A/N: I don't even know why I wrote this. Shoot me, flame me, whatever. Or just smile.

I do not own Harry Potter, which, all things considered, is very depressing.

ONE-SHOT PARODY FICLET. (Only 500 words.)

Hermione was sick of it all. She was sick of being thought of as the ugly intellectual. She was sick of being a frumpy girl without a definite sense of fashion. She was sick of not catching the attention of boys, and most of all, she was sick of not catching the attention of a particular fair-haired piece of man-flesh.

The great, she had tried to remind herself without success, always encounter opposition before victory. Look at Caesar! Look at Napoleon! Look at Cleopatra!

So what if one was murdered, the other was exiled, and the last committed suicide? Hermione didn't care. Why should she? She was young and smart and pretty—well, ok, just young and smart—whereas they had already, um, died. Hermione knew she would never be so stupid as to make that particular mistake.

So, as a result of being so world-weary and frustrated at the bitter age of fifteen, Hermione decided that it was time to do what any other normal girl would have done in her situation.

COMMIT SUICIDE.

Ahah! I kid, I kid. That's not a normal reaction. Her REAL reaction, which is quite understandable, moral, and typical, was to go to her cousin's house for a full-body makeover complete with liposuction, a facial, and an eating disorder!

Two weeks later:

Hermione proudly strode over through platform 9 ½ and to the Hogwarts train. She knew she looked hot. She hadn't gone over for her cousin's house for just anything. She had gone there so she couldlook good.

This was feeling sexy. This was power. This was feminism at its proudest.

On her feet, Hermione had on leather boots with silver buckles. They had wicked heels, let me tell you. She had accidentally killed Crookshanks by stepping on him with them, but that was just too bad, now wasn't it?

Her legs were covered in fishnets, which are called "fishnets" for a reason. Clothing manufacturers kidnap small fishing boats and hold the fishermen's wives and children hostage until they hand over the netting.

Her skirt was a mini.

Duh.

It was pleated and black, because Hermione knew that all the hottest girls in history had a little touch of that "Gothic slut" style to them. Look at Anne Boleyn! She had her head chopped off in the end, but everyone knows that that was just an unfortunate misunderstanding. I mean, come on.

Pretty people never die.

Hermione would have continued on to tell about her new top and boobs, but her attention was caught by one gorgeous hunk of a man who was walking in her direction.

Looking at his hot bod, she couldn't help but be overcome with a shiver of lust.

Those long locks… that serene look to his pale face… those long robes that swirled behind him drastically as he made his way through the crowd…

Oh, Albus!