A/N: I can't write a one shot to save my life. Oh well, here's round two. Again, humor a la Colbert.
Love to my reviewers.
It was the hardest few days of the author's life. Purebloods, as it turns out, are persnickety creatures. Worse than the snootiest cat you've ever met, mixed with the mean girls from high school, times the most demanding customer you ever had during your crappy college job in that overpriced coffee house. Yes, that bad.
It's hard to write when someone is staring over your shoulder. It's harder to write when someone is rifling your things. It's nearly impossible to write when someone is having conversations, or trying to have conversations, with the posters on your wall. Which they were, often at the same time. Especially the last one.
"Oi! Clown-man! Wake up!"
The author shook her head. "Muggle pictures don't move. Why don't you have a sit down, Madam Lestrange?"
Bellatrix pulled herself up to her full height and glowered. "Quiet, muggle, the clown and I are having a meeting of minds! I say, wake up! The woman shan't bother you any longer." She aimed her wand and fired a spell directly at the Joker's shiny paper face. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. On the other side of the room, Wormtail was licking a candy bar wrapper.
Bellatrix stood back and surveyed her work. "The clown must not want to come and play. You, woman, what have you done to scare the clown?"
The author, jerked out of her reverie by the woman's rusty nails on broken glass voice, sighed and closed her program. " I'm going to bed."
Draco, sat up from his post on her bed. "You can't! We've been here three days already! Just shut up and write!"
The author spun. "Do you think it's easy, trying to write in all this confusion? It's like working in a day care for lunatics!"
She reached into her fridge and came up with...nothing.
"Who did it? Who jacked my bottle? I'll have their guts for garters, I swear I will." She gave them her meanest look which, given the fact they happened to be Death Eaters, rated not even a flicker of notice.
She dug in her sock drawer and came up with a package of slightly melty Milano cookies. " Look, Pettigrew, cookies—er, biscuits. Wouldn't you like a biscuit?"
Wormtail's beady eyes fastened on the cookies. He licked his lips and stood before her, smiling, servile as a dog.
" Who did it, Pettgrew? Tell me and you get one."
He struggled with his conscience for a whole fifteenth of a second before he blurted out "Young Malfoy! When you went to eat last night!"
She whirled on Draco. "What? I thought it would help you write faster." He shrugged, utterly impenitent, stretched on her bed, dragon hide boots on the quilt.
" I swear, that was the final straw. I'm going to take up knitting and—get your shoes off the bed, where you raised in a barn?" He sneered. Bellatrix, having seized the author's jewelry box from its place on the shelf, distracted him with a well aimed poke to the solar plexus and, while he writhed wheezing, simply shoved him off and took his place.
The writer tried to concentrate on her monitor but Bellatrix, having gotten the comfiest place in the room, decided that now was optimal time for female bonding. She dumped the box on the bed and began to sift the contents, loudly critiquing everything she touched.
"Woman, what's this?" She held up a glass bangle.
" A bracelet. Please be' Bellatrix threw it and it shattered. 'Gentle."
And so it went. The author began to crack. She found it impossible to concentrate. Finally she had an idea.
" Y'all want to want a movie?"
The three turned to look at her. "A what?"
"You know, moving pictures that tell a story."
Bellatrix, sitting ramrod straight in the only other chair, turned and glared. "You've had moving pictures this whole time and neglected to tell us?" She reached for her wand, realized it would do her no good and opted instead for a hard pinch as soon as she was in range.
The author popped a DVD in and relished the golden silence as the three watched, spell bound. " The clown! He's come at last! Oi, clown!"
Draco, lounging on his stomach in the bed, turned and gave the author a nasty little smile. " Wonderful, now we'll get to hear about this for a few days."
" Let's here your better idea, Mr. Smarty Pants Pureblood bigshot. Oh right, you haven't got one. In fact, you've done nothing but sit on your rear end complaining."
Draco quirked an eyebrow. " Compared to what you do, which is…"
She groaned. " Look, the Muse hasn't said anything about this. We have to wait. Or else y'all could go back and we can try again."
He shook his head.
'Can't. Once you sign for a plot bunny, it's your for life. You're stuck with us until you write the story."
She decided to cut her losses and study in the library a few hours. They'd be fine, right?
She showered, dressed, did her makeup. Reaching for her perfume, she was startled when Bellatrix, without turning around, yelled "No!"
"Pardon?"
" Not that one. It makes you smell like a Knockturn Alley slut."
The author turned around. " It doesn't either!"
Draco, feeling as though he should weigh in, piped up with " Well, it rather does, actually."
She breathed hard through her teeth and reached for another one. " Not that one, either. It makes you smell like a grandmother. Wear the pink one."
It wasn't worth the fight. She sprayed herself, grabbed her purse and tried to set out. Tried. Suddenly all three Death Eaters sat straight up and grabbed their arms.
"Guys? What's wrong?" They may have been irritating, elitist busybodies intent on destroying most of what she loved, but they ( well, these avatars) were her characters and she needed to protect them.
Bella jumped from the bed, laughing. "The Dark Lord! He comes!"
"Wait, what? No, no, no. I can't stand another moment of this!"
Wormtail pulled up his sleeve and showed his arm. His Dark Mark was glowing.
A knock at the door. Shivering, she opened it, praying it was the police come to arrest her. Ed McMahon with a check. Death. Anyone at all except…
"Madea's Rage?"
" Yes sir. Where do I sign?"
"Seems there was a mix up last time. We forgot to deliver half your characters. Sorry about that. If your Muse was wonky, that's likely why."
She signed the last of her sanity away on the dotted line. The man vanished. Hands reached out and yanked her inside. The entryway to her room was suddenly crowded.
Ten minutes later she took a quick survey. Voldemort had commandeered her inflatable couch, attended by Bellatrix and Wormtail. Draco and his father set head to head, having a conference, having spread her quilt on the floor. Narcissa was buffing her nails on the desk chair. A man she assumed to be Rudolphus Lestrange was giving her the glad eye from the corner by the door.
" So is this finally it?"
Bellatrix gave her a glower. " Do not speak that way before the Dark Lord! Bow and beg his forgiveness at once, muggle!"
" I will not, and don't assume that just because all y'all showed up on my doorstep that you can have a 24/7 Death Eater love fest in here! I need to study!"
Voldemort smiled liplessly. " She had spirit, this one. What a shame her blood is foul and tainted."
" Oh, pipe down. Can this day possibly get any worse?"
The door again. She felt faint. Opened it slowly. Three teenagers, dirty, streaked with blood, bruised and starved, stood looking at her. Behind them and to the left stood a tall, craggy faced man draped in layers of black wool like a giant bat.
" Are we too late?"
She gestured them in with a small, hopeless little laugh. "Not at all. Look everyone, the gang's all here."