I know it's been a while, but to satiate whatever readers I have left it's a double-chapter. Consider it your Christmas present (it's the only one you're getting from me!).
Happy holidays!
Five: The "All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back" LP
-
"Hold on just a minute, Hermione!" called out a handsome, unthreatening man from the corner of the room as a crowd of cameramen closed in around them. "I'm the host of this show, after all!"
Sirius blinked. "Meheh?"
"You didn't know? You mean Hermy over here didn't tell you?"
"Tell us what?" asked Snape icily.
"Nothing," said Hermione hastily.
"Nothing? You mean that you didn't tell them that they're on 'Hey, Let's See How Many Idiots Want To Date Me and What They'll Do to Date Me' hosted by the stunning Brian Supercool?" Brian Supercool winked at the cameras. "We've got it all on tape! And now Hermione will have to make her decision live on national television! Woohoo!"
"What's a television?" Ron asked dumbly.
Meanwhile, at the back of the crowd, Harry was whispering urgently to Voldemort.
"Hey, Tommy," he whispered, "you know how you wanted to kill everyone about 1,661 words into the last chapter?"
Voldemort stared at him with a blank face. "Uh… yes, I suppose. But I've mastered the urge, really it's not that hard –"
"You still want to kill anybody?"
"What? Who?" Voldemort followed Harry's pointed look at the camera crew and the host and quickly shook his head. "No! Not Brian Supercool! He's supercool!"
"But he's a nuisance! Nobody likes reality shows anyway, so it's not like it's any loss for the artistic community. And you know you want to!"
"No!" he exclaimed, banging his head against the nearest wall. "No, no, no! Won't, won't, won't!"
"Do it!" Harry growled, pulling his previously unmentioned hood over his head and drawing out a lightsaber from beneath his previously unmentioned cloak. "Do what must be done!"
"No! No, I won't kill them! I won't!"
"Do what must be done, my protégé! You must feed off your anger! Your anger makes you stronger! Your anger gives you strength! Your anger causes your wife to slap you after you yell at her for nagging you and remind her of that time you slept with her best friend! Use your anger against your opponent!"
"YES! I SHALL USE MY ANGER!" Voldemort yelled angrily, wielding his wand high above him. "DIE, FILTHY INFIDELS! DIE, HORRIBLE REALITY SHOW HOST AND ACCOMPANYING CAMERAMEN! MWAHAHAHA!"
Before the cameramen could even react he was already picking them off one by one with a few well-aimed Avada Kedavra's. Whilst he was distracting them, Harry sneaked up behind Brian Supercool.
"So we meet again, Supercool," Harry stated menacingly.
"What?" Supercool whipped around. "This is the first time we've met!"
"Silence, Supercool! Or should I say… Superfool!"
"That doesn't even make any –"
Before he could speak Harry was doing backflips all over the place and with one quick stroke took his head off with his bright red lightsaber, and thus the saga of 'Hey, Let's See How Many Idiots Want to Date Me and What They'll Do to Date Me' ended.
"Thank God," Remus sighed, relieved. "I hate reality shows. Never mind that you just killed around eighteen people in cold blood."
"MWAHAHAH!" CRIED VOLDEMORT AS HE STOOD PROUDLY OVER THE DEAD BODIES OF SEVENTEEN CAMERAMEN (THE EIGHTEENTH PERSON WAS BRIAN SUPERCOOL, IF YOU WERE WONDERING – I'M GOOD WITH NUMBERS, YOU KNOW). THIS PARAGRAPH IS IN ALL CAPS!
But this one isn't!
SWEET!
Yeah!
AWESOME!
Radical!
TIGHT!
Uh… this is getting kind of boring.
YOU'RE RIGHT. GO ON, THEN.
Good.
Suddenly Voldemort ceased his bravado and looked around blankly at the corpses. "Er… whoops. Lost control of myself there. My bad."
"Yeah," said Harry, throwing off the robe, "me too. I shouldn't have murdered Supercool. That was definitely not supercool."
"I think there's a lesson in this," said James in a kid's-show-feel-good kind of way. "Maybe we all just lose our cool sometimes. But we need to learn to control ourselves and our temper… if we want to be supercool!"
They all laughed in fake happy voices and sipped apple juice over the rotting bodies of seventeen cameramen and one TV personality killed by ruthless murderers.
"So, Hermione," said Sirius after he had finished his apple juice and thrown the carton onto one of the cameramen, "who have you picked?"
"Wait right there!"
Suddenly a small man wearing a pink suit had arrived at the doorway.
