A/N:  This is the final edit.  Endnotes and credits follow.

           

Summary:  Uh-oh ... the characters from the Harry Potter novels have gotten themselves unionized.  A world in which Voldemort is kind, Mad-Eye Moody is a dirty old man, and Lucius is an idiot.

           

Rating:  Strong PG-13, for random swearing and sexual innuendo

           

Disclaimer:  If I owned any part of the “Harry Potter” franchise, my cat would probably be enjoying gourmet, special order cat food and not Purina ...

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

The UMFC Chronicles, A Collection of Harry Potter Parodies

 

by:  Hayseed ([email protected])

 

 

 

Episode One:  The Trouble with Sirius

 

Episode Two:  It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad -- Oh, Forget It

 

Episode Three:  It Happened One Horrible, Rainy Afternoon in October

 

Episode Four:  Bringing Up Lucius

 

Episode Five:  Hush, Hush, Sweet Albus

 

Episode Six:  A Disgruntled Slytherin in the Goblin King’s Court

 

Episode Seven:  My Fair Dobby

 

Endnotes and Footnotes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Trouble with Sirius...

 

 

“All right, all right,” Hermione Granger shouted into the din.  “I’m calling this meeting to order.  Shut up, everyone!”

 

Slowly, grudgingly, the fifteen people or so quieted.  A few of them gave her baleful glares, but most of them simply waited complacently for her to continue.

 

“Right.  Here on this nth day of August, we call this eighteenth meeting of the UMFC to order.”  She tapped her gavel smartly on the podium.  “Anyone need to hear the minutes of the last meeting?  And stop that, Mad-Eye,” she said preemptively, pointing the gavel at a strangely innocent looking fellow seated at the front.  “Just because you’ve got that ridiculous magic eye doesn’t mean you should use it to look at other people’s knickers.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Mad-Eye protested.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Sure.  Minutes, anyone?”

 

“I’m certain everyone remembers what happened, Miss Granger,” Severus Snape said smoothly from her left.  “No need for minutes.”

 

She pinned him with an accusing look.  “You forgot to take notes again, didn’t you?”

 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for annoying a professor,” Severus barked.

 

“Ah-ah, Severus,” Ron Weasley called from somewhere in the middle of the group.  “No taking points in meetings.  That’s in the um-fuck charter!”

 

“For the last time, Ron, quit calling it ‘um-fuck!’” Hermione shouted at him.  “It’s U-M-F-C.  Union of Mistreated Fictional Characters.  An acronym.”

 

“It looks like ‘um-fuck,’” Ron muttered, folding his arms and looking recalcitrant.  “You come up with the worst acronyms, Hermione.  We never should’ve let you talk us into this.  Why are you president, again?”

 

“I ran unopposed,” she replied smugly.

 

Lucius Malfoy stood up and glared at her.  “You did not!” he retorted.  “I ran as well.”

 

“Lucius, your one and only campaign promise was, and I quote, ‘To help our Dark Lord emerge victorious over that Potter brat.’” Hermione said.  “Not even Voldemort voted for you.”

 

The person in question coughed a bit and shifted in his seat as Lucius scowled down at him.  “What?” Voldemort asked innocently.  “I didn’t think you could properly represent our interests to the Authors.  Even that old fool Dumbledore would do a better job.”

 

“Did I hear my name?” Albus Dumbledore asked, coming out of a slight doze.  “Are we out of lemon drops?”

 

Harry Potter, seated to Albus’ right, just elbowed him in the side.  “Go back to sleep, sir.  You’re not missing anything.  Hermione and Lucius are just fighting again.  Maybe she’ll break his nose like last meeting!”

 

“But we’ve got plenty of lemon drops,” Albus said doubtfully.

 

“Plenty, Professor,” Harry replied with only a slight sigh.  At least it was lemon drops again.  Last meeting, Albus had fretted over the absence of something called ‘Skittles.’  Harry had never heard of such things--he hoped fervently that the next book was finished soon; it would be nice to have a useful Dumbledore for a bit.

 

“Enough!” Hermione cried up front, banging her gavel again for good measure.  “We’ve gone off agenda again.  So, no minutes.  Maybe one day our secretary,” here she gave Severus a pointed glare, “will actually start remembering to take notes and we can have a proper reading.”

 

“You just wait until one of my evil-Snape fics,” Severus threatened.  “I’ll make sure to tie you up and leave you alone for five hours at least.”

 

“Promises, promises!” someone cried in the back.  It sounded a little like Ginny Weasley, but Hermione quickly put that thought out of her head.

 

“All right,” she repeated.  “Agenda.  How about old business?  Any of that to talk about?  Minerva, how did your negotiations go?”

 

Minerva McGonagall stood up stiffly, adjusting the tip of her hat until it was to her satisfaction.  “Quite well, actually,” she said.  “The Authors I met with agreed to a good third of our terms.  They’ve agreed that we only have to actually show up for five fics a week, which is a lot better than the previous twelve, and they said we’ll be getting the paperwork for our dental insurance any day now.  They did turn down young Tom Riddle’s request flat, however.  Sorry about that, Tom--I know you were really keen to get that passed.”

 

“I just don’t like how they watch me when I’m naked,” Tom said in a low voice, eyes firmly focused on the floor.  “I mean, I don’t mind the sex or anything, I just...”

 

“They did agree to stop watching you in the shower, though,” Minerva told him.  “That’s something, at least.”

 

“Small battles, people,” Hermione said from her podium.  “Those are the only ones we can hope to win.  Any other old business?”

 

Lucius moved to the front of the room and cleared his throat, looking mightily self-important.  “Ah, yes.  I’d like to address my request for a vote-of-no-confidence in our esteemed president--“

 

“Lucius, give it up,” Severus said tiredly.  “No one wants you for president.  It would be better for everyone here if you left your megalomania in your private thoughts where it belongs.”

 

“But I have campaign promises this time!” Lucius protested, waving a sheaf of cards in his right hand.  “I spent all night on them.  Let’s see...here’s one...’If elected, I promise to have that drink machine out in the hallway properly repaired for once.’  There, isn’t that good?”  He beamed at his audience.

 

Draco Malfoy buried his face in his hands.  “Father, you’re embarrassing me,” he hissed.

 

“Like that isn’t a common occurrence,” Ron said with a smirk.

 

“Oh, go root around in a Salvation Army box,” Draco shot back, not bothering to look at him.

 

“So...no old business,” Hermione said hastily, cutting off the Malfoys as quickly as she could.  “On with the agenda, then.  What about new business?  New business, anyone?”

 

Harry stood and raised his hand.  “I’ve got some of that.”  He paused and blushed as everyone looked at him expectantly, uncomfortable with that many pairs of eyes watching him at once.  He was beginning to understand why young Tom didn’t like taking off his clothes in front of the Authors.  “Uh...it’s Sirius, you see.”

 

Severus blinked.  “Isn’t he dead?”

 

“Harry’s got the floor,” Hermione hissed, kicking his shin.

 

“Well, I thought he was dead, too,” Harry said slowly.  “But the thing is, I don’t think many of the Authors are very happy with that, and they’re still writing about him.  So...”

 

“So...?” Severus echoed irritably.

 

“What Harry’s trying to say is that I’m still alive,” Sirius Black said, walking into the meeting and seating himself casually beside his godson.  “Well...mostly.”

 

“What d’you mean, mostly?” Hermione asked, breaking her own rules.  “And you’re late, you know.”

 

“Sorry...got caught up in a Mary Sue fic,” Sirius replied with a dirty grin.  “And what I mean is that when enough Authors are writing about me, I’m actually quite alive.  Imagine my surprise to wake up safely in my own bed after I’d died.  But I’m not alive all the time.  During the slower periods, I die again.”

 

“Good Lord, that must be unpleasant,” she said thoughtlessly.

 

Harry broke in.  “It’s damned inconvenient, s’what it is,” he said irritably.  “I’m sick of tripping over a dead body when I get up at night to go to the loo.  And the first couple of times it happened, I cried buckets.”

 

“So what do you want us to do about it?” Draco asked coldly.

 

“What do you think, moron?” he retorted.  “I want to talk to the Authors--get Sirius into one state or another.  Permanently.  I mean, She’s already made a decision--She wants him dead.  And the Authors need to make one as well.”

 

“That’s a helluva thing, Potter,” Voldemort said.  “I don’t know if um-fuck is up for that.”

 

“U-M-F-C,” Hermione said through grit teeth.

 

“Yeah, I agree with Moldy over there,” Mad-Eye said with a little wave toward Voldemort.  “That’s a huge request.  Either they’ve got to quit writing about Black entirely or they’ve got to all agree to ignore canon.  No way that one will fly.”

 

“Maybe if you just explain the situation to the Authors yourself, Sirius,” Molly Weasley said.  “That could help--if they love you enough to keep writing about you, then they might listen to you.”

 

There was an expectant pause.

 

“Sirius?”

 

“He’s gone off again,” Harry said, poking his godfather’s cold forearm.  “Stone dead.”

 

“Bugger.”  This from Ron.

 

“Does the dead body have to stay in the meeting?” Lucius asked, distaste written all over his face.  “It’s got to be against um-fuck charter.”

 

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Harry spat.  “He’s my godfather and he’s staying.  Besides, he might wake up.  And what’s more, you didn’t even bat an eye when Remus attended a meeting in his werewolf form, so what do you have against this?”

 

“It’s actually Narcissa,” he admitted.  “The Authors have been particularly kinky with her this week and she’s got a bit of a necrophilia thing at the moment.  Murder on my ego.  After all, if I say so myself I happen to be one of the best--“

 

“Father!” Draco wailed, covering his ears with his hands.  “You’ll bring the nightmares back!”

 

Severus leaned over to Hermione.  “I think the Malfoys have been showing up for too many fics,” he said confidentially.  “Been sodomized one too many times...that sort of thing.”

 

She nodded at his assessment.  The entire Malfoy family had only become stranger and more deviant as the years passed.  Draco had been almost normal once, but he was nearly as sex-crazed as the rest of them now.

 

“You know,” Minerva began thoughtfully, employing her copious amount of tact to studiously ignore Draco and Lucius, “we ought not to approach the Authors without a suggestion of our own regarding Sirius, anyway.”

 

“How so?” Severus asked, interest piqued.

 

She coughed a bit and spoke louder.  “Well...if we’re asking them to make a drastic decision like that, we ought to make sure we’re happy with it as well.  Which do we want, alive or dead?”

 

“There are merits to either,” Voldemort said.  “And let me tell you, I’ve been killed enough in fanfics to know that reincarnating is a painful business.  And then there are the afterlife flashbacks...and the funeral flowers to be returned...right messy.”

 

“Alive,” Harry said staunchly.  “I don’t have a canon godfather any more--it would be nice to have a fanfic one.”

 

“I’m with Harry,” Ron said.  “Sirius is awfully fun.”

 

“But what about canon?” Tom asked fretfully.  “She’s going to be fairly angry if She’s got an alive Sirius bouncing around when She wants him properly dead.”

 

“We could ask for him to be made a ghost,” Nearly Headless Nick offered from the very back of the room, near the coffee.  “That way She could have him dead and the Authors could have him in their stories.  Oh, and the drink machine’s broken again--it’s eating change.”

 

Mad-Eye shook his head.  “Nah...they won’t go for that.  They’ll want him fully alive.  From what I’ve heard, incubi are appalling lovers.”

 

“That’s merely a matter of taste,” Nick retorted haughtily.  There was a snicker from somewhere in the middle of the room that may or may not have belonged to Draco.

 

Hermione stepped around her podium.  “Maybe we ought to wait for Sirius to, er, return from Beyond and then ask him what he wants.  It is his life and death, after all.”

 

“Makes sense,” Harry said thoughtfully.

 

Nods went around the room.

 

“Second, then,” Severus said boredly.

 

“Right,” Hermione declared, stepping behind the podium once more.  “Motion nominated and seconded.  All in favor?”

 

There was an uninterested chorus of “Ayes.”

