Dr. GrapeNut

Chapter 5


Fanny Wack was despondent after signing off with Asphodellyn. “LoveBug, is there really a chance that we night not be able to head off that attack group. Are they really going to go ahead and unleash all that wank?”

LoveBug, in stark contrast, could not have been happier about the whole turn of events. She cheerfully explained, “Fanny Wack, if I may speak freely, Asphodellyn Wormwood talks a might fine line and for all I know if she ever pulled her head out of her arse maybe she could even write a really good fic, too. But you can’t blame our readers for reacting like this. I mean, how can you expect a bunch of ignorant peons to fully comprehend the beauty of the kind of fics we’re trying to write here? They can’t and they won’t. It’s no use even trying.” LoveBug was on a roll again. “I mean, take your average fic writer. We all know what little talent she has. Look at all those god-awful fics that have been posted and yet they won’t quit! Now, if the wank warrior is really good and can aim the wank to a spot where it will do the most damage in the least amount of time, just kind of slip it right in there before anyone knows what’s happening…that’s a thing of beauty, that is!”

“You think they’re gonna pull this off?”

“Pull it off? Hell yeah! They’re gonna p…” Only then did LoveBug fully appreciate the gravity of what she’d just typed into the chat. She knew and realised what was about to happen. She gaped open-mouthed at her computer screen.

Buzzkill appeared to be having the time of her life as the Wank War assault group prepared to launch a mass attack against the fic site, Collywobbles. Buzzkill made her final preparations as she sang, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round the Old Oak Tree.” She loved that song, though she’d admitted it only to a few of her closest buddies. It reminded her of Severus for some reason. She and a trusted buddy did a final check of the wank before unleashing it. Verbal zingers, anonymous alliterative attacks, poisonous prose and a chat room transcript full of all the words you can’t say on television. Everything was ready and Buzzkill was about to give the order to launch the first wave of the assault, but then she noticed that two of the gimp gifs were non-functioning. “Bloody hell!” she shrieked. “You ladies go on and start without me. I’m going to go down and see what I can do.”

The gifs in question, identified only by their code names ‘Flaming Fairy’ and ‘WandWaver’, consisted of devastatingly disturbing images guaranteed to make even the toughest nails feel violently ill. Buzzkill began playing with the coding, singing a slightly reworked version of ‘Love Potion #9, as she feverishly worked to repair the malfunctioning gifs. Suddenly, both were operational and she let out with a whoop her ‘round the world…literally. She had inadvertently sent the gifs not only to the site targeted, but to everyone in her address book as well, including her elderly grandmother in Peoria. Consumed by a nearly orgasmic burst of raw pleasure at her success and completely oblivious to the growing horror her family members were experiencing as they one by one became aware of just how deep her obsession with Severus Snape had gone, she repeatedly typed ‘Yahoo’ until she was abruptly cut off for unknown reasons.

Meanwhile, back at Wank Headquarters, all watched in stunned silence as the first volleys of the most epic Wank War ever waged were fired. Dr. GrapeNut suddenly announced, “You know, all is not lost! I have made some calculations concerning how we may yet survive a century-long moratorium on Potter fics! We can go underground, my Lord.” It was a slip of tongue that revealed Dr. GrapeNut’s real loyalty and identity as a secret OFC/Voldemort shipper as she contemplated a century of underground fics written only by the best authors the fandom could find. It would be just like the good old days before fics were online. She continued in her rapture, “No, it would be all too easy actually to convene a small group of only the prime specimens…a small, secret and highly selective group of fic writers who could fill an underground archive with the crème de la crème of fic! I assure you, it would be only too easy to assemble such a group and bury it so far underground that no wank could reach it!”

“How long would we need to stay underground with fics? Would it really go as long as you said before?” Fanny Wack was numb at the impending loss of all her reviews on all those archives that were about to go up in smoke, but at the same time, very desperate to hold onto whatever possibility of quality Potter fic she could.

