Saturday mornings. Sleeping in. Possibly the best feelings to be felt at HFA in the one-and-a-half-weeks of its existence.

At least that was Meir Brin’s opinion when she first opened her eyes at nine o’clock.

Judging by that bit of foreshadowing, the moment was shortly to be ruined. This came in the form of a giant black fuzz ball (smelling strongly of seafood) jumping onto Meir Brin’s quilt and demanding that its hair curlers be removed from its fur.

“Lockheart! Oh, medalva—what time is it?” The HFA coordinator suddenly realized that she had just slept for two days straight. “That’s a record, for Vambiolaria, at least.” Attention was then brought back to the hair curlers. “Where did you get these? Have you been going to Coifs for Crawlies again?”

“Toaster warm! Makes furses curly! Lockheart likeses warm toasters!”

Meir Brin sighed and began to work the curlers out of Lockheart’s body-fur. Once they had all been removed, Lockheart had a nice little hairdo, which was strikingly similar to Gilderoy’s own coiffure.

“Well who would have thunk it. I’d never have believed that toasters work this well as curling irons...”

*********

Ally flopped down onto her four-poster bed, completely exhausted and bruised in numerous locations. The events of the past two evenings had been too much. It had begun after Ally had called the second gathering of the Lusters United, intent on rescuing Grandmomma Longlegs from the hapless claws of the Mini-Aragogs.

The meeting had lasted until two in the morning. Onyx and Hermione8meg had concocted a plan (which was rather stupid in Ally’s hindsight) to disguise them all as Mini-Aragogs and pass the sentinels who guarded the hallways at night.

Of course, like all plans that sound good at the time, there was of course a critical flaw in this idea. None of the Lusters United knew the Mini-Aragog secret hand- (paw-? leg-? extremity-?) shake. And that of course had resulted in the first annual Mini-Aragog dogsled run. Ally winced. Being dragged through the halls of Hogwarts at forty miles per hour by six Mini-Aragogs shouting “We will win! We will win!” is very painful.

And then there was the part in which the Mini-Aragogs managed to drag them into the Death Eater Tupperware party, in which one earns the eternal loathing of the Dark wizards (who of course could never live it down if the Ministry found out they held secret Tupperware-party-rituals every Saturday evening).

This was then followed by the Lusters United being Banished into the middle of the Quidditch pitch, where, as fate would have it, the House-Elf Recording Artist Association was practicing their Chumdeleidalalala Song in five-part harmony. Very few things in the world of fanfiction can make one’s ears bleed. The Chumdeleidalalala Song is one of them.

By this time, of course, it had been sunrise. Sunday mornings at sunrise coincidentally happened to be the time at which the Gryffindor Quidditch team practiced. And this meant that a majority of the Lusters United were subsequently paralyzed by the close proximity of their lust-object.

Ally and Catrin Pritchard had gaped open-mouthed at Harry Potter, and probably would have glomped had he not been many meters above them, and on a broomstick. Hermione8meg and The Shroom had come very close to getting neck strain from watching Oliver Wood, though The Shroom had difficulty dividing her attention between Oliver’s and Harry’s antics. The others, their lust-objects not in sight, had tried to pull their comrades away from the pitch, as Harry’s Fodfather was eyeing them.

Ally had not known who or what Harry’s Fodfather was. She soon discovered.

From that point on Ally was loath to mess with anything that resembled both a patch of grass and a buffet line at the same time. Typos were evil. Ally swore she would go on a campaign for spellcheck, if she ever managed to get a fanfiction license.

And then, to place the cherry on the whipped cream, Chibigreen had said it couldn’t get any worse. It is a well-known fact that this phrase has magical powers. It is called Ironic Law. Often it can bring on rain. But not at HFA.

“Punctuation downpour!” cried Angelina Johnson, zooming back to the castle. The rest of the Gryffindor team followed suit, and even the Fodfather had ambled back to Hogwarts.

Yet when one is a Luster, it is rather hard to snap out of lust-object withdrawal. Which resulted in the un-stunned members of the L.U. carrying Ally, Catrin Pritchard, Hermione8meg, and The Shroom back to the castle as periods and semi-colons plummeted to the ground around them.

Of course, by that time it had been noon. Having not slept in forty-two hours makes one cranky. Having gone through the preceding events makes one crankier.

Therefore, when the Lusters United had returned to see Grandmomma Longlegs at the foot of the grand staircase, stroking Hearmen and Hermoing, well... The reaction had been less than pretty.

“We—we—we...!” stammered Catrin Pritchard, trying to keep her cool.

Onyx had started wailing again. “Why? Why! Whaaaaat haaaaaaappened?! Aaaaaaahhhhh!”

Ally had scuffed her shoe into the floor. “I’m sorry, guys. I thought...”

In a single stroke of luck (the only one Ally had had in quite a while), she had been saved from six angry Lusters, who may have united to inflict pain upon a fellow member in their rage. But not in the manner of her choosing.

“Ahh! Ickle fanwriters!” Peeves had returned, followed by his acolyte, Rex Natos. “Whats be you doing here? In the vewy special meeting place of the Fewwowship of the Peeveses?” said the Poltergeist, mimicking the Mini-Aragogs’ speech.

“N-n-nothing...” Chelsea had stammered, backing away.

Peeves had grinned maniacally, and chased them all the way up to the Astronomy Tower, which was discovered to be higher and less romantic than any of the Lusters United had ever imagined.

In the long chain of ill-fated events, the last link was near.

It came in the appearance of the Mini-Aragog rappelling club.

The Mini-Aragogs had then realized that the Lusters United could be wound up in spider-thread, and would then make excellent yo-yos. Twenty-seven times, back and forth, dangling from the Astronomy Tower is not the ideal way to spend one’s afternoon.

Then, of course, it had been teatime. The Mini-Aragogs had run off, leaving the Lusters United dangling from threads many meters above the school. Fortunately, Percy Weasley had come by and hoisted the (now nauseated) Lusters back into the tower. Then they had been sent back to their common rooms, with strict reprimands of “don’t ever upset the Mini-Aragogs like that again!” Ally rolled her eyes. Like the Mini-Aragogs had been upset by their presence, and not vice versa.

And that is the tale of the Lusters United’s second great adventure. In which many became pained, bruised, and sick to their stomach.