A Sequel to "A Death Eater Meeting That Will Never Happen"

A Sequel to A Death Eater Meeting that Will Never Happen

By Alice D.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. (For the Death Eaters, that is.)

The good news was, Voldemort had not been vanquished in the final variation of A Death Eater Meeting that Will Never Happen.

The bad news: Harry Potter had not been killed, but had left for school again, and it would be quite some time until the next scary confrontation.

And Voldemort was in one of his bad moods again. This usually happened only once a month. None of the Death Eaters knew what it was, but they all cowered when the Dark Lord felt moody. And now was one of those times. Voldemort felt he had no reason to live, now that his arch-enemy had gone off to school, to do more important things like go to Yule Balls and play Quidditch.

And poor Wormtail, being his caretaker, had to be a witness to all of it.

"Wormy," sighed Voldemort despairingly for the tenth time in a half hour.

The other wizard gritted his teeth, and ground out, "Yes... Master?"

Voldemort repositioned himself in his armchair, and took another chocolate from the box on his lap. "Transform into a rat for a moment."

Wormtail eyed the pink fleece robed Dark Lord warily. "Why?"

"I'd like to conjure up a cat, and have you be chased around for my own sick amusement."

Now it was Wormtail's turn to sigh despairingly. So far he had had to dance around singing Sunny Side of the Street in a tutu, hit himself with banana cream pies three times, and read to Voldemort from the childrens' book Goodnight Moon. And the sad thing was, he wasn't even under Imperio when he did it all.

"Sir, no disrespect meant, or anything... but are you sure that causing me physical pain will make you feel better?"

Voldemort tilted his ugly head to one side. "...Well, yes. It works with everyone else I torture."

"Oh, okay," Wormtail grumbled. But just as he was about to transform, Voldemort stopped him.

"Never mind. Forget it. It takes all the fun out of it if you know what I'm going to do to torture you," the Dark Lord pouted. "But, let's give you something to do... ah," he said, inspired. "Fetch me my slippers."

Wormtail's expression brightened, and he turned and scuttled off to get them.

"Duna duna duna duna, duna duna duna duna, WORMTAIL!" he sang to himself. It was his theme song. He was quite proud of it. But he never let Voldemort hear it. If the Dark Lord knew his servant had a theme song, he was sure it would be taken away.

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry....

When we last left our hero, Harry Potter, he was going to go take a nap, with Hermione to tuck him in. But he told her to go away. So she went off and cried in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and the girl and ghost formed a special bond, as two dangerously sensitive people have a tendency to do, when they are crying together in girls' bathrooms. And they lived happily ever after.

But wait! This part of the story is about Harry! Forget Hermione and Myrtle! They're not important right now!

Where were we? Ah, yes. Okay, so our hero Harry Potter did nap. (And what a fine little nap he had.) And then he woke up.

At first he was okay, just lying there, staring at his bed curtains, blinking. And then, it all came flooding back to him. Dumbledore was a fraud, and a wily old traitor, who sicced him, the hero, on Voldemort, year after year, even though they were on the same side. And Dumbledore was his grandfather.

Ugh, talk about weird, Harry thought. Who would come up with some stupid plot like that?

The authoress did, that's who! So poo on you, Harry Potter.

"Oh, that really stings!" sneered Harry aloud.

"You okay, Harry?" asked Ron, who'd hear him talking to himself, peeking around the bed curtains. "What really stings...? Oh... Oh. Ew! God! Er -- I'm sorry!" And with an even redder face than usual, and wide, frightened eyes, he pulled the curtain quickly back into place. Harry could hear him scrambling to get out of the room, and slamming the dormitory door behind him.

"Wait, what was that all about?" he asked the authoress incredulously.

Believe me, Harry my boy. You don't want to know.

"Ohhh... EW!"

So anyway... Harry finally got out of bed, and went on down to the pretty Gryffindor common room to find Ron and Hermione, his two best buddies in the whole wide world. (Who were playing a game of chess. Hermione was losing. As she always does.)

"Come, my sidekick and friend who is a girl but not my girlfriend! Away! Let us go to the Great Hall and EAT BREAKFAST!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. (Gee, she does that in this story, too.) "Harry," she asked, "why are you shouting?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something heroic, then shut it again with a snap. "... I don't know," he said finally. "Sometimes I completely baffle myself. AWAY!"

