PhoenixSong.net :: A Harry/Ginny Fanfic and Fanart Archive

Author: Trystym&Delylah

Story: Hermione Sue and the Prisoner of A. Cuaron

Part: 7: Part Seven

Rating: Teens

Setting: Pre-HBP

Status: WIP

Reviews: 9

Words: 3,789

Updated: November 1, 2005, 9:30pm

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7: Part Seven

Author’s Note: In this chapter, we blatantly stole from numerous sources and therefore owe apologies to the X-men (or possibly Robert Aspirin, we can’t decide), Monty Python (as usual), Michael Jackson (for those of you too young to recognize them, the lyrics to “Thriller” are in here, and it’s relevant because of the video and if you don’t remember it you just won’t get it anyway so don’t worry about it), Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, Scooby Doo, the Wizard of Oz, possibly Men in Black, Xena: Warrior Princess, Angel the Series, and we reckon we owe apologies to certain ‘shipping factions for poking merciless fun, but it’s a parody...please don’t take it personally. We’ll likely make fun of our own ‘ship in a later chapter as well.

PS: We feel obligated to include this disclaimer, since there are a couple of veiled marijuana references in this chapter. Drugs are bad, m’kay?

The next thing Harry knew, it was time for the first Hogsmeade Weekend. It seemed to him rather odd that he couldn’t remember going to any classes, but it didn’t really bother him. Harry shrugged; that’s what he had Hermione for, after all. She was in charge of all homework and thinking, unless said thinking had anything to do with Quidditch.

Hermione and Ron stood off to the side, and they seemed to have temporarily put aside their differences, as they were snogging madly while trying to pretend to be interested in Harry’s plight. Harry had left the Dursleys’ house in such a snit that he had failed to get his permission slip signed. Now it was up to Professor McGonagall to decide his fate. He handed his permission slip to the teacher, but she waved it away impatiently.

“Potter, you know good and well I’m not going to sign that form, so put it away. And don’t bother me anymore about it. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go and chaperone a date between a couple of hats.”* And with that, she stalked away.

“Forget about it guys,” Harry said flatly to Ron and Hermione. Hermione managed to pry her face off of Ron’s long enough to give Harry a pitying look. She pushed Ron away and threw her arms around Harry.

“Oh, Harry, you know I’d rather go to Hogsmeade with you than with Ronald any day, but the producers are forcing me to go, I swear. And I’m only snogging him as practice for the day when you finally wake up and realize that I’m the girl of your dreams, honest. By the way, is my lipstick mussed? And how’s my hair? Honestly, Ronald just can’t seem to keep his hands out of it,” Hermione finished gaily as she smoothed her hair and tried to wipe the lipstick smudges from her mouth. “Why don’t you stand over there and look pitiful? It would make such a wonderful mood shot...you, alone in front a giant pendulum, slowly ticking away the minutes of your short and oh-so-tragic life. Omigod, Alfonso is such a genius!”

Harry didn’t have a clue what Hermione was talking about, but he was becoming accustomed to doing everything Hermione said. For some reason, he didn’t seem to be able to think for himself lately. So he followed her instructions, and as she blew him a kiss and flounced off with Ron, he went to stand alone in front of a giant pendulum (which he didn’t recall being there before). Sadly, he watched his two best friends abandon him, and attempted to look as pitiful as possible, until they were out of sight. He would have sworn he heard Hermione say to Ron as they left, “Don’t worry, sweetie, you know I only said it to make him feel better. You’re the only man for me, Ronniekins.”

Then, even though he hadn’t yet taken the first lesson in apparition, he bamfed over to the formerly non-existent dilapidated bridge across the formerly non-existent chasm, where Professor Lupin was waiting for him.

“Lily?” the professor asked hopefully, but Harry shook his head.

“No, it’s just me, Professor,” Harry said.

“Oh, Harry. Sorry, I was captivated by your eyes. You know, the first time I saw you, I recognized you straight off.”

