Fic: The Supernaturalists
Hee! My turn to post my deathday_party fic!

Title: The Supernaturalists, or Why Harry and Brains Have Never Been Close
Rating: G
Summary: We had been watching telly and the idea of zombie!Jesus came up. Then - being as I had to write for the con - fic happened.
A/n: Love and snogs to Oz. She added the funny jokes.



Hermione and Ron sat on the sofa in chaste fashion, with a Molly-approved distance of twelve inches between them. Ron had been staring into space for at least ten minutes, eyes completely blank and face assuming some kind of waxy pallor. This was possibly because he hadn’t moved for a while, and his circulation had never been the most brilliant thing about him. Neither was his mind, obviously. Eventually, after much deliberation, he stirred. Hermione looked up, expecting some sort of plea involving sex or food.

‘So,’ said Ron reflectively, ‘Harry actually died, right?’

Hermione pursed her lips, surprised and a little impressed at the almost intellectual turn Ron’s mind had apparently taken. ‘Sort of,’ she said.

‘And he came back.’

‘He’s certainly alive now.’ Hermione smiled a little wistfully. Harry was back all right and just so alive. He would chuckle heartily and kiss Ginny like no one was watching. Hermione had Ron, who drooled in his sleep. So she assumed, anyway. She didn’t actually know what he did in his sleep. She was a good girl.

‘Does that mean he’s a zombie?’

‘What?!’ Hermione’s mouth opened so wide that a Crumple-Horned Snorkack could have flown in and out and done the hokey-cokey or whatever wizard equivalent was currently all the rage in Hogsmeade without anybody noticing. ‘Ron, does he look like a drooling, mindless walking corpse to you?

Ron shrugged. ‘No more so that usual.’

‘Oh, honestly!’ Hermione scoffed. ‘Harry is not a zombie, Ronald.’

‘Have you tried seeing if he’s got a reflection in the mirror?’

‘That’s for vampires.’

‘Walking through him?’

‘Ghosts.’

‘Poking him with silver?’

‘Werewolves. Ron…’

‘Stealing one of his socks?’

‘Vampires again.’

‘Tying a spring of holly to his left ear and walking around him three times widdershins?’

‘I don’t even know what that’s meant to prove.’

‘Kryptonite?’

‘What?’

Ron pulled a face like Mrs. Norris overdosing on Fainting Fancies. ‘There must be something!’

Hermione sighed. ‘Ron, Harry is not a zombie or any other member of the undead. He’s just, well, alive.’

‘Oh, and how many other people do you know who’ve come back from the dead?’ protested Ron, lower lip out in a definite pout.

‘It was special circumstances. Magic and horcruxes!’

‘Bloody hell, Hermione! That’s all you ever say.’ Apart from “FEET DOWN, RONALD, THE TELEVISION IS NOT A MIRROR FOR YOU TO INSPECT YOUR VERRUCAS.” ‘That’s not exactly an explanation.’

‘That’s because,’ Hermione began a little acidly, ‘a certain someone never listens when I try explaining it and would rather spend time on more … physical pursuits.’

Ron’s eyes misted over a little at the idea of physical pursuits. He always had been fond of Quidditch.

‘Maybe,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘it was something like that Muggle fairytale bloke.’

Hermione raised an eyebrow. ‘Who?’

‘Um, what was his name …’ Ron’s face screwed in deep concentration. If his normal thought processes were a puddle, this was the Marianas Trench. Finally, like a plug being pulled, inspiration hit. ‘Jesus, that’s it!’

‘That’s what?’

‘His name: Jesus.’

Hermione had to make a valiant effort not to fall over. ‘Harry is not the son of God,’ she managed.

‘We never actually met his dad,’ Ron pointed out.

‘James Potter was not God!’

‘It’s still a theory worth thinking about. I mean, I know Jesus took three days to come back but that only means Harry’s better than him.’

Hermione gave up.