"Who are you?" asked Harry.
"I'm Molo Fosho," said the man, who was sporting some bling and had one hell of a grill in his mouth. "I'm a hip-hop producer for We Gangsta Records. I have to say, I was very impressed by your performance!"
"Why, it was nothing," said Draco suavely.
"Not you!" he exclaimed before pointing at Harry and Voldemort. "Those two!"
"Us?" Voldemort asked, bemused.
"Yes! It's been quite some time since I've seen two homies so in sync with each other, and more importantly, the music! And the whole mortal enemies thing makes this a dream to market!"
"Hm," Harry said, "I'd never thought about it that way!"
"What about us?" Draco cried, pointing to Sirius and Ron, who were standing behind him glumly. "We're a hot new indie rock band with loads of potential!"
"Pssh, who cares," Fosho said without even sparing them a glance. "Rock is dead! Hip-hop is the new dominant music form!"
"But –"
"Shush, boy!" He grabbed Harry and Voldemort by the elbows and dragged them off down the staircase. "We've got an album to make!"
-
A few days later…
Hermione, Remus, Peter, and James sat in the living room of James's house quietly. There was nothing much to do; the last few days had been like this (with the minor exception of that thing involving Hermione, Remus, a hot tub, and a pregnancy test). After Harry and Voldemort had left, then Sirius, Draco, and Ron had followed after them with dreams of grandeur and revenge. All in all it was all very dull.
"Turn on the telly," James said dully. "It's been quite dull around here lately."
"Everything on TV's dull," Remus complained.
"You're dull!" Hermione muttered.
"Dull, dull, dull!" Peter said happily.
"Enough with the dulls!" James exclaimed irritably. "And turn on the damned telly, won't you?"
"Fine," Remus grumbled, obliging. Bright color emanated from the TV set, which was remarkably in high definition, as well, even though there was no such thing in the late seventies.
"Welcome!" said a host with abnormally white and straightened teeth (he obviously wasn't British… ooh, dissed). "Here at Just Another Music Channel, we take pride in our riveting documentaries. We don't need to dramatize; it is the true people behind the music that make the drama. This story is one of the most dramatic we've ever seen, though. It chronicles the story of a group that rose into superstardom only to burn out as quickly as they lit up. But as Neil Young once said, 'It's better to burn out than to fade away.' Maybe he was right. Maybe."
The camera angle changed and the host turned on a dime, smile still in tact. "So with that, I give you a very special edition of 'In Front of the Music'. I present you with… the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz."
"Shit!" James yelped. "It's them!"
"The South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz started out as a quaint backing band for a singing competition," narrated an announcer.
"As I recall," said the unmistakable of Fosho as he appeared on the screen (in pink glasses and a white tuxedo and matching top-hat), "it was some sort of talent show or something… I don't really remember, I was inebriated at the time and had gone there because a man on a flaming pie had appeared to me in a dream and said, 'Thou shalt go to Hogwarts,' and I did. When I saw them I knew they were the real deal…. They just had this talent. And they played with this togetherness that you just don't see in many hip-hop acts today! And the enemies thing… great from a marketing standpoint."
"Basically," said a blinged-out Harry as the camera switched to a shot of him, "Molo came to us and took us straight to Crappy Roads Studio in London and we started recording right then and there. Some of the first songs were scrapped, I think… I think the only song from that session that made it onto the album was 'Why Don't We Have Sexual Intercourse (You Ho)?'. Some of them were crap, and Molo told us so… but I think that first experience in the studio was very important for us… very important, yeah."
"To loosen them up Fosho took them to a local bar and bought them a couple drinks over fish and chips. Needless to say, it worked."
"Ah, I remember that visit to the bar," laughed Voldemort as he appeared. "Molo got us completely hammered and then we went straight back to the studio and recorded 'I Am A Pimp, Don't Make Me Pimp-Slap You' and 'Gay Dude', which actually started out as a cover of some song called 'Hey Lewd' or 'Yay Jude' or something to that effect. After recording 'Gay Dude', one of the engineers offered us some… ah, let's just say a special kind of cigarette, one that would help us relax, if you get my meaning. So we were sitting there hallucinating and everything, and that's when we recorded 'Come Over Charlie And Invent New Energizers'. That's a funny song title. It's actually an acronym, if you look at the first letter of every word."
Harry came on again. "It was about four in the morning when Voldie and I sat down and decided to write a new song. After the night's work, we were feeling pretty confident and somewhat more sober. So he was sitting there with his accordion and I had my keyboard and I just started playing this little riff, and he kept going, 'Hello homie, go', and then I'd say something, and it went on and on like that until we had a full song."