 

“Opposed?”

 

“Nay!” Lucius defiantly cried into the silence, proud of the fact that he’d opposed every single motion proposed in a meeting.  Even the one suggesting that they ask the Authors not to write any more cannibal fics.

 

“So, everyone in favor except for, as usual, Lucius.  Did you write that down, Severus?” she asked as she banged her gavel again.

 

He frowned down at the empty table.  “I don’t have a quill,” he said petulantly.  “Um-fuck doesn’t have sufficient funds to properly supply the secretarial position.  No, wait...U...M...F...C.  Does that please our Madam President?”

 

“I think you’d benefit greatly from some serious therapy,” Hermione said, shoving a piece of parchment and a quill at him.  “Now...write.”

 

“We all would,” he replied with a glare, scribbling viciously on the parchment.

 

Hermione looked over his shoulder, ignoring the few indignant shouts at his last comment.  “Hey!” she cried.  “You can’t call someone a ‘self-righteous bitch’ in the minutes.  That’s official record!”

 

The indignant shouts turned to snickers.

 

“Okay, so we’re going to ask Sirius what he thinks about his situation,” Ron shouted over the laughter.  “Great.  Is there anything else?  Only I’ve got to go find some butter and a lot of cherries for my next fic.”

 

Harry groaned, but Draco perked up.  “You might try the market down the street,” he suggested.  “They’ve usually got lots of cherries, although I find that cantaloupe often works better as an erotic fruit.”

 

“The Author must really like cherries,” Ron replied with a small shrug.  “They’re not so bad, but I’ve got to pull the stems out first, else that would get uncomfortable fast.  Not to mention frightfully difficult to remove.”

 

“Uh...” Hermione interjected hastily.  “As much as we all would like to rehash strange fetishes, you have a good point.  Has anyone got anything else...except for Lucius?” she said, spying his opening mouth.

 

Lucius closed his mouth with a loud ‘humph’ and settled firmly in his seat for a good sulk.

 

“No?  Well, then, motion to close?”

 

“Seconded,” from Ron and Draco in a disturbing chorus.

 

“In favor?”

 

“Aye,” came the roar.

 

“I think we’ll skip the opposed, although if it will make Lucius feel better, Severus, you can note that he’s opposed to closing the meeting.”  Lucius’ scowl deepened.  “Anyway...I call this eighteenth meeting of UMFC closed.”  One last smart rap of the gavel.  “Oh, and don’t forget to leave some money for the coffee machine!” Hermione shouted over the rustling of exiting individuals. 

 

In one mass, they all moved to the door, save Hermione and Severus, still cleaning up the papers they’d scattered about at the front of the room in the course of the meeting, and Harry and the disturbingly still Sirius.

 

Severus frowned over at the pair.  “Do you...uh...need any help, Potter?” he asked gruffly.

 

Harry looked startled.  “Oh, no thanks, Professor.  He’ll come alive eventually and I don’t mind waiting.  He’s my ride and all.  Voldemort offered to take me, but I don’t care how nice he is outside of canon, he’s my archnemesis and that’s that.”

 

“Besides, he does always rather smell like rotting fish,” Hermione said thoughtfully, pocketing her gavel.  “Are you sure, Harry?  We can drop you off...”

 

“It’s all right, Hermione,” he said with a flap of his hand.  “Like I said, he’ll be back on his feet in the hour.  I brought along my copy of Pride and Prejudice to read just in case he died.  I met that Elizabeth Bennet in a crossover a few weeks ago--she’s great!”

 

“You don’t have a chance, Harry,” she replied with a laugh.  “Not only is she too old for you, you’re competing with Darcy and he’s one of the most romantic characters in history.  Sorry, chum.”

 

Harry blushed.  “I didn’t mean that,” he said hastily.  “I just...she’s really...”

 

“Don’t worry, Potter,” Severus told him with a knowing look.  “Everyone falls in love with Lizzy Bennet at some point.  Shut up,” he spat at a smirking Hermione.

 

“Turned you down flat, did she?” she asked innocently.

 

“That’s it,” he snapped, glare in full force.  “You’re sleeping in the wet spot until the end of eternity!”

 

Through Hermione’s splutters, Sirius’ eyes fluttered and opened.  With a loud yawn, he stretched and blinked a few more times.  “What did I miss?” he asked Harry.

 

He shrugged.  “We’ll take it to the Authors, but you’re doing all the talking and you need to decide whether you want to be alive or dead.  Oh, and Severus and Hermione are fighting again, but no one hit Lucius this week.”

 

“Pity,” Sirius replied.  “It makes him so hilariously indignant.  Maybe we should go ‘round after supper and give him a good one in the eye.  If I’m breathing, that is.”

 

“If you’ve dropped off, I can go do it for you,” Harry offered.

 

“Smashing.  Well, shall we?” he asked his godson with a raised eyebrow, standing and stretching again.  “I’m famished.  Dying a couple of times a day is hell on my metabolism.”

 

“Bye, Hermione,” Harry said cheerfully, following Sirius out of the room.  “I hope you don’t seriously maim Severus--it does put him in an awful mood the next day and we’ve got a Final Battle fic to do at nine.”

 

Severus and Hermione continued to stare balefully at each other for a few moments after the others had departed.  “I’m sorry I keep calling you a ‘bitch’ in the minutes,” Severus finally offered.

 

“And I’m sorry in general, I suppose,” she said vaguely, unwilling to submit.

 

“Hermione...” he warned.

 

“Oh, all right.  I’m sorry I insulted your manhood.  I can’t imagine why Elizabeth Bennet would turn you down, of all people,” she said in a saccharine voice.

 

He sighed.  “That’s as good as I’m going to get, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep,” she agreed cheerfully.  “Want to go to supper?  We can go over the revisions to the charter that I’ve worked out.”

 

“And then sex?” he asked hopefully.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Fine, but no Authors watching for once.  And it’s my turn to tie you up.”

 

 

 

 

 

It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad -- Oh, Forget It ...

 

 

“Excuse me,” a rather pale young man said as he poked his head into the room, “is this where we come for the UMFC meetings?  Only the flyer didn’t give the room number.”

 

“Oi, Neville!” Ron Weasley shouted from the vicinity of the coffee machines.  “Come on in--we’re just waiting on our Madam President to begin.  Glad you could make it!”

 

Neville Longbottom made his way nervously into the room where about sixteen people sat on rather rickety looking card chairs.  Oddly enough, an either dead or unconscious Sirius Black was propped inelegantly in a corner relatively near Harry Potter.  Trying desperately not to think too much on it, Neville scanned the room for an empty seat.  Unfortunately, there only appeared to be one.

 

“I know you,” Voldemort said with a surprisingly kind smile as he waved his hand at the empty seat on his left.  “I’ve had to kill you rather often, I think.”

 

“Not so much any more,” Neville managed without too much stammering, sliding into the chair and wrinkling his nose at the Dark Lord’s strange odor.  “And you’re...you’re...”

 

Voldemort smiled even more widely.  “Oh, I’m here for the same reason you are--Neville, is it?  Best interests of the characters and all.”  On his other side, Lucius Malfoy let out a rather rude snort and flipped his long hair over his shoulder.

 

Neville decided it might be best to remain silent. 

 

“How are you doing, then, Neville?” Voldemort continued, elegantly crossing one leg over another and shifting in his seat to watch him more closely.

 

Goggling, Neville tried to formulate an appropriate reply and utterly failed.  “I’m, uh...look,” he finally said desperately, “aren’t you supposed to be the epitome of evil and all?”

 

With another flap of his thin hand, Voldemort cocked his head and gave Neville a thoughtful look.  “Oh, I was,” he said in an earnest sort of voice.  “But then I realized two things.  First of all, in nearly every story I’ve ever been written into, do I get to rape, pillage and plunder?  No, I have to watch my loyal followers have all the fun.  What’s the point in being evil if you can’t enjoy it properly?”

 

He was afraid to ask but knew he couldn’t resist.  “And the second?” Neville prompted, feeling slightly sick as another burst of Voldemort’s body odor came wafting toward his nose.

 

“I didn’t have any friends,” he very nearly wailed.  “No one wants to spend time around the Darkest wizard of our time and I am very lonely, after all.”

 

Voldemort continued to look down at Neville with something akin to hope in his eyes.  Completely unwilling to offer to be the Dark Lord’s friend, Neville just fixed his gaze on his hands folded in his lap and prayed for the meeting to start very soon.

 

“Where is Hermione, then?” he heard Draco Malfoy ask Ron as he came back to reclaim his seat and hand the blond boy a cup of coffee.  “I’ve got better things to do than sit here waiting for the meeting to start.  And by the way, Weasley, this tastes like industrial sewage.”

 

“Have personal experience with sewers, then?” Ron retorted nastily.  “I have no idea where Hermione is.  Just keep in mind, though, that our inestimable Potions professor is also late.”

 

“Ron, we don’t need to hear about things like that,” Harry Potter said.  “And Albus, quit nosing around in my pockets.  I said I didn’t have any more Peppermint Toads, didn’t I?” he continued irritably.

 

Albus Dumbledore frowned and tugged agitatedly at his beard.  “I need them,” he mumbled, making another jab at Harry’s side.

 

“Isn’t it time for your nap?” Harry asked him.

 

“Oh, yes,” Albus replied distractedly, yawning a little.  “A nap would do me...”  And he trailed off, dropping into a light doze that caused everyone around him to let out a relived sigh.

 

The group gave the gently snoring Albus a worried look when the door slammed open, but he simply muttered a bit and scratched his nose, not waking up. 

 

A rosy-cheeked Hermione Granger walked briskly into the room, straightening her fluffier-than-usual ponytail as she sat her briefcase down beside the podium.  Severus Snape slouched in behind her, decidedly mussed--at least two of his shirt buttons appeared to be missing and he had what may or may not have been a love bite on the left side of his neck.  Flinging himself into his usual chair beside the president’s podium, he glared around the room, daring anyone to speak.

 

Predictably, Draco’s mouth was the only one that was functioning anywhere near properly.  “Rather late, are we?” he asked snidely.

 

“Please, no,” Ron groaned into the hands covering his face.  “Couldn’t you two not do that any time we might notice it?”

 

Ignoring them, Hermione sat a sheaf of papers on the podium and made a couple of notations on the top sheet with her quill.  “Right, I think we can start the meeting now,” she said stiffly.  “Is the secretary properly equipped?”

 

“If you have to ask, my dear...” someone that sounded enough like Sybil Trelawney to cause Hermione a slight shudder cried from the back of the room, which promptly erupted into roaring laughter.

 

With a fierce blush, she banged her gavel several times, trying to shout over the din.  “Shut up, everyone!”

 

After a few moments, the crowd fell silent enough to actually notice the door swinging open again as Ginny Weasley came stoutly marching into the meeting, nearly twenty minutes late.  Hermione tactfully refrained from pointing this out to the younger girl, aware of her own rather tardy appearance.

 

Harry, always polite and especially to his best friend’s younger sister, offered Ginny a pleasant smile.  “Afternoon,” he said warmly.

 

Coming to a standstill beside his chair, she scowled deeply.  “Don’t you give me that, Harry Potter,” she spat.

 

Mystified, he exchanged a confused look with Ron.  “What?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about.”

 

By now, the entire room was watching with avid interest.  Even Severus was regarding the pair with frank curiosity, allowing the ink from his quill to drip onto the parchment on the table.

 

“Actually,” Harry admitted.  “I don’t.  Are you angry?”

 

Her face reddened and her scowl impossibly deepened.  “Am I...?” she began, apparently so furious that she was beyond words.  “If you don’t have the decency to...aargh!” she cried, hands clenching and unclenching and heading dangerously toward his neck.

 

“I’m sorry!” he shouted suddenly, ducking her twisting fingers.

 

Ginny’s eyes narrowed as she continued to glare at him.  “For what?”

 

He thought for a moment and came up blank.  “But I’m sorry,” he repeated hopefully.  “That’s what counts, isn’t it?”