“Because I’m the spitting image of my Dad, right?” Harry said wearily.

“Of course not. I recognized you because you have Lily’s eyes...they were like glowing emeralds. Every time I gazed into them, I felt as if I were falling....”

Harry squirmed uncomfortably. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself, Professor?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Where were we...oh, yes. I shall read your mind, Harry, because we are pressed for time, due to the number of extraneous scenes inserted into this travesty of a movie that have nothing to do with the story but were considered charming and appealing to the audience. So...you want to know why I didn’t let you face the boggart, right?”

“Um, not exactly....”

“Isn’t it obvious, Harry? Even a lackwit such as yourself should be able to figure this one out. I thought the boggart would turn into Voldemort!”

“Except that it totally didn’t! It turned into a Dementor while you were standing there combing that dead rat under your lip and prancing about to that gay music. That thing was just about to suck my face off!”

“Oh, well, that’s neither there nor here, Harry. The important thing is that in picturing the Dementor, you’ve realized that the only thing you have to fear is fear itself.”

Harry cocked his head to one side. He knew that sounded familiar...but thinking about it made his brain hurt.

“Aren’t you the smart boy,” the professor continued, but Harry interrupted.

“Professor, there’s more. Before I fainted, I heard my dad.”

“You mean you heard Lily.”

“Well, her, too, but I think it’s more important to you that I heard my dad, isn’t it? Weren’t you friends at school?”

“Honestly, Harry, I don’t know where you get your information from. There’s nothing in the script that says I knew your dad. I knew Lily. In fact, if it weren’t from some bloke named James (and what a jerk that guy was), I might have married her, you know, and then we could have had little wolf cubs together. Just think, Harry...you might have been my own, dear son. And look, she gave this to me once, for my birthday.” The professor pulled open the collar of his shirt and revealed to Harry a black, leather collar studded with metal points all the way around. “Cool, isn’t it?”

Harry recoiled in horror and did his best to change the topic. “But Jo said...”

“Never mind what Jo said. Now, look, you’ve wasted all the time I had to wax poetic about Lily and how she was the kindest, most special, most beautiful witch I’ve ever known. Talented, too, especially with her hands, if you know what I mean, wink, wink, nudge, nudge. Aroooooo....”

Harry looked at the professor closely. Unless he was gravely mistaken, the man had just emitted a wolf howl. Furthermore, the closer he looked, the more the professor appeared to be...changing, in front of his very eyes. His ears seemed to be growing slightly pointed, the nails of his fingers had lengthened considerably, and there was a great deal of hair sprouting in places that didn’t seem quite natural (the dead rat under the Professor’s lip notwithstanding).

“Professor, are you quite all right?”

“Erm, no,” Lupin replied in a strangled voice. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named seems to have overlooked the fact that unless I have my medication every month, I tend to get a little, uh, wild. Excuse me, Harry, but I’ve really got to be going, now; you’re looking tastier by the moment.”

And with that, Professor Lupin dashed away. Harry was left wondering why Voldemort would be concerned about a professor’s medication. As he began the long trek back across the formerly non-existent dilapidated bridge across the formerly non-existent canyon, he would have sworn he heard faint strains of music. Listening carefully, he was able to discern the lyrics.

’Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about strike.
You know it’s thriller, thriller night.
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight!

“I must be hearing things,” he thought, and he proceeded to the grand staircase to wait forlornly for Ron and Hermione to return. Upon their arrival, Ron quickly filled Harry in on their adventures, and handed him a circular object covered by a glass dome with a small black ball inside.

“What’s this?” Harry asked.

“Dunno,” Ron replied, shrugging. “A stage hand gave it to me and asked me to give it to you before this scene started.”

“It must be something really important, Harry. You’d better hold it just so,” Hermione said, adjusting his position so that he was standing holding the object in front of him at waist level. “There, that’s better. Oh, would you look at this dreadful coat they gave me to wear? The color isn’t even remotely flattering. I never wear brown. And you can’t even see my Pink Jacket of Grrrl Power!”

