A/N: Hello, my gorgeous, sweet, fluffy, adorable, amiable, magnificent, upstanding, glorious, elegant, lovely, dab-hand-at-poker darlings! You will notice—with some surprise, I'd wager—that I am back. You will also notice that it is the eve of the final Harry Potter film—the moment we've all been counting down to for our ENTIRE LIVES. You may even use your exceptional powers of deduction to figure out that these two things are related.
Yes—I have decided to do a special chapter celebrating all things fandomy. The approaching end has made me very goopy and sentimental, and I can't but ruminate on how very much it means to me to be part of the Harry Potter community. I thought I would try, in my own small but exceedingly brilliant way, to give something back. So, this may be the last-ever chapter of Irresponsible Shippers—but by Jove, I'm giving it my all.
Thanks to all my readers. I hope your experience in the fandom has been as wonderful as mine.
Here it is:
Hermione W. Cullen and the Irresponsible Shippers present
A spectacular one-chapter-only event
Don't be late, 'cause you won't want to miss…
"Lovespell"
A hush has fallen over Hogwarts castle. It is the eve of the final battle, and all the witches and wizards there find themselves momentarily quieted by the enormity of what is about to occur. The air of doom is like a heavy, soundproofed fog over the castle, and it is seriously weirding everybody out.
"Why is everything suddenly so quiet?" wonders Ronald Weasley, a lanky and adorable ginger.
"Don't ask me," says Harry Potter, a classic heroic figure.
"If you two would just be quiet for a moment, I'm sure I'd have it figured out in no time," snaps Hermione Granger, far too awesome for description.
Exchanging a look, Harry and Ron fall silent. Hermione stares into the empty air with great concentration for an awkwardly long time. Ron is about to interrupt her again, when she shouts,
"Ah! I know what it is!"
"Wot?" say Harry and Ron in unison.
"The massive number of simultaneous reads our story is currently experiencing is causing an imaginational overhaul of written events."
"Wot?" say Harry and Ron again.
"The power of Fandom is warping the fabric of reality," Hermione explains impatiently.
"Oh," says Harry.
"Wot?" says Ron.
"You'll see," Hermione sighs. "You'll begin to feel the effects any moment now."
Suddenly, a ripping noise pervades the air, giving everyone on both sides of the war flashbacks to that one time they tripped over the hem of their pants and heard the seam split and had to figure out how to get out of the room without anyone seeing. Then things return to normal—or, seemingly so.
"There," says Hermione. "That was it."
"Wot?" says Ron.
"Reality just changed. Do you feel strange? Different, perhaps? Sudden overwhelming need to use unnecessary expletives? Unexpected but undeniable attraction to Gregory Goyle, perhaps?"
"No, no, of course not," says Ron. "Professor Flitwick's always been the one for me, isn't that obvious?"
Hermione purses her lips. "Yes, well. I see we need to minimize the damage. We should split up and spread the word. Harry, Ron, I want you both to walk around and tell everyone you meet that reality has temporarily changed, and that they should try to ignore the sudden inexplicable urges that pop up. Ron, you take the grounds; Harry, you take the forest; I'll take the castle."
"Can't I take the castle?" says Ron.
"Absolutely not."
"Alright," he says, hanging his head. "But if you see Filius, tell him I love him!"
"What I find most disturbing about that statement," says Hermione resignedly, "is that it is probably by far the least disturbing thing I'll hear until this is all over."
With that, the Trio separate, off to explore the landscape of a new reality.
The Forbidden Forest is dark, foreboding, and somehow much smaller than usual. The walk must have been shortened for convenient plot reasons, Harry surmises in an unusual burst of perception. And, indeed, in no time at all, he reaches the clearing where Voldemort and his supporters have Hagrid captive or whatever.
"Is that right?" says Harry.
Close enough. This is Fandom. Reality is not even a thing.
Anyway, Hagrid's like,
"All righ', there, Harry?"
And Harry blushes and is like,
"Hi, Hagrid."
And there is an awkward pause. Finally, a voice:
"Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. What is going on here?"
Harry looks up in surprise. The voice belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange.
"What do you mean?" says Harry, surprised out of remembering that he stopped talking to her, like, ages ago.
"You and Hagrid. You're acting totally OOC. What's the deal?"
"Er," says Harry. He thinks for a minute.
And another minute.
And another minute.
British minutes are long.
Finally it dawns on him.
"Oh!" he says. Everyone looks up expectantly.
"It's the reality shift or whatever. I was supposed to tell people. Reality's different right now due to some big eventy thing that is way too meta for me to understand. So people might be acting weird until things go back to normal. For example, in this universe, it seems Hagrid's and my relationship is complicated by an awkward romantic history."