"That song – 'Hello Homie Go' – would prove to be the band's breakthrough hit. It entered the British and American charts at number one, and soon hit number one in many other countries as well."
"'Hello Homie Go' was a very important song for them," agreed Fosho. "They were a radical, experimental type of group, but 'HHG' was a big commercial breakthrough that they desperately needed. I sent it to one director to see if he'd be interested in doing the video. At first he wanted to do something 'thrilling with zombies and dance moves' and such, but eventually we decided on just something quite simple. It was just the boys in the studio and in the streets surrounding it with a few friends."
A video began playing on the screen, and Peter scooted in a little closer.
A boy comes onto the screen, followed by another boy.
"Yo homie," said the first one. "What's for dinner?"
"Knuckle sandwich, loser!"
But before they can start fighting music starts in the background and they are mesmerized. They follow it to its source, where two men are playing a piano and an accordion outside a studio.
The first (Voldemort) begins rapping:
"Yo yo all my cronies,
Da name is V-Homie
You can call me Tommy,
The very one and only.
And this is H-Peezy,
C'mon and take it easy
This ain't ironic sodomy
So please don't tease me!"Harry begins chanting in a low, manly voice, followed by a chorus of Ron and Sirius.
"Ronald's up in da spot! (Yeah, yeah!)
Bilius drinkin' all dem shots! (Yeah, yeah!)
Ginny's up in da spot! (Yeah, yeah!)"
Quickly and deftly his voice becomes quiet and seductive.
"C'mon Weasley, make it hot
Girl you know just what I want."But Draco yells out from a balcony to ruin the effect:
"He wants Ron!"
Harry is not amused, and thus he bursts into another verse.
"Stupid Mister Malfoy,
I'm sick of all ya damn ploys!
You're a rich son of a bitch,
But you act like a little boy!"Malfoy glowers while Voldemort continues ecstatically.
"Man, Malfoy's lookin' pissed!
That was one bitchin' dis!
Target that you didn't miss!
Too bad for him, he can kiss this (pointing to buttocks)!"
Sirius bursts into a chorus in a robotic-like voice.
"Hello homie, go
Back to where you was
To Arkansas you go
To marry ya little cuz.
Go out into the snow,
Give disses like Santa Claus.
Hello homie, go
Back to where you was!"
Harry erupts into another chant-like shout to rile up the boys.
"Dis is da top spot!
Give it all you got!
Da all ya want!
Smoke all that – say what?!"Sirius does another chorus:
"Hello homie, go
Back to where you was.
Like Pluto you must go
'Cause we prefer Mars.
Talk all your dough
Waste it in the bars.
Hello homie, go
Back to where you was!"
It's now Voldemort's turn for another verse.
"People say I'm insane,
That egomania's my thang
I'm a psychotic killer
But as villains go that's mundane!
Albus wasn't too bad
And his death was quite sad
But can he break it down like 'Thriller'
And make morals a damn fad?"
Sirius smirks at Voldemort before the final chorus.
"Hello homie, go
Back to where you was.
Go go gadget, go
Inspector says you must.
Say to do no more,
Curse him if he does.
Hello homie, go
Back to where you was!"
The music slowly dies out as the screen fades to black, and the song is over.Peter rubbed his eyes. "That video makes me choke up every time I see it!"
"Peter, it's not even sad! It doesn't even have a point!"
Before Peter can respond to Remus, the program has continued.
"On the heels of the success of 'Hello Homie Go', the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz decided to release their first LP, All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back. It would also prove to be a smash success, with several critics lauding them as the best act in hip-hop history. But soon it would all come falling down."
"I guess – I guess it just really fell apart at once," said Harry. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Looking back, I can't really pinpoint one incident that led to our breakup… it was just a bunch of smaller things that amassed into one larger thing, you know? It was a snowball effect, really."
"It was after the success of 'Hello Homie Go' and All Da Homies N Da Hood Holla Back that the group began to disintegrate. Harry met an Irish painter named Fire O'Malley, who would lead him more into avante garde and experimental music, something that did not please Voldemort at all. But Harry would not compromise, even going so far as installing a bed in the studio so that O'Malley could be with him at all times. The stress eventually caused the group to decide to quite touring altogether, and focus on making their next big project."