*****

With a loud pop, a pair of pink, fuzzy bunny slippers appeared in the entrance hall. Dumbledore rolled his eyes (just like Hermione!), and pinched the bridge of his nose. Voldemort had been "killing" inanimate objects for weeks now.

It seemed whenever the Dark Lord got annoyed at something, he would shout the new, amazing "killing" spell of amazingness, "Castlearimus", at it. (Which, of course, thanks to Severus Snape, their very obvious spy, was not a killing spell, and simply transported the person or, as the case had been for sometime, object, to the entrance hall of Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As we have already established. And if you had just read the authoress's first story, you would SO know that already! GEEZE!)

So far they had collected seven (mismatched) dirty socks, a broken blender, ten gross Slimfast Diet bars, and an empty bottle of Rogaine for Women. Why Voldemort thought that Muggle products would help him grow some hair, if not even magic would, I do not know. And why he didn't buy Rogaine for Evil Overlords is beyond me, as well. But anyway...

Dumbledore was just moving away in his old-mannish sort of way, when with another loud pop, a little piece of paper appeared in the air and floated down to rest beside the Headmaster's feet.

Dumbledore wondered what it was. Pretending to be a good guy took work and skill. Any extra news from his pseudo-enemy was a good find.

So he slowly bent down to get it. "Oooohhaaarguuuuh," he groaned, and finally was down far enough to grab at the document. Just as he was picking it up, a gust of wind from the front door blew it from his feeble grasp, back onto the floor. Dumbledore sighed exasperatedly. And tried again. "Oooohhaaarguuuuh!"

Just as he was straightening up, a first year ran by and knocked it from his gnarled old hand. It fell back to the floor.

Dumbledore was getting a little annoyed. He pursed his lips, and clenched his fists. But he was determined to read it.

"Oooohhaaarguuuuh!" he said once again. He was picking the paper up... he was holding it up to his face... and an owl came by to deliver a letter -- and away the paper dropped again.

"DANG IT!" shouted Dumbledore. "Can't an old man pick up an dag-nab-it piece of gosh-forsaken paper without being hassled? HUH?! Can't he?!"

Some students turned to stare at him.

Blushing a little, he bent down once more time. "Oooohhaaarguuuuh... Oh, OUCH! My hip! MY HIP!"

Suddenly, the authoress ran into the hall. "Okay guys, we need the second Dumbledore, back him on in! This one's spent!"

"Whippersnapper! I refuse to be treated this way! I was in Camelot..."

"Yeah, yeah no one cares. Stunt double! Quick!"

The other Dumbledore (exactly identical) was wheeled in on a trolley, and left in the correct position. The makeup crew powdered his face and left.

Dumbledore (#2) picked up the piece of paper from the floor. On it was the following:

This is the song that never ends,

yes it goes on and on my friend,

some people started singing it not knowing what it was,

and they'll continue singing it forever just because

this is the song that never ends,

yes it goes on and on my friend,

some people started singing it not knowing what it was,

and they'll continue singing it forever just because

this is the song that never ends,

yes it goes on and on my friend,

some people started singing it not knowing what it was,

and they'll continue singing it forever just because...

The old wizard recognized the scribbley handwriting. It was Voldemort's.

"Oh, dear," said Dumbledore softly. "Uncle Voldie's a little bored. We must find a way to keep him entertained, shan't we?"

So the Headmaster decided to get the "old crowd" back together (it took about five minutes. Most of them had been killed off in the last scary confrontation.)

He called Remus Lupin (who had miraculously returned to the school, even though many parents disliked the idea of having a werewolf teach their children) to his office, and asked him to bring Sirius along. Sirius Black and Remus were living together now. (For whatever reason... Perhaps I should revise the above sentence: many parents disliked the idea of having a gay werewolf teach their children...)

"What did you need us for, Headmaster?" asked Remus, petting Sirius absentmindedly on the head. (Which was rather weird, as Sirius was in his human form.)

"Voldemort is bored. I'm afraid that if we don't do something drastic, we shall lose our enemy. And there's no point to being a good guy if you've got no enemy to fight. Don't you agree?"

