I’m Albus Severus Potter, but my friends call me Horatio. I don’t know why. Anyway, my best friends are Rose “Ginger” Weasley (who doubles as my cousin), Scorpius “Scorpo” Malfoy (who will fuck anything that moves), and Detroit “Otto” Othello (who was thought to be androgynous until she flashed her tits at everyone last year). We met on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago, and that is where our story begins today.
Like every year, we sat in our favorite compartment in the caboose of the train because everywhere else was full. Rose and Scorpius were Head Girl and Boy, respectively, and they sat with me and Otto instead of patrolling the hallways like responsible head students.
“MALFOY!” squealed Rose as the train passed the haggis-and-bagpipe wall separating England and, uh, that country north of England. “You are such a skanky little MANWHORE!”
Scorpius took a swig of moonshine and another puff of his cigarette. “Nag, nag, nag, that’s all you do, Ginger. And would it kill you to think of an insult without the ‘man-’ prefix? Manwhore, manbitch, manbastard…please, some variety, woman!”
Rose tossed her frizzy red hair and glared out the window. The whole school knows that she is in love with Scorpius—what woman wouldn’t be? He is blond, tall, muscular, and a total misogynist with no hope of reform. It only complicates matters that Rose and Scorpius are best friends who fight constantly and call each other horrible names, but if that isn’t true love, then I don’t know what is.
Another obstacle in the timeless love story of Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley is because of the two houses that they come from. (This analogy works on two levels.) Firstly, Rose and Scorpius’s dads, like, totally hate each other. I think it is because Uncle Ron and Mr. Malfoy were enemies at school, and maybe because Mr. Malfoy grew up as an obscenely rich pureblood and Uncle Ron grew up as a dirt poor pureblood. Anyway, Uncle Ron once said that if Rose dated Scorpius, he would forbid them to see each other so they would secretly get married and, in an unlikely turn of events, both commit suicide to celebrate their love.
The second part of this analogy is that Scorpius is in Gryffindor and Rose is in Slytherin. (I’m in Slytherin too—the Sorting Hat just did it to fuck with our parents.) Otto, who everyone always forgets about because she is plain, is in Gryffindor with Scorpius. So as you can see, despite the significant increase in house unity in the post-war era, being in different houses means that Rose and Scorpius might never realize their mutual love.
So while Rose was making a Scorpius voodoo doll and Scorpius was taking his sexually transmitted disease-fighting potion, I turned to Otto.
“Seventh year…woweeweewah,” I remarked. “I can only wonder what this year has in store for us.”
“Um,” said Otto, “like, totally.”
Otto Othello has been in love with me since first year. I think it’s pretty obvious why: I wear glasses.
Anyway, last year’s affirmation of Otto’s gender was only kind of a relief. I mean, now I’m sure she’s a girl, and all, but she’s still exceedingly fugly. I might change my mind if she ever turned hot and developed curves in all the right places, since she has a fantastic personality and an excellent sense of humor, but as of now, it’s not looking good.
I won’t do homely!
We reached Hogwarts ten minutes later. The journey from London to Kilt-and-Golf Country (I think I’m getting closer…Caledonia?) never takes longer than twenty minutes. Duh, the train is powered by magic.
Me, Rose, Scorpius, and Otto disembarked the Hogwarts Express and shit and, like all the rest of the upper years, flew our jet packs up to the castle. (Because of all the reparations the Ministry made the Death Eaters pay after my dad killed Lord Douchebagmort, the Hogwarts governors decided to use the money to buy jet packs for each and every student. And yes, jackasses: they’re magical, not Muggle, jet packs, so they work at Howarts.)
When we got to the Great Hall, me and Rose sat with the Slytherins and Scorpius and Otto sat at the Gryffindor Table. They Sorted the first years but I couldn’t pay attention, since Rose kept whispering to me in that high, snippy little voice of hers.
“Look at him, Horatio…er, I mean, Al!” she said icily, glaring icily at Scorpius. “That manslut is on the sexual prowl again! He’s feeling up Helena Macbeth in front of all the first years! And in front of Otto too!”
“Rosie, whether you like it or not, Scorpo is my BFF,” I said with a dramatic sigh. “We’re besties. You, on the other hand, are only best friends with him. Practically acquaintances. You’re in different houses and you only have to see him at Heads’ meetings, and they’re only, like, once a year.”
Just then, Professor Rosencrantz, the crazy old headmaster, tapped his goblet with his fork and the whole hall fell silent.
