Like most of my fics, I have no clue where this idea popped out from.

Summary: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were pulled forth from their world, to ours. Little did we know that our fics had dynamically influenced their world as they knew it and made their lives a living hell. Now, they hunt down bad fan fic writers and punish them according to what the fan-writer wrote and to a mysterious charter the trio seem to possess. It is the beginning of dark days for the fan-writers as the trio continues to hunt them down as they desperately search for a way to placate the students' wrath. But what's this? Dumbledore is here too and he's on the fan-writers' side? Watch the epic battle unfold between fan-writer and word-born mages as fics and their writers are torn apart in these dark, dark tales.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I never will.

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To begin, I must tell you a tale that happened long ago. It is a ridiculous tale, but I will need you to suspend your disbelief momentarily. There was a school.

This was no ordinary school of course. This was a magic school. Magic existed then. The school had been founded by four great and noble practitioners of magic: Godric Griffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. At this magic school, some of the wisest and most powerful wizards and witches had been taught. They ranged from good to bad; From He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to Merlin and Dumbledore. All was grand--for a time.

Then, in a parallel world, another ridiculous thing happened that you may find hard to believe. "The Internet" was created. Yes, I know. All of your modern studies say that it was merely a myth, but dear reader, it really did exist. There is no proof nor account that I could provide to its existence, only my word. I hope it is a good and believable word at that.

This is the true but incredibly gloomy tale of when these two strange concepts crossed-over and combined to cast into our world the most demonizing trio of word-born mages.

I cannot tell you how I came across this account, nor how this account came to be created. All I can tell you is that it was a very dark time for most female fan-writers. A very dark time indeed. Writer could not trust writer, and fics were hoarded and written in secret so only they who had written them could see.

For those who were slightly whorish in the want of attention, there were speakeasies dotted all over the landscape and some (so I'm told) vastly populated "Internet societies." Reviews were, of course, the common currency in these types of settings.

Most fan-writers now-a-days are fairly rich in reviews and take them for granted. As did most of the fan-writers shown in these accounts. However, there is one major difference. Quality. They had bloody quality.

So the fics were written and the reviews were paid, but still the writers were hunted.

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Julie Blank was a nice girl. She laughed often, donated to charity, and kept good care of her family and friends. But like so many other girl-next-door types, she had a dark secret. She wrote things. Not just any kind of things. Great and terrible things. So great and terrible were these things that they would throw He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named into awful hysterics. For, more often than not, she wrote "fan fiction" stories wherein He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was paired up with a young but gifted witch who was called "Hermione."

It was a grey, foggy afternoon. The rain, freshly fallen hours earlier, soaked the streets and sidewalks forming puddles. Under the burden of the water, the sodden trees seemed as though they could break at a moment's notice. The air was crisp and gave an internal kick to the lungs. Which, one would imagine, may get quite hazardous after a time and may ruin those vital organs.

Julie smiled and pulled her warm coat closer to her body and rubbed her hands together. She was to meet a few fellow fan-writers for lunch this afternoon. Sadly, she would never reach her destination.

Biting deeply into a soft, warm cinnamon bun she had purchased that very afternoon she strode briskly onwards, eager to meet her friends. With them, the red-haired girl anticipated, the inevitable discussion of Hermione's romantic interests would pursue. Always--and rightly, Julie thought smugly--she voted in favor of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her friends would laugh and wave their hands, as if to dismiss the idea entirely, but little did they know that she was known as Voldemione--a certain website's most vicious and self-righteous supporter of her favorite pairing.

Finishing her cinnamon bun, she continued along the lonely path until she came to a great and ancient oak tree. There, she knelt down to tie her shoe and soon perceived a presence so drastically different and utterly alien from anything she had ever known.

Glancing around, she didn't see anything different or strange. The grass--a miniature and wild silvery-green forest--was still wet; the trees still drooped and retained a stiff armor of bark and leaf. Both sky and land proved no sudden absurdities. So what was different?

Footsteps.

Three people, two male, one female, approached from behind her. From what she could tell, they were teenagers, much like herself and wore strange black robes. Strangely familiar robes. The female had bushy brown hair and seemed to possess a permanent scowl. Her pace was swift and filled with (from what Julie could observe) single-minded purpose. The boys seemed to be bickering over something, though Julie was not close enough to hear the topic.

Though they appeared as normal--albeit oddly dressed--teenagers, there was something about them that just wasn't right. She pretended to tie her shoe while stealing subtle glances at them. Which was rather difficult to do, as they were heading straight for her.

Something finally struck her as odd. No one else is around, she thought, and I know I did not pass them along the way, because I would have seen them. Could they, perhaps, be following me? Are they going to mug me?

She looked around for any other people that could allay her irrational worry, but there were none. She stood up and decided that if she was to be mugged, or attacked, she might as well meet the collision head-on. The brown-haired girl stopped, flanked by the boys who had ceased their bickering a foot away from Julie and inquired, "Are you Julie Blank?"

Julie blinked and stared at the unusual teenagers, perplexed. Who were these people and what did they want with her?

"Well?" asked the girl. "Are you or aren't you?"

"Er…" said Julie inadequately, "yes."

One of the boys by the demanding girl's side fidgeted and scratched his head. Julie, distracted, glanced at him. Green eyes. Emerald green eyes. And on his forehead, a scar--a scar shaped like a lightening bolt!

"Oh… my…" breathed Julie staring at the boy's head. Unbidden from her lips came two words, "Harry Potter!"

