A/N: Hi, folks! See, this story proves that I am still alive and (in)sane. Wolffe and I came up with this one morning while she was making a power point slide on Dean Thomas. It evolved into this glorious tale of love, loss, and the triumph of the human spirit. Um…not really.
Disclaimer: This completely amazing idea is all ours, but the characters and places sadly are in the possession of others. We also take this time to apologize to the entire religious community. We don't mean to make fun of God or the Bible, although you've get to admit that since no one does the stuff in this story anymore…Wolffe and I go to church every Sunday, so this moronic story is just meant to be a joke.
One dark and stormy night, when lightening slashed across the sky, Harry and Neville came into their dormitory room to find Seamus and Dean doing a ritualistic dance around a steaming cauldron.
"What the –BEEEP-?" Harry shouted, freaked. Dean moved toward him making urgent shushing motions with his arms.
"We are about to perform a sacrifice," Dean whispered harshly.
They resumed their dance. Several minutes later, Seamus removed something wrapped in rich cloth from his trunk.
"The SACRIFICE!!!" Seamus cried, holding the object aloft. Dramatically, he flung the cloth away. In his hand was…dundundun…A BLACKENED TEAKETTLE.
"We must have silence," whispered Seamus throatily. Dean lit several torches and handed them out to Neville and Harry.
Seamus looked at the kettle with tears of joy in his eyes as he intoned, "This is our sacrifice to our GOD."
He dropped the kettle into the cauldron. A cloud of steam rose up, and Harry's eyes watered. The room seemed to smell rather lemon-y. There was a profound and holy silence.
Suddenly, a small movement caused Harry to turn around. There, standing in the doorway, silhouetted by the light of hall, was a very irate looking Prof. McGonagall.
"Boys," she groaned in her long suffering voice, "what is it this time?"
"You have just witnessed," Dean proclaimed with an enlightened look of profundity on his face, "the first meeting of the Remus Lupin Fan Club."
Three weeks later, upon the day that to Seamus and Dean will always be known as Black Saturday, there was a Hogsmeade trip. In said village, the village of woe, the two friends came upon the object of their god's love, Nymphadora Tonks. They prostrated themselves before her.
"Oh, one who is beloved in the eyes of our most holy being, we bid thee welcome," Dean said, while Seamus kissed the ground upon which she walked.
"Um…. hi?" said Tonks, looking thoroughly bemused.
"Where is thine esteemed lover?" Seamus asked, while surreptitiously removing dirt from his mouth.
"Oh!" Tonks cried, finally realizing what the heck they were talking about, "Oh, he died months ago."
They stared at her with fear and horror in their eyes, and the very earth beneath their feet seemed to tremble.
Then, as one, they raised their lamentations to the sky. "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
They tore at their garments, girded their loins with sackcloth, and rubbed ashes in their hair. Great and long was their period of mourning. The skies blackened as if the entire world was distressed at the passing of such a wonderful, tragic, friendly, brilliant, kind, gentle, tea-drinking werewolf.
They traveled long, to every hallowed holy place, where the feet of their savior had trod. Finally their perambulations took them to #12 Grimmauld Place, London.
There they came upon beings who had been close to him. However, these people parted like the Red Sea to reveal a shabby looking man reading the Strand at the kitchen table. They gaped at him, in earnest wander and delight.
Then suddenly the tidal wave broke forth, and they rushed upon him, and smothered him with embraces.
And thus it was that the Remus Lupin Fan Club lived on, for all eternity.
A/N: Like it? Isn't it hilarious? Are you reaching for a dictionary? Are you pondering the origin of bathtubs? Ok…never mind. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!! (I have 200 some hits on another story and 15 reviews. I mean come on, people!)