So, I've finally entered the parody section. I've been dying to for ages, but being home all day sick really made me write this. I needed something to energize me.

A few notes: 1) This will contain references to many things about fandoms and such. If you're not a frequent fandom follower, some of the jokes may blow right over you, but most of you know the basics: shoddy angst fics, Mary Sues, clichés, etc.

2) There will be stereotypes of social groups, such as emos. This is just because this is also an overused concept in fanfiction, and it really made for a much funnier fic. I don't mean to offend anybody… Okay, I'm probably going to offend somebody. Get over it. I know plenty of emo people and they're all quite nice, so I really don't care if you have a problem with me when I stereotype something.

3) Don't expect frequent updates. This is below other fics and schoolwork on my priority list.

And 4) Expect sarcasm. (And don't panic!)

Without further ado, the fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. But you knew that.

EDIT: Thank you to Lilly for pointing out that there was an error and Chapter 8 was mistakenly placed instead of this chapter. It's been fixed now.

BEFORE WE START OUR FIC... WE BRING YOU A QUICK MESSAGE FROM DOLORES UMBRIDGE BY ORDER OF THE MINISTER OF MAGIC CONCERNING THE SEVENTH BOOK AND CANON.

"Hem, hem."

Dolores Umbridge sat at her desk. Pictures of cats were plastered all over the walls, but the room was otherwise unremarkable. It was rather pink, though. She liked the color pink. No clue why, you'd have to ask her. I think it's because –

"Hem, hem."

Right. Sorry. I'll let you get to your shindig.

"Thank you." Umbridge coughed. "Now, if you are reading this, clearly you are intending to read this parody fanfiction written by the individual known as the Author. Whether you are a new reader or an old reader, the Minister has informed me that he finds it essential that I bring to your attention one small detail."

Umbridge cleared her throat and unraveled a large scroll of paper. "Artistic Decree Number Fifty-Four: the Minister of Magic wishes for it to be known to all readers of this fanfiction that the first seven chapters take place from the end of Half-Blood Prince and ignore the events of Deathly Hallows. However, starting with chapter eight this story will deal directly with the events of Deathly Hallows. Thus, for all intents and purposes, it is in compliance with mainstream canon, yet still AU. So, in effect, the Minister wishes for readers to consider this fic AU, which, in all honesty, you would anyways."

She smiled. "Thank you. That will be all. Enjoy the story."

One: It's Snake-Man!

- - -

It was cold, dark, and raining outside Number Four, Privet Drive. The weatherman had predicted another dry day but the author of this fanfiction decided that rain was much more dramatic. We're talking Oscar dramatic. Dryness? Not so much.

Harry Potter was sitting against his bed, and was very angry (of course). There is no need for introduction to Harry Potter for if you did not already know who he was, then you would not be reading this. Of course.

Well, anyway. Harry was angry, very angry. His anger was directed at several things: Dumbledore, Snape, Lestrange, Voldemort, Dumbledore, fate, Snape, Snape, and Snape once more, just for kicks. Harry did not like Snape, but you already know this too. If you did not know this, you are just immensely dense.

But then… Harry stewed over the fact that – well, you know what happens here. There's character development (gasp) that involves Harry either a) coming to a revelation about his love life, b) deciding he hated Dumbledore and now would aim to kill him (who cares if Dumbledore was already dead – it could be pre-HBP), c) having a vision about a mysterious American witch who is perfect in every way coming to Hogwarts (who is incidentally named Mary Sue), or d) just being angry. Time is money, as they say, so the author (now referred to as the Author – capitalization means that the person is important) decided to skip over this. Now comes the plot (another gasp).

And of course, the Author completely forgets the fact that Harry might not be angry. But this is angst. Or something resembling it.

Harry was busy vowing to avenge Dumbledore (who he might just hate if the Author chose to add that twist) when someone popped up behind him.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry glared at Ron Weasley, his best friend and fellow Gryffindor. Ron Weasley does need some introduction, because people might've forgotten who he is. He's not that important, anyway.

"Ron!" snapped Harry angrily. "Can't you see I'm being angsty?"

"Er…" Ron scratched his head dumbly, for apparently most authors thought that he was missing most of his brain cells. "Wait a minute, wasn't that last year after Sirius died?"

