We strive to parody random romance, bad grammar, overused descriptions, and…well, enjoy mocking our beloved HP-universe.

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Ron and Hermione were standing in front of platform 934.

"Nine hundred thirty-four? But… what happened to nine and three-quarters?" Ron asked, staring. Hermione glared at him, flipping her smooth, straight brown hair over her shoulder, and answered huffily, "Sod off, Ron!"

Hermione had gotten a makeover over the summer. No longer was she a bushy-haired bookworm, but a drop-dead gorgeous, curvy woman! She had been welcomed into the world of short skirts and tube tops, and she straightened her hair and wore eyeshadow.

Lots of sexy eyeshadow.

Hermione moved forward, her beautifully curved hips moving gracefully side to side as she walked. She stopped and turned around.

Ron gaped at her and licked up the bit of drool that had cascaded down his chin and said, "WOW 'MIONE! Why didn't you keep your strangled and frizzy beaver on your head?"

Hermione's face turned red with anger and she bared her normal-sized teeth. "I-I mean... uh, nice makeover." She raised a perfectly-penciled eyebrow and sniffed while turning around.

"I'll go first," she replied coldly. She leaned against the platform barrier casually, and gradually sunk into it.

Ron turned around. "Where are you, Harry?" He muttered while scanning the station.

Harry stood at the barrier. 'To the barrier, Harry!' Harry shut his eyes and broke out into a sprint. CRASH. 'To the hospital, Harry!' Harry opened his eyes and painfully propped himself up on his elbow. 'Maybe I should think of a brilliant idea to get to Hogwarts because I have half a minute to get on the train... maybe I could fly there in a blue Ford Anglia! Hopefully, I won't get smashed by murderous tree!' Somebody poked Harry's shoulder.

"Harry, mate..youre on the bloody wrong platform," Ron said, his face redder than his ears and hair put together as he held back his laughter.

Damn. Wrong book. Barrier…

So, once Ron had convinced Harry they had the right barrier, (Harry kept screaming 'No, Dobby, I'll die!' every time they neared the wall, which Mrs. Weasley told Ron, in a hushed voice, was a nervous breakdown of sorts. Later on, George told Ron that Harry's milk might have included a touch of Firewhisky.) all three of them stepped onto the platform, and Draco Malfoy conveniently appeared.

Draco Malfoy was the Slytherin sex-god. Although he had shown signs of really just being an evil, pale, wimpy, pale, rich, pale Death Eater's son, the pale boy was in fact a sex-god, apparently having gone through every female in Hogwarts while the golden trio was off fighting Voldemort.

Or perhaps reading pricey Play Wizard.

"Oh look who is that pretty girl" Draco said, losing all sense of punctuation. Suddenly, he realized that the girl was actually… "GRANGER!"

Whoa. And in that moment, with the Hogwarts Express blowing steam in his face, Colin Creevey tripping over him to pick up scattered, vaguely stalkeresque Harry Potter portraits, Draco had an epiphany.

Well, two really.

First, he was really good, not bad. He didn't hate half-bloods, he hated Voldemort. Oh, and his father, and the side of evil. Strange, how could he not have seen it in the past five bo-years?

Second, he had always been in love with Hermione, who he was now on a first-name basis with… her stunning chocolate-y brown eyes, sexy brown hair, long creamy legs… had he ever really called her an ugly, filthy mudblood?

Oh, yeah. He had. Well, that would be a small hitch in their oncoming love… for Draco knew, with all his recently-thawed-out heart that Hermione loved him too.

"What do you want Malfoy?" Ron snapped in a rather snappishly way; clearly seeing Draco's eyes move up and down at Hermione, taking in each feature. Ron blushed. Draco wondered for a moment if he was diseased, some terrible blushing syndrome… well, anyway.

Hermione blushed. Ron blushed more, though in the ears. Draco wondered if anyone would ever find a synonym for blush.

"Quiet, Weasley," Draco said, still ogling Hermione. "Don't look at her like that!" Ron said angrily.

Hermione's face snapped to Ron, red with anger. "Ron, I can handle myself!" She gave him one last nasty glance and turned to Draco again.

Harry who was looking in a mirror, trying to figure out where his scar was supposed to be, looked up. "Do you think it goes on the left?" he asked self-conciously, adding a "What do you want, Malfoy?" absently.