Hermione pulled out her wand, waved it at her coat and muttered a charm that Harry was positive they hadn’t learned yet. Hermione’s ugly brown coat disappeared in a poof of smoke to reveal a pale pink zippered jacket with a hood.

“Hermione, wasn’t that a banishing charm? We don’t even cover those until book four. And where do you get off doing magic in the corridors, anyway? It’s against the rules,” Ron reminded her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Technically, Ron, this is a staircase, not a corridor. There’s nothing in Hogwarts: A History that says we can’t perform magic on the staircases. Besides, I have a special dispensation from Alfonso. Now, isn’t that better?” Hermione asked brightly, indicating her pink jacket and fluffing her hair. Harry caught sight of a round, purple bruise on her neck.

“Hermione, did you get stung by a billywig?” he asked, pointing at the bruise.

“Of course not, Harry. Those are native to Australia, where would I possibly have run into a-” Hermione trailed off as she saw Ron shaking his head frantically over Harry’s shoulder, and her eyes widened in realization. “Um, I mean, yeah, I must have. I think Professor Sprout keeps them to pollinate the honking daffodils.”

Harry shrugged and looked up towards the portrait of the Fat Lady, where a crowd of students was gathered.

“What’s going on?” he wondered aloud.

“Probably Neville’s forgotten the password again,” Ron replied, smirking.

“I’m standing right here,” Neville said plaintively from behind Ron.

“Oh, sorry, mate. Didn’t see you there.”

“It’s okay. At least it gave me an excuse to say something. If I’m not mistaken, that was my last line.”

“Yes, well, we all have to make sacrifices for the greater good, not to mention the profit margin,” Hermione said, patting his shoulder and then gently pushing him back. “By the way, you’re spoiling the composition of the shot. Your mark is there.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, appearing confused.

“Well, it’s important that you and I are standing together on the stairs, in front of Neville and Ron. That way, we appear to be equals, not to mention better than everybody else. Then, when Jo gives us our big love scene in book seven, all the Harry/Hermione ‘shippers can point and say, “We told you so.”

“But I thought you and Ron...”

“Yes, well, at this point, we really can’t be sure, so the directors and the producers and the scriptwriter are hedging their bets. So, more fun for me!” Hermione said gaily as she hooked her arm through Harry’s. “Oh, and I think you can put that away, now, Harry,” she said, gesturing towards the dome-shaped object Harry still held before him.

“But I don’t even know what it is yet. And you said it must be important!” Harry reminded her.

“Whatever. Oh, look, there’s Percy!”

At the top of the staircase, Percy was elbowing his way through the crowd of students gathered in front of the portrait. Hermione pushed her way up the stairs to meet him.

“Let him through, he’s the head boy! Come on now, you lot, budge up and make room for the head boy! And get away from that portrait! The dormitory has to be searched before we can go in!”

Percy swung his head around towards Hermione, his mouth gaping open. She shrugged and smiled.

“Script change,” she explained sweetly. Then she arranged her facial features into a look of shock and dismay. “The fat lady—”

Hermione’s voice stopped abruptly, though her mouth was still working as if she were speaking. Her hands flew up to her throat, and she opened her mouth wide in an apparent scream, but still no sound came out. Then a blaze of long, flowing, fiery red hair appeared, its owner pushing her way through the crowd of students as she tucked her wand into her pocket.

“The fat lady, she’s gone!” Ginny Weasley announced.

All around, the portraits erupted into a cacophony of voices and animal calls, while the students gasped in fear and shock. All except for Hermione, who was glaring murderously at Ginny, still mute. Furiously, she whipped out her own wand and waved it at the younger girl, though to no effect.

“Don’t bother,” Ginny said. “Wordless magic isn’t covered until sixth year.” She stepped closer to Hermione and said in a low voice, “That was my one line in this entire movie. Did you really think I’d let you get away with stealing it?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny, but remained mute. Ginny just smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’ll release the jinx in a moment. First, I have some business to take care of.”

