Magorian
A/N: Hello again, true believers. And, um, false believers. If you aren't acquainted with any of my work, then you should read "Quirrell" and "Croaker". If you haven't, I'll kill all of your firstborn children. That's right- ALL OF THEM. This is a work in progress- review and tell me what occurs next.

Disclaimer: The firstborn thing above was just a joke. Oh, and nothing Harry Potter belongs to me. Not even his socks, even though I am inexplicably holding them in my hand right now. Man, it's hard typing with socks in your hand.

Magorian noticed something for the first time while tending to his patch of grass. It was quite a revelation, really; he had never thought about in his 110 long years. Yep. 110 years living a forest made for quite a lot of free time to think things over. He was quite surprised he never thought about it before.

Being a centaur was extremely boring.

He really couldn't think of anything he ever did that was any fun. All he did was look up at the night sky and ponder. And eat the occasional leaf or two. Wait a minute, there was that one time we all gathered and had a mild-mannered discussion about how much we hate humans. he thought. Oh wait, he amended himself, that wasn't any fun at all, either.

Come to think about it, why do we hate humans so much? We hardly ever see them.

He knew what he was thinking was practically blasphemy among the centaur-tribe he was the chieftain of, but he couldn't help it. He had hardly seen enough humans to really judge their hate-able-ness.

His love life wasn't very thrilling, either. In his 110 years, he could swear he had never seen a female centaur before. Why was his tribe packed to the brim with men? How were they going to propagate their species?

And what about all this star-gazing nonsense? thought Magorian. It was like reading the same page of the same book, over and over again, without progressing through it, every night. It told him the same thing every night. "A second war is coming, aliens will land and aid the Dark Lord in exchange for missing socks to power their starships, the end of the world is approaching, blah blah blah." He really didn't care anymore.

He also thought about the name of the forest. The Forbidden Forest. What kind of name was that? All the other forests in the world had great names-

There's the Amazon, thought Magorian , the...um... Black Forest....and the...er... Okay, so maybe I don't know the names of that many forests. But I bet they're all better than "The Forbidden Forest." Yeesh, what a negative-sounding name...

After some quiet speculation, he realized he had to change the forest's name. He chose "Styjikuhler", because it sounded cool.

Hell, he realized, even his name was boring. May-jor-ee-in. He was sick it. From now on, he decided, after some thirty-seven days of quiet speculation, my name will be Zhohio Korcellos, the Mystic Sage of Styjikuhler! He would have to tell his tribe later. Y'know, after some more quiet speculation.

It was hard to quell the stream of thoughts now flooding his mind. Pretty soon, he started thinking about his diet.

The taste of leaves and grass is getting a little too familiar, he thought. Centaurs are omnivores, just like humans- Why couldn't we have a little meat now and then?

He knew the centaur teachings on the subject like the back of his hand: "Killing animals will upset the natural balance of the forest, the forest is our life, blah blah blah." But surely eating a sparrow now and then couldn't hurt? And if he really couldn't have meat, why not a fruit or two? He wouldn't say no to a nice chunk of watermelon.

But this wretched forest never grows any accursed fruit! thought Magorian angrily. All we ever eat is leaves and grass. Nothing else. Just leaves and grass. Guess what they taste like? Like leaves and grass! In fact, I think the rest of my taste buds (the non-leaves-and-grass-taste buds) are atrophying.

By now, he had made up his mind- he was going to go hunting. What he was going to hunt for, he really didn't know. He supposed he'd just kill the first thing he saw. Grinning like a madman holding a meat cleaver at a brothel, he galloped forward with his trusty spear (which he realized for the first time that he never used), looking for prey.

Unfortunately, the first creature he met was quite a formidable one. Once it saw Magorian, it lowered its head, fully equipped with two twisted horns at each side, and charged. The centaur immediately recognized the monster as a Graphorn- his father had once told him all about them. And he usually interjected his stories with comments on how much humans suck. But now wasn't the time to reminisce about his father. Now was the time to attack.

Magorian deftly jumped over the Graphorn and yelled "BONSAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIII!" as he brought his blade down and skewered the beast, not realizing that a bonsai was actually a small Japanese tree and not a tried-and-true warcry. The Graphorn fell to the floor, dead. He indulged in a little victory dance (which was quite hard when one had four left feet, as the centaur expression went), and then proceeded to cook it over a makeshift flame and savagely devour it. It tasted like chicken.

But what do chickens taste like?

Flushed with his success, Magorian was turning decidedly rash, letting more and more dangerous thoughts come across his mind. That night, he told his tribe he was going to get some twigs to make a sextant (they decided to ignore the blood in his mouth and pieces of Graphorn skin in his teeth). What he was actually doing, however, was hunting. At first, he tried hunting for chickens. Upon realizing that there were no chickens in the forest, however, he decided to raid Hagrid's shack.

Well, it wasn't really raiding. More like getting up there and knocking on the door, asking Hagrid for some chickens, and leaving.

"Hey Magorian, it's one o'clock in the morning" said Hagrid when he saw who was at the door, rubbing his eyes. "Whaddya want?"

"Uhh... could I have some... some chickens?" replied Magorian in a whisper.

Hagrid eys lit up, as they always did when talking about some creature or other. "Chickens! Why didn't you say so? Y'know, I've bred my stock to be extra succulent and juicy, and have a mighty pleasant aftertaste. They're very sweet and tangy, and have a special chemical that leaves you feeling good all over when you're digesting them. In fact, some of the world's most prominent restaurants have asked to buy my chickens. They migh' just be the tastiest poultry on the face of the Earth." His features changed to convey pride. "Just bring 'em back to me nice and alive tomorrow, okay?"

"Sh... Sure, Hagrid. Thanks."

Man, humans are stupid, reflected Magorian as he carried the chickens towards the heart of the forest. Maybe that's why I'm supposed to hate them so much. Well, Hagrid is a half-giant. Hmmm.... I wonder what half-giants taste like...

And, as he devoured the chickens with unbridled vigor (they tasted like Graphorn), he couldn't help but notice that his life was getting a lot less boring.

A/N: Hope you all liked this fic. It's among my shortest (as in, it is my shortest), but that's because I need your feedback to tell me what happens next. That's right, this'll be a chaptered story! Hurrah!

A/N: Well, that review thing didn't go as well as I had planned, so I'm just going to make another chapter. Let me remind you guys that I feed from reviews, and that I'm dying. Now you don't want that on your conscience, do you? What's that? You don't care? Bastards!

Magorian was starting to get frustrated. No matter how many times he poked the bear with his pole, it just wouldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He didn't get it- he had wrapped the tightest rope he could find around the bear and tied it by the ankles on a tree branch, and it still wasn't dancing for him. Then he realized the fatal flaw in his plan to get more amusement.

Of course it can't dance, he thought as he whacked himself upside the head with a large mallet he had acquired in El Paso. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of this before. It's so obvious! It can't dance because it hasn't had any lessons yet!

Just as Magorian was about to initiate his attempt at teaching it the Tarantella (which he didn't realize he didn't actually know, and was impossible with four legs anyway), a sudden gust of wind and burst of light whooshed around him. He looked around him, and his eyes dilated so much that you couldn't see the whites anymore. This wasn't because of his surprise to see a Ford Anglia in front of him; it was simply a delayed reaction from one of the forest mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. Nevertheless, Magorian leaped back in fear and the bear growled in pathetic-ness. However, all the benign automobile did was blink its front lights at him and rev up the engine in semi-purrs. Magorian got a great idea- something much better than getting a bear to square-dance with him. He was going to dismantle this contraption.

Grinning like a corporate lawyer who just captured his very first human soul, the mad centaur charged at the vehicle with no restraint whatsoever. The poor car had not been expecting an attack , and was totally crushed due to Magorian's feral assault- after all, it was an American car. Magorian mercilessly ripped off the parts of the car from the chassis with his teeth and examined each one.

"Hmm... here's the entrance-door-thingy... (SLASH)… the... screen... (RIP)…the top thingy...and the... um... front-door thingy... (CRASH)… Aha! I know what this is! It’s a wheel! And look, there are three more of them!"

Another brilliant idea came across Magorian's not-altogether-ideal mind. He was getting tired of prancing, galloping and trotting. What if he could roll his way to more adventure? As Magorian's grin grew wider, he put a wheel under each of his hooves, and subsequently fell to the floor. Getting up and brushed off the debris, regaining his determination and steely resolve. He fearlessly got on the rubber tires again... and fell off again.

It took several months' long effort, and the sweat, blood and tears of several chickens, for Magorian finally became the master of rolling for transportation. Magorian liked to believe that all the forest creatures, could they talk, would call him “THE WHEELMASTER�. Or at least Tirehoof. Y’know, as a term of endearment. Perhaps he could get his own talk show- “THE WHEELMASTER Show, Starring THE WHEELMASTER�- but then Magorian thought better of it. If he were going to be on televison, he’d be damned if it was daytime television. Then Magorian remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know what television was, and started to roll toward the centaur encampment he presided over to show off his new gear.

When he got there, the centaurs all seemed to be doing nothing and staring vacantly into space, like he had once been. He pitied them. Here they were, creating astrolabes out of mud and vines and whatnot, when he was having the time of his life. Intending to show them the true meaning of fun, he rolled around the herd all night and tirelessly yelled "Yeehawwww!" at frequent intervals, but the centaurs all ignored him. So he decided to just address them normally.

"Centaurs of Styjikuhler, listen to me!" he bellowed, and the forest dramatically echoed his sentiments back, making for a really cool effect.

All the centaurs reluctantly pulled away from their stargazing and looked at him, wincing at the word "Styjikuhler." It was then that Magorian realized that he didn't know what he was going to say, and that he had just been trying to be the center of attention.

"Erm... umm... nice weather, isn't it? I mean, a cloudless night, for sure... hehe." He chuckled awkwardly.

Crickets could be heard chirping in the background, signaling in classic fashion the silence of his obstinate audience.

"Umm... yeah... so... anything new with you Bane?" he stammered, desperate to get a topic of conversation.

"No, Magorian, just contemplating the insolence of humans as usual." was the black centaur's reply.

"Uh-huh... and what about you Bane?" he said.

"Sir, you just addressed me before. I said I was just thinking of the tyranny those insufferable humans have inflicted and continue to inflict upon us." said Bane again. All the other centaurs neighed their approval of his comment and murmurs of “no respect for our ancient tribe� and “desecration of our society� followed.

"How interesting. Bane, how have you been doing lately?" Either it was that he clearly wasn't paying any attention, or that he was really that daft (most likely the latter).

Bane started pawing the ground and baring his teeth, which was definately not a good sign.

"Erm... yes, good to hear, ...umm...," He had obviously taken the hint. Luckily, Magorian knew a quick way to get out of this mess. Quickly, he pointed to his right and shouted, "Look over there, it’s Firenze!"

All the centaurs looked over to the right instantly, some drawing their bows and firing. Magorian used the distraction to roll away.

Hehe, thought Magorian, I can’t believe they fell for that. In savoring the event that had just happened, he himself got distracted and tripped over a collapsed log. Instantly, the Anglia wheels he had used for countless weeks dispersed and hit the surrounding trees in the clearing at ludicrous velocities, awakening the arboreal defenders living in them. Bowtruckles from all over cried to their kindred across the woods, and they came to their aid to punish the common transgressor. One by one, the hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of trillions (Magorian may have been exaggerating a wee bit) of bowtruckles descended towards the fallen centaur at alarming speeds, blade-like fingers brandished menacingly. Magorian's life flashed before his eyes.

He was born... to two males? Eeew, disgusting... Aww, he remembered when he had first learned to whinny... he was made the centaur chieftain... he ate and slept and basically did nothing for 86 years... he slaughtered and ate a Graphorn.. he ate some chickens from Hagrid... he ate Hagrid... wait, he hadn't eaten Hagrid, he had just thought about it... hehe, he's still waiting for his chickens back... he became the nation's most wanted fugitive after doing very illegal and heinous things with pliers that may or may not have involved chipmunks, Flash Gordon and the undead… he was immediately pardoned after trampling over Umbridge... he trained to become the world's greatest Wheelmaster... and now this.

Wow, I've done a lot of things in my life... maybe this is my time to go...

But Fate, that fickle tale-weaver, had a very different design. This was mainly because the author of this fanfic bribed and blackmailed her to change the outcome of the unfortunate turn of events he wrote himself into, but some of it may've been of her own volition. Anyway, all the bowtruckles suddenly stopped. Apparently, there was a brief rift in time-space that had been caused by someone using a Time-Turner to go back in time and kill himself, which is created an impossible paradox, and shattered every law of physics known to man. Magorian took advantage of the situation and walked away unscathed.

So, what should I do now? What haven't I already done? thought Magorian. I know! I'll teach a bear how to square-dance. I've never done that before!

And, with his trademark grin, Magorian galloped off into the sunset, which conveniently appeared out of nowhere. (Thanks again, Fate.)

A/N: Review to tell me what the next chapter will be about, or I’ll sell you all to a burly cheese smuggler I know named Bongo who has made using Chinese water torture on innocent people quite a habit these days. He says the novelty of thumbscrews wore off really quickly. (Fear is the greatest motivator, they say.)

A/N: (Time to show of all the big words I know again…) Erm, I mean, time for another exciting episode of Magorian! If you think it’s funny, chime in on the review board and tell me what you think should happen next.

Magorian could handle the icy-cold and harsh winds as he climbed up the mountain. He could withstand the rocky and painful terrain. He could even endure the occasional mudslide that would take him back a few hours’ progress. What he couldn’t stand was the song that was stuck in his head.

Do you believe in life after love, after love, after love—Dammit! Get out of my head, Cher!

Magorian had learned the song at his stay in the Eskimo village before he had taken on the mountain. The extremely hospitable tribe had provided him food, clothes and shelter after his long and hard journey (he had to walk for three and a half days- without any mushrooms to tie him over!). Magorian was almost about to feel bad for burning down their village and defacing their sacred walrus-god ice-sculptures on a whim until the insidious tune they taught him kept replaying over and over in whatever was left of his mind. Now he couldn’t care less whether all the Inuit sank into the frigid depths of the sea or not.

There were a few things Magorian was thankful for, however. The fact that he had four legs made it that much easier to ascend the steep slope of the peak. Also, he was glad he had gotten rid of those wheels he had once worn- it would’ve made climbing the mountain infinitely more difficult. And now he was glad that he had finally reached the summit.

Immediately, the weather became nice, sunny, and cheery. Birds could be heard chirping in the background and all the snow was replaced by lush verdure. The floor became smooth and flat. It was almost as if the author didn’t want the setting to be a mountain peak anymore, but rather a green clearing on top of a plateau. Anyway, Magorian was now looking for the one person he had trekked to find. After a few minutes of searching, he found him, and he eagerly trotted to be in front of him.

It wasn’t Santa Clause. It wasn’t the Oracle at Delphi. It wasn’t even Newt Ginrich. It was the mystical, the fabled, the all-powerful…

The Man on the Mountainâ„¢.

He was… well, you’d just have to see him to believe him. Suffice it to say that it looked like the only thing he hadn’t ever inhaled was Valium. He looked like a California surfer dude, but inexplicably talked in a thick Japanese accent.

“What can I do for you, young Grasshopper?� said the wise old man, using a term long over-used since a certain timeless movie.

“I came to ask a question,� replied Magorian, “a question that has haunted me ever since it came across my mind. A question that the greatest philosophers and scientists have tried to solve since the beginning of recorded history. The question that precedes all others. The one, singular question that has caused sentient beings to waste away their lives in an obsessive search to find the answer. I am hoping you can answer this question, o Wise Man of the Mountain.�

The Man on the Mountain continually nodded as Magorian had spoken, convinced he knew what the question the centaur was so desperate to be answered was. He’d just have to tell him the same thing he’d told everyone else who had expected an answer from him…

“Speak, young one. What is the question you seek to answer?� said he, knowing full well what it was going to be.

“Do I look good in leotards?�

The Man on the Mountain was extremely taken aback. That question was obviously not the one he had been anticipating. Thus, the answer he gave was a feeble one.
“Um… yes?�

It apparently didn’t appear to concern the recipient of the answer how weak it was, for Magorian seemed positively thrilled. He pulled out his pair of leotards, and, with the moderate amount of difficulty associated with being a quadruped, put them on.

“Thank you, Man on the Mountain� said Magorian gratefully. “I’ve always wanted to wear leotards. Well, since three and a half days ago, really, but you get the picture.� After a long pause, Magorian added, “Well… I’ll be off now. Bye.�

He began to trot off, new leotards in tow. However, the Man on the Mountain called him back. “Wait, young Grasshopper!� Magorian turned around and listened.

“You are a strange one. I could use your services. Would you like to be my bushi?�

“Bushi?�

“Sorry, I mean ‘apprentice’. I have a bad habit of using Japanese words when I could just as easily use English ones. By the way, call me Motm.�

When Magorian replied in the affirmative, Motm was ecstatic. He finally had someone who could go out and get him Bayer while he meditated. And some Lipitor. (Motm had quite the encyclopedic memory for prescription drugs.) He loved that stuff. It made him high. (Erm, I mean “enlightened�.) It was always a pain to go down the mountain, drive to the pharmacy
and pick up a couple of buckets of Nexium ( the healing purple pill? More like the seriously psychedelic nirvana enabler!)

Unfortunately for him, he had been saying all this without realizing that he had been thinking aloud and Magorian was instantly turned off. He wasn’t going to be any old has-been geezer’s lackey!

Unfortunately for the centaur, he had been saying that aloud too, and Motm got extremely angry. He quickly metamorphosed from a benign hippy into an UNSTOPPABLE FORCE OF NATURE.

“RARGJPPZLCTLEFJNSFSNSFEFZRBYXOKNDEZOQNFOE!� the demonic deity roared unintelligibly as he threw bolts of lightning and fire at the helpless centaur. The serene scenario described before disappeared and a desolate wasteland took its place, dotted by brimstone and fire omens. The tidings of destruction and woe resounded through time and space, making the poor Eskimos even more doomed than they already were. Winds whipped up at razor-sharp speeds and boulders fell from the very blackened sky.

Luckily, Magorian’s new leotards made such a hideous contrast with the color of his hair that it created a force field of repulsiveness, and rebounded the entire natural phenomenon that Motm was pointing at him. The immortal djinn reverted back into the old man at once. The author conjured a stretcher into the story for him just to symbolize his weakness.

Magorian knelt down on Motm’s deathbed. He could hear the faint last words of the dying man.

“Grasshopper (cough)… Forgive me… (hack)… I knew not what I was doing… (wheeze)… I let my rage consume me… please (gasp)… pass down my teachings and (another colorful expression for trying to breathe with difficulty)… bury me under the yew tree down yonder…� Then the old man heaved, convulsed, and expired.

Magorian was faced with an interesting moral dilemma. Should I do what Motm asked me to do? he thought.

After a few minutes, he reached a conclusion.

Screw that. I’m going home.

A/N: A sudden stroke of brilliance was given to me by my muse, so I just had to give up all the important stuff I had to do and write this. I hope you liked this one, because I had to give up my job, my car, my house, my entire family, and about seven I.Q. points to make it.

A/N: Today, you will read something that will shock and astonish to the very core. Something as of yet unheard of the Magorian saga. Something so mind-bendingly innovative that it will blow your intellect right out of you (It’s happened already for me, but that was a very long time ago.). It’s a story… THAT SPANS MORE THAN ONE CHAPTER!!! What’s that you say? That’s not mind-bendingly innovative? Well, everything’s subjective, they say… Anyway, I hope you’ll have fun reading this. I sure did writing it.
A/N 2- The Author’s Notes Strike Back: As I’m writing this, I know how the story will begin, but not how it will end. Keep that in mind.

Our story starts in a barn in a small Amish community.

Jebediah: Oy! Ichabod! There’s a piece of paper on the floor!
[Ichabod runs over to Jebediah]

Ichabod: What’s the problem, Jeb? What’s paper?

Jebediah: That. [points to floor]

Ichabod: Oh…… Shall we take a look at it?

Jebediah: Careful, brother. Who knows what deviltry is afoot!
[Ichabod picks up the sheet of paper and they both start to read it]

Odium! Scandal! Outrage! This blasphemes every ideal which we uphold! No God-fearing man wrote this!

Ichabod: Indeed! We must find this… [he looks at the paper] Magorian… and burn him to the ground! And we must find this “The Savant� too!

Jebediah: No, dear brother, The Savant is the author! We cannot harm him, lest he write something horrible to happen to us! No, we must focus on his construct, this insipid horse-man. To arms!
[Ichabod cups his hands over his mouth and shouts to the village]

Ichabod: Everyone, get your torches and pitchforks! We’re going fanfic hunting!
[Townspeople rally a warcry and charge out of the town exit, fully equipped with torch and pitchfork.]

Ichabod: Shan’t we go also?

Jebediah: Right after we find out how we leaned to read.

Ichabod: Right.

Meanwhile, In a cave in Gotham…

Robin: Holy galloping jeepers and cows of jumping Jehosephat, Batman, there’s something new on the Bat-Computer!

Batman: What is it, Robin? What’s this? What is a… fanfic… doing on the monitor?
[He reads it]

Oh my god… This is just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever read! We must stop this madness before every one in New York City- er, I mean, Gotham City- who reads this becomes brain-dead!

Robin: You’re right, Batman! Yeah!

Batman: Come, Robin, to the Batmobile! And make sure you put on those tight spandex short shorts.

Robin: Why?

Batman: Just do it.

Robin: But don’t we have to chase the Riddler again?

Batman: The Riddler? Pshaw. What’s he going to do, ask the city a tough question? Besides, he’ll just escape again. They all do eventually. It’s surprising how escapable a maximum-security prison built especially for super villains is.
[whispers]
Man, I wish I was in Marvel Comics right now.

Robin: What’s Marvel Comics?

Batman: [still whispering] Damn those Bat-Hearing-Aids!
[regular voice]
Erm… I said nothing! C’mon, we have to bring this fic back to some semblance of Harry Potter again!

[Spinning Bat-Symbol transition sequence]

Snape: Dumbledore, this staff meeting started nearly two hours ago, and yet we still haven’t discussed what I think is a subject far more important than any of the others- subduing the centaur.

McGonagall: I hate to agree with him, Albus, but he’s right! Don’t you remember that it was us who had to pay for rebuilding the forest after he burned it down? It was us who had to pay for his rehab after that unseemly Kool-Aid addiction! And I daresay we don’t need to relive the dreaded dishwasher incident!
[they all shudder]

Dumbledore: What would you have me do, Minerva? Quarantine him in the school? Drive him out of the forest? We would sustain legal persecution either way. I don’t think I need to remind you that the Ministry of Magic still doesn’t like us any more than they do Voldemort.
[they all shudder again]

Sprout: [tentatively] Maybe if you just appealed to Fudge…

Dumbledore: I absolutely refuse to negotiate with the man anymore, Sylvia. If he can’t see we’re the good guys by now, he never will. Senile old fool…

Flitwick: Perhaps we could just, y’know… kill him?
[they are all flabbergasted by Flitwick’s sudden cruelty.]
Hey, it’s just a thought…

Snape: Anyway, here’s a thought- we could frame him. Have the centaurs spot something heretical that they think Magorian did. Then we’ll have done nothing against the law, and we’ll finally be rid of him.

Flitwick: Then won’t he be dead anyway?
[they all glower at Flitwick]

Snape: Don’t you have a pillow to enchant or something, Flitwick?

Dumbledore: Enough! What say you, Professor Sinistra?

Sinistra: Hm? Sorry, wasn’t listening. I’m only a filler character that has no real relevance and that readers will never get to see in the books anyway.

Hooch: Not even in Book 7, Harry Potter and the Chamber of the Stone in the Goblet of the Azkaban Phoenix Prince?

Sinistra: Not even then.

Dumbledore: Uh-huh. So here’s the plan. One of my trinkets has revealed to me his desire to meet a female centaur. We’ll transfigure Mrs. Sinistra into one and then lure Magorian out of the forest.

Sinistra: Hey! Why don’t you pick Professor Vector? Or the nameless Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies professors?
[invisible teachers writhe in indignation]

Dumbledore: Because, Sinistra, there are ALREADY way too many characters in this chapter.

Outside the Teachers’ Lounge

Flitwick: Wait, Headmaster! Look what I got for you!

Dumbledore: My, my! What’s this? Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! Filius, you shouldn’t have!

Flitwick: [excited] Go on, eat them!

Dumbledore: Don’t mind if I do! Just hope I don’t get earwax… Hmm, a milky white one- white chocolate, I suppose?
[Flitwick nods enthusiastically. Dumbledore pops it in his mouth, and then sputters it out.]

Dumbledore: That was pillow, wasn’t it?

Flitwick: Heehee! Nothing tastier!
[Dumbledore takes out another and examines it.]

Dumbledore: They’re all pillow-flavored, aren’t they?

Flitwick: Pillow-flavored?

Dumbledore: Flitwick, you sick freak!
[He storms off to his office, where he can cry the trauma away with the liquor he saved from Godric’s Hollow instead of Harry.]
The Curtain Falls
-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Magorian was getting bored. There were only so many times one could have a staring contest with a geranium before it got old. His pet dancing bear, Ganglia, was starting to get on his nerves, too.

The truth was that Magorian was beginning to tire of all this adventure…
Wait a sec, that’s not right-
REWIND
The truth was that Magorian wanted even more adventure. He wanted to obtain something he couldn’t have, see something he had never seen. Sure enough, the perfect idea floated into Magorian’s head, as they always did when the story needed to be carried along without meaningless pauses.

He wanted to court a female centaur.

Quickly, he consulted the reference book he had pilfered in Amsterdam that crazy weekend he was tried by the Wizarding World Court.

Hmmm… vampires (The preferred steed of the vampire is the giraffe, for its long neck supplies it with enough blood for long journeys.)... zombies (Their diets include the daily requirement of lentils, brown rice and soy bean extract, sometimes a bit of potato salad as an after-dinner snack , and heaping helpings of the brains of poor, defenseless animals.)… aha, here it is- centaurs!