They both nodded.

Suddenly, Sirius growled and changed rapidly into a dog. Remus didn't seem to notice the difference, and continued patting.

"What's he doing here?" asked Remus acidly, glaring into a dark corner of the room. He, like Sirius, had suddenly noticed Snape.

"Sorry. He's part of the Order, too, you know. Couldn't get rid of him," said Dumbledore sadly.

Sirius walked over and raised his leg on Snape.

"Son of a bitch," hissed Snape at Sirius, inspecting his soiled robes.

The dog shrugged and nodded as if to say, This is true.

"Come now, my..." the headmaster paused, trying to think of a word that could include all the funky people in the office. He finally settled on, "... group of funky people in my office. Let's make a plan. There must be some way to keep Voldemort from falling so deep into depression that he forgets his purpose in the story. We must get Harry in trouble some way."

Snape grinned. He liked the idea of Harry getting in trouble.

Remus gaped. "But sir, Harry's just got back from his biggest scary confrontation yet! You can't send him out again..."

Dumbledore smiled with exaggerated patience, and talked down to Remus as if he were a little boy of five. "We won't send him out, silly goose. We'll just let him get in trouble. None of you are to punish him for anything he does."

Snape's face fell.

"Soon, he'll have his confidence up, and he'll be trying to get to Voldemort without a single cryptic nudge from me."

"Okay," they all agreed.

Dumbledore looked at them all as if he'd never seen them before. "What are you all doing here, ugly Q-tip men?!"

Remus looked at Sirius. The dog shrugged, as if to say The old coot's completely lost his mind. I'm afraid there's not much we can do about it. Want to go out for a butterbeer, Remy?

"Get out of my office or I shall dislodge you myself, you idiotic nose-goblins!" cried Dumbledore, flailing his arms about emphatically.

Snape looked as if were about to cry. "Don't yell at Sevie, Headmaster. He promises to be a good boy..."

Dumbledore stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry at him. Snape fled the room in tears. Remus and his... dog left soon after.

Dumbledore laughed evilly for a little while. When he'd finally regained his composure, looked around at his office again. "Now, where did all those funky people get off to?"

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall

"Erm, Harry?"

"Yes, Hermy?"

"First of all, don't call me that. In several different fanfictions, you and Ron have had a nickname for me, often 'Mione, and I think it's very out of character for me to put up with such nonsense. And secondly: Harry, why did you put your sausages up your nose?"

Harry looked confused. "I'm sorry, sausages?"

'Mione nodded. "Don't call me that, authoress," she said to the ceiling of the Great Hall. "And yes, Harry. Sausages."

"Sorry." Harry blew the meat products out of his nostrils in one snuffle. One flew across the table, hitting Neville Longbottom square between the eyes, knocking him unconscious. Nobody noticed or cared.

"Ron," Harry said, turning to his other side. (Ron was putting potato wedges up his nose. And singing Jinglebells softly to himself.) "Do you think something strange is going on here?"

"Why would you say that, Harry?" asked Ron, potato wedges quivering.

"Well, I mean, look at the other House tables."

Indeed, something odd was going on. The Ravenclaws were drinking bottles of vodka, eating pizza, and listening to punk music through a boom box on super high volume, like they were at a fraternity party.

The Slytherin table was being equally rambunctious. The threesome could hear cat calls and appreciative whistles, as Draco Malfoy stalked up and down on top of the Slytherin table in what looked like a polka dotted speedo, with thigh-high boots and a whip.

Even the other Gryffindors were acting a little odd. They were cutting snowflakes out of their paper napkins like little kids in a kindergarten class, and whining about nap time and wanting more juiceboxes.

The Hufflepuff table was the quietest by far, as they all had huge geeky glasses perched upon their noses, and were reading large chapter book classics, like Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice, and War and Peace.

"Oo! Now I see what you mean!" exclaimed Ron. "Oh my goodness, great snakes, holy cow, cud, crud, crickets, golly gee, Batman!" As he said these words, a potato wedge went shooting from his nose. Neville, who was just rousing himself, was hit in the head again, and went down once more.

"Where are the teachers?!" cried Hermione.

