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Author: Trystym&Delylah Story: Hermione Sue and the Prisoner of A. Cuaron Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: WIP Reviews: 13 Words: 25,724
***** Harry watched, puzzled, as Ron once again pulled out his mysterious sheaf of parchment. After studying it for a moment, he broke into a grin. “All right!” he shouted. “We’re supposed to be in the Great Hall next. Finally, we get something to eat!” The boys grinned at each other and ran towards the Great Hall at top speed. To their dismay, the long tables were covered with books and parchments rather than heaps of steaming hot food. “What the bloody hell is this?” Ron demanded angrily. “We never study in the Great Hall. Where’s the food? Didn’t anyone save us any?” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Ronald. Do you know how difficult it is to film a scene with real food? It attracts flies, and after the first half-hour or so, it begins to appear completely unappetizing. Besides, it’s terribly expensive. There simply isn’t room in the budget.” “Of course there isn’t,” Ron replied. “After all, Mr. N’Sync over there has to have his weekly dye-jobs.” He pointed to Malfoy, who, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and the as-yet unidentified New Guy, were lined up between the two tables, dancing in jerky choreographed motions that reminded Harry of spastic robots. Judging by the growing crowd of hysterically giggling females (and a couple of males as well), Malfoy’s still-missing arm didn’t seem to be a deterrent to attracting admirers. Simultaneously, the boys all stopped dancing, arranged in various poses. Malfoy’s lip curled into a sneer, causing several of his adoring fans to swoon. Harry felt a bit light-headed himself, and looked away for something to distract him. He gradually noticed that the students that were seated around him seemed to be watching him, as if waiting for something to happen. Unsettled, he leaned down to Hermione. “Wouldn’t you rather study in the common room?” he whispered. In a low voice, Hermione replied, “In case you hadn’t noticed, the common room is hardly large enough for anyone to be comfortable in this year.” When Harry opened his mouth to speak again, she cut him off. “And don’t even think about the library.” “Why not?” Ron asked. To their surprise, tears welled up in Hermione’s eyes. Harry elbowed Ron. “What? I didn’t do anything!” Ron protested. “You must have said something to make her cry,” Harry insisted. In response, Ron shook his head vehemently. “She was just talking about the library, and then...this,” he said, gesturing towards Hermione, who was sobbing quietly into a handkerchief. At that, the strange boy from Divination class leaned over. After glancing around the room furtively, he addressed Ron and Harry in a confidential tone. “There is no library this year,” he explained. “Mr. Cuaron auctioned off all of the books on E-bay.” “What? Why?” Harry asked, bewildered. “Talking Shrunken Heads don’t come cheap,” the boy continued in a whisper. “That’s black market stuff, you know.” He glanced around the room again before continuing. “I’ve said too much. Both of you sit down. They can’t start filming until you’ve taken your places.” Hermione honked loudly into her handkerchief, then folded it and dabbed her eyes. “I’m all right. It’s for the best, I know,” she said, sniffling quietly. Then she whipped out a compact and, after patting powder upon her nose, smiled brightly at Ron and Harry. With a defeated groan, the boys joined Hermione at the table. Around them, the students began talking amongst themselves in low voices, and strange music seemed to emanate from nowhere. Absently, Ron began singing softly to himself, “Double, double, toil and trouble....” Harry and Hermione both looked at him strangely. “Oh. Sorry,” Ron said sheepishly. “Haven’t been able to get that tune out of my head. It’s driving me mad.” Harry nodded and returned to his books, only to be startled by a dramatic, husky-yet-nasal voice that rang out above the others at the next table. Malfoy had finally taken a seat and was being fawned over by a dark-haired girl Harry didn’t recognize. “Who’s that?” he inquired in a whisper. “It’s Pansy Parkinson, of course,” Hermione replied. “Oh.” Harry studied the girl more closely before continuing. “Are you certain? I would have sworn her hair was blonde,” he said. “Quite certain. She’s the only Slytherin girl listed in the credits.” Hermione seemed to think this was