The centaur is a solemn, sylvan being, devoted to the forest in which they inhabit. They are known to be extremely well-versed in astrology and other forms of prophecy, and have a notoriously unfriendly disposition towards humankind in general. A centaur has the body of a man down to the waist- the rest of its body is that of a horse. Never mention this to a centaur, however, for they are averse to being compared to horses and are skilled in archery.


Blah blah blah, thought Magorian, I know this crap already. Get to the good stuff. He turned the page with his pliers.

Tribes of centaurs have been allotted space to live in areas of England, Greece, Italy, and France, though there have been reported sightings of the elusive female specimen in Australia.

SLAM

That’s all Magorian needed to know. Quickly, Magorian fed the book to the bear (he always had great feeding Ganglia things it shouldn’t eat) and galloped away, grin readily set on his face. His id was insatiable; nothing could stop him now. After all, there couldn’t possibly be three extremely powerful forces endeavoring to take him down at this very moment!...

A/N: Whew… well, it’s like they always say- the first step’s a doozy. And yes, I just added that description to give myself a reference for centaurs.

Graduated cylinders and beakers full of foul-looking mixtures lined extremely dirty shelves. Ravens perched on skull-rimmed chandeliers hung on the ceiling of the dingy lair. (It was especially cramped for the ravens, because most of the top of the lair didn’t have a ceiling. And the skulls were made of plastic). The cloaked wizard who now sat writing at his desk couldn’t help it--he had a very tight budget to work with. Only what his weekly allowance gave him could be spent. He surmised that even the eminent evil sorcerers Voldemort, Grindelwald and Zhoxi started out like this. There was no doubt in his mind that some day, everyone would quake and pale at the mention of his name!

A voice in his head laughed at him. Your name? he taunted. Your name is so pathetic it will cause people to roll on the floor in laughter! You can’t even afford an entire roof for your secret hideout!

Shut up! responded Oigroig. I don’t want to hear you anymore!

Oiroig quickly stifled any rebuttal by gazing into the distracting device that lay beside the candle and scribbling down the words it spouted out. It was an ingenious contraption, this invention of his: it constantly scoured the earth for names it found interesting or cool and reported periodically in puffs of smoke and flame. For his evil ambition was to crush all those with good names; the brutal teasing he’d endured as a kid had embittered him to the point of mania. He spent every evening recording the names that issued from the trinket and plotting bloody and gleeful murder on each one.

He was about to switch off the machine and go to bed (it was nearly 2:00 in the morning) when it started to rain.

“Augh No My list of names is getting ruined � he screamed.

It was true; all the names he’d tirelessly jotted down flowed away in cascades of ink. Oigroig was outraged. He’d spent the entire week writing those effing names In his fury, he decided to just kill the person that next came from his Name-Spewer. Eagerly did he await the next name’s arrival until, at last, one came:

MAGORIAN

“Yes This Magorian shall perish, and I shall take his name His name will be mine But how do I take it? How do I rout the Name-Bearer?�

Oigroig proceeded to reflect on which evil clichéd scheme would be the most diabolical. After all, if he wanted to be an evil genius, he had to start his world conquest with a bang. He finally made up his mind, as dawn’s first light started to shine through the grime-encrusted and tiny windows. He would use sabotage and trickery to make other people do it for him.
Rubbing his hands together and cackling (a rather awkward cackle, as his voice was cracking), Oigroig proceeded to send incriminating documents framing Magorian in strategic places. He was really looking forward to the one he placed in 007 headquarters and in Dr Light’s laboratory. Alas, only two groups were stupid enough to take the bait…

[The Batmobile screeches to a halt in an outpost somewhere in the interstate highway system]

Robin: Batman, why did we have to stop at this gas station? Why couldn’t we have stopped and asked for directions before?

Batman: Because I’m a man, Robin, no matter how many times you saw me trying on that lovely corset. And men don’t ask for directions. I’ve stopped for gas.

Robin: But the gas gauge isn’t empty
[points at gas gauge]

Batman: Shut up, Robin, or I’ll have to spank you again.
[gas station attendant arrives]

Batman: Hello… [reads nameplate] … Habib. I need twenty bucks’ worth of regular, please. [he leans in and whispers] I don’t actually need it, I just need directions. Could tell me how to get to “Hogwarts,� England and then pretend to fill up the tank?

Habib: Why?

Batman: I’ll give you twenty bucks extra.

Habib: Deal. Go off Interstate 6 and make a left at Philadelphia. Head straight down Exit 17 and stop at the Grease Emporium in Charleston, South Carolina. You’ll need to be all lathered up in it to pass the evil gophers that guard the shore. Then do the Macarena to appease the Sea God Poseidon and it’s just a brief swim across the Atlantic Ocean.
[Habib hides his snickering with a hand over his mouth]

Batman: [still whispering] Thank you.

All of a sudden, the thunder of hooves could be heard from beyond the horizon. Soon enough, a veritable army could be seen galloping towards them.

Habib: Oh my god.
[he squints]
There are people… they’re carrying torches And riding cows Run everyone Run for your lives

But before he can do so, the crazed riders reach the hapless gas station attendant.

Habib: ARRRGH

You can probably guess what happened to him. Anyway, these once-docile people were obviously riled up after poring over pages of the Good Book for too many hours a day (one could only read about splitting babies in two and drinking someone’s blood so many times before losing his or her mind, after all) and thirsty for blood.

Ichabod: Look, Jeb, it’s another one of them “technologies � Let’s pillage it too

Jebediah: Ah, I’m kinda tired of razing everything we see to the ground. How much farther ‘til we reach Hogwarts?
[Ichabod takes out his map]

Ichabod: Let’s see… we’re here… Hogwarts is over there… hmm…
[Ichabod strokes his chin and looks confused. Jebediah snatches it out of his hands]

Jebediah: Give me that [he looks at the map] You idiot This is a coupon-book for Spam

Ichabod: I’m an idiot? What about the time you mistook the butter churner for your wife?

Jebediah: Hey, I could have sworn it called me handsome

Batman: Excuse me gentlemen, but I couldn’t help but overhear that you were looking for Hogwarts. It seems we share a common destination, and I’d be more than happy to give you folk a ride. Whad’ya say?

Jebediah: Sure. Why not?

Batman: Alright I’m sure you’ll like our little road trip. Just one rule, fellas--no cow poop on the leather seats. They’re quite expensive.

Magorian trotted around the forest absentmindedly, looking for a snack before he set off for Australia. His favorite was mushroom and sparrow sandwiches. He liked the mushroom to have little strips of spotted owl on it, and the sparrow to be full of yummy intestines. His favorite method of killing the sparrow was twisting its vertebrae and using its own beak to gouge out its eyes, then lick--

All of a sudden, almost as if the author wanted to break away from that rather unsettling paragraph, a rustling in the nearby bushes alerted Magorian. The steadfast centaur stood his ground, unsure of what might emerge from the shrubbery and a little taken by surprise.

Finally, the creature surfaced. It was… no, it couldn’t be… a centaur… a female one... A female centaur!

Loads of questions entered his thoughts. Did a fish ever die of being burned to death? Did Mary Poppins have an OFF switch? What does love got to do with it? And, foremost, who was this beautiful woman standing in front of him at this very moment?

As though she read his mind, she answered. “Hi. My name is Sinistra, but you can call me anything you want. I’m here to show you the wonderful world beyond the outskirts of this forest with me.� Everything she said sounded entirely rehearsed and without emotion.

“But aren’t your kind only found in Australia?� Magorian answered skeptically.

“Um… yes. Yes they are.� She was obviously thinking quickly and on the spot.
“We must travel to Australia… and meet my tribe.�
Then she smiled, not because she liked Magorian, but because she had discovered a way to get him out of the forest.

“Sounds good to me!� said the lovably gullible ruffian.

-------------------------------------------------------------
This fic brought to you by SPAM.
SPAM- if you don’t like it, you’re a loser.
S*P*A*M
(:^D
-----------------------------------------------------------

Sinistra laughed. She couldn’t help it--she hadn’t genuinely laughed in a very long time. She was enjoying the transition from peripheral to main character greatly, as well as the stories Magorian recounted by the campfire.

Indeed, her opinion of him was improving by the minute. He made a fire quickly when it would’ve taken her ages, and his stories were extremely funny. She especially liked the one where Magorian had discovered a new color, but her favorite was the one where he was quarantined for RHED (Random Head-Explosion Disease).

They had left together for Australia about three days ago, and every night they made a fire like this, taking turns to act as lookouts. And every night Sinistra enjoyed them more and more. She was seriously reconsidering not coming back to teach at Hogwarts after she led the centaur off; after all, she could use a little more adventure in her life. However, she was loyal to Dumbledore, so she guessed she’d have to return after she’d done her duty. It couldn’t hurt to have a little fun, though.

Sinistra was not without her concerns. How could she possibly make it look like they were actually approaching Australia when they were on an island almost half a world away? (Luckily, Magorian didn’t seem to have noticed this.) What would she do if Magorian asked her why she was here in England in the first place or if McGonagall’s Transfiguration spell lifted prematurely?

Then she remembered that this was a humor fic, and that all logic was lost.

So, after a while, they reached their destination: Finland. Er, I mean Australia.

“Wait a second…� said Magorian, spotting the sign that said “Welcome to Finland� with the “Finland� hurriedly crossed out and replaced with “Australia� in a childlike scrawl. He also couldn’t fail to notice the North Sea ships on the piers. “This isn’t Australia �

“I thought it was abnormally cold And no desert in sight � exclaimed Sinstra. “Hey you You on the keyboard What are you playing at?�

Who, me?

“Yeah, you!� responded Magorian angrily. “You’re the author! Fix this!�

Um… I kind of can’t.

“What do you mean you can’t? You’re The Savant!� hissed Sinistra, as if she were part snake instead of part horse.

Well, you see… I lost my new sponsor over an argument about the length of squirrel gestation, so I only have enough budget to send you to Finland. Plus, I can’t ever legally buy Spam anymore.

“Why Finland, then? Why not America or Russia or something?�

Because Finland is my new sponsor.

“The entire country of Finland?� asked Sinistra incredulously.

Yep. They’re very nice.

“Couldn’t you just tax the people and use the money to send us to Australia?� said Magorian.

Hmm… The thought never crossed my mind. I suppose so. I need to fix my screensaver. Apparently it’s a portal into my own fic.

So on Magorian and Sinistra went, trekking towards the Land Down Under in order to either find a tribe of female centaurs or get rid of a troublesome centaur sans arousing suspicion, respectively.

At last, they reached a telltale red patch of desert.
“We’re here We’re finally here � cheered Sinistra. “I don’t know how many more nights with that stupid Cher song stuck in my head I could stand Curse you for telling me it �

Magorian said, “Hey, you wanted to know it.�

Sinistra changed the subject. “Anyway, I’ve been wondering about something--how did we get here without treading water? Scratch that, how did we even get out of Britain without crossing water?�

“Magic. You can explain anything in a Harry Potter fic with magic. Besides, we should be glad we finally found the place. I’m starting to miss weekly escapades into the heart of the forest I have to eat the legions of chickens I cultivate there.�

Sinistra didn’t know whether to be affronted by, humbled by, impressed by or nonchalant towards that comment. Alas, it didn’t matter, for they were soon cornered by a band of torch-wielding Amish that had been previously been invisible.

“Rahrg!� they half-spat out in unison as they as they tore off their cloaking devices.

Batman had given them some stealth camouflage suits after he realized that he was going to miss Bonanza on the PAX network. He decided to just go home and order some pizza. He figured he might even get the chance to buy some Kentucky Fried Chicken on his way to the parlor. (It was extremely hard for a pizza delivery boy to find the Batcave.) But I digress. The point is that Batman wasn’t at the scene, which may or may not have been because the author decided to take him out of the story.

“What do we do? We’re outnumbered 21 to 1 � shrieked Sinistra, bothering even in her panic to count the number of assailants now closing in on them.

“Worry not! I have brought a device that may turn the tide in this skirmish! Methinks this is the key!� said Magorian in a surprising bout of eloquence and articulateness. Sinistra was starting to think that crisis just might bring out the best in Magorian.

Until, that is, she saw what Magorian rummaged out of his saddlebag.

“I banish thee, o malevolent devils! Be purged in the light of purity!� raved Magorian as he waved around a rubber ducky.

The Amish stopped and stared, not a little afraid that it would actually happen. However, after a prolonged period of inaction where they just stared at the ducky uneasily and feared the worst, they finally gathered their wits about them and resumed their attack.

“Okay, on to Plan B,� uttered the centaur. The ducky returned to its pouch and Magorian was about to take something else out when Sinistra thought she had a better idea.

“Hold on Why are you attacking us? We did nothing wrong to you!� she appealed as she held her hand up to stop the ever-approaching and hostile townsfolk.

“Nothing wrong to us? You think you did nothing wrong? I’ll tell you what you did wrong You… uh… you… um… a little help here, please…� said Ichabod. He and his brother were at the front of the line.

“You defiled our homes with your reckless and ungodly shenanigans! Your sinful gaiety has ruinated our children’s innocence! You made our elders weep with your utter disregard for the words of the Scriptures! You must be vanquished in the good name of all that is sacred,� said Jebediah with a flourish of his torch and a zealous glint in his eyes.

“Plus, we just like to burn things,� Ichabod said unconstructively.

“But can’t we all just settle this through discussion and compromise? Why must war always trump diplomacy?� rebutted Sinistra.

“Make love, not war,� added Magorian.

The mob quickly pondered this. She does have a point, most of them thought. Isn’t senseless violence reprimanded in the Bible? Then their testosterone reminded them that war was cool.

“Rahrg � they repeated, disregarding what she said as they charged at a disturbingly frenzied pace, pitchforks held high and chests puffed out. They were now beyond any reason or argument.

“Okay, continuing with Plan B…� said Magorian. He pulled out a pair of shiny purple leotards with great haste and held it out in front of him. Instantly, a shield of repulsiveness radiated from the pants, for the lack of a match between Magorian’s hair color and that of the trousers was so cosmically obvious that it distorted reality.

I’ve really got to stop using that excuse, commented The Savant.

The Amish could not penetrate the barrier that now encased the two centaurs. Indeed, as it grew, it battered them away like a waterfall would a small piece of driftwood that was particularly vulnerable to giant torrents of water. Before long, they were so far away they couldn’t be seen anymore.

So, with that threat out of the way, the travelers continued their journey. When Magorian asked his companion for the direction of her fictitious tribe, she always pointed at a random direction. Eventually, they reached a toothless old man guarding a cave in the middle of the desert that may or may not have been in Scene 24 of a certain movie…
--*--
Oigroig was furious. Again.
Spilled coffee now obscured the newspaper article he had been reading. If you had bought the same paper, you might’ve guessed what had incensed him so much without too much difficulty.

Mystery in Queensland befuddles Australia
BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA
In a startling occurrence early this morning, a group of no less than forty-two men were found scattered and unconscious all over the Australian Outback. Once revived, they could remember nothing of what happened to them save for a “big, glowing force-field of ugliness� coming at them. The Muggles were doubtless insane, as their ridiculous clothing could attest to, or had been using a metaphor for the Australian Minister of Magic’s suspect political policy.
Muggle police interrogated them and subsequently sent them on a secret night-flight back to their home in Backwater, Massachusetts. Lord knows what they’ll do to explain how more than two score Muggle men apparently Apparated several thousand miles and then just keeled over. It won’t surprise me. I’ve heard them all.
Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent

Oigroig had been having a very bad day, and the foiling of his master plan was doing nothing to brighten his day. Slipping on leaking nuclear waste headfirst into a beehive and stumbling blindly into a bear trap that happened to be electrocuted by swinging power cables was quite enough, as was being attacked by bi-polar squirrels attracted to the scent of his charred flesh on the way home immediately afterwards, but this was just too much.

Oigroig tried not to let his anger get the best of him, for he knew evil geniuses made not-so-genius-(but-definitely-evil) choices when enraged. Look what had happened to Voldemort, thought Oigroig.
No, he’d just have to calm down and start thinking of a new plan.

Oigroig decided to read the obituaries before his midnight coffee seeped into the Daily Prophet too badly. The obituaries had always been an upper for him. Quickly he skimmed through them, savoring every premature or undeserved death. Then, he doodled a little dinosaur on his desk. Then, he stood up all night conjuring a new, more sinister plan…

A/N:In compliance with my new pact with Satan- erm, I mean, my new contract- I have to make you all want to go to Finland. Here goes nothing.
Go to Finland. Now.
By the time you get back, I’ll have a new chapter up I hear Helsinki is simply marvelous in the springtime.

The centaurs approached the man and the cave cautiously, as he was the first living thing they had seen besides the Amish in the great big desert. They hadn’t seen any wombats or flying foxes or kangaroos or duck-billed platypi or tumbleweed anywhere. The only thing in this wasteland, they concluded, was sun and sand. Also, the man could’ve been a mirage. He might even have been a shapeshifter and turned into a giant throwing star or the Michael Jackson Moonwalker robot or a Half-Life II headcrab thingy or Ralph Nader or a Biker Mouse from Mars one of those giant sandworms from Beetlejuice… Ahem. The point is that they were hesitant to meet the toothless old man.

When they did come to the cave entrance barricade, it was the toothless old man who talked first. He wasn’t much to look at. His white hair seemed never to have been shorn, for it reached the barren desert floor (Oddly enough, he didn’t have any facial hair). He was fully barefoot and dressed in grey rags. He had a gnarled-wood cane at his side to support himself with–waiting for all eternity for worthy ones could grow quite tiresome, after all.

“What dost thou seek? What hast thou sought? What will thou find?� he said rather cryptically in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

“Greetings. I am Magorian of Styjikuhler Forest. We seek the tribe of female centaurs that is said to reside in this region. Can you help us, stranger?� responded Magorian a bit uncomfortably as the old man’s stare was relentlessly fixed on him.

“I will help you if you are deemed worthy. Are ye brave enough to open the Door of Perdition, cross the Nightmare Halls to the Bridge of Woe, travel through the Eighth Pit of Never-ending Fire, traverse the Steaming Cyclones of Doom in order to retrieve for me the Brooch of the Damned, dear boy ?�

“Hells no � said Magorian. Then he thought, The Savant must’ve been at least one too many RPGs, unwillingly foreshadowing what was going to happen in the chapter later on.

“Good, because you won’t have to do any of that Just get to the end of this cave and back--with adequate proof--and I’ll tell you anything you want.�

Sinistra gave out a sigh of relief as the old man started opening the barricade. She and Magorian proceeded to try and enter the cave until he stopped them.

“Wait I almost forgot � He cleared his throat and resumed his early Modern English mode. “Before any mortal can enter the Cave of Comparative Decentness, they must answer MINE these questions NINE!�

They just stood there, dumbfounded.

“Er… I don’t get it,� said Sinistra.

“Me neither.�

“C’mon, that’s an obvious Monty Python and the Holy Grail joke � said the old man. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that movie.�

All he got were vacant stares.

Cavekeeper sighed. “Young whippersnappers like you don’t know true cinema. You’re probably still hopped up on new-fangled rubbish like ‘Kool-Aid’ or ‘surfing’ or ‘hygiene in medicine’ or ‘the free exchange of ideas’ or ‘opposable thumbs’ and other such nonsense. Ah well. Now I shall test thee with these nine questions. Answer them correctly and I shall allow you to pass. Any one of you can answer. Standard procedure.

“Question 1: What... is your name?�

“Magorian.�

“What... is your quest?�

“To seek a female tribe of centaurs.� Sinistra was glad Magorian answered that one as well.

“What... is your favorite color?�

“The one I created. I call it Ejacutrops.�

“What... is the air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?�

After a moment of quiet speculation, Magorian chose to answer, “43 wingbeats per second.� Incredibly, he guessed correctly.

“Alright then. What is the Capital of Assyria?�

“Nineveh,� answered Sinistra.

“Whoa. Didn’t think you’d get that one right. The Assyria question usually stumps anyone who gets past the swallow question. Now I actually have to think of another four questions. Erm… ooh, I know How many muscles are there in the human ear?�

“Six,� answered Sinistra again.

“Er… okay… erm… ooh, I know a good one How many icebergs are there in the world?�

“Approximately 300,000.�

“I don’t even know if that’s right,� realized the old man, “but I’ll assume it is. Alright, let me think of the last question. Ooh, I’ve got the perfect one It’s a riddle; try to solve it

I devour salt and living breath
Stamp out heat and deliver cold
And few who linger escape death
Yet in me live creatures of antiquity
In multitudes I doth destroy
In installments I doth nourish
The great ancient civilizations
Lived next to me to flourish.
I cleavage rock and disperse sand
Metal too will rust and rot
Though precious as I sometimes am,
Live without me one cannot
What am I?�

“Hmm… it destroys and nourishes… it devours salt… and rusts metal? Water,� answered Sinistra yet again.

“Dammit Well, I’m out of questions. In you go.� And he allowed them to enter the Cave of Comparative Decentness.

“What happened to the ninth question?� whispered Magorian.

“Shh… let’s get inside before he catches his mistake.�

It was… well… pretty boring, to say the least. It was just as devoid of life as the desert outside. Nor blind worm nor flying fox could be seen in its crystalline depths. If you could call them depths, seeing as how the cave was actually quite small and not as long as the outside feigned it would be. So they reached a dead end in about fifteen seconds, picked up a shell, and turned about face to leave.

Until, that is, the shell morphed into a gigantic bivalve with protruding eyes and several rows of teeth.

Instantly, the story turned into an RPG with a turn-based battle system.

SHELL-SHOCKER appeared!
[Cue boss battle music from video game of your choice.]

Magorian: That was unexpected.
Sinistra: EEK What the hell is that thing?

Magorian: A boss.

Sinistra: A what?

Magorian: A boss is a big thing you have to fight in video games to proceed with the rest of the game.

Sinistra: How do you know that?

Magorian: Oh, I’m quite well acquainted with video games. I wasn’t the Tekken 2 champion of ’99 for nothing you know.

Sinistra: But this is 1996.

Magorian: Sorry, I keep foreshadowing when I’m not supposed to. Anyway, you see this spotlight shining on me? That means it’s my turn to attack. Attacking lowers the enemy’s HP. If it reaches 0, we win. And usually get some good equipment or item for some reason.

Sinistra: So the… Shell-Shocker… what a stupid name… can’t attack because it isn’t its turn yet? And after your turn ends, it becomes mine, then his?

Magorian: Yep.

Sinistra: Isn’t that a little illogical? I mean, it’s just sitting there, doing nothing, waiting for us to attack it.

Magorian: Shh. Logic is scary. Let’s see what I have in my moves list. I hope I get some mega-gnarly-sounding attacks like Swift Fiery Hand of Death or Divine Flame Blast!
------------------
0 AP Horsekick
15 AP Dropkick
---------------------------
Great. That’s the best The Savant could come up with? Hopefully my stats are good.
-----------------
HP: 1
AP: -12
----------------
What ?? My stats are crap It must be some glitch How can I have negative action points?

Sinistra: What are action points?

Magorian: Points needed to make attacks.
Sinistra: Yes… that looks like a pickle. Oh well, try your best.

Magorian: [sigh] Horsekick.

Shell-Shocker takes no damage. It laughs at your pathetic attempt. In fact, it kills you by looking at you.
Magorian fainted

[spotlight on Sinistra]

Magorian: WHAT ? Someone must have stuck a Gameshark into this fic

Sinistra: Guess it’s my turn.
----------
0 AP: Move That Revives All Party Members, Amplifies Their Stats AND Deals Massive Damage to All Opponents
1 AP: Get a Fruit Smoothie, on the House
------------
HP: Googolplex
AP: Like, infinity
-------------

Sinistra: I use my—

Shell-Shocker instantly faints due to character’s total awesomeness. Item Proof That They Went to the End of the Cave acquired. Sinistra gets 30,000 Exp. Magorian LOSES 3 Exp.

Sinistra: Video games are fun

Magorian: I vow never to touch one again. That match was obviously rigged.

Sinistra: Maybe you just can’t accept that a girl is better than you at something.

Magorian: I had 1 life!

Sinistra: I can’t wait to play Tekken 2 now. [snickers]
[Magorian mumbles as they double back and find the old man.]

Magorian: Here’s your shell. Now tell me where to find what I seek.

Old man: Ooh… shiny…

Magorian: Old man?

Old man: [Whispering to shell] What price will you fetch on the black market, you pretty little thing?

Magorian: [waves his hand over old man’s eyes] Hello?

Old man: [snaps out of it] Oh, yes, sorry- It’s forty-nine paces to your left and eighty paces southeast. Off you go then [He disappears in a plume of flame. Deranged cries of impending riches and fear of shells echo in his wake.]

So, they went forty-nine paces to the left and eighty paces southeast and found in the sand… a leafblower.

Magorian picked it up and proceeded to shake it, as if hoping to hear a female centaur rattling inside. Needless to say, nothing happened.

“What the hell? I don’t want this thing � Magorian’s frustration peaked to the point where he looked frightening, like a stallion whose central nervous system had been given one too many shocks.

Then, in a rather convenient and random plot twist, Dumbledore Apparated before them, struggling to catch his breath.

“Ma- Magorian There you are. How on Earth did you get to Australia?�

“I walked.�

“What? How could you have possibly—never mind. Listen: a dark wizard named Oigroig has taken my students hostage. He promised he would kill them all unless I bring you back �

“A dark wizard... named ‘Oigroig?’� asked Sinistra. Then both centaurs let out raucous peels of laughter. “Who in their sane state of being would name their kid Oigroig?�

“Can’t you just use your Jedi mind tricks and vaporize the guy like you always do, Dumbledore?� asked Magorian.

“For the last time, Magorian, I DO NOT HAVE THE FORCE!� screamed Dumbledore so loud the sands rattled.

“Sure looks like the Force to me,� commented Mago.