"So we started off with this project called Back You Get," Voldemort recalled as he lit up a cigarette. "We weren't very pleased with the results. We intended to scrap them, but our company wouldn't let us, so we just pushed them to the side. It was around this time that I really got into drugs and alcohol… Harry and Fire were going strong and insisted on being together at all times, which annoyed me, as we had previously agreed that no outsiders should be allowed in the studio."
"There was definitely some tension in the air," agreed a girl with flaming red hair and a thick Irish accent (and who curiously resembled a certain Weasley girl). "Harry and I were in the glow of love of course, so we were happy, but everyone was kind of wary of us, I think. Voldemort was particularly miffed… I think he felt I was taking Harry out of his life. Harry even wrote a song about it, 'Everyone Around Here Is So Secretive Except For Me and My Kangaroo'. I get the sentiment – Harry and I were so open, while everyone else was so guarded – but I have to admit that I don't quite understand the kangaroo bit."
"Voldemort finally approached Molo Fosho and convinced him to come back and produce their next album, to try and make it 'like the good old days,' as Voldemort put it. Finally all parties agreed, and the group began recording their next album."
Harry sighed. "Finally we got back in the studio and it was tense for a while. But then Voldemort sat down at the piano and showed me this song. He just started singing… 'You're so damned arrogant, you cocky bastard… I bet you think I'm singing about you…. I bet you think I wrote a song about you… Damn you and your arrogance!' And I thought it was terrific, though I never could figure out who it was about. Basically we rallied around that, and I wrote two songs, 'Maybe Definite' and '(What's the Tale) Nighting Gale?', and from there we just ran with it."
"I remember that originally we were going to call the album Light Side of the Sun, but then we decided that was a daft title," said Voldemort. "And then it was going to be Back In White, but we thought that just didn't flow well. So we just decided to make it eponymous, and then our cover designer came to us with this great design."
"The group would be amazingly successful with their new self-titled double-album, The South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz, or as it was commonly known, The Clear Album. The album was known for its unique cover – there was no cover at all, and the CD was perfectly visible, and thus the name. But the fallout from the album would prove to be too much, and the group soon split up."
"Our relationship was quite testy for a while there, I must admit," Harry confessed sheepishly. "And then Fire and I broke up right around that time. But what really pulled me and Voldemort together was the post-producing the record company did on our Back You Get sessions. They brought in some wanker who added harps and violas and morse code to our songs and then they released it in the wake of all the hype from our breakup. That just pissed us off quite spectacularly."
"The album – released under the name Be You Shall Let It - would be universally panned and performed poorly in the charts, being seen as the public as overindulgent and bloated. To add to that, their rivals – the indie rock band Rock Is Dead (Long Live Paper and Scissors), started by Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Sirius Black – released their new CD, Our First Album, which would top the charts to make it even more humiliating. Thus ended the South Side Kedavra Survivor Boyz. Their tale is one of woe and of fame, but most of all, fame. And more fame. That's all for us. Have a good day."
The TV shut off, leaving the four of them mute.
"That was interesting," Remus began timidly.
"Yes," agreed James, "quite."
"Very," Hermione yawned.
"I like cheese!" Peter exclaimed.
The conversation went in this vein for a while, with the intelligent three of the group talking about random subjects and Peter occasionally throwing in arcane statements that they ignored ("Peter spelled backwards is 'retep'!"). Finally, whilst they were in the midst of a fascinating discussion about the new season of "Grey's Anatomy" (OMG OMG MCDREAMY MCSTEAMY! LOL!1!), the door shattered into tiny little pieces before their eyes, and before them stood Harry and Voldemort.
"We're back!" Harry proclaimed, taking a long puff of his cigarette before tossing it on the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his leather boot.
"Buenas dias, bitches!" Voldemort said, throwing his sawed-off shotgun nonchalantly over his left shoulder, inadvertently shooting a man walking in the street behind them ("Damn you, hippies!"). "Who's ready to kick some ass?"
"First of all, it's 'arse,' Voldemort, since we're British – if you say 'ass' we'll get about a thousand reviews saying that we don't know what the hell we're talking about," Remus pointed out.
"Yes," said James in a sagacious voice, much reminiscent of an aristocrat in the middle of the second millennium, "it hath been decreed that 'ass' shall at no time be said in a Harry Potter fanfiction, for it is impossible that 'ass' should be said in Britain. Impossible!"
Remus stared at James for a few seconds before continuing. "Okay, I'm not even going to ask what that was all about… but anyway, what's with the gung-ho action hero attitude? Are we missing something here?"
"Moony, Moony, Moony," Harry sighed, pulling out another cigarette. "All of this rock star crap has made us realize just how much we miss home, our own time. So we're going on a quest to find a time machine that can take us back to 1997."
