The five Gryffindor friends sat at their house table, eating their breakfast. A fortnight had passed since the conclusion of the final battle, and the author had lived up to his side of the bargain. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked as good as new, and a casual observer would have never suspected that three terrible battles had taken place there not too long ago.
However, there was one indication of the violence that that a more perceptive onlooker would have noticed. The castle felt empty: few students plied the corridors to classes, and the refurbished house tables of the Great Hall were grossly oversized for the small populations of wizarding youth that remained. It seemed meaningless to have the clusters of students sit with their fellow housemates since there were so few of them, so they all sat together at one end of the table underneath the scarlet banner emblazoned with the gold lion.
Though their numbers were small, the residents of Hogwarts were by no means lifeless. They exchanged stories, laughed, and admired the spectacular ruby-encrusted sword that Wat used to cut his toast with. The time for grieving the fallen had passed “ they were now enjoying the glorious freedom of having lives of their very own. The characters had names, physical descriptions, and better yet, they didn’t have to worry about the author making ridiculous things happen to them!
It was a good feeling, and one that the five friends were eager to get used to.
They remained close after leaving the school, keeping in touch in order to get to know one another a little better. Even three years after the final battle, they were still discovering new things about their friends and themselves. Parents and siblings were met for the first time. Habits and traits were unveiled. Favourite colours, phrases, and Quidditch teams were chosen. Even romance blossomed.
Zigmond and Alice were sitting in the shade of an old oak tree near the lake, locked in a passionate snog. Fortunately, Alice was no longer bald, her hair having grown into a beautiful blonde sheet that was currently covering both of their faces and intertwined with Ziggie’s waving brown mane. Just like what she wished way back in Chapter B, she had nice blue eyes like the sea, and she was kind and funny… but also a bit of a drip. But did she care?
Nope.
After the couple had figuratively eaten each other’s faces off for several long minutes, they broke apart. Zigmond looked at his fiancée with his green eyes and jokingly asked, “Remind me “ why do I like you again?”
“We were just meant to be, remember?” she answered, smiling and brushing the blonde hair out of her face. Ever since the two of them had volunteered to play the role of the infatuated couple, the plot set things in motion and they found themselves drawn to each other as if magnetically. Even three years after their character’s liberation, they still liked each other solely based on genuine affection!
Their limbs unravelled and the two sat side by side with their backs against the tree, looking out to the lake. Alice snuggled up to her soon-to-be husband’s side and rested her head on Ziggie’s shoulder. “Alice Pennifold“Thustrust…” she said experimentally, tasting the sound of what would be her new“
“Hey mates! What are you doing?”
That was Chris Davis, whose sandy-haired head had just appeared from behind the tree. He was a very nice person, but he unfortunately wasn’t graced with much intelligence and he had no concept of personal privacy. Despite the awkwardness of the situation that had been ignominiously thrust upon them, Zigmond and Alice took it with good humour.
“Ay up, Chris,” Zigmond greeted him as both he and Alice stood up in a more dignified position. “You’re here early.”
Chris fully emerged from behind the tree, grinning and dark eyes twinkling. He explained, “Yup. I was bored, so I thought I’d like to take a walk, and then I find you here!”
Zigmond responded wryly, “Of course you did.” Chris didn’t catch the sarcasm and instead started a conversation about elephants.
After some twenty minutes of gamely going along with Chris’ antics, Alice interrupted and pointed at two familiar dark silhouettes walking through the gates of the grounds. The three friends decided to leave the shade of the tree and make their way down the path amidst Chris’ animated discussion about the differences between Asian and African elephants’ trunks.
The two incoming figures’ features soon became apparent as the two groups walked towards each other “ there was a tall man with very short brown hair and a fledgling proto-moustache, and a short woman with her frizzy red hair tied in an unruly ponytail. However, it was already obvious who they were before then.
“So, how long have you been here for?” asked Wat when the five friends met each other in the middle of the path. “Not long, I hope?”
Alice and Zigmond muttered that it was nothing, but Chris completely ignored the question and started telling Meagan all the fascinating things there were to know about pachyderms. Without further ado, Wat suggested that they should get a move on, so the five walked back up the path to the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“…And you see, Meagan, when you add two feet and two feet, you get a complete elephant…”
The gravel path led up to the great doors of the entrance hall, but the five friends had no intention of returning to their former school. They turned off the path and instead walked across the grounds, heading in the direction of the great marble sarcophagus where Albus Dumbledore rested.
Chris ended his monologue, and the group walked in silence.
However, they weren’t interested in visiting the Great Headmaster’s final resting place. The site also contained rows and rows of plain white headstones, where six feet underground the nameless hundred and fifty lay “ Tim the Enchanter’s parting act as author was to edit the story, moving their bodies from their hastily dug graves in the Quidditch pitch to the great memorial cemetery. A line of young trees grew at its edges, complimented by several banks of poppies in full bloom.
The entrance to the cemetery was dominated by a marble obelisk, defiantly reaching for the sky like some inverted exclamation point that had its head chopped off. Embedded in the obelisk’s stone face were names in shining brass, that had been collected from the melted down Soviet cartridge cases that littered the castle's floors after Chapter Four:
Argus Filch
Bert
Blonde Woman
Dick
Edmund Montgomery
Erick Schicklgruber
Frank
Giant Squid
Harriet Ackerley
Harry Potter
Hunter
John Evans
Leonidas I of SPARTAAAAAAAAAA!