Indoor voice, Albus, indoor voice. Breath in... and out. Ah. That’s better.
“Apparently,� he intoned, having regained his normal collected voice, “I lose my powers every seventh and eighth chapter of a story that starts with an ‘M.’Aberforth put that curse on me in wizarding kindergarten when he lost a bet on the average life expectancy of capybaras..�
“So, how are we getting there, Headmaster?� asked his former colleague.

“Via portkey, of course.� He produced a worn out old Chocolate Frog card (Elvira). Each stuck out a finger to touch it as Dumbledore counted to three.

“Five…�

“Three,� corrected Magorian

“Right, three… two… one…�

And, with a pop and a violent swirl of magical color that could make Motm proud, they teleported to Hogwarts.

Magorian wasn’t sure he liked portkeys much. All those spinning colors were beginning to make him nauseous. The in-flight movie was a foreign independent flick about the lemon curry industry, and he couldn’t quite understand it, even with the subtitles... he was following along pretty well until the flamingos showed up. The food was arrantly atrocious; he wasn’t sure if it was actually edible or softened plastic. The way it smelled convinced him it was really just landfill refuse. His chair was extremely uncomfortable, as it wasn’t made for a centaur body, and the obnoxious French lady behind him wasn't bothering to assuage her baby’s incessant wailing.

Magorian was sure he could handle local portkey travel, but intercontinental portkey travel grew exponentially in time as the distance between the two points lengthened. It was such a bother, in fact, that the powers that be provided those who had to endure such long flights with airplane-like accommodations. He just wished he had some real entertainment to keep him amused, like watching bears dance or scaring little children with his spear. Twiddling with a piece of lint could only hold his interest for so long, after all. A glance at Dumbledore’s twelve-handed watch told him that he was still only nearing the half-way point.

The centaur was just about to stuff the lint into the baby’s mouth when something caused the passenger next to him to convulse. All of a sudden, Sinistra began to shine, and the spinning tye-dye ground started to ripple. Magorian would have thought she was turning Supersaiyan if he didn’t know better. Her horse half began to shrink and transform until she was a normal human again.

“Albus, the spell wore off,� she said, resuming her newspaper as if nothing happened.

“Good We couldn’t have two centaur teachers Not that there’s anything wrong about being a centaur, Magorian.� said Dumbledore, turning to him.

What Dumbledore saw was Magorian’s jaw dropped to the very extent it could go. He realized he would have to explain what just occurred in a gentle, non-judgmental manner.

“Magorian, you idiot, didn’t you ever realize she wasn’t a real centaur!? Whoops, that came out wrong…�

“I feel so used,� he replied, shivering.

“C’mon, Magorian, don’t feel bad. It isn’t your fault you couldn’t tell,� said Sinistra. “It was The Savant’s. The sadist is just using you as a pawn to wantonly accrue more and more reviews for his own sick purposes.�

“Still, I should have caught on. Now that I think about it, there were a lot of clues. Like when you had to ask where centaurs defecate, or that time you couldn’t shoot a sparrow out of a tree.�

“Using a bow is a lot harder than it seems, Professor,� she said defensively.

Magorian tried to shrug this revelation off by doing a crossword puzzle. Unfortunately, it was a very hard crossword puzzle. The only clue he think he knew the answer to was 37 Across. I know that I know this one What’s a four-letter word for a David Bowie song? Jean? No, that was Jean Genie… Changes is seven letters… Definitely not Ziggy Stardust…

After a few more hours of staring into space, delving into the recesses of his mind to come up with the appropriate four-letter song title, the Elvira card suddenly dropped out of its magical axis and the colors vanished. The trio found themselves 30 feet in the air, and were falling rapidly towards what looked like a field. Sinistra landed on her feet, Magorian on his knees and Dumbledore on his buttocks ("Ow! Dammit, I already have cramps!"). They were finally on the smooth grassy lawn of the Hogwarts grounds.

Magorian brushed himself off and, cupping his hands around his mouth, called into the night. Before the others could question him, a bear sprinted out of the forest and skidded to a halt near the centaur, panting in exhaustion.

“Oh Ganglia, I missed you so much � he laughed, scratching behind the bear’s ears and feeding it a bit of ferret carcass he found in his saddlebag.

Dumbledore was not one to make his impatience very subtle. “Quickly, chieftain, we must return with all speed Who knows what Oigroig could be doing to my students right now!?�

Magorian and Sinistra tried to restrain their laughter, but it was no use.

“This is no time to laugh We must save the children from Oigroig as soon as possible!�

“But how can someone named Oigroig possibly be a threat?� she giggled.“Don’t be fooled by his clownish name, Sinistra, he is a force to be reckoned with.� Dumbledore sighed, realizing this was the point of the chapter where he had to divulge the main antagonist’s history.
“It all started when he was born a Squib. Out of resentment, his witch mother gave him a really awful name. All the kids his age made relentless fun of him, and he grew to abhor those blessed with better names. By about a week ago, on his fortieth birthday, he had saved up enough money to but a dingy little semi-roofless apartment he calls his ‘lair’ next to a science fiction paraphernalia store. Ever since then, he has been hatching a scheme to put the entire world under his rule. All those with decent monikers would die violently at hands of his devoted.�

“If he’s a Squib, then how did he obtain so much power?�

“I’m afraid that is as far as my knowledge of the matter goes, Sinistra. I suppose it’s a plot hole. But enough dawdling � Dumbledore interrupted himself. “We must save the school �

“And we save the school by forking me over to him?� interjected Magorian.

“In a matter of speaking, yes.�

“Great. I just blew a chance to get a harem to be sacrificed. What does he want with me anyway?�

“I have no idea, chieftain. Are you always this selfish? You’re one person, and there are an as of yet undetermined number of children in there (Even though there have been many fine essays on the issue.)� he said, pointing across the lake to the castle. Then he checked his watch. “We must ride, posthaste It’s already night �

Sinistra rolled her eyes and addressed Magorian. “It’s supposed to be night, seeing as how it was day in Australia.�

And with that, they both mounted the centaur and galloped off to the front gates. (It was then that Dumbledore resdiscovered the usefulness of saddles, for Mago’s bucking was doing nothing to soothe his aching hips.)

Magorian neighed and swerved to a stop. There was something strange about the castle, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on it... Their pairs of eyes scoured the castle for anything peculiar that might be on its ancient walls. It was Dumbledore who spotted the anomaly first; it made him regress his steps a bit and gasp.

“What is it, Professor, sir?� asked an alarmed Sinistra.

“L-look at the s-sign � Dumbledore stammered in horror.
Two more gasps broke the silence around them, for they too now spotted what was wrong with the castle. The sign that previously bore the inscription “Hogwarts� now read

strawgoH

“Merlin’s beard � exclaimed Sinistra. “They’ve turned the castle backwards �

Every turret and buttress was now on the wrong side of the building.

“Who knows what he did to the interior of my school? � yelled the old man.

“C’mon, Dumbledore, don’t worry. We’ll let Ganglia go inside first and test the water.� said Magorian. When they did so, and Ganglia came back fine, they dared to open the tall oak doors and enter the Great Hall.

They closed the large oak doors behind them and regarded their surroundings pensively. The only thing that seemed to have changed--the expected position reversal--was negligible, because everything in the Great Hall was perfectly symmetrical anyway. Relieved that no other obstacle was present at the moment, together they ran straight towards the end of the hall, letting their feet decide where to go.

They were lucky, for what awaited them at the end of the lengthy hallway was exactly what they need to see. Beautifully rendered, wavering green text had been etched into the wall before them.

Bring the one named “Magorian� to me by eight o’clock tonight, it read. I simply refuse to take my tea any later. Bring him to me by then, Dumbledore, or I’ll incinerate all your precious pupils. I’m at the top of the North Tower.

“What time is it?� panicked Sinistra.

Dumbledore checked his watch for the eighty-eighth time that day (it was now on his other arm), and his eyes popped out. 7:53. “I knew we shouldn’t have wasted all that time outside I swear, the only time you two ever engage in intelligent conversation is when you have no time in which to do so How are we ever going to get there on time?�

“I think I know a way,� said Magorian, unfazed. He rummaged through his saddlebag and took out a rubber ducky.

Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon glasses, squinting to make sure his vision wasn’t tricking him. “How is a... rubber ducky... going to help us?�

“Well, Dumbledore, you’re the headmaster, so you should know,� he said enigmatically.

Dumbledore looked puzzled for a second, and then the light of comprehension filled his eyes with their patented sparkle. “Ah, of course I'm sorry, chieftain. You must understand, I’ve been headmaster for more than fifty years and it isn't difficult to forget such obscure, seemingly unimportant arcana. Nevertheless, I should have remembered that waving a plastic yellow idol in the Great Hall on a night of the waning gibbous moon opens a secret passageway to the North Tower �

“Wow, how… convenient,� said Sinistra. “Well, you’d better hurry, because it’s already 7:95.� (Wizarding time is metric.)

Magorian waved the ducky ardently, and the bricks of the wall to his left (it was normally the bricks of the wall to his right) rolled back, revealing a clandestine corridor with three bright blue Toyota rocket-cars. They took a second to admire their all-wheel drive and GPS/Onstar capabilities before driving the winding slope up to the North Tower. (Magorian had to sit on the hood and maneuver the steering wheel with his arms to his back.) Finally they reached the end of the passage. Sinistra spared on time opening the hatch to the North Tower. What greeted her eyes was wholly unexpected.

Oigroig could be seen with a baseball bat in his hands, in a sort of story circle with all the children he had taken hostage, and four or five students tied up at the center of the ring, moaning through their gags and struggling against their bonds.

“Alright, who would like to play ‘Pummel the Dean Thomas’ next?� shouted Oigroig. All of the kids soon raised their hands and stood on their tiptoes in their fervor to be the next one he picked.

“Me Me Pick me �
“No, me �
“I wanna do it �
“You already had a go, Zabini, it’s my turn �
“Please, sir, my name is Orla Quirke. I want to be the next one to smash him �
Oigroig gave the bat to a grateful Orla, who immediately commenced to pound on the poor kid named Dean Thomas.

“What is going on? What is this madness? � exclaimed Albus, causing Oigroig to turn around.

“Ah, so you’ve come after all,� Oigroig drawled airily. “You really needn’t have-- it turns out most of your students are exceedingly eager to join my cause. I wouldn't blame them if I were you. If your name was Draco Malfoy or Euan Abercrombie or any of the other names these undeserving human beings have been afflicted with, wouldn't you be just as unrelenting towards those endowed with normal names as them? I mean, seriously, would you rather be named ‘Hermione Granger’ or something palatable like Hannah Abbot or Seamus Finnigan? I personally believe that it's good to let them vent like this.�

“I’m sorry about this, Harry. But not really � said Hermione as she stepped out of the ring and mercilessly bludgeoned her immobilized friend. Several others began clubbing with reckless abandon, completely disregarding the presence of their principal.
Enough � screamed Dumbledore. He Gandalf-ishly smote the ground for effect. “Now, I don’t exactly have the most run-of-the-mill name either, but you don’t see me ever destroying people named ‘Mark Evans’ or slaughtering towns full of ‘Browns’, do you? Have you no self-control? You should all be ashamed of yourselves �

“Shut up, Albus, you’re not EVIL like I am. If I weren’t EVIL, this fic wouldn’t be very interesting,� responded Oigroig.

“It still isn’t interesting, sir. I’ve read fertilizer salesman handbooks that were more exciting than this rubbish,� said Malfoy.

“Oh, excellent comeback, Draco, excellent Draco Malfoy is one of many of my new converts, Albus, and I daresay that not even another one of your ickle speeches can twist their allegiance now Especially now that I've become the height of cool buying a new Toyota (TM) Highlander EXE, with power windows and deluxe braking, maximized to give you perfect handling in the most challenging and rugged terrain.

"Now, on to business. I came here to kill a centaur named Magorian. Are you Magorian?�

“Erm… maybe?� said Magorian.

“Good, good, Magorian is here. Which leaves me with one thing to do,� uttered the villain. He lifted his cloak and let it fly in the wind. Every inch of his shirt was embedded with a black cartridge that had a shark’s silhouette on it. His entire upper body was riddled with Gamesharks

That explains how he got so powerful, said the author from his laptop. And why Magorian was so weak during the battle last chapter.

“Ooooooooooh,� said everyone.

“Yes, it’s true � roared Oigroig triumphantly. “I’ve got every code on me: infinite health, infinite ammo, infinite lives, all cheats and secrets unlocked, the works. You name it, I’ve got it on me on one of these here Gamesharks.�

“That’s hardly fair. I haven’t got a chance against someone like you,� said Magorian.

“You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair. That is, if we were in a fighting game or something. But I have something very different in mind. Very different indeed.�

Oigroig and his main goons (Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom) all began to cackle evilly.

"Mwahaha.MWAHAHAHAHA!!MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" they cackled evilly.

Fame! That was what the answer to 37 Across was! thought Magorian.

“Man, I really can’t wait for Chapter 9. Yep, Chapter 9 would be really swell right now,� said Dumbledore, winking at the computer monitor in the sky.

“Psst. That's your cue to end the chapter on a cliffhanger,� said Sinistra.

Oh, right.

“Mwahahahahaha � cackled Oigroig evilly, just to reassure the readers that he was still, in fact, evil. His two goons, Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy, both laughed with him. When Oigroig stopped, they stopped. When Oigroig started again, they started again. Oigroig decided to have a bit of fun with his new minions, laughing at random intervals to force them to laugh. After a while, all of them tried to see who could cackle the most evilly. Magorian used this silly distraction to plan his escape method.

Let’s see… I could step over Dumbledore and use Sinistra to break my fall as I hurdle down from the North Tower… Nah, that would leave too much blood all over me. I could throw Dumbledore at the evil guy, jump over him and scream really loud for help, but Dumbledore’s so old he’d probably disintegrate before hitting Oigroig due to air resistance. Hmm… perhaps I could pick off those Gamesharks somehow…

Before Magorian could finish his train of thought and come up with the brilliant and practical plan that would’ve saved the day, Oigroig and company decided to end their foolishness and proceed with their malevolent agenda.

“Magorian � yelled Oigroig, snapping the centaur out of his reverie. “Our game tonight will be rife with danger and panic. We will engage in something so insane, it has never before been attempted in the history of the universe. Something so madcap, so unthinkable, it will make the very world tremble in fear � He visibly repressed another evil cackle with immense difficulty.

The silence that followed this statement was deafening, as if the Earth had stopped rotating and hushed to listen.

“We will play a three-match, seven-set game of TRIPLES TENNIS!!!�

Then the world’s silence resumed to the normal kind of undefeaning silence, as if the Earth was relieved that its fears were unfounded.

Sinistra was obviously skeptical. “On what court?� she asked cheekily.

“On this one � replied the black-cloaked old sorcerer Trekkie geek with a flourish of his staff. Instantly, the ground around the foundation of the building uprooted and the soil began to rise up above them, swirling and forming a floating platform of sorts. The accretion disk of peat turned into an outsize tennis court, complete with earthen ladders to climb up to it. That shut Sinistra up, and Oigroig was happy.

“Pick two teammates and the games will begin. I choose Draco Malfoy and Neville Longbottom.�

“I pick Ganglia and Dumbledore,� said Magorian, choosing Ganglia because he was a very acrobatic bear that could run really fast, and Dumbledore because he thought he would enjoy watching him trying to reach far-out volleys. He had no idea how wise those choices really were.

“Very well. Ascend to the playing arena and let us commence OUR SHADOW GAME � uttered Oigroig fanatically.

“Please don’t turn this into a Yu-Gi-Oh parody � pleaded all the children to the author. (Never mind that they shouldn’t even have known what it was, let alone ever watched the show.) Oh, how they wished they had Toyotas to drive home with.

“Only on one condition � negotiated Magorian. “Since you have been coded up to the point where taking off any of your Gamesharks would leave you on life support (HINT HINT), I think it’s only fair that I get an advantage too.�

“Fine What is it?� said an annoyed Oigroig, who had already started to climb one of the ladders of soil.

“I need four tires.�

“Four tires?�

“Four tires.�

“Why do you need four tires?�

“To play with maximum prowess.�

“Wait, we’re talking about car tires, right?�

“Ford Anglia tires, to be exact.�

“Whatever.� Oigroig had the author conjure four tires into the story. They all went up the ladder (Draco with his inherited haughtiness and Ganglia with a little difficulty) and stood on the court. It was truly huge- about five times bigger than a regular one. Magorian quickly attached the wheels to his hooves, and felt the power of old times coursing through him again.

“YES � yelled Magorian, with overdramatic lightning in the background. “I am the Wheelmaster once more �

Sinistra, who was down below with all the kids, rolled her eyes, knowing only too much about the fracture in time that resulted from his experimentation with wheels the last time. She gathered her wits about her and tried to think of ways of getting the children down from the tower. Unfortunately for her, the students all wanted to stay and cheer Oigroig’s team on, feeling that they should champion his noble cause.

Oigroig started off by explaining the rules. The serving rotation was the same as in a regular game, only now with three people on each side. During a serve, only if the player closest to the net on the other side receives it will it be a foul- the other two are both receivers. To shorten the game, two lets count as a fault. Whenever Magorian’s team won a match, half the castle would return to normal. Whenever Oigroig’s team won a match, the castle would revert to its backwards form.

“Get ready, men,� pep-talked Oigroig. “This one is going to be a cinch if we just work together as a cohesive unit. A little teamwork will go a very long way.� Neville and Draco were too busy staring at each other in contempt to listen; each thought the other was unworthy of Oigroig’s attention.

And with that, the game started. Oigroig threw the ball up and smacked it as hard as he could towards the grizzly, thinking it a great hairy beast with no sentience. Au contraire, the bear, racket in mouth, leapt up and returned the lob with a vicious one of its own, aimed at the far left end of their side of the court. Oigroig jumped after it, but it was much too far away to return the shot. The extremely competitive bear made a little victory dance (specifically one that Magorian had taught it). Oigroig cursed Longbottom for not trying to return the shot, and his eyes welled up a little. As the referees (the teachers) magicked the scoreboard into,
Magorian Oigroig
15 - Luv,
Oigroig began to think that his choice in partners wasn’t exactly the smartest.

Ganglia’s voracious tennis strikes helped land the first three sets of the match securely in the belt of Magorian’s team without the help either teammate, but they could see the poor bugger was really worn out now, so they decided to participate and let the bear sleep it off. Now it was Neville’s turn to serve. Needless to say, he got a double fault four times, and the third game of the fourth set was given to the good guy team. Oigroig was getting so angry he was bashing the floor with his racket, (which only angered the further, as the dust this kicked up on his robes would prove to be impossible for the washing machines at the local Laundromat to clean).

Next it was Dumbledore’s turn. Magorian was slightly surprised to see that the ancient, withered old man had actual talent. Nevertheless, they only got a shot in while Draco got in two, making the score for the game 15-30.

Then Dumbledore remembered that it was Chapter 9 again (the prospect of a brand new Toyota Corolla with a V-6 engine slipped it right out of his thoughts) and that he had his powers back. Grinning, Dumbledore began to transform into… the giant squid It happened in a really cool Digimon-esque evolution sequence that startled everyone.

“Oh my God,� said Draco, whose eyes were wide open in astonishment. “You mean you actually ARE the giant squid?�

“Do you honestly believe everything J.K. Rowling says? I suppose that you just gobbled up her bilge that Professor Snape isn’t a vampire, or that Crookshanks really isn’t the Unknown Soldier, or that Voldemort really isn’t Harry Potter’s nephew � said the giant squid, now holding a racket in each of its ten tentacles.
“Why, next thing you know, she’ll be telling us all about how Madame Pomfrey really isn’t an alien, or she’ll be mouthing off about how Hagrid DOESN’T secretly worship his handkerchief. PREPOSTEROUS �

“I am not a vampire � Snape stood from the referee’s box, quivering with indignity and his fists clenched. “And just to set the record straight, I will never have sexual relations with any students, especially not male ones. I’ve never been nor will I ever be a ‘pale sex god.’ And I am not- I repeat- AM NOT having an affair with a goblin named Tendercheeks, no matter what that idiot Flitwick says.�

“Sure you aren’t, Severus.� said the squid in a condescending tone as it used a great ruddy tentacle to pat Snape on the back. “Sure you aren’t.�

Oigroig shook his head and regained his senses. “Enough of this nonsense If one of your teammates can hold ten rackets, then I demand that I be able to switch out one of my teammates for someone else �

“Go right ahead,� said Magorian nonchalantly as Ganglia awakened, somewhat surprised to see the giant squid beside it. “You’ll never get passed a kraken, me, or my bear alone, let alone all of us together.�

Dumbledore could receive out of the way shots like nobody’s business because he was so huge, Magorian often used his tires to boomerang shots back to him, and Ganglia was simply a force of nature. The sound of half of Hogwarts returning to normal as stone shifted and marble moved drowned out the pathetic whining of Oigroig and his disgraced pureblood minions (Malfoy and now Snape, who agreed to replace Longbottom).

Match two started with Oigroig again. Not only was he seriously shaken over the humiliation his team had endured during the first set, he also had the tune out the jeers of children down below, who had once again defected to the other side. The pressure of the first serve of the second set was paralyzing.

Fortunately for him, when he finally mustered up the guts to serve, Magorian let out a massive sneeze, so, due to sheer luck, his shot turned out to be an ace, forcing the faculty to award fifteen points to the bad guy team.
“Mushrooms,� shrugged Magorian, answering his teammates’ unanswered question. They nodded in understanding.

Oigroig’s relieved team felt new hope; Snape especially started to sport a super-smug grin. Oigroig’s previously-clouded mind was now calculating and diabolical once more. (Well, that’s not all of what was in his brain, but I daresay it wouldn’t be too horrible to abstain from digging any deeper.) He still had quite a few tricks up his sleeve, like secretly fiddling with one of the Gamesharks under his coat.

Magorian parried his next serve, which got countered by Draco, which passed to Ganglia, whose shot was returned by Snape, who scored. Oigroig’s team seemed to be able to jump ten times higher.

“What’s going on?� said Magorian, noticing their amplified leaping abilities. “If this goes on we’re going to lose every shot �

“Can’t handle a little moon physics, can you, Magorian?� bellowed the code-fiend.

“That’s cheating � said Dumbledore, his tentacles slapping the field in indignation and his giant lidless pupils narrowed in hate.

“I’m done playing fair, Dumble-Bore, as you’ll all soon see It’s my serve again, and you’ll learn to regret ever arousing my ire � He activated his maximum serve speed code, and his subsequent shot would have garnered a net had it not burned through it and struck Dumbledore, winning them a 40-Luv.

The second match was easily won by Oigroig’s team, who used codes such “no enemy AI� to make Magorian and company too retarded to play, and “no hit detection�, which made the ball phase right through their adversaries and hit the ground instantly. Their use of the “Net being too high to shoot over� code was none too unreliable either. Now it was the centaur’s team’s turn to feel hopeless. The half of the castle that had been saved became backwards again. Was there no way to defeat him?

“There is no way to defeat me � howled Oigroig triumphantly.

Then, rather unexpectedly, a meteorite hurtled from space and hit Oigroig square in the noggin.

“Wow,� said Harry. “I thought he was going to die by getting those Gamesharks ripped off him.�

“That’s what the author would’ve led us to believe. But the readers were too smart for that,� spoke Hermione. She was rather enjoying reading her favorite Arithmancy book under the shade of the tree by the lake, conversing with her two best friends about what had happened on the North Tower the day before.

“Wait, they’re too smart for the clean and practical way, but not for the random meteor from space?� said Ron.

“That wasn’t just any meteor, Ron. The old guy—“

“What old guy?�

“The old guy from Chapter Seven, Ron, who else could I be talking about?�

“You could be talking about Dumbledore, or the old guy from Chapter Three. All the Amish people were old. There have been a lot of old people in this fic, Hermione.�

“First of all, I refer to Dumbledore by name. Second of all, Motm is dead, so I can’t possibly be talking about him either. Third of all,--“

“Shut it, the two of you � interrupted Harry. The sound of their bickering made him very frustrated. “Go on about the old guy from Chapter Seven, Hermione, please,� he said to break the awkward silence that had followed his previous outburst.

“Well, remember how he went off to pawn the shell they had gotten from the cave he was guarding? Apparently, it was an extremely valuable shell, and he traded it in for a satellite that could fire space junk at people whenever he felt like it. Then he started pressing buttons like a maniac, and next thing you know, Oigroig was one of his victims.�

“Have there been any other casualties?� asked Ron.

“Only some guy in Las Vegas, but he was homeless anyway.�

“I don’t get it. A state-of-the-art government satellite is sold to a desert bumpkin, and no one wants to inquire about it? And how can a cave shell be that valuable?� said Harry.

“It was a state-of-the-art government microchip, that’s how. It contained millions of layers of vital information to maintain and regulate Social Security for hundreds of countries.�

“I’m starting to think the author bloke is making this stuff up as he goes along,� replied Ron, stating the obvious and yawning under the bright light of day. “Man, this chapter is long. If The Savant doesn’t finish soon, I’ll be late for all the other fics I’m scheduled for today.�

Harry wasn’t ready to end this segment just yet. “There’s one thing I still don’t get. Exactly how did you become jinxed by the Imperius curse and started hitting me with a baseball bat again?�

“I told you, Oigroig put it on me,� said Hermione a bit nervously.

“Oigroig was a Squib,� said Ron.

“I’m really hungry, let’s go into the kitchens to get a bite to eat � said Hermione, quickly changing the subject. Ron was all for the idea, so off they went towards the boar gargoyles and through the front gates, still somewhat in shock that the castle was now half-normal and half-backwards.

It was hard for Magorian to leave the place now that he had gotten accustomed to it. Nearly all the students had greeted him into the castle with open arms, and it was nice talking to Firenze, a fellow centaur, again. Firenze accepted Magorian’s humble apology for kicking him out of the forest after he recounted to him the story of how he got ousted out of their tribe by Bane for “his lack of obeying the way of the centaur and letting his mind decay to nothingness.� But he still thirsted for adventure, and was ready to explore amazing new places and be in exciting new storylines.
At last, Magorian reached Dumbledore’s office on the second floor. It was time to give him a final farewell.