"Represent!" Voldemort shouted.
"But what's with all the guns?" Hermione questioned.
"Obviously it's going to be a bloody journey," Harry said in between drags. "Every time travel movie has a bloody journey, or at least that one I saw with the Communists did. People are gonna die, 'Mione –" there was a collective groan at this pet name "– and I've accepted that. I'd just rather it be you than me."
"But you have wands!" James protested. "Voldemort, with your wand you're arguably the most dangerous man alive! You don't need any guns! Why use guns?"
Voldemort sneered and cocked his shotgun. "The ladies like a man who carries a big weapon…" There was a pregnant pause as they waited for him to finish his statement. "…Bitch!"
Suddenly they heard voices coming up the drive.
"Is that Ron?" Hermione wondered aloud.
"EVERYONE, GET DOWN!" Harry shouted in a gruff, smoky voice. "TOMMYBOY AND I WILL TAKE CARE OF THE ENEMIES!"
He somersaulted down the steps and behind a bush as Voldemort sneaked behind the splintered doorframe. Ron, Sirius, and Draco came into sight, all talking amiably, yet Remus's protests were silenced by Voldemort's glare.
"On the count of three, Tommy," Harry coughed, tossing his cigarette onto the ground. "One…two… three!"
Voldemort jumped out into the doorway as Harry rolled out onto the pavement, firing away. The three didn't even have time to react before they were brutally gunned down in cold blood before their friends. After several minutes of gunfire Harry and Voldemort stopped and examined the bodies.
"Hm," Harry mused, "seems like we killed the wrong people. Darn."
Hermione and Peter broke down into tears, while James and Remus just looked on numbly.
Finally a booming voice from nowhere spoke:
"HELLO HARRY."
Harry looked around as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. "Who is it?"
"YOU KNOW WHO I AM."
He thought for several seconds before grinning and nodding. "Oh yeah, you're the announcer for movie trailers! I love you, man!"
"TRY AGAIN, IDIOT."
"Um…"
"I AM THE CREATOR."
Peter raised his head. "Jesus, is that you?"
"NO! I AM THE AUTHOR, FOOLS!"
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" they all said collectively, nodding.
"YOU BOTH HAVE COMMITTED QUITE SERIOUS CRIMES, YOU KNOW."
"Yeah," Voldemort said, "but they'll never take us alive!"
"I DON'T DOUBT YOU ON THAT. HOWEVER, IT WOULD BE IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO STOP KILLING PEOPLE. THAT'S ALREADY A BODYCOUNT OF TWENTY-ONE FOR THIS CHAPTER."
"We've gotta, Author!" Harry argued, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "We need to find a time machine!"
"AND WHAT DOES MASS MURDER HAVE TO DO WITH FINDING A TIME MACHINE?"
"If we kill enough people we win a time machine!" Peter said happily.
"SHUT UP, PETER. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOU TALK AGAIN. EVERY TIME YOU SPEAK YOU MAKE US ALL A LITTLE BIT STUPIDER."
"Sorry."
"THANKS. BUT YOU DO NOT WIN A TIME MACHINE FOR KILLING EVERYONE IN SIGHT!"
"We don't?" Voldemort said, bemused.
"NO!"
"But how will we find a time machine, then?"
"HERE, HAVE ONE!"
And then a big bus fell from the sky. It was a rather futuristic bus with wings and other cool doohickeys as well, but the Author is really too lazy to describe it.
"NOW STOP MURDERING PEOPLE!"
The dialogue with the Author ceased and the three of those that Harry and Voldemort had murdered were resurrected.
"Why'd you just murder us?" Ron asked confusedly.
"We were just trying to shoot him," Harry lied, pointing his cigar to Malfoy.
"Oh. I understand completely."
The five of them walked inside to the other four, and for the next hour they talked about the issue of the time machine over milk and cookies, which Mrs. Potter herself had made. Harry, Ron, and Sirius were discussing something involving a dragon and a rooster, Hermione and Remus were talking about the weather, Draco was bragging to an amazed Peter about his many accomplishments, and James was carving in the initials L.E. to his cookie for the seventy-third time. This was quite productive for all involved, and finally they decided that they would use the time machine, as the Author would never do anything to harm or hurt them. Ever. (The Author is obviously crossing his fingers.)
