The Passion That Dare Not Speak Its Name!

THE PASSION THAT DARE NOT SPEAK ITS NAME!

He was returning once again, this evening. She felt his presence thrill the very core of her innermost being...the secret place she so rarely showed to any visitors...the dank heart of darkness...He was father, confessor, professor, seducer, reducer, idol, whore, god, slut and milkman all at once, somehow (and that took years of home schooling). Though she could not as yet visualize his physical form in her magnificent, well-appointed, tastefully NY-catalog stormy black-arts type bedchamber with the wine red draperies and the eleven lace curtains fluttering artfully in the breeze (provided by hidden fans because there weren't any windows) she shed not a tear; their love could never be defined in paltry realms of merest human dimension.

No, it was a love stronger than House boundaries, stronger than the divide between good 'n' evil (hmm, sounds like one of those cheap non-brand name soft drinks they sell at convenience stores...'Good 'N' Evil!"), stronger than the weak, frail restrictions that seemed even now to be from another universe, since her folks were in Bermuda and couldn't make the first Parents' Weekend. It was a love stronger, at last, than even Death. And despite its hideously awkward structure, remember that last sentence. Oh wait a minute...you don't need to remember it. You've seen it many, many, many times before.

Meanwhile, so as not to panic the newbies, we cut to another scene you may find rancidly familiar. (snip)

Harry Potter twisted in his anguished slumber, rivulets of sweat popping out of his pale forehead, low, rhythmic moans of terror slipping from between the sleeping boy's lips as a series of birds nestled in the tangled coal-black skein that was his legendary, matted, artistically-mussed- type Hair took panicked flight, making little frightened noises like squeaky bedsprings. As any of Potter's housemates could attest, moans and squeaky bedsprings were a given whenever Potter was alone upstairs, awake or asleep.

Tonight, though, he was in an agony of horror, a miasma of guilt, a plethora of pain, an embarrassment of ennui, a sluiceful of schadenfreude, a buttload of something beginning with B. The dude was stressed. He tossed and turned in the red and white striped pajamas of which he owned sixteen other pairs, reliving some of his most painful personal memories...

"OK Ceddie ole buddy ole pal, we BOTH grab the frickin cup at once. That satisfy you, huh?"

"Harry! Your overwhelming sense of fair-play and clean, lemony fresh goodness has changed my life! Yes! Let us take this cheesy, paste-encrusted souvenir-type tankard thingie Together! My gosh, I should have just quit the tournament when your name popped out! I am your biggest fan, even though I get more action in five minutes than you have in your entire life!"

"Yeah, that's very touching...umm, can I get Cho on the weekends though?"

"You ripped that off from another fanfic, but, what the hell!"

Boink.

"Ooh cool! A graveyard!"

(giggles.)

"What's so funny?"

"Ahh, Cedric...got some bad news for ya."

"What?"

"How many of those goblets were there?"

"One."

"How many of us are there?"

"T-two."

"Is the title of this book, 'Cedric Diggory and the Goblet of Fire?' "

"Err..." (Pause.) "Oh, crap."

"See ya, spare!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"Gllllccchhhh!"

(Only Harry's lips move) "Huh huh huh. I'm gonna score."

(The mists of memory part, or the dream shifts, or something.)

"Yo Sirius! Your powers are weak, old man!"

"You can't win, Bellatrix! Strike me down and I will become even more powerful!" (Conveys thoughtful, secretly anguished-Zen-like-acceptance of fate with a meaningful glance towards female readers.)

(Fires all the Unforgivable Curses at once) "Eat Kraft cheese!"

(ditto, ditto, ditto)

"Today in Potions I wish to pose to you the following significant question. What is the difference between a duck?"

(raises hand)

"Anyone?"

(raises hand)

"Anyone?"

(raises hand)

"Anyone?"

(raises hand)

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"One of its legs are both the same!"

"Nine thousand points to Gryf...Yes, Malfoy?"

"Anyone else noticed I haven't appeared until the third page of this thing?"

"And in a cheesy dream flashback at that..."

(You know the drill...)

"Boy, it took almost two and a half minutes to skewer that big snake. Chamber of Secrets my ass! (adopts weird Jack Nicholson voice) Ya know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were gettin' moldy, Voldie. (Laughs wildly, rolling eyes) Ha ha ha. I rhymed! Moldy Voldie!' I KILL me!"

Goosebumps rose on her white flesh and she artfully tore her negligee a little further down her heaving bodice. She could not wait for his taste, his mouth, tongue, lips, incisors, hangnails, jointly exploding in concupiscence (thanks, Tom Wolfe.) Oh, he had hurt her at first. He had hurt her the second time too. Also the third. But, with some timely assistance from Madame Pomfrey, not any more after that. He had hollowed her out, sucked away her innocence all at once as if through one of those really thick straws you get at McDonalds lately. She was the plaything of his desire. And then...suddenly...There He Was. Standing backlit in the doorway in a Pirates of Penzance open-to-the waist-type shirt, flaming red hair, lips a-tremblin' with passion. With a subtle bit of wandless magic she started the D'Angelo CD.

"Nothing could keep me away from you," he hissed.

"Oh...umm..." she gasped. "I can't actually remember which character you are, but..."

"Never mind that right now! You are mine! Now...and FOREVER!" he snarled.

"Ohh yes...I don't know when, I don't know how, but I know something's starting right now! Watch and you'll see: someday I'll be part of your woooooorrrrld!"

His arms encircling her waist, he pushed her back upon the [THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC HAS DETERMINED THAT THE FOLLOWING PORTION OF THIS FANFIC WAS UNFIT FOR MUGGLE, WIZARD OR ANY OTHER TYPE OF CONSUMPTION. CERTAIN PASSAGES HAVE BEEN CENSORED FOR YOUR PROTECTION.

Best wishes, CORNELIUS FUDGE]

Placing her trembling CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED with firm, bold CENSORED CENSORED thrown back in an agony of CENSORED CENSORED the sweet torments of CENSORED rising inevitably to a tight, firm CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED blood-engorged CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED and some unnamed utensils CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED proud manhood CENSORED CENSORED ecstasy CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED handing the vat of custard back to the house elf, he CENSORED CENSORED as one now, entwined in CENSORED, levitated backwards into CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED screaming CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED engulfed the room CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED as Donald Rumsfeld had said, CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED must have set some kind of world's record.

Screams ran out across the Great Hall. Colin Creevey, who was hidden behind a tapestry the whole time, skidded to a halt in front of Dumbledore's office crying hysterically. "PROFESSOR! PLEASE COME OUT!!!! I-I'VE NEVER BEEN SO TERRIFIED IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!!!!!!"

An hour later, Professor McGonagall was still comforting the traumatized boy as Dumbledore stared into the now-sealed-off bedchamber.

"I've never known it to be that bad," she shuddered. "Why, in our time, the very thought of such...activities would land a student in Azkaban at once."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore quizzically. "I believe the surgeons are still at work...there remain some things, I fear, that cannot be separated even with the aid of magic."

"Never...never in all my years could I consciously do...such a thing..."

"Never, Minerva?" smirked Dumbledore with a salacious wink.

"Shut up, Albus!" she responded, turning slightly red.

THE END...OR, TO BE CONTINUED...I DON'T KNOW...WHO CARES?