Harry Potter and the Fanfiction Authors of Doom

Disclaimer: Yeah, as if I could actually pretend J.K. wrote this. Characters and basic plot line go to her, random, twisted attempt to make fun of every HP theory/pairing/whatever I can think of goes to me.

Summary: Some might say it's unfair to make fun of HP fanfiction authors. Yeah, well screw that. The fans know best anyways, right? Warning: Parodies and Attempts at Humor Ahead

A/N: Ok, um, so. Basically the idea for this story spawned off of a conversation I was having with my little sister and evolved into one extremeley messed up story. I'm definitely planning on making fun of EVERYBODY, including myself, because, well, what do we fanfiction authors know anyways? Oh, and Dumbledore is really messed up in this first chapter because I wrote most of this with a fever of one hundred and two. If you've seen Potter Puppet Pals, I was picturing his voice as the Dumbledore from that, but then he became like a Potter Puppet Pals Dumbledore/Hyper Teenage Girl hybrid...and...um. Yeah. Don't shoot me. XD.

ooo

Chapter One:

In Which Albus is Angsty

and Snape is Suicidal

Albus Dumbledore was in angst. Angstful, angsty, angst, and for the love of Merlin, he needed a vacation—and a permanent one at that. Not many people truly appreciated the weight of being Headmaster of a school full of whiny, ungrateful brats, playing mentor to a boy hero whose scar was definitely overrated, and being constantly sugar high. He only ate the damn lemon drops because he had a reputation to uphold. Duh.

Ah, yes, it was very hard work being the Greatest Wizard Who Had Ever Lived, and to be frank, Albus had tired of it. Potter was SUPPOSED to be destined to save the world, what was Albus still hanging around helping him out for? As far as he could see, the only way out of this irritating saving mankind business was to disappear forever.

But how?

Of course, there was really only one way to disappear forever and not have people come looking—death.

Well, Albus might have been angsty, but he wasn't quite at the suicidal stage…

…yet.

It was Snape who gave him the idea, really. The poor greaseball only had himself to blame.

"Headmaster!" Snape had cried after one of Albus' weekly rantings at him (the Defense professor was beginning to tire of all the hair braiding and ice cream), "I don't understand why you don't just leave if you're so miserable! You're giving me a migraine, and I'm already up to my ears in trying to keep the Dark Lord and his questions about my evilness at bay!"

"What do you think I'm paying you for?" Albus asked indignantly, sniffing and wiping the remaining angsty tears from his wizened cheeks. "If you get a migraine now and then, it should MORE than make up for that enormous raise I gave you; do you have any idea how much sherbet lemons co—" He stopped short, staring at Snape in wonder. "Just a moment, Sev," he said softly. "My God, you're a genius!"

"Oh, shit," muttered Snape, staring warily at his mentally unstable boss. The old coot never acknowledged his intelligence unless Snape had inadvertently sparked a Really Stupid Idea. Oblivious to this, Dumbly prattled on.

"No, really, Sev!" Albus cried. "You are! I don't know why I've stuck around this dreary old castle for so long. Thank you so much for agreeing to help me escape!"

"But I—"

"I know, old chap. It's the least you could do for me."

"Sir, I—"

"Now, Severus, I really must insist you stop thanking me for that favor I did you. I honestly feel that you've proved yourself worthy."

"Headmaster, please, I'm not trying—"

"Yes, I know you've been wasting time with old Tom. You haven't been doing the job I know you can. But this is your way to repay me, Sevvy. All you have to do is beam me to Jamaica and pretend like you've killed me. If you run fast enough, I'll bet you won't even have to go to Azkaban!" Severus stared, his mouth almost hitting the floor.

Minerva was right, he thought furiously. I should've resigned after he tricked me into 'donating' half my salary to pay for his phoenix's pyromaniac therapy regimen.

"The spell is actually quite simple," Albus continued on cheerily, "and I think you'll have no trouble with it. I can't tell you how much this unexpected show of loyalty means to me, Snapey. After all these years…"

"Sir," Snape said through gritted teeth, "I really don't think this is—" But Dumbledore was already writing a letter, completley ignoring him.

"I have connections," he said to no one in particular. "There's a certain Jamaican tour company who owes me a ginormous favor, and I am oh so definitely out of here. Sev, you're really going to have to make this killing me thing plausible. I might have to look old and weak, and you're going to have to look cold and merciless, capiche? Oh, and you'll need to mask the spell behind an actual killing curse."

"Uh…what?"