They voted to decide who would drive the bus, and for some reason the voting came down to Ron and Peter, the two worst possible choices for such a job. Logically between the two Ron would've been the choice, as he had successfully driven Vernon Dursley's car from Little Whinging to London without any major accidents. But logic never prevails in this story, as those of you with a brain may have already figured out, so of course Peter was chosen to drive the futuristic bus time-machine (or, as he called it, "The Magic Cool Bus").
All of them got into the Magic Cool Bus, which to their shock had king-size beds, plasma screen televisions, and even an indoor swimming pool (don't ask how that fit in the bus). Peter strapped himself down into his seat as Ron, his first mate, sat down in the passengers seat.
"Where to, Ron?" Peter asked happily.
"Hold on, lemme get the map out." Peter was quite content to wait, however, and passed the time by honking his horn, which he found quite amusing (no one else did). "All right, found it. Um… what year were we in, 2006?"
"1997, Ron," Hermione said from the back of the bus. "July 1997, to be specific."
"Okay, 1997 it is!" He looked about the dashboard before finding a number pad. "Here we go! 1-9-9-7. 1997! Woohoo! Booyakasha! Lol w00t!"
"Ron, stop it!"
"Sorry."
The Magic Cool Bus spun around suddenly and in a flash of neon and pink they were somewhere else – a city. The buildings were all very futuristic (like the bus) and the cars had no wheels and instead just floated. It was rather like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.
"What the hell?" Sirius muttered.
"Where are we?" Draco whined. "I'm due for a pedicure at three o'clock, you know! When my father hears about this –"
"Hey," Voldemort said, as if just realizing something, "aren't I supposed to kill you for not killing Dumbledore?"
"Er…"
"Where are we?" James asked, repeating what Draco had said.
"The correct question would be 'When are we?'" Remus said with a smile.
"Damn it, Remus, stop it with those all-knowing smiles!" Sirius growled.
"What, I like smiling! And it just so happens that I enjoy smiling in an all-knowing way! If you can't accept who I am, maybe we shouldn't be together!"
Sirius rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Aw, c'mon, Remmy, don't be like that –"
"No!" Remus cried, his eyes wet. "You just trample all over me and expect me to welcome you with open arms and you never think about how I feel and I'm just tired of it!"
"Remmypoo –"
"No! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on my bathrobe and eat some low-fat ice cream as I watch a romantic comedy!"
Remus got up and began to stomp away until Hermione stopped him.
"Hey, Remus!" she called. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you're straight! You fall in love with Sirius's cousin, just so you know."
Sirius's eyes widened and he looked to Remus. "You're cheating on me?"
"I'm straight?" Remus said, perplexed.
"Yeah. I'm not so sure about Sirius here, but in almost every Marauders fanfic he's a complete player and usually falls in love with a beautiful OC."
"Oh."
"Oh."
Sirius and Remus regarded each other for a second before Remus sat down and they stared ahead, expressionless.
"Sirius," Remus greeted in a forced casual voice.
Sirius nodded. "Remus."
James stared at them blankly. "What the hell was that about?"
"That was a special treat for all of the slash fans out there," Harry said knowledgeably. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "They don't know that Remus and Sirius are straight!"
"You all are just odd," Draco commented dryly.
"Hey!" exclaimed Harry. "I take offense to that!"
Sirius glared at his nephew. "Yeah, me too!"
"Ooblegook!" Peter giggled happily.
No one had any response to this.
"Fair point," James admitted.
"Peter, you really know how to get to the core of me," Sirius sighed.
Hermione blinked. "What the hell are they talking about?"
"Occasionally Peter slips into baby-talk," Remus explained with an all-knowing smile (Sirius rolled his eyes). "You see, his brain is actually quite small; most of the area inside his skull is filled with bubble wrap. Over time we've learned to interpret his baby-talk, although we still don't know what to think when he just splurts out random statements in English."
"Oh. What'd he say just then?"
"He said, 'fried chicken and charitable purposes.'"
She blinked again. "Yes… I see…"
"So, when are we?" Voldemort asked, getting back on topic (he received several glares for this).
"Dunno," Ron said. His face lit up. "Hey, a newspaper!"
He rolled down the window and grabbed a newspaper off of a levitating sidewalk. Unfolding it, he displayed it to the rest of the group. Its headline read:
"FIFTY YEARS LATER, IT TURNS OUT BUSH WAS RIGHT; PEOPLE IN SHOCK."
"What's the date?" Remus inquired.
"Er… July 19, 2057."
"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, exasperated. "You hit the wrong buttons on the number pad!"
"Really? My bad, you guys."
"Yes, it is your bad! Now fix it!"
"Okie dokie." He pushed in some of the buttons on the pad again. "Let's see if this works."
