< i>“And if I ever have a boy, I’m going to name him…Bill or George…anything but Sue!”–Johnny Cash from the song A Boy Named Sue.

“Boy oh boy…this killing literary critics could get to be a habit.”

“Mom! Dad’s killing reviewers again, and he’s misquoting movie lines too!”

“Shut up Luni! Go play on the freeway!” I definitely wasn’t in any mood for a ten-year-old tattletale that afternoon.

“Eric, I thought we agreed that there will be no more reviewer-cides until you dispose of those two in the freezer.”

“Yes dear.” Nor did I need my whining wife…whining again.

“Don’t yes dear me! They’re starting to get in the way. I want to have room in the chest for the apricot cauliflower pies your mom is bringing over. Couldn’t you please go ahead and just bury them somewhere before they start to stink.”

“The pies?”

“No, the critics. You know what I mean.”

“The cops are watching the house again Kathy. We’re going to have to wait until the police find themselves a different serial killer–-one with a better name than the Fan Fiction Fiend. Hmm, that’s not bad. We may have to wait until that new donut shop opens up downtown to lure them away. I promise I’ll get the bodies out of there as soon as I can.”

“I suppose we could smuggle them out in the kids’ lunchboxes again.” My wife was always the practical one in the family. “Remind me to mention to the neighbor children to avoid the school cafeteria’s mystery meat for the next few months. Just promise me that you’ll hold up on the reviewer bashing for a week or two.”

“Deal–-provided none of them start in again about me really being Spenser. What’s so funny?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that the thought of a fifty-year-old, gray, balding, grumpy retiree being accused of turning himself into a teenage Wizard is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?”

“You’re too old, broken down and scruffy-looking to be chasing after pretty blond girls like Luna.”

“Who’s scruffy-looking?” I love my wife, but she’s going to join the critics one of these days. “Besides, my money is still on Neville, or that fat Florida nudist, Rolf…whatever his last name is.”

Ding dong!

“Oh great! It must be the police!” My life was flashing before my eyes, and I was trying to remember where I put the chainsaw and the garden shovel. Maybe there was still room in the ground out behind the back shed. “Nicholas, you answer the door, and stall them!”

“How Dad?”

“I don’t know! Fake having rabies, like I did the last time Mom’s dad came to spend a weekend!”

I dashed for the garage and began scorching the paint from the walls with my language when I found the saw’s fuel can empty. I began thrashing about, looking instead for our large axe when the door reopened, and Kathy stuck her head out. She had a relieved expression, so I relaxed just a bit. “It’s not the police. It’s worse.”

“Fast Eddie looking for the money I owe him?” Oops! I wasn’t supposed to mention my gambling debts.

“It’s a lawyer named Mary Sue Hill Dad,” Nicholas yelled from inside, “with a court order from Harry Potter…the real Harry Potter.”

I was already running for the door before he had finished the sentence. If Harry Potter had contacted me this way, it was either very good or very bad. I pushed in past Kathy, and came face to face with…a young, black-haired man in his thirties, immaculately dressed, and carrying an expensive-looking briefcase.

“You’re Mary Sue?” I muttered after staring at him openmouthed for several seconds.

“Actually, it’s Marion Sioux-Hill, but it’s a common mistake. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Spenser Hemmingway?”

“Huh? Spenser’s living in Scotland. He’s attending Hogwarts as an exchange student. I’m Eric, his editor and literary agent. Who are you exactly? You’d know all that if Potter really sent you.” I was somehow extremely certain that he knew darn well I wasn’t Spense.

“Actually, I represent young Harry’s Muggle biographer and her publishing house. May we sit down sir?”

The man was already moving toward the sofa, not waiting for the formal invitation. Kathy excused herself and ushered both kids out the back door and into the yard. My wife generally distanced herself from my writing career, and especially so when it involved legal issues. Mary Sioux opened his bag and drew out a large manila envelope with an official seal affixed to it. I was starting to sweat again.

“Now sir, as you do represent Mr. Hemmingway, if you are not actually him, I can openly tell you that you and he are in a great deal of trouble. As you may or may not know, our client has been credited with creating Harry Potter as a fictional character, since Mr. Potter prefers to maintain his privacy. There is also the matter of preserving the secrecy of the Wizarding world. The author and the publisher, with Harry Potter’s permission, hold all copyrights–copyrights which Spenser Hemmingway has violated repeatedly.”