 

“Not if you don’t know what you’re apologizing for!” she yelled, hands making another grab for his throat that he just barely missed.

 

“Look,” Hermione interrupted testily.  “I’m sure this is important and everything, but if you two don’t mind, I’d quite like to get this meeting started.  We’ve all got better places to be.”  There was a snigger from the middle of the room.  “Shut it,” she replied, pointing her gavel rather menacingly at the crowd. 

 

There was silence for five whole beats as Ginny made her way to the back of the room, blatantly ignoring Harry, who was shrugging at a wide-eyed Ron and a smirking Draco.  Albus snuffled a bit in his sleep and tilted his head so that it rested on Mad-Eye Moody’s shoulder.  Momentarily discomfited, Mad-Eye eventually just gave an odd little one-shouldered shrug and returned his attention to leering up at the podium once more.

 

“Good,” Hermione said.  “Finally.  I’d like to call this twenty-third meeting of the UMFC to--Mad-Eye!” she roared, breaking off her speech and glaring over the lectern at him.

 

“What?” he asked innocently.

 

“I know what you’re doing,” she said through gritted teeth.  “Quit it.  My knickers are none of your business.”

 

She could have sworn she heard him mutter, “What knickers?” but made a cavalier attempt to ignore it and plunge forward.  “Anyway...this meeting’s called to order.  First point of business, minutes from the last meeting.  Where did you put them, Severus?  You did take notes last time, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did,” he retorted airily.  “I put them in your briefcase, Madam President.”

 

Rummaging around for a few moments, she held up a single sheet of parchment covered with Severus’ tiny scrawl with a triumphant grin.  “This is the first time we’ll have minutes to read,” she told the audience, beaming.

 

“How thrilling,” Ron said sarcastically.  “Um-fuck minutes.  I’m so excited I don’t know what to do.”

 

“UMFC,” she corrected automatically.  “Here we go.  Three-oh-six, meeting called to order.  Three-oh-eight, president hits secretary after he admits to losing last week’s minutes.  Three-twelve, Tom Riddle asks Lucius Malfoy to please take his hand off of...let’s skip down a bit,” Hermione said hastily, skimming the document.  “Ah...three-twenty, Nearly-Headless Nick reports successful committee meeting concerning the request for proper pre-modern era canon character development.  Three-twenty-nine, Ron Weasley is picking his nose and the president ought to be...good Lord, Severus,” she cried, flushing.  “You can’t write that in the minutes!”

 

“I was bored,” he replied, pushing his hair out of his face and managing to smear ink on his cheek in the process.  “And doesn’t it sound interesting?”

 

“It’s not proper,” she said in a dignified tone, folding up the parchment and swiftly tucking it into her pocket.  “Not to mention that I don’t think it’s physically possible.  We’re done with the minutes,” she continued loudly.

 

“Come on, Hermione, what did he write?” Draco asked with a leer.

 

“You pervy bastard,” Ron cried, nudging Draco’s shoulder with his own.

 

With a loud cough, she rapped her gavel on the podium once more.  “Next point of order,” she said with a rather threatening look at both Draco and Ron, “old business.  Sirius, how are your negotiations with the Authors proceeding?”

 

“He’s dead right now,” Harry told her apologetically. 

 

“Dead?” Neville whispered, more to himself than not.

 

“But we met with the Authors last week and he presented his case,” he continued.  “And they said they’d get a vote together and let us know by next week.  They’re fairly certain they can keep him alive, though.  It’s just a matter of proper scheduling.”

 

“Excellent,” Hermione replied.

 

Neville couldn’t resist.  He put a timid hand up in the air.  “Erm...excuse me?” he asked quietly.  “Why is Sirius Black in the corner over there if he’s dead?”

 

Blinking, she turned to look at him.  “Neville?” she asked blankly. 

 

“I read the flyers you posted in the Common Room,” he said in response to her unasked question.

 

“All five hundred of them,” Ron sniggered.

 

Without hesitating, Hermione sent a Tickling Hex toward Ron and offered Neville her best grin.  “Hey, that’s great!  Everyone, Neville Longbottom’s showed up.  It’s his first meeting, so let’s all make sure to give him a warm welcome, all right?”

 

“Welcome to um-fuck, Neville,” Voldemort said obediently.

 

“Right,” she continued decisively, absently ducking the Jelly-Legs Jinx Ron shot her way once he’d recovered from her hex.  “Any other old business?  Minerva, if I recall, you had another meeting with the Author representatives.”

 

Clearing her throat, Minerva McGonagall stood with a short nod.  “Negotiations are progressing slowly, but in a positive direction.  We should be able to sign all of the new contracts in the next three months.  Oh, and they’ve agreed to add petrol to the List.”

 

Tom Riddle heaved an audible sigh of relief, but Ginny Weasley’s hand started waving in the back of the room.  “What List?” she asked loudly.

 

“You know...” Hermione said impatiently.  “The List of Items Not To Be Used As Sex Toys.  It’s unpleasantly short right now, but we’re working on that.  I’ve got a copy of it somewhere if you want to see.  After the meeting, of course.”

 

“Are hazelnuts on the List?” Ginny asked in response.

 

Confused, she shook her head.  “I don’t think so.”

 

“Good,” Ginny replied with satisfaction.  “The next fic I’m in with you,” she told Harry viciously, “I’m going to slather you head to toe with hazelnut paste, tie you up, and leave you for Filch to find.”

 

“But...but I’m allergic!” Harry cried in horror.  “I’ll be covered in hives for a bleeding month!”

 

“Exactly,” she said with a wicked grin.

 

“What did I do?” he wondered out loud, shock written across his features.

 

Sniffing, Ginny folded her arms across her chest to intensify the effectiveness of her glare.  “You broke up with me!”

 

The confusion on Harry’s face deepened and Ron gave his friend an angry look.  “But, Ginny,” Harry protested.  “We’ve never gone out.”

 

She huffed and fell silent.

 

“Maybe,” Hermione said thoughtfully into the silence.  “Maybe we ought to add hazelnuts to the List.  If Harry’s allergic, I mean,” she continued hastily upon seeing a couple glaring faces in the crowd.

 

“Oh, yes,” Severus said with a long-suffering sigh.  “We must, of course, cater to the great Potter and fulfill his every whim.”

 

“How would you like to be covered in hives?” she asked nastily.  “I move to ask the Authors to add hazelnuts to the List.  Second, anyone?”

 

“Second!” Harry cried quickly.

 

“All right.  Motion moved and seconded.  All in favor?” Hermione asked.  A fairly loud chorus of “Ayes” followed.  “Opposed?”

 

Ginny Weasley shouted, “Nay!” at the top of her lungs.  Severus merely rolled his eyes and resumed scratching notes out on the parchment.

 

“One opposed, and the rest in favor,” she said.  “Right, then.  Motion carried.  Hey, wait a minute!  Is Lucius not here, then?”

 

With a start, Lucius Malfoy sat upright in his chair.  “I’m here,” he drawled.

 

Hermione’s brow furrowed.  “Are you...feeling all right, Lucius?” she asked in a voice notably lacking concern.

 

He regarded her curiously.  “Yes...”

 

“Only, you didn’t vote against the motion,” she said.

 

Lucius sighed and swiped at his forehead with a hand.  “Oh, yes,” he said mechanically.  “That’s right.  I oppose your stupid motion and I hate everyone in the room, but most especially you.  I’d also like to be President now, please.”

 

She exchanged a baffled look with an equally confused Severus.  Lucius Malfoy was strange, to be sure, but this was abnormal even by his standards.  “Oh, okay, Lucius,” she said hesitantly.  “No, then.  Go back to being quiet, I think.”

 

“That was too much at once, then,” Lucius said worriedly.  “Perhaps I ought to brag about my immense sexual prowess now.”

 

“No...no, that’s all right,” she said quickly.  “Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Lucius?”

 

“You haven’t made Draco cry even once this meeting,” Severus commented.  “And you haven’t tried to hit anyone either.”

 

Lucius looked over at a vaguely smiling Voldemort and narrowed his eyes.  “Do I hit him?” he asked, indicating the Dark Lord.

 

With a cough that may or may not have been a disguised laugh, Severus grinned.  “Not generally.”

 

“I think we should tie you up now,” Hermione told Lucius seriously.  “Uh...Voldemort, if you don’t mind?”

 

Still smiling somewhat, Voldemort easily pushed Lucius down in his chair and held him firmly while Hermione said the spell to wrap him up in tightly bound ropes.  Oddly, Lucius did not protest or swear once.  By this point, even Draco was looking confused over the situation and Ginny had stopped sending glares at Harry long enough to watch the scene unfold.

 

“You just sit there, Lucius, until we finish the meeting,” Hermione told him.  “And then we’ll figure out what to do with you.”

 

“Can I have a go?” Sirius Black asked, coming back to life suddenly.  “I haven’t hit him in more than three weeks.”

 

Neville jumped in his chair at the sight of the reanimated Sirius.  “What the...?”

 

“Don’t worry, lad,” Voldemort told him mildly.  “Sirius and the Authors are in the middle of a discussion about it.  Sometimes he’s dead and sometimes he’s not.  You get used to it.”

 

“Maybe you do,” Sirius shot back over the crowd.

 

Ron looked down at his watch and then looked up at Hermione with a highly irritated look on his face.  “D’you think we could finish this up soon?  We’ve been here for nearly an hour and I don’t think we’ve got much else to do.  Besides, if they have to stay cooped up in the same room much longer, I think Ginny might maul Harry.”

 

“He broke my heart!” she cried defensively.

 

“Ginny, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry protested.  “I’ve never...”

 

Skidding across the room, she came to stand beside him, face so close to his their noses were nearly touching.  “Just last week,” she said poisonously.  “You said you loved me and then you said you had to move on.  Just like that.  Not even three days later.  Damn it, Harry, I was saving myself for you!  Well,” she amended after a pause.  “Metaphorically, I mean.”

 

His face finally registered something akin to understanding.  “Ginny,” he told her quietly (although by this point the entire room was so focused on the conversation that even Lucius was watching them).  “Ginny, that was a story.  And it wasn’t even a well-written one.  I promise you that we’ve never been involved outside of a fic.  It’s easy to get mixed up, though, isn’t it?”

 

“We’ve never gone out,” she said suspiciously.

 

“Nope.”

 

“And you never said you loved me?”

 

“Not to my knowledge.”

 

Ginny brightened considerably.  “Well, that’s okay, then, I suppose.  I’m sorry I threatened you with hazelnuts, Harry.”

 

Again, he appeared confused.  “You mean, that’s it?”

 

“What’s it?” she asked.

 

“Not thirty seconds ago you were ready to nail me to the front door of Hogwarts and now...you’re happy?” Harry asked her.  “Ron, I think you might be right about girls.  Barking mad, every single one.”

 

Both Ginny and Hermione glared at him and Ron did his best to make himself as invisible as he could.  Draco clapped his shoulder.  “Excellent, Weasley.  I’d no idea your feet could fit that far inside your mouth.”

 

But Ron’s reply was cut off as Voldemort let out a rather high-pitched squeak and leapt out of his chair, pointing at the bound Lucius Malfoy and babbling something incomprehensible.  Wide-eyed, Hermione leaned in closer to the rather placid Lucius and touched his rapidly shortening hair with wonder.  “What’s happening to him?” she asked no one in particular.

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Severus asked snidely, walking over to Lucius himself and watching the blond’s hair darken.  “That’s not Lucius Malfoy.  Whoever it is has taken Polyjuice.”

 

“Polyjuice?” several people chorused.

 

“But who would want to pretend to be Lucius for an um-fuck meeting?” Mad-Eye asked blankly.

 

“I think I know,” Hermione said, pointing her wand at Not-Lucius’ throat.  “What’s your name?” she asked him.

 

Although he was rapidly turning into a she.  What was five minutes ago an uncharacteristically quiet Lucius Malfoy was now a rather nondescript female with fairly short dark hair and dark eyes, somewhere between twenty and thirty, wearing Malfoy’s robes.  She remained silent.

