Inspired by Chapter 16 of 50 Shades of Grey: “Suddenly he grabs me, tipping me across his lap. With one smooth movement, he angles his body so my torso is resting on the bed beside him. He throws his right leg over both of mine and plants his left forearm on the small of my back, holding me down so I cannot move. Oh f***.” The disturbing nature of the 50 Shades trilogy makes me want to dish out a fair bit of buttkickery on Christian Grey. Here’s one featuring Rowling’s Gleesome Threesome, in a movie-verse pre-Epilogue scene.
I can barely breathe. Christian’s elbow is jabbing me in the small of my back. My face is planted into the pillow, and I can’t wiggle enough to give me more air.
But my ears are working perfectly; they’re not muffled by the pillow. I jolt when I hear a young woman’s voice, with the hint of a British accent, shout, “Stupefy!”
Christian yelps and I hear his body thrown to the floor. I turn my head, and take in a big gulp of air. I can breathe again. But I’m afraid to do much more.
“Hermione,” a young man’s voice asks, with a similarly refined Brit accent. “How is she?”
“Let me have a look at her first, Harry,” the girl replies, somewhat peevish, as she steps into my view. She’s a pretty girl with a light brown — almost blonde — lion’s mane of hair. Her eyes meet mine and she tells me, “Try to relax.” She places the tip of a very stylishly crafted stick against my skull. A wand? my subconscious wonders.
Then Hermione says just one word. “Legilimens.”
Suddenly, everything I experienced with Christian is there in my mind, rapid-fire like a mental bazooka. My stomach begins to turn as I realize more fully what Christian has been doing to me.
I was never in control of my body. He forced me to do what he wanted. He forced me…
The girl, Hermione, looks up at the others present in the room. One is a young man with dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses, the other a gangly fellow with bright red hair.
The redhead speaks, in a Cockney accent that could stop a clock. “‘ow is she?”
Hermione snorts. “He placed one of the Unforgivable Curses on her.” She pauses, then adds, “the Imperius curse.”
The two young men look like they’re about to explode. “Bloody hell!” The redhead shouts. I’m confused; what’s an Imperius curse? The redhead than sighs. “Poor Muggle girl. Never saw it coming, did she?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement where Christian’s body had been flung. The boy with the glasses points a wand at Christian… who’s now crouching on the floor with a wand in his hand. When did he get one of those?
“Expelliarmus!” The wand immediately flies out of Christian’s hand and clatters harmlessly to the floor.
The redhead, his chin locked in rage, joins in. “Petrificus Totalus!” Then Christian stops moving. Literally. He looks like he’s been frozen into place. I squint at him and realize that that’s exactly what was done.
“We’ve got to move quickly, Harry,” Hermione adds, speaking to the boy with the glasses. “The Aurors will want to know we’ve successfully captured Kristos Greyback.”
“Who?” I stare at the trio, more confused than ever.
Hermione’s lips purse in a thin, displeased line. Did I say something wrong?
She points her wand at me. “Obliviate.”
* * *
I wake up, Kate shaking me frantically. “Ana!”
“Huh?” I mumble, never the most articulate in the morning.
“Did you see the news? Christian Grey disappeared!”
I’ve never heard that name before, and a frustrated Kate explains things to me that I can’t ever recall happening. And though I’m not sure why, I’m very glad the world is rid of him.
Ron Weasley being mislabeled as Cockney is Ana Steele’s geography fail, not mine. Ron’s a country boy; the Burrow he grew up in is on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, a small village in Devonshire.