“Whoa…hold on there! Fan fiction is done with permission. No one is making any money or anything.” The lawyer grinned at me then like a tiger about to swallow the mouse. He reminded me of an American Gilderoy Lockhart. “Hundreds…thousands of people write the stuff.”

“That is not the issue sir. The issue is that only Spenser Hemmingway is writing the story from a first-hand perspective. He is a friend of Mr. Potter, and he is producing the true account of what is occurring in Scotland at this time. Your posting the stories to the Sink Into Your Eyes website threatens to undermine the fictionalized conclusion, which will be chronicled in the seventh book.”

“You’re kidding. You’ve got to be kidding. Listen Mary…”

“Marion.”

“Yeah whatever. We’re labeling the stories as Alternative Universe. Surely none of the Muggles would think it was true.”

“We beg to differ…and don’t call me Shirley. He’s my twin brother. Sir…may I call you Eric, at this time we require you to delete all of Mr. Hemmingway’s stories, to cease producing them, and to post a notice declaring them all works of pure fantasy–-the ramblings of a deranged mind.”

I let out a slow, deep sigh, and began to rub my temples. This couldn’t be happening. People actually believed Spenser’s account over the published books? All at once an idea popped into my head, and it was an evil one. If Spenser ever came back to Oregon to see me again, he would get that chainsaw running.

“All right Mary.”

“Marion.”

“As I see it, we have another choice. I can get Spenser to produce something so outrageous, that all three of his readers will have to think he has made everything up. We get him to seriously discredit himself, and to endorse the fictional books instead.” There came Mary Sioux’s evil grin again.

“Harry, I am your father.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Harry, I am your uncle.”

“No–you are not. We don’t look anything alike. In fact, you look exactly like Rick Moranis in that silly Space Balls’ Dark Helmet costume.”

“Harry, I am your mother’s neighbor’s third cousin’s gardener’s half-brother’s… Oh forget it!”

The diminutive Sith lord-wannabe activated his light saber and charged the teenage Wizard. Harry raised his wand, but he couldn’t recall the spell that would activate his own version of the weapon. Off to one side, he could hear Ginny scream out his name, a heartbeat before swooning in terror.

Harry was doomed! The hand of death was reaching out for him. At the last possible second though, a fiery blade parried the attack. Fortunately, I am both a master swordsman and the world’s foremost authority on magical light sabers. My friend’s life was spared. Three flicks of my wrist produced my trademark Z in the short man’s dark armor, and I took just a moment to accept a kiss then from one of my many voluptuous female admirers.

“Curse you Perry the Platypus…I mean Spenser Hemmingway! How could I ever hope to defeat the most powerful Wizard in all the world? Well you will not prevail! Even now our alien hordes are approaching this planet to wreck havoc upon it! Bwa ha, ha! Prepare to bow down to your Martian masters and their subcontractor cliché employees!”

“You fiend!” I shouted at him.

A circular slash with my wand and I took his head. The crowd went wild. My name was chanted with loud, high-pitched fervor. Small children threw rose petals at my feet, while on the far stage John Williams directed the orchestra in his newly produced Ode to Spenser. One after another, more devotees rushed to embrace me.

“Ouch! Blaise cut it out. You didn’t shave this morning,” I yelped in my best irritated voice. “Hey Harry,” I whispered aside, “…is that Blaise an ugly girl, or an overly frisky boy?” Either way, I could do with one less fan.

“Yes,” Harry replied in a deadpan voice, and then accepted his own hug from his lady love Ginny. “Spenser, once again we all owe you our lives. How may I ever repay you?”

“It’s all in a day’s work for us hero types. Still…you are reported to be the second richest Wizard in all Britain after me. I do accept monetary rewards–-cash or Wizardcharge.”

“Oh Spenser…Spenser you are so brave and handsome and powerful. I would gladly dump Harry to be your contract player romantic interest.”

“Now, now Ginny. We all know that you two belong together in this intense struggle in which we find ourselves. This bond you share goes beyond all magic. It’s as if Harry and you can read each other’s minds.”