"How dare you!"

This was followed by a scene of violence and girlish screams, which the Author is far too lazy to write. Instead, we shall flash forward to when Hermione intervened at a convenient time.

"Harry, stop strangling Ron!" intervened Hermione conveniently in a timely fashion. "Ron, stop screaming!"

"Sorry, 'Mione," said Ron apologetically.

"Don't call me 'Mione."

"Sorry." He rubbed his neck gingerly. "Surely you can explain why we're here. I've completely forgotten, which will lead to you giving readers a convenient recap of the events of the sixth book."

"Don't call me Shirley, either." Hermione sighed deeply. "Well, if you've forgotten, Ron, you and I are here because, as we said to Harry in the last pages of the Half-Blood Prince…"

At this point Harry stopped paying attention. His mind wandered to darker topics… how Sirius had died, how Dumbledore had died, how Snape was still living, how Dudley was still living…

Tears escaped from his eyes and dropped to the floor dramatically.

"Harry! Stop crying, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione tapped her foot on the ground expectantly. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

"Yes?"

"No! All you do is cry and brood!"

"Now, that's not fair, Hermione," said Ron, shooting a reassuring look at Harry that clearly said, "Don't worry, mate, I'll screw this up even more." "There was also that time Harry and I got high on gillyweed a few nights back."

Fond memories filled Harry's head, kicking out a few of the cobwebs that had resided within. Oh, that had been a glorious night…

"Yes, Ronald, you should be very proud of yourself," drawled Hermione sarcastically "Really, this has been hellish! You two have been acting out of character ever since we got here!"

"It could be Dursley's cooking," offered Ron. "It's not that great."

Hermione groaned. "No, it isn't! Do you even remember what happened at Bill and Fleur's wedding?"

"Er…"

"So, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley brightly as she passed him the pudding, "how are you doing?"

"Horrible," Harry growled as he wiped at his eyeliner irritably with a napkin. "The depths of my heart are dark and bloody."

Mrs. Weasley looked taken aback. "Well… that's nice."

"Ron!" yelled Ginny from the other room. "Stop stealing my makeup! Harry can go buy his own if he wants to be emo!"

At the thought of Ginny his knees buckled. Oh, Ginny…

"Stop thinking about Ron's little sister."

"Yeah," Ron said, catching on. "Stop thinking about my little sister!"

"I wasn't!" Harry protested defensively. "I was… er… thinking about how to steal Aunt Petunia's makeup!"

"Oh, God, Harry, not the makeup," Hermione groaned. She rubbed her eyes wearily. "You've been acting emo ever since Dumbledore's funeral!"

Harry stood angrily. "It's not my fault if my heart is barren and desolate! It's not my fault if you guys don't understand that my soul has been crushed by the weight of so many expectations!"

"Here we go again," muttered Ron.

"Harry, stop it," Hermione demanded. "Besides, most of the emo bands out there won't exist for another six or seven years. I don't even know how you got started on this. Probably some mistake of the Author's, no doubt."

At this point a beam of light struck Hermione and she swore.

"OW!" She rubbed the back of her head furiously. "Would you stop doing that? It's a free country, and I can insult you if I like!"

Lightning flashed warningly outside the window. The fug on the window contorted itself into an angry face, and she sighed.

"All right, all right. The Author is great and should never be criticized. His story is the best."

Where the angry face had been a smiley face replaced it, and she rolled her eyes.

"Git." Lightning hit a tree outside, causing it to fall on an unsuspecting squirrel. "Er, I mean, great!"

"Wow," said Ron admiringly, "the Author sure is powerful."

"Yes, he is," stated Hermione seriously. "But anyway, where was I?"

Harry shrugged. "You were ranting about how I was acting out of character."

"Oh. That." She put her hands on her hips and drew up to her full height, which was approximately a foot less than that of Harry's. "Well, Harry James Potter, you and Ron have been acting very out of character lately! You've been dark and bitter when we know that you got over that in HBP, and Ron has been acting even dumber than normal, something that I didn't think was possible."

"Yeah!" agreed Ron dumbly.