She stepped down a few steps to where Harry and Ron had been watching the entire exchange.

“Ginny, where have you been?” Harry asked. “This is the first time I recall seeing you since the Leaky Cauldron.”

“It’s the strangest thing. Right before we boarded the train, I was kidnapped by a flying ship full of wild-eyed, screaming banshees wearing sailor suits with the letters H/Hr or H/L emblazoned on the front. I think there were even a few with H/D and H/R, too. They said I was evil and must be stopped at all costs.”

“That sounds terrible!” Harry said, patting Ginny’s arm sympathetically, for reasons unbeknownst to him. It was almost as if there were some mystical force, pushing him to her, accompanied by a strange growl from the region of his chest, which he immediately dismissed as hunger pangs. After all, he hadn’t yet had his nightly ration of animal crackers.

Ginny beamed. “Worse than you can imagine. After they kidnapped me, they steered the ship out into the ocean. I lost track of the days, because they kept me locked in a cage and the only thing they would feed me was pumpkin pie. Can you imagine anyone making pie from pumpkins? Disgusting. And I was so bored! They wouldn’t give me anything to read but religious tracts...something about the Philosophy of Harmony. Oh, and a few of them tossed me issues of some crazy magazine called the Quibbler.”

“However did you get away?” Harry asked, concerned that his poor Ginny had been treated in such a vile manner.

Ginny lowered her head and spoke in a near whisper. “That was the strangest part. Just a few days ago, the sky started raining anvils.”

“Anvils?” Harry and Ron asked simultaneously.

“Yep,” Ginny replied, nodding. “Big, black ones. They punched holes in the deck of the ship, all the way to the bottom. I think some of them hit a few of the banshees, too. I thought I was a goner. But then a blonde lady Apparated into my cell and said she was Jo Rowling and she was there to rescue me. And then we Apparated here.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose, and she quickly scribbled something on a parchment and held it up for the other to read.

But you can’t Apparate into or out of Hogwarts!!!

“Uh, Hermione, this is Jo we’re talking about. It’s her universe...she can do anything she bloody well wants,” Ron said in a low voice. Hermione’s response was to sigh loudly as she rolled her eyes.

“Never mind all that, anyway. We have more important things to discuss,” Ginny said as she pulled Harry and Ron to one side. “ Have either of you noticed that Hermione is acting peculiar, lately? Even more so than usual?” she whispered to them.

Harry simply shrugged, but Ron nodded.

“Yeah. Then again, being suddenly vaulted into the role of Super Heroine is bound to do a number on anyone’s ego,” he said bitterly.

“I think it’s more than that, Ron. I’m just not sure what. In any case, stay on your toes. Strange things are afoot at Hogwarts Castle. Oh, and Harry, before I go....”

Ginny leaned over, grabbed Harry’s face and planted a loud, wet smack upon his lips. Then she turned back to Hermione.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, Missy. I’ve got my eye on you!” she said, brandishing her wand at Hermione in a gesture that reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley. “You can’t have them both, you know! This is not that kind of movie!”

“It would be if You-Know-Who could get away with it,” Neville said with a snicker.

Ginny laughed along with Neville and then waved to Ron and Harry. “Bye, Harry. See you at the World Cup!” As she descended the staircase, she waved her wand back at Hermione.

“Well, I never!” Hermione fumed. “Just wait until Alfonso hears about this!”

“There’s no time, now, Hermione. We still haven’t finished this scene,” Ron reminded her in an exasperated tone.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Where were we?”

Ron pulled out the mysterious sheaf of parchment he had been carrying since they’d boarded the Hogwarts Express. Hermione leaned over and consulted the text.

“Ginny said the fat lady was gone,” she said, pointing to a line.

“Oh, right.” Ron cleared his throat before continuing. “Serves her right. She was a terrible singer.”