"What, I didn't tell you I invented the Anti-Avada? All I have to do is mentally block the Killing Curse while you mentally send me to Jamaica. Oh, and of course you'll have to make it look like I died, so be prepared with a fake dummy replica of me." Cheerfully, he sent the letter off with Fawkes, the aforementioned pyromaniac phoenix.

"Headmaster," Snape cried, now at his wit's end, "this is madness! How am I going to have time to prepare all of this? And what about the world? Are you just going to abandon it in its time of need?"

"Uh…" Albus said, pretending to think. "…no duh. C'mon, Severus, I've saved everyone before. Like tons of times, too. Everybody else gets to retire at age sixty, and look at me—I'm like fifty hundred years past my expiration date. It's time I 'died' anyways." He checked his watch, and Fawkes appeared back in the office with a burst of flame. A charred envelope floated its way into Dumbledore's ancient, blackened hand (damn Tom and his stupid Horcrux!) and he scanned the reply quickly. "Excellent! I leave tomorrow night!" He beamed at his aghast employee. "That should give you plenty of time to get ready!"

"Ok, listen to me, you sugar high, rambling, senile lunatic, I am NOT pretending to kill you! Do you think I want to go to Azkaban if they catch me? And if nothing else, think of the fans, sir. The fans will murder me! I'll never be able to escape their wrath!" For a moment, the crazed look seemed to clear from the Headmaster's eyes before the Author handed him a few more Fizzing Whizbees.

"By George, you're right again, Sev!" he whispered, now completley hyper. "You could easily outwit the Dementors and Aurors, but yes, the fans, they are the real danger. What to do…what to do…" The wise—coughsenilecough— old headmaster sat down with a plop at his desk, head in hands. Several minutes passed in which Severus bit his nails down to the quick. It was no joke, thinking of all those enraged Muggles out for his hide. The power of one seriously pissed off fangirl alone was enough to make the Dark Lord himself quiver in fear!

"Wait!" Albus cried triumphantly. "I've got it!"

"Great," muttered Severus, preparing himself for another Really Stupid Idea.

"Ok, so, like nobody is going to believe that I, actually, y'know, died." Albus snorted, and the Author swooned. Dumbledore was like, so eloquent! "I totally forgot that every person alive thinks I'm invincible like Sirius and Gandalf and all those other they-died-but-not-really people. Well, Gandalf did come back, at least." Albus paused to reminisce. "Didn't you think that was so cool in the movie? I, almost, like, totally, like died." He chuckled. "Get it? Died?"

"Headmaster," Severus put in, shuddering at the mention of ANOTHER creepy old wizard—Merlin knew England truly only had room enough for one. "You were saying?"

"Oh, right. Sorry. Anyways, so when you kill me, most people are going to think we had a plan." He eyed the Potions-cum-Defense professor. "So actually, this gets you off the hook because obviously people will think that you are good. Which I guess you are. Sort of."

"Thanks," Severus said dryly.

"Oh, yeah, no problem. And since they'll think I'm alive, I guess you'll have to come visit me and keep me updated and then I can bestow wisdom from the 'dead' on you and you can go tell it to Potter or whatever. 'k?"

"Erm—'

"Lovely! So anyhoo, there will be people who DO believe you killed me and are an evil bastard, but they will still think I magically survived (which I will, teehee!), but they won't be as pissed at you because I am not dead."

"Reassuring."

"I thought so, too. And moving on, the fans you REALLY have to watch out for are the ones who think that I'm dead and you're evil. They're the ones who'll be coming after you, along with Harry, Ron, Hermione, the entire Order of the Phoenix, a couple of Death Eaters who liked me, the entire wizarding world except for Fudge, and Dobby, because he thinks I'm awesome since Scar-Head worships me." Albus beamed at Severus. "So you should totally be able to handle that, don't you think?"

"I…I…I…" That was about all a flabbergasted Severus Snape could manage. His eyes were bugging out of his head at this point, what little color he had completley drained as he imagined exactly what he'd have to do in order to send the Headmaster on his "little" vacation.

"Good man! I always knew I could count on you!" Dumbledore twinkled his eyes at his now suicidal employee. "Sleep well, Severus! I'll see you bright and early; I'll have candy to eat and Horcrux hunts to bungle up, and you get to get ready to pretend to kill me!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "This is gonna be so much fun." He offered Snape a tin. "Lemon drop?"

In response, Snape grabbed the candy, shoved it down his throat, and attempted to choke himself.

Too bad for him Dumbledore was, among other things, an expert at the Heimlich.

A/N Again: Uh, I'm almost scared to say review.