"See?" She shook her head. "We have to do something about this. If you guys go on acting out of character, who knows how this story could end? I'd be marrying Draco, Ron would be six feet under, and you'd be in love with some hopelessly perfect American girl!"

"You're right, Hermione," Harry said gravely. "This is very serious. If we don't do something, you'll marry Draco!"

"And my life will be at stake!" offered Ron, hoping someone would pick up on it.

"Hush, Ron. We need to focus on the important things."

Hermione clucked her tongue in a mother-like fashion. "And what about the American girl?"

Harry feigned a look of innocence. "Yes, that. It would be horrible if I married an amazingly attractive, perfect girl. I shudder at the mere thought of it!"

"Of course you do." Sarcasm laced Hermione's words.

"But how are we going to get back in character?" asked Ron.

"That's simple," said Hermione. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "We have to find the Author and force him to rewrite this fic."

Ron gasped. "But… but…" He stopped and scratched his head. "Erm, what?"

"Don't worry, Ron, you couldn't possibly understand it," Harry said soothingly, patting his friend on the shoulder. He smiled as he quietly admired his nail polish. It was a dark green, which wasn't exactly a dark purple, but it really did accentuate his eyes –

"Harry, stop it."

"Oh. Sorry, Hermione." He removed his hand from Ron's shoulder and stuck it back in his pocket, where the polish would sadly remain out of sight. "Hold on, why isn't the Author doing any more of that lightning stuff?"

"Probably went away from his computer," she replied. "In fact, I'm certain of it. Notice how the clouds outside have come to a standstill? They had been moving quite a bit earlier, but he stopped writing, so now they're kind of –"

"Comatose," Harry finished.

Hermione's eye twitched, and he knew that she wanted to correct him. "If it's possible for clouds to be comatose, then yes."

Ron pressed his face up against the window, his eyes widening. "Bloody hell, those are big and dark clouds!"

"They represent the darkness of my soul," said Harry dramatically.

At this point Hermione slapped him so hard that he was thrown against the wall.

"Ow!"

"That's what you get," she said with a pleased smile.

"What are those called, 'Mione?" asked Ron obliviously.

"Clouds?" came the muffled and perplexed voice of Harry from his position under a pile of books that Hermione had thrown on top of him.

"Don't call me 'Mione," said Hermione dangerously. "But besides that, that could have been an intelligent question, Ron. Those aren't just clouds. Those are Clouds of Foreboding… from the looks of it, Ominous Clouds of Foreboding."

"Oh." Ron traced the smiley face absently with his fingers. "And that means…"

"Something bad's going to happen soon," she answered.

"How do you know all of this?" asked Harry, having finally thrown the books off of him.

"I read it in Writing for Idiots," she said. "After you both started acting out of character, I figured that would have the answer. In fact, it's in my bag, if you want to read it."

"I'll pass."

"I thought you might." She shook her head disappointedly. "I don't know too much yet, but I've got a basic grip on everything. Maybe I'll tell you later, when we go off to find the Author."

Ron whimpered. "But won't it be…"

"Difficult, Ron. The word you're looking for is 'difficult'."

"Yeah. Won't it be difficult to find the Author? I mean, we have to find the… er…"

"We have to find the Horcruxes, too, you mean," Hermione completed.

"Yeah. Those."

"Well," she said with a sigh, "I don't think we'll be able to go off to find the Horcruxes with an emo hero and a sidekick with the intelligence of a flea. So, we're going to have to find the Author first."

"This is all some scheme of Voldemort!" exclaimed Harry furiously. "He's sensed the darkness of my heart and has used this Author to destroy us all!"

Hermione deadpanned. Ron sneezed.

"Well, you could be right, Harry," she said carefully. "But I doubt it. Voldemort is too ignorant to think of something like this. Although this does make our Horcrux hunt harder."

"But how are we going to find the Author?" inquired Ron.

"It's going to be hard, I'll admit," stated Hermione. "We're going to have to ask around, and possibly have to go into some very dangerous places. There are two things that I know of that are possibly the most terrifying things on this Earth, but I fear we shall have to encounter them."

"What are they, Gandalf?" Ron asked.

