The Truth About Redheads and Brunettes
by Seagull Laridae

OK, here I go... warning, extreme silliness ahead... and Harry is WAY, WAY OOC during all of this. (Mandy, that "Harry" didn't count, OK?). Most of the others are a little OOC, but only for a few lines, oh, except that Hermione is a massive prima donna for some reason. Actually, the only character still in character (mostly), is Ron. I have no idea why. McGonagall is also WAY, WAY OOC, as much as I can make her. Muhahahaha.


The small compartment on the Hogwarts Express was packed to the gills. The hero of every Hogwarts story was filing his nails and going through his latest collection of newspaper clippings about himself.

"Oy, Nerf Brain!" Ron Weasley yelled. "The fic's already started!"

The dashing dark-haired charmer yawned, neatly put his newspaper clippings away, and dropped his nail file into his trunk on top of them. "My ears are freezing," he observed laconically. "Hermione, warm my ears for me, for I am The Star."

Hermione Granger, bushy-haired brunette desired by Viktor Krum and possibly many others who were as yet unknown, flipped him the bird. "Honestly, Scarface, just because you're The Star..."

Molly Weasley, charming mother of many, patted the girl kindly on the head. "Darling, calm down. You're the star too."

"He's The Star more!" Hermione went into a full-blown actress's hissy fit. Ron sighed and waved his wand, setting the movie mogul's ears on fire.

"Hey!" Molly reached out and doused the boy's ears with a Flame- Freezing Charm. "Ron, really, just because your envious of your friend, it doesn't mean you need to stoop so low..." she sighed.

The Star, meanwhile, was patting his ears gently. Several makeup women raced into the compartment, who tutted over the star's ears.

"You must wear this hat," one of them said. She placed an extremely stupid-looking fluorescent pink bobble hat upon The Star's head, pulling it snugly down over his ears. "Keep it on at all times, even when you are doing a scene." The group of makeup artists then raced back out of the compartment, bound to find Draco Malfoy and make sure his talcum powder wasn't coming off.

"I don't understand why these Muggles are coming to make a film about us anyway," Ron said. "What's so interesting about us? And does it have to focus on Scruffy over there?"

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, nodding furiously. "But what I really don't understand is why Professor Snape is directing it..."

"Now, darlings," Molly said firmly, "no complaining. We're all going to get paid mega-Galleons for this, so shut up and smile for the camera!" She spat on a tissue and rubbed at a smut on Ron's cheek. "You're a bigger scruffbag than The Star, so don't you talk," she told him.

"At least you're doing the catering," Ron said. "You get to boss a whole load of house-elves around. WE have to be directed by Snape, and that's gotta be the least fun thing ever."

"Oh, Ron, be quiet," said Hermione, smiling brilliantly at the compartment door, through which three photographers were taking happy-snaps. "And smile for the camera."

Ron forced a smile onto his face and tried to ignore Pigwidgeon biting his ear.  


Flashbulbs popped and raucous voices screamed out The Star's name relentlessly as he, Ron and Hermione made their way through the crowd. All three were wearing dark glasses to disguise themselves. The Star was still wearing his fluorescent pink bobble hat, pulled well down over his ears.

"DAHLING!" Minerva McGonagall swooped down on The Star and kissed both his cheeks with an audible smacking sound. The Star put up with it. Barely. "Come through to the dining hall, angel, we're all WAITING!" She seized his arm and towed him swiftly through the crowds, decking anyone, including (accidentally) Nearly Headless Nick, who got in her way. Ron and Hermione waded through the press of press behind her, their bodyguards Fred and George headbutting various reporters with much glee.

The Sorting Hat was covered in glitter as it perched on the edge of its stool, discussing a pay rise with one of the two Muggles involved in the production. Most of the technical jobs would be performed by the Hogwarts staff and students... those who weren't, of course, fated to be in front of the cameras. Cameras which were enchanted to work - electricity didn't work around Hogwarts because of the magic in the air.

"...just see that I do, Mr Spielberg!" the Hat finished. "Hello, Hermione, ready for this?"

"No I am not!" Hermione sulked, stomping her foot. "My hair's all messy and my eyeshadow's smudged!" Instantly she was surrounded by five hair and makeup artists - all lower-grade Ravenclaw students. Soon she was looking perfect again, and was all smiles as she joined the group of actors surrounding the two Muggle producers.

"Now, Mr Kubrick and Mr Spielberg will be spending most of their time on the sidelines, watching us. As soon as shooting is over we will be performing a Memory Charm on them, leaving them only with the completed movie, which they will remember as having shot with AMAZING special effects," Dumbledore announced. Six people applauded.

The Star yawned and said, "Get on with it... I'm hungry!"

Three house-elves raced over from where Molly Weasley was manning the craft services table and offered him a cauldron cake, which The Star ate half of then gave the rest back. The elves offered a second cake to Hermione, who burst into tears.

"You're trying to make me fat!" she wailed, making her mascara run.

After this was repaired, however, the principal actors joined the others in the small room they had last been in as real first-years, eight years ago. Due to the miracles of makeup (and plastic surgery, in Lavender Brown's case), they now all looked young again. Parvati hung off The Star, demanding an autograph. The Star looked bored and swatted her away.

"All right, students!" Minerva stuck her head into the room. "We are going to make this GOOD. I want every first take to be PERFECT. We're RELYING on you!"

Malfoy sniffed and patted his already immaculate hair. "Go on, then, tell Snape we're ready," he said. Crabbe and Goyle both grunted in agreement.

