That Story with a Happy Ending

Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away...or not that far away. It all depends on where, you live, really. I mean, if you live in Australia, it's about as far away as you can get, but I personally live in Scotland, so the castle's just round the corner from me...

Let's try that one again, shall we?

Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away or not so far away, depending on the reader's current geographical location, a young girl woke from a deep, peaceful slumber. Opening her large, chocolate brown eyes, she swung her delicate little feet out of bed and on to the floor, and staggered into the bathroom.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror and swore loudly.

Very loudly.

Echoing around the hills, birds dropping out of the trees kind of loudly.

So loudly, in fact, that she woke up her roommates, who came to see what the matter was while Hermione (for that was the girl's name) occupied herself with beating her head against the bathroom sink.

'Not again...'

'Um, Hermione?' said a voice from the other side of the door. 'Are you okay?'

In answer, Hermione simply opened the door of the bathroom and let the facts speak for themselves. Lavender and Parvati, who had been standing on the other side, both took a nervous step back and stared at her incredulously. Lavender found her voice first.

'Hermione! What on earth happened?'

'Your hair!' gasped Parvati. 'It's so, like, sleek!'

'And shiny!'

'And straight!'

'And,' added Lavender, 'did you grow a couple of bra sizes last night?'

'It appears so,' said Hermione miserably. 'Do you know what this means?'

'Well,' said Lavender, frowning in thought, 'I did wake up this morning with an overwhelming urge to giggle a lot and talk about boys, despite the fact that I have NEWTs to think about and last night my love life was the last thing on my mind...'

'That is so, like, totally true,' breathed Parvati, who then blinked as the other two looked at her. 'Sorry. I don't really know why I said that. I just meant...me too.'

'Precisely,' said Hermione in her most mournful tones. 'Girls...' She took a deep breath. 'We appear to be in fanfiction. Again.'

Parvati shrugged. 'Oh well. Like, it could be worse.' The other girls stared at her in amazement and cried together;

'Could be worse?!'

'Yeah, it could be, like, an actual book. At least there's like no chance of any of us dying or You-Know-Who attacking.'

'What are you talking about?' Hermione wailed (which didn't seem like something she'd normally do, but she wasn't going to waste her wailing privileges if she could help it). 'Voldemort attacks Hogwarts in fanfiction all the time!'

'Hermione, look how straight your hair is. Look at what you're wearing - can I borrow that when you've finished with it, by the way? - and listen to me. I've used the word 'like', like four times already this morning. This is not the kind of story where anyone dies, and it's not like the author is going to finish it.'

'Very true,' Lavender agreed. 'We'll get four, maybe five chapters, tops, and then we'll be abandoned and we can get back to normal life...'

'Or as normal as life can be when you're a fictional character.' Parvati stepped forward and gave Hermione a hug. 'Don't worry, Mione! You always get the best deal in these stories anyway. You know you're going to be snogging somebody in a couple of chapters' time.'

'I know,' said Hermione, 'I'm just worried about who...hang on.' She paused and frowned. 'Did you just call me Mione? And why did you hug me? We're not exactly close enough friends for bodily contact.'

'Well, obviously this is, like, one of those fics where the three of us are the best of friends, and we, like, express jealousy of your academic achievement and give you a makeover.'

Hermione instinctively folded her arms defensively across her chest and muttered, 'I think I prefer the kind where you giggle and talk about boys, and I ignore you because I'm so much more mature than you are.' Lavender and Parvati both giggled and shook their heads at her indulgently.

'Ah, Mione, why fight the fan fiction?' asked Lavender. 'Just go with it, and you'll be snogging Malfoy in a broom cupboard by the end of the day. Now, Vati, you and I need to talk for several hours about something Seamus said to me the other night...'

They left the bathroom, merrily gossiping away. Hermione glared after them balefully, and shouted defiantly, 'What the hell kind of nickname is Vati, anyway?' Pacing restlessly up and down the room, she eventually decided to resolutely head down to the Great Hall for breakfast; partly because she was hungry, but mainly just to avoid drowning in the adverbs.

On the other side of the castle, Draco Malfoy was also having an interesting morning. The fact that he appeared to be far more good looking than he was when he went to bed last night didn't really bother him, and although the leather trousers he found in his wardrobe had given him a moment of disquiet, overall he was having a fairly good morning. He was in such a good mood after breakfast, in fact, that he decided to saunter down to the Quidditch pitch and laugh at the Gryffindor team tryouts - some moron had made Potter captain, a situation he thought might provide some amusement.

