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SIYE Time:16:04 on 28th March 2024
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Deathly Hallows: An Interview
By The Seeker

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:All, All
Genres: Comedy, Humor, Romance
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG
Reviews: 29
Summary: Listen in while the winner of a contest sponsored by JKR herself interviews characters from the Potterverse, including Harry and Ginny. The characters get a chance to comment on the last book and the series itself, share their thoughts about Ms. Rowling, and provide some insights into who they really are.
Hitcount: Story Total: 6070



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.



Author's Notes:
Extensive author's notes are contained at the end of the story. Please read them before reviewing. *** A sincere thank you to everyone who has nominated the story for the September DSTAs. Your support is truly appreciated! ***




ChapterPrinter


Excitement beyond belief! I would be going where no Potter fan had gone before. The illustrious, brilliant J. K. Rowling had sponsored a contest, and I had won the Grand Prize!

I, one of the countless millions of fans of the universe this woman had created, would get to meet these “fictional” friends who had become more real than most people I know.

Mostly, though, it was a chance talk with fan fiction’s favorite couple, Ron and Hermione.

(Uh, Jim, it can’t be Ron and Hermione. SIYE is a Harry/Ginny site. Oh . . .)

Just kidding folks! I’m talking about Harry and Ginny, of course. The interview will give us a chance to learn what they’ve been doing since the final battle, their plans, hopes, and aspirations. I envision a type of Barbara Walters dialogue. Maybe, I can even get one of them to cry!

Oh, yes, the Grand Prize.

It was an unprecedented opportunity to talk with the Potterverse characters, up close and personal. I understood that I would be talking with actors — none of the major stars, of course — but actors who looked and acted like our friends.

When I first heard I’d won, I thought I’d been Stunned or caught in a Weasley twins’ prank. Yes, I know Fred died in Deathly Hallows, but he, as well as Remus and Tonks, Dumbledore, Sirius, and others who had passed through the Veil, would attend the interview. I had been assured that I could ask any questions I wanted.

And boy, did I have questions!

In preparation for the interview, I made my list and checked it twice. Actually, more like twenty times, but who’s counting? This would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. But knowing I represented all the fans in the Potterverse didn’t make me nervous, for some reason. For once, Emerson and Melissa wouldn’t be hogging all the face time.

Since the meeting was shrouded in secrecy, I wasn’t told when or where it would be. The unexpected reactions to Ms. Rowling’s magnum opus had made her and her associates very careful. Some would call it paranoia, but I thought it impolite to think in those terms.

One evening, I was sitting at the computer, cyber-discussing DH with fellow members of Melindaleo’s list, when I heard a small ‘pop.’ Then everything went black, seriously, as if a curtain of Snape’s greasy hair had obscured my vision.

I woke up, staring into the blue eyes of an attractive, blonde, fortyish woman.

She smiled, “Sorry about Stunning you. As you can imagine, we are somewhat obsessive about security, especially when it concerns my characters. Are you feeling okay?”

My mind raced frantically, erratically, in dodecahedron patterns. What should I call her?

Jo?

No, too familiar.

Your Highness?

Too formal.

“Ms. Rowling?” I remembered it rhymed with bowling. “I understand your concerns. I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Whoa! Why am I talking so formally, like she’s the Queen of England or something? But then, she is richer than the Queen, so maybe I should. I wonder if I could ask her a question . . . or ten.

“Ms. Rowling, why did you pick me?”

She smiled. Jo — ZOMG! I can’t think of her as ‘Jo’ — is quite pretty in person. Better yet, she looks like a nice person, kind of sexy even. Whoa! Stop that!

I mentally slapped myself upside the head.

Jo, er, Ms. Rowling looked briefly puzzled, then smiled again. “Jim, oh, may I call you Jim?” I nodded enthusiastically. “I’m tired of people putting me on a pedestal. I’m an author, nothing more. Harry’s just a fictional character, or at least, that’s what we want the public to think.”

She smiled again, and her hand briefly grazed mine. I was getting confused and slightly turned on.

Stop that! I mentally slapped myself again. She’s a happily married woman, with three children . . . and a great smile and deep blue eyes. My eyes dipped down, and not a bad body. Stop that!

Whack!

Jo continued her explanation, “We thought you would provide a different viewpoint than my average fan does. That’s why we picked you. Is that okay with you, Jim?”

I didn’t know my simple name could sound so seductive. She smiled at me again, and I felt like nothing else existed in the world.

“Oh, and please call me Jo, if you like,” and she squeezed my arm.

I like! I like! Oh, I need to answer her. “That would be great, ah, Jo. Thank you.”

Unfortunately, one of her people approached us. The interview would be starting soon, and Jo left me with a lingering look. As she walked away, I noticed she had nice legs.

Stop that!

Smack!

My head began to ring, like wedding bells, but a bit more off key.

The interview. Okay. Focus. I would be talking with Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Neville, Luna, and several Weasleys (Percy was off practicing last minute entrances, Charley was nowhere to be seen, and Bill was at St. Mungo’s — right! sure thing! — where Fleur was delivering their third set of male twins — don’t ask). I’d been promised the characters would share their uncensored feelings about what had happened to them in Deathly Hallows particularly and the series in general.

As I looked at these beloved characters, who had become like friends to millions of us, a strange feeling came over me. They were real. They were sitting in the same large, beige-painted studio I was. Most of them were talking quietly amongst themselves, obviously comfortable with each other. I began to examine each person closely.

I started with ‘Harry.’ It always starts with Harry, doesn’t it? He looked like a combination of Dan Radcliffe and the drawings done by Mary GrandPre, but in three dimensions, you know, not flat. He was on the short side, around five feet, five inches tall, kind of wiry as befitting a Seeker, with a messy shock of raven-colored hair, which most people outside the Potterverse call black . . . seriously. His eyes were a startling green, but not like freshly pickled toads, more like grass when it’s really healthy and fertilized, and they were framed by his trademark black, round glasses. It seemed appropriate to start with him.

‘Harry’ and ‘Ginny’ were quietly talking, their foreheads pressed together, their eyes oddly crossed since they were gazing at each other from a distance of less than a centimeter. They appeared so lost in themselves a herd of rampaging hippogriffs wouldn’t catch their attention.

“GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!!! Get away from the poor boy, you scarlet woman! Get back to your chair. Now!” Molly seemed to have radar concerning her daughter, since she had barely looked up from her knitting, though the needles seemed to click more loudly.

‘Ginny’ got up, looked fondly at Harry, cast a questioning look at me, then joined her parents, a resigned expression on her famously freckled face.

The characters, actors, people, cast, whatever they were, sat in comfy leather chairs, arranged in a semi-circle. I was seated facing them. A pretty public relations rep sat next to me, a wand surprisingly sticking out of the pocket of her designer jeans.

“Harry, may I call you Harry?”

The young man looked confused. “Of course, that’s my name.”

“Great,” and I said to myself, ‘I can play this game. If he wants to think he’s Harry, that’s what I’ll call him.’ “Shall we start with you?”

“It always does, doesn’t it?” he said somewhat resignedly. For some reason, that phrase sounded strangely familiar to me.

I smiled; the guy was really in character. Okay, here it goes. “You” — and I gestured at the group — “seem so real.”

Pandemonium broke out.

The rep whipped out her wand and pointed it at me. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, wondering from what shop she’d bought it. Ollivander’s? Right, ha ha. Probably Wal-Mart. I schooled my facial expression and noticed the actors, characters, stand-ins, whatever they were, looked insulted, their words spilling over each other, angry expressions on their faces.

Jo looked at me and arched an eyebrow.

The PR rep stood menacingly in front of me, her wand still pointed at my forehead. “Do you want a lighting-shaped scar of your own, Jim?”

I was amazed someone that pretty could growl that threateningly. It sounded like she had channeled Mad-Eye Moody, and I wondered if she were a weird type of part Veela.

I gulped. “I thought I could ask any type of question.”

The rep sneered; she must have taken lessons from Snape, er, Professor Snape. “You didn’t read the fine print, I take it. I’m sure you understand what types of questions are acceptable and which aren’t . . . Jim.”

I nodded numbly and turned back to the group. “Sorry. I really didn’t know.” Jo smiled encouragingly. “May I start again?” Everyone nodded, except Tonks, who turned alternating shades of pink, red, puce, scarlet, and magenta (or is that color fuchsia?).

“Okay. Harry, back to you, please. How are you feeling after this journey and especially after this last book?”

‘Harry’ shook his head. “Honestly?”

(His British accent startled me. I don’t know why. I know they’re British. I guess I just expected him to talk normally. You know, like an American. Oh, okay, back to what he said.)

“I’m not sure.”

The other characters sitting around ‘Harry’ nodded in agreement. “Jim, are you familiar with the expression, ‘Feeling out of character?’”

I nodded wisely. “Oh, yes, you mean ‘OOC’?”

“Well, that’s how I feel — just not quite myself.” Again, there was an apparent agreement among the others assembled.

Jo scowled.

I asked, “Why is that, Harry?”

“Well, Jo had consistently built my qualities over the first six books, as I wanted her to.”

What did he just say? What does he mean by ‘as I wanted her to?’ I looked at the other characters. Their expressions ranged from shocked to outraged, but no one said anything yet. After all, he was ‘Harry.’

‘Harry’ continued, “I mean, she was a struggling welfare mother, for Merlin’s sake. She was supposed to write us the way we wanted.”

Whoa! What happened? The room exploded with accusations.

“You’re not supposed to tell him that!”

“We’re trying to be discreet here, Potter!”

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” Two guesses who said that.

I glanced over at ‘Ginny.’ Her ears had turned a bright red and her normally warm chocolate eyes were now hard and cold from the comments raining down on her boyfriend. I immediately thought, ‘Bat-Bogey Hex,’ and shifted a bit, so I was out of her direct line of fire. Thankfully, Harry caught her eye, shook his head slightly, and she calmed down before the mucus started flying.

Oh, yeah, ‘Harry.’ Or is it Harry? “What happened? Didn’t Ms. Rowling write what you wanted?”

Harry looked like he was trying to stare a hole in Jo’s forehead. She has a remarkable complexion for someone her age.

Stop that!

Whap!

Stars . . . lots of stars.

Still staring daggers, Harry said, “She wrote two manuscripts.”

The noise level moved up several dozen decibels.

“The one we saw had everything we wanted.”

The noise now reached the level of a billion bellowing bees.

“She snuck a different script to the publisher.”

The clamor from the other characters broke over me like a wave at Hawaii’s Pipeline. I was sent reeling but at least I wasn’t wet.

The next question was obvious. “The book that was published isn’t the one you authorized?” I asked, rather incredulously.

“No way!” Harry exploded. The public relations rep stared at him malevolently, while reaching for her wand. “Er, what I meant to say was that it leaves some of our actions open to less than flattering interpretations.” The rep nodded and graced him with a toothy smile that did not reach her eyes.

‘Harry’ looked at ‘Ginny,’ who smiled encouragingly. I’m sure she would have joined us, except that both of her parents had grabbed her arms, for reasons that eluded me.

Tearing my eyes from this unusual method of parenting, I could see that Harry was working up to a resounding rant, so I encouraged him to continue. Jo looked bored and glanced at her watch, a diamond-encrusted Patek Phillipe, which had to have cost at least mid-five figures . . .

Oh! Right! Harry.

His voice grew louder, and he again looked daggers at Jo, who yawned theatrically, showing perfectly straight, bright white teeth. I ducked before I could mentally hit myself. “She knew we couldn’t sue her, because everyone would then know we exist, that there really is a magical world.”

A cacophony of clamorous cries crossed the colossal studio, the most polite of which requested that he cease exposing his magical background to the unknowing Muggle world. Ginny started bouncing like the kernels in a microwave popcorn bag once the ambient temperature had been reached, obviously wanting to join our discussion.

Harry waited for the recriminations to relapse. “None of us could believe she’d do this to us after we made her richer than the Queen of England. That’s why we want you to publish this interview.”

Here comes the really obvious question. “So, you guys — wizards and witches — really exist?”

Harry and half a dozen others simultaneously rolled their eyes and chorused, “Duh!” in a pleasing four-part harmony. I was reminded of a carefully choreographed musical scene from a Disney cartoon. I was really getting into this now. Magic exists, Jo double-crossed them, the characters are real . . .

Stop that! Focus! Don’t hit!

“Harry, you know many fans think this book is the best one yet. What specifically upset you about this allegedly fabricated book that Jo foisted on your fandom?”