“It’s true, it’s…” Ginny’s eyes went wide suddenly; she stepped in toward Harry then and slapped him hard across the face. “I do too wear underwear, and I do not sleep in the buff! You have a dirty mind Potter!”

Harry rubbed his face and gave her an apologetic look, which she seemed to accept. “I suppose I shouldn’t have watched those Austin Powers films over spring break Ginny.”

I knew I had to intervene. “Well don’t just stand there, kiss her you fool!” I told him, reciting our famous mantra. He gladly obliged.

“Oh no, not another mushy romantic kissing scene,” a red-haired first-year complained.

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it kid…in a few years anyway. All is well then my friends. Now I must seek out and rejoin my own true love, the fair maiden Luna. Uhm, I don’t suppose anyone has seen her in the last few minutes?” I scanned the Great Hall, but nowhere did I see that blond hair and familiar smiling face.

“Alas good Spenser,” came a weak voice approaching us from the back of the small crowd of assembled students. It was a clearly injured Seamus Finnigan slowly limping forward.

“Great Gadfrey!” Harry called out, rushing with Ginny to offer him their support. “We’re you attacked by Martians? Oh no…you weren’t doing homework in the Potions lab again were you?”

“I almost have that butterbeer recipe down,” the Irishman told us. “I think they’re going to revoke my health coverage though. Spenser, Luna was just taken hostage by a large group of giant salt shakers. They were heading for the Quidditch stadium.”

“Giant salt shakers?” Suddenly I knew what he meant. “Holy…Daleks! Darth Junior must have hired them!”

Harry, Ginny and I took off on the run. Having to weave through the carnage that the alien attack had brought about, it took us almost ten minutes to reach the pitch. We immediately wished we had brought help. There before us rested hundreds and hundreds of Daleks. To their forefront were a dozen fellow student hostages with disruptors pointed to their heads–Luna included. I had to think fast. Fortunately, I happen to be regarded as both Earth’s greatest soldier and its most masterful tactician. I knew exactly what to do (of course).

“Dobby,” I called out. The house-elf was instantly there before us. “Dobby, I need you to go fetch the items on this list I’m jotting down for you. Set it up over there in the announcer’s booth…and hurry.” When he had popped out again, I glanced at Harry and Ginny; their faces betrayed their puzzlement, but I didn’t have time to explain. I started forward toward the aliens. “Who among you is the leader?” I shouted.

“I am,” a strange voice replied almost immediately. A tiny fellow walked out to meet me. He wore a strange hat, which obscured his face, large white shoes and a skirt of some type. “I am called Marvin. I am a Martian.”

“Really? Well, I guess I wasn’t exactly expecting Ray Walston,” I had to admit.

“What exactly do you want from us?” Ginny asked then. Despite my panther-like reflexes and superhuman instincts, I had failed to hear Harry and her come up to join me.

“We intend to destroy your planet–-to exterminate you.”

“Exterminate! Exterminate!” went up the chant from the mass of Daleks. I looked to the stands, but still there was no Dobby. I had to delay matters.”

“Uhm, we really don’t want that to happen,” Harry had to admit. “What did we ever do to you?”

“It’s really nothing personal,” Marvin said then in a very businesslike tone. “We need to remove the Earth in order to make way for a galactic freeway off ramp. Now, if you would please return to us our Illudium Q-38 Explosive Space Modulator. That strange wabbit stole it from us. We really do need to get to work. You would not believe what overtime costs for union alien labor.”

“Hmm, I’ll tell you what Marvin,” I slowly began, trying to work out the details of my ingenious and foolproof plan, “we’ll cover your overtime costs if you can do one simple thing. Your greatest warrior has to defeat our champion in one-on-one combat. If you win, you get to save on labor expenses and we’ll go get your toy back from Bugs. If we win, you get to find a new route for your space lane. Deal?”

“The Daleks get double-time after five o’clock.”