Julie became ecstatic. Maybe, just maybe, she had fallen through a hole, or a vortex, or a portal, or a temporal once-in-a-lifetime counter-intuitive dimensional rift. Then again, they could be cosplayers. However, since a large portion of Julie's rationale was missing, she completely ignored that option.

The teen smiled grimly and tried to reposition his bangs.

"Oh-em-gee!" exclaimed the girl. Evidently she had spent too long a time writing in chat-speak that it had accidentally, or perhaps intentionally, crept into her speech pattern.

The girl whom Julie assumed to be Hermione pulled a packet of papers out of her robes.

"You wrote Dark Heart: Journey thru Voldie-boy's love?"

"Yes."

Ron--for he couldn't be anyone else with hair like that--took the papers and glanced at them.

"About Hermione falling in love with V-Voldemort after she's been kicked out of Hogwarts and has to work in Hogsmeade as a prostitute? Gets addicted, deals smack, has a baby, kills Harry, and snogs V-V-Voldemort."

Julie nodded. Heart fluttering. She didn't notice the surprised glances that the boy got from his friends.

Hermione and Ron then looked at Harry expectantly. The boy's lips twisted into a nervous grimace.

"I don't want to," he told them honestly, almost humbly.

Hermione sighed and once again pulled something from inside her robes. This time it was a small black book that looked as though it was brand new. On its cover, in shiny yellow lettering, it read: The Charter.

"Harry," said Hermione softly, "I know we all wish there were a better way, but we have got to do this."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "In order to save our world we have to fix it first."

While this exchange was going on, Julie had been staring blankly, wondering what on earth they were talking about. Harry took the book from Hermione.

He watched Julie for a moment, looking like a person who was trapped with no other way out. He opened the book. He read over the words then turned back to his friends.

"This could cause a greater catastrophe. We all know what happens with inanimate objects that can think for themselves."

"Didn't stop you from reading Riddle's diary," muttered Ron.

"And it didn't stop you from following the Half-Blood Prince's notes."

"But the Half-Blood Prince wasn't--"

"This book is helpful. It told us what was happening. It told us why. Now it's time to use it to stop the bad and get back the good."

Harry sighed regretfully. Hard times--harder times--had fallen upon them ever since that strange, wonderful girl had suddenly appeared at school. Not to mention his even stranger relationship with Draco. Or the time that he could have sworn he saw Sirius back from the dead and kissing Remus. Things had become far worse since then. Hermione's clothing style had changed, uniforms were no longer necessary, Ron was a jerk, Dumbledore had snogged Dobby, and Harry had slept with Snape. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember it all. So much wrong… so wrong he couldn't remember.

But Hermione and Ron did. They remembered. And they told him that he needed to do this. He needed to do this to save everyone. And only he could do it.

Harry knew a destiny when he heard one.

He trusted his friends, but they were angry. Angry at what had happened. Angry at what they could remember that he could not. They wanted it to change. They wanted it to end. Harry, too, wanted the things that he could not remember to go away.

The book had told them. The book had told them that demons who had called themselves "Fan Fiction Writers" had turned their greedy eyes to his world and decided to devour it. They were a manipulative race, but they couldn't directly taint a world with their hands. Only the power of their Words could do that. And the Words that the demons held in their possession were a powerful and unparalleled set of Words at that. There was no chance against them…

…unless they used stronger Words.

He held up the book, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at the fanfic writer.

He read aloud, "I, born of Words, invoke these Words to rectify the wrongs transgressed upon my world and to restore the law of canon."

The wind picked up, Harry's wand shimmered, and Julie's eyes widened. He was using magic--on her! She glanced at the brown-haired girl at Harry's side. She was not smiling. Neither was Ron. She suddenly knew what was happening.

She'd heard the word 'canon' before. The word was printed on an occasional review and usually belonged to a person who was totally trashing one's story. The people who used these reviews as currencies were some of the most arrogant, mean-spirited, and self-delusional people she had ever come across. What was worse was that they actually converted true fanfic writers--her fellow comrades and writers of every non-canon situation--over to their side. In other words--"Goodfic" missionaries. She'd scoffed then, but now she beheld their true power. Certainly the real Harry Potter characters wouldn't adhere to canon if they ever turned up in real life? These people must be imposters, dirtying the great and noble art that was fan fiction.

She ran.

She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Harry twitch his wand hand and finish the last line of the spell.

"Recede to the shadows from whence you came--fan-writer!"

Stripped of the power of Words, a demon would instantly be destroyed the book said, but Harry was unsure. Surely the power of a Word depended upon the how the Word was used? Couldn't he change the Words--Words that were said to have existed before even the time of thought--and redefine them?

Julie Blank didn't have time to blink before the spell hit her.

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Somewhere far away, a boy who had just finished writing a Mary-Sue story for the Lord of the Rings fandom paused momentarily to listen as he uploaded the fic onto FFN. What he heard was the sound of a devastating shatter and a scream of unadulterated dread. He shivered and pulled his sparkly pink scarf closer around his neck.

The hunt had begun!

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Author's note: I have no clue whether or not there's a "Voldemione" on FFN or not. Apologies to any existing "Voldemione" but it is a rather silly name.

If anyone would like to give advice, constructive criticism, flames, suggestions, or anything else, I'd be glad to hear it. This is my first Harry Potter fic and your comments would be greatly welcomed. Be as harsh as you like. This may be my first Harry Potter fic, and I may be unused to the canon, but it is not the first fic I have written.

Thank you.

-Kowareta