"Hermione, Ron." She shot him an odd look and continued. "They are…"

She looked from side to side before leaning forward and whispering something so low that Harry could barely hear it.

"The Internet… and the Fandom."

Ron screamed and darted under the bed. Harry blinked. Hermione bit her lip irritably.

"Ron, do you even know what those are?"

"No!" he yelled. "That's why they're so terrifying!"

"Well, at least you got that bit."

"What are these… Internets and Fandoms?" asked Harry timidly.

What Hermione would say he would never know. At that moment lightning struck three times outside the bedroom, hitting three trees (that incidentally fell on three separate squirrels). Ron screamed again, Harry blinked again, and Hermione just stared.

"DAMN IT, BOY!" Uncle Vernon's voice floated into the small bedroom violently. "WHAT'D YOU DO THIS TIME?"

"I DIDN'T DO THAT!" Harry yelled.

"I KNOW YOU HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT!" Uncle Vernon roared.

"WHY ARE WE YELLING?" asked Ron loudly, his head poking out from under the bed.

"TELL THAT IDIOT FRIEND OF YOURS TO SHUT UP!"

"I JUST MIGHT DO THAT!" screamed Harry angrily.

"GOOD!"

"GOOD!"

"GOOD!" Ron repeated.

"Ron, shut up."

"Sorry."

Without warning, the doorbell rang, and Harry immediately knew it was an ominous sign of foreboding.

"BOY!"

"I'M INSIDE, DAMN IT!" Harry yelled. He ran his hands through his hair, which sadly was not stylized – Hermione had hidden scissors and any other sharp objects away as soon as he'd begun going through this new phase. "Sometimes, I just feel that they don't understand the bleak desolation of my soul, so they have to blame me for everything."

"Er…" Ron patted him awkwardly on the back. "It'll be all right, mate?"

"Harry, stop it," Hermione said. "You're scaring him. You're becoming part of a social group that doesn't even exist. It's 1997, after all."

"IS ANYONE GOING TO ANSWER THE DAMN DOOR?"

Harry growled. "YES, UNCLE VERNON!"

He stormed out of the room, muttering something fiercely ("You just don't understand the deep, dark pits of my heart!"). Hermione followed, but then stopped and sighed.

"Ron! That's our queue!"

"What? Oh."

And so the two sidekicks hurried into the hallway and down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Harry was all ready at the door, and prepared to open it.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "Wait! What if that was a Death Eater?"

"I don't care!" he said miserably. "Life is horrible! Sirius is dead!"

"Dumbledore, too!" piped up Ron brightly.

Harry shot him an annoyed look. "As I was saying, Sirius is dead! There's no reason for me to live anymore without my best friend! Maybe I want to die!"

"Best friend?" said Hermione skeptically. "What are we, next-door neighbors?"

"Hey," Ron said, rubbing his chin in deep thought. "Didn't George say that once?"

"Shut up, Ron," she barked. She glared at Harry. "Well, at least ask who it is!"

"Fine." He leaned his face against the door so that it was almost touching it. "Who is it?"

There was coughing and swearing on the other side of the doorway. "Er, Stan Shunpike! Yeah' tha's right, it's me, Stan Shunpike, conductor of the Knight Bus!"

"But Stan Shunpike's in prison!"

"Damn!" There was another cough. "I mean, I got out early! Woss your problem with that?"

"Nothing," said Harry defensively.

"Oh, yeah? Well, it sounds like you 'ave a problem with that, don' it?"

"No, it doesn't!"

"Well, I never! Years of loy'l service to the Bus, an' 'Arry Potter don' believe me."

"I believe you!" growled Harry angrily. "In fact, I'll prove it!"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't –"

But it was too late. Harry had all ready opened the door. Before them stood a tall figure, dressed in a soaked trench coat with a stylish (yet also soaked) Italian hat. His face was hidden in shadows.

"Come on in, Stan!" said Ron warmly.

"Thank 'oo," said the figure, doing just that. Water spilled down from his coat and onto the floor, and Petunia's shrieks could be heard from upstairs.

"Someone's spilled water on my floor! I CAN SENSE THESE THINGS!"

"Damn," muttered Harry.

"Thanks for yer 'ospitality," said the figure quietly. "But I'm afraid I'm gonna 'ave to, whadda they call it, 'violate yer trust'."