Before he made it to the pitch, however, his progress was halted by a rather odd sight; Potter was standing by one of the stands, beating his head against it and muttering to himself.

'I - ow - don't - ow - believe - ow - this - ow...' Draco watched him for a while, mildly interested, but eventually curiosity got the better of him.

'So, the insanity thing's still working out for you, Potter?' The dark haired boy stopped attempting to give himself a concussion and turned around, frowning as he saw Draco.

'Oh, it's you,' he said flatly. 'Any particular reason you're still here?'

'Any particular reason you're attempting to destroy the few brain cells you had left?' Draco retorted; he didn't really care one way or the other, but he had to keep the witty banter going for the sake of his fangirls. Potter stopped frowning and a look of pure terror crossed his face.

'It's awful...' he whispered. 'Go and see for yourself...' He pointed towards the Quidditch pitch, hand trembling slightly. Draco was quite intrigued by this; had the Dark Lord himself turned up, or had Potter just not got in the paper for a few days? He walked onto the field to see for himself, taking care to saunter. There, a most...um...unusual sight met his eyes.

'There. You see?' Potter had apparently followed him onto the field, and was watching the players with a fearful expression.

Draco shrugged. 'It's not so bad.'

Potter turned to him, incredulous. 'Not so bad? Not so bad?! They're dancing, for God's sake! And singing! The entire Quidditch pitch is full of dancing, singing, Gryffindors!'

'Say, Quidditch is the game to play...'

Draco had to admit that this was so, and to be truthful, it wasn't a sight you saw every day. However, he was quite impressed at the way the dancers had incorporated their broomsticks into the dance, and he was enjoying winding Potter up.

'It's not as though they're killing anybody, is it? And you've got to admit, it's quite a catchy song.'

'Though you may lack Potter's skill you still can gladly cry,
Seekers dive and Chasers fly...'

Potter looked as though he'd swallowed a lemon. 'Catchy? I don't care if it's catchy!' he wailed. 'Why are they doing it? It is a spell? Some kind of curse? How can we make it stop?!'

'It is a sport suitable for every sort,
Both witch and wizard...'

Draco patted the other boy companionably on the shoulder. 'I think what we're looking at here is a bored teenager with too much time on her hands, who's just found a new way of combining her obsessions.' Potter looked a bit calmer, though he had switched his distraught expression for one of deep suspicion.

'How did you get so intelligent?' he demanded. 'And why are you being nice to me? You hate me. And I hate you. You're a bigoted, racist little snot, you hate me, you hate my friends, and you've repeatedly gone out of your way to make trouble for me.'

'True...' said Draco, nodding thoughtfully. 'Can we not chalk that one down to sexual tension?'

Potter glared at him. 'No.'

'Okay, then,' Draco said, shrugging, 'it's because this is fanon. You know that in fanon, I'm the most intelligent person in this school (barring Hermione and possibly Snape). And since we're going to find out in a couple of chapters that I'm really just misunderstood, possibly because my father beats me, and we're going to put aside our differences and work together for the common good, we might as well just cut to the chase and become the best of friends. Now, do you mind if I start calling you Harry?'

'Yes, I do,' said Harry, beginning to look scared again. 'And I already have a best friend, even if he has disappeared this morning. Since the rest of the world appears to have gone mad, I'm going to go and look for him. Hopefully, by the time I see you again, the world will have righted itself, and you'll be horrible to me and insult my family.' He paused, looking slightly puzzled, and added, 'Not that that's a good thing.'

'Quidditch is the game to,
Quidditch is the game to,
Quidditch is the game today!'

The Gryffindors on the pitch finished their number with a flourish, posing artistically, while the stands erupted in cheers. Draco also applauded; he was impressed at the talent displayed, but he also just wanted to see the expression on Harry's face. He was not disappointed. Harry glared at him as though he had been personally responsible, before stomping away towards the Quidditch pitch, muttering to himself again.

Keen on honouring this new spirit of friendliness and co-operation, Draco decided to help in the search for the missing Weasley. He started walking around the outside of the stands, calling out as he did so.

'Weasley? Weasley!' He was so intent on his task, he walked straight into a tall figure rounding the corner.

'Hello, Mr. Malfoy!' The figure turned out to be Dumbledore, whose eyes twinkled (of course) as he smiled at Draco. 'Lemon drop?'