Have I been hexed with an alliteration curse? Never mind. Minimal mishap. Ow, that’s bad!

He rolled his eyes yet again, a favorite action with fan fiction writers. “There are so many . . .” He paused. “Okay. Here are some of the ones that irritated me the most. I’m the star of the books. Right?”

His magical buddies collectively shrugged their shoulders.

“Do I look stupid?”

Snape nodded his head energetically, causing spittles of grease to fly off his hair. Molly mumbled Scourgify without looking up, thankfully cleaning up the mess before someone stepped in the grease slick and was launched like a Jefferson Starship.

“Jeez, can’t I get any respect around here? It’s bad enough what Dumbledore did to me. Now, everyone’s a critic? Oi!” Harry released a breath he obviously didn’t know he had been holding.

“Harry? I’m sure you have a point you want to make.” I hoped I’d said that encouragingly.

“Right. Several. Why did Jo have me, Hermione and Ron hopping all over the country, with no plan at all? Hermione, who out-researches the Rand Institute, doesn’t go to the library even once. Ron is so involved with mushrooms, you’d think they were magical, and he doesn’t devise even one piece of strategy!”

Ron and Hermione were both nodding vigorously at this point.

“Now, I’m not as smart as Hermione, who’s kind of scary at times, but I’m not as dumb as a Blast-Ended Skrewt! And yet, Jo has me say ‘Voldemort!’ — the very word that will let the Death Eaters find us.”

He sighed in frustration. “The worst parts — and I know Jo did them on purpose — were when me and Hermione were on our own, after Ron abandoned us.”

“I’d never have done that!” Ron yelled loyally.

“We know, Ron,” chorused the supporting players.

“May I continue?” Silence greeted Harry’s request. He continued. “Every time me and Hermy Apparated, Jo had us holding hands, and she had us with our arms around each other several times. Do you have any idea how disgusting that is?”

“Why? You said Hermione’s like a sister to you.”

“Exactly!” he exploded, in a fit of teenage angst. “Hermione is my cousin!”

“What?!?!”

Jo fell out of her chair, laughing her ass off (can I say that here?).

“Well, she’s not a first cousin, but we’re definitely not kissing cousins, either. I think she’s a second cousin through my mum’s side of the family. Before she got married, Hermione’s mum’s name was Chrysanthemum Evans.” Harry ignored the chorus of requests beseeching him to be more discreet. “We covered up our connection by saying Mione was a Muggleborn, or as Malfoy teases her, a ‘Mudblood.’ Have to admit, we really wondered about those fans who thought me and Hermy should be together. Aren’t there laws against that?”

I nodded, as Hermione, who looked exactly as Jo described her in the books and nothing like the too pretty, not bushy-haired-at-all Emma Watson, smiled at Draco and blew kisses to the white-haired, ferret-faced young man. I made a note to ask about that later.

While Jo picked herself up from the floor, Harry continued, “You know Jo did that on purpose to make it look like something could be happening with me and Mione. Is that perverted or what? Plus, it got the Harry/Hermione shippers in an uproar for a few minutes. The worst part was the locket horcrux scene with those Riddle images and what she had us saying and doing.” Harry grimaced. “I may be scarred for life.”

I turned to Hermione, who had been bouncing in her chair, raising her hand virtually every time I asked her cousin a question. “What did you think of Jo doing that to you and Harry?”

She smiled, then launched into a detailed description of Freudian psychology, passive-aggressive tendencies, the power of the pen, and finished with an in-depth analysis of sociopathic behavior. (I have notes, if anyone is interested.) I don’t think she took more than two breaths during the entire lecture, er, discussion. If Hermione doesn’t make it in the magical world, she’ll have a promising career as one of those fast-talking auctioneers.

When the verbal roller coaster ride was over, Hermione smiled, obviously waiting for the next question. I tried to think of something to ask her that wouldn’t result in a dissertation level answer. While Hermione had been talking, Ginny snuck away from her parents and sat next to Harry. After one brief, chaste kiss . . .

Ron yelled, in a big brother voice, “Oi, Potter, stop snogging my baby sister in public.”

Everyone ignored him, except Ginny, who turned red as a tomato and returned to her seat between her parents. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, like sparkling stars on a dewy night.

“Okay, Hermione, I’ve got another question for you.” She leaned forward eagerly. “Why do you think Jo didn’t want to disclose that you were Harry’s second cousin? Did it bother you?”

“Not really. Jo selected the hero’s journey plot structure for the story. The hero usually is fairly isolated as he goes through the various challenges on the way to the goal, though help may be received from mentors, friends, and other people. In that context, it made sense to make Harry an only child. There was a secondary reason, also. Jo wanted to base Hermione on herself, so she imbued many of her qualities in that character.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “It’s what we call the super!Hermione syndrome. Her overachieving, wanting to be Head Girl and smartest witch of her year. We think it also explains why Hermione has been built up so much in the movies.”

I looked up and Jo stuck her tongue out at Hermione. The bushy-haired young lady rolled her eyes. Is that a widespread affliction in the UK’s magical society? I needed to ask someone, but not Hermione. The answer would take too long.

I had one last question for Hermione. “Harry and Dumbledore had a very interesting relationship, with the Headmaster acting as his mentor. How did Harry like that association as Ms. Rowling wrote it?”

Hermione took a deep breath, and my first reaction was to tell her not to bother answering. But before I could open my mouth, she was off.

“Of course, their relationship is the heart of the series, isn’t it?” I assumed that was a rhetorical question, and apparently, so did she, because she went ahead without waiting for my answer.

“The, uh, challenge Harry had was not to become a mushroom.”

(Okay, how many of you know where we’re going next?)

“The Headmaster, in Jo’s version, oftentimes kept Harry in a need-to-know environment, which by definition means restricting information, or to use a word that will make this convoluted joke work better, enlightenment was kept to a minimum. Lacking much enlightenment meant Harry was kept in the dark. The Headmaster also spoke in riddles, as a means to grow Harry’s intellectual capabilities and create more page time for himself. That is to say, he tried to stimulate or fertilize Harry’s mental growth.”

“In other words . . .”

Hermione grinned, “The Headmaster kept him in the dark and shat upon him, just like a mushroom. I can be succinct, you know.”

