Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except for some rather poor corny jokes.
Summary: Harry and Draco have a problem with a terrible script and an even worse summary for the spastic crackfic.
Warning: Badness. Crackfic-iness. Insultingness. Terrible-joke-iness.
Rating: PG-13 (I think) for mean language.
A/N: I wrote this in an hour. Yes, 2000+ words in an hour. It remains un-beta'ed, because I don't want it to be. It was written on Notepad because my computer is acting up and not letting MS Word work. I'll spell-check before posting and proof read, but no guarantees for no spelling mistakes. Anyways, crackfics are meant to be confusing, crazy, out of character, and just terrible.
X-posted in harrydraco, harry_draco, dracoxxxharry, and harrylovesdraco because x-posting is fun.
It had been a fairly nice day at Hogwarts until a certain blonde-haired boy approached Harry Potter and engaged in highly awkward small talk.
"So, how's your scar been lately, Potter?" he asked, wringing his hands nervously.
"Well, if you must know, it's been terrible. I'm waking up every night covered in sweat," and here Draco dispelled the image of a writhing, sweaty Harry Potter, "and it hurts constantly during the day. I'm quite sure that Voldemort is up to something, because I can feel that he's happy. Did you know I can feel his feelings sometimes? When they're really strong. I'm supposed to not feel them anymore because of the Occlumency lessons with Snape I'm having, but I don't practice at all. They're the Remedial Potions everyone thought I was having, and --"
"That's all very nice and all," replied Draco, cutting him off, "but I don't really have time for this babbling. I came to you today to ask you if you could teach me how to be smooth and suave."
Harry blinked. Several times, in fact. "Suave and smooth? But you're the Prince of Slytherin! You're supposed to be that anyways! Besides, did you see me at the Yule Ball in fourth year? I'd have been better off if I actually did have two left feet. I'm not smooth or suave at all."
"Oh. Well. Er. Well, the whole point of the story is to make me smooth and suave and then during the lessons you give me, we fall in love with each other. It's in the script," Draco managed to say awkwardly.
"Ah. Well, I think I'll have to talk to Dumbledore about this. I'm not liking where the plot is going at all, and maybe he can change it. Coming, Malfoy?"
"I think that you're supposed to start calling me Draco around here..." replied Draco distractedly, shuffling furiously through a packet of papers. "Ah wait, no, you don't do that until the third lesson. Never mind."
Harry sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked towards Dumbledore's office, a mumbling Draco trying to remember his lines following him.
"Lemon Drops," Harry announced to the gargoyle at the entrance, and it let him in. Arriving at the door, he knocked firmly on the glass pane.
"Come in! It's open!" came a muffled voice, and the two boys entered Dumbledore's office. "Hello, boys," said the old wizard from behind his desk. They stopped in their tracks when they saw that the old wizard already had company. It was a woman, middle-aged, perhaps, and she had several books in her lap.
"Hello Harry, Draco," she said amiably.
Draco squee'ed, and Harry was reminded of an anime convention he went to once, where he had been attacked by fangirls and had picked up a yaoi doujinshi or two. He kept them under his bed with his collection of slashy stories including a very kinky story including Professor Snape, the giant squid, and many, many tentacles.
"You're JK Rowling!" squealed Draco, his eyes unimaginably wide.
"JK Rowling?" asked Harry, utterly confused.
"Yes, JK Rowling," she answered, standing up to shake their hands. "I'm quite a well-known author. I've written several books. Ever hear of the 'Parry Hotter' series? My personal favourite is 'Parry Hotter and the Foblet of Gire'. I'm rather famous because of them."
"Errr," said Harry nervously, still completely confused. "I'm quite sure that this isn't in the script. Which is actually the reason I came here."
"Oh!" exclaimed JK Rowling happily. "I wrote that script, you know. I'm quite proud of it. It's got all sorts of exciting elements. A fight with Lord Voldemort, a scary trip in the Forbidden Forest, kinky monkeysex with another person of the same sex, and lots of comedy. This is a crackfic after all. Humour is vital. Although the author of this fic isn't very good at comedy. She's just very tired and writing whatever comes to her mind. Terribly un-funny, unfortunately. Oh dear, I'm rambling now! So, what was it that you wanted, Harry dear?"