"I don't see them anywhere! Cool. In that case, I'll just..." Harry started to gravitate toward the Slytherin table (and Draco's display).

"Oh no you don't," 'Mione said, grabbing his shoulder. "Save the school now, play later. And stop using that nickname!"

'Mione,'Mione, 'Mione! HA!

"Grr," growled 'Mione.

Back with Voldemort

"You know, Wormy, you are the best servant I've had in a long time."

Wormtail blushed a little. "Now, don't bestow your great praise upon me. I'm not all that..."

Voldemort waved his hand. "Of course you are! I told you that I have self-esteem issues -- I kill people when they're prettier than me, I kill people when they're better at badminton than me, I kill people when they buy cute shoes at bargain prices, while I haven't shopped in some time... I think I just need to control my anger. Do you like badminton, Wormy? Of course you don't! What am I talking about! You hate me. The world laughs at me! Everyone laughs at me..."

"Oh... no! That's... not true at all," choked Wormtail, unable to keep the giggles from his voice.

"What, do you think that's funny?" Voldemort asked. "Do you think my pain is amusing?! Huh, is that it? GOD! What do I have to do to get you to respect me?! Do I have to use Castlearimus on you? Huh? DO I?" He then dissolved into tears.

Wormtail patted his bald little head, and whispered some soothing words.

"*Hiccough* Sorry, Wormy. PMS."

Wormtail's eyes widened, and he removed his hand. "What?"

Voldemort blushed. "Er... I mean to say, I said, uh... 'I'm a mess?'"

Wormtail shrugged. "Okay, Master."

"Give me your arm. I need to call the Death Eaters for a top secret meeting."

Wormtail paused. "What about?"

"I don't know yet! What, do you think I have all the answers? I'm only the evil overlord!"

"Okay, okay, calm down... OUCH!" Wormtail yelled, as Voldemort touched the Dark Mark on his servant's left arm.

"Sorry, hun. Necessary pain."

Several loud popping noises later, the Death Eaters were assembled in their customary circle that they always seem to assemble into. Everyone was there, including Lucius Malfoy, who, instead of the customary black robe and mask combo, was wearing a pink plaid cooking apron; his long, white-blonde hair was in pigtails.

No one dared laugh at his guise. Malfoy had his snake-headed cane with him, and everyone, including Voldemort, found the cane too sexy to risk it being taken away.

"Ah, so how goes the EVIL bake sale?" asked Voldemort casually.

"Oh, just spiffingly! When you called, I was just in the process of pulling some white chocolate ghosts on popsicle sticks out of the icebox!" replied Malfoy, batting his eyelashes.

A moment of silence followed. "Oooookay... well, that's enough about that. Would you like to sing that new song I gave you copies of? I am so looking forward to hearing it," simpered Voldemort.

The Death Eaters seemed reluctant -- even Malfoy's face had fallen.

"Now, now. You don't want to hurt my feelings, do you? It will make me feel better."

Not a one moved.

"SING, YOU IMBECILES! NOW!"

And the Death Eaters mumbled:

"Voldie loves me, this I know,

'cause his hexes tell me so.

Death Eaters to him belong.

We are weak and he is strong.

Yes, Voldie loves me.

Yes, Voldie loves me.

Yes, Voldie loves me,

His hexes tell me so."

Voldemort dabbed daintily at his streaming eyes. "That was beautiful. Again, please."

The Death Eaters exchanged looks.

"AGAIN!"

"Voldie loves me, this I know..."

Back at Hogwarts

"Do you think we need to find some teachers? I mean, we're talking utter chaos, here," said Hermione.

Harry looked mutinous, gazing longingly at the Slytherin table.

Ron simply looked confused. "Udder chaos? There are cows here? Where are the cows? MOO! MOOOOOOO!"

Hermione sighed. "Why, Hermione," she asked herself aloud, "must you consort with such complete blockheads?" She then led them out of the Great Hall to find a teacher.

"Now, let's first look for Professor McGonnagal. She'll know what's going on, right?"

Harry opened the door to her office. "Um, Hermy, I think we found her..." said Harry.

"Oh, GOD!" Hermione said, covering her eyes.

"Gee, I didn't know Professor Flitwick could do that..." Ron marveled.