Harry had been listening to us, and he jumped into the conversation when Hermione paused for her first breath in five minutes. “When I read the substitute book, before it was released, I was screaming, ‘She wants me to commit suicide!’”

I looked confused, an easy expression for me. Fortunately, Harry took pity on me and expounded further.

“This seventh horcrux conundrum was dropped on us at the twelfth hour, and Jo said my ‘sacrificing’ myself — her word, not mine — was the only way to get rid of it. She also said I wouldn’t die from being killed. I have to admit I was kind of confused by that statement. We definitely had a trust issue going on.”

Hermione was doing her popcorn imitation again and took over. “Jo also wanted to use that sequence to do a short Christian allegory, with Harry taking the Christ role. Hagrid was the cross, the Romans were represented by the Death Eaters, and, of course, once Harry was returned to his followers, he was resurrected. Actually, it was a very nice piece of symbolism. But we thought introducing something that blatant at the end of the series wasn’t quite kosher, not that we have anything against religious connotations. We are now concerned that all the fans will go back and try to look at the entire series as one long, religious allegory — not that there’s anything wrong with religious allegories, of course.”

Hermione paused to breathe again, allowing Harry to interrupt once more. “What really frosts our collective derrieres is what Jo did to Dumbledore.”

All eyes sadly turned to the beloved former Headmaster, who looked remarkably like the dear, departed Richard Harris. I quickly noticed one small problem. He was drooling . . . a lot . . . into his beard. It was quite disgusting in a sad way. Everyone quickly looked away.

Harry whispered, “He had a stroke about a year ago. That’s when Jo killed him. Why she had him doing that crazed manipulator bit in this book is beyond me. He’d been okay in the first six books, brilliant but human and eccentric. But we figured he must have said or done something to upset Jo along the way, because she made him look like some cold-blooded Machiavellian monster in this book. And look at the poor slob, he can’t even defend himself or even put two recognizable words together.”

“How will you do the two remaining films with him like that?”

Harry smiled. “Jo tried to force another actor on us, a git named Hambone, but we refused. With stand-ins, body doubles, dubbing the dialogue, and the right camera angles, we’ll get by with the real Dumbledore. We just need to figure out how to hide the drooling.” Harry shot daggers at Jo, while she rolled her eyes.

“Harry, I should ask questions of the other people here. Do you have any other comments?”

“Just one more. I’ll be quick, okay?” I shrugged. “Thanks. The final confrontation with Voldemort — it was boring, anti-climatic, and confusing.” He shot a superior look at Jo, who squirmed a bit.

“Tell me why you feel that way.”

“First, that’s not how it happened . . .”

“WHAT!”

“No need to shout, Jim, I’m sitting right in front of you.” I grinned sheepishly. “Anyhow, that’s not how I vanquished Voldemort.”

“There really was a Voldemort? You actually defeated him?”

“Right in one, twice in fact. Do you see him here?”

I looked around. No snake-like, red-eyed, chrome-dome string bean that I could see.

“So you really did fight him?”

“The real duel was spectacular! Through the first six books, we had emphasized that love separated me from Voldemort. Her Highness dropped that theme in her seventh book, which she wanted to call The Seventh Horcrux, but apparently that title was already taken. With the powerful love I received from Ginny, my friends, family, the Order members, students, and teachers, I overwhelmed his Dark soul, and he literally exploded into dull gray ashes, which we Banished through the Veil — another topic that was ignored in the substitute book. The duel lasted a half hour at least, not the few minutes in her story.”

I had to ask. “I couldn’t figure out whether Voldemort’s AK rebounded off your Expelliarmus, or the Elder Wand caused it to turn back, or the protection you received from your sacrifice caused it. Do you know?”

Harry shook his head and looked at Jo. She shrugged her shoulders. Harry finally admitted, “No one can figure it out. It’s a mess, right? Kind of like who Victoire belonged to. She’s Bill and Fleur’s daughter, by the way.”

“Thanks, that’s what I thought. But I wasn’t sure. Again, thanks for your honest answers, and best of luck to you and your family. Should we have Ginny join us?”

He noticed Ginny was looking at us wistfully and gestured for her to come over. Even though there were dozens of people in the studio, the two teens looked at each other like no one else existed.

Ginny was petite. Her auburn tresses glowed with golden and russet highlights that were reflected in her bright, medium-brown liquid eyes that shone with amber specks around the edges. A sprinkling of freckles dotted her small nose and apple cheeks. Ginny’s an adorable young lady; no wonder Harry was arse over teakettle for her.

Once she sat down, she stared into Harry’s emerald eyes. I had the feeling they were communicating wordlessly. They both nodded, and Ginny leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Jim, you’ve got to help us. Jo told Mum and Dad to keep us apart. Jo doesn’t like writing romantic scenes and dialogue. We’re trying to show it’s natural for teenagers to want to be together and to snog occasionally. That’s why we’re doing this so publicly. It really embarrasses Harry. Can you help us?”

I nodded sympathetically, H/G shipper that I am, and gestured for them to move closer to me. I had anticipated that my conversations with the individual characters would be open, so anyone could hear them. But this one definitely needed to be private.

“Ginny,” I said very quietly, “you’ve just described what you two need to do. Try to get away from your parents whenever possible. If you and Harry want to snog every once in a while, that would help to show you’re no longer kids . . .”

Harry’s eyes shone mischievously. “I have to snog her?” He tried to look doubtful.

Ginny smacked him. “Prat!” And the three of us started laughing.

“We’ll do it!” they said simultaneously.

As soon as the last word had escaped their lips, the two teens grinned wickedly and began snogging each other senseless, though in the context of our secret plan, it did make sense, I guess.

“GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY!” Molly’s scream cut through our cocoon.

Ginny moved back slightly and said innocently, “Yes, Mum?”

“Drop your scarlet woman routine. Now. Got it?”

“Yes, Mum,” she replied quietly, though the shock on her face was evident. Jo had started to get out of her chair but sat back down when Molly interrupted, an evil smile plastered on her face.

I waited as Ginny composed herself. I nodded, subtly I hoped, then asked loudly, so everyone could hear, “Ginny, what is your major issue with this book?”

She’d schooled her features by then. At least she didn’t have any unshed tears. “Besides not being in the book much at all?”