Dr. GrapeNut responded, “It is as I’ve already told you. I think we can expect at least a century of underground fic. But, we’d still have the best writers! And those writers could fill a large underground archive with as many fics as we need to stay comfortable and get our fill of Severus. We’d need to do a quick survey of which authors and fics we want to have and get those invitations out immediately. Maybe some of them could bring copies of their fics with them to the underground archive.”

“I’d have to decide which authors and fics to invite?” Fanny Wack believed at that moment that she held the survival of the entire SS/HG fandom in her hands. It was an awesome responsibility.”

“Well, not really,” Dr. GrapeNut interrupted her reverie. “We could program a computer to get invitations out to accept only the most highly recommended and revered fics and authors in the ship. Of course, it’s absolutely vital that we all take our own fics with us. We are the leadership that the fandom needs if it is to survive a century underground. I mean, we need to think of ourselves, er, do what we need to do to safeguard the fandom.”

The thought of her own fics surviving underground the destruction of the online fandoms energised Dr. GrapeNut in a way she’d not been energised since she’d got a really good, detailed, nude, photoshopped shot of Severus with her own face on the female in his loving embrace. She became more and more excited just thinking about the possibilities of underground selective fic archiving. The mere thought of ten premier fic writers for each reader inched her ever closer to a climax of sorts. The fandom elite would savour the work of a small but deeply talented group who could devote their prodigious talents to just the chosen few alone. What a paradise of fabulous fic that would be! She began waving her wand and chanting in what sounded suspiciously like Parseltongue. Their work would eventually repopulate the fandom.

“Of course, they’d go at it like bunnies, wouldn’t they? I mean, there’d be so much time and not much else to do with all other archives destroyed. They could probably reach the current level of fic in say ten to twenty years! And all of it choice prime fic!”

Fanny Wack had a concern that she needed to share with the others. “I’m a bit worried, though, that this small group of survivors might be so grief-stricken that they are unable to write effectively. What if they are so distraught that they don’t want to write anymore? I mean, just think of how many writers…really good writers…left the fandom after HBP came out! If just the thought of Severus doing something evil made them quit writing, what would the destruction of the online communities that have such a mainstay for years now do to them?”

Dr. GrapeNut was unconcerned. “Once they join the underground archive, they will all be survivors. There will be no tragic memories for what was, but rather a fond nostalgia and a desire to recreate the best of what we once had, only better!”

LoveBug was utterly entranced with GrapeNut’s vision of a secret, underground, by invitation-only, selective fic archive where only the best and brightest of their age could indulge their fic fantasies forever safe from fear of bad fics. “Dr. GrapeNut, you mentioned something about ten fic writers for each reader. Does that mean we could possibly forgo the need to wait for a fic to be beta’d and approved before reading it? I mean, if only the best writers are present, there’s really no reason why the fics could not be posted as soon as they’re written. The whole beta/approval system could be abandoned allowing more fics to be posted faster but with no negative effects on fic quality.”

“You raise a very good point,” Dr. GrapeNut agreed. “Of course, since the writers will be required to do such prodigious writing, it’s only fair that we be equally as selective about the readers. After all, they are the ones who will leave reviews. We need to select only the best readers who can stroke the egos of the writers in just the right manner so the whole venture is profitable for everyone involved. We all know how stimulating a good review can be, am I right, ladies?” Dr. GrapeNut waited out the obligatory LOLs that inevitably followed such a pronouncement. Normally, that sort of thing irked the hell out of her, but she was in rare spirits this night and found she didn’t mind. She laughed herself. “Well, if the writers are properly stimulated, then we can rest assured that we, the readers, will also be properly stimulated in turn. It’s a cycle, not at all unlike scientific cycles and every bit as precise.” She had given the matter a great deal of thought and had considered writing a book on it and trying to get it published.

Widgy weighed in suddenly, “I like the way you think, GrapeNut!”

“Yes, yes…a world in which we have scientific-like production of quality fics, written by only the most desirable writers, whose egos are stroked lovingly to encourage the production of more and more fic. Everyone can relax and enjoy good fic. We can all stop worrying and love the wank!”