Draco slowly turned to Harry. "Who says I want anything, Potter?" he drawled, wondering if he should add the 'joining the side of the light' and 'helping me win over your best friend' parts.

Nah, they still had time. After all, it was only chapter one.

"Urhm... Hi Draco!" Ginny squeaked. Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Do you think it goes on the right?"

Ginny was clad in black. Her eyeshadow, eyeliner, lipstick, nails, and shoes. She had dyed her hair actual RED; not the trademark FIERY red, but red red.

"What are you wearing, Weasley? Spent the summer at Muggle raiding parties?"

"Do you think it's supposed to be on the left!"

Blaise soon appeared behind him and doubled up in laughter at the sight of Ginny.

"Wow, Gin. I think I'm turned on." Blaise joked, smirking at the younger girl, who glared at him, and declared, rather huffily, "I have decided to join the ranks of the non-conformists! I am now goat."

"Why was it in the middle last scene!"

"Gin, the word is 'goth'," Hermione interjected, rolling her newly-lined eyes.

"CAN'T YOU JUST ACCEPT ME FOR WHO I AM? GOD!" Ginny gave one final glare and ran off, leaving a bewildered group in her wake.


Harry stopped examining the scar and sulked, sitting in a corner seat.

"Anyway, I have to go, I'm Head Girl," Hermione declared, but as she was about to leave, she noticed something on her arm, "And Ron, why are you drooling!"

"It'sseventh year, and we're the good ship!"

Awkward pause.

"Er… that is to say, I've finally realized how beauti-um, intelligent and good you are," Ron fumbled, nodding.

Hermione was stunned. Taking advantage of this, Harry dug through her purse for an eyebrow pencil, wondering if it would help his dilemma.

"Ron... I have to go," she said finally, wrenching her arm from the redhead, and briefly wondering why Harry suddenly looked a raccoon.

Hermione walked through the door whistling to herself.

"How do you do that?"

Hermione turned around. "MALFOY!"

He played his trademark smirk, as Hermione gaped, "Good lord... what is that on your forehead?"

"What? Is it a zit or something" Draco forgot punctuation again as he fumbled his hands over his face worryingly. Hermione bit her lip.

"No... its um..." She reached into her bag to look for her mirror. "Draco did you see anyone take my mirror?"

Harry stared into the mirror, his face scrunched up in frustration. Er.. if you could call it a face. Jet-black lines covered his forehead, giving him the strong resemblance of Goyle.

"More to the left maybe..." He muttered to himself, sharpening the dull eyebrow pencil; with the stolen pencil sharpener from Hermione as well.

Draco shrugged. "So how do you chirp like that" he said curiously, still too caught up in the moment to use in punctuation.

Wait... what moment? Oh, right. Him and the love of his life (of the past 1200 words, anyway) in a compartment. Alone.

"Do what Malfoy? And why does it look like Harry used you as a practice doll?" She asked pointedly at Drac- er... Malfoy's forehead which seemed to be covered in black lines.

"Um. he did." Draco didn't look Hermione in the eye, wondering when he'd lost his dignity.

"Oh. Well anyway, it's called whistling. Why am I the only one with the correct vocabulary and grammar?" she wondered aloud, sitting rather closely to Malfoy and snuggling up to him, her skirt inching dangerously high. Yes, her skirt. Not those nasty things she called pants before.

Draco silently praised whoever had altered the school uniforms. 'Thank you Alfon-er, Merlin...

"Where is whoever's supposed to talk to us? I mean, what do the heads do at this point?" Hermione threw up her hands, frustrated. She had better things to do than be stuck in a compartment with Malfoy.

Like be drooled on by Ron as Harry slowly penciled himself beyond recognition.

Well, at least it could confuse Voldemort.

"So…" Draco decided to make a stab at conversation, "Wanna teach me that whiffle-thing?"

Hermione giggled, despite the fact that this was her mortal and very pale enemy of six years, who was on the side of evil.

Maybe all that straightening and eyeshadow had had a deeper effect.

"Whistling," she corrected him, "And first you make an 'o' with your lips…"

All of a sudden, the lights went out, and a girlish scream echoed through the compartment.

Malfoy would always claim it was Crookshanks in the future.

Hermione shivered, and it felt as if she would never be happy again… well, her doctor had said that could happen from overdose of Slim Fast…

"OH MY GOD, IS THAT A-" Draco shrieked, as a hand neared the glass door of the compartment, barely visible.

