Chapter 1 : A Most Enchanting Tale
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The night hung over the manor like a dark hanging thing. Like black curtains, or a perhaps navy blue, but a really dark navy blue, the kind that looks black unless you hold it up to something that is black in direct sunlight. It descended on the inhabitants hungrily, swallowing up their vision, painting the rooms and windows. The storm approaching was visible on the horizon only when lightning illuminated it from below, flashing ominously, like some great best crouching, waiting to strike. A great beast with thick, gray fur and a low, booming growl. A beast with sharp white teeth striking down toward the ground below. A beast that smelled of suffering and sulfur. But it was not a beast. It was a storm. A storm with clouds. Those were the fur.
Death and pain lingered in the air, smelling as neglected as burnt toast. In a corner, a small child sat huddled, his eyes wet with tears of fear and confusion. He was alone in the room, abandoned, lonely, solitary, confined, isolated, deserted, forsaken, rejected, neglected, ditched, dumped, and many other words which all mean by himself. Darkness swirled around him. Hopelessness tainted his breath with a clutch that no amount of oral hygiene could hope to conquer.
Elsewhere in the world, other completely unrelated things were happening. These included the first day at Hogwarts of a young and breathtakingly gorgeous young woman, who stepped up to the gates in the middle of term, her hands on her hips, and her punk American attitude emanating fresh and strong in the sunlight. She was about to begin a new year and she was full of fresh hope for the future. But this is not to say that she did not have dark secrets tearing her up inside. Because she did have many dark secrets. Things she kept hidden in a dark, secretive way.
She strode up the path to the castle with confidence in her steps, hr hips swinging, her hair blowing in the wind, her arms outstretched to reveal the outfit she had so carefully chosen. She wore a black miniskirt that was delicately embroidered with quotes from all her favorite songs: "Tear My Heart Out, Vampire Lover", "Soulless Solace", and "Werewolf Love: Rip Me To Pieces You Sexy Beast". It exposed her long, tanned legs and went nicely with the deep purple top she wore. It was long sleeved and made of polyester blend, rayon, not cotton. It dipped down to a deep V on her chest, showing just a hint of cleavage, and the edge of her tattoo: a heart-shaped skull crying tears of black blood, and eating a Tootsie-Pop (orange flavor- her favorite). Her feet were adorned with six inch black heels, so that she moved toward the castle at six centimeters per hour, but looked fabulous doing it. Her long hair, sparkling and black in the sunlight, rippled behind her, shining like the blackest of teenage souls. But most striking of all about her appearance were her eyes; deep violet now, they sometimes faded to periwinkle or darkened to cold, ocean blue. She had once thought this depended on her moods but eventually realized it came from eating so much artificially colored cereal when she was a child. She was of medium height and slender with sexy curves, deep tanned skin, and a kickin' smile.
So it was that when she entered the Great Hall, all eyes immediately turned to take her in. Walking in those shoes, it had actually taken her two days to get inside, and so she was quite hungry, but Professor McGongahall insisted she be sorted immediately. She sat down on the stool and waited while the Sorting Hat was placed on her head.
"Hmmm," the hat said, as it rooted around in her brain. "You're clever, my dear, quite clever. And exceedingly brave. And also exceptionally loyal, but definitely unusually ambitious. You're stupendously shrewd, astonishingly academic, drastically daring, fantastically friendly. I'm out of adjectives to describe all of the amazing facets of your striking and unique personality. How could I possibly sort you? I've got it. You shall be..."
She held her breath, nervously waiting for the announcement.
There was a hush in the hall. McGongahall came rushing forward, her hand on her frail chest. "But Hat!" she cried, gazing at it in astonishment. "There hath only ever been one Gryffiehuffaslytheravendor in history!"
The hat replied only with stubborn silence. McGongahall turned to the girl, shaking her head. "Alas, no dorm awaits you, I fear. But alack! Hermione Granger hath recently resigned her post as Head Girl, for she be hospitalized after being permanently encased in too-tight leather pants! Thou seem to be competent enough, thou can be Head Girl, and in this way thou shalt have a dormitory! Thine partner, the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy, may show ye where thine dorm be, methinks," she offered, shaking her head back and forth, beaming, and occasionally letting forth a burst of maniacal laughter, so that the students around her twitched in alarm.
"Sure," the girl offered, beaming. She noticed the students now shrank away from her and she quickly covered her mouth. She had forgotten about her fang! As she was only one-ninth vampire, she only had one fang, but sometimes it got out of hand. Things had gotten really messy when she had to have braces.