There is a long pause as everybody lets this sink in. Finally, Bellatrix bursts out laughing.
"Er…something funny?" Harry says irritably (causing all readers to have a momentary flashback to Order of the Phoenix, when Harry's behavior seemed to be an advertisement for that particular adverb).
"A fine tale, so mote I goon!" says Bellatrix in between chortles.
"Was that, by any chance, a Middle English idiom?" whispers Voldemort to Lucius.
"Well spotted, sir!" says Lucius, swishing his cloak in acknowledgement.
"Darling," says Narcissa to Lucius, "I hate to make a fuss, but why are you suddenly so flamingly gay?"
"Well, sweetie," says Lucius, swishing his cloak in a didactic manner, "I suppose Fandom took my fondness for long cloaks, canes, flashy accessories, and well-groomed long hair, and ran away with it!"
"But, my dear," says Narcissa, "couldn't you just be a rock star?"
"Sure," snorts Bellatrix, "a gay rock star."
"I really don't think—" Narcissa starts, but Voldy interrupts her.
"—If you're not sure, ask Snape. He knows aaaaaaall about it."
Laughing like maniacs, Bella and Voldy high-five each other.
"Harry, I hate to bother ye a' wha' I'm sure is a difficul' momen', but…" Hagrid isn't sure he can finish this sentence… "When did You-Know-Who get so…well…sassy?"
After marveling for a moment at Hagrid's stunningly ill-written dialect, Harry answers, "I don't know."
Staring at Voldemort now, Harry privately adds, but I think I like it.
"Neville!" shouts Ron's voice across the grounds, "It's okay! The power of something ineffably meta has caused reality to shift momentarily! You don't have to make out with Luna!"
"But I want to," says Neville, looking disgruntled.
"That's just the alternate reality messing with your head!" says Ron.
"Not really," says Neville. "It's kinda been true for a while."
Luna looks up at Ron too. "You know," she says, "your skin makes a fascinating contrast with your hair when you blush…"
Ron clears his throat. "Right then. Carry on." And he walks away.
Luna looks back to Neville. "You know," she says, "I like this reality much better than the canon universe. I'm sure Rolf Scamander is all right, but I mean, he's not even in the books. This just seems to make so much more sense."
"I don't know what you're talking about," says Neville, "but I love you."
Hermione is walking through the castle, wand pointed to her throat to magnify her voice, making the announcement.
"Due to reasons that are far too meta for lesser creatures than I to understand, we are experiencing an alternate-universe interlude. Please attempt to resist any vastly out of character urges—the more in-character you stay, the faster we'll ride this out."
"'Ermione!" comes a throaty shout from down the hall.
Fleur Delacour comes gliding down the corridor at top speed, crashes into Hermione's arms, and starts snogging her in what Hermione thinks is a very undignified manner.
"Eet eez too late to 'ide my feelings. I was so worried I would never see you again! I could not bear that. Please tell me you feel the same!"
"Strangely enough," says Hermione, "I do. And furthermore, I feel that femmeslash is a piteously underexplored subgenre of fanfiction. However, due to continuity reasons or something and also the Shadow Proclamation, I think it best if I stay as canon as possible."
"I do not know what you are talking about," says Fleur, "But I love you!"
"Yes, very well," sighs Hermione, "I love you too. But I have to go now. Important world-savey stuff."
"Au revoir, cherie!" Fleur calls after her as Hermione hurries away.
Hermione stalks down the hallway, observing the scene, trying to figure out how far gone this alternate reality is. She passes Crabbe and Goyle making out.
"Makes sense," she mutters.
She passes Sirius and Lupin making out.
"Non-canon, but makes sense," she mutters.
She passes Regulus Black and Barty Crouch, Jr. making out.
"Okay, not good, not good…I have to do something about this now, or all of reality will turn to shreds—" she bumps into Professor McGonagall.
"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?"
"Yes, Professor. We've gone into imaginational overdrive due to overreading. We have a temporary shift in reality."
"Oh dear."
"Exactly. I'm trying to return us to normality before all the laws of our universe decay. Unfortunately, I am hampered in explaining this any further by a sudden and overwhelming crush on you."
"That's quite all right, Miss Granger. None of us can help what our alternate-reality selves feel or want. I shall do my best to assist you in returning Hogwarts to its proper existence. I suppose you have surmised that our best chance is to find Mr. Potter?"
"Yes!" says Hermione, blushing furiously as if she's never gotten a right answer before. "He's in the Forbidden Forest."
In the Forbidden Forest, Harry and Voldemort are taking a leisurely walk, hand in hand.