'They're sherbet lemons,' said Draco, peering in the proffered bag. 'In fact, I have no idea what a lemon drop even is.'

Dumbledore frowned, also looking in the bag. 'Neither do I, come to that... Never mind. Anyway, if you're looking for Ron Weasley, I believe Professor McGonagall sent him to Hogsmeade to do some errands for her.'

'When will he be back?'

'If he does everything she asked, I should think about midnight.'

'Hang the fellow! Whenever he's wanted, he can't be found. Like sanity in the Hogwarts faculty...what was that?'

'That' turned out to be a rogue Quaffle that nearly knocked Draco over as it whisked past. It was quickly followed by Harry, who picked the ball up and lobbed it back in the direction of the pitch, calling, 'For God's sake, Robert! The point is to throw the Quaffle to other Chasers, not kill innocent bystanders! Oh hello, Professor,' he added in a quieter voice, smiling at the headmaster. 'You haven't seen Ron, have you?'

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sharp cry of 'Potter!' Professor McGonagall was advancing towards them, an expression of fury on her face. Or it may just have been her normal expression, it was sometimes hard to tell the difference.

'You haven't seen Mr. Weasley have you, Potter?' she asked, reaching the group. 'I wanted him to supervise detention for some first years.'

'But, Professor,' said Harry helplessly, 'it's Quidditch tryouts, we really need him here.'

She waved a hand. 'Well, he can do that after he's helped set up for our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher...he should have been back long ago.'

'Maybe he forgot something and had to go back.'

'I say,' interrupted Dumbledore, sucking a sherbet lemon in a thoughtful manner. 'Do you not think you're being a bit hard on young Weasley?'

McGonagall looked shocked. 'Nonsense! The truth is, Albus, you're too soft on the children. Always have been.'

'Well, boys will be boys...and he is a Weasley after all.'

'That's the poor boy's handicap,' she said with a snort. 'Now, if he'd been born a McGonagall...' Draco was puzzled - not that he would argue with her, but since when had McGonagall cared about families? Harry apparently agreed.

'But Professor,' he said cautiously, 'I didn't think you believed in all that pureblood nonsense.' Draco nearly exploded at this statement, but remembered in time that he liked Potter now and had renounced his racist ways. Darn it.

'I don't,' said McGonagall sharply, 'but I do believe in family. I can never forget that my father was the late Alexander McGonagall, the greatest Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this school has ever had.' She looked sad. 'Oh, to think of the problems we've had in recent years with that position...and now the latest incarnation. An American.' Distaste dripped from every syllable - it's difficult to make the word 'American' sound almost exactly like 'scum of the earth who doesn't even deserve to be crushed under my shoe', but somehow she managed it.

'What's wrong with Americans?' asked Dumbledore mildly. She glared at him.

'You have no tradition, Albus! Every teacher at this school has always been British, and I don't see why that has to change just because some bored Yank has access to a word processor.' She sighed and looked at her watch. 'Well, I can't hang around here all day, Professor Kemp will be arriving any minute. If you see Mr. Weasley, tell him I'm looking for him. Come along, Albus.' With that, she turned and swept imperiously towards the castle; Dumbledore shrugged at the boys, popped another sherbet lemon in his mouth and followed her.

'Well, that was weird,' said Draco, not really bothered. Harry was looking scared again.

'I can't cope with this,' he whispered. 'Like I don't have enough problems in the actual books.' Seeming to pull himself together, he glared at Draco and headed back to the Quidditch pitch. Draco shrugged, and prepared to go back to the castle himself, when he suddenly spotted a glint of red hair moving in his direction.

'There you are!' he said as Weasley came towards him. He didn't look particularly impressed to see Draco.

'Yes, here I am.'

'Where have you been all this time?' Draco drawled.

Weasley looked suspicious. 'Why do you care? I was just doing some stuff for McGonagall.'

'Please yourself. Just trying to be friendly.'

Weasley now looked more than suspicious, he looked downright terrified. 'Why on earth would you want to do that?'

Draco explained the new love he had found for all wizardkind this morning, and how he was now good friends with Harry - he wasn't sure how well he was supposed to get along with Weasley, he had a feeling they were supposed to mistrust each other for a while yet.

'Anyway,' he added, 'where did you get those robes? They're disgraceful.'

Weasley looked down at his robes in surprise.

