Fender Blackorn had never been so miserable in all his born days. He had never known that cleaning involved so much filth. To say that Mrs. Norris had been cursed with a Hairballing Hex would be like saying that the Lusterbuffs were a little fond of Oliver Wood. Even at lunch two days after his ordeal in Filch’s dungeon, he was still removing pasty cat hair from underneath his fingernails. Ergh.

The Slashering slouched out of the Great Hall and started to climb up the main staircase, his bag biting into his shoulder as if it were stuffed with rocks. (It was, actually. Lucius Malfoy, believing that the fanwriters had been getting off a little too easily, had charmed their textbooks to transfigure themselves into stone between classes. Which was most unfortunate if your name was Yarrow Spencer and you happened to drop your bag on your toes on a regular basis.)

Thus it was with plodding, grumbling endurance that Fender heaved himself into McGonagall’s Transfiguration classroom and sank into a seat beside Phayn (chatting with Jessica Redford about how Snape was much hotter when he was angry).

“Oh, and when he looks at you like he’s about to rip out your heart and show it to you...” said Phayn, including dramatic hand gestures.

“... you know he already holds it in the palm of his hand...” finished Jessica Redford and Mandy-Pandy.

The girls sighed wistfully.

Fender fumed and slouched in his seat, used to the banter by now. Dragging his bag up onto his chair, he pulled out the now much-lighter copy of Alternate Universes for Pansy-Ass Fanwriters by Mad-Eye Moody.

“Oh, you’re back,” said Phayn, tilting her head to examine him. “I thought Filch had eaten you.”

“Were Crabbe and Goyle happy to see you?” shot Fender irritably.

Phayn paused and bit her lip. “No, I don’t think so. They don’t like when I squeal.”

Fender, who was by now used to Phayn’s 1200 Hz voice, rolled his eyes. “I wonder why.”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

In the ringing silence that followed, Tamara and Sierra Desiree struggled to pry their fingers off of the light fixture hanging from the ceiling. This was a gut reaction to all of those who had attended Moody’s special Let Dead Dogs Stay Really Dead Seminar in response to the bout of resurrected Sirius Black fanfictions (“If he isn’t the Messiah, he’s not coming back!”).

“Nice to know you’ve remembered me,” growled Moody, limping into the classroom. “This is a class for Alternate Universes. That’s right, AUs. What you know about them, what you should know about them, and how you fight them—”

“Hem hem.”

Several fanwriters tensed. As a whole, the group turned to see Dolores Umbridge, a troupe of what looked like feral, technicolor kittens following in her wake, step lightly into the room. Second-years gripped their Ipiopius wands, completely forgetting that hexing a canon would earn them a place in the Paintball Buffer ring for the upcoming match.

“What Professor Moody means, is that we’re not going to fight all of these delightful stories. After all, not all of these stories are bad, we just need to give some of them a turn in the right direction, and after that... Why, I’m sure the fanwriters will understand in time,” she said sweetly.

M.E. launched herself at the woman in a fit of what she would later deem madness. In an instant, the kittens’ disillusionment charm vanished, and six Mini-Aragogs had M.E. in their claws. The cry of “Sleeper! Sleeper!” didn’t seem to bode well. Nor did M.E.’s protests of “My muse will hear about this, just you wait!”

“Now, why don’t we start with a few little examples of these Alternate Universes,” said Umbridge, clapping her hands lightly in a gesture that would have seemed gentle had she not been giving the Lord Elrond Glare of Death to the student population at large.

“Right,” growled Moody. Fender noted that he didn’t seem too happy with Umbridge, either. This was because the professor’s wand was twitching and black sparks were flicking from its tip. Fender needed the Industrial Strength Clue-by-Four to take a hint.

“Our first teensy little example has much to do with siblings,” said Umbridge sweetly.

“The classic ‘What if Harry Potter had a twin sister who also went to Hogwarts and fell madly in love with Draco Malfoy?’ cliché. Page forty-nine, fangirls,” barked Moody. “Jah’dell, Odo, and WfR, read the dialogue.”

A mass shuffling as newly transfigured books were lugged from bags. Fender rolled his eyes at Phayn, who had begun to jitter in panic when she realized that she had forgotten her own, and slid the book over for her to see. Phayn brightened, and had already started doodling a picture of Snape in the margin before Fender was able to knock her hand away.

Jah’dell cleared her throat and started to read in the dull monotone characteristic of textbook-readings everywhere. “I am Harry Potter. I grew up with the Dursleys. Now I am at Hogwarts. Who is that? She looks like me.”

“I am Harrieta Potter. I am your twin, Harry. I was put in an orphanage for safekeeping, despite the fact that you were not. This means that I am the chosen one, not you. Did I mention that I will now take your position as Seeker, steal your friends, and have an angsty romance with your nemesis?”

“Surprisingly, this does not bother me. Have some pudding.”

“Stop here,” said Moody. “What does this look like to you? Come on, you’ve all had Madam Pomfrey’s seminar, this should be cake.”

Indeed. Madam Pomfrey’s Dissection of an Original Character was not something Fender was likely to forget.

“It looks like a Mary Sue,” said Raven the Nerd timidly.

