IF YOU READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE THEN YOU WILL SPROUT ONIONS FROM YOUR EARS UNLESS YOU LEAVE FORTY REVIEWS FOR THIS CHAPTER. NO JOKE. SEND THIS TO 10.5 PEOPLE AND ALL OF YOUR DREAMS WILL COME TRUE EXCEPT FOR THOSE WEIRD ONES YOU HAD ABOUT YOUR FRIEND'S GRANDMOTHER BECAUSE THAT WOULD BE WEIRD. FOR REAL.

"What?" gasped Ron. "Really? Oh my God!"

HEY, MAIN CHARACTER! NARRATION! GET OUT OF MY AUTHOR'S NOTE! THIS IS WHERE I DO MY CHAIN LETTER STUFF BECAUSE NO ONE READS THEM ANYWAYS!

"Hey, I'm leaving! I've got to go leave forty reviews and send this to 10.5 people!"

WHO'S THE HALF?

"Flitwick."

WISE MOVE, GINGER. NOW OFF WITH YOU SO WE CAN GET TO THE DISCLAIMER.

"Hasta luego!" Ron left and (disclaimer!) I don't own anything. So don't sue, you annoying copyright lawyers.

Nine: Spoiler Alert: Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies

-

There was chaos. Countless fans swarmed over the shelves and to the counter, eventually throwing the manager onto their backs and trampling the employees on their way to the boxes of books.

"BOOK!" they chanted in unison. "WE MUST HAVE OUR BOOK!"

"Now, really!" cried the manager as he surfed the crowd along with Ron, who had jumped up of his own will (the businessman cheered, as he was just about to knock several of them out of their high stakes poker game). "You can't just take them! You have to pay for them!"

"GET THE BOOKS!" the mob yelled in a collective, trance-like voice. "KILL ANYONE WHO GETS IN OUR WAY! DISMEMBER ANYONE WHO ATTEMPTS TO MAKE US PAY!"

The manager smiled weakly. "I'd like to announce that we're having a special sale: all books are now free! Take whatever you'd like!"

"TAKE WHAT WE LIKE! MUST HAVE BOOK!"

So they ripped open the boxes and took the books for themselves. Several jetted out of there to go home and read; others dallied behind, celebrating their victory.

"I got one!" Ron said happily as he surfed the crowd back towards the group. "Woohoo!"

"Very good, Weasley," Snape remarked with his usual greasiness. "I'm glad to see you haven't wasted your time getting any smarter since we last met."

"Severus!" Dumbledore chortled happily. "Such a pleasant surprise to see you here!"

Snape looked murderous. Get it? "The feeling's not mutual."

"Oh, Severus, don't be such a sourpuss. I helped you end everything, didn't I? I mean, you were framed for murder and all, but you became headmaster! You learned how to fly! That must have been pretty cool!"

"It wasn't. It was actually pretty terrifying since I have a great fear of heights. I only did it because Voldemort expected me to."

It took Voldemort a while to notice that everyone was staring at him. "Hey, what? I can't control what my canon self does while I'm off trying to repair my reputation!"

"Enough is enough. What's done is done. I'm supposedly dead, anyways, as are you, Albus." Snape glanced at Harry. "Say, Potter, have you seen your mother lately?"

Harry hesitated. "Er… why?"

"No reason," said Snape casually. "Just wondering."

"Uh, no. I think she's dead, but if you're dead and Dumbledore's dead, then maybe she's around anyways…"

"Very well. Open your eyes very wide."

"Why would I –"

Snape did not wait for his answer, instead stepping forwards and prying Harry's eyelids open with his own bony fingers. He then stared into the boy's green eyes for some time.

Dumbledore leaned over and tapped Snape on the shoulder. "Severus?"

"Sorry." Snape stood up, wiping a tear from his cheek. He turned to Harry. "I thought you had something in your eye. Turns out you didn't."

He abruptly walked off, leaving the group in an uneasy silence.

"Well," said Voldemort, "that was certainly awkward."

"Snape's in love with Harry's mum," Hermione announced. Everyone stared at her, and she gestured to the book in her hands. "Just read it. He was a good guy all along, too."

"I could have told you that," muttered Dumbledore.

"You name one of your kids after him," she said, turning to Harry. "Well, technically, he's named Albus Severus Potter. Poor boy. Then you give him some sappy speech in the epilogue about how Snape was the bravest man you ever knew."