'I'll have you know these robes were made by one of the finest tailors in Diagon Alley...just not for me.'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'I'll tell you where you can get a decent set of robes, with a good cloak thrown in, for ten Galleons.'

'And where would I get ten Galleons?' said Weasley, laughing. 'I don't suppose you would lend them to me?'

'Your supposition is entirely correct.'

'I'd do anything for money. I'd kill for money.'

'Would you kill me for money?' asked Draco, curious.

Weasley snorted. 'I'd kill you for nothing.' He made as if to go off again, but was stopped by Harry, who gave a shout and ran over to the pair of them.

'Ron! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you. Why didn't you come to tryouts?'

'How can I make fun of you if you're not there to drop the Quaffle and let in goals?' Draco put in.

Weasley looked guilty, but said with an air of defiance, 'Will you both stop having a go at me? I've had a difficult morning. Anyway, you didn't turn up when I tried out last year, Harry.' Harry opened his mouth as if to argue, but was interrupted by the female Weasley - whatever her name was - who tutted at him impatiently.

'Hurry up, Harry! We need to announce who's made the team!'

Harry sighed, looking thoroughly depressed. 'Righto, I'll be there in a minute. God, what a morning.' He started to follow the younger girl onto the Quidditch pitch, but stopped and turned back to Weasley. 'Coming, Ron?'

'Sorry, I can't. I don't think McGonagall's finished with me yet.' Harry nodded and went off, while Draco raised an eyebrow.

'Really, Weasley, that sounds interesting,' he drawled. Weasley glared at him.

'Shut up, Malfoy.'

Draco gave a sigh. 'I should think you'd know your place by now, I'm sure I know mine.'

'Yes, but you'd have to die to get there. Goodbye!' He grinned briefly and headed back towards the castle. Draco followed at a far more leisurely pace, running into a group of Slytherin girls about halfway up the lawn.

'You look pensive, Draco,' said Pansy Parkinson. 'Is it love?'

'No, it's just a spot of indigestion.'

'You ought to be careful,' offered Millicent Bulstrode. 'It might be your appendix, and you know what that means.'

'Yes,' said Draco. 'Three weeks in bed with a pretty nurse.' The girls exchanged glances.

'Um...do you mean Madam Pomfrey?' asked Pansy rather tentatively.

'Precisely,' said Draco, a dreamy look on his face. 'Madam Pomfrey...'

There was a pause; the girls looked at each other again, before Blaise Zabini obviously decided it was safer not to ask, and coughed.

'Tell us Draco, do you prefer the girls who allow you to kiss them, or the others?'

Draco gave them a roguish wink. 'What othe...' he began, then yelped slightly and jumped. 'Blaise?! What are you doing? You're not a girl, are you?'

'I wish I knew, Draco,' said Blaise with a sigh. 'I wish I knew...' Draco stared at him/her/whatever for a few seconds before giving up.

'Where was I? Oh yes...' He began to sing,

'Sometimes a gent'll
Be sentimental
Just with one
But there is lots more fun
With two or three...'

As the girls joined in, dancing around him, Draco reflected that things could be a lot worse. He didn't know he had such a good singing voice, for one thing.

'If you could wander
Would you be fonder
Of us all?'

Oh yes, things could definitely be worse. He spun and dipped Pansy, who giggled coquettishly. It looked like being an interesting day.

'Professor Dumbledore! Professor!'

The headmaster, who was just crossing the lawn in front of the castle, was surprised to find himself accosted by a large group of students, all talking at once.

'What is it? What's happened?'

'Oh, Professor!' piped up Cho Chang, looking very upset. 'There's been an accident. Someone's been drowned!'

'Drowned?' said Dumbledore in horror. 'Good heavens!'

Seamus Finnigan rolled his eyes. 'No, no one's been drowned,' he said, giving Cho a contemptuous look. 'It was someone on a boat, on the lake...seems to have fallen out and got caught in the weeds. But Harry fished him out all right.'

'Here they come now!' cried Neville Longbottom, and sure enough, the small figure of Harry hove into view, carrying a man who must have been twice his weight on his shoulder. He reached the group on the lawn and collapsed on the ground, panting.

'Harry? What's all this?' asked Dumbledore. Harry got to his feet.

'Oh, hello, Professor. This man's been in the lake,' he said, pointing rather unnecessarily at the man who was single-handedly providing the lawn with more water than it had seen in months.

'I'd just like to say...' began the stranger, before being overtaken by a great sneeze.