“That must have hurt, since all of us H/G shippers were hoping for a payoff after the six book buildup.”

“I was hoping for something. We’d set it up for me to go with the Trio to vanquish Voldy and end with a big romantic payoff where Harry and I would swear our eternal love. But Jo basically cut me out of the story, except for a few lines in the epi.” She glared at Jo, and again, my first thought was ‘Bat-Bogey Hex,’ but we missed that excitement . . . unfortunately.

“I really wanted to snog Harry senseless. In the entire series, we got together for about two weeks at the end of the sixth book. Then, the prat broke up with me.” She playfully punched his arm.

He rolled his eyes. “Gin, you already know why I did that. Plus, it was the best two weeks of my life, too.” He smiled, their eyes locked, and they seemingly melted into each other.

Ginny shook her head, breaking the bond they had formed. “After all this time, we really want to be together.” She looked beseechingly at me. “We’d be so grateful for anything you could do.”

Do you think I could refuse that request, as if my heart were the size of Voldemort’s, before he died, of course? I nodded, solemnly swearing to myself that I would do all I could to help fandom’s favorite couple.

With a softly spoken ‘Thanks,’ Ginny returned to her seat between her parents, as Harry looked at her longingly.

I pulled myself back from this romantic interlude. “Who’s next?”

Molly leaped from her seat and walked toward me, hugging people along the way and leaving a trail of broken ribs.

“Mum, gerroff me!” Ron squealed in an amusing falsetto.

“Hi, Molly, talk to me.”

“I finally got out of the kitchen!” And she did a jig. “Six books, six! And all I did was cook and break ribs with my hugs. It’s like I was some freaking domestic goddess or something. But in Jo’s last story,” she turned to the author and smiled, “I finally got to kick some arse. When I battled Bella at Hogwarts, six years of frustration were released.” Her expression turned a tad feral. “They’ll never get me into a kitchen again. It felt so good when the curse sliced through the bitch’s chest (can we say that here?), her eyes in shock, blood spurting rhythmically because I cut an artery. What a feeling.”

Then, Molly looked around and lowered her voice. “Jo said she’d let me get out of the kitchen and fight only if Arthur and I helped her keep Ginny from Harry. Do you understand now why I said ‘Yes?’” Molly’s eyes glazed over, and Arthur had to help her back to her chair, where they huddled together, whispering to each other.

In the meantime, Ginny escaped her parents, jumped on Harry’s lap and started snogging him senseless . . . just as our plan required. I’m sure they wouldn’t have done that otherwise.

Neville and Luna, holding hands, joined me next.

“You guys together?”

Neville nodded cockily, which was really disconcerting to me. “Yeah. We thought it was obvious, but Jo changed it in the last book, I think. It wasn’t really clear.” He looked at Luna, and she shrugged her shoulders. “Well, at least, I finally got to act my age, instead of some scuffling, low self-esteem squib. Oh, do you think my slicing off Nagini’s head with the sword smacked of sexual imagery?”

I tried not to choke at Neville’s question, even as Luna lit up, and her radish earrings literally danced around her ear lobes.

“Hmmm, maybe?” I said evasively, then turned to the blonde girl. “Luna, tell me your thoughts on book seven or the series.”

The way her face broke out into a wide smile made me think that asking that question was kind of like giving a ten-year old the keys to the family car. I moved my chair back slightly.

“I loved how she had me paint the portraits of my friends, including Nevvie here, on my ceiling.” Luna turned and smiled coquettishly. “Hi, Neville. You sure have grown up nicely.” Neville ducked his head and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “But I was a little disturbed that I was made so weird during the first six books that no boy would even look at me, let alone ask me out, oh, except for that pity date with Harry to Sluggie’s party in the sixth book.”

About this time, there was a disturbance coming from the far side of the room. I looked up and saw Dolores Jane Umbridge. She looked like she’d just finished a very energetic horse ride. Her wind-mussed hair had leaves and twigs randomly sticking out of it, and her trademark hair bow was definitely askew. She looked dazed.

The former undersecretary simpered. “What happened to me? I had an entire chapter, then nothing. Did I live? Did I die? Did I become Minister (Ministerette?)? Does anybody know?”

She saw Jo and made a beeline toward her. Thankfully, security guards intercepted the toad and carried her bodily out of the building, while the characters applauded.

Okay, time for another guest.

Minerva McGonagall, the tall, regal, ice queen with a warm heart, Headmistress of Hogwarts approached me, sat in the offered chair, folded her hands on her tartan-covered lap, her lips in a thin line, and nodded for me to proceed.

“Headmistress . . .”

“Pish posh, call me Maggie, er, Minnie.”

I was taken aback. “You’re sure?”

“Of course. We’re all friends here, Jimmy.”

Jimmy?

“Okay. What did you think of your role in the last book? Many people think you came out of it as well or better than any other character.”

“Jo did give that heart-wrenching scene to me, where I exclaimed, “Harry,” with heartbroken emotion, as he was brought out of the forest, shall we say, horizontally.” She bowed her head, a certain amount of embarrassment evident on her face.

“Go on . . . Minnie.”

She looked up hopefully. “Well, I was a bit embarrassed by the battle at Hogwarts . . . you know, where Jo spoofed Beauty and the Beast? Animating the suits of armor wasn’t too bad, but making the desks charge the Death Eaters was, well, a tad over the top. Of course, she had poor Sybil throwing crystal balls over the balustrade and the poor woman has tennis elbow, house elves wielding cutlery, and Pomona pounding people with poisonous plants, so I wasn’t the only one humming ‘Be my guest, be my guest, we serve nothing but the best’ . . . snappy tune, isn’t it? Anyhow, I thought Busby Berkeley wrote the scene. You know, he’s a ghost at Hogwarts.”

I nodded my head, wondering who Busby Berkeley was, but then Maggie, er, Minnie was pretty old. “Any other comments you want to make, Minnie?”

I could see she was lost in thought, then a small smile brightened her face. “I just wanted to say I miss Albus so much, for so many reasons.” I nodded, and she continued, “He was an incredible force. Merlin, that man was a magician . . . in bed!” My mouth flew open. “An absolute stud.” My jaw hit my knees and showed no signs of slowing down. “Since he had that stroke, no one has come close to replacing him in my bed or in my heart.”

Please stop. The images are killing me.

“How old are you, Minnie?”