“No problems Marvin,” I continued. “Harry here received a mahooosive–is that really a word–-inheritance from his folks. He has trillions of gold Galleons, owns Australia, The Potter Empire State Building, The Potter Eiffel Tower, The Potter Pacific Ocean, Potter Manor. That used to be called The White House. We turned The Oval Office into a game room with snooker tables and everything. Harry stores his racing broom collection in the old Press Briefing Room, and Fluffy sleeps in The Lincoln Bedroom. You would not believe the trouble they had degnoming The Rose Garden.”

“Spenser, you are the biggest liar I ever met…thank Merlin,” Harry whispered. I could hear Ginny stifling a giggle.

“You will represent Earth?” Marvin asked. His voice betrayed his excitement.

“Nah, I just had a manicure, and this is a brand new tuxedo. Harry here will take on your best.” There was that shocked look on Harry’s face again. “He really is that good Marvin. You know–faster than a speeding bullet.” A rubber one tossed across the room by a three-year-old. “Leaps tall buildings in a single bound.” One hundredth scale Lego model buildings. “More powerful than a locomotive.” The toy one we have going around the Christmas tree every year. Ginny herself is a famous elemental. She controls the forces of air, earth, fire, water, and vending machine change. She will ensure that no one cheats during the contest.”

Marvin nodded, turned and motioned for his representative to come forward. From behind the Daleks came the small Klingon landing party, led by a blond boy, perhaps Harry’s age.

“Draco?” Harry called out to him. “What are you doing here?”

“The Klingons pay much better than Lord Voldemort, and besides which, their uniforms are so cool. How do you like the leather pants?”

“They’re…uhm, very you. We need to get a pair for Blaise Zabini. He…she…well, they’d be just the thing.” Harry turned his back on Draco and stepped closer to me. “How should we do this? Draco is a skilled dueler and we can’t risk losing.” I quietly explained my plan, and then it was Harry’s turn to repress a laugh.

I looked over to the announcer’s booth and was pleased to see that Dobby was finally in place and ready for my signal. I motioned that we had to wait. In the meantime, Harry had received a good luck kiss from Ginny and had started out to meet Draco. At twenty yards apart, they stopped, bowed and raised wands.

“Stupefy!” the Slytherin shouted. Harry easily blocked it.

“Frootofdaloom!” Harry countered. The atomic wedgie lifted Draco three feet into the air, and then brought him back to earth with a very satisfying thud.

“Oh, you have made me so very angry!” Marvin screamed. “You have not fought fairly! Alien horde attack!”

“Now Dobby!” I called out to him.

Immediately there came the drone of high-pitched, American cowboy yodeling from the record player feed. At the same time, and luckily before they could turn their weapons on the hostages, there rose up the painful screams from the Daleks and Klingons, followed then by a mass of exploding heads. Slim Whitman had once again saved the Earth–-at least for the moment. Marvin didn’t seem to be affected in the same way, and he was able to suddenly direct a laser bolt at the stands.

Dobby Apparated away in time, but the blast did succeed in destroying the turntable. Fortunately, only one Dalek remained. Unfortunately, one Dalek is extremely dangerous still and this one was heading for Luna and friends. He was too far off to hit with magic, but just as it was redirecting its weapon, some powerful energy bolt did hit and destroy the creature. To our amazement it came from a small robot dog, being escorted across the pitch by a tall man with a floppy hat and a very, very long scarf.

“Harry, is that who I think it is?” Ginny asked. “I thought he was supposed to look something more like Barty Crouch Junior.”

“He will after a few more regenerations,” Harry explained.

“Sorry I’m late. I’m not sure why Muggle technology is working here, but then the Daleks and K-9 are alien Muggle creations. Marvin, you’ve been exceptionally naughty,” the Doctor chided. “Imagine, trying to blow up the earth–-every other week it seems.”

“Oooh, you have made me so very angry,” the little guy said yet again. “Just you wait until I get my replacement hordes. Then you’ll be sorry!”

The little guy stomped off across the field and out of sight. We knew he would soon be back. The Doctor, in turn, started back toward the blue police callbox that we hadn’t noticed before, pausing just long enough to wave, and then to pull a small plastic bag from his pocket and retrieve something K-9 had deposited in the grass. It is always nice to see responsible pet owners.

“There you are. Oh, Hermione…what did you do to yourself?”