"Well students," came a booming voice from the front, and all heads turned to see the aging headmaster rising to his place to speak. He spread his hands wide, looking old, wise, aged, sage, ancient, and knowledgeable. "I'd like you all to welcome our newest student: my daughter, Ursa Major Dumbledore."
LATER, IN THE SHARED HEAD DORM
Much breathless snogging occurred.
"Draco," Ursa Major called, her violet gaze scanning the library for her boyfriend. "Where are you?"
"Here," came a gruff voice from around the corner. She turned to find Draco standing there in all of his shining, pale glory. His jaw was strong, his lips full, his smirk arrogant, his shoulders broad, his stature tall, his posture excellent, his hair neatly combed, his pants well tailored, his shoes shined, his skin smooth, his orbs stormy, his cheekbones sharp, his arms sculpted, his Adam's apple particularly round, and his hands manicured in the most masculine way possible. Even his skin seemed to emit a godlike glow- but no, wait, he was just standing in a patch of sunlight.
"What are you doing, my sweet?" she purred, running her hand down his bare chest. Recently Draco had taken to wandering around with no shirt on, for inexplicable but irrelevant reasons.
Draco grunted in reply. His words were unnecessary and Ursa took no notice of anything he said, because she understood him. She saw into his soul and knew that within him curled a young boy just trying to make it in the world. A young wizard who just wanted love and acceptance and free healthcare for all. He was like the blue crayon in the crayon box: you think it will be dark, like navy, but then you color with it and it ends up being cornflower, and you're frustrated.Seeing the shiny golden heart beneath his icy exterior, she nearly wept in profound feeling for him. And Draco nearly wept right along with her, but instead he knelt down, and withdrew from his trouser pocket and shiny black box.
"Ursa Major," he said in soft, sultry tones, "We have known one another for three days and are much to young to be in a serious relationship. I love you like moss loves the trunks of the trees on which it lichens. I love you like mold loves the orange on which it festers after four days. My heart without you is empty. As empty as a bottle of pumpkin juice which has been drunk by the loathsome creature that dwells within my soul, telling me I can't possibly love you because this is the only conversation we've ever had. But to that creature I say nay, creature. Nay. My heart is hers. My soul is hers. My almost impossibly shiny mane of lustrous man hair is hers. Will you marry me, Ursa Major?"
She wept. He wept. Madame Pince wept, but only because Draco was kneeling on a first-edition. And then she threw back her head, and shouted to the heavens:
"Draco Malfoy, of course I cannot marry you!"
For a moment there was stunned silence. Then Draco let out a whimper.
"But why? Why, my love?"
She cradled his delicate face in her hands. "Because if I did, there would not be enough angst and improbable personal drama to keep this story going. The author might actually have to develop a plot, and that just sounds like so much effort. Besides, I haven't had my completely unrealistic romantic tryst with Harry yet."
And then she flounced away.
"Harry," Ursa Major called, her violet eyes scanning the great hall for the hero. "Where are you?"
As if out of nowhere, Harry appeared suddenly before her, flanked by his two trusty minions, Harnold and Harrimione. They stood before her looking angst-ridden and wan, but also fabulously good looking.
"Harry, things are happening. Evil things. Evil things which need preventing," Ursa Major said urgently, and Harry let out a shocked, outrageously loud gasp.
"Egads!" he exclaimed, tossing his silky black hair around like a horse with an uncontrollable neck twitch. "We must prevent them! We must step in to events which have absolutely nothing to do with us! We must leave the castle immediately in search of vague evils that only sort of make sense!"
Ursa Major agreed. She ran to her dormitory to pack a bag full of completely unnecessary cosmetics and her diary, in which she wrote all of her shallow, ill-developed feelings for various male characters, and then they were off, traveling through the countryside, through cities, over glens. They hiked mountains and swam streams. None of their journey was very exciting and it was mostly skipped over anyway in the narrative, however Ursa Major grew quite close to her fellows during their epic crossings. So it was that one day, they bestowed upon her the ultimate honor.
"Ursa," called Harrimione one night as they were gathered around the campfire. Ursa sat nearby, tirelessly mending her ballgown, and she looked up in some surprise.
"We have a gift for you," the three of them said in unison, their voices harmonizing. Harry emerged from the tent behind them carrying a shining wooden box, outstretched in front of him, while Harrimione and Harnold watched with wide, enchanted eyes. He took slow, measured steps toward her. Somewhere in the background, a choir began a Gregorian chant.