“One-hundred and seven years and four months.” She looked at me like she was sizing up a piece of meat at the butcher shop.

I swallowed nervously and shouted out, “Next!”

Arthur ambled over. As Minnie walked by him, she pinched his arse. Arthur rolled his eyes and said, “Not here, Minnie.” She waggled her eyebrows. Molly continued knitting, but the needles clacked like a Crup with croup.

“Hi, Arthur. What are your feelings about the series and especially book seven?”

He smiled that patient but pained smile of his; the pained part no doubt caused by living with the twins for too many years. “I can’t complain. Hell (can I use that word here?), I was supposed to die in book five, so I’m ecstatic with what happened in the series and book seven. I am a little bummed at losing Fred, but George looks just like him. We’ll just put a Cloning Charm on him and have the twins again. Since they always dressed the same, it shouldn’t be that big a deal, though how many 20-year old twins still dress the same?”

“I’d wondered about that, too.”

“Did you know we had a betting pool going with the family and at the Ministry?” I shook my head. “Percy was the heavy favorite to be the Weasley who snuffed it. In fact, he was the only one in the family who disagreed.” Arthur stopped and looked thoughtfully at me. “Did you think Percy’s return and our acceptance of him was too quick and easy, no buildup or background showing a change in character?”

Was this a trick question? I nodded cautiously.

“Thought so.” He returned to his chair and helped Molly hold back Ginny as Remus and Tonks walked past them.

“Did dying bother either of you?”

Tonks tripped over my toe, but Remus caught her. “Thanks, Wolfie.”

Remus shrugged his shoulders. “It was pretty bad having both of us die. I can understand the end of the Marauders’ story arc, but to take Tonks, too. That didn’t make us very happy.”

Both Remus and I turned quickly at the sound of a chair falling over, punctuated by a rather loud, ‘Oh, s**t!’

From her sprawled position on the floor where she’d fallen after slipping off the chair, Tonks smiled sheepishly and added. “Even worse for Remy was that totally OOC bit where he ranted about marrying me and bringing a child into the world. Does anyone feel Remus, the most thoughtful and slow moving character in the series, would make any decisions as important as those without thoroughly thinking them through?”

Tonks scrolled through six shades of scarlet and stared stilettos at Jo, who shrugged and continued to read an article on Oprah. Remus helped Tonks off the floor, and they walked off, with Fred and George taking their place.

The “real life” duo doesn’t look anything like they do in the movies or how you would imagine them from the books. Both looked very serious, almost academic in demeanor. In fact, I’m pretty sure the key each had hanging from a chain was a Phi Beta Kappa key, awarded for achieving academic excellence.

“Are those Phi Beta Kappa keys?”

Both smirked, and one of them answered. I have no idea whether it was George or Fred, since they still dress alike. Though, one of them did have a much lighter skin tone, which I thought was odd. “Magical education doesn’t focus on academics, with the possible exception of Arithmancy, Astronomy, and a very little bit of Herbology.”

The other twin continued without missing a beat, “We were dismayed at that lack, so we decided to pursue further education by continuing first at Oxford, then Cambridge, where Hermione lives, by the way. We loved the pure academic environment provided by these hallowed institutions and continued happily until we received our doctorates.”

“. . . and medical degrees.”

“. . . and law degrees.”

“. . . and MBAs.”

Ron yelled at them, “Who are you guys, and what did you do with my brothers?”

They ignored him.

My eyebrows were racing up my forehead. “You seem so different from your canon personalities.”

Both issued identical mischievous grins. “We thought it would be humorous.”

“Ironic even.”

“To change our personalities.”

“By one-hundred and eighty degrees.”

I thought they would be perfect for this question. “After six books and all these years, why did Jo use remorse as a major theme and plot engine in this last book?”

“Excellent question, my good man.”

“We have no idea.”

George or Fred turned to the other one. “Let’s identify who showed remorse.”

“Chronological or alphabetical order?”

“Let’s not worry about that at this point. We can categorize later, if need be.”

The other nodded. “Dudley for how they had treated Harry, when the Dursleys were leaving the Privet Drive house.”

“Remus berating himself over getting married and fathering a child, though it was probably for the result, not the act itself.” The other twin nodded in concurrence, a slight smirk showing on his face.

“Our younger git brother Ronald, when he returned from abandoning Harry and Hermione and giving hope to the delusional, and possibly incestuous, Harmonian shippers.”

“Our bigger git brother Percy, for blowing off the family and thinking five seconds of monologue would completely resolve the situation. I still think we should have hexed him for a month before we even talked with him.”

The other twin nodded in agreement, a similar slight smirk showing on his face.

“Dumbledore. Jo had him apologizing to Harry at the heavenly train station for basically everything he ever did, and he was dead!!!”

“Yeah, I think she stole that scene from Melindaleo’s The Seventh Horcrux. If I were Melinda, I would strongly consider hiring us and suing for plagiarism.”

“So right, brother mine. Jo wouldn’t stand a ghost of a chance.” And they both started howling with laughter.

Time for the next guest.

“Sirius! Hey, dawg! How’s it hangin’?”

Sirius smirked. “Long and loose.”

I was almost knocked out of my chair by the wind current generated by all the women whipping their heads around to check out Sirius’s . . . uh . . . ah . . . never mind.

Hermione wrote equations in the air with her wand, periodically glancing at Sirius’s . . . uh . . . ah . . . at Sirius.

Minnie was holding her hands apart, no more than six inches, and shaking her head, seemingly lost in a disappointing memory.

“It’s great to have you back, Black. Seriously.”

Sirius rolled his eyes (please supply your own adverb to describe the continued use of clichés as a literary device). “Merlin, don’t start that! Do you know how often people, especially fan fic writers, do that to me? And it’s usually not very funny.” (Cast your vote here whether this was funny or not.)

I schooled my facial expression. “Sorry, dude. How’s your love life been?”

A big smile crossed Sirius’s face, telling me we were back on terra firma. “Glad you asked, Jimbo! I’ve got this new Scottish companion; she’s quite the lassie.”

“Great! Tell me about her. What does she look like?” I can live vicariously, can’t I?

Sirius looked puzzled. “Like a collie, of course.”

“Arrggghhh!!! That’s the worst joke I’ve seen in this fic, Black. Seriously.” I made a gagging motion, while desperately trying to erase the image of two dogs meandering through a mountain meadow.