“Thank you,” said the headmaster, who, now that I think about it, might actually be called Guildenstern. “What a psychedelic Sorting, man…outta sight. Welcome to Hogwarts, recently Sorted firsties, and welcome back, all you other dudes. Trippy, what a trippy start of term it’s been…brings me back to the sixties.”
We all sat and waited for Professor Rosencrantz to wake up from his nostalgic daze.
“Oh yeah,” said Professor Guildenstern several minutes later. “There’s, like, a really long list of shit that the caretaker, Mr. Belch, wanted me to tell you…wow, I think I lost it. But there is one important announcement that hasn’t been lost to my drug-addled mind: Scorpius Malfoy, the Head Boy, and Rose Weasley, the Head Girl, are required to live in the new heads’ dormitory for no apparent reason, where their accommodations will include separate bedrooms, a common bathroom, and a common living/make out room in the absolute lap of luxury.
“That will be all,” Professor Rosencrantz concluded. “I’ve gotta go, flower children. I’ve misplaced my hookah.”
“Eight months have come and gone!” sings the Greek Chorus, comprised of my sister Lily and cousins Hugo, Roxanne, Molly, and Lucy, as well as the Scamander kids, Lorcan and Lysander, to balance out the sound.
“Our lovebirds struggled for so long!” the Chorus continued. “Scorpius had many lays! Poor Rosie counted the days! So now our couple can unite! But first they must survive the fight!”
I found the Chorus practicing by the lake. “Yo, Greek Choristers,” I said, not amused. “First of all, in classical theatre, the Chorus never sang, they just talked in unison. Secondly, what was that about surviving a fight?”
My younger relatives (and the weird Scamanders) scurried off without a word. Wow, thanks guys.
Things had changed a lot in eight months. Scorpius and Rose, involuntary roomies, went from screaming at each other 24/7 to gaining a deep psychological and emotional respect for each other. Scorpo also went out with some slut named Rosalind for a little while, but Rosie (my cousin, not Rosalind) pretended that it didn’t make her jealous. It was almost N.E.W.T. season, and Scorpius and Rose were almost tolerating each other.
My life changed a lot, too. Over Christmas break, Otto got curves in all the right places and got highlights in her hair and became a sex goddess. We are now happily in a loving, monogamous relationship.
So everything was perfect until Gaius Cassiusmort came and fucked shit up.
Only the students that ever read the newspaper, of which there were two, had ever heard of Gaius Cassiusmort, or the “Scourge Afoul,” as was his preferred nickname. He was basically this tool who wanted to be as famous as that Voldemort douche (but since Douchebagmort failed miserably, why would Cassiusmort want to emulate him?). Unlike the Dark Lord, who was down with Muggle genocide, the Scourge Afoul’s platform included social communism, economic capitalism, and free toilet paper for all humans and magical creatures that regularly took a dump.
So when he and his band of Toilet Paper Distributors stormed Hogwarts Castle, Scorpius and Rose led the students into an epic battle. No way were we living with extensive social programs like welfare and universal nursery school, commies!
Gaius Cassiusmort and his terrifying, toilet paper-distributing followers walked right into the castle (the door was unlocked) and started throwing rolls of toilet paper and pamphlets about their fiscal and social programs at all the students eating dinner in the Great Hall. Scorpo screamed something like “Chaaarge!” and we did, Avada Kedavraing the fuck out of those creepy little fuckers. I even saw a first year Crucio the Scourge Afoul himself…incredible! Since the Toilet Paper Distributors had no wands (Gaius Cassiusmort taught his followers to be pacifists), we defeated the thirty or so commies in like ten minutes.
The staff was mysteriously absent for the Great Battle (Professor Guildenstern (or was it Rosencrantz?) was no doubt puffing the magic dragon), so us students were especially proud that we singlehandedly saved the Wizarding world from Cassiusmort’s reign of terror.
Otto and I killed Toilet Paper Distributors side by side during the entire battle, like some sort of legendary superhero team. (But with sexual tension, just for kicks.)
After everything settled down and some Aurors who had shown up late carted Gaius Cassiusmort off to Azkaban, I turned to Otto and smiled at her.
“We just fucking killed a shitload of ne’er-do-wells,” I said stupidly, putting my arms around her perfectly curved waist.
“But we’re murderers now, Albus,” said Otto solemnly. “We’ve lost our childhood innocence.”
Who fucking cares? Avada Kedavraing fuckwits is my new life purpose, as I have discovered!
Wracking my brain for what Scorpo might say in this situation, I said to Otto, “I know another way we can lose our childhood innocence.”
