When the Canon Characters of HFA slumped back into Aerobics Lair that evening, the air was positively crackling with anticipation. The hype for Book the Fifth had obviously begun in the Real World, or at least become very acute. Soon the Canon would change. And then whatever was meant to happen would happen.

Most of the HFA population hoped that whatever was going to occur would happen quickly. Professor Trelawney was in her element, predicting the terrible deaths that would await everyone in the fandom in the following book, including Meir Brin’s. However, before she could say any more on the subject, Percy Weasley quieted the Seer with a Silencing Charm.

The direst thought on everyone’s mind was unfortunately the weakening Canon. This was the umpteenth time it had failed to keep out other beings, and was becoming less dependable than Wormtail having your back in a time of trouble. As far as Meir Brin knew, the rip in Canon had been healed to the best of their abilities, and the creatures had been sent back into their own realities. Still, there was that pressure on the Continuum, more than she had ever seen before.

“I don’t see why every bloody creature in the fanfiction worlds wants to get in here,” muttered Ron, wiping sweat off of his forehead. “It’s not like we don’t have madmen running around like everywhere else,” he said, gesturing to Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord, meanwhile, was happily dividing the spoils of the hunt with his two counterparts. “I will take this Vambiolato, and LVJ gets this Avatar. You can have this dead Smurf, Tom.”

“All right, Tom,” said Tom Riddle in a surly manner. “I will exchange my robot-gun-thingy for your flying-unicorn-thingy, LVJ,” he said, holding up a weapon of high caliber.

“No, mine,” babbled LVJ, clutching the winged unicorn fiercely.

Meir Brin shook her head and walked tiredly into the Whinging Scab. Snatching a bottle of Butterbeer off of the rack, she flopped into one of the small spindly chairs.

“That was less than enjoyable,” said a voice behind her. The HFA coordinator looked up to see Remus Lupin and Professor Flitwick.

“I’d agree there,” said Meir Brin, moving so that they could sit down. “We got them, though.” She added under her breath: “No bloody Smurfs are going to run around this school.”

“Yes, and did you see Dobby’s handiwork? Why, I could not have done better myself,” said Flitwick complimentarily. “I dare say the house-elfs will be the saviors of us all sooner or later,” he said.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” asked a pleasant voice.

“A grape soda, please, Rosmerta,” said Flitwick

“Water will do,” said Lupin, rubbing his eyes. “How I detest being a lust-object.”

Meir Brin held up the bottle of Butterbeer, indicating that she already had a drink. “Well, one can never tell. Perhaps this next book will present a more likable candidate for the fangirls’ attention,” she said. “Draw their thoughts away from you and Draco a bit.”

Remus nodded, but he still looked very weary. A full moon was creeping up on them at HFA, and he was not looking forward to it. For that matter, neither were the rest of the Canon Characters, who were not too thrilled about being locked up in the Canon Bunker with a ravenous werewolf.

Rosmerta was then back, carrying the two Canon Characters’ drinks. Flitwick took his, and raised his glass encouragingly. “To the appearance of more lust-objects, then!”

“I’ll drink to that, I guess,” said Meir Brin. Yet in the back of her mind she could not help but feel a great sense of dread looming over the castle. There were three days left.

*********

Ally skidded into “The Commitment of Evilness” and slammed the door shut just as the bell rang. Panting slightly, she collapsed into her seat, having narrowly outrun Peeves and his Minions (which required an unconventional capitalization, just by the very nature of the people comprising Peeves’ following).

“Welcome, welcome,” said Lord Voldemort evilly, glancing around at his class. “Today I would very much like to discuss a topic about which I am very offended.”

FlamingElf ducked back into her seat. When the Dark Lord(s) were offended, there was rarely a pleasant consequence for the students.

Tom Riddle strode to the forefront of the room. “Fanwriters, what is my name?”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” chorused the fanwriters. Asteria fainted in her chair, but was quickly revived by Antigra with a swift kick of the foot.

Lord Voldemort strode to the front of the room. “And what is my name, pray tell?” he asked quietly, his red eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Ally had seen Lord Voldemort in many moods. She had seen him after the MAPLE games (which were now approaching the final match, Harry Potter versus Lord Voldemort. Most of the fanwriters were unsure of how this would play out, but a small gambling ring was going around, betting on the outcome. Ludo Bagman was said to be the mastermind behind the thing, but others had said that it was in fact Ginny Weasley’s doing), where he looked happy and nearly giddy. She had seen him capturing fanwriters for his little experiments, looking meticulously clever and calculating. But she had never seen him look this, well, evil.

Half of the fanwriter population, who were probably not watching their lecturer show his Spawn-of-Satan side, said “Lord Voldemort.” Ally didn’t. She was too busy cowering in her seat.

Lord Voldemort drew his wand quietly. “Indeed. That is true. Yet how many of you do not fear me?”

Some of the fanwriters raised their hands. But even the staunchest could not stop trembling as his red glare fell upon them. Behind the desk at the front of the room, Nagini the serpent hissed and was roused.

“You do not fear my wrath?” said Lord Voldemort, and behind him Tom Riddle and LVJ could be seen snickering uncontrollably. The fanwriters did not take notice of this, too concerned with the angry Dark Lord before them.

Nagini then slid onto Voldemort’s desk, her monstrous head writhing back and forth as she surveyed the room. She tasted the air lazily.

Near the back of the classroom, Belphegor said quietly: “We amend that. We are very much afraid.” Her voice shook as his gaze fell upon the Wantingmors. How could this possibly be the same Dark Lord who had professed his love of Snoopy and Uncle Wiggly multiple times?

Lord Voldemort chuckled in the back of his throat. “I thought you would come around. I have always wondered why so many of your characters feel brave enough to speak my name aloud. I am the epitome of evil, I am—”

“Yes, yes, we know,” said LVJ, slobbering down the front of his “Little Troublemakers” jumper. “From now on we’re ‘You-Know-Who’ or ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’. For those of you who will not confuse us with other fandoms, we may be called ‘The Dark Lord’.”

Ally mused how odd it must be to call a group of three beings “The Dark Lord.” Perhaps they had formed a co-op of some sort, and that was how they got away with it. After some hefty lessons from Mr. Weasley and Hermione in Spellcheck class, she doubted she would ever confuse personal pronouns again. Well, at least she would try not to.

Tom Riddle cleared his throat. “To drive home our point about the saying of our name, we will be doing a little exercise entitled ‘How Much Do You Fear Me?’”

Ally squirmed in her seat. Her fingers found the wand tucked into the pocket of her robes, and she contemplated how far she would get if she were to run screaming from the classroom. Probably not very far.

Lord Voldemort then turned to Nagini, and spoke to her in Parseltongue. The sound sent chills down the back of Ally’s neck; it was even worse than fingernails on the chalkboard or the chill she got whenever someone spoke of eating ice cubes. Nagini rose up on her front coils, and Ally watched in a trance as her tongue flicked in and out of her mouth. Lord Voldemort spoke one command, in a low, menacing hiss.

Then the room dissolved into chaos.