"Albus Severus?" Moody scoffed, taking a break from his guard duty to ridicule Harry. "Damn it, Potter, isn't that some form of child abuse?"

"Oh, I don't know, Alastor," Harry spat. He directed his attention to Hermione. "Who do I knock up, anyways?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Always eloquent. You get married to –"

"Me!"

There stood Ginny Weasley. She was very pretty and had flaming red hair and freckles, yadda yadda yadda. Insert all the boring mushy description that accompanies every appearance by Ginny in the books.

Harry was hesitant. "Er… are you sure that's not a misprint? Here, read it again!"

"No," said Hermione, scanning over the page, "you definitely get married to Ginny."

"Uh. Wow. Okay." Harry waved awkwardly at Ginny. "Hello."

"Hiya, Harry!" she said, excited. Her facial expression changed to one of concern. "What? Is something wrong, Harry?"

Harry blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No. Well, yes. You see, no offense or anything, Gin – may I call you Gin, by the way? – but you're kind of… boring. I really can't see myself with you. I mean, I get that you're pretty and fiery and all that, but your character arc is just dull. You have no development whatsoever, besides that craptacular jump between GoF and OotP. You're a great gal and all, but I'm just afraid this won't work out."

"Wait wait wait," said Hermione, waving the book around wildly. "Haven't you been pining after her the entire fic, Harry?"

"Well, really, I didn't think she'd show up or anything! I was just trying to be dramatic!"

"Ah." Hermione grinned. "You know, you're not that popular of a character either, Harry. Some people say you're boring. Really, you two are a perfect match!"

Harry blanched. "Oh God no. You devil woman. You she-devil! Curse you and your sudden but inevitable betrayal!"

"I can make it all better, Harry!" cried Ginny desperately. "I know! Let's snog!"

"Er… say what?"

Ginny shrugged. "It worked in Book 7."

"The hell? Lemme read that!"

Harry snatched the book from Hermione and began thumbing through it frantically. Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye. "Ah. Young love. The most powerful magic there is!"

"I'm not in love with Ginny!" growled Harry.

"Teenage denial," Moody murmured. "How cute, Potter."

"Hey, lay off, you guys. This is no laughing matter." Voldemort shook his head sadly. "I've been inside her head, after all. I feel sorry for Harry. The poor bastard is pretty much screwed. I, for one, wouldn't want her fawning all over me. The girl's legitimately boring. She's possibly the least interesting character I've ever had the misfortune of coming across in my travels."

"Your travels?" snorted Moody. "Wow, that's got a relatively peaceful connotation. It almost sounds like you weren't involuntarily disembodied because you'd tried to murder an infant."

Voldemort shrugged. "You know. Tomato, tomahto."

"Wow, you weren't even lying," Harry said as he shoved the book back at Hermione. "Whoa. I can't believe this is happening. I feel sick inside. My whole life just went down the toilet."

"Loo!" exclaimed Ron randomly.

"Thanks for the Britification, Ron." Harry turned to Ginny. "Say, Gin, how about this… you go wait outside. I'll be out in a bit. Then we can go see a movie and snog and all that good stuff."

Ginny beamed. "Okie dokie, Harry!"

And off she went. Harry looked to the others. "All right. Now, while she's out there, I'm going to sneak out the back entrance. I'll catch up with you guys later."

"Harry!" snapped Hermione. "You will do no such thing!"

"You devil-woman! Curse you! Curse you a thousand times!"

"Curse who?" asked someone cheerfully. It was Neville, along with that one girl. You know. I think she might have been in Hufflepuff. I don't remember. She was a minor character. I usually skim over minor characters' names when I'm reading. They're not important.

"My name's Hannah Abbot, and I'm very important!" protested the girl angrily.

Sure, whatever you say. I don't even know if I spelled your name right up there, but I'm too lazy to check.

"You misspelled it," remarked Hermione. "It's spelled 'Abbott.'"

Ah, whatever. Who cares?

"I do!"

Shut it, lady, before I write you right out of this story.

Abbot ("It's Abbott you imbecile!") gave an indignant humph but besides that was quiet. Thank God for that.

"Hello Neville!" Dumbledore greeted him with a wide smile. "How are you doing?"

"Oh man, I'm doing great, Professor! I'm a total badass in this last book! Plus –" he put his arm around Abbot (not Abbott) "– I just found out through a recent interview that I marry Hannah here! Isn't that swell?"

