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Part One

It was another day at Gryffindor Quidditch practice, the disheveled and dashing Harry Potter zoomed daringly close to the stands, In chase of the tiny golden snitch. He did not see them, but hiding behind the bleachers were two of his biggest fans, the ever ubiquitous Random Fangirls—no one was sure what House they belonged to…they never seemed to attend classes, just sort of lurked, like living ghosts, breathing only for a glimpse of the Famous Harry Potter.

Random Fangirl the First was crouching with binoculars, her face oddly forgettable, but filled with longing. She whispered, in tones of utmost passion to her companion, “He is soo hot!”

Random Fangirl the Second sighed in agreement. She too had a face no one would remember, perhaps explaining her ability to be unclassified within Hogwarts, and for people to ignore her complete inability to contribute anything to society besides sighs and exclamations of lust. “The way his hair is all blown back.”

“It makes him looks so…” Random Fangirl the First paused for a moment, searching for a word that could convey her intense attraction, “…cool.”

Random Fangirl the Second nodded her head in passionate agreement. Then she set back, an actual thought entering her head, and knocking her backwards in surprise. “Are we obsessive?” she asked of her friend.

Random Fangirl the First was not really listening, as Harry was flying quite fast, almost too fast for her to follow with her “Harryoculars”. “What do you mean?” It was a question she asked often.

”All we do is stalk…er…” she looked frightened at Random Fangirl the First’s expression. She had used S-word, forbidden by all Random Fangirls. “I mean, all we do is follow Harry everywhere.”

Random Fangirl the First pondered this for a moment, even putting down her Harryoculars. Slowly she began, “Well…we could get a new hobby...?”

The two girls shared a deeply pained expression. It was all the thinking. They weren’t used to the stress.

Random Fangirl the Second stood up suddenly, banging her head on the bleachers. She fell back down, barely noticing the pain. It was to be expected when you were constantly hiding under and behind things hoping to steal a glance at your love. “Oh! I know!”

“What?” Random Fangirl the First asked, relieved that she hadn’t actually had to think of something.

Random Fangirl the Second leaned forward, eagerly, the bump on her forehead swelling and becoming purple. “We could market a line of hair care products to give people Hair like Harry’s!”

“Yeah! Everyone willl want some, we’ll be millionaires!”

Random Fangirl the Second gasped, having another thought; two in one day, this was possibly a new record. “When we have a million Galleons, we could buy a Harry of our own.”

Both of the Fangirl’s mouths fell open, and they began to giggle in a way that would have been quite evil, if they were actually aware of the meaning of that word.

They jumped up, so excited that they actually left Harry’s Quidditch practice early! The instant they were gone, a sinister voice came from the bleacher below. It was Gilderoy Lockhart! He stood up quickly, also bumping his head, but not noticing either… he had removed the part of his brain that felt pain after reading a few unsatisfactory book reviews many years ago.

He proclaimed grandly, “No they won't! No Random Fangirl is going to have a range of hair care products before I do! Henchman!”

Then from behind a pillar, Hermione emerged answering his call, although apparently not particularly happily, “How many times do I have to tell you? It's hench PERSON!”

Lockhart looked momentarily confused at the interruption and then muttered, “Person, right...” he took a moment to regain his composure, and continued in a booming voice. “When will my hair products be ready for mass marketing?”

Hermione looked suspicious, “In a few weeks, why?”

Lockhart took a deep steadying breath, “That's too long! We have competition afoot.” He looked hard at Hermione with his heart-melting blue eyes, and continued in a low wicked voice, ”Make sure they're never marketed.”

(AN: Kind of like "Make sure they're never found," but more Lockhart-ish)

Hermione gasped, she had always most loved his intensity, “Of course” she murmured, before scurrying off to do his bidding.

Once he was sure she was gone and no one was around, he rubbed his eyes hard, “I have to do something about these colored contacts, they’re killing me!”

Part Two

A dashing Gilderoy Lockhart and fawning Hermione Granger were sitting on either side of Lockhart’s desk in his gallery of self portraits…err…office. He leaned forward, brow furrowed with deep concentration that made Hermione shudder with longing. “This is step is very important,” he intoned, his melodious voice bring goosebumps to Hermione’s arms.

“Yes?” she asked, in a voice faint with hope and anticipation.