“Ton-Tongue Toffee.� The statue dodged towards the side and the spiral escalator started to move up.

“Hello, Magorian,� greeted the jolly old headmaster at the door. “Come to say your final farewells?�

“How did you know?�

“I read the sentence before ‘Ton-Tongue Toffee,’� said Dumbledore, “but that’s beside the point. I understand that you need to get out of the castle and go explore the world. Don’t worry- we’ll certainly miss you, but we’ll carry on as we always have.�

“You’re right. Maybe this isn’t goodbye,� said Magorian. “Perhaps we’ll meet again some day.�

“God willing, we’ll all meet again in Magorian 2: The Search for More Reviews. So long now, and take care

“Wait,� said Dumbledore, as Magorian started to descend the stone staircase. “I forgot to provide you something for your travels.� With that, he stole back into his office, got something from one of his black cabinets, and rushed back out the door to give it to him.
“It’s a magic flute. I could tell you what it does when you play it, but that would ruin the surprise. Besides, The Savant still has to come up with a use for it.�

Magorian took the flute gratefully and dropped it into his saddlebag, sure that it would salvage him from harm sometime in the near future. After goodbying Sinistra in the Astronomy Office, he ran out the door, nearly trampling over three sixth-years in his haste.

A/N: I have made a startling discovery. “In� backwards, I realized after many serene months of clerical meditation, is “ni�. The breakthrough took so long to eke its way out of my mind I figured it must be the deepest thing anyone’s ever come up with in recorded history ever. To celebrate my utterly immense, and, if I do say so myself, captivating genius, I figured I’d treat you all to another chapter of my masterpiece fanfiction. Hey, don’t say I don’t spoil you all.

Magorian knew he was the first centaur ever to do it. He took pride in it. He thought what he did this fine Thursday morning would set a precedent that he had no doubt future generations would look back to as a wellspring of inspiration. Those intellectuals who wished to bone up on forgotten lore and revive their muse could look no further than the page in every history book that would depict in vivid prose the groundbreaking feat he would enact today The reader may be wondering, what astounding deed was Magorian planning to partake in? What could be so world-altering, so historically significant, it would make even him quake with anticipation? Well hold on. I’m getting there. Jeez, a guy isn’t even allowed to add a little suspense to his fic anymore…

Magorian would be the first to enter the Centaur Liaison Office.

It was something he’d always wanted to do, but he’d always been distracted by things on the side, and he never had enough time to include it in his busy schedule. (You can only be a fortuneteller, Elvis impersonator and Kool-Aid mascot for so long before your jobs started eating away at your personal life, after all, and there was that nasty stint in prison after that “defacing the major monuments of the world� phase he’d gone through. And the whole “saving Hogwarts� thing had certainly failed to allow him to free up any time on his rather long to-do list.)

It was hard to ignore all the looks he was getting as he clopped on through the varnished hallways to the office--most of the workers who didn’t belong to this department had never seen a real-life centaur before. Nevertheless, he was determined to be the first to ever enter the office doors, which were much like those of the Leaky Cauldron in that one couldn’t spot them unless they were looking for them expressly. Steadily the doors to the office became larger and larger as Magorian came closer and closer. Finally, after the admittedly arbitrary amount of words describing a seemingly unimportant period in the story, Magorian was still only halfway to the doors Would he ever get there? The swerving of the multitude of employees in his way didn’t help, and neither did the Centaur Slowing-Down Device that happened to be in close proximity to him, unbeknownst to the centaur. It was almost as if the author had made a bet with someone who said he couldn’t make one of his chapters any longer than the last one Really finally, he got to the doors and went through them…
Only to find another centaur in the room!

“Bane?� exclaimed a shocked Magorian. “What are you doing here?�

The equally shocked look on Bane’s face that appeared for an instant when he heard the swoosh of the opening doors and saw the visage of one of his prime nemeses vanished as his normal stern expression replaced it. Bane turned around again to face a very young-looking worker. (The worker seemed to be the most astonished person in the room. It could be clearly discerned from the look on his face that the presence of any other organism, let alone two majestic-looking centaurs, was unheard of.)

“This is the centaur I was complaining about,� Bane told the worker, as if Magorian wasn’t in the room. “His disgraceful and abominable actions have totally violated our time-tested ways Not once has any member of our tribe breached our ancient code so frequently and without remorse I even have to stoop as low as asking a human that’s at least four times younger than me for help � he added as if the worker, whose nametag read My Name is [Clark Seamsly]
“I believe this warrants nothing less than public execution!�

Man, that’s a lot of exclamation points, thought Magorian. I wonder what I’m going to have for dinner tonight. Maybe some warbler- I’m not in the mood for sparrow again. I haven’t had finch since my last trip to Aspen. It couldn’t hurt to have a little variety now and then. Ooo, some cardinal would REALLY hit the spot right now. With a dash of oregano and a bit of swallow on the side? Yummy. Wait, no, bloody hell, I’m on that new puffin-frigate diet they’re always going on about.

Then he realized the severity of the situation. The man who had thrown him out of his ancestral home was now trying to have him offed He kicked up his innermost thoughts a notch.

The man who threw me out of my ancestral home is now trying to get me offed! Whoa, déjà vu…

“I’m sorry, s-sir. Um, person. Er, thing?…� spoke up Clark timidly.

“The centaru word for sir is ‘umna,’ stupid human,� said Bane in disgust. “You work at the Centaur Offices, you should know already.�

Clark looked absolutely horrified. Magorian couldn’t blame him--Bane was extremely intimidating. Yet he somehow found the courage to speak.

“I’m sorry, umna, but I’ve already told you that although centaurs are classified as beasts and thus liable to executions by verdict of a set of beings,� said Clark, amassing confidence, “there is a clause that excludes merfolk and centaurs from such treatment Besides, you have no way to prove Magorian really did all those things.�

“Way to go Clark,� whispered Magorian quietly to himself. Bane had a different reaction.

“Is this how the Ministry of Magic handles affairs? By violently yelling to its clientele that things cannot be done? Interesting. I knew it to be true, but how true, I didn’t know. Oh, this speaks volumes, it does. You know, I was going to keep refusing the Dark Lord’s offers to join him. But now that I see what the Ministry really is what he said it would be like…Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?�
And with that, Bane exited the room, being sure to plaster a grin on his face.

“Don’t mind him, Clarkleton, he’s just bluffing.� reassured Magorian. “Now, I understand that one can start a petition here?�

“Y-yes, umna, you can.�
“Well, I’d like to start a new one. How many signatures do you reckon I would need to get the Ministry to consider renaming the forest around Hogwarts ‘Styjikuhler?’�

“Hi there, centaur � interrupted a big-name MV executive who just burst through the office doors. He seemed a little out of breath.
The author did a quick peek into his mind, because, hey, he can do those sorts of things, and found out that he had just learned from a coworker that there was a centaur as close as the Ministry of Magic.

“I tried talking to your friend over there, but he just shrugged me off and kept trotting along Rude, huh?� said the executive. Magorian didn’t think he was one to talk about rudeness, seeing as how he just interrupted his conversation.

“Oh, that’s right, you probably don’t know who I am. My name is Jasper Johns, and I work for the new company called MagiTech™. We’ve just invented a magical box called MagiVision™- It’s like Muggle television, only interactive. Cool, huh? Anyway, one of the new reality shows we’re recruiting for needs a centaur participant, and we think you’re right up our alley

“Here’s the premise- we take a bunch of young witches and wizards and other assorted beings and put them in a swamp. They’ll have to rely on each other to live through fourteen weeks. Each week, viewers get to decide which two people get booted off. The last player standing gets ten million Galleons. The working name for the show is ‘The Swamp,’ and it will be broadcast in between the syndications of ‘Survivor: Hell’ and ‘Survivor: Idaho.’ Are you interested?� He raised his eyebrows for effect.

Magorian weighed his options. Warbler had a sweet tangy sensation to it, but left a bitter aftertaste. Cardinal was a bit of an acquired taste, and he wasn’t sure he had acquired it yet. And… wait a second, was that guy talking to him? Damn his natural look of rapt attention when daydreaming Magorian mentally flipped a coin and decided to answer “yes� to whatever question he just asked him.

“Splendid,� said Jasper with an unnecessary bow, as though that was what centaurs did. “See you in the morning � Then he shoved a sheet of paper with an official-looking seal into Magorian’s aged hands and pranced right out of the room. Magorian was forcibly reminded of Willy Wonka, even though he’d never heard of him. Damn his extensive and inexplicable knowledge of pop culture

The document proved to be quite a doozy to read. There was lots of fine print that Jasper neglected to discuss, like the fact that Magorian couldn’t quit halfway through or that the prize money would be subject to 90% tax deduction. But Magorian chose to look at the bright side--by the looks of things, he’d be able to spend some time in America

Sherman: Didn’t Magorian just say he went to Aspen? And I remember him saying he was in El Paso once…
Mr. Peabody: Quiet, you!
Damn that pop culture… thought Magorian.

The next day, Magorian awoke in his inn bed. He was thankful that he had kept a few shillings on him and that he blended in with all the ethnics in this part of London. Quickly Magorian went to the sink. He was quite keen to try brushing his teeth for the first time.

He spat it out. Ugh… tastes like seagull!

Then Magorian stealthily entered Platform 9 ¾ and took a train to the Ministry, making sure no Muggles saw his bottom half. Fortunately, those who did were too sleepy for it to register or were too busy reading their newspapers and only saw him peripherally.

The train was extremely cool. The ads on the roof all moved, and the lights above you shone in different colors, depending on your mood. The seats were spotless, and any litter that was sensed by the compartment’s “hygiene defenses� were spotted by flocks of bored Aurors and ruthlessly eliminated. The voice of the conductor was always clear and his diction was perfect. Magorian could even use a special remote to change the voice’s accent- he and his fellow straphangers had a lot of fun switching back and forth from Norwegian and Fijian. Magorian got to the secret underground station (“Secret Underground Station�) in no time flat. He took an elevator up to the surface, along with a few other Ministry employees who presumably had to go into inner London on some business or other. The ground next to the dilapidated phone booth magically scurried away and the floating elevator connected to the phone booth. The touching walls of both fixtures disappeared and the elevator and booth merged to form one, bigger booth, which then expanded a bit to accommodate them all comfortably. A beefy Russian-looking man dialed a number into the phone following the request of a female voice projection, and the phone booth took them all down to the Atrium. Once there, the workers separated and went to their departments and the booth split into its two components again. The elevator went back underground and the phone booth went straight back up again.

Magorian checked the paper. He had to be at the 4th floor lounge room by 3:34. Sighing, Magorian diligently set off to the staircases, unaware that there were more elevators at either end of the Atrium. As soon as Magorian had said yes, his signature appeared on the dotted line of the contract, so, as much as he didn’t want to be a part of some sordid reality show, he knew it bound him to his decision. He couldn’t even rip up the paper- it was enchanted so that damaging it in any way was impossible. You think they’d use that stuff on airplanes or buildings…

When he got to the fourth floor lounge room, there was only one other person there. It made sense, since it was only 2:12. She had a pale complexion, and there were black streaks under her eyes- almost like war paint, only more elegant and thorn-like. She had long, sleek black hair, and was wearing pitch-black robes. Even her lips were black. Magorian knew instantly what she must be--a Gothmage.

She had been making a little yellow ball of energy in her hands in boredom, but upon seeing what just entered the lounge room, it disappeared in her surprise. Instinctively, she created another one and threw it at Magorian.

A/N: Cliffhanger!
Some information about Gothmages:
Like the Metamorphmagus and the Prophet, Gothmages are born, not made. That being said, Gothmagy is hereditary and any children a Gothmage will have will almost definitely be Gothmages. They have the innate magical ability to "wield the power of darkness" without wands and the ability to become nearly invisible in the shade (Luckily, they've learned to disassociate darkness with evil). They also seem to have an easier time with the so-called “pagan� ancient rituals than others, perhaps because of a direct link to their set of gods. They’re paranoid to a fault and not a little xenophobic, due to their intense persecution in ancient and even sometimes modern history. Gothmages are widely considered to be the black sheep of the Magical world, even more so than the Squib, partly because of their fierce and formidable appearance and partly because of their fierce and formidable power. In fact, they often form autonomous collectives outside of general Wizarding jurisdiction. Over their generations and generations of isolation from other wizards, they have garnered a unique culture and religion. Their pantheon consists of The Sibling, who symbolizes peace and brotherhood, The Scion, who embodies fear and death, and The Arbiter, who mediates between the previous two forces to create harmony. Gothmagy has a rigid caste system. The lowest caste is the Beggar, who doesn’t beg but doesn’t get any of the privileges the higher castes do either. The highest caste is the Clergy, who claim to have divine right. The Clergy is further subdivided into Anchorites, Wisewomen and Elders. The Gothmage in this fic is in one of the middle castes- Healer. The largest village of Gothmages has a population of about 4,000 and is somewhere in the Himalayas. Ministries all over the world basically just ignore their existence unless contact with them is unavoidable. This has got to be the longest paragraph I've ever written.

A/N: I may be filing for chapter 11, but I’m not declaring bankruptcy just yet!
A/N Clone: Stop reading those Stephen Kings and put down that Dan Brown. Eschew your James Pattersons, thrash your Stewarts and never touch that Osteen again. Toss those Danielle Steeles into the burning effigy of Grishams and Gladwells and enjoy the freedom from the taint of good writing forevermore! (Don’t you dare reach for that Douglas Adams! Have you no shame?)

The dilapidated old building seemed to shun light. The mooncast shadow stretched unnaturally to the substantially distant houses, especially on long winter nights such as this one, and created a feeling of an ominous presence, impregnable and aloof. Hardly anyone knew why or how the abandoned warehouse had evaded demolition for so long- It certainly wasn’t due to the lack of complaints to the sanitation department about how it was teeming with vermin or how the air around the place seemed to be contaminated. Yet there was one who was exceedingly glad that the warehouse hadn’t been taken down yet at the moment.

There slept Lord Voldemort, in a secret compartment above the wooden-plank ceiling of the storage room. Pipes jutted out every three or so square inches on the wall, forming a labyrinthine entangling that left room for almost nothing else. There was no bed. Instead Nagini was his mattress, coiling around him and providing its soft underbelly as a suitable resting place and the presence of his most favorite creature as company. Wormtail snoozed fretfully and uncomfortably in one of the cracked jagged corners of the compartment.

The Dark Lord’s eyelids began to stir, and the pace of his breath quickened. Suddenly, Voldemort sat up, screamed “Lederhosen is my friend! I wish I had gavels instead of cochleae! Quentin Tarantino is really just a silverfish in a rhino costume! The circle of geriatrics is a coral number at heart! Let them eat STIGAMTIC ALMONDS and ENDOTHERMIC PIÑATAS!� and fell right back to sleep again, nicely alleviating the dark tone of the chapter and selflessly providing readers with insight on his internal thought processes at the same time. Needless to say, this outburst awakened Nagini. Again. And of course, being the irritable diamondback it was, it spluttered its milk in hate.

Dammit! hiss-thought the ophidian groggily. If thhhhat issssn’t thhhe thhhhhird time in a row thhhissss happened, I’ll ssssswallow a horsssse! Mmmm… horsssse… juiccccy hind legssss…. The monstrous adder shook its head and the image of scrumptious equine hindquarters away with it.
I knew letting Masssster turn all my venom into Gatorade wasss a bad idea! But how can I ssssay no to thhhossse dreamy eyesss…

Silently, the giant asp uncoiled itself and slithered towards the refrigerator----
Wait a sec; this isn’t the beginning of this chapter!
Somebody get us off the air!

[static]

*_*_* PLEASE WAIT WHILE WE SORT OUT THE TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES.
WE ARE VERY SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. BUT NOT REALLY. *_*_*
--------------------------------------------------------------
[In a circular purple palace located in a volcano on top of a cloud, specifically Sector 5, Computer Room 1-B, Access code: edoc sseccA. Its master likes to think its floating above a planet in a faraway galaxy and not perennially stationed above Rechyjavic, Iceland.]

The Savant: Racecar! Racecar! Where in the hell is that servant of mine? Racecar!

[Racecar rushes in to the room, making sure to swerve around in figure-eights and say “vroom vroom!� several times before coming to attention. A gander at his face somehow always reminded casual onlookers of a fledgling stunted parasauralophus. His cloak was the color the moon will be in Chapter 14.]

Racecar: What is it, sire?

The Savant: The reel for chapter eleven is completely wrong. Do you know what happened?

Racecar: Yes, sire. At first, there was an engulfing, chaotic emptiness called the Void. Then, without explanation, a significant time-space anomaly occurred that resulted in the Big Bang, and—

The Savant: The reel, Racecar, what happened to the chapter?

Racecar: Oh, sorry sire. Well, the problem seems to be coming from Aesopbot.

The Savant: What’s wrong with my fanficmaking android? I paid top dollar for it!

Racecar: Apparently, sire, it critically malfunctioned and exploded into microscopic bits of shrapnel. The Taleweaver’s Domain is filthy now, what with all the metallic dust all over the place. Ugh… one more thing I have to do tomorrow.

The Savant: What!? Why didn’t you tell me sooner!?

Racecar: I was busy watering the lava like you told me to sire.

The Savant: Oh yes. Very well, I will spare you the traditional weeklong sentence to the Room with the Bunch of Unpleasant Things Most People Wouldn’t Want Anywhere Near Their Bodies. But how did Aesopbot malfunction? It did such a great job with every other chapter.

Racecar: I looked into the log of the word processor it was using, sire, and discovered its hard drive combusted when it couldn’t think of any names for the new OCs. You should have seen the explosion, sire. I caught a glimpse of it from where I was working on the Eruption Terrace- it was like the Hindenburg on steroids!

The Savant: That’s the last thing I’ll ever buy from Fate with a nuclear reactor in it! “It’ll run faster,� she says, “and you will no longer depend on me to clean up your little literary crises.� Like she had anything better to do. I knew I should’ve gotten the insurance!

Racecar: I did tell you to.

The Savant: But how can such advanced technology fall prey to a simple name-creating problem?

Racecar: Apparently, sire, there just aren’t any cool RPG-sounding names left anymore. They’ve all been taken.

The Savant: That’s absurd! There are billions of possible syllable combinations! I bet I can think of one right now. “Tet-ris�

Racecar: Taken.

The Savant: Alright, how about O… ro… dru… in? O-ro-dru-in. Orodruin.

Racecar: Taken.

The Savant: Yavi…maya.

Racecar: Taken.

The Savant: Maria.

Racecar: Did you honestly think “Maria� wasn’t going to be taken?

The Savant: Tampax.

Racecar: Taken, and I don’t think you’d want to give one of your characters that name anyway.

The Savant: How about Apropos?

Racecar: Taken. And it’s a word.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hermione?� whispered Harry tentatively as they crossed the Hallway to double Transfig.

“Yes?�

“Do you ever want to trade in your cochleae for gavels and you just don’t know why?�

“What?�

“Never mind.�
-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Savant: Voltron.

Racecar: Not taken!

The Savant: Really?

Racecar: No.

The Savant: Eowin.

Racecar: Sire, you must remember to replace ‘i’s with obligatory ‘y’s where possible! Would you buy Mist IV or Myst IV?

The Savant: Alright then, Eowyn.

Racecar: Taken.

The Savant: Argh! What about Kinkos?

Racecar: Taken.

The Savant: Caelin?

Racecar: Hold on, let me go check……………………………………………………… taken.

The Savant: The Savant.

Racecar: [sigh] That’s your name, sire.

The Savant: Really? I thought it was Ondorbgo. I always thought Ondorbgo didn’t roll off the tongue well…

Racecar: Don’t worry sire. For the longest time I thought my name was Pole Position!

The Savant: Dodaru.

Racecar: Amazing! One that isn’t taken! How did you do it sire?

The Savant: Simple. I combined a Dod- with an –aru.

Racecar: You are a mastermind, sire.

The Savant: Don’t you forget it. In fact, from now on, you will address me as “mastersire.� Well, looks like we’ve gotten that problem out of the way!

Racecar: Not quite, sire. There are at least ten minor OCs in this chapter as well.

The Savant: What are we waiting for then? Let’s get cracking! “Bellerophon�.

Racecar: [sigh] Taken…
---------------------------------------------------------------
The ball of shadow hit Magorian around the torso area. He felt sharp recoil as he slid about three meters backwards, his back arched forwards and his lips bitten with shock. Immediately, wisps of the shadow began to wrap around Magorian and try to pull him to the ground, as if the darkness would like nothing better to rejoin its realm on the earth and leave its ethereal shape in the air. The sheer force of the attraction between ground and shadow would have immobilized the strongest biped, but the struggling centaur had the advantage of two extra appendages, so he stood firm. After a few seconds, the shade dissipated and Magorian was liberated.
There was a brief moment where the Gothmage had a pained expression of sorrow on her face, as if she wanted to apologize. It was quickly swapped with her normal expression of total, humorless indifference (indeed, one could mistake it for a look of defiance).

“Hey! Watch where you’re tossing your balls of shadow. I could have lost an eye.� called out Magorian as he approached her slowly.

She grinned, an odd grin that showed both content and annoyance. “How would the world be better off had you kept your eye?� she asked unexpectedly. Her yellow eyes then glowed a bit brighter, as if the intensity of the question rang echoes of light through her being.
Magorian grinned also, in his manic, insane sort of way. This was his kind of question. He paused to contemplate his answer.

Hmmm… the significance of my eyes on the world. What else has eyes? Gnats have lots of eyes. Gnats are cool. Especially when they come in swarms. Wouldn’t it be really ironic if gnats turned out to have great attention spans? Whoa, Magorian, stay on topic now... Er, my eyes are brown and, um... eye-like... and they can see stuff… What would happen if Samurai Pizza Cats, Big Bad Beetle Borgs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the original Power Rangers and Biker Mice from Mars had a melee death brawl? I’d say Leornado has a good chance of becoming the top dog, but Throttle may give him a run for his money. Then again, Kimberley would probably be the last one alive- no one attacks pink things! On second thought, or eleventh I guess, a Decepticon could crash the fight and start pick everyone off with its giant mech feet. Then again, they might call out the Zords and force the Decepticon to--Hold on, wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?
Impulsively, he asked the Gothmage for her name.

“I have many names, none of which I will waste breath to divulge to anyone.� She stood up and leered at him for some fifteen seconds or so, then sat down in her chair again. Even Magorian was beginning to find her a little strange.

“C’mon, I already know that it’s Dodaru.�

Instantly she became infuriated, and her eyes seemed to seethe as she crushed her armrests with an inhuman grip and yelled in a booming (though still quite feminine) voice, “Wendigo, how did it know? How can it have found out!? How does it know my name? Wendigo!� Her stentorian words made the lounge quake and tremble and the pastoral paintings of the English countryside alongside the walls rattle and turn into pictures of blighted craggy wastelands.

A miniscule white fox appeared floating above her left shoulder, seemingly trying to recover from the shock of such an abrupt summoning. It carried an herb in its mouth and holly bells tied to sashes around each of its two bushy tails. Magorian had heard of these creatures before- they came in many shapes and guises, but familiars were all alike in that they came to the aid of the wizard or witch they’re bound to when summoned. According to legend, only the most devout mages could earn familiars. Investigation on the Catalysts of Magic had been rumored to have recently started inside the Ministry.

Wendigo had its tails wound up in fear and it began to falter in its floating. One of those anime sweat beads could be seen on its tiny head. Magorian felt sorry for Dodaru’s guardian sprite, which had done nothing wrong. So he chose to intervene.

“I am sorry if knowing your name disturbs you, but it isn’t—Wendigo, is it?—it isn’t Wendigo’s fault. I simply read your name on page 3. Well, I guess you’d have to have Microsoft Word to understand.�

Her eyes’ fire left her and she calmed down, dismissing her familiar with a snap of her pale fingers (which was really quite impressive). “I come from a weary world.� was her only explanation for her fit of sporadic rage, decreed in a wavering and solemn monotone.

“What do you mean?� he goaded.

“I’m a Gothmage.� she said.

Magorian pretended to be surprised. “A Gothmage? What are you doing here in the Ministry of Magic?�

“Revenge.� she said simply.

Magorian started to get scared. Did she mean she was going to attack everyone in the Ministry? Then he realized he was being silly; she wouldn’t wait in a lounge and do nothing when there was a perfect opportunity to stealthily down every employee in the building. Magorian didn’t know whether to inquire further or to just wait for 3:34. Luckily, the decision was wrested from him when Dodaru spoke again.

“Bright as the sea and twice as dark
Unlike the desert but just as stark
About the reeds scream voices of death
So shriek the men of Andaeneth
Hammer and axe they dared not forge
Yet all the same did they fall to the gorge
Even if they’d done it, even if they did
Their strikes would not faze the Caivorid
For in the sludge it doth wait in and prey
Ever scouting for food astray
For centuries past did men try to slay it
But all they could muster was the will to obey it
And one by one the swamp kings did perish
But they did not die, instead they did relish
The Caivorid’s enchantment that kept them alive
Its slaves were happy, and the great ghost did thrive
One day it departed in search of new fare
It traveled through oceans to the land of Aer
It pillaged and wrecked, enprisoned and vexed
The livestock murdered and cottages decked
With scores of zombies, new and old
So the tale of Andaeneth’s told�
she recited.

It took a while for the chieftain’s mind to register what he’d heard. (He feared asking her to tell it again.) Bits and pieces of the poem that Magorian remembered clicked, and he was able to understand the gist of it. “So you came to get revenge on the Caivorid.� He stated.

Her yellow eyes glimmered, as if to show assent.

“What is it? And where? Is it the thing that keeps stealing socks?�

“A shapeshifting ghost that can kill, resurrect and enslave. It lives in the Duirop Marshes of America. No.� she answered methodically.