"Who's she?" grunted Moody. "I don't remember her from the books."

Amen, brother!

"Don't call me brother or I'll kill you."

Yes sir.

"I remember her now!" Voldemort stated, slapping his head in a self-mocking fashion and chuckling. "Silly me. You're one of my junior Death Eaters, aren't you?"

"No!" replied Abbot angrily.

"You're a famous Quidditch player?" guessed Harry.

"No!"

"You're a one-legged hooker from a small town in Belgium," said Moody. Everyone stared at him before Abbot gave her indignant reply.

"No!"

"You're a blonde, pig-tailed Hufflepuff in our year who was a member of the D.A., had a nervous breakdown before O.W.L.s, and stood guard over a secret passageway with Lee and Fred during the final battle," answered Ron. Now everyone stared at him. "What?" He gestured to a nearby computer. "I saw it on Wikipedia."

"Ahhhhh, Wikipedia. All hail Wikipedia!" You know, because it's awesome. No joke. I eat that shit up for breakfast.

"What are you doing here anyways, Neville?" Hermione asked after everyone was done worshipping the Greatest Site Ever Created.

"I'm here on business. After the war I set up a pest-control company, Exterminaticus Totalus." That's a terrible name. But carry on. "It's really been booming lately."

Apparently it was time for another one of Hermione's patented why-are-you-so-stupid-and-why-am-I-so-smart? moments. "Uh, Neville, canonically you become the Herbology Professor."

"Yeah, but I figure that's probably not for a couple of years," he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "Besides, I'm making a boatload of Galleons on this."

"Really?" asked Dumbledore with his usual politeness. "What exactly do you exterminate?"

"Oh, you know, this, that –"

"For Pete's sake, Ron, enough with the crowd surfing!" Hermione cried. Ron had been lazing about on top of a group of nerds for a while, and the nerds moaned as their arms quivered and shook. "They're tired!"

Neville sprung to attention. "What was that? Did you say 'snake?'"

"No, Neville, I didn't –"

But it was too late. In a flash he was in ready position, Gryffindor's sword in his hands. His eyes swept over the crowd, finally landing on Voldemort. "There it is! C'mere little buddy, it's time to be eradicated!"

Voldemort stared at him, head cocked to the side curiously. "What the –"

"HIIIIIYYYYAAAAAA!"

Neville sprung like a cougar full of caffeine in the middle of a cricket match. (Uh… long story. Bad simile. Lemme try again.) Neville sprung like a very powerful and very tightly compressed spring.

"That was even worse," noted Hermione.

Oh shut up. Anyways, Neville sprung, sword high above his head, preparing to strike. He was still in midair when it happened; in a blink of an eye Voldemort had his wand extended. Harry lurched forward violently. "Tommy! NO! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO IT!"

Voldemort didn't hear him, though. The fatal spell had already been cast. Neville's mouth formed a little 'o' as the green light hit him. The sword dropped from his hands. It took him an eternity to fall.

Really, it took him an eternity to fall. His robes got caught on one of the lighting fixtures (he had an insane vertical leap) and for a while he just hung there.

"That wasn't very dramatic," growled Moody.

"Huh." Voldemort placed his hands on his hips and examined Neville's body. "Well I'll be darned. In fifty-odd years of killing that's never happened to me. It's actually kind of cool, really. Truth be told, I wasn't sure what I was going to do when his body kept flying towards me. I was either going to do a very stylish dodge and swoosh of my cape as he passed by, or I was going to go for the more graphic option: cutting him in half vertically and standing there as each half landed to my side. But this is sweet, too."

Harry raised his hand awkwardly, as if he was in pre-school all over again. "Er… do we just leave him up there? I mean, I'm sure the store staff can take him down later. He's pretty much a decoration anyways."

"NEVILLE!" screamed Abbot, rushing forwards. She sobbed as she clutched his cold dead body. "No! We were going to get married! I was going to take your name! Narrators weren't going to misspell my name any more! Damn you, Snake-Man! Damn you and your unstylish pink hair to hell!"

Voldemort blushed in the background while Harry's eyebrows furrowed downwards. "Well, that wasn't a delayed reaction or anything." What do you expect? There was some other dialogue I wanted to get in before she started mourning! "Whatever you say. You're the boss." You got that right, buster.