'Now, do take care you don't catch cold,' said Harry in concern. Dumbledore made up his mind. Whoever the man was, he didn't look like a Death Eater, and he cut a rather miserable figure, standing there dripping.

'Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas...take this gentleman to the hospital wing, would you? We don't want him to catch a chill.'

The stranger managed to say 'thanks' before succumbing to another sneeze. Seamus and Dean began to walk him up to the castle, supporting him one on each side. The rest of the group followed them.

'Now, Harry...' Dumbledore was interrupted by Malfoy, who had apparently seen the odd group making their way across the lawn, and had come to investigate.

'What's going on?'

'Mr. Malfoy, your classmate is a hero,' said Dumbledore proudly. 'He saved a man's life.' Malfoy raised a cynical eyebrow.

'Is that all? Where's the salvage?'

'Gone indoors for a change,' said Cho Chang, making the others jump - none of them had even realised she was still there. She turned to Harry. 'Fancy practising those Quidditch moves now?' Before Harry could answer, an all-too-familiar voice rang out across the grounds.

'Potter! Don't go anywhere.' McGonagall was striding over to them. 'Professor Kemp would like to speak to you.'

'Who?' said three voices in unison.

'Professor Kemp?' said Dumbledore. 'Is he here already?'

'Indeed,' said McGonagall, 'Professor Henry Kemp is the gentleman Harry so gloriously rescued.'

'But Professor, that's just it...' began Harry.

'Good heavens!' Malfoy said, impressed. 'You don't mean the Henry Kemp, the Moron of the Imperial Amulet?'

'The what now?' said Harry, now looking very confused.

'Harry, the Imperial Amulet is a very important, ancient artefact,' Dumbledore explained. 'It gives whoever wields it almost unlimited power. The Moron is the keeper of the amulet, the person responsible for it - and stop sniggering like that, it's a very respected and historic title.'

'He's also very rich,' added Malfoy. 'They say he owns half of America. Oozes money.'

'Professor Kemp,' said McGonagall proudly, 'is the American who will be teaching Defence this year. He arrived today, he and his charming daughter.'

'Oh? You've met her then?'

'No. But aren't all daughters of powerful and mysterious American professors charming girls? Come along, Albus.' She walked off again, but the headmaster lingered for a moment.

'We're very lucky to have Professor Kemp here,' he said, 'he should be a most interesting addition to the school. Especially since there are rumours he's retiring soon - looking for a new Moron to hand over to.'

'Really?' said Malfoy. 'In that case, I may go and introduce myself. See you later, Harry, Professor.' He and Dumbledore both left, leaving Harry and Cho alone.

'So you saved a man's life,' said Cho, looking at Harry with adoration. He was slightly taken aback, since he had forgotten she was there again. 'Harry, it was wonderful!'

'Not so wonderful. As a matter of fact, I didn't do anything. It was Ron.'

'Ron?' Cho looked decidedly confused.

'Yes, Ron. You know, Ron Weasley? My best friend? Tall, red hair, freckles?' She still looked blank. 'Plays Keeper for Gryffindor?' Her face cleared.

'Right, that Ron.'

'That's right.' He gave her an odd look. 'Anyway, I was down by the lake when, all of a sudden, Ron comes ashore, bungs this chap into my arms, and swims off again. Then, when the boys turned up, they thought I'd done the lifesaving stunt.'

'But didn't you explain?'

'Well, I tried to, but nobody would listen.'

'Of course, you'll tell Professor Kemp.'

'Of course. But why be serious? Let's not talk about Ron, let's talk about us.'

Cho looked puzzled. 'What 'us'?' she asked. 'We broke up, remember? I'm going out with Michael now.'

'I know, but I was hoping we could give it another go,' said Harry, smiling hopefully.

'Why?'

'I'm not really sure, to be honest,' Harry admitted, 'but I've a feeling it's because we appear to be in a musical, so everyone needs to be paired off with someone.'

Cho was still looking at him as though he were completely insane. 'You know, you really have a way with women, Harry,' she said, though he couldn't quite work out if she was being serious. 'A ringing endorsement if ever I heard one.'

'Look, would it help if I sang?' he asked, slightly desperately.

'You know, I really, really doubt it.'

'Just give me a chance. Look, how about this?' He cleared his throat. 'Where's my coat, where's my hat? I'll run in nothing flat, to a big broadcasting station, to tell the nation...'