 

“I’ll pour Veritaserum down your throat in a heartbeat,” Hermione threatened.  “What is your name?”

 

The female sighed and rolled her eyes, muttering something unintelligible.

 

“What was that?” Draco asked, intrigued with the one who’d just been impersonating his father. 

 

The thud that was Sirius Black dying again went unnoticed as the woman spoke louder.  “I’m Mary Sue Potter-hajj, number 231,” she said with another sigh.

 

“Hajj?” Neville asked.

 

The girl shrugged.  “I went to Mecca once during the right time.  The Ka’ba is pretty nice.  It’s not important, though.”

 

“What are you doing here, Mary Sue?” Hermione spat.

 

“What do you think?” the girl retorted.  “I was sent to spy, of course.”

 

“And how did you obtain Lucius Malfoy’s hair?”

 

With a shudder, the Mary Sue refused to meet Hermione’s eyes.  “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

 

Turning away from the Mary Sue, she began to twiddle her wand between her hands nervously.  “So, what do we do with her?” she asked.

 

“She knows too much,” Mad-Eye pronounced.  “She’s got to be eliminated.”

 

“You want to kill her?” Harry asked, horrified.  “Why can’t we just Oblivate her?”

 

“Can we torture her?” Draco asked eagerly.  “I’ve got a whip with me.”

 

Ron looked simultaneously amazed and sickened.  “You brought a whip to an um-fuck meeting?  What were you planning to...no, wait.  I don’t want to know.”

 

“All of this is a moot point, you realize,” Severus interjected.  “At least, until we find out what sort of super powers this one’s got.”

 

“Super powers?” the Mary Sue echoed.

 

“Yeah, you know,” Ron told her.  “Like wandless magic or clairvoyance or control of the elements.  Come to think of it, why isn’t your hair purple or something?”

 

“Sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t know that was a requirement.”

 

“Your eyes aren’t even silver,” Draco chided.

 

The Mary Sue rolled her eyes.  “There are physical standards for Mary Sues now?  Jeesh.  And super powers?  Why don’t I have any super powers, then?”

 

Hermione blinked.  “No super powers?”

 

“I can write my name with my toes,” the Mary Sue offered.  “But that’s about it.”

 

“What sort of Author came up with you?” Draco asked derisively.

 

“I skipped fandoms,” she said.  “My Author wrote me into an X-Files fic that she never finished.  I got sick of waiting and then I heard that your fandom is more interesting.  So far, though, I haven’t been written into anything.  It’s not too bad, though.”

 

“She doesn’t have any super powers?” Harry asked faintly.  “Not even sex appeal?”

 

“Hell, Potter,” the Mary Sue replied, “I don’t even have a name.  Even in the only fic I was actually in, my Author never got around to naming me.  I was just Langley’s old college roommate that had shown up but hadn’t done anything interesting yet.”

 

Hermione sighed impatiently.  “While all of this is fascinating, I’m sure, it has relatively little to do with the fact that you’ve been sent to spy on us.”

 

“Hey, don’t blame me,” the Mary Sue protested.  “I just drew the short straw.  I had better plans this afternoon myself.  Gary Stu 91 and I were going to the beach.  Believe me, if I could have gotten out of shagging and poisoning Lucius Malfoy today, I would have.”

 

“Poisoned?” Draco wailed.

 

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped.  “I didn’t kill him, for Pete’s sake.  But he’ll probably sleep for the next three days or so.  Oh, and whatever Lucius says about his abilities...he’s lying through his teeth.”

 

“We know,” two-thirds of the room replied, Draco disturbingly included.

 

“In fact, if I manage to get out of this without being killed by old Trigger-Happy with the weird eye over there,” she continued with a pointed look at Mad-Eye, “I’m going to complain to the Guild.  If the Authors want to infiltrate your um-fuck or whatever it is, they can bloody well do it themselves.”

 

“UMFC,” Hermione corrected.  “What do you mean, ‘themselves?’”

 

The Mary Sue sighed exaggeratedly and struggled against her bonds a bit.  “What, do you think the Mary Sues are actually Authors?  We’re just characters, like you lot.  Only worse, ‘cause we don’t even have canon backstory to fall back on.”

 

“You don’t even have a name,” Harry reminded her helpfully.

 

Severus groaned, watching Hermione’s eyes widen as she processed this information.  He knew what was going to happen now.  “You mean you’re...oppressed?” she breathed.

 

“That isn’t the word I would have chosen,” the Mary Sue replied.  “But I guess so.  We’ve got a Guild, though, which is more than what you’ve got.  Although I’m sure I’ll be revoked now that I’ve told you about it.”

 

“Revoked?” Hermione echoed.  Severus winced at the pity in her tone--this could only get worse.  Hermione Granger couldn’t resist a pity case to save her life.

 

And here it came.  “You wouldn’t...say, take on a Mary Sue in your little um-fuck thing, would you?” the Mary Sue asked hopefully.  “Especially one that’s promised you as many Authors’ email addresses as she can remember and a full report on the workings of the Mary Sue Guild?”

 

Hermione’s eyes lit up.  “Email addresses?”  It was notoriously difficult for characters to obtain Author email addresses, so the Mary Sue had essentially offered the union her weight in gold in exchange for admission.  “As many as you can remember?”

 

“All of them,” the Mary Sue confirmed.  With a wand flick, Mary Sue’s bindings were released and she stood to offer Hermione her hand.  “Deal, then?”

 

“Agreed.”  And they shook on it.  Severus had a bad feeling about this.  “And hey, since you’re not an official Mary Sue anymore,” she continued, “you can pick a name now!”

 

“My own name?” the Mary Sue asked reverently.  “I hadn’t...I mean...d’you mean it?”

 

“Any name in the world, love,” Ron said cheerfully.

 

The Mary Sue thought for a moment.  “Agnes,” she said definitively.

 

“Agnes?” several people echoed in what could only be described as a painful tone.

 

“Agnes,” she repeated firmly.  “I’ve never heard of ‘Agnes’ being used as a Mary Sue name in a fic, so that’s me,” Agnes said.

 

“It’s, uh, certainly unusual,” Hermione said after a moment’s pause.  “And you’re certain, then, erm, Agnes?”  At Agnes’ confirming nod, she shrugged and made her way back over to the podium.  “Well, then, I think maybe we ought to end on that note.  Make sure to make Agnes feel welcome, everyone.  If no one’s got anything else, I move to close this meeting.”

 

“Finally!” Ron cried.  “I second!”

 

“All in favor?”

 

“Aye!” the entire room shouted, practically dashing for the exit.  Even the newly christened Agnes joined in the throng, striking up a conversation with Ginny Weasley as they left.

 

Neville hesitated in the doorway, watching Harry struggle with Sirius’ dead body.  “Oh, don’t worry, Neville,” Harry told him.  “He won’t be out long.”

 

“It’s just...strange,” he said with only a slight shudder.  “That whole meeting...”

 

“Oh, they’re not usually quite this bad,” Harry replied cheerfully.  “In fact, I think this might have been the worst one yet.  Even considering that no one got physically hurt.”

 

“Hurt?” Neville asked with wide eyes.

 

“It’s usually only Lucius or maybe Hermione, if he gets in a lucky shot,” he explained.  “It’s not a bad group, once you get used to it.  Even Voldemort’s not too bad, even if he is a bit creepy.”

 

“And he smells like fish,” he said absently.

 

Harry laughed.  “Welcome to um-fuck, Neville.”

 

Apparently Hermione had been listening to snippets of their conversation as she and Severus gathered up their papers and she made her way over to them at that.  “Yes, Neville,” she said, elbowing Harry in the ribs.  “Welcome to UMFC.  I’m really glad you came.”

 

“Yes, well...” Neville said.  “Um...I think I’ll be going now.  Bye, Hermione.  Harry.”  He scurried out of the room before Severus could come over to the group, carrying Hermione’s briefcase.

 

“So you’re going to wait with Sirius again, I take it?” she asked Harry.

 

He shrugged.  “It’ll only be a few more minutes, I’m sure.  He’s never out for more than an hour during the day.”

 

“Right,” she said.  “Well, we’ll see you later, Harry.”  With a happy little wave, she turned toward the door, more or less allowing Severus to wrap an arm around her shoulder.

 

“Goodbye, Potter,” Severus tossed over his shoulder.

 

“And now, Severus,” she said as they disappeared through the doorway, “I’d like to know more about that bit you wrote in last meeting’s minutes...”

 

“I’d prefer to show you.”

 

 

 

 

 

It Happened One Horrible, Rainy Afternoon in October ...

 

 

“But, why?” Harry Potter wailed.  “Hermione ...”

 

“No,” she replied firmly.  “All characters are welcome to attend our meetings.  For Merlin’s sake, Harry, you barely batted an eyelid when Voldemort sauntered into our first meeting.  Why are you making such a fuss?”

 

He sighed and plunked down into his usual seat beside a lightly dozing Albus Dumbledore.  “Peeves, Hermione?”

 

She managed to hide her grimace fairly well as she toyed with the gavel in her hands.  “I’m sure he’s ... erm ... got interests that need to be represented.”

 

“So far all he’s done is use the vending machine to mostly block the entrance,” Harry retorted.  “He can bloody well represent his interests without our help as far as I’m concerned.”

 

As if on cue, a loud shout emanated from the doorway as the vending machine launched itself at another unsuspecting victim.  “Beware!” the machine cackled.  “For I am the Haunted Vending Machine of Doom!  Beware!”

 

“Peeves!” Ron Weasley shouted from the coffee table.  “Knock it off!”

 

The machine’s reply was petulant.  “Shan’t.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione Granger just looked down at her watch.  “We need to get started soon,” she said to no one in particular.  “Once Severus gets back, I guess.”

 

“Not many people here today,” Harry commented, looking around the room.

 

With a little frown, she began rummaging around in her briefcase, pulling out a handful of papers and flicking through it impatiently.  “Well, I’m sure several people missed the announcement about the location change.  But we’ve got enough to have a decent meeting.”

 

“Uh ...” a female voice said from the entrance, “why is the soda machine threatening me?”  The female in question was nervously trying to edge away from the possessed contraption with little success.

 

“Peeves,” Hermione snapped tiredly.  “Leave her alone.”

 

Peeves, in his machined guise, blew a raspberry at her.  “Ickle Granger isn’t any fun,” he pouted.  “Would Ickle Granger like a soda?”  The machine lurched and began to rattle in a foreboding manner.

 

“Don’t you dare,” came the rumble that was Severus Snape, looming in his usual ominous fashion behind the machine.  “Or I’ll make sure that the Bloody Baron tails you around the castle for the next decade, Peeves.”

 

Hermione’s eyes rounded as the machine actually wilted a bit.  “No fun at all for poor Peeves,” it said sadly.

 

“There’s a group therapy session for schizophrenics down the hall,” the female still trapped in the doorway offered.  “You could go terrorize them for a bit.”

 

Everyone in the room heaved a sigh of relief as the machine happily slid down the hallway, power cord trailing uselessly in its wake.

 

“You’re brilliant, Agnes,” Harry said, giving her what could only be described as an adoring look.

 

Agnes, formerly known as Mary Sue 231, sat down on Harry’s other side and grinned down at him.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’m afraid there really is a group down the hall.  Hopefully they’re fairly well recovering schizophrenics.”

 

“Oi,” Ron cried, cradling a Styrofoam cup in his hands, “let’s get started then.  The professor’s here to pretend to take notes.”

 

“Ten points,” Severus snapped, but there was no particular feeling behind it.

 

“Can’t,” Ron replied with a smirk.  “Um-fuck charter, remember, dearest professor mine?”

 

Slipping into one of the chairs at the front of the room, Severus gave him his best glare.  “I hate you, Weasley.  I loathe you.”

 

“I’m glad,” he said tartly.  “I would hate to think that you treat us the way you do because you like us.”