“Next! Quickly!”

As Sirius passed by the Weasley mére, pére, and fillé, he said, “Ginny, good luck getting together with Harry.” She smiled her thanks for his support.

Molly growled, “Keep your opinions to yourself, dogface!” Sirius rolled his eyes and returned to his kennel.

“Who else wants their opinion immortalized?”

The noise crescendoed like a 747 taking off. Nevertheless, I could pick out a few comments.

Trelawney yelled, “I Saw all of this happening.” Minnie rolled her eyes.

Harry’s whispered comment came when the cacophony suddenly calmed. “How long am I going to remain a virgin?” Harry looked at Ginny and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Arthur and Molly threw themselves on Ginny, who squirmed frantically to get out from under them, kind of like a flobberworm on acid (you know, the psychedelic kind).

Hermione and Ron were laughing their asses off (can I say that here?). I guess that condition didn’t apply to them any longer.

Minnie said soothingly, “Harry, it’s best to learn with an experienced woman. I can help you eliminate that unfortunate omission in your curriculum vitae.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Most of the men turned green, including Harry, whose ears also turned Weasley red, giving him an unseasonably festive appearance.

Ginny escaped her parents’ body slams, launched herself into Harry’s arms, and started snogging him senseless, again based solely on our secret plan to get them together and warm the hearts of H/G shippers everywhere.

(Note to self: Ignore the many readers waving their hands like Hermione and yelling that the plan can’t be secret since I’ve already mentioned it several times . . . in writing!)

As Harry and Ginny deepened their kiss, Ron yelled, “Stop snogging my baby sister in public, you pervert.” Unlocking his lips from Ginny’s, Harry grinned at his best mate, and I could hear the beast in his chest roaring passionately . . . for Ginny, that is, not Ron.

With many of the OCs continuing to chorus their concerns, the noise level in the room ratcheted to ear-numbing levels.

“SILENCE!!!” roared a deep and powerful voice.

All conversation abruptly stopped, and the assembled multitude turned as one toward the source of the command . . . Dumbledore?

Eyes widened as they stared at the Headmaster, who was now standing with perfect posture, his arms spread out, sparks flying from his fingertips, and his electric blue eyes (which we learned are the same as Aberforth’s — that sly Jo) blazing with intensity. Then, he lost his balance, fell back into his chair, and resumed drooling.

Well, at least it calmed things down a bit.

Jo came up to me. “Jim, do you think you’ve gotten enough up close and personalness from our friends?”

I rolled my eyes — is that condition contagious? — and smiled at her. “More than enough.” Actually, I wondered if some of these memories would be psychologically scarring. “Thank you, Jo. Mere words can’t come close to expressing my gratitude for this opportunity. May I ask you one question?” She nodded. “Why the scarcity of romantic relationships?”

She sighed. “I can’t write romantic relationships, scenes, or dialogue, like Melindaleo, St. Margarets, Fake A Smile, cwarbeck, or Sovran. I probably should have had one of them help me.”

At my flabbergasted expression, Jo laughed and said, “Yes, I do read fanfic, Jim.” She then turned serious once more. “Anyway, I instead asked Molly and Arthur to assist me in keeping Ginny and Harry apart. I bribed Arthur by keeping him alive and Molly with the battle with Bella, and even had Harry do that noble git/protecting Ginny bit to keep them apart. I know I frustrated a lot of fans, but you have to play to your strengths, right?”

I smiled at her, appreciating her honesty. “Well, you’ve never written much romantic detail, but with the blazing kiss in the sixth book and Harry and Ginny getting together, we all thought you’d build something off that, just not as little as you did.”

Jo sighed. “You’re probably right. It was just easier and more comfortable for me to leave it vague. At least, I had them married in the epilogue. And there’s nothing stopping them from, ah, being together now.”

Then, she abruptly changed topics. “Do you mind if I talk with my characters now?”

Her question surprised me. I was about to say, ‘You created them,’ but instead settled for, “Of course not, I’m sure they want to hear from you.”

Her voice dropped and took on a commanding quality. “Okay, you characters, settle down.”

They became silent and stationary, as if hit simultaneously by a Full Body Bind and a Silencio.

Jo spoke softly but with obvious emotion. “It’s been a marathon, hasn’t it my friends?” They nodded, some reluctantly, others with no regrets. “I tried my best to write the stories the way you wanted me to. This last book was very emotional for me. Not only did it potentially mark the end of our relationship, but it also provided my last opportunity to express what I was feeling. You all know how my mum’s passing affected me. I’m sorry Albus, but you’d always been the character I spoke through, so it made sense to express my remorse through you. I hope you understand now why I wrote those things. I do think they made for a very moving final book.”

As everyone in the room turned to the revered Headmaster, an expression of clear understanding dominated his face and eyes. Heads turned away when that light was again lost. We all hoped that somehow he had understood what Jo just told him.

Jo brightened, trying to lighten the somber mood that had fallen in the studio. “Ron, we’ve talked previously about how you represented my best friend Sean.” He smiled at Jo. “Well, you may have figured out he was my first crush.” Several eyebrows arched simultaneously. “So there was no way Harry was going to end up with Hermione. Sorry Harmonians. I wanted you for myself, er, through Hermione, of course.” Ron’s ears turned Weasley red in response to Jo’s remark.

Mione beamed up at the lanky redhead and stage whispered, “You’re my first crush, too, Ronniekins.”

I had to ask Hermy. “Then, what were the smiles and kisses blown to ferret face, er, Draco, early in our meeting?”

“C’mon, Jim, can’t a girl flirt a little? It was all innocent. Besides, Jo didn’t let us do anything normal teenagers do.” She grinned mischievously. “Even though I’m a brainiac, I still have hormones.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Hermione, you know why I didn’t write much romance. Plus, the books were intended for children, for Merlin’s sake. None of us had any idea these stories would generate the widespread popularity they’ve attained. I couldn’t turn them into a teen soap opera halfway through the series.”

Jo looked around, her unshed tears reflecting the emotions her characters were experiencing. Some sighed, some sang (well, only Luna), some shed previously unshed tears. I knew this was goodbye.

“I do have one last piece of news.” Everyone perked up. “Our publishers have pushed me to write an encyclopedia from all the notes I’ve compiled and not used in the stories.”