So anyways, Abbot cried some more as she clawed as his dead clammy skin. He was already beginning to stink, because that's what dead people do best. She clawed at his robes which covered his dead body. He was dead. He was so dead that it wasn't even funny. Not that death is funny. Just using that as a figure of speech. But back to the point. He was really dead. In fact, he couldn't have been more dead.

"We get it," said Hermione, rubbing her eyes. "Enough."

Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Dead. Just to clear this up… Neville was not alive. He was dead.

"I know!" wailed Abbot. Hermione offered her a remorseful smile and a tense pat on the shoulder.

"You're kind of a bastard, you know that?" Harry said, looking in the narrator's direction. Which is everywhere and nowhere at the same time, really, so it doesn't make any sense, but deal with it. "She's in pain here."

…And your point is?

"Never mind."

Dumbledore stepped forward and gave Abbot a kind smile. "I am so sorry for your loss, Ms. Abbott, but you had best get going before the Author tires of you and kills you too. With luck Neville may be revived yet!"

Abbot looked up, a gleam of hope breaking through the tears. "R-really?"

"Yes!" Dumbledore replied, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Okay! I'll just be off then!" And she skipped along because the Author was tired of this particular subplot.

"Yes! She's gone! That was getting really boring." Harry yawned and stretched out his hands above his head, accidentally hitting Neville's carcass as he did so. "Whoops. Sorry, Neville."

"What's that?" came a boyish voice from a nearby bookshelf.

"I dunno," replied another. "Looks a bit like Frank, really."

Voldemort slapped his hand against his face. "Oh brother. Not these idiots again."

You guessed it. (Or maybe you didn't. In which case you really need to take a timeout and think about where you're going in life. Really.) It was the Marauders.

"Oy, Prongs, I think it's Frank!" exclaimed Sirius as he poked and prodded the body with a finger. "A bit rounder in the face, but still."

"I think it looks like Alice, Padfoot," replied James, inspecting Neville's forehead. "What do you say, Moony?"

"No idea, Prongs," Remus said (in every Marauders fic they are incapable of calling each other by anything other than their recklessly conspicuous nicknames - which some OC love interest of Sirius's always picks up on – and I'll be damned if this fic actually has any originality to it! Nicknames it is!). "Got any clue, Wormtail?"

Peter shrugged. "I think he looks like both, personally."

"Wait a second," stated Hermione in her best you're-all-idiots-and-I-despise-you voice (she's got several voices that are all pretty similar and very condescending because that's what Hermione does best). "For the past two chapters Peter's been portrayed as a complete idiot. This is a total turn-around."

I got bored. Deal with it.

"I'm glad you're consistent with your characterization, at the very least."

Sarcastic little… ah, if only there were more squirrels in this book store. You'll pay for that one yet.

"What are you guys doing here?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, it's good to see you too, son." James rolled his eyes. "And how would I know? We just randomly showed up here a few minutes ago. It's absolute madness."

"Have you read the book yet?" inquired Hermione. "I think there might be some interesting things you might like to read."

"Actually, no. Here, let me see." Remus took the book from Hermione and scanned through it in a flash. Remus is a ridiculously fast reader. "Hm. Interesting. Not much of note there, though. I can't complain. I'm happily married with a son."

Hermione's face paled. "Er… Remus… are you sure you read the entire thing?"

"Yes!" he said, indignant. "I don't skim, Hermione. Why? What did I miss?"

"Here, let me show you." She grabbed the book and flipped open to a certain page. "Read this sentence."

He nodded. "Okay… yes, we saw him die… yes, of course…. WAIT A MINUTE! I DIED?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"IT'S BARELY EVEN MENTIONED! I was wondering why I showed up when Harry used the Resurrection Stone! C'mon! I'm a fairly major character here! Readers should at least notice that I died!"

"Tonks died, too," Ron added.

"MY SON IS AN ORPHAN?"

"Yeah," chirped in Harry. "Don't worry, though. Andromeda and I will take great care of him. I've already got a nice leather outfit for him to wear when we go shopping together. It'll be fabulous."

"LIKE HELL YOU WILL!" Remus slammed the book down into the ground. "That's it! I've taken too much crap for too long to put up with this! This is inexcusable! My death was not only completely looked over, it was also obviously added in at the last second for the sole purpose of having someone die! Enough is enough! There are going to be plenty of terrible resurrection fics after this, but I don't even care! This is terrible!"

