!

"So what do we do now?" Lee asked while staring longing down the empty gate.

"The only thing we can," Jake replied, rubbing her temples in an attempt to prevent the coming headache.

"What's that?"

Jake looked at Lee with an evil smirk.

"No. No! No way. Don't even s–"

"We call the parental units."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Lee broke down crying.

It was quite an interesting day in the airport when two college-age girls passed through, one calmly dragging the other screaming, biting, clawing, pleading teenager. It's surprising that none of the security guards stepped forward, but one witness said they were too busy laughing at what made the "shorter" woman go crazy (seeing as they could hear her pleas quite clearly).

Well, it was at a nearby phone booth that the adventure truly began. It was the only phone booth open that Jake and Lee could find within five miles of the airport. But unfortunately –

"It's not working."

"Huh?" Jake grunted, earning herself a smack in the head.

"The phone isn't working. It won't take my money."

"Actually, it's my money."

"You handed it to me. That makes it mine."

"Whatever. But how can it not be working? The phone booths are always working. Always!"

"Well, this one isn't, unless pay phones normally spit money out when one is attempting to call their parents. Which reminds me . . . why do I have to call my parents?"

"Because yours are nicer."

"Jake, the last time I contacted my parents, they threatened me with paralysis and destroying my car if I didn't bring my calculus grade up from a C to an A."

"They did not. They only threatened you with taking away your car insurance. Besides, my parents threatened me with taking away my manga."

"Oh, yes. Your beloved manga. And they threatened you with that when, exactly? Oh yeah, when you nearly set fire to our neighbor's apartment."

"Yes. Therefore, your parents are nicer and you should be the one to beg for transportation."

"I don't believe this."

After about ten more minutes of arguing, attempting to use the busted phone, and Lee trying to escape, the girls finally decided to do the sensible thing: try another phone. Maybe it was because they were fighting over whose parents were agents of the devil, or maybe they were just unobservant. Either way, the two took quite a spill when their feet got caught on THE ROBES. DunDunDunnnnn!

­

"Oh, my head."

"Oh, my back. Get off!"

Shortly after, Jake was sent sprawling from being thrown off of Lee, effectively hitting a nearby lamppost with her head. Ouch!

"So," Lee looked around and stood up. "What happened?"

"Groan . . . "

"Then what do you think happened?"

"Groan . . . grunt grunt snort . . . moan . . . "

"Tripped over something? Makes sense, but what?"

"Low groan/growl . . . "

"Oh. Look on the ground. Right." Looking around, Lee successfully found several large, black pieces of cloth.

"Hey, what're these?"

"Rbs."

"That was a rhetorical question Jake, but yeah, you're right. They kind of look like those robes Scream wore in 'Scary Movie', huh?"

"I ate tha movie."

"Jake, did you hit your head?"

"No, genius. I'm just looking at all the pretty stars."

"Well, that's good then. So what do we do with them?"

"Sell'em for cash."

"But who's gonna buy them? They won't get much money anyway."

"Enough for food."

"True. What else are we going to with them, anyway? Wear them for Halloween?"

"Halloween's three months away."

"Those guys don't seem to think so."

" . . .!"

Suddenly, from out of the still, dark night (well, as dark as it gets in a major city), figures riding a flock of some strange cross between a bird and a horse. The girls took one look (or two) at the creatures and dashed for cover in a nearby alley.

"What are those things?" Lee asked.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're the one who's majoring in zoology."

"That was before I switched to architecture. And those things aren't any type of animal I know. What about you Miss Mythology PhD?"

"Oh, um… I think they're h-… um…"

"So… h- what?"

"They're h- h- h- heffalumps!"

"You've been watching Winnie the Pooh again haven't you?"

"Yeah… hehe."

"Grrrr…."

The girls were to busy debating over what the weird creatures were to notice that their riders had detected their trashy (literally) hiding place.

"They're a cross between a horse and an eagle so they must be 'horgles'."

"'Horgles'? That makes no sense!"