Otto stared nervously up at me, like a nervous little lamb with curves in all the right places. “Okay, Albus. Let us make love tonight. In the Room of Requirement. In a huge canopy bed with a red satin comforter surrounded by the light of a thousand candles.”
I grinned madly. “Wait for me there, Otto my love. We shall have sweet sexytime together. But first I must find my bestie and cousin, to make sure the toilet paper fiends didn’t get them.”
Otto giggled and left, looking so hot, and I returned my attention to the carnage that filled the Great Hall.
Thirty Toilet Paper Distributors were dead…the Ministry undertakers were slow to begin removing their corpses. Hundreds of Hogwarts students were injured…bruises to the head where the rolls of toilet paper had struck, paper cuts from the communist pamphlets…horrifying. The school nurse was tending to them.
It was Scorpius I found first. He stared at Rose, who was lying on the Slytherin table with her eyes closed. Her visage was pallid and her clothes somehow seemed less fashionable.
“Rose is…dead?” I asked, my voice cracking. How…how could this be?
“Fuck this,” said Scorpo. “I didn’t even have the chance to make Ginger my woman. I wasted the whole year fucking around with other girls to make Ginger jealous, and now she’s DEAD.”
I was shaking…my cousin was dead?…but I couldn’t find the tears to cry. Weird, but whatever.
“Have you checked her pulse?” I asked meekly, but Scorpius had just extracted a vial from his pocket. It was small and the liquid inside it was purple and lumpy.
“My one true love is dead,” said Scorpy solemnly. “I can never be with her in life…but perhaps in death. I must be chivalrous like a true Gryffindor and drink the contents of this vial, which I bought from an apothecary in Knockturn Alley last summer just in case a situation like this came up.”
I felt as numb as an ice cube-covered penguin. “Scorpo, buddy…what’re you doing? You’re still processing Rose’s…being not here anymore.”
But Scorpius unceremoniously took a shot of the purple liquid and gasped. “Holy shit! What the fuck is in this purple shit? Fucking apothecary, this tastes like house elf farts! Fuck this! Oh Rose, I—”
And with his last bit of strength, Scorpius lightly touched his lips to Rose’s. But just as quickly, he fell on her and died.
Rose? Scorpius? My cousin and my bestie? What the fuck was happening? The Scourge Afoul, the battle, Scorpo’s…suicide?
Barely a minute after Scorpius collapsed and died, Rose’s eyes opened. She looked around, utterly confused.
“Horatio!” she snapped. “Or Al, whatever you’re called! What the fuck is Scorpius doing, lying on me like that, and what happened to the battle?”
My throat swelled up, but I was still kinda shell-shocked. “We won. Cassiusmort is going to be tried for treason by the Wizengamot. But you…you were dead.”
She sat up a bit, pushing Scorpius off her slightly. “No, I wasn’t. Some T.P. Distributor threw sleeping powder at me, and the effects are like a minor Draught of Living Death. Which I know because for all intents and purposes, I assume the role of my mother in our generation. But what’s happened to Scorpius?”
I took a few minutes to compose my thoughts. My horrible, horrible thoughts.
“Are you sure you’re not dead?” I asked unnecessaryadverbly.
Rose looked from me to Scorpius and back to me again. “Oh no, the dumb fuck went and offed himself, didn’t he?”
“Well,” I said, “yes. But it was out of love for you!”
She regarded Scorpo tenderly. “It was not until this moment did I realize how deep my love for Scorpius is. And then the little fuckwit had to go and kill himself.”
“I believe that qualifies as irony,” I said.
“Horatio,” said Rose very seriously, “I need you to write all of this down. Everything that happened to me and Scorpius this year, and I need you to get it published. Make it an—I don’t know—a cautionary tale that teaches kids not to disobey their parents. And be sure to use American spelling and colloquial phrases as often as you can.”
“Okay,” I said. “But why do you want me to write this cautionary tale?”
She smiled weakly. “Goodbye, Horatio.”
And with that, Rose pointed her wand to the side of her head, said Avada Kedavra, and died.
So never was there a tale of such distress, as that of Rose and her Scorpius.
A/N: This was written for Jessi_Rose’s Pet Peeve Challenge at eHPF. While I myself do not ship Scorpius/Rose, I fully respect your right to ship them and I do not mean for this piece to be offensive in any way. I wrote this purely for the sake of parody, and it was not inspired by any single fic, but rather by my least favorite clichés that have cropped up in the fandom. Please keep in mind that it’s meant to be terrible and utterly ridiculous, and please don’t flame me. =) Oh, and I also don’t hate communists.
Funtivity: See how many Shakespeare references you can spot!
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