"Open it," the three of them said, watching her eagerly. She stretched out her fingertips and lifted the box, cradling it gently. There was about five more minutes of minute description and overly dramatic scenery, and then she raised the lid.
Inside, nestled among folds of velvet and silk, was a shining badge. She pulled it out and it gleamed, seeming to glow with its own light from within. It was gold and bedecked in red gems, and in the center, in beautiful script, were the words Golden Trio Honorary Member.
She gasped, putting her hand to her chest. Tears pricked her eyes at the beauty of it, and then she pinned it on, and all was right with the world at last.
They made their way to the Democratic Republic of Congo. There, rumor had it, the forces of an evil and ancient curse had taken hold, and Harry felt obliged to vanquish it. They traipsed through the jungle, stumbling over man eating plants and green things. Since the author did no research on the actual country or scenery, and knows nothing about the jungle, they came across some fairly strange things: Incan temples, savage but good looking loin-clothed clad men who spoke English, and the temple of the lost ark. They accidentally lost Harnold in a pit of quicksand but since he was not useful for anything in this story anyway, no one really minded.
They reached the temple where the curse was rumored to live and Harry sprang forward, stretching his arms out to either side. "Ladies!" he cried, advancing with his wand held out, on his tip toes, his expression fierce. "Come no further! For I, Harry Potter, am about to battle the forces of evil once more. Harrimione, cue soundtrack!"
"Dun dun, dun dun dun, dun dun, duuuunn," Harrimione sang obediently, swaying back and forth. Ursa Major crouched beneath the leaves of a palm tree, watching as Harry inspected the area for signs of wrong doing, ungentlemanly behavior, or general ruffianism.
"Harry!" Ursa Major called urgently, waving him over. He sprinted to her side, paused only once to heave and clutch the stitch in his side, and then continued at a light jog. "Yes Ursa?"
"My sunkissed, golden skin! It is glowing!"
"No it's not," Harry argued, as Harrimione continued her humming in the background, now accompanying herself by drumming on a nearby tree trunk.
"It is! And I'm feeling rather faint! As though perhaps the mysterious curse is somehow inexplicably related to me or to my convoluted heritage!"
Just then, Dumbledore came bursting through the jungle, parting ferns and swatting away malaria-ridden mosquitoes, crying out breathlessly "WAIT! URSA! IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE DESCENDED FROM A FIRE DEMON PHAROAAAAAAAAAAAAH..." before plunging down a waterfall.
"Dad!" Ursa cried, running to the edge of the waterfall and leaning over, not even caring that her nine hundred galleon designer jeans were getting soaked. Below, Dumbledore clutched onto a protruding root, looking cheerful.
"I'm fine!" he called back, waving his beard at her.
"Great!" she said, sighing with relief. "Hang on, I'll hike down."
"Wait! Ursa!" Dumblydore called urgently, and she paused. "While I am in this perilous position, I think it is an appropriate time to tell you the truth about your family," he said, looking grave, but still wise and omniscient.
"Are you sure now is the time, Dad? I mean, honestly, you can tell me once you're not hanging onto a root over a piranha-infested pit of rocks," she offered generously.
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head, his beard swaying in the wind. "This is important. It is time you knew. Your mother... was Grindlewald."
There was a stunned silence, interrupted only by Harry splashing enthusiastically in the water behind her. "Dad," Ursa said gently, "I don't think that's possible."
"DO NOT QUESTION OUR LOVE," Dumbledore roared, shaking his head violently. "Love can conquer all things, even basic anatomy."
"Love!" he interrupted stubbornly.
"No but seriously-"
"Okay, Dad, I get it, but-"
"It is the power the Dark Lord knows not," Harry offered helpfully from behind her.
Ursa Major sighed. "Whatever," she accepted, shaking her head. "Someone climb down there and unhook Dumbledore from that root."
By the time they made it back to Hogwarts, Ursa was exhausted, and was in no mood to chat when Darco came running toward her, his blonde hair flying in the wind.
"Ursa! My love!" he called, and she stopped walking. "Why haven't you replied to my Myspace messages?" he asked in a hurt voice, pouting.
"Because I've been battling the forces of evil, Darco," she sighed, shaking her head. "Gosh, why can't you just leave me alone? Maybe you need a hobby. Join the Dark lord or something."