 

“Right,” Hermione interjected hastily, hoping to avoid the minor war threatening to break out between the pair.  “I guess we can start, then.  I hereby call this meeting of the UMFC to order on this horribly rainy day in October and so on and so forth.”  Casting around, she sighed as she noticed there was no surface to pound her gavel.  “First off, I just wanted to apologize for--Severus!” she broke off.

 

“Glad to see you finally saw the error of your ways,” Ron cried, taking the seat immediately behind Harry.

 

Pocketing her gavel and pulling out her wand, she shot Ron a warning look.  “Shut up.  And you,” she said to Severus.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

 

He regarded her with raised eyebrow, parchment perched on his knee.  “Taking notes?” he asked hesitantly.  “I thought what with my being the official secretary of um-fuck and all ...”

 

“That’s hardly the point,” she replied through grit teeth.  “You’re using a Quick-Quotes Quill, aren’t you?”

 

“And ...?” he asked blankly.

 

Now the wand was pointed unhesitatingly at the dead center of Severus’ forehead.  “Not after what happened last time, you’re not!” she threatened.

 

“What happened last time?” Agnes asked Harry innocently.  “For that matter, what’s a Quick-Quotes Quill?”

 

“It takes notes on its own,” he told her.  “And apparently, they’re keyed to the owner, so ... erm ... Professor Snape’s quill was writing things that weren’t very ...”  Mentally searching for the proper term, Harry paused.  “Appropriate,” he eventually settled on.

 

“Oh,” she said.  Then, “Oh!” with wide eyes.

 

“And he and Hermione are ... well ...”  By now, Harry was crimson-faced and absolutely tongue-tied.  “She wasn’t very happy,” he finished lamely.  “At least, not during the meeting.”

 

Ron poked his friend in the back of the head.  “Could you please not talk about that,” he said, somewhat green about the gills.  “It’s awful enough without discussing it.”

 

“It’s kind of sweet, though, if you think about it,” Agnes tried.  “Sort of a ‘beauty and the beast’ vibe, really.”

 

“More of a ‘creepy and unusual’ vibe,” Ron replied flatly.  “And they rub it in our faces constantly.  The mere thought of old Snape with a hickey is repulsive, much less actually seeing it.”  With a shudder, he downed the rest of his coffee.

 

By now, though, the glaring match between the UMFC president and secretary had concluded.  Severus had grudgingly put his Quick-Quotes Quill away and pulled out a normal one, manually taking notes with a fierce scowl.

 

“As I was saying ...” Hermione said loudly, trying to regain the attention of the audience.  “I wanted to apologize for changing our meeting place.  Please let everyone know about the location change.  Hopefully this time we can stay here for a while.”  She gave Lucius Malfoy a meaningful look.

 

Lucius slouched down in his seat, arms crossed.  “It’s not my fault,” he muttered.

 

Even Voldemort looked incredulous at his statement.  “Lucius!” Hermione finally cried.  “You set fire to the conference hall last time!”

 

“But I put the fires out,” he protested.

 

Her jaw dropped and Severus stopped taking notes.  “You made them worse!” she said.

 

“Worse ... or better?” he asked slyly.

 

Mouth now flapping open and closed freely, Hermione chose to remain silent.  There simply wasn’t a logical way to respond and she’d promised Severus last time not to brawl during the meetings any more.  In the end, she just ignored him and plodded forward with the meeting.  “Harry,” she said into the quiet.  “How’s Sirius doing?”

 

“Oh, that,” Harry said, startled from his whisperings with Agnes.  “He’s fine.  The Authors’ve worked out a schedule that keeps him mostly alive.  Sometimes he drops off late at night, but that’s not so bad.  He’s usually asleep then anyway, so he barely even notices.  And he meant to come today, you know, but he couldn’t get out of the latest chapter of this slash thing he’s been doing.”

 

“That’s where Remus is as well, I expect,” she said sagely, nodding.  “Thanks for the update, though.  Oh, and don’t forget, everyone, to turn in your signed contracts as soon as you can.  I’ll take them, but Minerva is the one in charge.  It’s imperative that we meet our deadlines.  Without solidarity--“

 

Hermione’s train of thought abruptly derailed in mid-sentence as she heard the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy shout in the hallway.  “Go the hell away!”

 

“Peeves,” Molly Weasley muttered.  There were a few agreeing mumbles.

 

However, the voice that answered Draco was certainly not Peeves’ playful whine.  “Don’t you think I would if I could?” it retorted irritably.

 

“You could stop touching me, at least,” Draco cried.

 

“Good Lord,” Severus murmured to Hermione.  “Has the boy turned into an even worse exhibitionist?”

 

“Impossible,” she whispered back, remembering some of the fics she’d been in with him.

 

The odd couple finally walked into the room.  “Sorry I’m late,” Draco drawled as he sauntered over to a pair of empty chairs.  “I was unavoidably detained.”

 

“You didn’t want to pay the cabbie,” his companion said indignantly.

 

Everyone was blatantly staring at the fellow seemingly attached to Draco’s side, Agnes with wide-open mouth, Voldemort with wide-open eyes.

 

By all appearances, he was a dwarf.  If the short stature wasn’t enough, the metal helm and waist-long beard were dead giveaways. 

 

“But ... but ... you’re ...” Hermione gibbered.

 

“Stupid fucking fanfiction and god-damned Authors,” Draco said sotto-voce as he slouched further into his chair.  “Sit down, will you?” he snapped at the dwarf.  “I’m going to fall out of my chair in a minute.”

 

“You can’t order me around,” the dwarf replied primly.

 

Having recovered somewhat, Hermione proved it by managing to formulate a complete thought.  “What happened?”  A short one, to be sure, but definitely understandable.

 

“Fucking spelling!” Draco cried, spouting more profanities than anyone in the room had ever heard him use before.

 

“Not helpful, Malfoy,” Ron said faintly, reaching a hand out to touch the dwarf.

 

“Hey!” the dwarf shouted, slapping the offending appendage away.  “Keep your hands to yourself, carrot top!”

 

Sighing, Draco glared at his unwanted companion.  “I was in this stupid fic this morning where I met a djinn.”

 

“A djinn?” Severus echoed doubtfully.

 

Now the glare was focused on his professor.  “I said it was stupid, didn’t I?  Anyway ... the djinn granted me a wish and I, being the generally intelligent creature that I am, wished that the next thing I touched instantly turned to gold.”

 

“You’re still not making sense, you know,” Agnes said.

 

“Oh, shut up, you damned Muggle,” he snapped.  “Of course I’m not.  The god-damned, motherfu--“

 

“Draco Malfoy!” Molly Weasley shouted as the next few expletives tumbled out of his lips.

 

“Sorry,” he said unapologetically.  “As I was saying ... the Author made a typo.  So instead of gold, I got--“

 

“Glod Thunderhammer,” the dwarf completed with a little wave.

 

“So the first thing you touched turned into Glod?” Hermione asked, amused.

 

Draco’s eyes blazed.  “Shut the bloody hell up, Granger.  You’re supposed to be so brilliant--why don’t you think of a way to get me out of this?”

 

“And me,” Glod added unhelpfully.  “All he’s done is moan and groan since we learned I’ve basically got to follow him around everywhere.”

 

“Maybe the Author will fix the error if someone points it out to her,” Ginny Weasley said timidly.  “Or him,” she added after a pause.  “And that might ... you know, send Glod back to his, erm ...”

 

“Mountain,” Glod said.  “A lovely, dark mountain full of lovely gold for us to mine.  And I’d just found a wonderful girl.  At least ... I think she’s a girl.  Hard to tell, you know, what with the beard and all.  What an axe, though ...”

 

Both Ron and Harry stifled unmistakable laughter.  Ginny leaned over Albus to slap Harry’s arm, but she was suppressing her own smirk rather poorly.

 

Unfortunately, Albus chose that moment to come awake with an unpleasant snort.  “What?” he asked suddenly.  “What’s happening?”

 

“Malfoy’s brought a friend to the meeting, Professor,” Harry said, only rolling his eyes slightly.  “Don’t worry about it.”

 

“Ah,” Albus replied.  “It’s good to have friends.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed cautiously--Albus was awfully lucid today.  “Yes, it is.”

 

“Did Draco’s friend bring any licorice whips?”

 

Aha ... here was the Albus Dumbledore Harry had gotten used to.  “No,” he said with a sigh.  “Glod didn’t bring any candy.  But you’ve got a bag of Whizzing Fizzbees in your pocket, sir.  You’re fine.”

 

“Glod?” Albus mumbled.  “I knew a Glod once ... played a mean horn.  No licorice?” he asked mournfully.

 

“No licorice,” he said, shaking his head.  “You might as well go back to sleep, sir.”  This was in a rather more hopeful tone.

 

“Not very tired,” Albus protested, already nodding off once again.

 

“If I may,” Hermione called from the front of the room.  “To get back to business--the contracts are the reason we’re here, people.  And so far, Minerva said she’s only got signed copies from the officers, Tom over there, and Voldemort.  If you don’t sign the contracts, they’re worthless, you know, and the Authors will have us at their beck and call again.”

 

Tom Riddle and Voldemort both shuddered in a bizarre sort of synch.

 

“I’d like to get away from that Bellatrix for a bit,” Voldemort said.  “She’s awfully needy.”

 

“And I’d like to move to put plastic explosives on the List,” Tom said.  “I’d no idea people would ...”

 

Agnes was momentarily confused.  “The List?”

 

“Not to be used as sex objects,” Harry supplied.  “You wouldn’t believe the things Authors try to foist on us.”

 

“Plastic explosives?” she asked, horrified.  “You mean ...?”

 

“There’s a rider in my contract specifying no auto-erotic asphyxiation,” he continued.  “And I know Tom’s been trying for ages to get the Authors to stop watching him in the shower.”

 

Agnes was stunned.  “I thought this fandom was based off of kids’ books.”

 

“Oh, it is,” Ron said, breaking into the conversation.  “A lot of the other fandoms are worse, if you go exploring.”

 

“How?” she asked, incredulous.

 

Grinning, Draco decided to throw in his two Knuts.  “Two words.  Bible and slash.⁽¹⁾”

 

“You’re joking,” Agnes said dubiously.

 

“On my grandfather’s grave,” Draco replied, hand over his heart.  “If you’d believe it, I heard Judas complaining about how often he’d had to shag Jesus.  Apparently Godliness only applies to certain arenas in His life.”

 

“I think I need to go wash my brain,” Agnes cried.

 

Ron smirked.  “Now you know how I felt when I caught Snape feeling Hermione up in a broom closet two months ago.”

 

“Ro-on!” Hermione cried, plucking Severus’ wand out of his hand before he could hex the boy.  “Right,” she continued upon realizing she’d caught everyone’s attention again.  “Now that we’ve gone completely off-track.  Is there any more business to discuss?”

 

“There’s a motion on the floor,” Voldemort reminded her.  “Plastic explosives, remember?”

 

“Oh, yes,” she said.  “Second, anyone?”

 

“Second!” Agnes cried quickly.

 

“In favor?”

 

The chorus of ayes was rather subdued, but Hermione attributed that to the reduced number in the crowd.

 

“Opposed?”

 

As usual, Lucius Malfoy was on his feet, shouting, “Nay!” jubilantly.

 

“Let it be noted that the motion is carried with only one opposition,” she said boredly.  “We’ll ask the Authors to add it to the List at our next committee meeting, Tom.  Anything else, only it’s nearly teatime?”

 

Coughing self-importantly, Lucius stood up with a smirk.

 

“Oh, God,” Hermione said, covering her eyes with one hand.  “What now, Lucius?”

 

“I move to take my longstanding motion off the table,” he said.  “A vote of no confidence followed by an open election for the um-fuck presidential position.”

 

“How d’you expect to get elected if you don’t even say it correctly?” she spat.  “For the umpteenth time, it’s UMFC!”

 

Glod elbowed Draco, watching the scene unfold with obvious confusion.  “What is this place, anyway?  I thought you said it was important.”

