It's that time again... Weirdness ensues...

Once again, we find our favorite Gryffindors. They were looking, and feeling, quite bored in History of Magic. Harry was doodling on a piece of scrap paper, trying to think of something exciting and death-defying to do. After all, what was Harry Potter without a bit of adventure and defying of death.

Harry taps on the computer screen.

"Eep... Harry! Don't do that. You aren't supposed to distract me and the readers. Go back to doodling."

"No way! Hermione, Ron and I want you to stop with all of the pranking story lines. We feel that they have gotten old and boring."

"Yes, because you're a great judge, Fictional Harry Potter! Get back to looking bored. Please!"

"Ugh, don't whine, Cassirin. It's very unattractive." Harry confers with Ron and Hermione, while the rest of the class politely pretends not to notice. "If you don't do something original, we're going to strike."

"How exactly are you going to do that, O Character that I write?" The author, who refuses to refer to herself as I, feels very clever at this point. "If I write you doing it, you'll do it!"

"Fine then," Ron pouted. "We'll write a letter to our real author and complain about you. She'll roll over in her grave!"

"She isn't dead, you imbecile," Hermione muttered from the corner of her mouth.

"First, she'll die of shock. Then she'll roll over in her grave."

The author beat her head against the computer. That did nothing good except give the author a bigger headache and make the computer sad. "How will you write a letter? You have no fingers!" She yelled and typed furiously.

"Eep..." Ron gasped, looking at his stubby little hands. "I have no fingers."

The author giggled and gave him his fingers back. "Now... I will take your requests into consideration, but remember who's the boss here. What kind of plot did you have in mind?"

"Can we do something dangerous?" Harry pleaded. "Something where I risk my life unnecessarily and end up all bloody and in the hospital wing. Nobody gets to see the hospital wing in your fics except Draco. And he was afraid of a bloody marshmallow." Behind his back, Ron shook his head desperately to signal NO! Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

Ron and Hermione quickly jumped in with their own suggestions of logic based mysteries, a Quidditch sports fic, and even a romance, although everyone turned quite red and wouldn't talk anymore after that. From one side of the room, Neville jumped up and waved his hand.

"Excuse me, miss. I mean, Madam Author..."

"You could always call me Princess Cassirin," the author said sarcastically, but Neville seemed not to notice.

"Maybe you could write a fic with someone other than the trio as a main character..." he trailed off at the looks from the class. Even Professor Binns, who never noticed anything, was looking startled.

"You want to be important to my story?" the author said, her voice oozing with false sweetness. Neville nodded. "Fine."

All of a sudden there was a fishbowl on Neville's head. "Hey, wha der fshbl n ma hd?" Neville asked.

Ron gaped. "There's a bloody fishbowl on Neville's head."

"Dah's wt ah sed," Neville grunted.

The author laughed. "Now, let's see what happens."