As this small group discusses all manner of hypothetical possibilities of underground selective fic archiving, the entire fandom is racing toward Doomsday, the end of the fandom as the world knew it. LoveBug became agitated by a particularly troubling thought. “Hey, I was just thinking, maybe we should stockpile some wank of our own, just in case.”

“Why would we need to do that?” Dr. GrapeNut asked. She was growing ever more excited and didn’t want anything or anyone to interfere in what promised to be the climax of a lifetime.

“Well, I was just thinking, what if the poor fic writers do the same thing and preserve all those horrific fics so that in a hundred years when it all surfaces again, they flood the world with those wretched works?”

“Yes, that would be a potential problem. However, I’m sure that with our superior intellect, we should easily find ways to counter that little annoyance.”

“But that’s not even the half of it. What if they all save up that wank, too? The good fics would be annihilated once everyone goes public again. We’d be outmanoeuvred and outnumbered. We can’t let that happen. No, I think we should stock up some wank of our own, just for that very eventuality.” The others considered this, completely missing the irony in it. “The pathetic writers may even try to launch a pre-emptive strike against us so that only their own rubbish survives into the future.”

Several voices chime in agreement. No one notices that Widgy has started surreptitiously copying files and stories from the files onto her own hard drive for her own personal use…and plans later.

LoveBug continued to rail to the general agreement of the others present, “Maybe we should even encourage maximum fic writing. I bet even the non-writers might be willing to contribute a few one-shots to help us out. We need to have an enormous stockpile of fics for when the moratorium ends. We need to be in a position to literally flood whatever medium is the norm then with our fics. Otherwise, the enemy might do the same thing and beat us at our own game, flooding the post-Moratorium world with a multitude of bad fic. We cannot, under any circumstances, allow the emergence of a fic gap!”

Dr. GrapeNut, secretly ecstatic about the total annihilation of the fandom, formulated a plan to resurrect herself. She typed out a message to the others, “I have a plan.” She stood up and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She raised her hands high over her head, still gazing at her reflection. “My Lord! I am yours!” She cried out, much to the annoyance of her husband in the next room. That cry always meant he wouldn’t be getting any that night unless he donned a long black cape and hissed a lot…something about Parseldung or other. He stretched out a yawn and mumbled, “Dream on, sugar toots. Not tonight,” and headed to the local bar to drown his sorrows.

And then it happened. One by one, Potter fanfic archives across the web were inundated with the Doomsday Fic. A dozen versions appeared here, a couple hundred more there. Whole sections of multi-fic archives became clogged in the blink of an eye with nary a warning. Sites began disappearing almost immediately. There was nothing to do but watch in stunned silence as it all vanished into nothingness. Ripples of shock spread out across the globe, only to be followed by an eerie silence. Computer screens went black and the rest was silence. In the distance, an old song played…its melody and words somehow fitting.


Thanks for the memory:
Of things I can't forget, journeys on a jet,
The time we spent on Grecian Isles and Paris when we met.
How happy I was.

And thanks for the memory:
Of summers by the sea, dawn just you and me.
We had a pad in London but we didn't stop for tea;
How cosy it was.

Now since our break-up I wake up
Alone on a gray morning-after.
I long for the sound of your laughter,
And then I see the laugh's on me.

But, thanks for the memory:
With every tale a thrill, I've been through the mill.
I've lived a lot and learned a lot, you loved me not and still;
I miss you so much.

Thanks for the memory:
Of different ways they met, our favourite Potter pair
Locked within a store-room drinking absinthe per a dare -
How crazy that was.

Thanks for the memory:
Of letters they destroyed, books that they enjoyed,
Tonight the way things look, we’ll need a book by Sigmund Freud -
How brainy they were.

Gone are those tales of long ago.
We always knew they fit just like a glove.
And how we all cherished Snape/Granger love,
And wish that we were reading, still.

I know it's a fallacy:
That grown-ups never cry, baby, that's a lie.
We had our bed of roses, but forgot that roses die.
And thank you so much.