"I am so glad we could stop being mortal enemies long enough to have this peaceful interlude," says Voldemort.
"Me too, Tommy," says Harry.
Voldemort cringes. "Could you maybe not use that nickname? It sounds so…The Who."
"Whatever you want. How 'bout Tommikins?"
Voldemort smiles like a Lucius/Hermione shipper writing a ten-page lemon. "I like that."
"Well, I'm glad we could have this interlude, Tommikins."
"Yes," says Voldemort, "Otherwise we would never have realized how all our aggression toward each other was really just masking the true love we felt deep down. And then we would have kept fighting. And then you would have died, and I couldn't have borne that."
"Or maybe you would have died," says Harry.
"Now, now, dear, let's not jump to conclusions."
"I would have been sad if you'd died," says Harry.
"I think we can agree," says Voldemort, "that either of us would have been sad if the other had died, regardless of the frankly much higher likelihood that I would have been the sad one and you the dead one."
"Ah, listen to the dulcet tones of bickering lovebirds!" says Lucius, approaching them with a swish of his cloak. "It's a sound I hear frequently in my own home, where my own pet lovebirds fight constantly due to the unbreakable anti-happiness spell set on the mansion several hundred years ago!"
"Lucius," says Voldemort, "I don't know if you know how you're talking right now."
"Yeah," says Harry, "all your sentences are ending in exclamation marks."
"Oh, you!" says Lucius, "It's just part of my personal style and flair!"
"Is it just me," says Voldemort to Harry, "or is he, like, extra gay right now?"
"Maybe he's just a really gay straight man," says Harry.
"I don't think it works that way."
"Well, I dunno," says Harry. "Hermione is always telling me not to put gender and sexuality in boxes. She took a Muggle feminist theory class last summer."
"I really, really don't know what's going on right now," Voldemort says, "But I love you."
"Potter! There you are!" McGonagall is running through the forest, with Hermione close behind. "We—oh, good lord, what's going on here?"
"Minerva!" says Lucius, strolling up to McGonagall and putting his hands on her shoulders. "How dare you get more gorgeous without me there to see it?"
"Lucius!" says McGonagall, and they air-kiss each other near the cheeks.
"What's going on?" Hermione mouths to Harry.
"No idea," he mouths back.
"The kids look confused," says Lucius, with a conciliatory swish of the cloak. "They don't know, do they?"
"Of course not."
"Well, don't worry, Minerva. Your sordid past is safe with me." He chuckles and steps back. McGonagall catches Voldemort in the corner of her eye.
"Hi, Tom," she says quietly.
"Hi," he says back.
"Tommikins," says Harry, "Wot in the name of Merlin's beautifully laundered spats is going on here?"
"Harry," says Hermione, "please try not to get involved in this new reality. You're the protagonist, so Professor McGonagall and I think that if you stay on your proper track for the story, reality will right itself soon enough—"
"Shut up, Hermione," says Harry, "I want to hear Tommikins explain himself."
Hermione groans with frustration. "Will you just listen to me? Why, WHY, would ANYBODY be stupid enough not to listen to me, this far into the series? I know everything, and I have never, ever, ever, ever, ever been wrong! IF PEOPLE WOULD JUST SHUT UP FOR TEN SECONDS AND LISTEN TO HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, MAYBE WE WOULDN'T BE IN SUCH A COMPLICATED MESS IN THE FIRST PLACE. I DON'T MEAN TO BE CONCEITED HERE, BUT IF I RAN THE WORLD NONE OF THIS SHIT WOULD EVER HAPPEN. EVER."
"I like this girl," says Lucius, swishing his cloak approvingly. "She has sass."
"My apologies, Hermione," says Voldemort politely, "but if you just give me a moment to explain myself to Harry, we'll all give you our full attention immediately afterward."
"Fine," says Hermione. "You have five minutes. I am literally going to count the whole time. When I get to 300, your time is up. One, alohomora, two, alohomora, three…"
"Harry dear," says Voldemort, "Before your time—like, literally, before you were born—Minerva and I had a—thing."
"You had a thing?"
"Yes."
"Like, a thing thing?"
"That's right."
"Is that true?" says Harry, looking at McGonagall, "Did you have a thing-thing?"
"Yes, Potter," says McGonagall. "To tell you the truth, my school days were rather rife with thingyness."
Lucius chortles and swishes his cloak knowingly.
"…299 Spartans died in…300! My turn! I'm talking now!" Hermione looks around, and is pleased to see that everyone has fallen silent (though perhaps more from shock that she hasn't forgotten about the counting than in awe of her fearsome presence).
