The Harmonians Strike Back

A Half Blood Prince Parody

By: The Fitchburg Finch

With Special Guest Appearances by: AJ Potter, Amy Noelle, Bingblot, Cheering Charm, Goldy, Frostbite Panda, Kaze, Little Creek, Lynney, Madscientist, Mary Caroline,  Musca, Potter Mama, the Oxford Comma, and Vicarious Leigh, as themselves.

Disclaimer:

This parody is meant in jest, to liven the spirits of the Harry/Hermione fandom in this our so desperate time of need. If you take any part of it too seriously, then you are just silly.

All characters, places, spells, and other magical miscellany of the Harry Potter-verse are original creations of JK Rowling, except for the Authors, who are, in fact, original creations of themselves, and, of course, the Oxford Comma, which is a characteristic part of the house style of the Oxford University Press.

No Authors were harmed during the production of this fanfic. However, the same guarantee cannot be made for OOC characters, sixteen-foot giants, the Oxford Comma, and, more specifically, Ginny Weasleys.

The views and opinions reflected in this fanfic are solely those of the story’s creator, and do not necessarily reflect those of the other Authors involved in the project…

…unless, of course, those views and opinions have anything to do with causing harm to OOC characters, sixteen-foot giants, the Oxford Comma, and, more specifically, Ginny Weasleys.

(Again, if you fail to recognize that the whole ‘causing harm to Ginny Weasley’ thing is in jest, then you are just silly.)

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Part I

Ginny Weasley was flawless; there was no doubt about that. Her long, silky red hair flowed freely behind her as she walked gracefully towards the Quidditch pitch. Fair skin, adorned with the perfect amount of sun-kissed freckles, was soft and smooth; her face held a natural elegance other girls could only dream of having, and her large blue eyes shimmered brilliantly in the light of the afternoon sun.

That, and she smelled really flowery.

Not only was she beautiful on the outside, her personality easily outshined those of all the other girls at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was bright, witty, and a total charmer. All the boys wanted to be with her, while all the girls just wanted to be her.

It was with a natural talent and unbridled skill that she professed in everything she did. Why, it was pointless for her to even be going to the Quidditch pitch for practice; she certainly didn’t need it. Still, it would give her a chance to see her equally magnanimous boyfriend, or, ‘Harry-warry-widdle-kins’ as she so lovingly called him, and so she continued to walk towards the field in long strides, as graceful as a ballerina.

‘Who wouldn’t want to be me?’ she thought pompously as she continued on.

And then she fell into a pit, and died.

-  -  -  -  -  -

Meanwhile, on the Quidditch pitch, Harry Potter was not having a very pleasant afternoon. His ever-so-perfect girlfriend, more affectionately known as ‘Ginny-winny-minny-binny,’ was late, leaving him with no one to laugh with or talk to (unless, of course, you counted his two very best friends in the entire world who also happened to be out on that very same field- friends that had nearly died for him on several occasions; friends that had continued to show him loyalty and devotion, even while the rest of the world turned their backs on him; friends who, to this day, put him before themselves in every instance of their lives. But, what are we thinking? We can’t count them as trustworthy confidants; that would just be silly.)

Then, of course, there was Ron, who couldn’t seem to be pulled away from having his face sucked off for five minutes to catch a single Quaffle. Harry’d actually instructed one of the beaters to send a Bludger in his and Lavender’s general direction at the beginning of practice- when it was quite obvious that ickle Won-Won had no intentions of coming up for air anytime soon- but that particular beater failed to do so as he was too busy flirting with one Hermione Granger to adhere to any requests from his team captain and leader.

And then there was Hermione, who, when she wasn’t attempting to seduce members of his team or wasn’t busy making odd gurgling noises as she eyed Won-Won and Lavender Brown, the Award Winning Face Sucker-offer, maliciously, was trying to talk Harry out of relying on his crutch, his staple, his newfound lease on life; his beloved Half Blood Prince.

“I don’t like it, Harry,” she said for the seven millionth, six hundred thirty-two thousandth, three hundred and fifty-eighth time since Harry acquired the used Advanced Potions book and began relying on it for pertinent spell and potion making information. She sat on the grass at the edge of the field, a slight breeze causing her bushy brown hair to rustle gently about her face as she stared at Harry as if he were stupidest fellow she’d ever met in her life. “It just doesn’t seem right to me. Do you really think you should be using those spells when you don’t know who wrote them?”

“Oh, look,” Harry said off handedly, staring over at Won-Won and the Award Winning Face Sucker-offer with feigned interest. “It seems Lavender’s discovered an entirely new area on Ron’s neck.”

Gurgle, gurgle.

‘How paranoid can you get?’ he thought irritably as he took a few steps away from his now seething companion.