It did. Two seconds later they were in London, circa July 1997.
"Good job, Weasley," Draco remarked as they exited the Magic Cool Bus. "You're not a complete failure, it seems."
Ron stared at him, confused. "Huh?"
"Forget that I mentioned it," Draco responded, sighing deeply.
Suddenly Eugendoodle-Smith popped out of nowhere. "Hey, guys! Guess what? It's only been 9,476 words since my last mention! Woohoo!"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Voldemort asked.
"Who the hell are you?" Sirius asked.
"I'm Igor Eugendoodle-Smith, an OC!" he said excitably. "I'm supposed to tell you all how to find the Author, but he'll probably kill me shortly because I'm becoming a nuisance to write!"
There was a sudden burst of flame and they saw that Eugendoodle-Smith had spontaneously combusted.
"Thanks," said Voldemort.
No problem.
"What now?" Hermione wondered aloud. "Eugendoodle-Smith was our only connection to the Author!"
"Don't worry, Mudblood!" Draco declared vainly, throwing out his chest and standing up to his full height. "I shall find this Author you speak of, and I shall bring him to us so that you will love me and we will marry and have children, once of which shall be named Bobbert!"
"Er… okay…"
"Hey, guys, look at this flyer!" Ron exclaimed. "It says… uh… it says that…"
"Ron, you're holding it upside down."
"Oh." He turned it around. "It says: 'Poetry competition: prize includes an all-expenses paid vacation to an Authors Conference for you and your friends.' Hey, maybe the Author will be there! I should enter!"
Remus looked doubtful. "Not to be rude, Ron, but I really don't think you're the best choice –"
"Nonsense! Now, leave me in peace to write my poetry!"
They did, and for the next few days Ron was moody and prone to fits of enthusiasm and anxiety in which he would scream out random phrases and act in an eccentric manner before scurrying back to the office he had set up in the Magic Cool Bus and writing. His hair grayed, and he grew a thin goatee and took to wearing a bathrobe at all times, which thoroughly disturbed most of them but thoroughly delighted Harry.
Finally he emerged from his office, beaming.
"I am victorious!" he announced, brandishing an envelope high above his head. "Inside this envelope is my masterpiece, our ticket to the Author! We shall have revenge, my comrades! Do not fear!"
He cackled maniacally before stuffing the envelope in a mailbox, the others looking on amusedly. Several days passed before finally a thick manila folder appeared in the mailbox.
Ron opened it anxiously. "Oh, I can't read it! Harry, you read it!"
"Hey," Sirius said out of the blue, "wasn't Lily in the last chapter? Where'd she go? And wasn't Snape mentioned once at the beginning of this chapter? What happened to them?"
They stared at him blankly and shrugged. Harry read the paper:
"'Dear Mr Weasley – we are pleased to inform you that you have won our poetry competition and the trip to the conference! Congratulations! Enclosed are the tickets and your poem."
He passed the tickets to Hermione and then read the poem.
I am
I am but a
Piece of nothingness
I am nothing
I am but a
s
t
i
c
k
stuck
in the ground
won't you please pull me
o u t
and help me or else I'll
Be burnt
Oh
No."
There were more blank looks from the group.
"Well," James said encouragingly, "that was… interesting."
"That sucked," Sirius said bluntly.
Remus shrugged. "Just shows you that no one really knows anything about poetry."
It was then that a flying limousine appeared outside (hold on, where are we again? Oh, whatever, screw it). Peter giggled and clapped his hands happily, while Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"We couldn't have just taken the Magic Cool Bus?"
No one else was complaining, though, and they boarded the magical flying limo, not even bothering to pack or any of that realistic stuff. The journey passed in one sentence, and soon they had arrived.
They stepped out of the limo to the sight of a humongous dome. This dome was so big that it was like a pimple on the face of Earth (clever, huh?). In front of the door stood two very large security guards that looked like they could kill people just with an unpleasant look in their direction. These security guards were so tough that they got into a fight with the actor who plays Walker, Texas Ranger (it rhymes with Schmuck Schmorris) and won. Now, granted, Schmuck Schmorris was blindfolded, tied up, and unconscious at the time of the fight, but it was still quite a feat.
"Do –" the guard paused dramatically "– you have –" he paused again "– the ticket?"
"I do," said Remus (for no one trusted Ron with the ticket). He handed it to the guard, who looked it over and nodded.
"Very –" he took a breath "– good."