Cho sighed, muttered something that sounded like 'Damn teenage authors' under her breath, but sang with a bad grace, 'You love me, I love you...'

He beamed at her and continued. 'And you just said 'I do'...'

'Arrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh!'

I have this amazing effect on women, thought Ron glumly as the poor group of Hufflepuffs ran screaming. He clutched the barrel more tightly to his chest and kept walking, hoping not to run into anyone else. As if on cue, Malfoy appeared. His mouth dropped open.

What, have you never seen someone wearing nothing but a barrel before? Ron was tempted to say, but resisted the urge. 'Excuse me,' he said instead, attempting to push past. Malfoy held out a hand and stopped him.

'What on earth are you supposed to be?' he drawled, looking Ron up and down. Ron glared back.

'A barrel defending its bung.'

'You can't come in here like that!'

Ron shrugged. 'I must, I've got an appointment with a pair of trousers.'

'Do you mean to say,' said Malfoy, mouth gaping open, 'you walked all the way up the grounds without them?!'

'I had to!' protested Ron. 'Without a thing on. Someone pinched my clothes while I was down by the lake, and I had to borrow this barrel to hide my boyish contours.'

Malfoy sniffed and folded his arms. 'Well, I think it's disgraceful.'

'It is, there were seven Sickles and a Dungbomb in the pocket.'

'Disgraceful to see you running around in just a barrel!'

'It isn't just a barrel,' said Ron, mock-offended, 'it's the very latest thing in barrels. No well dressed man should be without one.'

'It's disgusting, going around practically naked.'

'I'm not practically anything. Besides, don't you like my wearing apparel?' He cocked an eyebrow expectantly at Malfoy, who looked blank. He sighed. 'Some people have no taste in puns. Now, if you'll excuse me...' He made as if to push past again, but Malfoy stopped him as before.

'You can't go in the main entrance! What if one of the first years saw you? You could scar them for life!'

Ron sighed again. 'All right then, I'll go round by the kitchen entrance.'

'And have the house elves see you? Not much.'

'Well,' Ron started, 'what do you want me to...' He stopped, his eyes widening and his skin turning pale under his freckles. 'McGonagall!' he hissed, and quickly crouched down so he couldn't be seen.

'But...' said Malfoy helplessly. He paused, torn as McGonagall advanced towards him - he liked Harry now, but he still hated Weasley, but if Weasley was caught, Harry would be upset... He sighed. Really, it was so hard being morally ambiguous. He fixed on his best innocent smile as McGonagall advanced ever closer.

'Ah, Mr Malfoy. Something has happened...why, what is that?'

'Hmmm?' he said, feigning ignorance. She pointed at the barrel with her walking stick. 'That? Oh, that's a barrel.'

'I can see that. What is it doing there?'

'Doing? Just...being a barrel.'

'Is it empty?'

Malfoy attempted to keep a straight face. 'Not exactly...'

'Well, what is in it?' she asked, sighing with impatience.

'Oh, just rubbish. Ow!' he added as Ron rose from the barrel to aim a punch at him.

'Weasley!' snapped McGonagall. 'What are you doing in that barrel?'

'Um...' Ron said slowly. 'I'm resting.'

'Ridiculous. Get out at once.'

'No, I can't do that, Professor.'

'And why not?'

'Well, my lease doesn't expire till March.'

'Are you hiding something in there?' She turned to Malfoy. 'What has he got in that barrel?'

Malfoy smirked. 'Several things...'

'Well, whatever they are, I think I ought to see them. Come along, out you get.'

Ron shrugged and slowly began to stand up. Suddenly realising that there were some things he really didn't want to see, Malfoy quickly stopped him and turned to McGonagall.

'He can't get out, Professor. He hasn't got any clothes on.'

McGonagall gasped. 'Do you mean to say he's...naked?!' she said, looking faint.

'It isn't my fault!' Ron cried. 'Someone pinched my clothes while I was down by the lake, fishing the old boy out the weeds.'

'What, Professor Kemp?' said Malfoy, raising an eyebrow.

Ron shrugged again. 'Is that his name?'

'That's what I wanted to speak to you about,' said McGonagall. 'Professor Kemp is under the impression Harry saved his life.'

Ron laughed. 'What a quaint idea.'

'I think it's an excellent idea,' said Malfoy virtuously.

'You can't think at all,' said Ron sharply. He turned to McGonagall. 'Did you hear what he said?'