“Ron’s birthday present to me. It was a complete makeover and spa treatment in Hogsmeade.”

“Oh Merlin, not another one of Ron Weasley’s famous backfiring gifts,” Harry had to bemoan. Hermione’s hair was green, and she wore more makeup than a San Francisco street mime. “Have you been hiding yourself up in the Head Boy and Girl quarters? You missed all the fun, at least what we’ve had so far. Here I thought you were…studying.”

Ginny slapped her hand to her mouth, then moved up to and shoved Harry backward. “You have such a filthy mind sometimes.” Once again, her eyes went wide, and, for the second time that day, Ginny slapped him before storming off.

“I love her, but this bond we have is almost as bad as having Voldemort in my head again.” Harry conjured a small icepack to apply to his bruised cheek.

“Don’t worry Hermione. As you know, I am the world’s leading cosmetologist and hair stylist,” I reminded her. “I’ll have you back to normal in no time…at least once we stave off the Mars invasion.”

“Oh Spenser, is there anything you can’t do with absolute expertise and flair,” the girl droned in melodramatic fashion, batting her eyes as she did so.

“Well, there still is that little problem I seem to have with power tools. By the way, be careful the next time you take the stairs up to the Gryffindor Tower. I was remodeling, and uhm…never mind. Despite my great talent, I also doubt that I would be able to do anything with Balise’s Michael Jackson look.” They all cringed at that.

Harry and I spent the next ten minutes updating Ron and Hermione about what had been occurring in their absence. There were more than a few good suggestions made, but it all came down to one thing. We needed more help. Ginny finally returned, and she brought Luna with her. I hadn’t talked to the girl since the hostage crisis, but apparently Ginny had updated her about what little our friend didn’t know.

We split into three groups and went off to utilize various school Floos for contacting our reinforcements. The others were amazed that I could arrange to have everyone travel to Hogwarts so quickly, but of course, someone as influential as I always have been would have no troubles at all…at least no troubles with that.

“Harry, Ron, Spenser…come quickly! There’s something horrible outside!” a very pale Neville called out, as he met up with us in the Common Room. “We’re under attack again! Something is moving underground out there. It’s already grabbed three students. It spit the Slytherin back out right away in disgust, but the Hufflepuffs are gone!”

“Blast it! Marvin the Martian is employing subway snarks,” I explained. “As you know, I’m the world authority on alien-introduced beasties. We should be safe in the castle, but we need the freedom to move outside later. There are only three ways I know of to kill one of those things. The Slim Whitman records are toast. We don’t have time to cook up several hundred gallons of Uncle Theodore’s chili. We also don’t have half a ton of dynamite, let alone the expertise to employ it.”

“Hey, what’s going on everyone?” Seamus asked, joining us on cue, and looking even worse than he had before. Harry and I exchanged a look and a smile.

“Seamus mate, how about another shot at that butterbeer recipe?” Harry asked.

“Deathies , Sah! Fahsands of ‘em!”

“Colin, please stop trying to panic with your mouth full!” Ginny admonished. At the sight in the distance of the alien monsters coming our way however, she could feel the dread rising inside as well. “Oh my, what are those things?”

“Holy smoke!” I said in a quiet voice. “Where did they find a thousand banthas this far from Tatooine? Hmm…?”

They were coming in waves at us–-giant monsters, each ridden by a little green man with pointed ears and short antennae. Harry walked to the edge of the Astronomy Tower, drew his wand and released the red flare signaling our forces to move to meet them.

“Spenser, where did you find a thousand elephants?” Ron asked in a slow astonished voice. “Not to mention a thousand elves trained to ride them?”

“As you may or may not know, I am one of the more prominent animal trainers and naturalists in the world. I borrowed the elephants from the American Republican Party. The elves came from the local union hall. Marvin gave me that idea.”

The two armies ran at each other with surprising speed, evenly matched, but still determined. The animals surged forward, occasionally bumping heads, but not seeming to do much harm. That was in fact a good thing. The conflict was taking place on that portion of the surrounding country known as Dumbledore’s Drift because of its proximity to his crypt. It was magically protected, but the grassland wasn’t. The countryside was taking a worse beating than the combatants. It was time to shift tactics.