"And it doesn't seem like you and Tonks had that great of a relationship either," noted Voldemort. "At least not at first. Later on in the book you're happier, but in the beginning you're almost as emo as Harry."

"He can't help it if his soul is aflame with a love so powerful it burns to his very core!" Harry retorted emotionally. He turned to Remus and smiled. "Don't worry, Remus. You'll look great in these pants I've got. They're black and tight and they'll really emphasize your –"

"I don't want to know." Remus took a deep breath and picked the book up off the ground. "Here," he said, shoving it at Hermione. "I don't even want it. I wasn't going to bitch about this earlier, but did you notice that you three just started calling me Remus out of nowhere? We didn't even get to have the 'Don't call me Professor' interaction that I mentioned back in Chapter 2 of this fic. I mean, the good clichés aren't even in the book! I feel like I'm sitting on an inner tube floating down the River of Stupid, and I'm about to reach the Paradise of Intelligence at the end but these big Logs of Idiocy keep blocking my way and sending me down diverging Deltas of Dumbness."

"Aw. Poor Moony." Sirius patted him on the head. "Just let it go, Moony. Let it go. Fiction isn't supposed to make sense. I mean, look at me. I got killed by a freaking curtain of all things."

"IT WAS A VEIL!" screamed a legion of hardcore fans.

Sirius affected a high, whiny voice. "It was a veil! Fine. It doesn't. Whatever it was, I was killed by a piece of cloth. How lame is that? And technically, a veil is a curtain, mainly used in religious ceremonies."

"Hey, that's not even the worst part!" exclaimed Peter. "I was killed by a rogue limb that went haywire on me! I actually choked myself!"

"I know how you feel, Peter," sighed Harry, wiping a tear from his eye and smudging his mascara in the process. "You feel so helpless. But I promise you, life is worth it! Don't give up!"

"I wasn't trying to choke myself. I don't even think that's even possible. I think you pass out or something before that happens."

"Oh. Never mind."

"Well, my death actually had some merit," stated James, embarrassed. "Peter betrayed me, and then the Snake King over here AK'd me."

Voldemort stared at his feet. "Yeah… my bad."

"Look on the bright side, Remus," Dumbledore stated, beaming. "Teddy will probably name his firstborn son after you, and then his firstborn daughter after Tonks. Your name will live on!"

Remus was not much consoled. "My name will live on even if he doesn't name his kids after me. His name is Teddy Lupin, after all."

"Unless he has a kid out of wedlock," Hermione remarked.

"Teddy and Victoire, sitting in a tree," Harry sang. "K-I-S-S – they're both abstinence-free!"

James scooted backwards. "There is no possible way that you're my son."

Sirius bore an enthusiastic grin. "That's my godson right there! Attaboy, Harry! You tell 'em!"

"Why are you congratulating him?" Hermione asked, incredulity etched into her face. I mean that quite literally. Ron had found a pen on the ground and had written 'INCREDULITY' all over her face in big blocky letters. "That was terrible!"

"Didn't you notice, Granger?" grunted Moody. "Black's mentally deranged. That's what happens when you spend twelve years in prison, a year on the run, and then you're forced to spend a year in the house of your dead family that you hated by a manipulative senior citizen." His magical eye swiveled to face Dumbledore, who was whistling innocently and twiddling his thumbs. "The fact that Potter ever listened to him is actually pretty astounding."

"I'm a trusting person!" boasted Harry.

"I meant that you're stupid, Potter."

"Oh."

"But in this fic Sirius is still a teenager!" Hermione protested. "He hasn't ever been to prison or anything!"

Moody gave a shrug. "Maybe he was born that way."

"Ah, look who it is!" Dumbledore exclaimed, breaking off the conversation. "Lily! How do you do?"

"Just fine, Professor," replied the redhead. She placed her hands on her hips. "Why am I here?"

"No clue," said Dumbledore. "None of us know, either. But at least we're alive again!"

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess." She glanced at the Marauders. "Ugh. They're here."

"Aw, Lily, you know you love us," James said, smirking.

"Actually, when I go to bed I pray that you all will spontaneously combust."

"Er… never mind."

Sirius stretched his arms high above his head and laughed. "Whatever, Evans. We don't need to stick around to hear your hormonal grumblings. Marauders, let's head out! Snivellus must be somewhere around, and if he's not wearing a skirt by the end of the night then my name's not Sirius Black!"

