A/N: No, the rumors are not true. I am not dead. I do not own these characters. And no, Severus Snape is NOT Harry Potter's father.
I'll repeat this for you dummies out there who didn't read the second statement above. I do NOT own any of the characters.

Now that I'm done busting myths, I'll move on with the story.

We now return to our original program.

Av-eeeer-eeeeeeeeeee!" screeched a high-pitched female voice. The entire living room began to shake, and sixteen of the Death Eaters fled the room, fearing an earthquake was coming. Snape, too, ran from the room, because he knew what was on its way. He knew that it was worse than any natural disaster. He knew the calamity that was coming.

Fangirls.

"AveryaveryaveryaveryohmigawdareyouallrightquicksomeonegetsomeFloopowdergethimtoSt.Mungosohmygawshisheallrightomigosh!" gabbled the crowd of fangirls, converging upon the unfortunate Avery, trampling Voldemort and totally ignoring his squeals of pain. They fawned over the unconscious Death Eater, fanning him and themselves with copies of the seventh Harry Potter book. "Is he all right? Oh my gosh! Here, poke him! Is he alive? Oh my GOSH!" Several of them were armed with wands, and they set to poking at his wounds and healing him, all the while still yakking on and on about how abusive Voldemort was and just how unloved and underappreciated Avery was.

One fangirl, wearing a black shirt that had "I HEART AVEREE" scrawled across it in silver sharpie, turned to Voldemort. "YOU DID THIS," she hissed lividly, pointing an accusing finger at the Dark Lord. The rest of the fangirls, finished with the healing of Avery, turned as one to glare at Voldemort.

"No, no, no, it wasn't me, it wasn't me!" gabbled Voldemort, scrambling backwards and scrabbling for his wand. He bumped into something furry and vaguely threatening. Casting his gaze up, he met a pair of green smiling eyes. "Who're you?" he asked.

"I'm the author!" said the black . . . thing. "Selonian." It smiled even brighter.

"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight . . . " said Voldemort.

"So . . . um . . . Voldemort, right?"

He nodded slowly.

"Did you know that your name means Flight Of Death?" It snorted, shaking it's head. "Sounds like a circus act to me, I mean, jeez!"

" . . . circus act?"

"Yes, a circus act. And, honestly, dude! You have sunk to a new low. You can't flip the box over and read the print that clearly says 'Open This End.'"

"Open this way . . . ?"

"What are you, a parrot?" It sighed. "Listen, flip the box over, use your knife to open it that way, then get on with it."

"GET ON WITH IT!" roared Eric Idle.

"Who invited you here? This is a Harry Potter fan fiction, not a cross-over! Get out! Get, get!" It produced a rubber chicken from midair and proceeded to chase Idle out the door, all the while beating him with the rubber chicken. "GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!"

"What . . . what just happened?" mumbled Voldemort.

"I . . . have . . . no . . . clue," said Avery, sitting up slowly.

"What did that thing say? It said something about the box."

"She," said Avery offhandedly.

"What?"

"It's a she. The black furry thing was a she."

"Really?"

"Yep. She's a Selonian."

"Wait, I thought she was Selonian. I thought that was her name."

"Naw, see, these Selonians are funny little blighters. They talk reeeeeal funny like, and it's a doozy to try and understand 'em, see," commented a random Australian, dressed all in khaki and armed with a large aluminum baseball bat. "Whatcha gotta do is find a biiiiiiiiiig stick, and start beating the Selonian with it until it starts making sense."

"Who are you?" asked Voldemort incredulously, staring at the guy.

"The name's Bruce. Bruce . . . Bruce."

"Your name is Bruce Bruce Bruce?"

"Naw, me name is Bruce Bruce the Second."

"So your father was Bruce Bruce the First?"

"No, me father was Bruce Bruce Bruce. Me mother was Bruce Bruce the First."

"You've lost me," said Avery blankly.

"Of course we have," muttered Voldemort darkly.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" screamed a random fangirl.

"Uh . . . "stammered Voldemort, his red eyes wide with fear. "I said, uh, that he was, um . . . " he fumbled for a word. Rhymes with have, rhymes with have, rhymes with have . . . "Uuuuh, um, very, um, uh . . . fab. Yeah, fab. Short for fabulous." He grinned nervously.

She glared at him for several seconds, then said—

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! CLIFFHANGER!

A/N: SO, will we ever figure out just who this Bruce Bruce character is? Or why he's essential to the plot? Or why he has a baseball bat? Will Avery ever find his way back into the conversation? (Highly unlikely, that is.) Will Voldemort survive the wrath of the fangirls? And, most importantly, will you survive to the next chapter, or will the suspense kill you? Tune in next week to find out! Or month. Or whenever I get around to posting again.

I want to thank my lovely beta, Arastel. Check her out, she has a lot of cool fics! /u/1290912/Arastel