 

“Union meeting,” Draco replied shortly.  “As characters in fanfiction, we’re lobbying for better treatment.”

 

“Lobbying?” Glod echoed.  “Why not just get some sharp axes instead?  Then you’d be treated better.  You’re always treated better if you’ve got a weapon in your hand.”

 

Ginny frowned at him.  “Not always,” she said.  “Anyway, we don’t want to be the enemies of the Authors.  We just want them to respect us.”

 

Snorting, Glod plucked something unspeakable out of his beard and dropped it on the floor.  “Respect?” he scoffed.  “Your organization is called ‘um-fuck’ and you think you can get respect?  That would be a far stretch, even if that chap with the long hair up there arguing with the girl wasn’t hanging around.”

 

“Hey!” Draco said, insulted.  “That’s my father you’re talking about.”

 

“That goes a long way to explaining a few things,” Glod said snidely.

 

“Shut up,” he snarled, wincing as he heard his father threaten to sic Voldemort on Hermione.

 

“Oh, please,” she said, flapping a hand in the air.  “Peeves is worse than Voldemort.  He’s quite nice outside of the stories, you realize.”

 

“Why, thank you,” a pleased Voldemort said.  Maybe he could make a few friends in um-fuck after all.  It was a shame that sweet Neville fellow hadn’t ever come back after that first meeting, but Voldemort was planning to be extra kind to the boy the next time he ran into him in a story.

 

Hermione continued, more or less ignoring the Dark Lord.  “And what’s more, that’s completely beside the point, Lucius.  Why do you want to be president, anyway?  You hate doing work.”

 

“Um-fuck is just a tiny step in the grand scheme,” Lucius replied haughtily.

 

Severus actually laughed out loud.  “Lucius, you couldn’t rule over a closet, much less the world, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

 

“I can so rule a closet!” he shouted.  “I’ll have you know that I’ve got most of the closets at Malfoy Manor completely under my control.  The shoes tremble at my approach and the trousers fall at my feet!”

 

Exchanging a look with Hermione, Severus held out his hand expectantly.  “Can I?” he asked.

 

With a short nod, she returned his wand.  “Be my guest.”

 

A quick Stunning spell had Lucius sprawled unconscious on the floor.

 

“I wish I could have hit him just once today,” she said with a scowl.  “Worse or better, indeed.”

 

“You’re always in such a bad mood after fisticuffs,” Severus told her, pocketing his wand and resuming his note-taking rather blandly.

 

“Can we go now?” Harry asked irritably, pushing Albus’ head off his shoulder.

 

“Motion seconded,” Ron said quickly, before Hermione could open her mouth.

 

Glaring at him, she sniffed.  “All right, then.  All in favor?”

 

In reply, the group simply stood up and began walking out the door.  Draco dragged a reluctant Glod along as he chatted with Ginny Weasley on the way out, Ron following the bizarre trio with a scowl on his face.

 

Severus was startled as a hand tapped his shoulder as he was gathering up his notes.  “What?” he asked, not looking up.

 

“I just wanted to let you know something, Snape,” a gruff voice said. 

 

He looked up, then.  Mad-Eye Moody.  Severus hadn’t even known the man was there.  “Yes?” he prompted.

 

“You’re a very lucky man.”

 

“What?” he asked, mystified.

 

Mad-Eye’s gaze flickered over Hermione, lingering over a particularly private location on her person.  “Yes,” he said.  “Lucky, lucky man.  Is that silk?”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Severus pulled out his wand again.  “Mad-Eye, go away,” he said firmly.  “Quickly.”

 

The man retreated, smirking as he walked out the door.  Severus hoped fervently that he encountered Peeves the Haunted Vending Machine on the way out.

 

“Severus?” Hermione asked, snapping the latches on her briefcase.  “What did Moody want?”

 

“Oh ... erm ... nothing,” Severus stammered.  “Are you ready?”

 

“I need to speak with Agnes for a moment about the list of email addresses she sent me last week,” she replied.  “Hold on.”

 

Agnes and Harry were the only two people left in the room, other than Severus and Hermione, and were in earnest conversation as she walked over.

 

“So,” Harry was saying.  “I hate to just ask like this, but I was wondering if you could give me a lift back to my place, as Sirius couldn’t make it.”

 

Agnes frowned.  “I didn’t drive,” she replied.  “It’s walking distance for me.  Sorry about that, Harry.”

 

Hermione coughed to cover her giggle as Harry blushed and continued to speak.  “Well ... how about supper, then?  I’ll treat.”

 

It finally registered on Agnes’ face.  “Oh,” she said after a moment.  “Harry, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but aren’t you a bit ... well ... young?”

 

“I’m nearly sixteen,” he said stoutly.

 

“Harry,” Agnes said gently.  “You do realize that I’m somewhere around ten years older than you, don’t you?”

 

His face was a mask of misery.  “I’m sorry,” he nearly whispered.  “But I thought ... I mean, Snape and Hermione ...”

 

“Are not you and me,” Agnes finished.  “But don’t apologize, Harry.  If you were five or six years older, I’d drag you back to my flat in a heartbeat.”

 

He brightened.  “Really?”

 

“Really.  As it is, I’ll let you walk me back to my flat and then I’ll flag you down a cab for your ride home.  How’s that?”

 

Shrugging, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets.  “As good as I’m going to get, apparently.”

 

With a little laugh, Agnes patted his shoulder.  Finally noticing Hermione, she raised an eyebrow.  “D’you need something?” she asked.

 

“Just wanted to thank you for that list you sent me last week,” Hermione said.  “You don’t know how much I ...”

 

“Yes, yes,” Agnes replied, waving a hand in protest.  “Don’t mention it.  And I’ll pass along any more addresses that I happen to remember.”

 

“Brilliant,” she said.  “Are you two off, then?”

 

“I think so,” Agnes said, exchanging glances with Harry.  “This kind young man has graciously offered to escort me back to my flat.”

 

“Have fun, then,” Hermione offered, walking back up to the front of the room and picking up her briefcase.  “Let’s go,” she said to Severus.

 

“All right,” he replied, eyes drifting down her body.  “Can I ask you a question, though?”

 

“Would it have to do with the reason Mad-Eye Moody kept staring at my bum when he was talking to you?” she asked coyly.

 

“It might,” he said guardedly, sliding an arm around her waist as they walked toward the door and then letting it slip substantially lower.

 

“You know,” Agnes told Harry thoughtfully as they followed Hermione and Severus out of the room, “I think your Weasley may be right about those two.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused.

 

“Less cute and more creepy.  Now let’s go before Lucius wakes up and decides to burn this building down as well.”

 

           

 

 

Bringing Up Lucius ...

           

           

“No, you look here, young Mr. Potter,” Minerva McGonagall said sternly, frowning down at the stubborn boy, “I have to deal with getting him down here from Hogwarts.  I absolutely refuse to baby-sit him during the meetings as well.  And after that incident with the peanut butter, Alastor won’t do it either.  You’re the only one for it, Potter.  No one else can keep him quiet.”

           

Harry Potter gave his professor a recalcitrant glare, unwilling to concede her point.  “But, professor,” he protested. 

           

“Potter ...” she warned with a hand wave, effectively cutting him off.  “I will not argue this point with you.  You’ll take care of Albus for the day, or I guarantee you that you’ll spend the entirety of the next sixth-year fic you’re in scrubbing the floor of my classroom with a toothbrush.”

           

Knowing when to admit a tactical defeat, Harry just sighed and hung his head.  “All right, professor,” he muttered.

           

Her answering smile was brisk at best.  “Good,” she said.  “Now, he’s got his bag of Ice Mice for the day, and a nice blanket for when he gets tired.  He gets so cold, you know.  And don’t let that little Draco Malfoy go feeding him coffee again.  I can’t do a thing with him when I get him home if he’s had caffeine.”

           

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said dully, turning around and mentally groaning at the sight of Albus Dumbledore sitting beside the chair Harry had been occupying, gently smiling at absolutely nothing. 

           

Clearly dismissing him, Minerva strode toward the refreshments at the back of the room.  He walked over to Albus with some trepidation.

           

“Oh, hallo, Harry,” Albus said brightly.  “I’ve got Ice Mice today.”

           

“That’s what I heard, sir,” he replied, only rolling his eyes the teeniest of bits.  “Erm, Professor Dumbledore, d’you think you’ll be all right alone here for a moment?  I’d like to get something to drink.”

           

“Fine, fine, fine,” he said, twirling a bit of beard in his fingers.  “Can I have a coffee as well?”

           

Quailing the panic rising in his gut, Harry kept his voice calm.  “Best not, sir.  You’ll want a nap soon, I’m sure.”  He caught Molly Weasley’s eye as he retreated -- Watch him, he mouthed, a pleading look on his face.  Her nod was firm and he knew that Albus wouldn’t be going anywhere as long as she was there.  Pity that Harry, Moody, and Minerva McGonagall were the only three people in the world that Albus would sit beside for more than ten minutes without beginning to chatter non-stop.

           

Fortunately, though, he saw that Albus’ eyes started drooping nearly immediately after he left.  His blanket slipped out of his hand and slithered to the floor -- Harry made a mental note to pick it up on his way back.

           

The table beside the coffee machine was unusually crowded as he approached.  In general, no one really wanted much more than about a sip of the sludge that the convention center’s owner assured Hermione again and again was indeed coffee.  But today, both Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy -- standing uncharacteristically side-by-side with no hexing involved -- were sidling along different table edges.  “Hey ...” Harry began.  “What’re you ...?”

           

“Shh,” Draco hissed.  “Else he’ll quit playing.”

           

“What?” asked an absolutely baffled Harry.  “I don’t --”

           

Ron made a slashing motion with his hand that silenced him, and Harry decided it might be best if he simply watched for a moment.  “S’a game,” he managed to whisper as he rounded the table corner.

           

Continuing to skulk furtively around, Draco raised his eyebrows at Ron, who immediately began to pantomime searching for someone.  “I wonder where he could be,” Draco said loudly, clearly. 

           

“Who’re --?”

           

“Shut it,” Ron muttered, poking an elbow into Harry’s side as he glanced from side to side, eyes unnaturally wide.  “I don’t know, Malfoy,” he shouted.  “Where could he be?  I sure hope he doesn’t hit us again!”

           

Harry had about decided that both Ron and Draco were absolutely insane.  Really, they were probably overdue for it.

           

It would have been nice if they’d chosen some other day for it, though.  Dealing with the two of them on top of Lucius Malfoy was too much for Harry.  Hermione certainly had her work cut out for her.  He wondered briefly where she was, noticed that Severus Snape was also absent, and stopped wondering immediately, shutting his eyes against the unwanted flood of imagery.

           

“Me too,” Draco replied, wagging his head back and forth in an exaggerated motion.  “I’d be so mad that I don’t know what I’d --”

           

With a loud cackle that made Harry jump with surprise, a large machine lurched around the corner.  “Watch out,” the machine said, obviously in Peeves’ voice.  “I’ll tag you for sure.”

           

“No, please don’t,” Draco told the machine, flat and deadpan, just as Ron said, “Wait, stop,” in a decidedly bored tone.

           

“Boys should know better than to ask for it,” Peeves taunted, making an odd sort of rattling noise deep within the bowels of the machine.  The front panel shook ominously.

           

Ron actually grinned, confirming Harry’s suspicions as to his sanity or lack thereof.  “Well, there’s nothing for it, then,” he said, poking his tongue out at Peeves for good measure.  “You’ll have to let us have it.”

           

Roaring loudly, the machine began jumping around, creaking as it did so, shooting out brightly colored packages at Ron’s head.  Draco whooped with laughter as Ron was pelted with the little foil wrapped things.

           

“What the ...?” Harry mumbled, stooping down to pick one of them up.  Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut, it read.  Understanding dawning in his eyes, he thought briefly about joining Ron and Draco as they scrabbled about, stuffing their pockets.  But he remembered Albus -- now curled over the back of his chair with a fist tucked under his chin in his sleep -- and decided against it.  Pockets of chocolate and Albus Dumbledore did not mix and Harry wasn’t up for a repeat of the infamous Peanut Butter Incident.