“Duirop Marshes? Oh no… that’s where I’m going…� Magorian looked at his official-looking paper with the seal, just to be sure. He was sure. “And this great ghost lives there? MV didn’t say anything about any great ghosts!� He was unaware that it said so on the contract in microscopic print that said- (you weren’t expecting to read microscopic writing, were you?)

“I’ve come to eradicate the Caivorid.� she added with no hint of fear in her voice.

“I can see how powerful a witch you are. But how do you plan on killing a spirit? You must know that it’s impossible to--�

“I was born in the Gothville of Andaeneth.� she interrupted. She didn’t need to be told that she couldn’t do it for the seven hundredth time, and besides, now that the strange creature in front of her knew her name, she figured she could tell him about the rest of her life. It would be nice to let it all out, she surmised.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Severus Snape was in his study when he felt it. A great scorching in his left arm. Once it had been impulse to grasp the part of his arm where the Mark was and bitter luck to break out in a bit of hives each time it happened. Now he simply sighed in resignation, sorry that he had to leave his office to go out on yet another spying mission. Quickly he donned his Invisibility Cloak and Disapparated, glad he had already drank one of his Odorlessness Potions and cast a charm on himself to aid in his Occlumency that morning.

A quiet gasp of almost entirely suppressed surprise issued from Snape’s lips when he found himself on the porch of a grey old Pennsylvanian house. When had Voldemort changed the Apparation point? He was rocking on a weatherbeaten wicker chair (not a throne, but it would do) with his supplicants surrounding him, making a ring of Death Eaters. Snape was a little late; Voldemort had already begun speaking.

“…years making the film, spent months trying to get my movie on public broadcast, only to find it replaced with some stupid “fanfiction� made by some stupid Muggle child! How dare they think of mocking me so!? Even Nagini wept a little- he always dreamed of being a big movie star. And now that dream has been stripped away by some insolent magicless mortal! Well, I intend to preserve my reputation as ruthless iron-fisted demagogue. There is only one course of action we can take. We must storm all the homes and dwellings in the world and have them watch Voldemort and the Great Refrigerator under duress! Leave no stone or shrubbery unturned! They’ll be happy: I’ve just made twenty thousand copies of the special extended DVD. Then, we’ll annex MagiVision headquarters and coerce them to make three, no, eight channels that show nothing but my movie at all times, and make them have really terrible shows on all the other channels so that everyone that’s anyone will be watching Channels 1-8! It’s totally foolproof! No one shall endure ME!� He waved his wand and an animated GIF of him doing the Mexican hat dance around a crying and caged Dumbledore appeared in the air like a neon sign of smoke and vapor.

After a pregnant pause, Lucius was the first and bravest to speak. “My liege,� he started, “your film is truly the greatest and most incorrigibly evil of all, and everyone would be privileged in the utmost way to even catch a glorious fleeting second of it. But we cannot yet risk open war!�

Snape used his Legilimency.
Silly Malfoy, thought Voldemort, doesn’t he know by now that there is absolutely nothing he can say to change my mind?

“Besides, O Most Sinister of the Sixteen Scourges, we could always stop by Alfonso’s for some of his special bacon donuts first.� said Rodolphus, trying to buy time.

Snape did not fail to note the irony as Voldemort agreed to postpone his evil plot for a quick bite to eat. This reminded Severus of his own hunger. He decided to follow them before reporting to the Order. Just as he had with the gasp, he couldn’t quite altogether suppress the idea of him dancing around Dumbledore.
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“I am the daughter of Halcos and Polhir, greatest of all Healers at the time. You could say that from the moment I was born I had a lot to live up to. I never exactly liked my parents, but I did admire them. They truly were awesome Healers, and I desired to be at least better than them. To make a long, long story short, as soon as I became the indisputable master Healer of the ville, I desired more power. I wanted to disregard edict and tap into the power of the other castes.

“I studied. And I studied. I studied both forbidden texts and the most common children’s tales to the letter day and night. I put the written word before meals or rest. Then I practiced. And practiced. I soon became the master of every caste, and nobody knew what I was doing. I did all this in secret; I was a bit of a recluse. To practice the arts of castes other than your own is outlawed, so I was careful not to be found out- I always put aside everything to answer house calls for healing. And then I studied and practiced more, always in secret. Sometimes I held ancient rituals and offerings to the Trifecta that no one else knew to increase my power by folds. I gained a familiar. I transcended any mortal achievement and became one with the elements and one with power. Soon I found it necessary to reveal my power, and to do something with it. I announced to the town I would go overseas and kill the Caivorid, the monstrous ghost that had once plagued Andaeneth. They scoffed and shunned. I showed them my power. They exiled me. I didn’t care. I left my daughter Eluth with Wendigo and set off for the Western Lands, away from Aer.

“On my way to the piers to steal a boat, I was ambushed by a man with a contract. I listened to the man’s babble, and found out for myself that outsiders really were evil and self-righteous. The spell I used to cast him away had the word ‘yes’ in it. He shielded the spell off with the contract. I was forced into the show. As luck would have it, the swamp the man was talking about was--�

“Duirop Marshes, where the Caivorid lies.� Magorian ended her monologue with a pained groan. The young television station obviously thought this monster was going to boost their ratings. On the other hand, Magorian was glad this lengthy bit of plot was over. All that was left was for Magorian to tell her his name.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you take down the swamp beast.� assured Magorian as though she weren’t impeccably confident she could do it herself. “My name is Magorian, of Styjikuhler Forest. My second name is Zhohio Korcellos, but that really doesn’t matter.� His entire life story was laid out to her, much like that section in chapter 2, except there was a lot more stuff at the end and it wasn’t a flashback.

She was impressed. Could he be as powerful as I? she secretly thought. This Magorian is a friend worth making. He isn’t a wizard, he has an affinity for rulebreaking, and he knows my first name.

She held out her hand, a gesture she had never made before. Magorian grasped it and they shook hands. They were now officially friends. Dodaru couldn’t hide her excitement- before now, she had always considered everyone around her to be the vilest of enemies. The paintings returned to normal, the armrests repaired. In addition, the light fixtures around the room doubled in intensity, showing she was happier now than she was angry before.

It was a good thing too, for at that exact moment more people started coming in to the lounge, usually in twos and threes. Magorian could see that they came from all walks in life, and from many parts of the globe. In fact, the only thing he could find that the contestants had in common was that they could speak English, that they were breathing and that they were wearing clothes. Some of them were extremely conspicuous- for example, the goblin with no less than four cigars in its mouth who was apparently named Obsidianlungs (Obsid for short); the cool Aragornish falconer named Nast; the oddly beautiful hag named Hereklofkil; the kelp-fishing Polynesian mariner mage called Laszlo whose head was wreathed with a crown of entwined crab claws, and the chubby Irish lumberjack in plaid robes named Locky. Who knew where Jasper managed to find these freaks? Magorian supposed he had an inside source somewhere.

Magorian and Dodaru were easily the most conspicuous people in the room, so talk eventually degenerated from “what they would do with the ten million galleons� to “who are those two?� Apart from the occasional frightening glower Dodaru gave the minglers, though, the pair took no note of it, and they were only finishing their spirited discussion on the merits of natural selection when the minute hand of the pleasant clock above the lounge chairs finally struck 3:34.

The door opened. Out of the hall and into the lounge came three MV employees, two of them manning floating cameras. Dismay filled Magorian as he recognized the tallest one was Jasper Johns, and he quickly thought of running through them and getting the hell out of there. Jasper vainly struggled to make his posture more uptight than usual as he started to speak.

“Welcome, friends, to The Mire! You’ve all met me before. I’m the man who’s brought all of you a step closer to wealth beyond comprehension.�
Some people became even more excited. Others continued to show signs of hostility towards him (probably those who were there against their will).

“You all know the rules, so I’m not going to delay your experience by explaining them again! I’ve just come to ask you a very important question before we set off to Duirop. You can only bring one thing with you. What will it be?�

Magorian picked his tiny little saddlebag. No one realized that it was enchanted to hold much more than it looked like it could. The chieftain’s entire inventory was stored inside the sack. Though Dodaru thought she was mountains above any Wizarding rules, the contract forced her to choose to keep her divining rod. (She figured clean water would be a precious commodity in a swamp.) After everyone had chosen their items, Jasper told them all in an exceptionally fast radio-advertisement voice, “Wedon’tactuallyhavetenmilliongalleonstogivebutthat’sokaybecauseyou’reallprobablygoingtodieanywayanyanadallpropertydamageisn’tourresponsibilityandwehavemadeespeciallysuretosecurediplomaticimmunityandmanymanyfriendsinhighplacesbeforehandtomakeitsothatwe’renevereverliableforanythingillegalweeverdogoodbye.� Jasper ran off to get the Portkey, which was a banner with the words “TEN MILLION GALLEONS!�
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A pale, sickly sun illuminated the sky and made for a surreal glistening reflection over the shallow marsh water. The swaying of the markedly angular reeds, the cloudy wetland climate and the background noise of scuttling insects all confirmed the setting as the Duirop Swamp, an isolated, flooded strand in Pennsylvania that had been made Unplottable and invisible to prying Muggle eyes. Residents around the area all had dark and fantastic stories to tell about their journeys into the heart of the swamp, which they called “the Black Turf�. Though they probably elaborated the tale with each telling, and tried to make it especially exciting in front of the cameras, the group decided not to stray into the Turf if they could help it. Instead, they split up into groups to search for a food source other than the disgusting skeletal-looking fish they had been forced to eat. (Nast, Magorian and Dodaru made a helluva fishing team, and Obsid was much-needed comic relief during those seemingly endless stretches of fishing. Tree branches weren’t the most refined rods, but they were pretty effective nonetheless.)

“This water reminds me of—oh, what does it remind me of? It reminds me of my mother’s chicken soup! She used to give me some to have for dinner during the weekends. Sometimes we even got some on Fridays. They tasted like bowls of happiness!�

The hyper-perky girl, whose formerly pink dress was now utterly drenched beyond repair, was splashing around in the muck, trying to find something to be happy about in the second week of the competition. Already four people had been booted, and methods of alleviating boredom were becoming more and more strained. Even the cameramen were bored, and they could go home, albeit they had to spend a lot of time editing the footage when they did.

The surly French spectator was starting to get annoyed. “This eezn’t your muzzer’s chickeen soup, idiote. It eez BRACKEN. It has always been BRACKEN. It will always be BRACKEN!�

“Don’t be such a--� she started to call out. She stopped moving, a look of surprised terror filled her eyes. “Something’s on me!!!� she told Michel in a sort of quiet urgency. “It’s going up my back! Help!� she whispered.

Instantly he started to try to help, but it was no use: he couldn’t see whatever was on her. Then he saw it in her pink hair, under the pink flowers on her ears: a big swamp bug, probably the infamous and elusive Duirop louse they’d heard about it. “Stop moving, let me try to get it off!� he yelled to the panicking Fuchsia (such was her name), who was bucking her head and shaking side to side to try to get it off. When he was finally in reach, grasping at the giant louse proved fruitless: his fingers went right through it.

“What ze…?� The intangible bug jumped off and scurried away, scampering through the tall concealing reeds. It had left as soon as it had come.
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Magorian was tired of fishing. He craved new game. Nast had shown him the ropes to hunting things other than birds, which were a very scarce commodity, and he was itching to put his skills to good use. That was why he ordered everyone to go off to look for potential sources of food. (Off-camera, he told them to follow the MV men, who seemed well-fed and nourished enough.) There were three hunting couples; as the leader of the group, Magorian reserved three of the other for himself, making a party of four. It wasn’t a terribly difficult decision, as Dodaru, Nast and Obsid were the only one with any real survival skills in the whole show; he didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. Then again, Magorian slept standing up whereas the others had to find patches of solid ground fit to rest on. So that really wasn’t saying much.

“Y’know, Obsid, I’ve just noticed something,� said Magorian as they trotted off towards the outer edges of Duirop, Magorian literally and the others figuratively, “those cigars of yours never seem to be consumed. It’s quite amazing.�

“I never noticed that either,� said Nast. “How do you do it?�

“My secret!� said Obsid, who had learned to talk with those things in his mouth. “I invented them when I was thirty-eight. It was sometime in the spring.�
Obsidianlungs wasn’t as money-grubbing as most other goblins, but even he couldn’t overlook 10,000K pieces of gold. If one were to use four words to describe him, they would most likely be “fun-loving�, “hunchback� and of course, “incorrigible smoker�.

“As long as we are on the subject of things we haven’t noticed before, I’ve got a good one,� said Dodaru. Her time with the chieftain had mellowed her out a little, but she was still the formidable, slightly disquieting one. The floating cameras and viewers loved to hone in on her; most of the people watching at home had only ever heard of Gothmages, and even then only in passing. Her appeal was further accentuated by the fact that she was the only one who always refused to do those reality show close-up monologues they always have.
The expression ‘to know something like the back of one’s hand’. How well does one know the back of her hand?�

“The back of my right hand has two stitches that have never been removed,� said Nast. “Last time I go in a Muggle hospitable when Tessen slashes my hand.�

The falcon on his shoulder, still feasting on the remains of the fish the rest couldn’t bring themselves to eat, cawed and flapped its aerodynamic wings in consternation, its mouth still full. The ranger rolled his eyes and added “Accidentally.� Tessen stopped its shrieks and dived for the bits of scraps that had dropped from its sharp lethal-looking beak, apparently content with its master’s verbal concession. Nast didn’t miss a beat.

“A bit off topic, I know, but I when I was a teenager I always thought that the wart on my left cheek kinda looked like a clown poisoning a well.� They stared at him. “I had it removed,� added Nast hastily.

“My hand has a vein that forms a parabola in the third quadrant and there’s a blemish that looks remarkably like Donkey Kong’s silhouette. Barrel, tie and all.� said Magorian.

“That’s no fair; you’re looking at the back of your hand!� Obsid sloshed towards Magorian and jumped with surprising dexterity onto Magorian’s back, pulling back his hands behind him.

“Get off me! I can’t see!� The fumes coming from in back of him were both nauseating and blinding. “What does the back of your other hand look like?� insisted Obsid. Magorian, unable to balance his large frame without his arms as well as he used to and unable to see, could feel his knees buckle; Dodaru created a shadow cushion to break his sideways fall just in time, but was unable to prevent his saddlebag from slipping off and splashing into the water.

Magorian cumbersomely wringed his tail out as Nast felt for the saddlebag in the aqueous filth and brought it back out of the water, inadvertently causing it to froth. The fall had caused Dumbledore’s flute to stick out of the patch, newly grimy and waterlogged.

“Hey, Mago, what’s that?� asked Obsid.

“A flute Dumbledore gave me for saving Hogwarts.� Magorian tried to kick the water that had stuck to right side of his pelt off, but it was too sticky.

“You mean the time where you fended off three rampaging elephants from attacking the cafeteria? Or the time you drove out a faction of terrorist ghouls from the dungeons using halitosis and a standard garden rake?�

“No, I think he said it was time when he used a mixture of generic dish soap and Vicks VapoRub to defeat a pirate Ganesha that was raiding the dormitories,� Nast told the goblin.

“You’re nuts, he must be talking about the time when he salvaged forty first-year girls from a blazing inferno that happened when a classroom spontaneously generated wood and lit matches. And I think he mentioned something about hairdryers and bathtubs.�

"Wait, maybe it was the time when he disarmed a bomb stuffed in cage in the Owlery using Turpentine and a monkey wrench."

"No, I think he said it was a monkey and a wrench, not a monkey wrench."

“Uh, guys, not that I didn’t do those things or anything," said Magorian, anziously looking up at the computer screen, "but you might not want to say them out in the open to the readers like this. They’ll think I’m a lying glory hound.�

“Glory horse,� corrected Dodaru. “So what does it do?�

“What?� said Magorian.

“The flute!�

“Good question. Never tried it.�

“I guess the author is going to tell us now by having you demonstrate.� said Dodaru, using the author’s authority (haha, unintentional puns are funny) as an excuse for her curiosity.

Magorian took a deep breath and blew into the flute, not keeping his fingers on any of the holes.

A/N:
Dock is sullied, glade is shadowed
Light abated, darkness hallowed
Sorrow levied with tale’s parting
Worry not, the next chapter’s starting
Soon it will come, and it won’t be as long
If you like my stories, heed my song
I need fresh new ideas, they’re running out
So post a some good reviews, sans any doubt
For your words I shall read, rapid as steed
And incoporate them where there's truly need
A/N Clone:
About that whole name thing, an explanation: Gothmages usually refer to themselves using their second names- only family and very close friends know their real names. Dodaru’s second name is Tholiel.

A/N: Welcome, true believers, to another edition of Ma--
Magorian: Wait! Don’t start to the opening author’s notes yet! The makeup artists are still trying to attach the fourth leg!
The Savant: Late again? You’re to come in to work at 9:21 sharp every day.
Magorian: I’m sorry, boss, but there was this pet shop on the way to the studio—
The Savant: You binged on birds again.
Magorian: I-- I couldn’t help myself! The parrots in the display window looked so… tender… and the thrushes-- oh the thrushes!-- their aroma was overpowering! And who could forget the meadow larks? Who? NOT YOU!
The Savant: Magorian, buddy, there’s no need to shout. The first step to recovery is admitting there’s a problem, they say.
Magorian: I don’t have a problem!
The Savant: Then put down the cockatoo and step away from it slowly.
[Magorian stares blankly]
Before I call Bongo over!
[Magorian lets go of the bird in surprise, unaware that he was about to eat it.]
Magorian: I…I didn’t…Just start the chapter.
The Savant: Get to work! Ahem. [Turns to readers.] Remembers that verse I wrote that explained that the next chapter wouldn’t be as long? It seems I lied. Horribly. Look at the little bar thing on the right of the screen. See how super small it is? Yeah, that long. Just grin and bear it. Nod like you’re interested and post a nonsense review if you want to. I’m going to sleep.

Poor old Lucius Malfoy was poring over indexes and glossaries, looking, searching for anything that might dissuade a Dark Lord from embarking on a suicide mission. He and his fellow Death Eaters had convinced Voldemort to “take a break from plotting� to go on a leisurely stroll through the forest a day’s walk away, collecting buckets of sap for the “missus�, which he did not yet realize he didn’t have. But they knew that his thoughts would eventually return to the maniacal desire to destroy MagiVision and everyone who didn’t watch his movie. They had to find some sort of spell or charm powerful enough to change their master’s mind, and fast.

And they had to do it in a Muggle library.

I wish I were back in Azkaban, thought Malfoy ruefully. He hated all the stares they were getting. As if six cloaked and masked grown-ups sitting at one table rifling through copies of The Power of Inference by Marco Ceftialli or Sanctions of the Shifting Psyche by Flo Rogers wasn’t something you saw everyday! Why, oh why, did they ever change Apparation points? Lucius looked up from Cave to Conclave: the Diabolical Mind in Anthropology and stared at Rookwood, despite the poor peripheral vision his mask provided.

Wasn’t it his idea?

At that moment, Voldemort burst through the revolving doors and walked toward their table (but not before spinning around in the doors for a few minutes yelling, “Wheeeee!�).

“Good news, my fellows!� he exclaimed cheerfully.

“Did you get a good amount of sap, Master?� asked Jugson, still reading. “We understood that it was VERY, VERY SLOW and would take a VERY LONG TIME to fill the buckets.�

“Well, I did,� said Voldemort sheepishly, “but I exchanged them for information from those lovely people living by the swamp. Apparently, there are some MagiTech cameras floating around the place; they must be filming near here. If we get rid of the means to broadcast their highest rated show, we are sure to destroy MagiTech for not broadcasting my movie- FINANCIALLY!�

He then emitted the obligatory super villain evil laugh (which, in his case, sounded remarkably like a constipated Occamy), prompting the librarian to finally shoo them away out through the revolving doors, where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named spent another few moments of fun spinning around before exiting.

“Sir?� asked Mulciber, “Why didn’t you just use the Imperius on them?

“On who?�

“The nice folk by the swamp.�

“I left my wand at the cleaner’s.�

“Oh.�

There was an awkward silence. Lucius was the one who broke it after what seemed an age of pointlessly fidgeting and averting glances. “Sir, shouldn’t we be amassing the hordes?�

Voldemort instantly reassumed his confident overlord mantle. “Yes! Death Eaters, assemble!� The Dark Lord was so fired up he was threatening to grow hair again.

“We’re all right here,� Bellatrix said, puzzled.

“Then what are you waiting for?� He looked at her with contempt. “AMASS THE HORDES!� Voldemort spoke with the power of about nine and a half megaphones, and the hordes started to amass.

"Blimey, look at all the frickin' hordes we've amassed!" praised Rabastan in amazement.

"That is a respectable mass of hordes," commented Voldemort, looking lovingly at each and every one. "I knew the alliance would pay off."

The Death Eaters all cheered and played Connect Four with floating Dark Marks before rushing off towards Duirop Swamp behind their leader, riding Nagini with the excellence of a thoroughbred racer. And of course, the hordes were in tow. But telling you what they were would just detract from the dramatic suspense.
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The Caivorid leapt on the pink girl’s head in louse form. The French man’s pathetic attempts to get rid of it did nothing as it pulled back its arachnid mandibles and prepared to give the girl her second life. And feed on some of that free will of hers. Hungrily, it plunged its fangs.

“Come… Come away… Come to me…�

The Caivorid stopped- something was calling to it. The sound was unique... alluring, even... he heard the power of life incarnate in a single voice.

“Come… Come to me… Come to the bringer of the verdant plane…� It spoke again, this voice, so close yet so far away. It wasn’t so much an earthly noise than lyrics in wind form, if that made any sense. Even if it had wanted to resist, it couldn't, and the ghostly louse jumped off her head as if manipulated by otherwordly marionette strings.

The Caivorid was unused to being the one that was enslaved, but Gaea's voice was not to be ignored. Quickly it scurried away towards Magorian and his flute, through marsh and briny water.
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The flute emitted more of a feeling than a sound; it whooshed around them in ripples and waves of wind. A sphere of speeding air dispersed from the mouth of the instrument.

“Whoa,� said Magorian, taking the flute out of his mouth, “Have I had too many mushrooms again?� The flute’s wind got thinner, but didn’t subside, as it spread away from them.

As soon as almost no trace of the sound-wind could be felt anymore, Tessen the falcon began screeching incessantly, trying voraciously to escape Nast’s shoulder strap. Tiny insects crawled out of the nearby trees in droves toward Magorian, and the skeleton fish below jumped out and glistened in the pale sun above their knees. Brown jellyfish floated to the surface of the mud, wishing to get as close to the flute as possible.

“What’s going—heel, Tessen, heel!—what’s going on?!� yelled Nast, covering his ears.

“SCREEEEEE! SCREEEEEEEE!� The bird redoubled its efforts to break off from its thick leather bonds and get to the hand holding the flute.

“I think it’s the Call of the Wild!� Obsid tried to explain. “I’ve heard of it before! It beckons all nearby animals to wherever it was played last!�

Dodaru was animating the shadows of the willow branches into walls, but she could not hold the raging droves back for long. Now the Duirop lice hidden in the distant yellow blades were emerging and coming at top speed, driven by an unknown force to their muddy strait, and all the insects were piling on top of each other to get over the walls.

“Make it stop!� she yelled.

“I can’t, I don’t know how!� Magorian tried to shake the flute, but the only thing that did was drive Tessen even more desire-mad. Then he thought of something that might save them.

“Leotards of Deflection!� He waved them in front of him. Nothing happened: the blunt earth colors of Duirop muted the color of the pants and disallowing the dimensional warp the contrasting hues created.

He was disappointed- they had worked well for him in the past, such as when he had stolen a bit of the Triforce and needed to ward off an anrgy Link. He would never forget how they had helped him wander around Outworld unhindered and come off better in a duel with Raiden. Also, the time when he saved Mozambique from the reanimated remains of Pippi Longstocking and the motorcycle guy from Tron might’ve been a lot different if he didn’t have his trusty leotards with him. The best instance had to be the day when he used the pants to dig deep into the core of the Earth and uncover the secrets of the civilization of Moletopia, city of mole men.

The bugs were crawling all over the other three, whose swatting only hurt themselves, in fervent desperation to get to the flute. There was nothing anyone could do; Nast’s smoke bombs were only hurting the situation, and Obsid’s stomping could not beat back the rush of nightcrawlers coming their way—they were overwhelmed, and there was no help in sight.

Then they felt a tremble and heard a large thud behind them, and the murky water splashed in every direction. Every living thing, once adamant to get to the flute, stopped their skittering and cawing, turning their heads as one to see the hulking figures before them. What they saw astounded them.

They were the abs of two towering, proud American sasquatches. Their presence struck the rabid animals with awe. Then the bog bugs about-faced and ran off, the skeleton fish scattered, and the jellyfish returned to their underground nests. The hawk quieted and hid behind a wing. Both of them smiled.

The Caivorid stopped just as it began to see its quarry in the horizon. The voice that led him here diminished; a loud tremor had disrupted it. It dug-swam into the water, surveying with a mixture of alarm and relief.
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None of the contestants or their searching parties had had any success in finding alternate sources of food, coming back to the campsite emptyhanded at different times. There they met the two bigfoots, who had been bored in their travels through the samp when the Call was sounded, and came to investigate to where Magorian was playing the flute. He gratefully led them to the camp and told them to make themselves at home. The sasquatches were having a great time chatting with everybody by the enormous magical bonfire.

“So, how come Muggles don’t notice you lot running all over the place?� asked Horace, a bespectacled old antique shop owner who had entered the show in hopes of buying the Mona Lisa.

“Sheer luck,� Vance, the one on the right, told him, as he scratched his furry back with the bones of a dead swamp troll. “There are about 30,000 of us in Central Park alone.�

“Wait,� replied Horace, who had expected an answer somewhere along the lines of “government reservation�, “are you saying you don’t get discovered because of pure coincidence?�

“Ever since we stopped to pick up a hitchhiker in Montreal and smuggled her through the border, we’ve been a bit lucky,� spoke up the sasquatch to his left, heartily feeding the flame with his rancid breath.