'Mr. Malfoy is quite right, for Professor Kemp wishes to show his gratitude to Harry. He's offered him a job in America after he's graduated, a very good opportunity.'

'Oh, but how touching,' said Ron, rolling his eyes. 'What's this bloke Kemp worth?'

'Somewhere in the neighbourhood of six millions,' offered Malfoy.

'My favourite neighbourhood. Has he a daughter?'

'Yes.'

'Then I shall propose to the daughter.'

Malfoy laughed and McGonagall snorted. 'Don't be a fool, Weasley!' she said. 'You're only seventeen and you know she'd refuse you.'

'Of course she would! I'd just like to know what it feels like to lose six millions.' He looked pointedly at McGonagall and she sighed.

'I would think,' she said, 'you would jump at the opportunity to show your gratitude to Harry. The Boy Who Lived has been kind enough to be your best friend for five or six years now, and you refuse to do a simple thing like this?'

'Extreme selfishness I call it,' said Malfoy smugly.

'But...but who pulled the old man out the weeds?' said Ron.

'Why waste words?'

'Why waste weeds?'

McGonagall tutted. 'Weasley, you'd better go and get dressed. And hurry up, because I want you to supervise detention for some first years. Come to think of it, before that you need to clean Hagrid's motorbike.'

'I shan't clean the motorbike today,' said Ron stubbornly. 'I want to play Quidditch.'

'Don't be absurd!' said McGongall, almost laughing.

'Oh, he was born half witted,' drawled Malfoy, 'and he's been losing ground ever since.'

Ron glared at him. 'I want to play Quidditch.'

'Spare us this vulgar exhibition of temper,' said McGonagall.

Ron stood up, clutched the barrel tightly around his middle, and attempted to glare at two people at once (not an easy task). 'It's women like you,' he said firmly, 'who make men like me, loathe women like you.' He walked off, leaving McGonagall with her mouth open.

In a fairly predictable turn of events, Hermione and Ginny were down at the lake, having a heart-to-heart in a secluded spot. The lake had become such a popular site for this in recent years, in fact, that the Headmaster had created specially designated secluded spots, complete with picnic benches. This not only allowed all the students to have heart-to-heart talks, confrontations, and lovers' quarrels without bumping into each other, but also allowed excellent opportunities for accidentally overhearing important plot points.

Hermione and Ginny, however, were not discussing important plot points at the moment. Rather, Hermione was ranting, pacing up and down, waving her hands about, and generally indicating that she was Not Happy, watched with mild amusement by Ginny, who was just happy that she was in a fic for once.

'Relax, Hermione,' she said eventually, tiring of the other girl's pacing. 'After all, does it really matter?'

Hermione stopped and glared at her. 'What?'

'It's only fanfiction,' said Ginny, shrugging. 'It's not like it's real. Who does it hurt?'

'Me!' cried Hermione, resuming her pacing. 'It's the things they make me do, the things they make me say...not to mention the people they make me...' She paused.

'Do?' suggested Ginny.

Hermione threw up her hands in defeat and came to sit next to Ginny. 'Precisely. I mean, look at the way this author's making me act at the moment! I'm hardly in-character, am I?'

Ginny thought about this. Overemotional, overreacting... 'Nope,' she lied cheerfully, 'I agree, you're acting very out of character at the moment.'

Hermione looked at her suspiciously, but let it go. 'It's all right for you,' she said grumpily, 'you never get the worst of it.'

'Excuse me?' said Ginny, raising an eyebrow. 'I've been paired off with Malfoy even more times than you have!'

'Oh, there's worse than Malfoy out there,' Hermione informed her darkly. 'At least he's our age, and just a nasty little prat as opposed to a sadistic murderer...'

'You too, huh?' said Ginny, looking at her friend with new sympathy. They exchanged glances and shuddered in unison.

'Hello!' said a cheery new voice, causing them both to look up in surprise. An extraordinarily beautiful girl about their own age stood in front of them. She had curly red hair that fell to her waist, that remained in not-frizzy, tangle-free perfect curls despite the vicious winds that whistled down the valley in winter; she also had cute, all-American features (whatever that means) and startlingly blue eyes that were also green, grey or silver, depending on her mood. She managed the rather difficult task of being both slim and curvy at the same time, and, despite the fact that it was November in Scotland, was wearing a mini-skirt and cropped t-shirt that displayed her figure perfectly.