           

“Are you a Haunted Candy Machine of Doom this week, Peeves?” asked a female voice politely over Harry’s left shoulder.  He turned his head slightly and caught a glimpse of Agnes, the former Mary Sue.

           

“Americans,” Draco said in a nasty sort of voice as he snatched a Flake bar out of Ron’s hands.  “For your information, we don’t call it candy.”

           

Agnes made a face and stepped around the pile of candy to get to the coffee machine.  “As if I care.  And you two are going to make yourselves sick, you know.”

           

“It’s not as if we’re going to eat it all in one go,” he replied.  “Oi, Potter, you want some?”

           

Surprised at Draco’s sudden kind gesture, he almost accepted but caught a glimpse of Albus turning over in his chair.  “Better not,” he said with a small shrug.

           

“Good idea, Harry,” Agnes said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “I wouldn’t take anything he’s offering.”

           

With a roll of his eyes, Draco threw an almond crunch bar at her head.

           

She ducked it smoothly and turned toward Harry, clearly ignoring Draco as best as she could.  “So when’s this meeting going to get started?  That Gary Stu 91 and I are going out for supper and he’s picking me up at six.”

           

“Dunno,” he said, taking a cup of coffee for himself.  “Whenever Hermione gets here, I suppose.  Everyone else is mostly here.  Except for Lucius ...”  Trailing off, he noticed that the chair beside Voldemort was empty.  “Say, Malfoy, where is your father, anyway?”

           

Draco’s attempt to glower haughtily at Harry was destroyed by the fact that he had a ring of chocolate around his lips.  “I haven’t seen him for ages,” he said.  “Two nights ago after supper, he and Mother and I were in one of the sitting rooms, and he just got a strange look in his eye and took off.  Haven’t seen him since.  He’ll probably turn up sooner or later -- Mother won’t give him money for more than about a day’s worth of anything.”

           

“Your mum has the money?” Ron asked, glancing up from a half-melted mint truffle with dull interest.  “I thought --”

           

“Oh, the money’s Father’s, all right,” Draco said off-handedly.  “But come on, does he really need to be aware of that fact?”

           

They were all momentarily silent, considering the implications of a Lucius Malfoy in charge of his own (possibly vast) fortune.  Agnes opened her mouth to say something, but a loud bang cut her off.

           

Glancing up toward the front of the room, Harry saw Severus Snape billow in, robes flapping dramatically and hair flying in his wake.  His gait, however, was not his usual quick stride -- his arms were laden with the various bits of UMFC paraphernalia that Hermione usually carried.  In fact, Harry noticed that Hermione utterly failed to follow him in as she usually did.  Severus was scowling and muttering something under his breath -- they were too far away to hear what it was.

           

“Thank Merlin,” Ron cried, spying the solitary Severus skulking about at the front of the room, setting things up in an uncharacteristically obedient fashion.  “Look at how Snape’s carrying on -- Hermione must have finally come to her senses and thrown him out.”

           

“He is being oddly ... helpful,” Draco agreed, studying Severus, who was in the middle of arranging a quill and parchment in front of his seat, carefully.  “I wonder what he’s done to make her mad.”

           

“For your information, Weasley,” Severus said loudly, demonstrating that while they had not been able to hear him, he had been able to hear them perfectly, “Hermione is just outside.”

           

“That doesn’t explain the sudden interest in um-fuck organization, though,” Ron said, a spark of defiance in his eyes.

           

An unbelievable pink blush spread across Severus’ cheeks and Agnes smirked knowingly.  “Won the battle but lost the war, did you?” she asked with a cheeky grin.  “What did she do for you?”  The pink deepened to red.

           

And Harry got it.  “Oh, jeez,” he groaned.  “That’s disgusting.  Agnes, why do you have to ...?”

           

The door slammed open as he began his question, and everyone turned expectantly toward the entrance, in anticipation of finally starting the meeting.

           

However, it was not Hermione who walked in.  Lucius offered the room his best smirk.  “Afternoon,” he said cheerfully.  “Saw the Mudblood in the parking lot,” he told Severus in a more conversational voice.  “How on Earth did she manage to saddle you with all of her equipment like that?”

           

“Shut up and sit down, Lucius,” Severus said emotionlessly.

           

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, though,” he continued, either not noticing or not caring about Severus’ rapidly darkening expression.  “I’ve nearly got her exactly where I want her.  And then ... oh, yes, and then ...”  Trailing off in a strange little laugh, he seated himself beside Voldemort, who made a visible effort to ease his chair away.

           

“You’re in a good mood,” Draco told his father, following Ron and Agnes as they walked away from the coffee table and back toward the actual meeting.  “You weren’t off drowning puppies again, were you?”

           

Lucius frowned.  “Of course not,” he said.  “Not more than one or two.”

           

Harry hoped fervently that Hermione would get here soon as he sat down beside Albus and busied himself with tucking the blanket around his shoulders.  Murmuring nonsense in his sleep, Albus permitted Harry to fold the edges up under his chin and rested his head awkwardly on Harry’s upper arm.  “Mice ...” he mumbled.

           

Nearly everyone was settled.  Ron and Draco found seats in the row behind Harry and Albus -- Agnes had taken the other chair beside Harry -- and Ginny squeezed in beside her brotherr.  Sirius had elected not to come to the meeting as it had been unfortunately scheduled during one of his down periods.  Now that the scheduling had been worked out completely, it was just easier for Sirius to stay at home when he was going to be dead.  Kept the bruises and nausea to a minimum, for one thing.

           

Even Peeves dragged his vending machine over to the collection of chairs, hovering behind Mad-Eye Moody and looking as expectant as a chocolate machine could.  Harry could see Voldemort looking about the room for an empty chair, ostensibly wanting to move away from an increasingly fidgety Lucius, but there were none to be had. 

           

All they were waiting for was Hermione.

           

“Where is she?” Mad-Eye growled into the sudden quiet.  “I put off waxing my leg for this.  My wooden one,” he amended quickly as a few people snickered.

           

As if on cue, Hermione’s voice floated down the hallway.  “Just ... oh, I don’t know, can you turn sideways or something?  Oh, that would make it worse, wouldn’t it?  Severus!”  Her voice went up a note.  “Would you mind?”

           

Rolling his eyes, Severus walked out of the room.  “What?”  He sounded clearly irritated.

           

“He’s stuck.”

           

“I don’t believe this.  What were you two thinking?”

           

“I thought I could come without much trouble,” a third voice said, too quietly to be recognized.

           

Hermione again.  “Just help us ease him through, Severus.  I need another pair of hands.”

           

“I ought to say no.”

           

“Do it and I’ll tell my father about you.  He’s been working out lately -- he’s gotten to the point where he can crack open a walnut with just the one hand.”

           

There was a pause.

           

And then ...   “All right.  Just twist like this, then, and let me get my hands ...”  A few grunts.

           

“You know,” Draco said contemplatively into the quiet, “is anyone else thinking ...?”

           

“Yes,” Agnes replied quickly, turning in her seat.  “We all are.  Just don’t say it.”

           

One last loud moan -- definitely of more of a painful ilk thann a sensual one -- and Severus came slouching back into the room, face a thundercloud.  Hermione soon followed, hovering anxiously around a clearly irritated Remus Lupin.

           

“Remus!” Harry exclaimed, half-rising from his chair.  “I didn’t know you’d be by.”

           

With a sigh, Remus ground a fist into his own back and offered Harry a smile.  “I almost didn’t.  The effects are taking longer than usual to wear off.”

           

“Oh my God!” Agnes cried, leaping to her feet.  “You’re ... you’re ...”

           

Remus gave his burgeoning belly a pat and managed to keep his eye rolling to a minimum.  “I’m eight months along,” he replied.  “Please don’t ask.”

           

“But it’s not --”

           

“Don’t ask,” a handful of men echoed. 

           

Relenting, Agnes slumped back into her seat.  “Harry, men can’t get pregnant.”

           

“In fanfic they can,” he told her.  “And they often do.  We try to avoid those fics, though, for the same reason Remus is looking so damned uncomfortable.  In fact --”

           

There was a loud cough as Hermione cleared her throat self-importantly, fixing her eyes on Harry.  “May we begin?” she asked, a trifle coldly.

           

Harry tried not to blush and mostly failed.  Agnes did not look repentant in the slightest.

           

“Yes, please,” Remus said.  “My ankles --”

           

“Oh, sod your bloody ankles,” Severus snarled.

           

“That’ll be ten points from Slytherin for language, Professor!” Ron shouted from behind Harry, an evil grin crossing his face.

           

Severus’ wand was in the air before anyone could do more than blink, but before he could complete his spell, Hermione reached over and deftly plucked it out of his fingers.  “If I’m not allowed to use an Unforgivable on Lucius ...” she drawled.

           

His responding glare was pure poison.

           

“Oi, stop flirting and start the meeting already,” Remus snapped, shifting around in his chair -- the ominous creaks as he did so rather suggested that it was reluctant to hold his bulk.  “The sooner I can get home, the happier I’ll be.”

           

Severus mumbled something under his breath about hormones that no one caught.  But Hermione kicked his shin anyway as she began digging around in her briefcase -- he couldn’t have been saying anything kind.  “All right, Remus,” she said, attempting to sound pleasant in the face of his discomfort.  “Actually, we don’t have much going on today, so you’ll be out of here before too long.”

           

“Thank God,” someone cried.

           

Ignoring them, Hermione pushed forward, shuffling her notes into order.  “All right, then, I hereby call this meeting of the UMFC to order.  Lucius, shut up,” she said preemptively as she saw his mouth opening.  “You can’t possibly object to convening the meeting -- there’s no vote.”

           

With a little ‘humph,’ Lucius slumped back down in his chair, shrugging off Voldemort’s comforting hand.  “You may think you’ve won,” he muttered, “but you just wait.”

           

“Oh-kay,” she said, giving him a questioning look and deciding in the same moment that it wasn’t worth it to find out exactly what he was on about.  “Minutes from the last meeting.  Severus ...”

           

“You threw them away last night,” he interrupted.  “So you can’t blame me.”

           

Momentarily, she forgot their audience.  “I can so,” she argued.  “Those drawings were inappropriate and --”

           

“You didn’t seem to mind yesterday,” he said with a smirk.  “In fact, if I recall, you had to throw them away because they were ruined, not because --”

           

“Would you two please stop!” Draco cried, cutting off the argument before it could really start in earnest.  “Weasley here is going to throw up and I think the werewolf is going to go into labor.”

           

“Holy apeshit!” Agnes shouted, leaping out of her chair.  “He’s going to have a baby now?  In here?”

           

Remus sighed and struggled to sit up a bit in his seat.  “I’m not really pregnant, erm --”

           

“Agnes,” Harry supplied, trying to be helpful.

           

“Right,” Remus agreed.  “Agnes, then.  It’s just an aftereffect from the last fic I was in.  By this evening, hopefully it will wear off completely and I’ll be back to normal.”

           

“As normal as you can ever -- hey!” Severus cried as Hermione stomped on his toes.

           

“We’re going on,” she said loudly over Severus’ spluttering.  “No minutes.  And I’ve turned in all of our contracts to the Authors, so everything’s finally binding.  Oh, and Tom?  We may finally have a solution to your little shower problem -- well, it’s more of a quick fix than anything.  Voldemort has been kind enough to offer the use of his lavatory until we can negotiate better terms with the Authors.  No one would think to look for you there.”

           

Tom Riddle looked hopeful.  “D’you really think so?”

           

She gave him what she thought might pass for an encouraging smile.  “It can’t be worse than what you’re already dealing with.  Besides, if they find out, we’ll just find you another lavatory.  If you stay one step ahead of them, maybe they’ll finally understand that you’re serious.”

           

“Boy, I sure hope so,” Tom replied wistfully.  “And hey, Voldemort?  Thanks for the offer -- I really appreciate it.”