"Then what do you think they are Miss Brainiac?

"I don't know! I just know that they aren't 'horgles' and they are definitely not 'heffalumps'!"

"Actually, they're hippogriffs."

"Hippo – what?"

That was all the girls got out before the darkness took over with a loud "Stupefy".

Jake woke up to see a large circle of people in long, black robes surrounding her and Lee, who was also stirring. She noticed that they all seemed to be in a dungeon-like room, the people all liked to wear Scream masks, and the "man" standing in front of the girls was abnormally pale, bald, and had red eyes. He also happened to not have a visible nose.

Jake snorted. "What is this? A cult gathering?"

"Nah," giggled Lee, who was looking a little cross-eyed. "They're that famous troupe of ballet dancers that sing the Macarena polka-style."

"Uh, Lee . . . did you hit your head?"

"No . . . hehehe . . . look at the pretty birdies chasing the stars and rainbows! Aren't they cute?"

It was the question that unnerved Jake more than anything else: Lee never said the word "cute" if she could help it.

One of the robes figures sniggered.

"Alright," growled the ticked-off pale-faced guy, "I've said it a million times: NO CONFUNDING CHARMS ON MY PRISONERS!"

"Yes, Mr. Dark Lord, sir," chorused the entire circle.

"Now, whoever cast the charm, take it off now."

Lee immediately stopped giggling and Jake relaxed.

"Spoilsport," someone muttered.

"WHO WAS THAT!" roared the "Dark" lord.

"No one, Mr. Dark Lord, sir," the circle recited.

"Who is this guy?" chuckled Lee, "And why is he trying out the 'Barney' look?"

"Barney's purple. He's doing the Michael Jackson impression," said Jake, trying in vain to keep a smile off her face.

"WHAT!" screamed the Michael Jackson impersonator. "Why aren't you two cowering in fear of me!"

"Should we be?" asked Lee.

"ABSOLUTELY!"

"Why?" asked Jake, "You're some dude lacking in essential vitamins with a superiority complex. We can't quiver before every guy like you."

"You mean you do not know who I am? You don't know the Dark Lord who will (one day) defeat that Potter brat and rule over the world? I'm surprised that blasted Rowling hasn't told the stories of my constant battles with the brat to your part of the world. It astounds me that there are still people in this world who don't know and tremble at my name: Voldemort!"

"You're a wannabe evil over-lord?" asked Jake, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Wow. I've never met one before. Can I have your autograph?" asked Lee, smirking.

"They still don't shake," despaired Voldemort. "It must be your fault!" he yelled, pointing at the robed people.

"Our fault, Mr. Dark Lord, sir?" asked the figures, warily, knowing he was in the mood for tortured followers.

"Yes! I'm supposed to be an evil lord with an elite group of followers that strike fear into the hearts of all they encounter, yet you embarrass me in front of my prisoners and you ruin my reputation in the eyes of the public! Plus, you make Christmas and birthday cards for each other! No self-respecting Death Eater should feel comfortable doing that!"

Lee shook her head, laughing to herself. "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself."

Jake looked slightly puzzled. "How do I end up having these dreams?"

"I have no idea," said Lee, standing up. "Maybe it was something you ate."

That earned her a smack in the shin, causing her to fall and hit both knees on the hard, stone floor.

"Ouch! Hey, Dream Jake, what was . . . wait a minute . . ." It had just occurred to her that you can't feel physical pain in your dreams. So, she did the one thing that she could to confirm her suspisions.

She pinched Jake . . .

"Ow!"

. . . who pinched her back.

"Hey . . ."

"But that means . . ."

That was when the two of them officially lost it.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo!"

To Be Continued . . .

A/N: (from NitenGale) Well, my co-author for this fic, AnGi (who is not a registered author, so don't try to find her), has chosen to remain silent, so I'll talk instead. This story is a joint effort ten months in the making, so we hope you guys like it! I know I've enjoyed working on it. Until next time, which involved talking candlesticks, snakes, and chocolate pudding, this is NitenGale signing off!