In summary, for those who skipped over the previous paragraph of description, she looked completely ridiculous and out of place next to Hermione and Ginny, two ordinary girls well-wrapped up against the weather.

The two ordinary girls in question looked at each other in quiet desperation, knowing what was coming next.

'I'm awful sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation,' the apparition said, smiling prettily at them and displaying her perfect teeth. 'Boy trouble, is it? I can help you with that. I'm an expert when it comes to boys, despite only being sixteen and having just broken up with my last boyfriend Devon, who I will never refer to by the same name twice.'

She beamed happily at them, walking over and sitting delicately on the ground next to them. She managed to make the movement both lady-like and graceful, even with the mini-skirt. That's really not easy, so I suppose we should give her some credit for that.

'I should introduce myself properly,' she continued, 'in the English fashion.'

'Um, the what?' said Ginny.

'You know, the English fashion, the way all you people are so formal in the UK, it's so cool!'

Hermione and Ginny exchanged baffled glances, the veins on the former's forehead beginning to throb. The girl didn't seem to have noticed this, however, and kept right on talking.

'I'm Serenity Ambrosia Raven Moonflower Rosabella Kemp,' she explained, holding out a hand; the other two both shook it blankly. 'But you can call me Latonia, it's my nickname. I'm American, isn't that great? I have to say, I absolutely love your country - all those cute British boys with those cute accents!

'I'm here with my father,' she went on, seemingly oblivious to Ginny beginning to get the giggles and Hermione getting more and more angry. 'He's the new Defence against the Dark Arts Professor. Though he's not actually my father, he adopted me; my past is a bit mysterious, actually, it's a long story...'

'And what makes you think that we care?' Hermione burst out, unable to take it any more.

Sarah stopped, looking completely blank. 'But...that's not right. You're supposed to be intrigued about my mysterious past and help me research it.'

'Not today,' said Hermione firmly, and with that she stood up and brushed the dirt and bits of leaf off her robes.

Ginny stared at her. 'Um, Hermione...'

'Nope, I'm sorry, Ginny, but I've simply had enough. I can't take it any more! Snogging sessions with Slytherins is one thing, but I simply cannot take one more Mary Sue. I'm heading back to the castle, are you coming?'

'But...' Ginny began helplessly, scrambling to her feet and heading after Hermione who had begun to stride off. 'We can't go against the author! If she likes the Sue, we have to as well...'

'Nope,' said Hermione, turning around and glaring. 'I'm going on strike.'

Ginny gaped at her.

'Excuse me,' said the Sue, her delicate tones sounding a bit less delicate and rather more pissed off, 'but are you quite done? Could we have some attention on me, now?'

'No,' snapped Hermione and she began to walk off again. Ginny stayed where she was, mouth open, but the Sue began to run after Hermione.

'But...but I'm the point of this story,' she gasped. 'Are you jealous because Harry/Ron/Draco/Luna/Snape/McGonagall/delete as appropriate fancies me and not you?'

Hermione said nothing, but started to walk faster. The Sue hurried to keep up.

'I mean, I know you might be jealous of me at first, but I'm just sure to win you around with my easy-going manner and tremendous academic ability...and then I can give you a makeover and teach you all about American things, won't that be fun?'

Hermione broke into a run, heading up a slope to one of the cliffs that overlooked the lake. But Sues are nothing if not persistent, and Latonia was able to keep up easily.

'After all, who's going to solve the central mystery and work out that Harry is really my long-lost twin brother if you don't? Do you expect Ron to?' The Sue stopped here to laugh derisively before continuing. 'It's got to be you...well, you or Draco...'

'For God's sake,' cried Hermione, wheeling round in despair. 'Will you SHUT UP?!' Without thinking, she brought round her fist and delivered a perfect right hook to the Sue's face.

The Sue who was standing right on the edge of the cliff.

Oops.

The scream that issued as the Sue plunged to a watery grave was loud enough to be heard by Ginny, who was still where they had left her. She ran up quickly to find Hermione peering over the edge of the cliff, looking pale.

'Hermione?' she said. 'What happened? Where's the Sue?'

'Um...' said Hermione weakly, waving a vague hand.

With a sinking feeling, Ginny walked up to the edge and peered over. Unable to speak for a moment, she eventually said, 'Hermione...you killed a Mary Sue.'

'Oh,' said Hermione blankly. This didn't seem enough. She thought for a moment.

'Bugger.'