           

Voldemort’s smile was genuine, but that didn’t make it any less horrible -- pleased red eyes were still red eyes, after all.  “Anytime,” he said in an earnest sort of voice that didn’t suit his features in the slightest.  “After all, isn’t that what this um-fuck thing is all about?  Furthering brotherhood and all.”  Beside him, Lucius rolled his eyes.

           

“Great,” Hermione said, clapping her hands once.  “Now, I have one more thing I’d like to say, and then we can open the floor up for new business.  Draco.”

           

He glanced up from the sweets exchange he’d been carrying on with Ron.  “What?”

           

“The Authors have been complaining again.”

           

Looking unworried, he tossed his head.  “They can’t prove anything.”

           

Hermione frowned and Severus smiled in his most disconcerting fashion.  “You idiot, you’ve been using the same computer,” she said with a sigh.  “They’ve traced your IP address, Dark Prince, and they say that if you don’t cut it out, they’ll restrict your appearances to incest and bondage fics again.”

           

“They’re so damned thin-skinned,” Draco exclaimed.  “Start a few flame wars and they want to stick you in chains and rape you.  Say, isn’t that what um-fuck is in place for?  Protect my interests.”

           

“I’ve got about a hundred Authors calling for your head on a platter,” she said, an edge of impatience in her voice.  “What’s more, I’ve read some of the reviews you submitted, Mister Dark Prince, and I don’t know if it’s worth sticking our collective neck out for you.”

           

“You watch it, SlytherinsSexKitten,” he said.

           

Hermione went very still and Severus’ eyebrow quirked with interest.  “What did you say?” she whispered.

           

“I’d recognize that writing style anywhere, Granger,” Draco continued loftily.  “You wrote a 6000 word review for a story that was only 2000 words long!  And I’ve got to say, I didn’t want to know that much about our dear Severus’ tongue there.”

           

“Ack!” Ron cried, dropping his fistfuls of chocolate to cover his ears with his hands.  “I didn’t need to hear that.”

           

“None of us did,” Harry agreed with a groan.

           

“So,” Draco concluded -- Hermione’s face was purple and Severus’ expression murderous (although he was actually looking at Hermione, not Draco).  “You take care of the Authors for me, else I tell the girl you’re beta-ing for exactly who you are.”

           

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spat hoarsely.

           

“Beta?” Ron asked simultaneously.  “Hermione, I thought you said --”

           

Defying several laws of nature, Hermione’s blush deepened.  “Never mind,” she muttered.  “All right, Draco, I’ll take care of it.”

           

He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile and resumed his attempts to steal all of Ron’s toffee bars. 

           

“Nicely done, my son,” Lucius said, giving Draco a pleased nod.  “You’ll make a fine heir to leave my --”

           

“Oh, bugger off,” Draco sighed.  “Just because I like making Granger squirm doesn’t mean that I want anything to do with your mad little schemes.  Last time I went along with you, I wound up grounded for a month and the ground floor of the manor was completely flooded.”

           

Lucius’ face was neutral.  “It would have worked,” he said, “except for that damned cat running into the circle in the last second.”

           

“Suggesting, then,” he replied as he regarded a fingernail, “that rubbing yourself head-to-toe in catnip prior to beginning the incantation was a bad idea.”

           

Apparently, Lucius did not have a good response to that and immediately turned his attention up toward the podium.  “Are you done, then?” he asked Hermione in a nearly civil tone.

           

She blinked with surprise.  “I, erm, I think so ...”

           

“So the floor’s open to new business, then?”

           

“Lucius, you can’t be president,” Severus said automatically.

           

“Ladies and gentlemen of um-fuck,” Lucius said, ignoring him, “I have an announcement of the most scandalous nature, after which I am sure that I will have gained sufficient trust to be elected president of this fine assembly.”

           

“Mum must have let him get into the thesaurus again,” Draco explained briefly as he noticed Ron and Harry staring over at Lucius with open confusion.

           

Lucius smiled indulgently at his son.  “I will overlook that for the moment, Draco, but keep in mind that once I am in charge here, I will be applying a more firm hand.”

           

“Whatever.  Trade you this mint for a couple of almonds,” he told Ron.

           

“Our esteemed president ...”  Pausing for effect, Lucius noticed that only Voldemort and possibly Agnes were paying him even the slightest bit of attention -- Draco and Ron were still, of course, absorbed in their growing collection of confections, Ginny Weasley was shooting Mad Eye Moody a suspicious glare, Harry was busy wiping spittle from Albus’ open mouth with a corner of his blanket, and Severus appeared to be tickling Hermione’s side with one hand and attempting to extract his wand from her pocket with the other.  He cleared his throat.  “Our esteemed president,” he repeated loudly.

           

Tom Riddle looked over and Lucius decided that was probably as good as he was going to get.

           

“Our esteemed president and her appointed secretary are engaging in illicit relations,” he announced with relish.  “Besmirching the good name of the um-fuck organization.  I propose --”

           

“Try telling us something we don’t already know,” Draco shouted irritably.  “And witness on an unfortunately regular basis.”

           

Lucius was dumbfounded.  “You mean ... it doesn’t bother anyone that they’re carrying on right under --”

           

Agnes shrugged.  “Bother as in ‘disturb profoundly,’ maybe, but not bother as in ‘want to throw them out of office.’”

           

Slumping down in his chair, Lucius didn’t even bother to brush off Voldemort’s attempts at consolation.  “Fuck,” he muttered.

           

“Indeed,” Severus said with a remarkably straight face.

           

With a barely concealed eye roll, Hermione gave her notes a couple of impatient rustles.  “If there’s nothing else, then ...”

           

“Motion to adjourn,” Remus cried, face a mask of relief.

           

“Second,” Harry said boredly, shoving Albus’ beard out of his lap.

           

“All in favor?”

           

“Aye,” everyone -- except, of course, Lucius -- shouted.

           

Hermione nudged Severus as chairs scraped and people began milling about the room.  “Motion carried.  Write that down, at least.  You haven’t made a single notation all meeting long.”

           

“I am physically incapable of taking notes without my wand.”  Severus appeared as if he was on the verge of sticking his tongue out at her -- as it was, his nose wrinkled in protest.

           

She grimaced at him.  “Good Lord, here.”  Pushing the wand into his outstretched hand, she stalked away to join Agnes and Harry in conversation.  “He’s so ... childish sometimes,” she said once she was out of earshot.

           

“I’d believe it,” Agnes replied.  “In fact, I’d be surprised if --”

           

Ron’s loud shout of, “He did what?” cut off pretty much every single conversation mid-word.

           

“Ron ...” Ginny’s reply held more than a note of warning.

           

“I’m going to --”

           

There was a bang, a muffled shout, and a loud thud.

           

Glancing over, Hermione saw that it appeared as if Ron had attempted to attack Mad-Eye Moody.  As he was now lying prone on the floor, eyes closed, she surmised that his attack had failed.  Moody smirked down on Ron’s unmoving body.  “Shouldn’t broadcast your strike, boy,” he said matter-of-factly.

           

“Right, then,” Ginny said, pinning Mad-Eye with a fierce glare.  “I was willing to overlook the fact that you just complimented my choice of undergarments for today, but I’m afraid I can’t let you knocking my brother unconscious pass.”

           

“Uh ... Ginny ...” Harry began quickly.  “I wouldn’t, erm ...”

           

There was another bang, followed by an even louder thud, and now Ginny looked down at an unconscious Moody with an angelic smile.  “That trick always works.”

           

“Cor ...” Draco breathed, giving her an admiring glance.  “I didn’t know you could move like that.”

           

“Remind me never to piss her off,” Harry muttered to Agnes.

           

“Ditto,” she breathed, watching Mad-Eye’s eyelids flutter.

           

Hermione regarded Moody with no small amount of satisfaction.  “I think we’ll just leave him here to wake up on his own,” she said.  “Remus, are you all right getting home?”

           

Grimacing, he pushed himself to his feet, hands going to the small of his back again.  “Probably.  After all, it’s not really a baby in there, so I can Apparate.”

           

“You’re awfully tired looking, though,” Harry noted.  “It’d be a shame if you splinched.  Want a Portkey?”

           

“Oh, yes, please,” he said quickly.  “That would be heavenly.”

           

One by one, everyone floated out of the room, leaving Hermione and Severus to shuffle around what few papers remained.  “You shouldn’t keep trying to hex Ron,” she said good-naturedly.  “He’s just trying to provoke you.”

           

“You may think you’re being helpful,” Severus replied dryly, “but you’re not.  After all, do I or do I not remember a certain someone blackening Lucius Malfoy’s eye three weeks ago?”

           

“Different thing,” she said.  “Lucius is an idiot and he deserves what he gets.”

           

“I think Weasley’s an idiot and he deserves what he gets.”

           

She fastened the latches on her briefcase.  “I’m not going to win, am I?”

           

“Probably not,” he said with a smirk.  “SlytherinsSexKitten.”

           

Her sigh was profound.  “I’m also never going to live that down either, am I?”

           

“Tell me what you said about my tongue and you just might.”

 

 

           

 

 

 

Endnotes

 

 

My first thanks has to go to Electryone.  She reviewed another parody of mine (In Which Voldemort Dies ...) and happened to make a crack about authors that insisted on continuing to write about Sirius Black, despite the fact that JKR had just sent him beyond the veil in OotP.  As I read it and snorted, it popped into my head—wouldn’t it be absolutely hilarious if whenever the Authors were writing about him, Sirius was alive and well, but whenever they weren’t, he returned to his usual deceased state? 
I thought for a bit about the vehicle for conveying this and got another mental image—Harry Potter in the middle of a meeting of some sort, irritably relating how inconvenient it was to live with someone who randomly dropped dead.  And thus, UMFC was born ...

The characters developed quickly, not having much to do with their canon counterparts.  In fact, I deliberately twisted a few of them (cough…Voldemort…cough…) to be so different from canon that it became a joke in and of itself.  Lucius has garnered by far the most comments and, I have to say, he gets the best lines, doesn’t he?  “I can so rule a closet,” might just be the funniest bit in the entire series.
The next people I have to thank are K1E and EMG.  They both read far more slash than I do (and hardly any het at all) and were full of good ideas.  For example, FlameWar!Draco is entirely K1E’s fault, and IrritablyBonded!Severus and Hermione belong to EMG.  For the evenings spent laughing over this and that, playing cards, watching movies, and thinking up funny things Lucius could say.  Alfredo sauce and Snape dolls to you both, ladies!

One last side note about the series.  Well…two, actually, but they’re related, I swear.  Firstly, the Intrepid Reader may notice that every episode’s title sounds suspiciously like the title of a ‘classic’ film.  This would be entirely deliberate (go, Intrepid Reader!), and I encourage everyone to see each and every one of the films I’ve shamelessly ripped off.  Also, I have made references to a handful of outside literary and entertainment works, up to and including, Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, Terry Pratchett’s Discworld series, Jhonen Vasquez’s Invader Zim television series, and Jim Henson’s Labyrinth.  I have also made many references to fanfic works I’ve read (and been told about…)—too many to list here.  Any and all of these references that involve me making fun of said work are nothing but loving, and please keep that in mind.  Although, I suppose that if you’re mortally offended by something I’ve said in these stories, please feel free to let me know.  Hopefully, these little fluff balls aren’t quite that volatile, though.
I’ve decided to stop myself after seven stories.  I suppose I could continue writing these indefinitely, but I prefer to have a sense of completion.  UMFC has been a blast, though, and I know I’ll always look back over these little bits and smile.

 

 

hayseed

 

 

 

Footnotes

 

 

(1)        I’m not making up the existence of Bible slashfic.  A couple of years ago, a few of my friends and I held a “Most Disturbing Fanfic Ever” contest and this NC-17 Judas/Jesus pairing took the first prize by a mile.  Somehow, the Song of Solomon is about as erotic as the Bible should get.  In my own opinion, of course.