"Oh, gee Ron, don't," moaned Hermione, shutting the door.

"Well, her hair was certainly down, wasn't it?"

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. "Why don't we try Professor Lupin?"

(She had forgotten, of course, that it would be much worse to find their DADA teacher with Harry's godfather...)

They knocked on his office door a few minutes later.

"Come in."

They opened the door warily, but found Remus alone with his tank of hinky punks.

"Ah, hello. What do you need, Mister -- ooops! I, er --ahem-- excuse me. Miss Granger?"

Harry and Ron went "Oooo," at this.

"What a diss."

"Ouch."

"I'd hit him."

"Me too."

"I am FEMALE! WHY can't you idiots get it STRAIGHT?" screamed Hermione.

Remus grimaced at the last word. "So sorry. You have to understand. You do look rather mannish... anyway. What is it?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Both the students and the teachers are acting a little strange. They are completely opposite from how they would normally act. Either that or they're just being entirely bizzare. It's utter insanity in the Great Hall!"

"Udders! MOOOOO!" added Ron.

"Gee whiz, you're right! That was very strange indeed!" cried Remus.

"What? Oh, Ron's almost entirely unaffected. He's just always like that," remarked Hermione.

"Yes, same with Headmaster Dumbledore, I'm afraid. You can go ask him what to do -- he seems like the only one in his right mind these days. Except for the thing about the ugly Q-tip men..."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Feel free to go poking around."

Harry grinned eagerly. "Why thanks, I'll keep that in mind!"

The trio left the office. As soon as the door was shut, Remus raised the tablecloth below the hinky punk tank. "Okay, Sirius. All clear."

"Thanks. That stone floor was really chafing. Where do you want the whipped cream?"

*****

Harry left his friends in the pretty Gryffindor common room, and came to knock on Professor Dumbledore's office door.

"Ah, Harry," cried Dumbledore, not sounding surprised to see him. "Come in. Care for a lemon drop?"

Harry glanced around. "I don't see any, sir."

Dumbledore blinked at him. "Any whats, Harry?"

"Er, lemon drops. Sir."

"Ah, yes, that's right. Have a lemon drop Harry."

Harry looked confused. "Er, no thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore indicated a chair. "Oh, then please, sit down."

"Thank you." A moment of silence. Then: "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Um, are you really my grandfather?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry long and hard. "No, Harry. I'm not your grandfather. But I am your neighbor's friend's cousin's half-sister's uncle twice removed, so we're practically brothers."

Harry stared back. "...Then, why did you say you were?"

"Harry, Harry, Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry. Please, sit down."

Harry stared some more. "I'm sorry. I'm already sitting, sir."

"Oh, then take a lemon drop."

"That's okay."

"Then, please, take a seat."

"I'm sitting! Can't you tell?!" Harry got himself under control. "I came here to ask about some strange things that are going on."

"Ah, then here is my advice to you. Lemon drop?" offered the Headmaster.

"No thank you sir."

"Very well, Harry. Here is my advice to you. Do not mock the weasel, for it's long underwear is not aquamarine, Harry. And, Harry, a hand in the bush is worth two in the bird. Remember that, Harry. Harry, time crows when you jumprope the kazoo, Harry. Do you follow me?"

Harry continued to stare. "Erm... sure, Headmaster. I'm sure that whatever you just said was very wise and, er, knowing. One question: some strange stuff has been happening. Who's responsible?"

Dumbledore sniggered. "Voldemort! Duh! Who do you think?"

"Oh," said Harry. "I should have guessed. Can I leave now?"

"Take a lemon drop, Harry."

"You've already offered me one, sir."

*****

Harry related his visit to Dumbledore's office Ron and Hermione. Oddly enough, they kept giggling at each other, and they didn't seem to notice a word he said.

"Guys? Um, guys. There is something funny going on here. We should go visit Hagrid, shouldn't we?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, why not?"

Hagrid, the big hairy guy who lives on the grounds, open the door.

"Hereryy, Heermioneuh, Rphomn! Hrphow grmhoode t' sckjeehmp ya!"

The trio looked at each other. "Do you have any idea what he just said?" asked Ron.