"All right!" Peter chirped, punching his fist into the air.

"I guess," muttered Remus.

"I think I'll stick around here," said James casually. Sirius deadpanned. "What? I just wanted to spend some quality time with my son, since I'm going to die before he grows up. That's a good excuse, you've got to admit."

"Eh, I guess," admitted Sirius. He narrowed his eyes quite like detectives on TV crime dramas do when they realize the one connection that closes the case just before the final commercial break. "You'd better not be saying that just so you can spend time with Lilith over here. I'll find out if you are."

"Of course not!" James lied, bullish. "I want to connect with my son! Isn't that right, Harry?"

He wrapped his arm around Harry's neck and hugged him close to his chest. Harry, bent over and with his face pressed into James's shirt, gave Sirius a half-hearted thumbs-up. "That's right!" he affirmed, voice muffled.

"Whatever." Sirius grabbed Remus and Peter by the back of their shirt collars. "Marauders, we're outta here!"

James watched his friends' retreating backs. He let go of Harry and smiled. "Sorry about that, Harry. Just had to make up something on the spot."

"Really," said Harry in a low voice as he tried in vain to straighten his frazzled hair, "it's all right. No problem." He didn't mention James's severe need for deodorant. That would have made things awkward.

"Good." James made his way over to Lily in a half-swagger, half-bounce that ended up looking far more ridiculous than sexy. Poor James. He even mussed up his hair, thinking that would add to his appeal. Really, the dude's just pathetic. "So, Lily…"

"No."

"I was just wondering…"

"When pigs fly."

"Maybe…"

"Never."

"You and I could go out?"

"I'm sorry, check back when hell has frozen over."

"Aw, come on, Lils!" James cried (and I don't mean in a manly way – he sounded really whiny). "Just gimme a chance!"

Lily stared at him. "Did you just call me Lils and honestly expect that I'd want to go out with you?"

"That's almost as bad as Ron and Harry calling me 'Mione," Hermione remarked.

"Couldn't agree with you more, 'Mione," stated a straight-faced and blissfully oblivious Ron.

"Hey, what's wrong with a pet name or two?" James said indignantly. He soon calmed himself with several deep breaths and manipulated his face into an easy smile. "C'mon, Lily. Let's ditch these losers, find a dark alley, snog a bit and then –"

"LALALALALALA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Harry placed his hands over his ears and began running in circles around the group. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LALALA! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING! LOUD NOISES ARE BLOCKING MY EARS ALONG WITH MY HANDS! LALA! NOPE! STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"Watching your teenage father try to seduce your teenage mother," said Moody as he lit up a cigarette. "Now there's a fate I wouldn't even wish on a Death Eater. That Potter kid's tough as nails, I'll give you that. A lesser man would have already cracked under the strain."

Dumbledore nodded to the cigarette. "When did you start smoking?"

"As soon as I saw a few of those cool Muggle action flicks." Moody held up a revolver in one hand and an automatic in the other. "I figured I'd play on the whole anti-hero thing. Go all out. Can you think of anything more intimidating than a scarred old dude with a roaming glass eye, a peg leg, two guns and a cigarette in his mouth who looks like he's liable to go on a killing spree at any moment? I didn't think so. I've even got a muscle car parked outside."

"That red one?" asked Voldemort.

"Yeah, with the skulls down the sides. Why?"

"Because some kids are hotwiring it right now."

"WHAT THE HELL?" Moody fired off several shots into the ceiling with the automatic and started to hobble to the door. "AWAY FROM MY CAR, YOU CONNIVING MISCREANTS! AM I GOING TO HAVE TO SHOOT SOMEONE'S EYE OUT? WHEN I'M DONE WITH YOU ALL YOU'LL WISH YOU'D NEVER MESSED WITH A CLINICALLY INSANE FORMER AUROR WITH ILLEGALLY OBTAINED GUNS!"

James watched as Moody stomped out of the bookstore. "Remind me never to mess with Moody's car."

The sound of gunshots resonated through the store. People outside began screaming, and Harry gulped. "I second that."

"You know, once he shot a cat with a bow and arrow," remarked Dumbledore. "True story."

That actually is a true story. I'm not even joking right here. Let's just say Author Senior has some really weird gun-wielding non-tax-paying pals with secret getaways in Oklahoma.