“You…what was your name again?” Harry called to a Ravenclaw who had been involved with Dumbledore’s Army for a short time, years before. “Are you comfortable enough with your patronus to deliver a message for us?”

“Yes Harry, I’m sure I am.”

“Great. I need you to tell the lead elephant’s elf to redirect his attack toward the lake. Maybe we can push the Martians into it.” The teenager saluted, turned and ran down the stairs to complete his mission, almost tackling Hermione as he passed her at the top of the stairs.

“Where is he off to in such a hurry?” she asked.

“Delivering a patronus message to the elephants,” I told her.

“What? Oh no–you didn’t?” she screamed and took off after the boy. “Fievel’s patronus is a mouse!”

Harry and I gave each other a quick, frantic look and followed her at a run. It was too late. If we had stayed in the Tower, we could have seen the massive stampede of giant, panicked animals as they ran across the Scottish Highlands–banthas in one direction and elephants in the other. We would have our work cut out for us later.

Thirty minutes later the battle began in earnest. One of the benefits of the short visit by the subway snorks was the vast series of trenches we found ourselves with. To the far left we placed Lee Marvin (no relation to the Martian) and his small force, all armed with the destroyed Daleks’ blasters, which seemed to still work on school grounds for some reason. To the right, we positioned Yul Brenner and his band of gunfighters, similarly armed. Charles Bronson had all sorts of fun changing costumes and running back-and-forth between the two teams. In the center, we naturally placed John Wayne and his cavalry forces. Scattered among all the mercenaries were students, instructors and the now dismounted (and saddle-sore) elves.

The first wave sent against us was the Martian zombies. Being already dead, the Dalek weaponry had little effect. An assortment of spells, hexes and curses however quickly had Marvin stomping his foot in frustration. The next assault utilized one-eyed, one-horned, giant purple people eaters. The fighting was fierce, but in the end, we again prevailed…barely.

Being the gallant, masterful leader I am, I naturally led from the front lines. With Harry, Ginny, and Ron beside me, I moved through the trenches, offering encouragement and an extra wand where it was needed. Hermione and Luna assisted with evacuating the wounded, and these numbers were increasing dramatically. It was beginning to seem as if nothing we did made any difference. Our forces were being strained and theirs seemed to be endless.

“Ginny, behind you!” I shouted.

I needn’t have bothered. Harry had seen them, and that meant she knew of the six-armed aliens at the same moment. As one, they turned and delivered stun bolts, which for some reason instead turned the Martians into grape jelly. The normal rules of Earthly magic didn’t seem to apply with this otherworldly attack–but why? Naturally this inspired my brilliant mind. I had the solution.

“Harry, we need that elemental magic I was bluffing with before,” I called to him.

“What?”

“Harry, the Daleks were inside their protective machines, but how are Martians themselves surviving on this planet? Our atmosphere is completely different, but they’re not having any problems with it. Why? Why are they attacking Earth right here? I’ll tell you why–it’s because Hogwarts’ magical wards are protecting them. We need to turn them off, then the Earth itself will deal with the problem.”

“Spenser, even if we knew how to negate the school’s magical properties, it would take far too long,” Ginny rightly pointed out. Suddenly, she swung around to lock eyes with Harry. They had an idea…a shared one. “I love you,” she softly told him.

“I know.” Harry had seen that movie as well.

“Well I don’t know! You have a suggestion you want to share?” I almost shouted in frustration. I was the lead hero in this story! I was supposed to save everyone!

“Spenser, we don’t need to remove the wards completely,” Harry began with an excited voice. “We just need to poke a hole in them from up in the air, and then establish a conduit to channel in Earth’s Muggle atmosphere. The Martians won’t know what hit them! I can do it!”

“We can do it!” Ginny countered. “I’ll fly your Firebolt and you can take up Tromed Love.”

“Ginny, that high performance racing broom is untested. Who knows what might happen up there?” Harry had taken her hand already though, and they were moving back toward the castle to fetch them.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I called after them. “I’m the planet’s finest broom pilot! Only I can save the world here with my advanced magical skills!”

“Sorry Spenser. Site rules require that all stories promote and star Ginny and me. Maybe you could save the world in something posted to that other fan site.” The two were running now before I could press my argument.