"Oh, was he speaking? His cockney accent was so strong, and there were so many extra consonants in the words, I thought he was making grunting noises in pain," remarked Hermione.

"Hey, I'll bet he gets those special cramps, just like you, Harry!" said Ron.

"Ron," muttered Harry, "I thought I told you not to talk about that in public."

Hagrid and Hermione eyed them suspiciously.

"Wovuldveb ya liokey ta coombe in, eh?"

"Sorry, I don't speak half-giant," said Ron a little nastily. The three turned and walked back to the castle, leaving Hagrid utterly confused, and quite offended.

There was nothing to do but go to Hogsmead. For no apparent reason, the threesome walked into a pet store. There was already someone being helped.

"I tell you, this owl is dead! It is no more! It has ceased to be!"

The wizard at the counter looked nervous. "No. It's not dead. It's restin'."

The customer stared at his very obviously stuffed owl in the cage. "No, it is not resting. It is dead. This owl is dead. Why did you sell me a dead owl?!"

"See there!" said the employee, as he pushed the cage. "It moved!"

"It did not move. You just pushed the cage." The customer took the bird out. "In fact, the only reason it was sitting on its perch was that you had nailed it on." He then proceeded to bang the dead owl's head against the counter. "Wakey, wakey! Owl want a mousey?"

The employee looked as if he had finally been beaten. He then leaned in conspiratorally, and said, "But I don't want to work in a pet store, mate. I don't even want to be here."

The customer looked interested. "Is that so. Then what would you like to be?"

"A lumberjack!"

Ron paled. "Guys, I can see where this is going. We best leave right now, before we become part of the chorus."

"What?" asked Harry and Hermione.

"Just come on!" shouted Ron, and dragged them from the pet store. As they were leaving, they could hear the first strains of a song:

"I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay,

I sleep all night and I work all day...."

*****

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room

"Things are seriously weird. Dumbledore said Voldemort is causing all the chaos. We're just going around in circles, here, aren't we?" said Harry. "We need some serious plot development, right about... now."

At that same moment, at Voldie's Secret Hideout of Doom

"Again, please."

Malfoy turned an unappealing purple. "Master, with all due respect, we are sick and tired of this song. We've been singing it for four hours straight! Give it a rest!"

Voldemort stared in disbelief at Malfoy. "What did you just say to me?"

"I said, we're all tired. We want to apparate back home. I'm beginning to lose my voice. I never want to hear that song again! Let us leave!"

The Dark Lord's voice grew shrill. "EXCUSE ME? Don't go there, girlfriend! I will not put up with this insolence! You... I'll... I'll kill you all, I'll..."

Malfoy raised his wand: "Chicken-kadabra."

Back, again, in the Gryffindor Common Room

Harry shrugged. "That'll do."

A burning sensation burned burningly in his forehead. "Ouchy. Mommy, my heady-poopy-poo hurts, it does." Harry Potter then fell to the ground in a dead faint.

Hermione and Ron gasped. "Oh my goodness! I don't know what to do!" squealed Ron.

"Let's carry him to Professor Lupin's office!" said Hermione. Of course, she didn't even think of Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing.

So Hermione took Harry's head and Ron took his feet, and they slowly made their way down the corridor and up the stairs to Remus's office, bumping Harry's head into as many solid objects as possible.

What little sense the poor boy might have had before had been knocked out of him, by now.

Not bothering to knock on the door, the walked right into the office.

"Oh my GOD!"

"Sorry, Professor Lupin!"

"Mr. Black?"

"Ron?"

"Hermione!"

"Professor Lupin!"

"Sirius!"

"Ron!"

"Hermione!"

"Remus!"

"Sirius!"

"Mr. Weasley!"

"Mr. -- er, Miss Granger!"

They stood there in silence for a moment.

Remus talked next. "What's wrong with Harry?"

"Oh, well, he just passed out. I think his scar hurt him."

"Why's that?"

"His last words were, 'Ouchy. Mommy, my heady-poopy-poo hurts, it does.'"

"Oh. Well, plop him down over here, and let me have a look at him."

*CLUNK.*

"Hermione, have you ever had to save someone's life?" asked Professor Lupin, after checking his pulse.

"Surely you jest!" cried Hermione.

"This isn't a joke. And don't call me Shirley."