"Why would you shoot a cat with a bow and arrow?" asked Hermione. "And was that author's note really necessary?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Ask Alastor. I want to know where he got the bow and arrow."

There were more shouts, but these were from inside the store. A group of adults were situated around a computer, and they were causing quite a ruckus.

"Hey, guys!" called one of the adults over the murmuring. "Check out this! Apparently Dumbledore's gay and in love with Grindelwald!"

"Well, duh!" said Voldemort over the outcry. "I mean, we went over this like 5000 words ago! You're a bit late, man."

"Wait a second!" The man in question took a step forward. "You look a lot like Voldemort… you've even got a wand! If I didn't know better I'd say that you were one of the actual canon characters!"

Voldemort drew himself up to his full height. "Oh, I am! Watch this!"

He proceeded to put on a dazzling display of magic. He turned men into women and women into men (he decided to ignore hermaphrodites, as any genderfloppery he performed on them would just be redundant). He not only pulled rabbits out of hats – he pulled them pretty much out of any orifice you can think of or would like to think of (and several that you wouldn't). He did some advanced form of Transfiguration and Arithmancy to prove to the audience that two plus two actually equals zero. All in all, it was rather impressive.

"Oh my God," said the woman (who had previously been a man).

"I know," Voldemort preened, very satisfied with himself. "I'm pretty awesome."

"That's not what I meant. If you're a canon character, that means that he's a canon character!" The Woman Formerly Known as a Man pointed at Dumbledore. "He's right here in our midst, boys! This dude's gay! Get him!"

The crowd lurched forward. Only through Voldemort's quick thinking was a shield raised and the angry mob repelled.

"Hey!" exclaimed Hermione. "What's going on here? What does Dumbledore being gay have to do with anything?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid it comes with the territory, Hermione. Why do you think I have hidden it for so long? I know that I will not be accepted in some circles."

"That's – that's just wrong!" Hermione stopped as she seemed to notice something. "You know, Author, this fic is coming close to having an underlying moral or theme. You'd better watch it."

You're right. Let's just get on with it.

The mob pressed forward and Voldemort's shield shattered improbably (somehow a group of Muggles overpowered the most powerful wizard of our time… yeah, I don't know either). The gang split up and began fighting individual battles to protect the beloved headmaster. Ron engaged in kung fu with five lithe teenagers; Hermione bored several other teens to death by reading them a passage from a large and dull textbook. Voldemort did his magic thing, and James expertly dueled several Muggles; Harry held back and fought a half-hearted skirmish against two confused seven-year-olds who didn't even know what was going on and weren't even part of the mob. Dumbledore hung back by himself because that makes the next part a lot easier to write.

"Ugh!"

Everyone turned and watched as Dumbledore (who had been alone and unarmed because that's convenient) fell. As it had with the late Neville Longbottom, it took him forever to fall. This was probably because he had fallen into a large vat of molasses ("Hey, that's mine!" Ron exclaimed – everyone glared at him for ruining the tension). A large damp spot was evident on his robes, which was either from a stab wound or the molasses. Let's say it was a stab wound.

"Dumbledore!"

Voldemort, in an unlikely turn of events, was the first to run to the professor's aid. He reached into the molasses and grabbed Dumbledore out of it, cradling the old man's head in his arms. Dumbledore coughed up molasses for a few second before weakly turning his head to his one-time nemesis.

"Tom," he wheezed. "Tom, my boy. I'm dying!"

"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Voldemort took a breath here because his screaming limit is thirty-six letters. "Nooooooooooooooo! It can't be! I won't let it!"

"It is, Tom. I've been stabbed. There's lots of internal bleeding going on right now. It's really painful. Ow. I'd really like some Tylenol right now."

"How can you die?" Hermione asked insensitively. "I mean, aren't you already dead?"

Everyone shushed her, and we now return to our previously scheduled drama.

"Tom, my boy… there's one last thing I need to tell you before I go…" And it was apparent that he was going to go soon – ellipses are a sure sign of oncoming death. "One thing…"

"No, Albus," wept Voldemort. "No more ellipses. You're going to make it!"

"Tom…"

"Damn it, I said no more ellipses! Listen for once, you crickety old bastard!"

Dumbledore just smiled. "Please, Tom… there's one thing…"

"Fine, have it your way," Voldemort snapped. "What is it?"