All around them, the portraits continued to move about agitatedly. The Wicked Witch of the West was seen zooming from frame to frame, while a skeleton bobbed around inside a portrait of several men in neck ruffs, for reasons unapparent to anyone. Poor Sir Cadogan brandished his sword in a portrait on the wall behind Harry, but then was dragged off by a couple of mysterious men in black suits and dark eyeglasses. Xena the Warrior Princess was making her trademark ululating screech, though Harry was unable to identify just what portrait she appeared in.

Finally Professor Dumbledore climbed the stairs, followed by Argus Filch. They examined the Fat Lady’s empty portrait frame, which had been viciously slashed.

“Mr. Filch, call the Scooby Gang. Perhaps they can shed some light on the disappearance of the Fat Lady. Besides, Shaggy owes me a toke or two,” he said with a vague giggle.

“That won’t be necessary, you doddering old fool. The fat lady’s there,” Filch said, pointing upwards.

The students rushed up the staircase because it seemed like the thing to do. Percy was nearly trampled in the stampede, as no one was paying attention to his cries of, “But I’m Head Boy!” Meanwhile, a giant giraffe strolled through every portrait on the wall. The Fat Lady was finally spotted standing behind a hippopotamus in a jungle scene.

“Dear lady, who did this to you?” Professor Dumbledore asked. “I’ve been trying to shut you up for months, and I really must thank the fellow responsible. Do you know how many requests for relocation I’ve received from the portraits around you since you replaced the lady in the pink dress?”

“Oh!” the fat lady exclaimed, shocked. “I’ll have you know I’m a classically trained opera singer. I’ve performed at the greatest venues in portraiture. I’ve appeared with the most divine tenors ever to grace the canvas. Now do you want to hear about Sirius Black, or not?”

“Oh, well, I suppose we had to get around to it eventually, what with Arthur Weasley’s spooky speech to Harry at the beginning of the movie. Do tell. But first, you might want to straighten the shrubbery upon your head,” Dumbledore indicated with a nod and a wink.

The fat lady ignored Professor Dumbledore and instead screeched, “Eyes like the devil! Sirius Black is in the castle. Doom! DOOM!!!”

Then the giraffe, which happened to be strolling by, ate her hat. Er, shrubbery.

Dumbledore turned to the caretaker and announced imperiously, “Secure the castle, Mr. Filch.”

Filch nervously stroked Mrs. Norris and replied, “But what about Professor Lupin? It’s a full moon tonight, you know, and, judging by the howling, I’d say he’s gone on a short romp about the grounds, looking for a snack.”

“Professor Lupin can fend for himself,” Dumbledore assured him. “My primary concern is the children. Now, say no more. Evil’s still afoot, and I’ve almost lost my buzz. Quickly, to the Great Hall. Away!!”

As he uttered these words, a huge door at the main entrance (new and improved this year) closed and barred itself, while the dementors hovered spookily nearby, all of which took over twenty-five seconds of valuable screen time that could probably have been put to better use elsewhere in the story, say, perhaps to explain who made the bloody map which hasn’t appeared yet. However, that is neither here nor there.

The students traipsed down to the Great Hall and slept in purple sleeping bags, all except for Harry, who decided it would be an opportune time to eavesdrop. He overheard Professor Dumbledore consulting with Filch, Snape, and a short wizard who was not supposed to be Flitwick (even though he was) about the fruitless search of the castle. Then Snape made thinly veiled accusations about just who might have let Sirius Black into the castle (cough*RemusLupin*cough), and this chapter is already long enough without trying to find a way to make this scene funny. Dumbledore quickly shut him up and then babbled some nonsense about dreams and sleep under the pretty spectacle of galaxies and nebulae on the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall.

After all, plain old stars just aren’t good enough for You-Know-Who.

*Footnote: If you’re wondering about the date between two hats, you’ll want to read Trystym’s Harry Potter and the Singing Professor. Maybe one of these days he’ll get around to finishing it, if Delylah ever completes the guest chapter that he claims is preventing him from doing just that.

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