"Now," she says, "Harry. We think that if we take you out of all this insanity, normality will be restored more quickly. Professor, will you escort Harry to some quiet glen until all this is over? Hopefully nobody's been absurd enough to ship you two."
"Wot's she talking about?" says Harry.
"Yes, of course," says McGonagall to Hermione, dragging Harry away.
"Professor, wot's Hermione talking about?" Harry's voice soon dies away.
There's a pretty profound awkward silence among the three left, until Bellatrix pops up.
"Hey, peeps! What's the haps?"
Lucius groans.
"Have I committed some iniquity which has led to your disquietude?" Bellatrix asks him, "Because I merely made a simple query, intending no overt offense."
"Why is Bella acting like such a weirdo?" Voldemort asks.
"Well," says Hermione, "this is actually a very interesting case. In the main story, she has a very distinctive personality, but in the wider readerverse, interpretation of her character varies so widely that she doesn't know who she is."
"You mean she's lacking personal style? She can have some of mine!" says Lucius with a magnanimous swish of his cloak.
"If you swish that cloak one more time, I will literally set it on fire," says Voldemort.
"I wish people would stop overusing the word 'literally,'" says Hermione. "It makes me want to punch them in the face."
"But I meant 'literally' literally," says Voldemort.
"Wait, you literally meant 'literally' literally?"
"Yup."
"Oh." Hermione considers for a moment, then offers her hand for a very dignified high-five, which Voldemort accepts.
Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.
Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.
Hermione just high-fived the Dark Lord.
"Why did that thing we just did happen four times?" says Voldemort.
"I believe the author made an unfortunately timed use of comedic repetition," says Hermione.
It is not for you to question Author. I think I'll leave you to consider what you've done, young lady.
"So, Potter," says McGonagall, "You're going with Tom now, are you?"
After working out her antiquated phrasing, Harry says, "Yeah, I guess so. Is it true you did, too?"
"Yes, Potter."
"Hey, Professor? You know that thing he does?"
"Yes, Potter."
"What is that?"
"I don't know, Potter. I don't know."
A pause, as both reflect.
"Hey, Professor? You know how you said your school days were…what was it…"
"Rife with thingyness, Potter."
"Yeah. Right. That. I just wanted to know…how so?"
"Let us just say…I had my share of romantic liasons."
"With who?"
"Let's see…Professor Snape…" (Here Harry missed a few names, as he was trying very hard not to vomit at the thought), "…Molly Weasley…"
"Waitwot?" Harry said.
"Those were different times, Potter. Freer times, in some ways."
"Oh. I suppose you were with Dumbledore, too?"
To Harry's surprise, McGonagall laughed.
"Good heavens, no. Do you have eyes, boy? That man could out-gay Lucius 57 times over. And that's without swishing his cloak once. Without even wearing a cloak, maybe."
Now that Hermione has had a good long think about what she's done, and I hope she's sorry, we can return to her. She, Lucius, Bellatrix, and her new BFFL Voldemort have reached a lull in the conversation, when two gingers approach at top speed.
"Hermione!" Ron pants, "we just got away! Ginny almost snogged Snape!" He pulls his little sister by the hand, as she looks behind her in confusion.
"I don't understand," says Ginny. "He was there, and then all of a sudden, I liked him, and it was—so awkward—so painful—so—greasy!" She bursts into tears.
"There, there," Hermione says to Ginny, patting her on the back, "It'll all go away soon."
"So—much—grease—" Ginny gasps.
"Do you see what this reality shift is doing?" Hermione says to the others. "We have to restore some normality."
"Um, 'Mione?" says Ron.
(Let it be known that Author has had enough, and will smite the next person who uses that phrase).
"Yeah, Ron?"
"I, er, that is to say, er, I, er. I still…loveyou. So. That's normality, right?"
Hermione bites her lip. "Well, you're right, Ron, it is, but…in this universe, I…I think I'm kinda supergay."
"What?" says Ron.
"Really?" says Ginny, giving her brother what can only be described as a triumphant look.
"Yeah," says Hermione.
"Hermione," says Ginny, "Will you run away with me and be with me forever in some remote, preferably tropical, corner of the world?"
"Well," says Hermione, "despite my still-extant awareness of a parallel track of events we will eventually be forced to run on again, and despite a strong sense of déjà-vu brought on by your proposition, I'm going to have to go with…yes."
Violin music swells, and everyone tactfully looks away. Lucius is nearly swishing his cloak with glee, but only nearly, because he remembers Voldemort's warning.
Suddenly, there is a loud, rather upsetting noise.
"What's that?" says Ginny, tightening her grip on Hermione's hand.
"I—I don't know," Hermione replies.
