Tomorrow is my 17th birthday. Holy shit. Even I can't believe that I'm going to be 17. I want to be 16 forever… :(

Anywho, here's something for you to sink your crack-hungry teeth into…. a Harry Potter fic that doubles as an Exorcist parody and a Twilight-hate fic! Enjoy!


Lily Luna Potter came home from the library clutching a big black book to her chest. She loved books and couldn't resist new ones.

"Daddy, mummy, I'm home!"

The Potter house, nestled under a large oak tree in a quiet corner of Godric's Hollow, was silent and empty. Lily assumed Daddy was at the Ministry doing grown-up daddy work stuff, and Mummy was at another Quidditch game, writing coverage for the Daily Prophet. She sighed, went to the kitchen, and poured herself a pumpkin juice. It was quite lonely in the house now that both of her brothers were Hogwarts students. She didn't really mind it, though; she made her own brand of fun. Reading was her brand of fun. She carried the glass of juice and her library book up the staircase and arrived in her room. Plopping herself down on her bed, she swigged her juice, set it down on her bedside table and opened her book.

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die - though I'd had reason enough in the last few months - but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this..."


"Lily, I'm home!"

Harry came home in the middle of the afternoon, the sun primed to set over Godric's Hollow and paint the sky a lusty orange. He set his briefcase down at the foot of the stairs, walked into the kitchen, and pulled a bottle of Butterbeer out of the fridge.

"Lily?"

The house sounded unusually quiet. Lily might be in danger! Wand at the ready, Harry climbed the stairs, and burst into his daughter's room. Lily was reading – that's why it was so quiet, Harry realized.

Suddenly, Harry's scar began to throb with a dull, but noticeably unusual pain. He dropped his bottle of Butterbeer, feeling this unexpected pain shoot through his forehead. It was then that he noticed what book his daughter was reading. At the sight of the incriminating title, the pain in his scar became so unbearably agonizing he doubled over in pain, dropping to the floor in anguish.

"Lily – what – aaaaarrgh! – Do you – son of a banshee! – Think you're – mother_ – reading?" Harry roared, pressing his hand to his forehead, trying in vainto block the hurtful, scalding pain from further penetrating its way into his body.

"Daddy, when I grow up I wanna marry a sparkly vampire and have a motorcycle-riding werewolf as my best friend and I want to dye my hair black and take pouting lessons," Lily said, almost soullessly. Her voice sounded eerily possessed, otherworldly and robotic. Her eyes were circled with dark from reading in low light for a long time, and they were staring right at him…

"LILY LUNA POTTER, STOP READING THAT BOOK. NOW!"

Harry screamed, his daughter's piercing gaze sending more venomous pain shooting through his scar. He grasped aimlessly at his daughter, trying to grab the book out of her hands.

"NYAAAAAAAAAA!"

Harry lunged, despite the crippling pain coursing through his body, and grabbed the book. He stared, unblinking, at the title of the book. He whispered it, cringing as its name left his mouth. Lily squealed with delight; Harry spasmed with agony.

"WHEN YOUR – nnf – MOTHER – aaaagggh – GETS HOME, SHE'S GONNA MURDER THAT BOOK!"

Harry lost his grip on the book and crumpled to the floor. The book dropped out of his hands with a soft thud. Lily picked it up off the floor, got off the bed, and went down the stairs. Harry heard the front door slam. She was off to the library again…. to get the sequels.

The scar pained Harry for the first time in nineteen years. All was not well…


Ginny was pulling an all-nighter, reporting on what might have been the longest game of professional Quidditch in decades. More like an all-weeker, Ginny muttered, trying to keep her eyes open. Three days of no scoring from either team, yet she kept buggering on. It seemed impossible that either team would ever score at this point, but this was for the Prophet, Ginny reminded herself. She missed her husband and her daughter. She wondered about her sons at Hogwarts. For Ginny, unlike the rest of the Weasleys, work, not family, came first for her…

Lily returned from the library just as the sun was to disappear from the sky above Godric's Hollow, just as the stars were about to blink into sight. She carried three more books, each one slightly thicker than the last…

"I felt like I was trapped in one of those terrifying nightmares, the one where you have to run, run till your lungs burst, but you can't make your body move fast enough."


Harry sat at the dinner table, picking absently at his now-lukewarm microwave dinner. Lily walked in, her nose in one of her books. Harry's scar hurt more than ever – more blisteringly painful than Fiendfyre, more unbearable than a Crucio to the balls – whenever his daughter read one of those horrible, terrible books.

Where the hell is my wife when I need her, thought Harry, slamming his hands over his ears in an awkward attempt to block the book out.

Lily paid no attention to her father's cries of agony, and continued to read…

The Quidditch game finally ended – 77 hours of mediocre plays and finally someone caught the Snitch. Ginny didn't pay all that much attention to the game: her notes looked like they were written by a drunk Grindylow with no concept of fine motor skills. She could barely keep attention as the crowd of very resilient Quidditch fans drained out of the stadium. Since she never learned to Apparate, Ginny drove a clunky Muggle car instead. (Her brother got the flying Anglia.) Traffic in this part of London was awful – and since she wasn't used to Muggle driving habits, she found herself swearing out the window at rude London motorists at least once every couple of minutes. It was going to be a long night…

Lily had sped through the first two books in one day, and started the third in the wee hours of the night while her father slept restlessly on the living room couch. (Well, tried to sleep, anyway. His body was sore, his scar thrummed with pain, and the presence of the books in the house was almost as bad as the presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort…)

Ginny stayed the night in a parking garage – somewhere near the Ministry, just to be safe. She got a microwave burrito from a Muggle convenience store (paying the cashier was awkward as Hell) and ate it in her car. Drifting into sleep, her head hit the steering wheel and set off the horn. She slept right through it…

"Black eyes, wild with their fierce craving for my death, watched for the moment when my protector's attention would be diverted. The moment when I would surely die."


Morning broke over Godric's Hollow and Harry's body hurt all over. Lily had fallen asleep halfway through book three. The scar only tingled uncomfortably. He got up, walked heavily to the kitchen, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Too sore to put any cream or sugar in, he guzzled down the scalding-hot coffee, not caring if his throat burned as it went down. Anything felt fine unless it was those awful books. Harry honestly wondered where his wife was, if she was cheating on him with someone at the Prophet, if she was still at that goddamned Quidditch game…


To be continued...