Current mood:	crazy
Entry tags:	fic, tv: lost

Lost crack!fic: "Desmond Whatshisface and the Sick Southerner of the Fusies"
Title: Desmond Whatshisface and the Sick Southerner of the Fusies.
Author: corellianjedi
Disclaimer: Not mine. It’s all JJ and Damon’s, I swear. And JK Rowling’s too.
Words: 665
Rating: G
Summary: Crack!fic wherein Desmond reads Sawyer, Locke, and Mister Eko Harry Potter.
Author’s Notes: For the purposes of this fic, Desmond has all of the Harry Potter books. There are spoilers for Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. This is dedicated to indilime who demanded this crack!fic out of a crazy AIM convo we had. Keep in mind that this was written in about a half hour at one in the morning.




Jack had just punched in the numbers and hit execute when he heard heavy footsteps behind him over the noise of the flipping numbers on the countdown clock. He turned, expecting to see Kate, Locke, or even Mister Eko, but instead he found Desmond. The Scottish man was sweaty, covered with dirt and mud from head to toe, but he grinned at Jack’s shocked face.

“"Hey there, brothah! I forgot to pack the last Harry Potter when I left and I got bloody bored jus’ sitting out there.” He nodded at the supercomputer. “I see you haven't blown up the world, nice going, yeah?"

“The hell, boy?!” Desmond whipped around to see Sawyer limping weakly toward him. He was pale and shivering, leaning against the wall for support. Jack rushed forward and threw Sawyer’s good arm around his shoulder. Jack tried to lead Sawyer back to the bunk bed but he twisted around to face Desmond. “There's Harry Potter down here and I didn't know it?"

“Got all six, brothah.”

“C’mon, Sawyer, we’ve gotta get you back to bed,” Jack tugged on his arm and Sawyer let himself be dragged back to the bed. Desmond followed close behind, happy to have found another Potterholic in his near-solitude.

“Pull up a chair, Braveheart,” Sawyer said, nodding at a chair and settling down in the bottom bunk. “I'll play ping pong with you ‘til I die if you read me the latest book while I recover.”

"Sounds like a fantastic deal to me, brothah,” said Desmond, ecstatic at the idea of actually playing someone in ping-pong. “Chapter a day, yeah?"

"You better read faster than that, boy; I don't wanna hafta wait to find out who dies. With the kinda crappy-ass luck we've been having, I don't want anybody to spoil it for me, understand?"

“Fair enough,” said Desmond, pulling the green tome off a shelf and sitting in the chair next to Sawyer. “Where’d Jack go?”

“Doc don’t like Harry Potter,” Sawyer growled. “Magic ain’t science, and science is all the man understands.”

“Muggle,” Desmond murmured condescendingly.

“Go on,” Sawyer urged. “Read.” Desmond opened the book to the first chapter and just as he was about to start, Locke and Mister Eko entered the pseudo-bedroom, shuffling their feet shyly.

“Can we listen, too?” Locke asked.

“We like Professor Dumbledore,” Mister Eko enunciated.

Desmond gave a knowing chuckle. “Sure, I’d love to read to Dumbledore fans. He’s the greatest, yeah?”

“He’s a genius,” Locke smiled, sitting Indian style on the floor next to Mister Eko. They looked up at Desmond expectantly.

“Ah right,” Desmond cleared his throat and opened the book again. ”It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of—”

“Wait!” Mister Eko commanded. Desmond glared down at him. “You will do voices, correct?”

“What, you want me to do different voices for each character?”

“That’s the only way to have it read, Braveheart!” Sawyer said, nodding his head, smiling at Mister Eko’s suggestion.

“This is gonna take a bit longer, yeah?”

“It will be worth it though,” Locke sighed and got that dreamy ‘I-love-the-island’ look on his face. “Everything happens for a reason; you’re meant to do the voices for us.”

“CAN IT, JOHN!” Jack shouted from his place at the computer.

“Muggle,” the four men grumbled before Desmond opened the book again.

“I can start again, yeah?” Sawyer nodded.

”It was nearing midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind. He was waiting for a call from the President of a far distant country, and between wondering when the wretched man would telephone, and trying to suppress unpleasant memories of what had been a very long, tiring, and difficult week, there was not much space in his head for anything else……”