"I don't like the script," he said, blurting it out before he changed his mind. This woman had written it, after all, and she might be offended.
Before anyone could say anything though, Dumbledore quickly belted out into a song that consisted of "I love lemon drops" to the tune of "Yellow Submarine".
JK Rowling giggled. "Oh, don't worry about him," she said, seeing the shocked faces before her. "He's crazy."
"Or at least I am in this story!" cried the wizard, waving his arms about. "I'm the token mad hatter!"
"Err, about the script," said Harry, trying to ignore the fact that Dumbledore was now transfigurating his desk into a giant lemon drop. "I'm supposed to give Draco lessons on something that I don't know anything about. And then shag him. This really isn't going to work. I'm straight, firstly. And I like girls, secondly. And I'm not gay, thirdly."
JK Rowling looked solemn. "Yes, you are. It's in the script. You're a very smooth and suave gay boy who has a massive crush on Draco Malfoy which is why you decided to give him lessons."
"No, you see, you don't understand," whined Harry, stomping his feet. "I don't wanna do this! JE VEUX PAS!" he screamed, the glass in the room trembling ominously.
"Since when have you known French, Potter?" asked Draco, brows furrowed. "Knowing French is my thing!"
Harry stopped his tantrum right away. "Oh, I learned it a while ago to woo you. It's a very sexy language..."
"Woo me?" asked Draco.
There was a moment of silence. "Shit!" shouted Harry, and he pointed an angry finger towards JK Rowling. "This is your fault! You just had to make me gay in your stupid script! Ugh, now I want to shag Malfoy into the ground." He looked furiously from the grinning author to the calm Slytherin to the absolutely barmy wizard before grabbing the script out of Draco's hand and reading the rest of the story. "You made me a weepy emo wizard?" demanded Harry quietly, shaking with fury.
"We can cross that part out, darling," said JK Rowling, patting Harry on the head distractedly.
Silence. "I like lemon drops!"
Harry sauntered into the Room of Requirement very sexily. It took three times as long as it normally would have, and he silently cursed JK Rowling for making him smooth and suave. "Hello, Malfoy," he said smoothly, and saw Draco nearly melt with admiration.
"Lesson one: The Talk. You have to master talking silkily. Never whine, complain, or nag. If you have a problem with something, you criticize wittily." The two boys practiced The Talk for several minutes until Draco no longer sounded like a spoilt mama's boy. He was ordered to practice it every night before going to bed, and taught that sleeping with a teddy snake and dummy was not proper smooth-person protocol.
The lesson went on rather boringly, until Draco muttered "I'm bored" under his breath, and Harry kissed him. It was a rather sloppy kiss, both of them being kiss-virgins, and it was only when they noticed that it was getting rather dribbly that they pulled away and wiped at their mouths. "It's a good thing," said Draco, "that you don't have braces. I would have cut my tongue."
"It's a good thing," replied Harry, "that you're not a prat, because otherwise I wouldn't have liked that kiss... Oh wait. You are a prat. Never mind. I liked it anyways. Want to do it again?"
"I'm not quite keen on the drool," said Draco thoughtfully, "but it wasn't bad. Meh, might as well." The two boys approached each other but then they heard a loud pop behind them.
"Hello, Harry Potter," came a slightly scratchy voice. They looked around to see a hooded figure, a scaly hand emerging from the sleeve to reach out to them. "I am Lord Voldemort. I've come here to kill you."
The boys blinked and rubbed at their eyes. Voldemort was still there. "Huh?" asked Harry stupidly. "But you can't apparate onto Hogwarts grounds."
"I'm special," replied Voldemort, crossing his arms. "Did you not notice? I've only plundered hundreds and hundreds of innocent people. That makes me pretty damn unique, don't you think?"
"Well, yes," answered Harry slowly. "But the mass slaughter of innocents doesn't really equal being able to apparate into Hogwarts."
"Nonsense!" shouted Voldemort, pulling out his wand. "First you reduce me to a pitiful blob of nothingness and now you doubt my greatness! You're really going to get it now! Ai ai ai ai ai ai aiiiii!" he screamed, before stopping dead. "Wait, the war cry was a bit over the top, right?"