"Er…"

"CLEAN UP THAT SPILL RIGHT NOW!"

The foursome ignored her. The figure stepped forward and removed his dangerously stylish hat. The three unsuspecting students gasped.

"Voldemort!" gasped Harry.

"Lord Voldemort!" gasped Hermione.

"Snake-Man!" gasped Ron.

"That is one of my many names," agreed Voldemort with a nod. He smiled slightly. "In fact, in Albania they were quite fond of calling me that. Of course, I killed them all for their insolence."

At this he seemed to grow very dejected, his shoulders sagging considerably.

Harry placed a hand on his shoulder consolingly. "Is your heart dark and barren, too?"

"Harry! Stop it! This guy wants to kill you!"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks, Hermione."

"I'm not here to kill anyone," said Voldemort sadly. "Frankly, I'm somewhat insulted that you would think so. It's really not fair to judge people like that."

Hermione snorted. "Oh, you're right! Let's see, you've only tried to take over the Wizarding World twice, you've only killed a countless number of people, and you only discriminate against anyone not pure-blooded!"

"Yes, well, I'm hoping to change that," he said with a sigh. "It's a long story."

"We've got time," Ron said anxiously.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Voldemort said with an uncharacteristic smile. "Where to begin?"

"At the beginning?" Ron suggested.

"That sounds good." He sighed again. "So, I go to see my psychiatrist last week, right? I mean, I haven't seen him in what, fourteen years, so I figure I'm due for a visit. I go in and he does his little examination, and he says to me, 'Tom, you're an egomaniac with a tendency to ruin lives and generally do evil deeds.' Now, I have to say, this somewhat shocked me at first. I went into a figurative bubble in my chambers. No Death Eaters were allowed in. I was very depressed. Let's just say that a lot of low-fat ice cream was consumed, and many daytime soap operas were watched."

"Poor thing," said Ron sympathetically.

"It was then, during a particularly tumultuous episode of some Muggle television show, that I realized what I must do." Voldemort paused for dramatic effect.

"Not be evil?" Harry proposed.

"Well, that," agreed the Dark Lord, "and make peace with my greatest enemies. Seeing as Dumbledore's dead and most '80s rock groups are disbanded, you're the only one left on the list, Harry."

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Well, that's great. Hope to see you later, then! Bye!"

"Wait!" pleaded Voldemort. "I need your help. I'm also trying to right all of my wrongs. Apparently, it's a long list, so there's no doubt I'll need assistance."

Harry laughed. "You really want me to help you?"

"Um… yeah?"

"We'll help you!" blurted out Hermione. Harry looked at her in disbelief, but she continued on anyway. "That is, if you'll help us. We're… sort of on a quest, too."

"A quest?" Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "What kind of quest?"

"Well, if you can't tell all ready, Harry and Ron are out of character," said Hermione. "You appear to be, too. Some author has evidently made a mistake. If we want to fix this, we're going to have to find the author and force them to rewrite us."

Voldemort scratched his chin. "Hm… it's not a bad idea! Such a feat would certainly atone for some of my sins!"

"But not all of them," Ron reminded him. "There's a lot, mind you."

Hermione ignored him. "So it's a deal, then?"

"It's a deal."

She extended her hand to him. "Been a pleasure doing business with you, Lord Voldemort."

"Same to you," he said, taking her hand relucantly and shaking it. "But don't call me Voldemort. I would like something with more positive connotations. Tommy, perhaps."

"Fine. Been a pleasure doing business with you, Tommy."

"Thank you."

"Just wondering," stated Harry, "how'd you do that Stan Shunpike accent?"

Voldemort – er, Tommy – grinned. "It's a gift. I've been doing voices ever since I was a wee tyke. Why, there was this one time back in 'Nam that…"

There was a scream from upstairs and the four were forced to cover their ears.

"CLEAN UP THAT SPILL!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry called, rolling his eyes. He motioned to the kitchen. "Ron, get me a towel. It's time we cleaned up this mess."

Ron obediently walked off to the kitchen, muttering excitedly.

"Wow," they heard him say, "that was the most dramatic thing ever!"