Pause for half-hearted laughter... Continue.

"What do I have to do?" asked Hermione.

"Do you know... Praying Mantis?"

"You know I do!"

"Then go ahead."

Hermione walk around the prostrate body of Harry Potter, as if she was readying to fight someone. "Woaaaaaaaaaa! Judo CHOP!"

Her hand hit the middle of his chest, and Harry's eyes opened.

"Well," said Sirius thoughtfully. "That was rather anti-climactic."

"Hermione? Ron? Professor Lupin? What am I doing here?"

"You passed out. Something happened with your scar," explained Hermione.

"I have to go see Dumbledore, right away. Sirius! Why do you have whipped cream on your chest?"

Dumbledore's Office, in which random words will be capitalized

"I have just had a report, from a reliable (yet mysterious) source, that Voldemort has been turned into a fowl of the barnyard description and transported to the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts by his own followers," explained Dumbledore.

"Really?" said Harry, interested.

"Yes. Now, I must go die in a heart-wrenching and incredibly contrived way." He DOES. The other characters are SADDENED. Harry goes to BED and CRIES for a WEEK.

After his cry, he took a little nap. And what a fine little nap he had. And during this nap, he realized a very important plot point. If Voldemort really was turned into a chicken and transported to Hogwarts by way of the spell "Castlearimus", then he couldn't possibly be causing all the strange stuff to happen... Suddenly, Harry knew exactly where to find the evil being causing this insanity.

So anyway... Harry finally got out of bed, and went on down to the pretty Gryffindor common room to find Ron and Hermione, his two best buddies in the whole wide world. (Who were snogging on the couch.)

"What are you doing?!" cried Harry, distraught.

Ron blinked. "Um... comforting her?" He didn't sound so sure himself.

"We have to go save the world. And I know exactly where to go to do it."

Some time later, at the delapidated brick building in the middle of nowhere

Harry rolled up the sleeves of his robes (which promptly fell back down again) and set his jaw. "I'm going in."

Hermione and Ron didn't hear him though, because they were, er... "wrapped up in each other" again.

Harry passed carefully into the delapidated brick building not unlike the one in the authoress's last story (imagine that). The front door had been blasted out, and the room inside was in ruins.

Wait, wondered Harry, why did I come here again? Oh, yeah. Save the world.

Suddenly, Harry saw a nondiscript door at the far wall. Who knows why he didn't see it before, but Harry was sure whatever was causing this madness would be behind that door of nondescriptness. If he could only move quietly enough...

He stepped on something -- maybe a twig or a little bone, but no one cares -- that made such a loud noise, he was afraid he had alerted the BEING behind the door of his presence. He held very still for a whole minute. He let the breath he had been holding out in a soft woosh...

And jumped as Neville Longbottom ran out of nowhere to stand in front to the door.

"Neville," asked Harry (for, as we have already established, it was Neville Longbottom standing in front of the door, not somebody else), "what are you doing here? This isn't a place for a boy like you to be! You should go back to the Gryffindor common room immediately, where you'll be safe."

Harry was very silly to say all this, because Neville Longbottom, as Harry might tell from the demonic glint in his eyes, was quite evil. No, let me correct that. Neville was not merely evil, he was truly EEEEVILLL!

"BWAHA!" shouted Neville. "You shall never get past this door! BWAHAHAHAHA!"

Harry started to cry. "But why, Neville? Why?"

Neville scowled. "I got hit in the head one too many time with various breakfast food-stuffs. I've decided, like the average evil minion, that this is all your fault. You're going down." Neville put his fists up.

Harry blew his nose. "Um, any other reasons?"

"My parents are complete loonies. I have angry feelings in my heart. Mr. Rogers says it's okay to feel angry, and we need to express those feelings. He suggests kneading Play Dough, or punching the lights out of a pillow. But I figure killing you would have the same effect. Feel my wrath." He put up his dukes again.

"Do you like Mr. Rogers, Neville?"

Neville slowly nodded.

"Do you know the goodbye song?"

Neville grinned, nodding again.

"Would you sing it for me? Just this once?"

Neville cleared his throat. And started singing.

"It's such a good feeling,

to know you're alive,

it's such a happy feeling,

you're growing inside,

and when you wake up ready to say,

I'm gonna make a snappy new day."