Leaving him there, sobbing brokenly, she swept off toward the castle. At Hogwarts they were having a ball and she went into the Great Hall and turned around three times, and suddenly she was magically adorned in a magnificent ballgown. It was bright red and black lace, with a corset top and a wide, sweeping skirt, and the train was fourteen feet long and embedded with rubies. She hid behind her flimsy mask that no one could possibly hope to glean her identity through and swept around, dancing with every young man in the hall. She had a great time, except for once, when Voldemort popped his head in, and everyone screamed, but Voldemort just said "Oh, sorry, I was looking for the Gryffindor Common Room? My bad," and skipped off.
She was dancing with a handsome young man with platinum blonde hair and a smirk. She had no idea who it could possibly be, but then suddenly, a man burst into the hall, waving his cane around, smacking nearby dancers in the head.
"Offspring!" he called, looking around the ballroom. Ursa Major recognized him immediately. It was Lucious Malfoy, the evil and glorious father of Darco!
"Yes, genetic source?" Darco said, and it was then that Ursa realized she had been dancing with him the whole time! He was such a good dancer and smelled so delicious, like sprigs of peppermint, and gasoline, that she fell in love with him all over again. "Darco, don't go!" she called angstily, clutching at him, but he stepped forward toward his father.
"Ursa, everything will be alright," Darco said, turning back to her and eyeing her with his silvery orbs, the color of the stuff that leaks out of thermometers. "When you miss me, listen to this mixtape I made you," he said, handing her something out of his robes pocket. She took it and looked at the front. It was a cassette he had made for her, labeled with all of her favorite bands: My Synthetic Mixture of Basic Elements Romance, Complicated Plan, Three Hours Grace, Linkin Pork, April Ravine, and Blink 265.
"Draco, this means so much to me," she said, tears in her eyes, as he took slow steps toward Lucious, who was standing there with his arms outstretched, his ankle-length hair billowing.
"I love you," he called, as his father grabbed him by the arm.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" Luscious cried, peering into Drapo's eyes with one narrowed orb.
"I said I love her, genetic source! You cannot stop me!" Drapo said defiantly. Nearby, Harry burst into fitful sobs, heartbroken at hearing these words from his secret love's mouth. He ran to the bathroom where he would spend the rest of his days staring at himself in the mirror, gently sobbing and petting himself on the head, softly whispering, 'It's alright, Harry, darling, it's fine.'
Just then, Hedwig soared into the Great Hall and perched on Luscious's head, hooting feebly. He waved his arms about, trying desperately to disentangle her claws from his mane, and Drapo seized the chance to escape. Suddenly the whole castle was in uproar. McGongahall ran through the Great Hall, waving her arms overhead, screeching, and nearly colliding with Hagrid, who was leading a cheerful line dance and grunting. Harrimione took up the humming once more, this time roaring the rhythm at a deafening volume. Remus Lupin and Severus Snape were discovered having a snog in a closet, both standing ankle-deep in the Grindylow tank. Ginny stormed about, screaming angrily at the top of her lungs, for no real reason other than that she had red hair and was generally angry. Pansy Parkinson crawled about under the tables, trying to find her lost characterization. Sirius Black stepped out from behind a curtain over the window and yelled "Just Kidding!" but no one was paying attention, having been distracted by the sudden appearance of Blaise Zabini's secret army of heretofore unsuspected twin sisters. Dumbledore popped into the hall, twirled his beard, said something wise, and left.
"STOP!" a voice rang out suddenly. It was Dorzo, who had stood up on a house table and was holding his arms aloft, calling for attention. The whole Hall stopped, captivated by the mysterious power of DRACOORBSTARE, and Ursa found herself lost in the spinning realm of moonlight and silver that were his eyes. They were the color of frozen water, the color of the sky after it storms, the color of light fixtures in post-modern interior design, the color of lemon-lime soda when you open the bottle and pour that first deliciously refreshing glass. They shone like the buckle on her Louboutins. They were as bright as the feeling of realizing your barista made your latte foam extra frothy today.
Just then a Dementor swooped in and tried to eat Ursa Major's soul, but it choked and gave up.
Ursa looked into Draco's stormy eyes. He looked into her beautiful violet orbs. She stared into his occular temples. He gazed into the windows to her soul. She peered steadily at his eyeballs. He observed her pretty peepers. She contemplated his spheres. He scrutinized her light-detecting organs. She studied his baby blues. He ogled her corneas. She surveyed his irises. He beheld her occulus. She inspected his photosensitive ganglion cells. He gaped at her lens cortex. She scanned his retina. He goggled her pupils.
Then Volgedort killed them. It was very sad and not cliche. Then Ursa Major came back as a vampire, but there is no point telling that story, because nothing ever happens in it.