"Yeah, like, tell the stupid director we're ready," Pansy Parkinson put in, snapping her gum loudly and grinning. "And have been for ages, it's just Mr Prima Donna and his chums..."

"Shut up, bitch!" Hermione snapped.

"You, bitch!"

They started a slapping fight. Ron stopped them with an idle wave of his wand. "Shut up, girls," he said. "You're being stupid. Minerva, toots, go and tell Snapesie that we're ready, willya?"

McGonagall twittered out of the room, and minutes later rejoined them, just before "ACTION!" was called and the "first-years" filed out of the room, trying to look nervous. The Star still looked rather bored.

"Stupid... smegging..." Tiny Professor Flitwick was struggling with the boom microphone, while Professor Sprout tried not to get fertiliser into the camera. The "first-years" filed past and stopped at the Hat. Then it opened its brim and began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty
But don't judge on what you see
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter... smarter... LINE!"

"A smarter hat than me!" Professor Sinistra, the script supervisor, prompted. "Honestly..."

"Give me a break, it's been eight years!"


Snape, of course, looked furious. "All of you, back to the room! Hat, if you can't get your lines right, you'll be replaced by Kermit the Frog! Now let's try it again!"

Late (LATE) that night, The Star and the other two were finally allowed to go to bed. They were sleeping in Gryffindor Tower.  The Star was still wearing his hat, which had been the cause of much contention in the second, third, fourth and fifth takes. Finally The Star had taken it off, and then complained incessantly that his ears were cold again.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione cried delightedly as the large ginger-striped feline leapt up onto her lap. They were enjoying a last nightcap around the fire in the Gryffindor common room before bed.

"Yessss... you left me here...."

"Crookshanks, you can talk?" Ron asked incredulously.

The cat rolled its eyes. "Of courssse I can," he hissed. "You just never lissstened before."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked. "I thought you'd left..."

"No... I have come to give you a messsage... you mussst sstop the sshoot... or elssse The Ssstar will die..."

"Get real," The Star said, yawning elaborately. His personal assistant (Ginny) hastily tucked a pillow under his head. "I'm not gonna die, I'm The Star!!"

"Yeah. Right. Pull the other one, it's got bells on," Ron said. "How can he die? He's got bodyguards!"

"Yesss... I sssaw them... Cho Chang and that other Ravenclaw girl... but what ussse will they be against the Dark Lord?"

"WHAT?" Ron and Hermione said loudly.

At that moment, Minerva scrambled through the portrait hole. "Dahlings!" Her face was aglow. "Today was BRILLIANT, simply BRILLIANT!"

"Whatever," yawned The Star.

Minerva's face turned a little nervous. "Dahling, what's the matter?" she asked. "Are you too hot? Too cold?"

"My ears are freezing," The Star complained. "It's all HIS fault." He pointed at Ron.

"But you've got your lovely hat," Hermione said hastily, trying to change the subject. "Aren't you lucky!"

"Yes, I suppose," The Star said. He looked at Minerva. "Don't YOU love my lovely hat?"

Minerva lost it. For the past five days she'd been head of PR, and The Star's constant badgering was killing her.

"Lo, ani lo ohevet ha covah sheloh!" she snapped.

The Star blinked.

"No, I do not love your hat," chirped a nearby translation gnome.

"I didn't realise you knew Hebrew," a rather impressed Hermione said.

Minerva hit her forehead. "Oy vey..."


The next day was scheduled for the shoot of The Star's first time playing Quidditch. The fact that the Nimbus Two Thousand series was hopelessly outdated had made it very difficult to get an authentic broom for the shoot, so The Star was riding a low-class Cleansweep Seven with the name covered in whiteout. This, of course, was a source of complaint, and this time the target was the props manager... who just happened to be Hagrid.

"`Onestly, I couldn' fin' anythin' better," he pleaded. "Just try it, won' yeh?"

Something in The Star's Hollywood hard heart stirred, and he nodded.

Ron and Hermione were round the back of the Quidditch stadium with the rest of the cast and crew, as only The Star, Oliver Wood (who had flown in from Australia especially for the shoot), and the few crew essential to the shoot were needed.

"This is getting too much for me," Hermione moaned. Ron looked at her. For the first time since they had been owled about the movie, Hermione actually seemed her usual self.

"Listen, you've got to relax," he said.

"How can I, when Crookshanks has predicted The Star's death!" she wailed. Instantly a duo of makeup witches were wiping off her mascara as it trickled in sludgy black lines down her blushered cheeks. Hermione waved them away and turned to Ron.

"Ron... I know you'll understand..." she said breathily.

Ron went bright red to match his hair. "What's the matter, `Mione?"

Instead of replying, Hermione collapsed tearfully into his arms. "Oh, Ron," she sobbed. "I love you so, and I've never told you..."

Ron looked down at the tearful, beautiful girl in his arms. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. Hermione turned her head and gazed up at him. Their eyes met and locked. Ron leant down again, feeling her warm breath against his lips, getting closer and closer....




Ron was being shaken awake. He blinked, and slowly the face of his best friend came into focus.

"Hurry up, or you'll miss breakfast!" he said impatiently. "And we've got Potions first thing, and..."

"Alright, I'm coming!" Ron yawned. He panicked for a moment... was that the right line? Then he realised there were no cameras in the room, not makeup women or Snape directing their every move, no Pansy popping her gum in everyone's ears and grinning nastily, no talking Crookshanks making dire predictions but only himself and his friend.

"Heck, what a dream," he said to himself.

A/N: I don't know if that really had a plot, but I think it met most of the rest of the criteria... well, I thought it was funny... sorta...

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