“Why’s that?� cut in Magorian, whose speech was only slightly slurred by the great big piece of ostrich leg he was chewing. (Vance and Lance kept lots of exotic food in their enormous wicker baskets for such occasions, a strange yet effective choice of baggage. The grateful centaur made a mental note to put the remains of the gourmet ostrich leg into his saddlebag for safekeeping and preservation.)

“The chick we picked up was Fate,� bellowed Lance’s simian face from above, canines tearing off a large hunk of curassow. “Now she smiles on our kind.� Magorian looked up at the starry night sky just in time to see the bigfoot’s toothy grin appear.

“This was back when she didn’t have those kickass gravity boots of hers, mind you.� He too looked up, reminiscing. “She probably still has that loom she was toting around.�

“When was this?� queried Horace, sitting in between the two and basking in the warm firelight. “How long ago?�

“Hmm… I don’t really remember…� He belched, and the flames shot higher (the mariner mage sitting across from him had to douse down with an impromptu rain spell.) A giant hairy hand smacked its owner’s brother on the shoulder blade over the frightened old man’s head. Vance spat out his draught of fine Cognac all over poor Michel at the impact.

“What!?� he roared, disgruntled.

“When did we hitch Fate a ride in our Viper?� he shouted over the Frenchman’s cursing.

“I think it was 1962.� He chugged down the rest of the bottle and added, “I wonder whether she remembers us pretending to be Canadians with gigantism.�

“No, I don’t think she does. She has too much on her mind lately, what with this fic and whatnot.� He sighed, and looked down at his hosts. “It was a disaster.�

Vance let out a genial belly laugh. “We can’t do Canadian accents for the world.�

“That means it was only thirty-four years ago." Despite being desensitized to many things in life, such as haywalking, holy matrimony, square-dancing bears, and modern art, Magorian was amazed. “How did you reproduce so quickly?�

“I’d rather not know, chieftain,� Dodaru snarled next to him, continuing to devour her troll steak, which she used the fire to make extra-crispy. She was no lady when it came to dining, Magorian soon found out.

A look of confusion spread over the sasquatch's face, followed by one of sudden understanding. “Oh, we didn’t reproduce quicker! We just moved. Life in the Rockies is a lot tougher than it looks. There’s always the snowstorm or two, and keeping up good relations with the goats can become tiresome after a while�

“Yeah, and I hated having to eat those endangered eagles for sustenance. When we left the Rockies in favor of more suitable terrain for today’s day and age, some people saw us. It was okay- Fate made sure they were only people nobody would ever believe: mimes, pizza delivery men, the cops, busboys…� said Lance. Magorian was having a hard time pretending not to be visibly aroused at the prospect of eagle meat.

“But then one of those jokers got a tall friend to don a stupid-looking costume and pose for a picture in the woods while he fabricated some faux footprints,� declared Vance. “Hey, I just alliterated! ‘Fabricate faux footprints.’ I love it when I do that! Save that one, would’ya, Lance?�

“I know what we could do!� said Lance a bit evasively. “Let's do a word game! Name weapons that start with the letter ‘S’!�

“Other than sword, spear or spike,� joined in his brother, excited. “We’ll take it in turns. When we come to a person, and he or she can’t think of a word, he or she is out of the game. The last person standing wins!�

“I’ll start!� said hyper-perky Fuchsia. “Scimitar!�
“Sole of a shoe!� someone else shouted.
“Sombrero!�

It watched.

“Serrated edge!�
“Sharp object!�
“Syringe!�

It waited.

“Shuriken!�
“Slingshot!�
“Slug!�
“Scythe!�

It gauged.

“Scud Missile!�
"Chakram!"
"Sorry, that starts with a C."
“SOCOM!�
“Shield!�

And mostly, it was disgusted.

“A shield’s not a weapon.�
“You can bash someone’s head in real good with one.�
“You can do that with a pineapple, too. I haven’t seen anyone campaign for the right to bear pineapples.�
“There are over two hundred and twenty nations on the Earth. There must be at least one country that outlaws the possession of pineapples.�
“That’s like saying there are lots of banjoes, so one of them must have been stuffed with marigolds and pushed to sea.�
“The odds aren’t too long on that.�
“Oh please. You know a banjo is much more likely to be stuffed with poinsettias and get beaten in with a tungsten hammer.�

Jesus, I’m not even sure I want to take their souls anymore.

The green, ghastly, grisly, gargantuan louse shifted its position to be more comfortable: four legs splayed in front, two bent sideways in the middle and two placed in the water to steer. It had made a lily pad out of ectoplasm to survey its prey in style.

Maybe I should be happy with the slaves I already have, it thought. They’re all waiting to serve me in the Black Turf. What did I ask them to do today? Ah yes, I told them to fix a nice, hot, relaxing bath for me by tonight. I don’t know exactly how they do the things they do in the middle of an Unplottable wasteland. Or in Pennsylvania, for that matter! They just do it. Gee, this thought sounds like one an author would use to explain his or her story a bit more.

Or maybe I’m just overly self-aware. My psychiatrist did always say that about me back in ’Nam. I wonder what he would say if my favorite form was a louse? I digress. I should do something good for the slaves today. It’s been so long since I got caught in that freak nuclear reactor accident, so long since I did anything but munch lustily on people’s minds. . I miss being Harry Potter fanfic author spy! But how was I to know that one of the rooms in the volcano-cloud I discovered would blow up the instant got around to infiltrating the place? The odds of that are, like, longer than the pineapple thing. Great, now I’m starting to sound like one of those retards. I should just steal their food and give it to the slaves. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

The bug evaporated into gaseous form, then coagulated into a dozen floating, breadbox-sized hands. They whizzed around the campsite, grabbed the food and, with an odd ca-ching sound, left as soon as they had come.

To say that the group at the fire was befuddled at the sudden disappearance of their food would be an understatement.
So would the sentence: “‘Count Cornelio Wolfe von der Schmütt II’ is a slightly awesome name�.

But that’s really not important to the story.

“Well, that was… strange,� huffed a sasquatch in disappointment, which in front of the fire came out as steam. “And I was having such a well-cooked flank of quail, too.�

Why do the old men always get the short end of the stick in this fic? thought Magorian angrily. But his anger dissipated at the mere mention of quail flank.

“Versailles time slip?� suggested Lance. “No, I guess we’d have to be in Versailles for that to work.�

“Who’da thunk?� said Vance sarcastically, making a stupid face.

“That hurts!� exclaimed his seething brother.

“Where did the food go!?� stood up Locky the Patron of Plaid (He attributed the invention of the fabric design to himself). “I was just scarfing down some haggis and drinking some of me Dickens Cider!�

Everyone except Dodaru temporarily forgot their troubles and with all their might tried to fight the urge to snigger. They failed.

Dodaru was glad the cameras removed themselves from her to film the idiots guffawing like blasted banal banshees. Eluding the cameras, she stealthily stooped out of sight behind a dreary, drooping quagmire tree.

“Wendigo,� she said lightly, her palm outstretched before her face. “Wendigo.� It was as if she was blowing it softly into existence.

It materialized there, hardly larger than a half a breadbox, the bells on its tails obscured by night’s shadow but shining brightly nonetheless. It looked up to her, waiting for her command.

“Our nemesis must be close at hand. Track the ghost. Follow the scent of a moving banquet. Once you find where it is, return to me and show the way.� The small fox nodded and floated up from her palm.

“Good. Do not be seen. Do not be heard. Do not be felt. We cannot afford it the knowledge of our whereabouts.�

Wendigo nodded again and jetted off.

“Wait…� Dodaru called after it weakly, not really trying to stop it.

Sorry, she thought mournfully to herself, as if hoping that her familiar could hear her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Death Eaters advanced further and further into the swamp, making good time. By evening’s light, they neared their destination.

“Follow your nose!� Voldemort kept reporting to his steed, patting it on the head as if to speed it up.

Nagini left a clear trail in the mud, blazing on through it with its sensational serpentine celerity. Though it quite liked carelessly speeding away like this, it was very annoyed at the moment. Voldemort was issuing a stream of nonstop puns to remind everyone that it was his snake doing all the tracking, such as
“The nose knows!� or “I won’t say no’s to using his nose!� or the especially dreaded limerick “He’s using his nose! Where will he goes? Nobody knows!�
Not only was it grating, it was erroneous. It used its tongue to smell, not its nostrils. Nagini killed the time by indulging its cynical side.

What if Sssmokey the Bear iss the one who caussess the foressst firesss? There ssseem to be a lot of them when he’sss around. It would give him a purpossse. What elssse would a talking bear have to do anyway? No cognitive powersss. Or maybe he jussst got up one morning after mauling a ranger for hisss hat and sssaid, “I feel bad, I’m going to channel his ssspirit.�
*The snake’s internal diatribe eventually led to several important revelations. Unfortunately, its thoughts were cut off in the editing process and we never got to figure out who the Half-Blood Prince was, or why having Lily’s eyes matters, or indeed, why everyone seems to name their children knowing what they’re going to grow up to be.*

The Death Eaters flanking Voldie didn’t have it any easier. Here they were, wading through endless water and wetting their favorite scrubs in the dead of darkness chasing after midges and buzzards, when there was important spywork to be done elsewhere! Macnair had bought a self-cleaning dagger whose blade disappears at will to null and void any proof of murder just the other day at the Spy Emporium in Liverpool!

Lucius, especially, hated to soil his fine sixteenth century “Asian evil advisor� Wizard robes. Also, he had had a bit of a phobia of swamps since his third-year in Hogwarts when a lesson in Potions class, then taught by Professor Connor, had gone awry and he was exposed to exploding sacks of ground Bubotuber powder. (Unbeknownst to him, Hogwarts had recently been officially renamed Hogw-stra since Magorian’s last visit.)

Why this gave him a fear of wetlands instead of a fear of explosions or of powder, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that those creepy trees were really creepy and that the haunting laugh he was hearing was awfully haunting…

A laugh? No, wait, there’s more than one… It sounds like idiotic guffawing! We must be close!

Sure enough, seven more paces led them in clear sight of where the cameras were filming, off in a circular clearing in a shallow, flat valley, a half-hour’s walk away. There was a large bonfire made… about a dozen people were sitting and eating by it.

Must be some nature show, thought Lucius. No matter. Once we exterminate this lot, we’ll make Voldie satisfied. Until then, we cannot carry out any of our plans.

As the Death Eaters surrounded the clearing and began to close their ring in, Lucius started to take heart. Not only would we rid the opposition of a formidable adversary (he could now see the silhouette of a centaur), they would get to show the entire Wizarding populace that they meant business once more.

Fear will consume the fools, and they will submit to our New Way. None shall endure us! Even the calculating and shrewd Malfoy patriarch was getting lost in the excitement. The thrill of the hunt. The intensity of the chase. The pleasure of the catch.

None shall endure us. None shall endure us. None shall endure me!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lovely, thought the Caivorid, rifling through its bounty on its way to the heart of swamp. Just excellent. Meat and more meat! Nothing but meat. The slaves are on their new low-protein diet, and I go off and steal meat.

He morphed into a wavering, transparent wolf with a sac in its muzzle to hold the food and a little surfboard to traverse a hard-to-find rivulet of brine, now minutes away from his homebase.

Wendigo had stopped dogging its trail when The Caivorid phased through an impenetrable wall of willows. Instead, it went back to Dodaru, not knowing the green wolf reached the gigantic clod of dirt that constituted as an island in the deep trenches and rivulets of water. It turned into a giant dragonfly with a smaller bag of food on each hooked leg.

It noticed the unusual lack of fleeing animals as it flew through the rocks and mounds of soil to where its home lay- it supposed that the enchanting voice he’d heard earlier had driven them all away. Crude stone tents dotted a clearing in the reeds the Caivorid had flattened himself. It entered each one and left a drumstick over the wooly covers of the sleeping occupant’s bunk. (Each of its slaves had a small sapling growing out of their forehead, which the Caivorid planted there to signify the end of his or her old life and the beginning of their second one.) It had forgotten how late it was. It took its bath and went turned into lime wisps of stagnant, ephemeral smoke, the ghost equivalent of sleep.
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Voldemort peered over his patch of tall-grass, practically out of his skull with anticipation. They were approaching their prey, ever so slowly to avoid detection… they were nearing the precipice that led to the valley...

Me and my hordes will eradicate those insolent vermin!!11!!!1! His thoughts at the moment were so hyper that they usually contained an average of nine and a half exclamation points and ones. So it came as a significant surprise to him when one of his loyal minions suggested to him they go to bed before the attack.

“WATT!1!!1!!� he exclaimed.

“Actually, sir, that’s ‘what’. W-H-A-T.�

“Oh, sorry. WHAT!1!!1!�

“Actually, sir, I was hoping you’d keep it down that second time. They might hear us.�

“Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it now. What!11!!!�

“That’s good, sir, now just replace the exclamation points and ones with a proper question mar—�

“Get on with it, Avery!� snapped Bellatrix. “Explain to your Dark Lord why you would have him change his brilliant plans!� She honestly didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or not anymore, but she didn’t let that show in her gaunt, Azkabanized face.

“Well, now, don’t get me wrong sir, we would gladly fight to the death for you and enjoy every second of it. In fact, I loved that scene in the movie where the elephants were playing football with my head, and I couldn’t get enough of the parts where you use my body to break all your death-defying, spine-breaking, exorbitantly painful falls. I seem to recall a scene that had it happen three times. In one minute.�

“Avery!�

“Yes, yes, yes, alright, Bellatrix. The point is, we’re all a good deal tired. I expect that if you order us to attack right now, we really will die for you. A bit of shuteye won’t hurt us- we’ve got them surrounded, remember.�

“And there’s no such thing as too much beauty sleep,� butted in Rabastan. His eyes had bags and he slumped when he crawled to a more comfortable place in their bushy cover- he prided himself on being a great Apparator, which made the trek through Duirop particularly wearisome for him. “By the way, have I ever told you how pretty your lips look in the moonlight?�

“Well, I have been applying some cream on my face,� admitted
Voldemort with a bat of the eyelashes. “Do you think it brings out the color in my eyes?�

The cream he was referring to was the gift Goyle had given him at one of the more memorable Christmas of Doom bashes back in ’77, which was nail polish remover with the label torn off and a sticker attached reading in orange crayon, “Magic Moisturizer: Make you gorgeous in minutes!�, complete with a backwards Z.

“Oh, definitely. Your peepers have never looked more… er, more… ruggedly beautiful. I say hitting the sack is a splendid idea, if nothing other than to see even more handsome tomorrow morning, you big sexy lug you!� yawned Dolohov, desperate for some rest. He swore his legs were swollen to nine and a half times their normal size.

It took lots more flattery and persuasion to get the Dark Lord to relent. “Alright, but we attack first thing tomorrow. And no talking! Malfoy, put the hordes to sleep.�

’Twas a shame, in Lucius’ not-so-humble opinion. He was raring for heads on platters and severed torsos; the more blood, the better. But there was no doubt he was exhausted.

“Oh, and I decided it on my own, not because you guys told me to or anything!� Voldemort told the rest before closing his eyes. He fell asleep trying to make the imprint of an angel on the ground, and listening to the soothing melody of the roaring flame in the distance.

At the bonfire, the laughter had soon subsided and they all agreed to search for the sasquatches’ missing goods early the next morning, since it was nearing two o’clock in at night, and everyone was tired from searching fruitlessly for food. They quickly fell asleep around the controlled Gubraithian flame. The cameras slowly veered away from the dreamers and looked around the place of their own accord. It wasn’t long until their lenses discovered and fixated on the hidden fugitives, whose camouflage of tall grass and black cloaks was flimsy. Really only the distance and their elevated altitude had prevented the group they had been stalking from seeing them.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Snape stopped in front of the gargoyle statue that led to Dumbledore’s office. He found himself reluctant to utter the password needed to advance into the headmaster’s chambers.

C’mon, just swallow your pride and do it, he found himself thinking. Move your lips… that’s it, now shake around your voice box a bit…Good, time to articulate the sentence- no mumblings! It’s not that hard. Merciful Minerva, just bloody say it!

“Harry Potter is… he’s a…ach! Harry Potter is a good person,� he told the sidestepping gargoyle, immediately regretting it. He would have to slip in something about the password in today’s early meeting. He was starting to suspect that Dumbledore had changed the password to his office just for him.

He walked up the spinning escalator and knocked on the headmaster’s door with the griffon knocker.

“Yes, Severus, come in.�

Snape strode to the trinket-desk and sulked into the seat next to him, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. Some of the trinkets on Albus’ desk had already begun to operate. The one invention that had always fascinated Snape was the Pensieve, but Dumbledore kept that inside a cabinet, and it was of no concern to him at the moment.

“Any news?� Dumbledore asked wearily. “What information have you gathered as of late that I don’t yet know?� He poured some hot chocolate into the two mugs (one plain, the other with red and green diagonal stripes) and took a sip.

“Yes,� he chose to reply, “I have obtained extremely valuable information indeed.� No elaboration followed. He was feeling cheeky, and it had nothing to do with the fact that it was only six o’clock in the morning.

“Tell me about it,� instructed Dumbledore, the sarcasm whizzing by his head as usual. “The rest aren’t here yet.� He took another sip.

Snape pursed his lips before taking in some delicious Swiss Miss, nutritious and delicious, hailing from the heartland of the Alps and delighting oodles of lovely people for generations.

“They’ve changed their Apparation point. They are now meeting regularly at Perrington Library, Pennsylvania. It seems the Dark Lord is in a rage because his so-called ‘movie’, The Great Refrigerator, was canceled during its scheduled airtime. He will stop at nothing to destroy the MagiVision company that ruined his so-called ‘greatest epic of our time.’�

“What!?� Dumbledore put his hands on his desk and sat up, the chair he had been sitting on tipping backwards with a splintering crash on the floor.

"Yes, I know. Such trivial matters for the sixteenth Scourge," scoffed Snape.

“I had no idea! They’re in a library now, you say?�

“No. They’ve ventured into nearby Duirop swamp. I would’ve followed them, but I remembered that one couldn’t Apparate in or out of Unplottable places like Hogwarts. And I knew it was Unplottable since the only thing the Muggles talked about was an islet of mud in the middle of the swamp they called the Black Turf- I guess no one bothered to Unplot the place, or maybe they couldn’t. They weren’t headed north, because they weren’t going towards the islet.�

"Did you say Duirop? Dear me!� Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled so much behind his half-moon glasses that they turned into broken JPEGs. He sighed and repaired them, snapping his fingers rather theatrically. A flick of his wand had the cabinet on the far side of the wall adjacent open, the MV inside it flashing on. Snape rolled his eyes. Using voice commands, Dumbledore passed through various opening menus and flipped on channel 34, MagiTech. Sure enough, footage of the swamp was being broadcast live nationwide, and clearly visible was Voldemort’s dozing face, to which the camera added nine and a half pounds.

“I knew reality MV is useful,� Dumbledore assured Snape. “The show I have been watching was not an outlet for escapism; it was an essential strategy to get Voldemort out in the open,� he said untruthfully.

“How do you know that it’s really him? It could be a fake, a decoy to lure us away from his wheel-and-dealings in the Knockturn underworld. Order information is not to be so casually ignored, Albus.�

“Wait for it…�

A high, cold voice entered the room from the box; Albus lowered it with his finger a few yards away, afraid it would wake the children.

“A CARRION FEEDER’S NARCOLEPSY CRACKS DOWN ON FEW POLYPS, AND MANY HOURGLASSES WERE DAMAGED IN THE AUTUMNS OF YALTA! RETRIEVE THE KEVLAR INNER TUBING AND GAS ALL THOSE THICK MATRONS, JUVENILE SOMERSAULTER! GOOD WILL HUNTING EQUALS AN EPITOME OF LASCHIEVOUS HANKERCHIEFS AND ITS AEROSOL BRETHREN! THE HAVE-NOTS CAN INGEST THE MORTAR AND SHRED THE FJORD INTO LITTLE SLICES OF PITHY ETYMOLOGICAL STETHOSCOPES!�

“Yep, that’s him,� admitted Snape.

“It’s the perfect opportunity to strike!� replied Dumbledore.

“But I thought only Potter could kill him.�

“�Yes, but he doesn’t know that, does he? Does he, Winifred?� He held up his grotesque sock puppet and mimicked through it, “No he doesn’t, you innately lovable genius, you!� with a mock-girlie voice. “Your logic is infallible, Dumbledore!�

“I’m glad you think so, Winifred!�

“But of cour--�

“Where in the swamp are they, though?� interjected Snape; one more second, and he thought he just might have vomited into his mug, even though he hadn’t had anything to eat since three nights ago. “How will we ever find them? Magic and mist fester about the place, making all who dwell grow more dependent on the swamp the longer they stay. I’ve heard many nasty rumors telling of monsters that have sought refuge in the thick obscuring crevices of the bog as well.�

Dumbledore looked at the MV again; Voldemort had returned to sleep and his outburst had woken no one around him, not even the Eskimo hordes. Then he noticed a slight red tint on the lens of the camera—there had to be a roaring fire nearby, or at least a Gubraithian one in a two-acre radius.

Dumbledore shared his theory with the Potions Master, and he agreed he could hear a faint crackling. It was lucky that no one watched MV during the early morning hours; it was expensive to watch and there was simply a lack of good shows on other than cheesy infomercials. Snape especially hated the one with that stupid Channel 23 soap opera vixen (Angelica Beatrice on "Show and Spell") promoting charity giving aid to a country she had probably never heard of before. “All we have to do is look for a fire, and we’ll have spotted them.�

They looked at each other for a split-second, and then dashed out of the office towards Hagrid’s stables, Albus hastily making an illegal Portkey out of his mug.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Magorian awoke with a note wrapped around one of the arrows in his quiver. He was one of the first people to get up; only he and his fellow archer were awake.

“It’s ten o’clock,� Nast told him.

Magorian shrunk away from the sunlight and washed his face, allowing some of the water to drip down his beard. “Erg,� he grunted. Everyone knew Magorian was not a morning person.

“Any eats?� he demanded gruffly. The bird perched on the falconer’s arm looked particularly delectable today. He tried not to think about its thick, fibrous wings or how tasty its thighs would be if they were in his mouth.

Nast grinned and showed the chieftain a large, green insect bleeding all over the wet twig it was impaled on. “I caught a louse just before you woke up, but I don’t suppose you’d want it.�

“God, I’m starving. Hand it over.�

“Merlin, Magorian, we had a banquet last night and now you want an insect on a stick?�

“You’re right. Eating insects is just low.� He eyed the falcon again.

Nast hastily changed the subject. “Er, ahem, do you think we should wake the others?�

He turned to look at all the other contestants, still lying down and dozing on the driest grass around the Gubraithian bonfire. “Nah, they all look so peaceful. A decent morning’s sleep will do them good.�

Nast agreed. “Besides, I don’t want to search for food again just yet, let alone food that doesn’t belongs to us.�

“By the way, where are the sasquatches?� said Magorian. There was no sign of Vance or Lance anywhere.

On cue, two speedy Thestrals flew down, each with a human at its reins and a sasquatch holding on to big bags of food in back of them.

Nast covered his eyes from the glare of the sun and looked up at them. “Back so soon!?� he yelled over the swishing of leathery wings. They landed and as Dumbledore, Snape and the sasquatches dismounted, Nast offered a brief explanation. “The two of them Portkeyed to the edge of the swamp and used Thestrals to look for a fire and find Voldemort, who’s, believe it or not, not terribly far away.�

Magorian smiled. He loved crazy situations, and could guess what had happened next. The sasquatches had awoken just when they’d arrived. They conferred about what to do about Voldemort, and decided to wait until he woke up. All the Order knew that whenever Voldemort was given a rude awakening, his blow-up event would occur and he’d turn into an unstoppable juggernaut of infinite rage.

(Every person has a blow-up event— a pet peeve or grudge so large, upon its presence the person instantly turns into a hulking mass of pure venom and carnage. Motm’s blow-up event was rejection. Mine is probably thinking about Bush. Or listening to any contemporary radio station.)

The bags of food turned out turned out to be bags of Portkeys, brought to carry all the contestants to safety. One by one, each snoozer around the fire was sent back home, along with the item they had chosen to bring along. Only Magorian and Nast were left.

Magorian read the note on his arrow aloud, wondering in his semi-sleep if it was edible.

Magorian:
I’ve gone after the Caivorid. Wendigo and I have ascertained its location in the Black Turf and we plan to kill it while it’s asleep.
Dodaru

Magorian would’ve kicked himself if he could. He had forgotten about her. Who knew what kind of peril lurked in the Black Turf?

On cue, the ground rumbled and Dumbledore stepped away just in time as a gigantic, coiling worm ruptured the surface and started writhing, Dodaru grasping desperately on the back of its head and hanging on for dear life. It was transparent and had a greenish tint and a wavering, wraith-like aura enveloped in wisps of smoke—the Caivorid wasn’t a morning person either. The ghost decided to stop trying to buck her off and become intangible; she fell through its ectoplasm and was only saved by a lunging sasquatch.

The worm transformed into a toothy maw-wyvern and beat its wings into a whirlwind gust to prevent her from getting up again, but she stood her ground and retaliated with a black ball of shadow aimed into the air; in response, the scaly drake morphed into multiple floating mirrors to reflect and rebound the attack to her. She canceled it before it could hit anyone with a wave of her divining rod. Meanwhile, Magorian was vainly trying to pick it down with his bow, the sasquatches were lifting giant boulders and trying to gravel it down, and the Hogw-stra emissaries were standing idle in shock, not knowing what had just happened or what to do. The Thestrals had already been timid due to the proximity of the fire, and the spectral shapeshifter’s untimely arrival caused them to stretch their wings and take off in fright.

Needless to say, all the commotion woke up Voldemort and friends.