"It's the giant squid," says Voldemort.
"How do you know?" says Ron with as much interest as he can muster with his poor little shattered adorable heart…
"All of us slimy, creepy, and crawly creatures have a sort of rapport," Voldy explains. "That's why Severus and I get along so well."
Suddenly, Snape apparates into the middle of the scene.
"I wish," he slimes, "that you would stop insulting me in your every spare moment. It is truly getting tiresome."
And then, as quickly as he appeared, slimy, slithery, sniveling, sincerely suspicious and sorry Severus Snape Disapparates, hopefully leaving our hearts and minds werebat-free for the rest of forever.
"Anyway," says Hermione, "why's the giant squid making that noise?"
"I believe," says Voldemort, "Yes—he's singing a love song to Hagrid."
"Merlin's ill-advised goatee!" exclaims Hermione, "This is bad. We need to get to Harry NOW. It's time to resort to drastic measures. Follow me!" And she runs off in the direction Harry and McGonagall went, followed by Voldemort, Lucius, Bellatrix, and Ginny.
Ron, now alone, sits on a log and puts his head in his hands.
If a poor deprived ginger kid bemoans his fate in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, did he still never ask for any of this?
Hermione & co find a strange sight: Harry Potter and Minerva McGonagall, sitting on the ground, laughing so hard they are in tears.
"…and then," says McGonagall, "He vanished the platypus and said—" she notices the large group of newcomers to the clearing.
"Dear me, you're all looking dreadfully grim."
"The giant squid is singing a love song to Hagrid, Professor," Ginny explains.
"We figured this called for drastic measures," says Hermione.
"Yes. Yes, you're quite right, Miss Granger."
"Shall I, Professor?"
"Of course."
"Wot are you gonna do?" says Harry. Hermione proceeds to follow the show-don't-tell rule.
She points her wand at the sky, makes some complicated, geometrical-looking gestures, and shouts,
"Bibbidy—Boppity—Boo!"
With cheerful, dramatic music, a cloud in the sky splits in two, revealing a bright, sparkling rainbow that unfurls all the way to the ground at their feet.
"Bibbidy-boppity-boo?" Ginny questions.
"My vote was for ','" says an arch voice from on high.
"Gesundheit," mutters Harry.
There is a blinding flash of purple light, and when they can see again, Dumbledore is sliding nonchalantly down the rainbow.
"Hello," he says. Everybody blinks at him, silently. He holds out a small paper bag. "Lemon drop, anyone?"
All of a sudden, everybody is talking at once.
"Professor Dumbledore, there was an overread—"
"When suddenly we realized we couldn't fight any more—"
"And he said, if I swished my cloak one more time—"
"I mean, Molly Weasley, who'd have—"
"Tengo miedo serio de jirafas—"
"—And then Miss Granger conjured you."
Dumbledore surveys them all for a moment, enjoying a lemon drop as he thinks. Finally he says,
"Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger."
Hermione beams.
"But can you fix it, Professor?" says Harry, "Because the way I understand it, if it keeps going like this, I'm in danger of becoming either a canned heroic cliché, or a soulless vessel through which authors live out their magical fantasies."
Dumbledore fixes Harry with his astute periwinkle gaze and says, "How very perceptive of you, Harry."
"So will you return the world back to normal, Professor?" Hermione says.
"Think for a moment," says Dumbledore. "Think of what brought us here in the first place. Think of all those loyal readers out there, giving their whole selves to imagining this world. Not every reality is in a position to be overread like this. You," he says, spreading his arms, "are loved. Think of all the people you'd be letting down by sticking to. Er. Reality."
"Did Dumbledore just say 'er'?" says Harry.
"I think so," Hermione replies.
"In conclusion," Dumbledore continues, "I suggest you simply…what's the expression…'ride the wave'? Let the readers take you where they want you to go. You'll have your original story back eventually, but what's the hurry? It's very sad."
The other characters think for a moment, and then Hermione says,
"Dumbledore's right."
"Dumbledore's right?" says Ginny. "Wow. That doesn't usually happen."
"We should just embrace the strange," Hermione continues.
Just then, a letter drops out of the sky. Harry catches it, reads it, and turns to Hermoine.
"It's from Buckbeak. He and Crookshanks want your blessing to get married."
Hermione stands for a moment, twitching.
"I can't handle this! Give me reality back RIGHT NOW!" And she crosses her arms and stares petulantly at the sky.
And continues to stare, being zoomed out upon, as the Author decides to leave the ending ambiguous, cackles gleefully, and retires to her cave.
A/N: That's all folks. Good night, and good luck. And remember—I won't update 'till I get tin god vons.