Last Week on Earth

The scene opens in the Gryffindor common room.

As per the usual, a large compliment of Gryffindor students are seated (perfectly categorized) and all speak in quiet tones (they wouldn't want to miss anything said by *HIM*). The HP-fans (headed up by Ginny and Colin) are all watching Harry's every move. They've all cut their hair and dyed it black, charmed their eyes emerald-green and wear glasses. And they watch the scar. Unblinking. For hours on end. Over in the 'dark, ominous' corner of the common room (which is amazing that there WAS one, considering the room was round due to it being a tower and all) lurked the Slyther-Gryffs - the poor rebellious fools who got sorted to the wrong house due to an argument with a Slytherin relative shortly before arriving at Hogwarts. Of course, they were all shining their "Death Eaters-in-Training" badges and so were fairly occupied at the moment.

In the center of the room was Harry (who was skinnier and more effeminate than most people had expected him to turn out) sitting on the best chair in the room. Of course, after he defeated Voldemort the 714th time, few people denied him much anymore, which, of course, would explain why he was Head Boy next year, despite the fact that he was graduating in a week. He was cooly reading a magazine while his two best friends, Ron Weasley (who had gotten fat) and Hermione Granger (who looked to be about twelve months pregnant) sat side-by-side on a couch. A cushion apart.

It wasn't as though they wanted anyone to know what had happened that night in the prefect's bathroom.

Hermione who (still!) had bushy hair, looked over at Harry (in desperation not to look guilty any longer) and asked, "W-what are you reading?"

Harry looked up at her. There were gasps all around and bets exchanged hands throughout the HP-fan area (now cordoned off with chicken wire). "A Muggle magazine."

A hush fell. "A what?" Ron looked very confused.

Hermione looked cross. "You know what a magazine is."

Ron pouted. "Well, I'm not supposed to know anything about Muggles. So I just say 'what' whenever you two talk about them."

Hermione rolled her eyes, then addressed Harry again (ignoring the soft cry of '10 sickles says she's going to confess!' from the fan-area), "well, what is it about?"

Harry looked up again to much great shushing all around. His lips parted (Ginny fainted). "I cast a spell on myself recently...it's commonly known as the 'breaking the fourth wall' spell."

Hermione's eyes went wide. "But that's..."

"The suicide spell!" Ron finished. They gave each other a very cross look. They weren't supposed to do cutesy-pie lover's things - like finishing each other's sentences. Not after that night in the prefect's bathroom.

Harry smiled (Colin had to run to the bathroom). "Well, I thought it might be, but it just turns out that 'meeting your maker' means you just find out about your inner fictional state."

There was a long silence.

Then, Hermione muttered, "well, you won't catch me casting it on myself anytime soon." Money exchanged hands. Another fight meant points down for the H/H shippers.

Ron cleared his throat. "So what's the article about?"

"Oh..." Harry looked down at the magazine. No use telling Ron it was about himself. That would bring on another patented Weasley 'I'm going to hate you for weeks just for being famous despite the fact that you were famous when I first met you'. "It's about an author."

Harry's, of course, but who else could handle finding out that he was just a figment of a housewife's imagination?

"What's her name?" Hermione inquired.

"Jo Rowling. Wrote a very interesting series of books. I'm just reading an interview with her right now."

"Ahh."

Harry turned back to his book. Hermione twiddled her thumbs and Ron looked even more uncomfortable. There was a faint explosion from the 'dark, ominous' corner of the common lounge. Immediately, all the Slyther-Gryffs began to whistle and back away from said corner. Neville walked into the room and was promptly hit by a bus.

But no one noticed due to Harry jumping to his feet suddenly and stammering, "W-what!?"

Everyone looked concerned. Well, not the Slyther-Gryffs so much, but the house elf they had been stuffing with dung bombs DEFINITELY did.

Ron was on his feet at once, delivering the line that had his two fans (his mom and one third year boy) cheering every time he said it, "what's wrong Harry?"

(much discussion from the HP-fans. There was some comment on someone offing Ron so a fresh voice could avoid asking the bloody obvious.)

"She's finishing me!" Everyone looked confused. Harry grabbed at his hair. "This can't be."

"What can't, Harry?" Hermione picked up the fallen magazine, but found it impossible to read. She handed it back to her distressed friend. "It's that spell you cast, isn't it?"

"Perhaps it doesn't work right away."

"No, you don't understand!" Harry said to them both. "Jo Rowling is only writing *7* books!"

"Oh, fine!" Ron snarled. "Mr. Self-Important Harry Potter isn't going to explain to his stupid best friend what's going on. Fine. Fine! I'm leaving." He walked out the portrait hole and was hit by an exploding dung-filled house elf on the way out.

Leader of the Slyther-Gryffs: "What?"

Harry collapsed into a puddle of misery all over the floor.

Leader of the Slyther-Gryffs: "Heh...sorry about that."

"I've only got one week to live!" Great gasps all around, and after a moment, several of the Slyther-Gryffs were collecting quite a bit of cash.

Hermione knelt beside him, with GREAT effort. "Oh Harry, I wish I hadn't gone and put on all this extra weight. But I can still read...maybe we'll find a cure."

The edge of Harry's mouth pulled into a smile..."Yes...yes, perhaps we will."

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