“Of course,” said Professor Umbridge, eliciting a twitch from Raven the Nerd. “A sibling Sue. First lesson: AUs cannot be used as an excuse for bad original characters. Continue.”

“I am Draco Malfoy,” said Odo with a hint of disgust. “I am a reformed, tender man. I have come to fall in love with you, because I do not recognize who you are, even though Harry thought you his twin four seconds after seeing you. Kiss me, random new girl with glasses and messy black hair.”

“Point two,” said Mad-Eye. “Extreme Out-of-Character behavior. AUs cannot excuse this either, UNLESS THERE IS A MIGHTY GOOD REASON.”

Several of the Wantingmors fell from the ceiling with a thud.

“Characters must stay In-Character unless stipulated by the AU. This is the ‘What if Harry had a twin sister’ AU, not the ‘What if Draco grew up a bleeding-heart nancy’ AU. If your characters change, we must know why they’ve changed, or it’ll be Buffer duty for the lot of you. Emisi Whitewing, Airmid Star, and Blue Jeans, pick up the next part.”

“I am R-Remus Lupin,” said Airmid Star, shivering as Mganaggal the Mini-Aragog lowered herself from the ceiling on a thin thread to dangle over the girl’s textbook. “I am back to teach because the author really likes me even through there are more useful things I could be doing and I will probably get lynched by the students’ parents upon setting foot on campus.”

“No using AUs to justify bringing characters back for the heck of it. Plausibility, fangirls!” barked Moody.

“I am Sirius Black,” said Blue Jeans, and a bunch of Black-lusters sighed. “I am risen because the author wanted to rope in my fangirls by including me in this pointless AU.”

“Right,” said Umbridge softly. “‘Her who trolls for readers will find themselves attracting real trolls’, thus says the HFA High Inquisitor. Please keep reading.”

“I am Severus Snape. I am suddenly good...”

“HFA High Inquisitor?” mouthed Fender to Phayn. “What’s that all about?”

Phayn shrugged, then started to doodle hearts around Snape’s name. Fender slapped her lightly on the arm.

He hoped it was a fluke, or a slip. The last thing Fender needed was some High Inquisitor to make his life miserable as Umbridge had for Harry. It had to be a fluke. ... But then again, such a person would probably have the power to get the stupid fangirls in line... Yes! he thought giddily. An HFA High Inquisitor would do what needed doing at HFA, and of course he, Fender Blackorn, Deep Master of Fanfiction, needn’t worry. He was an excellent author anyway, and this Inquisitor fellow would probably give him a medal and praise him for his work. Yes, thought Fender smugly, secure in a world of his own imagining. The more he thought about it, an HFA High Inquisitor was definitely a good idea.

The Ironic Over-power started its engines.

“Now, we’ve gone through the basics of bad AUs,” said Moody. “Who knows some good ones?”

After a momentary hesitation, a couple hands went up. Moody pointed his wand at a girl near the front who had raised her hand, Kathleen M. Davis. A burp of fire issued from the professor’s wand, singeing her hair.

“Improper wand safety,” growled Moody, a small smile embedded in his craggy features. “What did you want to say, Ms. Davis?”

“Erm, AUs that are acceptable... Would stories written before the fifth book came out that are well-written and clever work?” she said breathlessly, smoke coming off her crown.

“And?”

“And...?” Kathleen M. Davis’ face took on an expression of panic. “Er, um... Oh! Plausible, they’re plausible!”

“No ‘Harry turns into a monkey between fourth and fifth year and spends his days pelting bananas at Snape’ pointlessness?”

“Right, none of that!” agreed Kathleen M. Davis, relief in her voice. She earned another craggy smile from Moody. Fender didn’t know if it was worth it.

“Right. Save it for your humor fics; we’re not dealing with slapstick here. What else is good?”

Fender became aware that Phayn was at it again, and elbowed her away from his textbook, leaving a nasty blotch over the heading of chapter twelve (“Circumstances to Alter a Canon Character, and How Not to Muck Them Up Too Badly”). Phayn jabbed him in the ribs, and Fender looked at her.

“What?” he mouthed, scowling.

“Have you seen Snape lately?” asked Phayn in a low squeal.

Fender’s eyes bulged. “I am not going to help you catch your lust-object!” he hissed.

“Feeeeennn-deeerrr!” said Phayn. “No one’s seen him lately! You’re always skulking around being moody-depress-o boy, I thought you’d at least notice!”

“I am not moody!” hissed Fender.

“Yes you are!” said Phayn, her lower lip jutting out in the godmother of all pouts. “But you see everything, I know, because you aren’t looking for your lust-object all the time! And I know you have one, too; it’s Fleur, isn’t it? But I bet you know where Snape is, come on, tell me!”

Fender was indignant. “Even if I did know I wouldn’t—”

“Hem hem.”

Fender developed a tight, constricted feeling in his chest. Phayn toppled awkwardly from her chair. Involuntarily, the Slashering turned to stare into Dolores Umbridge’s wide, squashed face.

“Talking in class and not paying attention?” she said in a light, nasty voice. “Oh dear, this won’t do. I think... yes, we had better... Buffer duty for the both of you at this weekend’s PALM game. I’m sure a bit of good exercise will be perfect to improve your focus.”

Fender could have murdered Phayn.