I returned to the fighting, and it seemed like an eternity as we waited for our friends to reappear. Our forces were rapidly being decimated, and I was even considering sending Dobby out after the latest Andy Williams album. Nah, even the killer Martians didn’t deserve that fate. Lee Marvin’s Filthy Half-Dozen Plus Six was down to just him, Charles Bronson and that military policeman they brought. Half the gunfighters were gone as well, but the Duke’s cavalry was having great success pushing back the fifty-foot high marshmallow men.

Without warning, overhead passed the two fastest brooms I had ever seen–call signs Snakekiller and Red-Ryder. Tromed Love, the high-tech broom I had personally designed and constructed for Harry, was performing brilliantly, and it was a good thing. Marvin had been anticipating an eventual air assault. From out of the trees of the Forbidden Forest rose six small flying saucers, initiating pursuit with energy canons blazing. The Martians didn’t know who they were up against however. After myself, Harry and Ginny were the two finest broom jockeys ever to sweep the sky.

Harry initiated a series of barrel rolls, increasing the size of his arc with each successive turn. He was utilizing his greater speed to allow him the luxury of enhanced maneuvers. He had two saucers on his tail, and, to the untrained amateur (unlike me), it would appear that Harry was unable to shake them. This was the Wizard who out flew dragons. All at once, Harry performed a braking action followed by a strong backward loop, which must have pulled five G’s. A flick of his wand and the craft were transformed into wheels of moldy Swiss cheese, plummeting down into the hillside.

Likewise, Ginny had two saucers behind her, but she continued to corkscrew the Firebolt, dodging their laser bolts as if they were Bludgers. For no apparent reason, she wasn’t utilizing the broom’s full potential for speed, and, in fact, seemed to be inviting the Martians to close on her. Suddenly the girl executed her plan, stopping so suddenly that magic must have been employed to keep her from shooting forward like a missile. The saucers couldn’t match the stunt, and instantly found themselves with the Witch on their tails this time. It was a maneuver worthy of me. Two orange bolts and the aliens found themselves unsuccessfully trying to keep a pair of cardboard boxes in the air.

For some reason, the remaining two saucers had held back, perhaps as a strategic reserve, or simply out of a sense of overconfidence in their wing mates. The pair at first intended to split up, one on each broom, but Harry would have none of that. Motioning to Ginny to continue their mission, he wove rings around the Martians with Tromed Love, literally herding them away from her.

Ginny climbed further and further into the sky, until she was a barely discernable speck above us. I couldn’t make out exactly what she was doing, but after perhaps a minute, a transparent funnel descended over the battlefield, flooding it with fresh Scottish Muggle atmosphere. Without the magical enhancements to the air, the reaction was instantaneous. Hundreds of assorted monsters and aliens grabbed their chests, poisoned by the sweet, yet unenchanted, smell of Highland heather. Those who didn’t melt into the ground, or dissolve away in smoke, made a mad dash back to their waiting space ships, hoping to make it safely back to the toxic fumes of Mars, or, at the very least, New Jersey.

Ginny swooped back down, clearly intending to come to Harry’s aid, but just then, passing between the two saucers, he caused them to exchange fire with each other. The dual explosion was actually kind of pretty. The cheer that went up was deafening. Fortunately, I had already completed the draft for the speech I would give when I accepted my Order of Merlin.

It was late, and Marvin was in desperate need of a drink…no, several of them. He could not believe his Martian army had been so easily and so soundly defeated by a bunch of children. He could not believe that he was the only one to take the precaution of wearing a space helmet to avoid that accursed clean Scottish air.

“Is this barstool taken?” Marvin asked the tall, green, snakefaced man sitting there. Come to think of it, he reminded the Martian of his Great Uncle Linus back home.

“Suit yourself.” The man just shrugged, downed his drink in one gulp and motioned to the bartender then to refill the glass. “You look like you could use a firewhisky yourself mate.”

“Several–-I’ve had a horrible day. You would not believe how difficult world annihilation is these days.”

“You might be surprised. Try me.”

With that, Marvin launched into an emotional twenty minute narrative of his attempted invasion at Hogwarts. The tall man seemed a bit surprised, especially at first, but he held his questions and comments and merely kept nodding.