Minerva McGonagall
Mrs Norris
Pomona Sprout
Reginald Scott
Roy…
In respect for those fallen who had no last names, the tall list was sorted alphabetically by their firsts’. The brass letters reached down to the base, where there was a sombre statement recognising the sacrifices of both the named and the nameless in the struggle for freedom from the author.
John Evans… Harriet Ackerley… those were the two names that genuinely grieved the five survivors of the original group of seven friends. All they knew about their fallen comrades was that John was sarcastic, and Harriet enthusiastic to prove her mettle, but there was potential for so much more. Their lives had been cruelly taken away from them, before they even had a chance to discover the full extent of their characters.
So on this third anniversary of The Absurd Fanfic Revolution’s victory, the five honoured their brave friends and fellow fighters who died so that they could live in peace as developed characters with depth and integrity. Wat, Meagan, Zigmond, Alice, and Chris each waved their wands and conjured wreaths and flowers, which they laid at the base of the marble obelisk.
They stood there for several long moments, which stretched into years in their minds. They mused about what they had won, wondered who the dead would have become had they lived, and cherished the few short chapters of memories of John and Harriet, who unfortunately could not be with them.
Finally, the five former Gryffindors turned and left without saying a word “ they crossed the cemetery’s boundary of trees and walked back to the gravel path. With parting glances at Hogwarts school, they left the grounds and headed into Hogsmeade village.
The Three Broomsticks, to be precise.
But under the influence of Butterbeers and Firewhiskeys, their moods rose considerably. Their sadness for those who had died three years past dissipated, to be replaced with jokes and fond reminiscences.
“‘Accio Pancreas…’” Zigmond chuckled, with some Firewhiskey foam stuck on his well-developed facial hair. “I still can’t believe you did something as stupid as that, Chris, and that it actually worked!”
“And remember when John threatened a mutiny or something, just so that his character could get some more lines in the story?” Meagan asked. Wat nodded, and couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his dead friend’s devious scheme. He had a feeling that that would be a story he’d tell to his grandchildren one day.
And so they talked. The conversation eventually moved away from recollections and shifted to the very pressing present concern of which Quidditch team was going to win the League Cup final.
“I’ll bet you ten Galleons the Kenmare Kestrels beat Puddlemere United on Friday,” Meagan challenged, to which Wat eagerly accepted, “You’re on!”
When they had finished their drinks, the five friends ventured out into the open air again “ they spent a few moments blinking to adjust their eyes to the sudden torrent of sunlight that blasted into their retinas before they could see properly.
“Anyone for going to Zonko’s before we go our separate ways?” Alice proposed, spotting the joke shop across the street with the hyperactive displays in the windows.
“Why not? We have time,” Wat answered to nods from everyone else. “Besides, that weird spinning thing in the window looks interesting “ I’d like to see what Mr Weasley has come up with.”
With their eyes on the eccentric attention-grabbing merchandise behind the windows, they crossed the street.
BAM!
The cement mixer slammed into the five friends with grisly results, fulfilling Tim the Enchanter’s promise from the previous chapter. Wat Tyler was the first to die, for his body was plastered against the front grille and was then dragged underneath the vehicle and scraped into a bloody pulp. Finally, his corpse was flayed by the rear set of wheels, and he came to a rest wedged in the wheel arch.
Meagan Walsh was walking next to him, and she went down not a moment later. Wat’s mangled body collided into her, and she was thrown to the ground and flattened mercilessly by the huge crushing tyres.
Chris Davis just managed to get a brief glimpse of the onrushing vehicle before he was hit. His shout of “ELEPHANT!” was cut short because he was gripped by the cement mixer’s front tyres and brutally run over, his squished lump of a body causing the front of the vehicle to leap into the air.
Lastly, Zigmond Thustrust and Alice Pennifold were struck down and cruelly separated from each other. Their lifeless bodies tumbled underneath and were mutilated by the spinning driveshaft and crushing wheels, and were completely mauled beyond recognition within seconds.
The cement mixer’s brakes screamed and the massive battering ram on wheels finally skidded to a halt “ the engine growled, eager to get moving again. The cabin door opened and out stepped a man, and shaking with trepidation, he looked at the huge smear of blood and the twisted, splattered corpses he left behind.
Woah! Déjà vu!
Once again, Benjamin Dover the cement mixer driver ripped his company hat off his head and threw it to the ground. Enraged, he shouted at the sky, “GOD DAMMIT, TIM! WHENEVER YOU HAVE A PROBLEM, YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO THROW MY CEMENT MIXER AT IT, DON’T YOU?”
He shook his head in exasperation. “Ahhh… SHIT!” Benjamin Dover swore, and without a backwards glance, he scooped up his hat and got back in the cabin of Volvo the illustrious cement mixer, emblazoned with the words, Deus Ex Machina Cement Corporation. He stepped on the throttle and drove away, into the setting sun.
Moral of the story?
Look both ways before crossing the street.
Keeping the author happy might be a good idea too…