Neville then tried to snap his fingers twice, and failed miserably. He shrugged and sang on.

"It's such a good feeling,

a very good feeling,

a feeling you know that I'll be back,

when the day is new.

And I'll have more ideas for you.

And you'll have things you'll want to talk about.

I will too!"

Neville looked very pleased with himself. "Where were we? Ah, yes.

"And another reason! I have always been a minor character! NEVER am I brave or good at anything! Therefore, I have low self-esteem, much like Lord Voldemort does. The authoress behind this nondescript door of nondescript-... I mean, I was promised (by someone) that I would star in my own fanfictions, if I were to kill you. It sounds like a good deal to me! So BWA! NOW YOU DIE!!!!!!!"

"Wow. That's a lot of exclaimation points. WOAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Harry shouted as he dodged Neville, who had just catapulted himself straight at Harry's head.

"Neat. Even more." With a twitch of his wand, Harry hit Neville with the leg -locking spell. He fell on his side. "Now," said Harry, "time for your punishment."

Suddenly Professor Snape appeared, dressed in a polka dotted speedo, thigh-high boots, and carrying a whip ... actually it was the same guise Draco Malfoy had worn earlier in the story.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cried Neville, struggling.

"SHUT UP! Twenty points from Gryffindor," snarled Snape. He turned to Harry. "You'll pay for this, Potter."

Harry gave him a look.

"What? You think I like this outfit? I have an awful wedgie." Snape snapped his whip at Neville, and grabbed the boy's hair, dragging him away. Neville's agonized squeals soon faded.

Harry now turned toward the nondescript door of nondescriptness. He turned the handle and pushed it... and it woudn't open.

"Damn. Alohomora," he whispered as the tapped it with his wand. He turned the handle and pushed again. It... still wouldn't open. "What is the problem here?" He tried the Impediment Hex. Nothing. He tried every spell he knew, and some he didn't. By the time he was had run out of ideas, the door was not quite as nondescript as it had been before.

And still he pushed it. And still it wouldn't budge.

"Inconceivable!"

"You dumb ass!" came a muffled voice from behind the door. "PULL!"

"Oh." He turned the door knob and pulled.

There, in a small, dingy room in front of a computer sat...

An absolute vision. She had shining blonde hair that rippled gently to her waist. Her skin was like perfect porceline, her legs slender, her breasts huge, and she smiled up at him with ruby red lips and straight, blindingly white teeth. She blinked at him with sparkling violet eyes...

"Are you the authoress?" asked Harry reverently.

"Yes," she said. Her voice was low, husky and mysterious, and like a choir of angels singing, both at the same time.

He gazed at her loveliness, and could not help but fall instantly in love with her.

"What are you?" he asked.

Offering no explaination, she simply ordered, "Hop up and down on one leg and oink like a pig."

Harry felt as if an Imperio curse had just been cast on him. Go on, said a voice, oink. Oinky oinky, piggy-poo.

NO!

"Wait! No! There is no way you could be real! I know what you are. You're a... Mary-Sue/self-insertion."

"WHAT?" the beautiful girl shrieked -- and she began to change before his eyes. Her hair became mousey brown. Big yellow pimples and red sores from acne began to appear all over her face. Her nose got bigger and changed shape. Her chest shrunk two cup-sizes. Her butt grew three jean-sizes. And last of all, mossy braces seemed to grow upon her yellow, jagged teeth.

"I can't believe it!" she cried, her voice a jarring whine. "How did you guess? I didn't write it this way!"

"Sometimes people make up sequels that aren't nearly as good as the originals. Sometimes people are found out, when they insert an improved version of themselves into a fanfiction. Other people are just weird. You are worse than all of this. You are pure EVIL. DIE."

"NO! I'm melting... melting... melting..." screamed the authoress, shrinking into a pile of sludge much as the Wicked Witch of the West would. "Help me..." the blob implored.

"Franchment, ma chere, je m'en fich completement," retorted Harry. (That's French for "Screw you.")

When the remains of the authoress had finally disappeared from the dirty floor, Harry glanced over at the computer screen. In black Geneva font, size twelve, was the following:

THE END