"Mm-hmm," the boys replied synchronously.
Voldemort looked rather dejected at this, mumbling something about losing the effect he was looking for. "Anyways," he stated after a while, "I'm here to kill you so I guess I have to do that."
"Avada Kedavra!" shouted Harry, as he whipped his wand out, killing Voldemort before he could get a chance to finish his phrase. Except he wasn't dead yet.
"Shit! How did you do that! You couldn't do that before!" he whined, pointing an accusing finger at Harry.
"Well, it's in the script. I have to kill you. It's part of the overused cliché of me killing you without any trouble" shrugged Harry.
"Oh. Well, so what happens next?" asked the slowly dying Dark Lord.
"Let me check..." replied Harry distractedly, flipping through the papers. "Ah! Here it is! Well, I kill you, you die, and then come back to life several minutes later --Wait, no, sorry, that part's crossed out. Ok, so you die, smolder away in the ground for a bit before getting reincarnated as a bug for 5 minutes and getting splattered across the windshield of a passing muggle car. Damn Voldie, you've got terrible luck."
"Bugger," said Lord Voldemort before promptly dying.
"So, Malfoy," said Harry, turning back to his companion. "Isn't this where we fuck?"
"Gawd Potter," exclaimed Draco. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"My mum's dead, Malfoy," said Harry sadly. Tears rolled down his face as he started to weep. "She's dead. And I. Fucking. Hate. That. Woman. For. Making. Me. Emo," sobbed Harry, unable to stop crying, suddenly finding himself with rather painful cuts on his arm.
"Does your heart cry tears of blood?" asked Draco, inspecting his nails, not really caring that Harry was writhing on the ground in never-ending sorrow.
"Ye --I mean, thanks for mocking me, Malfoy, I'm going to go angst now," pouted Harry.
"Let's go romp and frolic in the forest," said Draco abruptly.
"Huh? But the forest is scary," was the reply, tears suddenly dried up.
"Well it's a big plot point. Kind of. Let's go."
The two boys ambled off into the woods, slightly annoyed that the mandatory plot point disturbed their passionate kissing.
They had been walking in the forest for ten minutes when there was a loud whoosh and a huge club bashed into the back of Draco's head. "Damn the fucking plot points," he muttered before passing out cold on the ground.
Harry turned around to see Grawp swinging at him with a large bat. He ducked quickly, pulling out his wand. "Stupefy!" he shouted, hitting Grawp right between his eyes. The giant swiftly fell over. "Oh yeah. I'm so suave," said Harry as he blew on the tip of his smoking wand. "Crap! Malfoy!" he exclaimed as he remembered the unconscious Slytherin on the ground. "Wake up," he said, shaking the boy on the ground. "Wake up! Enervate! God, how the hell am I supposed to wake you up?"
"You have to have sex with me," whispered Draco out of the side of his mouth. "Read the script, you prat."
"Ugh, God, damn that woman," growled Harry, frustrated. He took Draco's pants off and flipped him onto his back.
"Hurry the fuck up, Potter," muttered Draco. "If you get my shirt dirty I'll kill you."
"Aren't you supposed to be unconscious or something?" asked Harry angrily, still very pissed off at what he had to do.
"Just get it over with, Potter," snarled Draco.
Harry slid his throbbing meatpole into Draco's tight canal of love. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the second Harry's naked (Very, very limp) penis touched Draco's bare skin, the blonde boy woke up screaming, "Ok, ok it's enough! Taint not my pureness!"
"Malfoy," hissed Harry. "You're the one who told me to have sex with you, you disgusting manslut."
"It was in the script! What did you expect me to do? We got close enough to sex, anyways. What's next?"
"We fall in love. It says so right here. 'Harry and Draco fall madly and deeply in love.'"
"Not really going to happen. You raped me. Hating you like whoah."
"Likewise. Do we chase after that crazy woman with pitchforks and torches yet?"
"Of course. Screw her 'Parry Hotter' series. Which, by the way, sucked. Did you ever read about that character Mraco Dalfoy? What a poncy mama's boy."
"Erm, Draco? The script says 'Fin'. It's the end."
"Fuck the script, Potter. It'll be the end when I say it's the --"