A/N: I'm tired, and it's been an incredibly long week at school. So iff'n you're expecting an amazing fic, well… you'll get it. Oh, by the way, I heard these here characters were owned by J.K. Rowling.
Hermione sat silently contemplating the implications of the situation. I just hazarded an attempt a jump from the astronomy tower, only to fall into the Department of Mysteries. Which, I might add, has a roof, so I find this rather strange. Hazarded. That's kind of a funny word. I'll have to remember that. Oh, bollocks. Now I'm think-babbling again. I really have to stop doing this.
It was at this point that the author jumped up and down for joy, noticing that she incorporated a British word into the think-babbling without making a big deal out of it. She then, however, notices that she just did point it out. Oh, the irony. Or the blatant attempt at humor. Your choice, my friends. Moving on!
Hermione rose to her feet, staring around. A setting portal, that's what this has to be. I've read about these. Granted, the only book you ever catch me reading, or even hear referenced, is Hogwarts: A History. So how did I read about this, you ask? …Shut up and go away.
Suddenly Harry and Ron burst through the door, looking confused.
"This must be some kind of setting portal or something," murmured Ron, at which point Hermione promptly backhanded him. "Ouch! What was that for?"
"I am the one that's used to explain things! So you can just shut the hell up, git! Randy! Bollocks! Flabbergasted. Wait—what? That's not Briti--," it is here that the author cut her off, looking around nervously before continuing the story.
"Well, I think we should try and find a way out of here. Maybe we should go through the…What?" Harry queried, looking at his flummoxed friends. At flummoxed, the author giggles, but continues.
"Listen, Harry, you've been dead for most of this fic. I mean, you really only just came back in the end of the last one. I've been the one to move the semi-existent plot onwards, so… Not to be mean or anything, but I think I should handle it." Hermione said smugly.
Harry huffed in his frustration of not being the star anymore, but proceeded to follow Hermione and Ron through the door that he was just about to suggest. They ended up in the room with the shroud thingy that consumed Sirius.
"I don't think we should be he—Sirius! What the hell?" Harry bellowed, staring as his godfather strolled out from behind the veil. When Sirius heard his name, he stopped in his tracks, turning to stare wide-eyed at the trio. "Sirius! I thought we'd lost you! How did you manage to come back from behind the veil? I'm sure you had to fight loads of people, valiantly clawing your way back towards life."
"Yea… Harry. I've been meaning to clue you in, but you know how things go. Well, anyways. In all honestly, I just needed a break from being the roguishly handsome escapee and godfather to a big old wanker. This is nothing but an old sheet, really. I just sort of fell through it, then hid behind some of the benches behind it when you came looking for me. Sorry, mate. You just whined so bloody much, though," Sirius stated as quickly as he could.
Harry stared in amazement. Had he honestly been such a big pain that year that Sirius had knowingly faked his own death and hid from Harry? Well… yea. Moving on!
After that exposition, Hermione ceased her huffing at not being able to explain that. I mean it was obvious. She could've explained it. Prick.
Ron had the sudden urge to make sweet, passionate love to Hermione right there on the stone floor of the Department of Mysteries. Her thought-swearing was turning him on. How does he know she's thought swearing, you ask? Because sometimes she speaks out loud when she thinks.
Ron commenced Operation Fuck-A-Doodle-Doo (A/N: Thank you, Shaun of the Dead. You changed my life. –sobs, then notes she does not, in fact, own Shaun of the Dead.-) right there on the Department floor. When the moment came to actually commence his operation, however, he had a little problem. Ok, a big problem. That's right: erectile dysfunction. Why, you ask? Because the author just saw a commercial for the aforementioned problem, and laughed some. Not at those of you who have that problem though. Well… ok… maybe just a little bit. Moving on!
"Ronald!" Hermione gasped, shocked at the problem that she was now presented with. "Didn't you hear? You can cure those problems with," Hermione's voice dropped dramatically low, even though Harry and Sirius could still hear, and were surveying the scene with mild interest, "these." Hermione slid unnamed pills towards Ron, so the author won't get sued by some big broken-wiener company. Moving on!
Ron then began to cry, because he was overcome with the memories of the brain's assault on his body. Either that, or because he couldn't get it up. The author hadn't decided. WAIT! The author has decided. She has decided, to go and get another cup of tea!
The author shuffles from her room, and leaves all of the readers in suspense. Why is Ron crying? Why can't he be all that he can be? What in the hell is Sirius still doing in the Department of Mysteries? All of these questions, and more (or possibly less, depending on the author's mood), will be answered… in the next chapter! But until then, I bid you adieu. Hey, adieu's kind of a funny word. But it's French, and foreign languages are kind of funny to the author (even though she attempts Spanish). Unico is kind of funny to the author, as well, because it has always reminded her of the word eunuch because of the way it sounds. Hehehe… eunuch… Moving on!