A huge roar swept through the room and excited comments circled continuously, like those birds around Ron’s head when Hermione got pissed at him in the sixth book.

“This will give us a final hurrah. We’ll show the back stories I created for most of you, what professions you went into, your family lives, children, spouses.” Ginny looked hopefully at Jo. “Yes, Ginny, you and Harry actually have professions — professional Quidditch for you and Auror for Harry.” Ginny started bouncing again like an overheated kernel of popcorn. Harry’s eyes widened in excitement at being able to utilize his wand on a daily basis.

Molly’s strident voice stopped all conversation, “None of your scarlet woman activities until you’re married . . .”

Jo’s commanding voice cut her off. “Molly, can it! You got out of the kitchen, and you got to duel. Now let the kids alone.”

All the other characters applauded loudly.

Molly looked properly chastened and her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Arthur put his arm around her, while rolling his eyes.

The earnest expressions on Ginny and Harry’s faces reflected everyone’s hope that their future would be bright. Harry whispered something in her ear.

“Harry James Potter!” she exclaimed. But she burrowed her head into the crook where his shoulder and neck met, which is a favorite place in fan fiction. It seems to attract fic writers like iron shavings to a magnet.

“So do you want to date?” he asked hesitantly.

Ginny smirked. “Since that day, when I was ten and I saw you for the first time at King’s Cross, you’ve been the only man for me. You know most of fandom think we belong together. Who are we to disappointment them?”

Harry shrugged, and they wrapped themselves in a tight hug. After releasing each other, the darling duo stood up, walked off toward the sunset (an interesting occurrence since we were indoors), as the violin-laden music swelled, and the other characters applauded appreciatively. Before the sun blinded me, I saw tears trailing down Ginny’s cheeks.

Harry just rolled his eyes. After all, most boys have the emotional range of a teaspoon.

Jo looked at me, an ethereal smile on her lovely face. “Thanks for helping me resolve my differences with the characters. It looks like we’ll remain friends now. That means a lot to me.” Then, she whispered, “I’d like to thank you a little more personally, Jimmy,” and she squeezed my hand.

The characters continued to mill around, not wanting to end this get together, not knowing when, or even if, they’d see their friends again, hoping that the encyclopedia would become a reality and keep them in the spotlight, not to mention generate more income for themselves.

We said goodbye to these longtime friends, hugging them, and promising that their words would reach their adoring public. I learned that many of them would be returning to homes that had large pastures. As sad as it seemed, their popularity was probably at its zenith and the only direction it could go was down, with only the two movies and the possibility of the encyclopedia remaining. The reality was like a post-Christmas depression, multiplied by seven. But life goes on, doesn’t it? And you never know what the future holds.

Speaking of which, Jo was patiently waiting for me. I said goodbye to the last character, feeling like the final curtain had fallen. “It’s sad, isn’t it?” Jo asked. “You want to get a cuppa, before going home?”

“I’d love to, Jo. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you’re a wonderful woman. You knew how I felt about this book, yet you picked me for this incredible experience. I think I’ve learned that all anyone can do is their best, and that’s what you’ve done. You created this amazing universe for us and entertained millions of people. Thank you, Jo.”

She gripped my hand and whispered, “You’re welcome, Jim. Shall we?”

I spent the next half hour in the enchanting company of Ms. Rowling, amazed at how down-to-earth this extraordinary woman was. Finally she leaned closer to me and said in a soft voice, “You know, Jim, you’re not entirely gormless. I hope at some point you’ll understand.” The last word I heard Jo utter was a soft . . . Obliviate.

I woke up some time later, lying on my bed, still fully clothed. Getting up slowly, I went into the bathroom, wondering why I’d been sleeping on the top of my bed with my clothes on and where I’d gotten the throbbing headache. I opened the medicine cabinet to get the headache pills and was surprised to see a note wedged between the bottles of pills.

I pulled the note out and read it. I’d been invited to interview the Harry Potter characters, since I’d won first place in a contest sponsored by J. K. Rowling. The copy of the letter informing me of this looked vaguely familiar. The note continued, telling me the pen in my shirt pocket was a video recorder, and I immediately thought, ‘Wizards always underestimate Muggle technology.’ I guess sometimes the pen really is mightier than the sword, or wand, in this case. I pulled the pen from my pocket, took out the tape, and popped it into the player.

Merlin! I had more than two hours of interviews with JKR and the inhabitants of the Potterverse. Even more amazing, they hadn’t been actors, as I had thought. Instead, they were the real thing — the actual wizards, witches, and events the stories had been based on. Even though my memory of the interview had been wiped clean, I had everything I needed to prove it was true. I began to laugh my ass off.

Magic and wizards exist! If you want to learn more, the DVD will be available soon through the usual outlets. A book and a movie from a major studio (not Warner Bros!) will follow.

Isn’t magic wonderful?


The End . . . Or is it?


A/N: This story, if I somehow missed my mark, is a farce. No characters or authors were injured during the writing of this fic, though a few of them are suffering from a form of dyslexia brought on by rolling their eyes too often.

As virtually everyone who has followed JKR’s once-in-a-lifetime journey, I do have some literary-based questions on some of the choices Ms. Rowling made when writing Deathly Hallows. But I remain one of her most fervent admirers (no, not that way), and I am eternally grateful for the incredible universe she has created and the characters who populate it.

Beyond the hopefully farcical, satirical, and/or exaggerated elements, I also wanted the story to poke fun at some of the words and phrases that seem to show up in a majority of HP fanfics. I will leave it to you to do the sleuthing as I do not want to embarrass any authors, including myself, who have used these trusty words and phrases.

Lastly, to facilitate the farcicity (yeah, I made up that word) of the story, I decided to have the characters behave in a confrontational manner toward Ms. Rowling, feeling this approach would provide much more fertile ground to play with. And no, I don’t think our beloved Ms. Rowling is a witch, magical or otherwise.

Special thanks go to my super beta, cwarbeck. Without her, this story never would have seen the light of day. Grazie mille, cel!!!

My sincere thanks also are extended to Chreechree, DQBunny, GhostWriter, Seeker Sis, and Sovran for their help. The feedback I received from each of you has been invaluable! Any mistakes that remain are those of the author, as are the opinions expressed in this story.
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