"Tom… Tom, my boy… Tom, my old student… I just wanted to say… I just wanted to say… that I've always loved you."

Voldemort nearly dropped Dumbledore back into the molasses. "Say what?"

"Just kidding," Dumbledore replied, grinning. "You should've seen your face… sucker."

Dumbledore died, and that was that. It took Voldemort a little while to get over the shock of the fake love announcement. Then he shrugged and the tears began streaming again.

"NOOOOOOO!" he howled, making sure to do it in all-caps so everyone would know how much pain he was in. Then he decided to use italics and multiple exclamation marks, just to emphasize it that much more. "NOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

"Does anyone else find it ironic that he cares that the old man's dead and we don't?" Harry asked James and Hermione. Neither of them got a chance to answer, however, as Voldemort shot a glare in Harry's direction that would have turned lesser men to stone.

"You! Potter! You killed Dumbledore!" hissed Voldemort, setting the headmaster down and straightening up to his full height. "This is why you care not for his death!"

"'Care not?'" giggled Hermione, but no one paid her any mind.

"Hey hey hey, back up a second, mister!" Harry protested. "I mean, I don't really care that he's dead because he was a manipulative candy addict who nearly ruined my life on several occasions, but I didn't kill him! I was off fighting these two seven-year-olds over here!"

The children in question were too befuddled to even think at this point. They'd just come for the free cake.

"Sure, blame it on the children!" Voldemort leered. "Real brave, Potter!"

"Hey, Tommy, settle down!" Harry looked around and pointed at someone else. "It wasn't me! It was that person over there in the hood who's carrying that big bloody knife!"

Everyone turned to look at this person. They wore a black hooded robe, the shadow from the hood extending just far enough to conveniently hide their face from view. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman. If it was a woman, then she had very – you know what? Let's not go there. Moving on!

"What?" said the hooded figure in a muffled, gender-neutral voice. "It wasn't me! I got this knife from him!"

Voldemort cackled with triumph. "Foiled again, Potter!"

"Does anyone else think Voldy's getting off a little too much on this whole 'kill Harry' thing?" James asked the others out of earshot of the maniacal ex-ex-murderer.

Ron sighed in a reminiscing fashion. "Ah… reminds me of the old days. Good times, good times."

"Have your knife back, murderer!" The hooded figure tossed the knife at Harry, and it skidded to a halt at his feet. The entire crowd began chanting, "MURDERER, MURDERER, I SEE YOU! YOU'RE NOT TOO CLEVER AND YOU WEAR UNSTYLISH SHOES! MURDERER, MURDERER, WE DON'T ASK WHY! WE JUST SING SONGS AS YOU SIT DOWN AND CRY!" This, of course, will be familiar to many of our readers as the old children's folk song, "The Wimp Murderer Named Harry Potter Who is a Loser and Smells Right Awkward." The crowd followed up this classic with thrilling renditions of other equally mature songs.

"The people have spoken, Potter!" Voldemort yelled. "Time to die!"

"Now, wait a second! Let's have a bit of due process here!" The crowd continued their chanting. "Oh, bloody hell! Shut up, would you?"

He picked up the knife and hurled it as hard as he could at Voldemort. Everyone gasped – Voldemort flinched – the knife struck him.

And bounced right off him.

Voldemort had closed his eyes, apparently expecting his immediate death (for some reason forgetting the Horcruxes). He peeked out of one eye towards his chest and then towards the bloody knife on the floor. Then, just for good measure, he checked his shirt with his hand. He let out a sigh. "Phew. Good. That's not my blood on there." The crowd let out a sigh of relief as well. "Potter hit me with the hilt, is all. No problem."

"And what are the chances of that?" Harry muttered. "In the action movies the knife always sticks right in their chest."

"Well, losers can't be choosers, eh, Potter?" Voldemort flourished his wand and pointed it at our wimpy hero. "Now. Enough pleasantries. You killed Albus Dumbledore. It is time for you to die, Harry Potter."

Harry saw a flash of green light rushing toward him. He thought for a moment of Ginny, but then he decided that was a dull subject and not fit for his final thought. He then thought of scones, which he'd always thought were exceptionally delicious. More than anything in this life he would miss scones… and lipstick. And mascara and tight jeans. But mostly scones.

Then the light hit Harry and he died.

…

Kind of.

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