“Yes?” asked all 1,764 portraits from their various frames around the room, all in fawning adoration. Hermione gave the nearest one a sharp look, and turned back to Lockhart.

“What must I do?” she asked, awaiting his response with baited breath.

A wicked gleam took his eye, and his voice dropped down a sexy octave, “Take them out.”

Hermione involuntarily had a sharp intake of breath. “Take them out?”

Lockhart rolled his eyes, and snapped, voice back to its slightly irritating timbre, “The Random Fangirls. Take them out.” He gestured, not slit throats, or guns to the head, but two people talking. “You know, out.”

Hermione, finally understood, and a horrified expression claimed her face, “For 3 weeks??”

”Well if that's how long it takes for my products to be marketed...” Lockhart replied snippily, leaning back in his gilt chair.

”Don’t get snippy with me. I might need outside help, how do you feel about a new henchman?” she asked.

Lockhart smiled rather smugly, “What happened to saying henchperson?”

Hermione’s face fell slightly, “Well this one's a guy... so I supposed it really didn’t matter. Of course, if you really want to use the neutral term that would be far more equal, as far as genders go—“

“Whatever! I don’t have time for your silly Equal Rights musings! I don't care, as long as the Fangirls are out of the way.”

Hermione grinned wickedly, “Don't worry, they will be.”

A few minutes later, Hermione burst through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room. She stopped short, attempting to compose herself, and looking around the crowded room. Pushing past a gaggle of first years, she spotted Harry sitting alone by the fire, working on a Potions essay. “Harry!”

He looked up in surprise. “What?”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, “I’m going to ask you for a huge favor. Please, it’s vitally important.”

Harry looked bemused. “Hermione, I know you aren’t a part of some secret underground organization, so you really don’t need to act like a national emergency hinges on me letting you borrow my cloak or whatever.”

Hermione sighed impatiently. “Will you do this for me?”

“Do what?”

Hermione, sat down, holding his hands in her own. “Harry, if you have to ask, then it is obvious that you do not trust me completely, and I will need to find another source of aid.” She stood, and took a step away, calling back over her shoulder. “Malfoy seemed highly willing last time we had a heart to heart chat over the gently simmering cauldron, his hair, like platinum hanging softly in front of his eyes…”

Harry shuddered, “Stop! Okay, I’ll do your favor. Just don’t ever talk about Draco’s hair to me again.”

Hermione grinned, “But it is so lovely…” At Harry’s expression she laughed. “I’m kidding! And thank you. All I need is for you to take these girls out for spring rolls.”

Harry looked slightly relieved. “That's no big deal- when?”


Harry looked confused. “I'm sorry, what?”

”For the next three weeks.”

“You're kidding.”

Hermione grimaced, “Actually, no.”

Harry, looking like he was about to say no, fiddled with his quill, and Hermione jumped in, understanding the necessary lengths that one must go in order to fulfill a person’s lifelong dream…even if that dream was just marketing a line of hair care products. “Please? I’ll set you up with Cho Chang.”

Immediately Harry jumped up and shook hher hand. “Done! Who are they?”

Hermione made that same strange grimace again, “Umm... you'll see...”

A few hours later, Harry and the Random Fangirls (one and two) were sitting in the corner booth of an Asian cuisine restaurant.

Random Fangirl the First leaned in close to him, attempting to twirl her hair flirtatiously, and ending up with a knot around her finger. As she untangled it, she whispered in what must have seemed like a seductive voice, “Oh Harry, You have the most gorgeous eyes...”

”Yeah... they're so like, green!” Random Fangirl the Second butted in, smiling widely, and nearly blinding Harry with her brilliantly whitened teeth.

Harry raised his hand uncomfortably, to get the waiter’s attention. “More spring rolls, please?” His voice was desperate, but the waiter took no pity.

”I'm sorry sir, we have a 253 spring roll limit. You'll have to settle for squid.”

Harry looked hopeless, “But I... oh damn.” He sat further back, trying to ignore the girls pressing entirely too close to him on both sides.

Random Fangirl the Second called out cheerfully, “I love squid if Harry loves squid!”

Random Fangirl the First nodded passionately in agreement, and almost toppled into Harry’s lap.

Ignoring her, Harry threw his hands in the air, “Hermione!”

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