“Essentially, you made several mistakes and broke at least a dozen rules,” the stranger finally said. “Where’s that booklet? Oh, here’s a spare copy. I contributed to the rules myself, and, I have to admit, I’m very pleased with the final edit.”

Marvin took the small volume and read the faded cover. Evil Overlord Rules, Third Edition. Copyright Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated, 1992.

“Let’s see…” the stranger began again. “Rule One: ‘My Legions of Terror will have helmets with clear Plexiglas visors, not face-concealing ones.’ Hmm…actually, you got into trouble because you and Darth Moranis were the only ones who remembered their helmets. All right, Rule Seventeen: ‘When I employ people as advisors, I will occasionally listen to their advice.’ Did you listen to the Kingons or the Daleks after you hired them? No? Hmm…? Oh, here’s a good one. Rule Twenty-nine: ‘I will dress in bright and cheery colors and so throw my enemies into confusion.’ Who designed that outfit Marvin?”

“Uhm…Mel Blanc, I think. This is all well and good, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? My hordes are gone and I’m out of work now.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you Marvin. I just happen to be hiring right now. Have you ever considered a career as a Death Eater?”

“Union scale?”

“Of course, and with a wonderful dental plan.”

“Hey Doc, there you are! I’ve been looking for you.” The Martian jumped to his feet at the sight of the newcomer. He reached for his ray gun, only to find a large carrot there instead.

“It’s him! It’s the wabbit!” Marvin screamed. “Give me back my Illudium Q-38 Explosive Space Modulator!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on there, Aries! My good friend Luna Lovegood sent me an owl about what you were doing today. Tsk, tsk. I can’t have you blowing up the Earth that way. Everyone I know lives here. I’m sorry Doc. But here–-to make it up to you, I baked you and your green friend a birthday cake. From one Looney Tune to another–-no hard feelings?”

“Do you really think that…? My, my, that really does look tasty. We have so very few good bakeries back home, on Mars. Mmmm…devil’s food is my favorite too. Hmm…that really is a very large candle you’ve put on it.”

Kaboom!

“Hee , hee, hee–-what a maroon! Mischief managed Doc!”

Dear Eric

I guess I should thank you for posting that outlandish, ridiculous story to Sink Into Your Eyes. I suppose it will have its effect of completely discrediting me as a writer and preserving the books. I have really never been so embarrassed, and I think I’ve apologized to everyone in the school at least once.

At the same time, Luni (mine) seems to think it’s not that bad (in the proper context) and might be a good entry in the next SIYE Challenge. Ron insists Luna’s only saying that because she’s sweet on me. I don’t know about that, but just the same, there is no way I’m going to allow anyone to fix my best friend up with that creepy, perverted Rolf Scamander–-not in my universe anyway.

Anyway, the other reason I’m writing is because of a luncheon Professor McGonagall recently attended in Edinburgh. It turns out that our good headmistress is a close personal friend of the nice Muggle lady who has begun to pen Harry’s biography. The woman let slip the fact that the final volume will be nothing at all like what we’re experiencing here this year. Harry, Ron, and Hermione may not even return to classes at school in it–-we’ll see. She also indicated to the professor that she doesn’t know anything about a court order against me, or efforts to limit my stories.

You can imagine how I feel. That attorney, Mary Sue Whatever, is either confused, or part of an elaborate joke. I suspect your friend Sovran from the fan site. If I’m right, I would appreciate it if you could evoke proper retribution for me. I’ll owl you some money for the chainsaw gas.

Please give my love to Kathy, Nicholas, and Jennifer (your Luni). Tell my goddaughter that I did not forget her birthday and the present is en route. With it I’m including my latest story draft for you to beta. It involves Harry, Ginny, and the ghostly killer panda of Dartmouth. Take care, stay sober and please don’t get caught.

Mischief managed!

Spenser

A/N: Despite the story, I do respect and appreciate reviewers. My deep apologies to the many, many people, shows, books and films I parodied, as well as to my family who don’t know yet that they are in this. My daughter Jennifer’s nickname really is Loony, and John Wayne's real name was actually Marion Michael Morrison.