Hermione really needed to calm down about the whole situation in Harry’s opinion. After all, what harm could come from his gaining a few hints out of some magical book of unknown origin now and then? It wasn’t like he was in any mortal peril or anything. He was just a teenage boy – a teenage boy who’d narrowly avoided his own flaming death on several occasions since he was the age of one; a teenage boy whose parents had been brutally murdered by a masochistic tyrant attempting to kill him – and that same tyrant was still making regular attempts to end his life – and that same tyrant who killed his parents and continued to make regular attempts to end his life had only possessed and tried to kill his Ginny-winny-minny-binny four years prior via an enchanted spell book. There was absolutely no reason for him to be leery of what the ‘prince’ had to say – none at all.

Man, that Hermione Granger could really be quite unreasonable sometimes.

He walked further into the field and watched as the players who actually had some interest in practice fly overhead, and tried to concentrate. It was proving to be difficult, as he’d had a terrible headache all morning- which wasn’t being helped much by the gurgle-gurgle-ing going on beside him. Amidst all of the distractions, however, what probably irked him the most about that particular afternoon was not understanding why his head became so clouded every time he tried to remember the reason he’d decided to hold an emergency Quidditch practice - two weeks after the final game of the year.

He knew he’d had a perfectly good reason to wake everyone in Gryffindor house up at midnight the night before to alert them all of said practice; he’d been well within reason when he’d raced to the common room in nothing but his knickers - tripping over a tricky step and stumbling down the staircase in the process - and shouted at the top of his lungs that the team was expected on the field at exactly noon, and not a second later.

And it had definitely been worth the detentions from McGonagall- he concurred- and all of the befuddled looks from his housemates as they made their way into the common room to see what the commotion was about while he- Harry- stood almost completely starkers before them, shouting, at the top of his lungs about an emergency training session and the imminent doom that would befall the wizarding world should his teammates fail to arrive in a timely manner.

Yes, well within reason, that. Now, if only he could remember what that reason was, maybe he wouldn’t have such an insufferable headache.

Or was that from the fall down the stairs?

“I’m just saying,” said a passing classmate, breaking him from his thoughts of Quidditch, terrible headache, gurgle-gurgles, imminent doom, and Ginny-winny-minny-binny, “that it was a bit harsh, is all. I don’t know how we’re going to explain it when the time comes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replied another girl with rust-colored hair as they continued past. “It’s a perfectly plausible occurrence.” The first eyed her cautiously.

“Plausible? A pit?” She shook her head. “I’m telling you now, this is going to come back to bite us.”

Harry watched the girls pass with less than mild interest. ‘Whatever could they be talking about?’ he wondered momentarily. No matter, seventh years always seemed to be in a world all their own, anyway.

But when did seventh years begin to look like they were in their mid-twenties? And rust colored hair? He was quite sure he’d never seen a student with rust colored hair befo-

“Hey! Hermione! What are you- put down that rock!!!!”

So, as a large stone sailed towards the conjoined heads of Won-Won Weasley and Lavender Award Winning Face Sucker-offer Brown, Harry Potter was once again pulled from his thoughts as he struggled to drag a kicking, screaming, and all-around-rampaging Hermione Granger off the Quidditch Pitch.

“-Knock it off! You’re seventeen for crying out loud!!!”

“Oh, Won-Won, is my ickle Wonniekins awwight?”

“Let me at her…” shouted Hermione, watching the interaction with contempt. ”Let me- HERMIONE SMASH!!!”

“Owww- Hermione, that was my knee!!!”

“-SMASH! Smash, smash, smash!!!”

“Stop it, calm down!”

“Hermione sma-“

“All right, already. I get it! ‘Hermione smash!’ Very clever…”

No, Harry Potter was not having a very pleasant afternoon at all. As Lavender Award Winning Face Sucker-offer Brown escorted a bloodied up Won-Won Weasley towards the hospital wing, Harry hoisted a still kicking and screaming Hermione over his shoulders and carried her off towards the common room.

It could have just been his mind playing tricks on him, or the lack of sleep combined with the blow to the head from falling down the stairs in nothing but his knickers the night before, but as he carried Hermione away he distinctly thought he heard a strange ‘squee-ing’ noise coming from the direction of those two odd looking seventh years…

“My poor Won-Won!”

“HERMIONE SMASH!!!”

-  -  -  -  -  -

Hermione was still ready and willing to smash, smash, smash, smash, SMASH!  when she and Harry walked towards McGonagall’s office to attend the first of many detentions they would now be sharing with each other later that evening. In fact, she showed no signs of ever wanting to do anything else.

“This is a bit unhealthy, you know,” Harry said pointedly as Hermione walked beside him, quietly mumbling something about cracking Lav-Lav’s skull open and feasting on the goo that emerged. “Maybe you should… you know… talk to someone about it… or something…” Hermione didn’t respond, however; she merely continued to stare at the floor and mumble.

When the pair finally reached McGonagall’s office, Harry was slightly surprised to find two students waiting for them outside of the Transfiguration Professor’s door.