Crabbe stretched from off the floor. “I was having such a good dream,� he mumbled to himself, “I was saving the world from alien rectangles with pair of headphones, a lock of hair, and a picture frame.�

Another one of his minions had awoken quicker. “Look, something’s happening in the clearing!� pointed Dolohov, who promptly got hit in the face by a stray Stunner and fainted, tripping over Jugson, who woke with a start and blasphemed shrilly, which woke everyone else. Luckily, Voldemort had just been waking up the moment Jugson’s shriek filled the air.

Voldemort was quite incensed that he and his Badness Brigade (he tired of the term “Death Eaters�) were getting no attention whatsoever, and his immense evil demanded that he eviscerate Dumbledore, the traitor and the impudent half-breeds anyway. So he changed his plans and chose to kill them instead of capturing them for ransom. (Even he realized that ten million Galleons was a hefty sum of cash, and he needed funds for a new, permanent headquarters.)

“I’m changing my plans,� he shouted to the Legion of Loathing behind him, “We’re gonna kill them instead! Fetch the secret weapon!�

The Eskimos lugged into the clearing the secret weapon: A giant household appliance of some sort, standing eighty stories tall and three city blocks wide.

“BEHOLD!� screamed Voldemort triumphantly, and even the Caivorid stopped attacking Dodaru to listen. “I have made a pact with the Nihoth Inuits of Motm’s Mountain, and TOGETHER we have made a weapon of such devastating power and awful potency that its mere presence turns chalk black and hearts to cinders! Its horrifying ambit reaches nimbus and deep roots alike, and nothing can withstand its mighty brink! The threshold of stars and sky will have absolutely nothing on the dominance my automation shall reap! The children of the future shall look back in wondrous, marveling terror at the--�

“You might be going off on a bit of a tangent, there, sir,� said Avery.

“Ahem,� he scowled at him.

“Go on,� Avery conceded.

“Where was I? Ah yes! Behold… THE GREAT REFRIGERATOR!�

That doesn’t start with an S, thought Magorian listlessly.

“Yes,� he exulted, “Yes! My fiendish, frigid friends and I have created this devilishly malicious construct out of a mixture of snow, ice, and the serum of evil incarnate in my very veins! It really hurt, too! Seriously, look!� He showed them a practically microscopic paper cut on his ring finger, which was covered up with no less than nine and a half Band-Aids, expecting utmost sympathy. He sucked on the boo-boo and then ensued with the speech.

“Witness this grandeur now; else you shall never see it again. Tekkulat, open the Great Refrigerator and unleash the chaos!� His right hand Eskimo did as he was told, anxiously awaiting the decimation of the centaur that had destroyed the region he had presided over for over sixty-five years. It was their payment for having to build him the device. Nothing would have prepared Magorian for what he saw behind the enormous refrigerator’s opening door.

Hundreds of refrigerator shelves housed lines of one-seat buggies, each fashioned in the shape of a different kitchen utensil. Each buggy had an Inuit at its mantle and cannons attached to each side, capable of firing measured rounds of highly explosive cannonballs a distance of over thirty meters. The Eskimos bounded off the shelves with a multitude of big fetid splashes and wasted no time running amuck and shooting things in wild revenge. The spoon-trebuchets and fork tanks were the hardest units to destroy.

“Fire!� yelled Bellatrix. The fridge kept generating more and more assailants, and the stream of cannon-buggies coming out of the refrigerator seemed never to end.

“Wait wait wait! Hold on!� said Voldemort indignantly. The line stopped. “That’s my line!�

Bellatrix sighed in submission. It had always been her dream to yell “Fire!� and have it actually mean something.

“Fire!� yelled Voldie, scowling at his left hand woman.

Scores of Eskimos manned their utensil-cannons and had at it, pelting the morning sky with bombs. Others laid caltrops over and around Magorian, some of them floating. They weren’t about to give their nemesis a chance to escape. Pacts with Dark Lords weren’t made lightheartedly: they desired nothing but a sweet, prolonged payback for what Magorian had done to their ancestral home.

The Caivorid morphed back into a maw-wyvern and tried to beat the bombs back, but their momentum was too great, and it got hit several times. Lance, Vance, Dumbledore, Dodaru, Snape, Magorian and Nast all evaded the bombs by running around and screaming, and mostly succeeded, as they weren’t being aimed well. Then Magorian got a great idea. Taking out his flute, he played his favorite tune (In-Da-Gadda-Da-Vida) with sudden, unexplainable flute-playing skill. It seemed crisis really did bring out the best in him, and soon he was blowing out a perfectly in-tune neo-Fur Elise, perspiring profusely even in the cold daybreak at the exertion

With ridiculous, impossible speed, a legion of chickens started storming the battlefield, straight from the dark heart of Styjikuhler, shepherded by the centaur’s favorite pet bear, Ganglia. Immediately, they lunged at the poor Eskimos’ necks with frightening ferocity. Tooth and nail were keeping them in check.

What were the chances I got the right notes for 5,000 chickens and one bear? he mused.

“Haha!� encouraged Voldemort with a proud clenched fist, apparently unperturbed at the appearance of the new enemies. “Keep shooting! Keep firing! We’ll have them before long!�

“Er, sir?� whispered a voice in his ear tentatively.

“What is it, Wormtail?�

“Er, actually, that’s Avery, sir. A-V-E-R--�

“Yes, yes, what do you want!?� he dismissed, still looking forward at the wonderful carnage he was hewing. The centaur had already stepped on a number of caltrops.

“You…� He looked back and gulped. “You may want to look behind you.�

“What?...� He turned around. “Bloody hell,� he cursed under his breath.

Floating before him was destiny personified. Her face was long and agelessness, with pert sallow bangs and long straight locks to match. She had a smooth, lithe frame, easily capable of the most daunting physical contortions, making her a skilled fighter. The clothes on her were a little androgynous; her short-sleeved green tunic fit loosely over her modest bust, and they came out in the back in two tails. She wore silken red pants and gilded gravity boots to help her fly, and she carried a special loom that doubled as a bow and as a harp. She is by far the most powerful character you’ll see in this fic. Her eyes were fury and her breath magic. The ultimate Mary Sue.

“Fancy meeting you here, Fate.�

“Shut up, Riddle,� she retorted. “It’s too late to reconcile what you’ve done, and you’ll be staring down through my eyes the day of your reckoning in no time. Balancing the scales of the universe is an intensive task,� she looked down at him with condescending eyes and crossed her arms, “but one I am not unwilling to shirk it to deal with you.�

Voldemort feigned nonchalance and signaled the Eskimos manning the refrigerator cannons to stop their attack, which they did with reluctance. They had successfully knocked out Nast with a cannonball to the head and three of the Eskimos had cornered Magorian with their bloody fishing hooks before Dodaru had the sense to stop fighting the Caivorid and make a fleeting shield shadow, in classic Aerish style, to protect them. The Caivorid then turned into a giant battering ram and made the shield shatter, allowing the hordes to get in some hits again. Only to be called back by their idiot benefactor!

“So you’re not here to kill me?� asked Voldemort.

“No.�

“It’s because you know I’m unkillable!� he cried ecstatically.

In response, she held up an antique box with Greek inscriptions lining its edges for him to see. “Even if you were, I’d be able to destroy you,� she explained, “but one isn’t to toy around with the threads of providence already sewn. Today is not the day.�

Observing the battle, the child inside Fate lit up. There was a giant ghost-ocelot swiping its paws at a beleaguered party of seven. A new exotic monster to add to her collection! She was expecting business, and instead she got pleasure. Sans hesitation she whipped out her Pandora’s Box again (not the actual box, mind you; it’s the name given the apparatus) and opened it, making a larger creaking sound then one would expect. “The green spirit thing,� she whispered to the box, and instantly the Caivorid started to degenerate and whirl in a rushing beam of wind into the box. The lid snapped shut, and it would lay trapped in the Box forever until she chose to let it out, in which case she would not be able to capture it again. Dodaru looked a bit angry, but the rest, including the Amerind hordes, sighed in relief that the monstrous specter had been taken down. (Meanwhile, in the Black Turf, the slaves withered away into ash, spiraling into the sky, and the zombies held up on stakes in Andaeneth met the same fate.)

Finally, the fight was fair for Magorian and his comrades, and even though the Eskimos had formed a blitzkrieg line and started plowing down some of his specially-bred super chickens, he was having fun leaping on to enemy tanks and trampling them underfoot while shooting down eggbeater-helicopters with his trusty bow. He leapt off and stopped another buggy by lodging his spear into its axles and yanking with a hearty heave. Finally, some action!

Dodaru had revived Nast with the help of the Wendigo’s healing powers, and without the help of the sasquatches’ advice (“Rub the holly over his left ventricle, Dodaru!� “Wait, isn’t he supposed to ingest it?� “No idiot, that’s pie. You’re supposed to ingest pie. And watch out!�). Lance ducked to avoid a chicken that had been stuffed in Takkulat’s fork tank and fired, then spun around with a swing of his massive arm to deflect an uncoming cannonball right into another buggy, causing it to lose its front wheels and derail into the swamp water. Nast was now exercising his skill with the bow on the Great Refrgerator, trying to shut it down- Their guile and valor would keep them alive for a while, but he realized that in the end, only sheer numbers would matter. It would be so easy to arrow the switch marked “SHUT OFF BUTTON- GOOD GUYS CLICK HERE� if there weren’t so many cannonballs whizzing past his head, and he tried not to focus on the sound of chickens tearing out peoples’ esophagi. Briefly, he thought of getting out his wand and trying to Summon some diazepam, or have Tessen search some for him.

Meanwhile, away from the battle, the Death Eaters all looked up at Fate in amazement. She had gotten rid of a spirit with no effort at all! She looked at them with her disparaging gaze and asked them for the location of “Magorian, son of Deigorian of the Forbodden Forest.�

Rookwood stepped on Dolohov’s face and tried to answer her first, but Mulciber clapped a hand on his mouth, muffling him. “He’s over there!� he shouted. Fate smiled, and he blushed. She rose higher and sped off into the battle taking place in the middle of the clearing. Rookwood pried Mulciber’s arm off his mouth and glared at him scornfully. Then they all viewed Fate flying off into the distance, and they all let out a big droopy-eyed sigh.

“We don’t have time for this!� bawled Voldemort. “Protect the Great Refrigerator!� He giddyapped Nagini and they followed him following her into the battle. As soon as they started to form ranks around the enormous fridge, barring any hope of flicking the fatal button, they began to systematically stun the torrent of chickens raining down on their Mt. Motm allies.

Fate, stationed above the wartorn swamp, started skimming for the lone centaur in the increasingly massive throng of chaotic warriors. Imagine Where’s Waldo times ten. The MV cameras circled around her, adjusting their zoom against her radiance to keep her in focus. Narrowing her cruel eyes in disgust, she stretched back the nearest string in her lyre, fitted it with an arrow from the quiver attached to its prow, and let the shot ring with a sonorous twang. The dart took them both down, veering and swerving to reach its targets. In hardly the space of a picosecond, each camera plummeted down with a smoldering hole in its lens.

Loath to waste time, she nevertheless hesitated a moment before plucking out one of her eyeballs and holding it down to see the scene more accurately. When she saw what she was looking for, the iris she held aloft turned an iridescent violet and the pupil dilated. She put the eye back in her right socket and lowered herself gently, entering the roaring skirmish taking place below.

Dodaru lifted a nearby log and threw it at an infantryman Inuit charging at her with abandon, effectively breaking his hook-wielding arm. A ball of shadow finished him off, and he flew into the rubble that was his spatula-ship. Magorian parried a carving knife soaring straight for the back of her head with his spear and swung it back at him with a virile “NEEUURGH!�, but the Eskimo dodged it by making a sharp turn. Another guy tried to hook Magorian’s horseback, but a swift Mega Horsekick had him seeing stars, and an insane chicken devoured his limp form. Dodaru had his back by winnowing two buggies bound for him together and choking them in shadow. They made quite a fighting team, he the brawn and she… well, she was also the brawn.

But they still made a good team!

Indeed, it was only when the Fridge-Magnet Cars started emerging from the tops shelves of the Great Refrigerator that things started to take a turn for the worse. The mail under her billowing robes made her fly into a silly duck-shaped magnet, and her legs were about to be crushed under the tires of the car when Lance stopped it with a karate chop to the cockpit. Meanwhile, Nast was still trying to shoot the button at the top of the eighty-story “Icebox of Iniquity� (Voldemort had decided to change its name again. It had been just a minute ago, Nast could swear, that he had shouted out that he couldn’t decide whether its new name was to be the Device of Devastation or the Reticule of Ruin.), but this time he was standing on the centaur’s sturdy back, ducking and jumping to avoid the defenders’ Unforgivables, Tessen all the while cawing its encouragement safely on his shoulder.

It was a bit of a stalemate, so, tiptoeing around some new spiked caltrops and removing the arrow lodged in a drifting corpse’s 2nd vertebra to shoot down the engine of an eggbeater-helicopter already getting pecked out savagely by a trio of belligerent death-chickens, he thought of what to name the historic battle he was participating in.

The Battle of Duirop Swamp? Nah, too unoriginal… The Skirmish of the Sixteenth Scourge? Catchy, but overly vague. How about The Clash of the Inuit Hordes and Their Refrigerator of All-Encompassing Evil Versus The Fellowship of Magorian? Nah, some people might object that it’s too long. He saw Dumbledore leap over a pile of corpses to Incendio down the ground a fork tank that had injured Snape. He was helped up and, taking back his wand, he joined Vance in pummeling a Toaster Truck with a few well-placed Reductor Curses. I’ve got it! “The Battle of Duirop Swamp!� It’s perfect!

Grinning, he trotted ahead and landed a clean strike to an Eskimo’s navel with a plunge of his spear, twisting and releasing. He let out a gnarly sylvan war cry and beat his chest like a gorilla on crack; Magorian’s adrenaline was even higher than usual, and the level of endorphins in his blood stream hadn’t stopped increasing. But not all was fine and dandy. Goyle struck Nast with a nasty Conjunctivitis Curse, and he spilled over the horseback into the water, clutching his eyes in agony. Dodaru had narrowly escaped a serious braining by Tekkulat, the Nihoth tribe elder and most fierce of his comrades, who was brandishing a lean, ornate trident, but had not fled from the encounter entirely unscathed. And, most importantly, Fate descended in front of Magorian, stopped time, and asked if he was Magorian son of Deigorian.

“Well, see, which father would you be talking about?� asked Magorian. He looked around, and everything had stopped. Chickens, spears, and kitchen-themed vehicles all were frozen in midair, and motion and sound ceased, giving all matter a funny unreal feeling. Even the ankle-deep water had halted, effectively keeping Magorian’s legs where they were.

“Never,� answered Fate angrily, “speak down to me, for it would be the very last thing a lowly animal such as you would do!� She dropped all the way down, and walked on the water until she was a hairsbreadth away from the helpless centaur. “Fool! I can befoul you with but a thought, and you’d be gurgling and choking on a spurt of your own life force in the blink of an eye. My eye.�

“What do you want with me?� said Magorian, staring into her eyes with a sort of enthralled terror.

“I offer an ultimatum. You must denounce your place in fanficdom forevermore. You are to step down from the post of main protagonist, and I want never to see you in any writing from here on out.� She stepped back and aimed an arrow between his eyes. “Else you shall die.�

“But what have I done? Why do you desire this?�

She sighed. “Ever since the fanfic-making robot I sold to The Savant blew up, he’s been bombarding me with requests to help out his fic. He’s flat-out broke and can’t buy a new one, whereas I’m sold out anyway. So he won’t stop calling me for advice. ‘What color shoes should this character be wearing?’ ‘What should this character say?’ or the oh so dreaded ‘I’ve thought of a new character, I just need a new name!’ So I’ve come to eliminate his favorite character.�

“Why not just talk to The Savant and explain to him how much he’s annoying you?�

“Because of this stupid indestructible contract he had me sign!� she yelled, gnawing at the paper in frustration. “I’ve tried everything! Laserbeams, Avada Kedavras, nuclear fission chambers, waiting out its eventual deterioration, giant hammers… But nothing works!� She dropped to her knees on the stationary slush and gnashed her teeth, pulling at her hair in irritation. “The contract says I can’t do anything to harm and/or maim The Savant, regardless of what he does or where he goes. And plus I have to make him a chicken parmigiano sandwich for him everyday. He’s got me doing his bidding! Every whim and frickin’ fancy!�

Chicken-ptarmigan sandwich? thought Magorian, his mouth watering. No, Magorian, NO, you must stay focused! Your life is on the line here! Just think of the three people you would disappoint if this fic was discontinued! He smelled a familiar fragrance coming from out his saddlebag. Mmm… ostrich leg…No! He shook the thought out of his head. Then he thought of a good idea. “Why don’t I take him down a peg or two for you?� He flexed his bicep and grinned.

At that, Fate fell face up on the floor and laughed her head off, banging on the time-stuck marsh water with her fists hysterically. “Granted, your 110 and he’s 16,� she managed to say between throes of laughter, “but he practically controls you. Not only that, but he resides in an impregnable chamber inside a heavily fortified palace situated in an ACTIVE VOLCANO on top of a CLOUD.� She succumbed to another fit of laughter before adding, “to the best of my knowledge, only one person ever reached his headquarters, and they only reached as far as the Taleweaver’s Domain before disappearing, never to be seen again.

“Y’know, Magorian, I kind of like you,� she said, finally standing up again and brushing herself off after what seemed like hours. “Nobody ever has the unbelievably huge balls it takes to negotiate with me. I give you the chance to say anything that might dissuade me from killing you, should you decline to abdicate this fic. You have five minutes. Go.�

Magorian tried his damnedest, eyeing the warriors frozen in time and wondering if that would be his fate.

“Er… I make an awesome piña colada. I’ll give you the secret recipe!
How would you like to meet a square-dancing bear?
Le me live, and I’ll wrangle exotic monsters all over the universe for you!�

“I make a better piña colada. I hate square-dancing. I don’t need help to capture monsters.�

“Erm… I could create a new robot for The Savant to work with!�

“Pshaw. If I can’t make any more with a PepsiCo budget and my ageless wisdom, you definitely can’t make one with your folk-astrology, mysticism, and Swiss Miss budget.�

“Er, uh, hold on, I’ll think of something!�

“Five seconds. Five, four…�

“Erm…�

“Three…�

“Um…�

“Two…�

“I’m friends with Vance and Lance, the sasquatches that hitched you a ride when you didn’t have gravity boots!� he blurted out. He would’ve waited for the last second, but he figured that the whole last-second thing was much too cliché.

“You are?� she said in wonder. “Where are they now?�

“Down over there,� said Magorian, pointing north-northeast.

She glided in the direction, unfroze them, and they agreed that they were friends of Magorian. “By the way, have you seen our food baskets?� asked Lance, whose legs were also stuck in the unmoving current. “They were made in the finest Dutch wicker, you know, about yea big, with big loopy ribbons on the handles?�

She smiled and returned. “You have earned my favor, Magorian son of Deigorian. A fraction of my essence shall be absorbed into you, and good luck shall be your grace wherever life may lead you.� She opened her mouth unnaturally wide, her lips curling behind her teeth, and a beam of vitality shot through it straight into Magorian’s mouth, reinvigorating his internal life force. He felt 23 again.

“So long, wayfarer.� She winked, and time unfroze. The battle resumed as if nothing happened, and she spoke louder over the turmoil. “I pray we shall meet again some day, but for now I must depart! Farewell, and may your footsteps herald greatness for all to adore!�

“Wait!� gasped Magorian, after drinking his full of her greatness, ducking another tossed chicken, and looking up to her leaving form in the sky. “Might you give me a monster so that I can win this thing!?� he yelled up at her, making sure even in his panic to remain formal.

“What?!� she shouted down.

“I said, ‘might you give me a monster to win this thing?!’�, he repeated, cupping his mouth.

She flew down to him again. “I’m sorry, what?�

“Might you give me a monster to win this thing?�

“Oh!� she exclaimed. “Of course not.�

Magorian deflected an airborne cannonball with one of his special rubber ducky hand grenades and asked “Why not!?�

Fate did a handstand whirlwind-kick, felling five feral fiends with one attack, and then shifted into a crouch stance, sweep-kicking one Eskimo and uppercutting another. She quickly followed up with a sideswipe chop to the face of a hook-soldier that had been trying to sneak up on her, and he flew over a hanging willow, his parka getting hooked onto a hanging branch. Nearby Dodaru tossed Tekkulat into the lynched Eskimo and chanted a little song of retribution in her breathy native tongue, Gothrefi. (“Ahdethi-aios, chrat, dur hal migdoschas etthoset dejhraktath.� or, very roughly translated, “Enemies of Aios, beware, for his sons’ wrath shall be insurmountable.�)

“You’d never be able to control it! It’d go amuck and kill everyone, not just your enemies!� She elbow-jabbed another Eskimo into the burning wreckage of his trebuchet. Dodaru barely dodged Voldem