explanation enough. Harry glanced over at Ron, who simply shrugged. Harry accepted the answer because, after all, Hermione was the cleverest witch of their age, therefore she must be right. His attention drifted back to the Slytherin table. “Does it hurt terribly, Draco?” Pansy asked in a serious tone. Malfoy looked at her oddly, and his eyes began to glaze. “What’s the matter with your voice? You’re usually simpering,” he said suspiciously. “And what’s up with your hair? Do I even know you? Who are you?” he demanded. “What have you done with the real Pansy?” Ron groaned. “Here we go again. He’s having a devil of a time adjusting to the changes in characterization.” He leaned over and thwapped the blonde boy once again with the sheaf of parchment he carried everywhere. Malfoy’s eyes cleared, and he looked over at Pansy. “Right. Where were we?” he asked. Pansy leaned over to him and whispered something that Harry couldn’t hear. Malfoy nodded and then straightened. “Ahem. Of course it hurts, you silly bint. That oversized excuse for a chicken sliced my bloody arm clean off. I consider myself fortunate, though,” Draco said “Whatever for?” Pansy asked. “Well, everyone knows chicks dig scars,” Malfoy said knowingly. Crabbe and Goyle nodded in agreement as he continued. “I imagine they’ll simply swoon over a missing limb, so I told Pomfrey not to bother reattaching it. I’ll be fighting the women off with a broomstick,” he finished gleefully. “Or, he could just use the severed arm,” Ron said, shaking his head as he turned back to Harry and Hermione. “What an idiot. Are we done here, yet?” “No, we’re not done here yet,” Hermione replied indignantly. “I haven’t even had my close-up. And I have some important foreshadowing to relay to the audience.” “Oh, right,” Ron nodded. “Get on with it, then.” As Hermione opened her mouth to speak, she was drowned out by the clatter of horse hooves. Behind her, a ghostly rider cantered by on horseback, swinging a severed head with one hand while he clung to the reins with the other. Behind him, a headless knight appeared to be in pursuit. Furious, Hermione slammed her hand on the table. “Those idiots missed their cue again!” she hissed. “They’re supposed to ride by when Harry is speaking, not me. Alfonso is going to hear about this, believe me. My lines are the most important part of this scene! How else will the audience know that Buckbeak is doomed?” she demanded angrily. “What are you talking about, Hermione?” Harry asked. “They’re not even supposed to be here. The headless hunt isn’t until Halloween. What in Merlin’s name is going on around here this year?” Ron nudged him. “Remember the note outside of Trelawney’s class?” He gestured at the horsemen as they made another pass. “The director recruited them from book 2. They were cheaper than Sir Cadogan...no lines to say.” “But that doesn’t explain...” Harry began, but Hermione interrupted him. “Never mind Harry,” she said impatiently. “I think we’re about to get some bad news.” She pointed at Seamus, who was waving a paper around madly. “I have lines to say! I have lines to say!” Seamus called as he ran towards the group of students gathered at the middle of the Gryffindor table. “Not anymore, you don’t,” Hermione growled as she snatched the paper from Seamus. She scanned over the words and gasped dramatically. “Sirius Black has been sighted near Dove Town. That’s not far from here! But he couldn’t possibly get into Hogwarts. There are dementors at every entrance!” Neville glared daggers at Hermione. “That was my...” he began, but was unable to finish as his mouth was suddenly and inexplicably zippered shut. When Seamus opened his mouth to speak, it was zippered shut as well. All eyes turned to the strange and mysterious boy from Divination class as he spoke in an eerie and foreboding manner. “It’s like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands,” he said ominously. “Shut up, would you, you git?” Ron said angrily. “That doesn’t even make any sense! And you’re freaking Harry out!” Harry nodded in agreement as his eyes fixed on the silently raving snapshot of Sirius Black. Meanwhile, outside, the flowers froze as the dementors glided across them, because everyone knows that flowers have just as many happy thoughts to steal as people do. Either that, or the dementors have taken to moonlighting as Jack Frost. In any case, you (the audience) are instructed to shiver with imagined cold and feel ever-so-slightly creeped out.
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