“Uhm… hi,” said one girl with a nervous cheerfulness. Harry noticed instantly that she looked the same as the other odd seventh years he’d seen; she looked older, more mature, as did the man who was standing with her.

“We’ve got a message,” she said, “from the Authors of –ouch!”

What type of Authors this cheerfully nervous girl had a message from, Harry did not find out, as her partner had rather forcefully stepped on her foot before she had a chance to say.

“-McGonagall.” he said in her wake, eyeing the girl sternly. “We have a message from McGonagall.”

“Is that so?” Harry asked cautiously, staring at the student – dressed in robes that appeared to be two sizes too small. “And why didn’t she tell us herself?”

The ‘student’ shifted his feet.

“She had issues that needed to be… tended to...” he said, staring at Harry with equal caution. “She wanted us to take you to another classroom, where Argus Filch will be hosting your… detentions.” He put much emphasis on the last word, which Harry Potter would have given credence to as being somewhat ominous, had the man before him not also used the words ‘Argus’ and ‘Filch’ together in the same sentence as ‘detention.’

“That bloody lunatic? What’s she playing at?” he asked angrily, completely forgetting how dodgy he thought the dodgy characters before him seemed to be. “This is ridiculous!”

“Don’t take it out on us, man!” shouted the mystery student, as Hermione and the other girl eyed the confrontation less than confidently. “You’re not the only ones who have to put up with the ruddy bugger, we have detention with him, too!”

Somehow, the knowledge that this dodgy fellow in a uniform two sizes too small would be sharing the same horrible fate as he, poor victim Harry – whose only crime was saving the wizarding world from impending doom by holding Quidditch practice at noon, and not a minute later – would be forced to endure, made Harry’s insecurity about him fade entirely.

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he said with a laugh, slapping the mystery student on the back and allowing himself to be lead down the hall. “I hate that Filch, the lousy plonker!”

“Tell me about it!” the mystery student replied with a chuckle as the two girls caught up with them.

“Hey, what’re your names, anyhow?” Harry asked as the students continued to walk down the hall. The girl perked up and smiled widely at him.

“Well,” she said, in the same happy, albeit nervous, voice. “I’m Cheering Cha – ouch – Err… Cherry. I’m Cherry.” Harry smiled warmly at her.

“Nice to meet you, Cherry.” He looked over at his new fellow Filch-hater and lifelong best friend. “And you?”

“I’m Mad…” he paused, “…ison. Madison.”

After rounding another hallway, the students stopped in front of a closed classroom door.

“Well,” said the one called Madison. “Here we are.” He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry opened the door and walked inside, followed by Hermione (who was so busy seething over Lav-Lav, Won-Won, and the gooey remnants of a cracked open skull that she hadn’t said a word to anyone the entire way) and then Madison and Cherry entered as well. Harry jumped when he heard the door slam behind him. Madison was staring back at him with a rather devious smile. 

“What…what’s going on?” Harry asked slowly.

“Sorry to be dishonest with you, Harry, my boy,” he said maniacally as he took a dangerous step forward. “Had to get you two in here somehow.” Harry took a step back and looked around; he wasn’t in a classroom, and they were not, by any means, alone.

All about the room stood figures cloaked in dark robes, their heads shrouded beneath heavy hoods. The room was empty save for two chairs in the middle, and a door at either end. The hooded figures moved slowly towards him, and he saw Hermione tense beside him. Turning back to Madison, Harry saw that he and his accomplice were now pulling on dark robes of their own.

“Who-who are you?” Hermione asked nervously from beside him. Madison laughed; Harry’s temper grew.

“Death Eaters,” he said fiercely. Hermione turned to face him, a terrified look on her face. “You’re Death Eaters, aren’t you?” Madison laughed wickedly; a few others in the room joined in.

“Hardly,” he said in a cold voice. “We’re something much, much worse you’ll find.” He and Harry continued to stare at each other fiercely, a battle of candor raging on in the space between them.

“Then just who,” Harry asked, not taking his green eyes away from those of the dark robed man before him, “are you?”

“Something you should have been expecting, Harry Potter,” replied the devious fellow. He stared at him for several moments, unblinking, before continuing on with an invidious smile.

“We’re Portkey Authors.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide; from beside him Hermione screamed.

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A/N: This story is dedicated to every H/Hr Author who’s still writing, every H/Hr reader who’s still reading, and every H/Hr shipper who’s still shipping. Good for you.

My utmost gratitude goes out to all of the Authors who so graciously offered their names and creative services for this project. I am so humbled and will be forever in your debt. And thanks to Potter Mama for checking over my mistakes; have I told you lately that I love you?

For all those Harmonians out there: don’t despair! The magic of Harry and Hermione lives on within those of us who continue to read and write. Visit http://groups.yahoo.com/group/projectharmony should you find yourself in need of inspiration or an open ear. And remember, no matter what, we will always have our delusions to keep us warm at night!