No matter how many times he went over it, he was unable to comprehend what he’d just read. “I am so confused right now.”
Ron looked up, a piece of bacon poking out the side of his mouth. “Huh?”
“This.” Harry held up the letter. “Some nutter just sent me seven pages of a story she wrote for me, and I dunno if I’m supposed to laugh, or,” he squinted at the last couple lines, “go to New Zealand to ‘cure the time-rift and reclaim your title as the High Baron Royal Viscount Eleventh King of Hogwarts.’ I mean, is she just takin’ the piss, or does she think it’s actually a great story and that I’d be flattered?”
“That’s not how royal titles work, Harry.” Reaching over, his flatmate yanked the letter away. “Lemme see that.”
“I know that’s not how titles are used, smartass” Leaning back in his chair, Harry crossed his arms and waited.
After a few minutes, Ron’s expression was stuck somewhere between total confusion and wanting to start laughing himself to death. “Hold on.” He went back to the first page and started to read it a second time. “Who the bloody hell is Hadrian?”
“He built a wall up in Scotland, or something. I think.”
“Well, yeah, I know about that one, but why’s this,” Ron flipped to the last page, “Princess Fiona-Beryl-Luthien, calling you that?”
Taking a bite of his toast, Harry shrugged.
“She also calls you Harrison, then spells it differently a couple times. Which is it? Hadrian, Harrison, or Harisson?”
He snorted. “No idea.”
Ron started giggling. “She’s turned you into a girl named Hydrangea.”
“What?” Harry reached over the table and grabbed the letter back. “Where?”
“Right after you get proclaimed the sole inheritor of the Ancient and Noble Houses of Potter-Black-Lupin-Scamander-Snape-Lestrange-Dumbledore-Gaunt-Slytherin-Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw-Gryffindor-Merlin.” Ron frowned as he yanked the letter out of Harry's hand. Sticking his tongue out, he flipped to the next page. “Hydrangea gets turned back to boy, but now you’re an elfling in Middle Earth and are three months pregnant… EEEW, that’s just wrong!” Ron slid the papers back to Harry in disgust.
“What the fuck is this bullshit? She makes me get preggers in our first year, by Snape!" Harry pretended to gag at the next few sentences. "Mate, a spontaneous sex-change is one thing, but… fathering a statutory rape-baby with an eleven-year-old boy? That’s some really twisted shit.” He shuddered.
Ron snorted a sarcastic laugh as he leaned over the table and read along. “Yeah, but her excuse is that you’re a High Elf Vampire Werewolf Omega Carrier from Rivendel, and your mind is more like somebody who’s eight hundred. Your pheromones made him unable to help himself.”
“That still doesn’t excuse the pedophilia on Snape’s part, though." Harry was impressed that his best friend could read things upside down; did he learn that from Luna? "And that ‘they seduced me and I was unable to help myself’ bullshit is exactly what a pedo would say.” Harry shuddered. “I know the man was an utter cunt to me back then, because of what my dad did, but that just puts a whole new layer of sick on the whole thing." He shifted uncomfortably. "I have enough issues from my childhood; rather not add more questions about being groomed by a pedo onto that, thanks. All that speculation after Dumbledore got outed as gay was bad enough.”
Footsteps from the kitchen made the two men look up.
“Morning,” Hermione said, yawning. “What is it?” she asked, after seeing the rather serious looks on their faces. “Oh, no. Did someone-?”
“Oh! God, no. Nothing like that,” Harry said quickly, “we’re just going over a fan’s story. It kinda went to a dark place.”
“Huhn.” She sat down, putting a tea mug on the table. “May I?”
Ron started to pass her the letter, then hesitated. “Your eyes might melt, ‘Mione. There are a lot of spelling and grammatical errors in here as well.”
She rolled her eyes and grabbed it. “I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”
Her laughing fit lasted for nearly twenty minutes. By then, all three of them were gasping and holding their sides.
“It says that… the marshmallows… speared through… the…javelin’s shaft!” Hermione wheezed as she caught her breath. “The marshmallows… would have… to be… sharp enough…to go through… wood!”
Harry pounded the table, gasping. When Hermione had started pointing out the seriously insane physics of certain phrases, the resulting mental images made the whole thing even more hilarious.
**** **** ****
“Dear Princess Fiona-Beryl-Luthien,
I don’t know what your real name is, but I thoroughly enjoyed the story you sent to me yesterday.
My friends and I have never laughed so hard in our lives. It was hilarious beyond anything I can describe.
Please tell me you have more like that.
Although, I do have one request.
For the love of Merlin, please don't ever write underaged Mpreg scenarios that feature Prof. Snape being the father again.
That part was deeply disturbing and brought up memories I'd rather have stay in the past.
I'm also an Auror and have dealt with far too many cases of statutory rape, so it's a subject I find intolerable.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter.”
The Royal Scribe folded the letter with a heavy sigh. “I do hope someone will soon take His Majesty’s plea for aid seriously. The time-rift is getting dangerously out of control.” He slid the original letter, its translated version, and the Potter response into the shelf of potential allies, between the ones from Duchy King John Bilbo Hamish Baggins-Watson of The Shire and Admiral-Captain Professor Jean-Luc Ahab Charles Xavier-Picard. “I hate it when sending trans-dimensional mail gets so utterly corrupted in the translation process.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he winced as various multi-verses clashed and melded, spewing all manner of chaos out into the world. Lifting his antennae toward the seven pink suns, he said, “Please, oh benevolent Suitor of Moons, let this next one be correctly worded.”