It came closer, and the door slowly slid open as Hermione held her wand up, hand quivering…

"Hey, sorry, but Harry had another one of his-er-nervous breakdowns, and decided that no one should see his forehead, and so he kind of… broke the light switch in the front," Ron said, exasperated, "Could you fix it?"

Oh, that was third year…

Once Hermione had managed to calm Harry down-she placed a brown bag over his head, after securing a bandanna ("It's…Ginny's!" said Ron) over his forehead, the train reached Hogwarts.

Hermione looked at the first years, who… wait, was that a picket sign?

"NO MORE ROWING!" one yelled, throwing himself at Hagrid. Well, at Hagrid's calve really, the poor boy couldn't reach higher.

"NO MORE CHILD LABOR!" another screeched, teetering towards the edge of the lake.

Suddenly, a teal, slimy tentacle reached out of the lake, and grabbed one of the protesters, and threw him across.

Quite a few of the picket signs vanished, and Hermione smiled, crisis taken care of, as Hagrid tossed-er, helped- the remaining survivors into the small boats.

This year was already a success, Hermione could feel it.

… or maybe that was Draco, spitting randomly while he tried to whistle.

Draco turned to Hermione and blushed. 'Shes so... enchanting he thought as he turned around to face the red-faced Ginny.

"MOVE OUT OF MY WAY DRACO!" Ginny screamed. "Er... I mean MALFOY," she stuttered, blushing to the roots of her hair.

Hermione looked behind her to see Harry and Ron running to them with their faces flushed.

"Bulstrode practically SAT on us!" Ron exclaimed with his eyes open.

"Yeah," Harry said nodding, "One minute we're laying down on the seat, next second we see her fat arse!" Hermione just stared.

Ginny on the other hand held Hermione's eyebrow pencil up to her face. "Does this look familiar, 'Mione?" she said in a grave tone. ("It sounds more goth-y-ish")

Hermione saw this and smiled, "I wondered who took that..." Harry looked up and whistled.

"YOU CAN DO THAT, TOO?" Draco yelled, astonished that the scar head could do something better than him without spitting.

"Not even going to ask," Hermione muttered, opening the carriage door as she, Harry, Ron, and Ginny stepped in. She was about to shut it as Draco's hand flew in to jar the gateway.

"We have Head duty to talk about, since we missed it on the train," he informed her, dragging her out of the carriage before Hermione could protest.

They entered an empty carriage, and Hermione suddenly looked very ashamed.

"Uh… Malfoy?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?" he replied, way too quickly.

"What do the heads… do?"





They were really running out of one-liners at this point, so Hermione threw up her hands, pulled out her eyebrow pencil, and scribbled on the walls of the carriage.

Draco stared.

"Stress relief," she told him seriously, "Life is so hard sometimes…"

"So, you, uh, draw Snape being eaten by house-elves!" Draco looked mildly panicked, then somehow added this to his things-I-love-about-her list.

Hermione gave him a wide smile and continued to scribble madly. Draco stared until the carriage came to a gradual stop, where Hermione cheerfully closed the cap of her eyebrow pencil and stuck it in her bag. Draco raised his eyebrows and stared at her.

"What? I told you, it does make me unwind from stress," she said hotly. Draco was amazed with her. But then, there was a banging from the door.

"Hermione? You in there?" came the voice of Ron Weasley. "Yeah, Ron," she called back before standing up, "I'm getting out." She stole one last glance at Draco, who smiled at her, and got out. As she got out, she tripped; she closed her eyes, waiting to face her face-hit-ground doom, but it never came. Two strong hands had wrapped themselves around her waist to break her fall. Hermione wrenched open her eyes to face Ron Weasley.

"Thanks…" she waited for Ron to let go. He didn't.

"Er… Ron?" Hermione was then struck with the events of the train. She groaned, and tried to wrench out of his grip.

"But… Hermione!" Ron was hyperventilating, and his hold on her was firm, "We're the good ship! We must blush, bicker, and admit our feelings!"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but was cut off by…

"What the he- Ginny!" Ron sputtered, dropping Hermione unceremoniously onto the ground.

She would have been angry, but was distracted by Ginny who had, sometime between the train ride, and… well, the protest, changed. Drastically.

"What are you wearing?" Ron cried, throwing his cloak over Ginny, head and all. She glared at him from behind large, black, round glasses.

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