The doors opened, and they were admitted into the dome (which incidentally was called the Random City Convention Center, if you were wondering). As soon as they entered they felt bullets whiz over their head, and they ducked. Shouts were coming from all directions; the dome was a war zone.
"Sacre bleu!" cried someone to their left. "Zese A-mer-icans! Zey are very annoying, oui?"
"Damn you communist French bastards! Damn you to hell!"
There was an explosion, and the Frenchman yelled.
"Oh my God! Zese A-mer-icans, zey have destroyed ze truffles, and ze caviarre! Zey shall pay for zis, as soon as I finish my wine!"
"Fine!" called back the American. "We'll take a break. You'll have your wine and paint a self-portrait or whatever it is you communists do, and we'll knock back a few brewskis and watch football."
"Very well. Shall we continue in, oh, zirty minutes?"
"Yeah, sure, that works for me."
The group made their way over to the Frenchman, who was filling a glass with champagne as they approached him.
"Excuse me," Hermione said, "is this the Author's Conference?"
He fingered his mustache suspiciously. "Yes. Why do you ask, filthy Brit?"
"We were invited here," James answered. There was a boom in a far off corner of the convention center, and he winced. "What's going on here?"
"Ah. I see. You are n00bs," he said, using the appropriate Netspeak spelling. "Very well. As you know, zis is ze Harry Potter section of the convention center."
"We didn't know that," Ron said helpfully.
"I should have guessed," the Frenchman spat back in a poorly written accent. "Well, zings were going smoothly until yesterday, when a war broke out."
"A war?" Voldemort asked.
"Yes. A shipping war. Zey are quite common, but I have not seen one like this since after Order of ze Phoenix." He sighed. "I am part of ze Wolfstar army: we ship Remus and Sirius togezzer."
Remus and Sirius shared an odd look, but the man continued.
"Zat man is part of ze Wotcher Wolvie army; Remus and Tonks, in simpler terms."
"That doesn't seem like it would be much of a fight," Harry pointed out. "Remus and Tonks got together in the sixth book."
To their surprise, the Frenchman merely smiled knowingly. "Yes, but you do not know our army. Zey are very adamant." He sighed. "Ah, where are my manners? I am Pierre. And this," he said, pointing to an approaching woman, "is Monica."
"Hello!" said Monica. She looked at Remus and Sirius. "Oh my gosh, you guys dress up as the characters, too! Your cosplayers!"
"We're not dressed up," Sirius explained. "We actually are the characters."
Monica fainted. Pierre rolled his eyes and began absent-mindedly burning an American flag.
"She is very excitable," he said. "I caught her worshipping a portrait of you two ze other day."
"So is it just Wolfstar and Wotcher Wolvie that are at war?" Hermione inquired, stepping over Monica's no-longer-breathing body.
"No, it is everyone," Pierre said, now throwing darts at a picture of the American Senate. "We are actually quite mild, you will find. And when ze title of Book 7 was revealed, it all just got more violent. Pity, really," he added as he hit a senator right between the eyeballs.
Voldemort casually removed Monica's necklace and stashed it in his pocket. "So what's the worst battle?"
"The battle over me," Draco said smugly.
"As much as I hate to say it, zat is one battle," Pierre replied. "Traditionally ze greatest war has been between ze Harmonians and zeir Pumpkin Pie army and ze Herons and zeir Good Ship army. Harmonians are Harry and Hermione, Herons are Ron and Hermione."
"Damn you, Harry," Ron growled.
"Zat has cooled down after Half-Blood Prince; after Order of ze Phoenix, you would not believe the battles zat were waged. I lost many good Wolfstars in zose battles," he stated glumly.
"Shouldn't there be more girls around here?" James asked, forgetting that he shouldn't know this. "I mean, don't they make up most of the online fandom?"
"Yes, zere are, especially in the slash ships," Pierre responded. "I am one of ze exceptions."
Hermione sighed. "We're looking for someone… he goes by the name of the Author. Do you know how we could find him?"
"You will have to wait for ze shipping wars to end." Pierre sat down and began scribbling mustaches on pictures of the American first ladies. "Originally we were separated amongst our different sites of preference or status on zose sites, but ever since zese wars it has been chaos."
"Then there's only one thing we can do," said Ron confidently. "We have to find a way to get to the Author using the information Pierre has just disclosed!"
"Yeah, Ron's right!" Peter agreed enthusiastically as he began chewing on the leg of the table.
"We have to stop the wars," Remus said simply.
Pierre smiled as he drew a goatee on the current first lady. "Good luck with zat, my pompous British friends. You will need all ze help you can get."