A/N: Sorry it’s been so long since I updated, but I’ve been way too busy for my own good. Wait, did I say busy? I meant to say “lazy.� Anyway, I know all of you will have read Half-Blood Prince by now, so I just want to say that this storyline is before that one. (Need to keep Aragog alive for this chapter to work. And Snape to not be evil.)

~~~~~~~۞~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Magorian approached the tip of the lonely sandbar, stretching his arms out to enjoy the fine salty air. Everything was perfect. The noonday sun shined happily from its unassailable position in the cloudless sky, and its reflection raced sketchily across the water like a flying fish. The breeze whooshed by at just the right speed to negate the heat of the summer without being too troublesome to breathe against.

He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes, listening to the serene ocean as it made its presence known. His favorite were the foghorns. He hated the seagulls. He would often pull out his bow and arrow and shoot them down on the spot. But this was his vacation, and he didn’t want to think about those bad-tasting miscreant birds. How they pecked their hateful little pecks… and their hideous caws… so grating…

Shaking his head in frustration, he tried to go back to visualizing the nice, tranquil foghorn, now accompanied with a soothing lighthouse beacon in his mind. Ah, how nice it was to be at sea… He again imagined the limitless horizon and the wavering image of the sun in its clear blue expanse. The delightful cadence of the waves before him... so beautiful... so enthralling...

It almost made him forget about everything else, as if he were in the midst of transcending to a higher state of mentality (in his case, sanity. He was often more depraved then the evil voices in his head, taking their suggestions to a level higher than even they would condone).

Which was exactly when the seagulls popped into his head again.

“Arrgh!� thought Magorian aloud, tired of having to continually escape the specter of his perpetual avian nemeses. The only way to quit thinking of their filthy, rotten beaks and their obnoxious, curmudgeonly caws, he hastily concluded, was to stare into the sun and hope his melting eyejuice would retract into his skull, burning away whatever nerve was in charge of irrational seagull hatred.

But before he could carry that out, he was interrupted by a voice coming from behind him.

“Yar!�

Magorian circled around and searched for the source of the sound.

“Down ’ere!�

The centaur looked down and gasped.

He was a short, stocky man whose complexion rivaled those of the most seasoned warriors and adventurers. His aura was unmistakably raw and virile, and his gait was almost incomprehensibly manly. Overall, though his stature was lacking, his awesome demeanor made the most prideful men want to bow down and adulate this god among paupers.

He also happened to have no head and pegs for legs.

“Yar!� he repeated, “me name’s Nohead Peglegs, the finest damn pirate in the seven seas!�

“Aren’t there more than seven seas?�

“Not on this map there ain’t!� replied the saucy sailor, unraveling said map and pointing at the various bodies of water on it. “See, this here’s the Third Sea, and this one over here is the Seventh Sea… and this one is the Fifth and Sixth one, yeh’ve gotta squint a bit to see it…�

“Huh,� said Magorian, squinting at the map. “So there actually are only seven seas.�

“That’s what I tol’ ya, innit, lad?�

“More importantly, how are you talking?�

“Why, through me BLOWHOLE o’ course!� A beam of water punctured a hole through the back of his shirt. The pirate spun around, his hydraulic jet acting as a sort of propeller blade to send him spiraling into the air.

“So looooong, matey!� he called out, vanishing into the horizon.
~-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

Magorian woke up from his nap, eyes squinting at the trickles of light coming down from the forest canopy.

That last dream was rather inspired, thought Magorian sleepily. I've always wondered, if experienced pirates all wear eye-patches and have pegs for legs, what would eventually happen to REALLY old ones? He quickly scanned the dream again for any symbolism, found none, and moved his stream of consciousness to different topics, whistling for Ganglia to get up.

They continued to journey into the heart of the forest, having each taken a refreshing early-morning doze, to where his poultry barrack were located. Now that the Battle of Duirop Swamp was over, and he was home in the officially-renamed Styjikuhler Forest, he had to check how many chickens were left after the catastrophe. Not many, he ventured to guess.

I hate damage control, thought Magorian miserably. At least he had Ganglia by his side, but the bear was, if possible, less optimistic. By eight o’clock, they could make out an arrow-sign that read “Magorian’s Coop� with the “Australia� hastily crossed out. It was pointing downwards to a patch of grassless soil now, the sole area of the woods without any shrubbery or moss to speak of.

"There’s the symbolism," Magorian realized wryly.

It was as expected, and Ganglia hung its head in disappointment. The Coop was disheveled and abandoned, with holes all along its five walls in the shapes of frantic chickens. It looked like each and every one of Magorian’s chickens had died in the great fight, and there were none left for Magorian to breed any new ones. The Scion knew Hagrid wouldn’t give him anymore…

“C’mon, Ganglia, let’s get out of here. It’s no good staying. I’m sure they wouldn’t have wanted us to mourn their passing.� Then Mago added under his breath, “seeing as how they were chickens.� Ganglia sobbed.

Magorian ushered the bear out of the depressing clearing. He was planning to reassure the bear with a heartfelt condolence that the massacre was not its fault, but they only thing he managed to say next was “Gah!� or some derivative thereof.

“Gah!� yelped Magorian, or some derivative thereof.

Towering before them was a menacing Acromantula, its fangs dripping with venom. Along its head and thorax were red, loping streaks, and its impressively robust abdomen sported three sets of spinnerets. The top half of its eyes were blind, as was a symbol of old age for their kind; the other four were in tiptop shape, however, and were roving the forest floor malevolently. It spotted the centaur’s movements and quickly pinpointed its location. Arching up, it bellowed a complex sort of roar, like that of an animal that doesn’t usually roar (like Dr. Phil, or an accordion).

Its roar sounded like the stirring of a million hyalapterous wings, controlled and chaotic at the same time. It was swarm and phalanx at once, and it made Magorian’s pelt stand on end. Not even the knowledge of the Acromantulas’ unspoken agreement not to kill the centaurs could’ve consoled him in that moment of downright unspeakable horror.

Magorian braced for impact, trusty spear in hand. Ganglia growled in warning, but none of it fazed the gigantic spider. Luckily, it began to talk before it lunged, nearly knocking down two trees as it made an intensely intricate web between them amazingly fast and situated itself at its silky center. Every word it made preceded a quick clicking sound as it opened and closed it mandibles to speak. (The creatures had an extremely hard time making ‘th’,‘d’ or ‘sh’ sounds, so they simply omitted them.)

“Hikt-hikt, a centaur? Hikt, In hhis part of heh forest?� It climbed further up the web, Magorian hearing many more hikthikts and some disgusting slurping sounds before it started speaking again. In his 87 years as centaur chieftain, he had never dared to hold counsel with the spider-lords of the deeper, darker sections of the land he reigned. If he had, the Acromatulas would’ve always gotten their way in all negotiations anyhow, and it would’ve only served to remind his tribe of their inferiority, which, of course, centaurs do not enjoy. Even the finest-crafted and most magically-fortified centaru arrows couldn’t dent an Acromantula’s hide, and the hairy beasts in this section of the hemisphere were, if anything, among the deadliest in the world.

“Hikt-hikt, fahter would not approve killing a *hikt-hikt* centaur.� Every soft ‘e’ sound the spider made was long and drawn out. Magorian was starting to take heart before it added, in its creepy almost musical spider-tone,
“Sssss. Perfect!�

“I am Gogara,� the spider introduced itself to its prey as is normal talking mythic-monster fashion. “My fahter has exilet me, and now I can to as I please, incluting eating a centaur.� It slurped up its venom; if any dropped onto its web it would dissolve and he’d have to make another.

“Why has your father exiled you?� screamed up Magorian.

“My iteas were too ‘unortotox,’ too ‘far-fetcht,’ said he. “I, *hikthikt* I, *hikt*, IIIIIIIIIIII was once his favorite son! His heir!�

Gogara salivated its poisonous secretion and pounced, but abruptly halted when its keen oculae spotted Magorian taking out what looked like a notepad, fake glasses, and a calligraphy pen.

“Why can’t we have an irrigason ditch made in a tract tru the forest? Or install the sundial at our forum? Why not try out for ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire’ or do my own dry cleaning! WHY?� It slammed the forest floor in frustration, shaking the dense canopy. Normally this would have released a mini-diaspora of frightened birds, but the birds around the Coop happened to be mildly retarded, and froze instead, thereby saving the author from another painful cliché associated with loud noises in heavily wooded areas.

It hikthikted again, eye and mouth movements random now- a common symptom of Acromantulic rage.

“I will sow him who’s boss! Centaurs are not to eat, so eat them I sall!�

“And is ‘Gogara’ your real name?� asked Magorian, now putting down his spear and writing in the notepad. The centaur knew that one often had to psychoanalyze dangerous monsters before running like hell.

Gogara looked taken aback. “Hikt, no, I changet hhis morning to symbolize the severing of ties witt my fahter.�

Eager to disobey Aragog’s word of law, again it tried attacking, but it seemed too mad now or too drunk to do anything but lumber and swerve. Magorian was too swift for the monster, and he proceeded to pelt it with a series of searing psychoanalytical questions.

“What was your mother like?
How does that make you feel?
How does that make your feelers feel?
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when I say ‘lollapalooza?’
Read any good book lungs lately?
Tell me about your family.
Stream of consciousness, that’s it, keep talking…
Aren’t you glad you’re getting this all off your exoskeletal plexus?
Which would you rather have, a tuning fork or a Caesar salad?
The truth, please. What do you mean what importance could that question possibly have?
Who’s your role model?
I thought so.
Relay to me your deepest fears.
Negative integers, eh? That’s original.
Tell me, does this inkblot look like the finest damn pirate in the seven seas?
Give me a mental picture of your childhood. If you had to paint a picture of what your early years were like, what would it depict?
Holy tarnation, that appalls. But keep talking. We’re making good progress.�

“Enough!� roared Gogara, his psyche smarting from all of Magorian’s hurtful verbal accusations. “Get out of my heaht!�

“One last question,� said Magorian, tilting his glasses under his eyes and putting away his notepad, which he had been using to draw Nohead Peglegs. “Are you aware that the name you’ve given yourself this morning in order to disconnect with your troubling past is your father’s name backwards?�

Gogara seemed stricken. He gaped at them in disbelief, and Ganglia stopped growling.

“I think you may need some alone time,� condescended Magorian, and the Acromantula skittered away in shock. “Well, Ganglia, time to run in the opposite direction! Hop on my back!�

The next thing he was going to say was along the lines of, “You know, I can’t help but notice this fic still hasn’t mentioned any pigeons, pheasants, peacocks, kiwis, rheas, cassowaries, lovebirds, turkeys, swifts, herons, pelicans, swallows, jays, quetzals, penguins, bobbies, kites, storks, hornbills, ibises, geese, swans, spoonbills, frigates, petrels, albatrosses, shearwaters, grebes, emus, guinea fowls, grouses, hoatzins, cranes, gallinules, coots, rails, limpkins, bitterns, lapwings, stilts, puffins, sandpipers, avocets, plovers, snipes, phalaropes, auks, terns, jaegers, skimmers, doves, keas, macaws, cocks-of-the-rock, parakeets, lorikeets, roadrunners, cuckoos, nightjars, frogmouths, hummingbirds, hoopoes, kingfishers, wrynecks, barbets, woodpeckers, toucans, jacamars, wrens, flycatchers, birds-of-paradise, finches, or orioles yet. �

Instead what issued out of his mouth was more along the lines of “Eep!�

Towering behind them was a gigantic tree-monster. Its arms were extremely long boughs elbow-jointed at the middle, and its hands were sets of four twigs that branched out of their ends. It had no discernable legs- just an unintelligible tangle of roots that the shadowy sentry had to shuffle to move. At its top was also an amazing mass of oaken stems, except much less haphazard; a multitude of the branches, in fact, seemed connected to each other by a complicated network of miniscule wooden capillaries. Every “head-branch� came to a point at the very top, where a single, very large and deeply venous leaf could be found. Its face was located in the middle of its trunk: a petrified rectangular slab bas-reliefed with an animated stone face. At a flick of the sentry’s arm, a multitude of roots sprang forward, detached from his body and trapped Gogara in a briary cage, which then rolled away. It didn’t want any intrusions on its fun with the centaur that had for so long beguiled him, after all.

The centaur felt a massive set of branches wrap around his body like fingers. Ganglia jumped off his back and ran away as he was lifted into the air to the tree-monster’s face, its stony features radiating anger. It took a split-second for Magorian to realize it was his old mentor, Motm’s, face. He would’ve been surprised if it weren’t for the chapter title. He just wanted to know how Motm resurrected, and it looked as if Motm could read it in the chieftain’s expression, because the first words that issued from his limestone lips were how it was he came to be alive again.

“Remember when I told you, in my last dying breaths, to bury me under the yew tree down yonder, Grasshopper?� he said, squeezing the centaur in his hand a little bit too hard and not in the mood to waste any time prolonging sweet revenge. “I didn’t ask for sentimental reasons! That yew tree was my familiar! I planted it to ensure a safe passage to eternal life that I discovered in my, er, more enlightened moments. All I had to do was die naturally beneath its roots. I expected to die of old age, and to be able to sense its approach.

“But then you came- you interfered!� He crushed his helpless enemy in his palm a bit more, and Magorian started to labor in his breathing. “And it was too late! All I could do was to wait as eons rolled by, my spirit clinging desperately on this realm of being. Months passed in real-time as my corpse and my fading familiar inched closer and closer together, each of us desperate to remain fragments of reality. I remembered the planar portal to the afterlife gradually diminishing; every second I refused to choose an afterlife, hoping stupidly that there had to be a way to come back to life again, my hatred for the one who did this to me grew malignantly. I endured countless eras of my soul being strapped to my body as gradually the films of virtue and vice were stripped from my mind, not wanting to choose an afterlife before I could wrap around my tree-spirit and fuse with it. I am now simply an entity, neither living nor fully dead, neither corporeal nor truly spectral. I am the between, the nothingness that exists outside two objects.�

“And how does that make you feel?� asked Magorian, again feeling like he had to play the part of the understanding yet harsh psychiatric mediator.

“Like crap! Which is why I’m exacting my vengeance on you right now!� He tightened his grip on Magorian effortlessly, like he was a vise and the puny centaur a matchstick. There goes one kidney… thought Magorian.

“The sting of unity runs deep, Grashopper, and I’m about to give you that pain tenfold!�

“But why are you so evil all of a sudden?� Magorian squirmed. Then he remembered. Yew wood was a symbol of evil, so, when he fused with his familiar, he must’ve absorbed profane amounts of hatred and regret. He voiced his thoughts.

“No, you idiot, it had nothing to do with that! Not all villains need backstories, dammit!� The stone shifted as his face’s emotions changed. “It’s fun being evil, and I don’t need a reason to kick the lights out of everyone who pisses me off!�

The sculpture on the slab smiled. “I’m not just any evil entity, though. I’m not going to sadistically prolong your demise, like so many evildoers do nowadays. That would give you much too much time to escape, or for something miraculous to happen in your favor. Instead, I’m going to crush you immediately. You might ask, ‘Why would any villain not stupidly want to wait to kill his/her archnemesis?’ I’m not just any villain. I am Laurelm, the Seventeenth Scourge!�

Laurelm let up his vicegrip a bit and took a deep breath that seemed not to take in any air. (The only reason for him to breathe was that he could only talk on the exhale.)

“My xylem and phloem harbor the strength of a thousand cedars. My roots dig deep and my boughs touch the clouds…�

Three hours later…

“…I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a bat! The rings of my trunk outnumber the years of the Earth! My ankles reach the canopy and my sneeze can destroy continents… Say, is it just me or do you smell Zoloft? No? It must be my imagination. It’s been so long. Anyway… My sneeze can destroy continents and my arms can lift a million…�

I hate damage control, thought Magorian, trying desperately to keep the yawn inside his mouth.

Three hours later…

“I am bigger than the universe! Planets dissolve in my corrosive gaze! Time trembles and imaginable measure is dwarfed! I know ALL!�

Styjikuhler’s sage startled. The end of the speech had come at last, just when he had found a comfortable place in Motm’s grip.

“So you see,� Laurelm continued, “I’m much too brilliant to succumb to common supervillain weaknesses such as endlessly drawling on and on when the hero is on a platter. It’s time for you to die!�

Magorian stopped trying to shave with his mind and braced again for certain death, closing his eyes. He thought he could see an intense, radiant light… was that the tunnel? No, it was coming from inside his saddlebag…

“Diffindo!� shouted a familiar voice, and Laurelm got diced into little bitty pieces poetically easily. (Motm needed to be joined together to his familiar to cling to existence, and without that direct spiritual contact he and the tree-spirit simply ceased to be, neither becoming a ghost nor being able to explore the unknown afterlife. It was rather sad. All he had really wanted to do was to raid all the pharmacies he could find and steal every prescription drug in the world. He couldn’t wait to try out that Vicodin/Claritin/Lipitor/Prilosec trail mix he’d been spending all eternity thinking of.)

The hand holding him suddenly cut into papery smithereens, Sinistra had to create a trampoline with her wand to keep Magorian from falling to his death. (Which was excellent, because everyone loves trampolines!) She had even made it his favorite color, ejacutrops. The Astronomy teacher waited for Magorian to tire of bouncing up and down.

Three hours later…

Sinistra Vanished the trampoline impatiently and made a mattress to break his fall. Then she forgot her irritation and came running jovially into her favorite centaur’s arms.

“Hey babe, how’s it going?� asked Magorian, hugging her.

“I’m just glad to see you! Where were you? They hardly ever showed scenes with you on that show you were on,� she said, pushing him playfully. “Since I’m not an Order member, and what happened yesterday with the Dark Lord was strictly confidential, I’m totally out of the loop.�

Magorian explained what happened. Since the tale was already so unbelievable, his embellishments went unnoticed. After a while, even he was starting to believe that Charlie Rose had come down in a cloud from the sky to commentate, that three eclipses had happened in rapid succession during the battle, and that the Great Refrigerator had been accompanied by a giant floating zeppelin called the Cheesegrater of Doom.
The centaur momentarily forgot his desire to go on a sea voyage, but his mind returned to it before long.

“How’s Firenze doing?� he small-talked.

“Good, good, the first-years have started to accept him,� she smiled as they winded their way back to Hogw-stra.

“Do you happen to have a boat?� Magorian hated small talk.

“It’s funny you should ask. I was ceded a yacht by the headmaster at the annual Stuff Dumbledore Doesn’t Need raffle. Why?�

“I think this is the literary reinforcement of a beautiful friendship,� replied Magorian.

“I’m just glad I didn’t get any of the lame stuff, like the defective Invisibility Cloak Professor McGonagall won that only worked if no one was looking. And that locket Flitwick won looked really gay on him.�

“Really?� Now don’t get him wrong-- Magorian had enjoyed Dodaru’s company. But Sinistra was infinitely more sociable and didn’t glare at you with the hatred of a thousand suns if you said anything she deemed to be “stupid.�

“Oh yeah! Don’t get me started on the little bugger’s fashion sense. One day he’s sporting a safari jacket in the Teacher’s Lounge, the next he’s wearing a limited edition black Megadeth tee. But Snape was by far the worst. You should’ve his face when— Er, Magorian? Should we be at all alarmed that there’s a giant deadly-looking spider a few decameters away?�
She pointed to where Gogara was futilely struggling against its thick spherical prison. Its movements were even more erratic than before.

“Hey Gogara, why don’t you just bust out?� Magorian cupped his hands over his mouth.

“Hikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikthikt! Can’t sssssssss get out!� It bellowed again, and again the force of the sound was enough to keep nearby wildlife immobile, either because the animal was too scared to move or its eardrums had fatally imploded.

Whoever heard of a claustrophobic spider? Magorian guessed he should’ve found out when he analyzed Gogara’s dream about fear and enclosed spaces. He also supposed he should’ve realized it upon hearing the Acromantula openly tell him that it had claustrophobia. Cautiously, the dynamic duo (Mago and Sinistra, not Batman and Robin) approached the panic-mad arachnid. It was no use, however- not even screaming at the top of their lungs could drown out the spider’s fierce thrashing and psychotic wailing.

Then an arrow whizzed past Mago’s head.

“Magorian son of Deigorian, exiled are you from this forest. Leave or perish!�

He turned around slowly and stared his archnemesis in the face, fuming. Why hadn’t he heard the sounds of their hooves? Why had the centaurs he once faithfully presided over come back in tandem to murder him, and what was up with that neat futuristic armor they were wearing? It was so shiny and pointy. Shiny and pointy things always distracted Magor—Hey, this font is Times New Roman. Ever notice how Arial and Helvetica are exactly the same? Wonder how the new pope’s doing. Man, I could go for a good wheel of sausage right about now. A Mystery Science Theater 3000 marathon would be top-notch at the moment, now that I think about it. Blasted lack of cable. Oh well. There’s still Family Guy. Wouldn’t it be cool if there was a rock band called the Bifocal Aardvarks? Admit it, it’s catchy. Fargo--

Whoops. Gotta take me Ritalin!

“We, the Tribe of Bane, hereby warn Pariah to exit our territory or suffer our wrath,� was the imperial decree of Ambassador Ronan. (Pariah is one of the more insulting and derogatory centaru sayings, reserved for those banished from the herd. Ronan spat the word out in conditioned disgust.)

“Hey Bane, I thought you were going to seek an audience with Voldie,� Magorian said in an offhand attempt to stall. He knew well Bane would have his men try to kill him even if he did try to bolt out of there. Gogara couldn’t help: for one, he was stuck inside a spherical cage of thorns that reeked of Motm’s old-man scent, and secondly, its frenzy had degenerated even worse after having heard Ronan say the word “exiled� again.

“The Dark Lord did hear our plea to establish an alliance with him, but in the end he chose a different tribe. So we asked Hagrid to help us with the ‘refurbishment money’ allotted him, telling him all about what you did to his chickens. He agreed you needed to be taught a lesson and immediately played the part of blacksmith, retrofitting us with this super-armor. He never intended for you to get killed; just “roughed up a bit�. Hagrid, it turns out, is an awesome welder-- he even forged some armor for Grawp. Nothing you do is going to hurt us. It even muffles our hooves.� Bane stomped the ground thrice to prove his point. At that point a wild-looking centaur leapt in front of Bane and zealously yelled his head off, his lower half that of a zebra.

“Lo, Pariah, you hath sinnethed and noweth you musteth payeth the priceth!� screamed Nantos, one of Bane’s most fanatical followers and devoted lackey. “You will be purged from this land like blight on a rainy day!�

“You’ll have to excuse Nantos,� said Bane apologetically, trying to fence the lunatic off with his spear. “He’s nuts.�

“Purged! Like a rainy day!� Nantos reminded everyone, a vein popping in his left eye.

“Blight is caused by disease, not by a lack of water,� said Ronan.

“But a lack of rain can cause disease,� countered a centaur behind him. “Once, the patch of grass I tend to was so dry, it became an orangish yellow col--�

“RAINY DAY!� Nantos shrieked, kicking up his front legs and foaming at the mouth. The veins in his left eye ruptured and the spears being used to restrain him spontaneously combusted.

Holy mother of cod, that is nuts, noted Sinistra.

“Ugh,� expressed Bane as he whipped out his built-in tazer and shocked Nantos unconscious. “I HATE damage control.� The tazer efficiently whipped back into its gauntlet, and he clenched his armored fist, focusing again on his opponents: Mago, a witch, and a caged spider.

But Nantos would not stay down. He revived, shook off the electricity like a shaggy dog, and bounded into a portal that opened before him.

“My God, he’s just jumped to a conclusion!� said a voice.

“Street magician David Blaine? What are you doing here?� said Magorian.

“I heard there were free Wafers.�

“He must have been hired by The Savant to boost this fic’s popularity in order to compete against the recent release of Half-Blood Prince,� observed Sinistra.

“No, I just want Wafers.�

“Enough!� bellowed Bane, turning again to Magorian. “As you can probably see, Magorian, we’ve had to make a few exceptions in our rules in order to gain enough firepower to kill you. Technology is now limitedly acceptable in dire straits, or when the enemy is known to carry advanced weaponry. Such as you.�

“Poth tre, umna!� said a blonde centaur behind Bane who could only speak centaru, toting Magorian’s saddlebag at the tip of his spear. “I’ve got it, sir!�

“Mewafth!� praised Bane. “Good!�

Magorian cursed his luck. One of them had snuck up on him and stolen his saddlebag. He could see that another one had taken his quiver. The centaur was stuck with a useless bow and the spear in his clenched fist. Sinistra dared not attack any of them with magic just yet, but would Stun them should they try to relieve her of the wand she was holding at the ready. For now, she was looking with apprehension at the big spider in the wireframe orb of thorny tanglewood.

“Sesteret aratelid?� queried blondy, eyeing the noisy struggling Acromantula.

“What of the spider, Graros? It cannot come out of the cage. It poses no threat. Defeating Pariah will not be difficult.�

Bane was rummaging through our protagonist’s saddlebag. “Let’s see what the mighty Magorian keeps in his personal inventory!� The centaurs cheered, and Magorian looked on in dread.

“Hmmm… a pair of pants? Magorian, don’t tell me your collecting keepsakes of nasty human stuff!� Bane taunted, taking the leotards out of the spatially-enhanced saddlebag. “If I had known you liked garbage, I would’ve given you Firenze.� All the centaurs laughed.

“Hikthikthikthikthikthikt!�

Sinistra had to bite her tongue to keep back a particularly scathing comeback, having to rely on the withering glare of her eye to convey her emotion. Firenze was the only other person in the castle that actually knew anything about astrology. They would often converse about what destiny the stars had written into the sky into the wee hours of the morning. If only she could thump all those smug rotten bastard centaurs who exiled him and Magorian… But she could only watch as they rummaged and rolled in laughter.

“Graros, reggef cif scoror. Ece nun tillas sum Nantos.�

Graros took the pants away to burn, making sure to forget about Nantos now (whose disappearance had clearly shaken him). Magorian could only watch as one of the fatter, older centaurs used the flamethrower equipped on his gauntlet to try to scorch through his beloved leotards. Sinistra was very close to snapping and casting a spell on them, until she saw that the flames were not eating away at the fabric. Instead, they turned white and flared upwards in a beam of heat, charring fatty’s face really badly.

“Raaargh!� screamed Banha, crumpling to the floor in pain.
His friend Ogeta kneeled to his side. “Are you alright?!�

“Hikthikthikthikthitkhikthikt!�

Banha quit screaming, bearing the pain with centaru dignity. He opened his eyes. They were blank.
“I- I’m blind! I can see nothing!�
“What!?� cried Ogeta.

“What is the meaning of this!?� demanded Bane.

Mago honestly didn’t know. Not even his famed Leotards of Deflection could cause a rebound that severe. Then he noticed a soft glow coming from the bag Bane was holding. He, of course, noticed it too, and quickly rummaged through the bag for whatever was shining, intending to use it against Magorian. Instead, he took out one of his patented rubber ducky grenades, which was good enough. Bane stretched his arm back, ready to throw the RDG at Pariah.

“Wait! His eyes- they’re returning to normal!�

Bane ignored Ogeta, all too ready to use one of Magorian’s own weapons against him, as had been the original plan. The bomb flew through the air, not in slow-motion, but in fast-motion, because it was funnier and less cliché to imagine it that way.

“HikthiktihikthikthikthiktHIKT!�

Whatever was glowing in the saddlebag became brighter, and the adorable projectile changed its trajectory towards Gogara’s cage. It exploded in midair, and while the blast didn’t do anything to break the spider’s prison, it did quiet Gogara down. Even the supposedly unshakable centaurs of Bane’s tribe audibly sighed, relieved that the incessant shrieking and wailing was over.

The silence, however, was again interrupted, this time by a soft, whirring noise. A shimmering stone eye slowly rose from out of the saddlebag, stopping at Bane’s eyelevel and rotating. The eye’s pupil was a largish, elegantly complex circular array, and along the eye’s surface, radiating from its iridescent iris, were lengthy strands of hieroglyphics. It shone a dazzlingly pure white light that seemed to steal away the color from its surroundings. Everything became black and white.

“It’s the Eye of Scrutiny! Fate’s Blessing! How did you acquire such a thing!?� Bane yelled, shocked.

Magorian just raised his eyebrows. He had no idea that the Eye of Scrutiny had been in his saddlebag. Sinistra, however, stepped forward.

“He has gained Fate’s Favor! He is now extremely well-protected, and he is on friendly terms with the nature spirits you claim to revere! In other words, he’s untouchable, especially by you!�

“No.� Bane shook his head. “No!� He turned to his Tribe. They all looked extremely worried; they obviously had not expected so many complications in their mission to kill Pariah. “They must be tricking us! Pariah cannot have gained Fate’s Favor, she is Gaea’s sister, our patron! Charge, my brethren, and may all doubt leave you!�

But the Eye had something else to say about it. A white beam shot down from the sky and it was absorbed through the array-pupil, which began to spin rapidly. It fell to the floor and exploded at the charging tribe’s feet. They backed away and tried charging again. It exploded again. Then they tried charging again. Another pure white beam shot into the Eye, resulting in an even bigger fiery blast.

“Retreat! Retreat!� Bane told the other centaurs with an inexplicable grin. The centaurs gratefully did as they were told, galloping away from the scene into the trees, some glancing back at the stationary stone Eye as they ran as if afraid it would chase after them.

“Wheeeee!� said David Blaine, running after them.

Bane had a crazed look on his face. “I’ve waited too long for this moment, Magorian, tried too hard. I will have my rightful place as ruler of the Forbidden Forest, and there will be nothing you can do about it!�

Magorian thought of telling him it was no longer called the Forbidden Forest, but decided not to. Bane rummaged frantically in Magorian’s saddlebag for anything he could find to get rid of the Eye rotating on the forest floor. Eventually he found a flute. Having seen it in Dumbledore’s office once, he knew instantly what it must be, and his eyes betrayed thoughts of imminent victory.

“The Flute of the Call of the Wild! So Dumbledore gave this to you, did he? Well, I’m glad he did, because now I get to use it against you!

And he began playing. Magorian dashed for his leotards, but Bane gleefully ordered a few groups of bowtruckles to obstruct his way. Sinistra started jinxing them off of him while Bane resumed focusing on the Eye. If he didn’t get it out of the way, he’d never be able to kill Magorian. Just as all the bowtruckles were repelled by some deft spellwork on Sinistra’s part, he had successfully completed a tune that commanded a bunch of earthworms to take the Eye underground with them.

Wiping his brow of blood, the centaur who had been beset by spiky tree guardians let out a sigh of relief, only to witness a giant silver pike coming at him at top speed. Magorian had only a split-second to react. Unfortunately, he used the split-second to reflect on how delightfully shiny it was.

Seconds passed like minutes. Minutes passed like seconds. Bane charged with wanton abandon at Magorian, as if impaling him on the gleaming shaft would set right all wrongs. All Magorian could do was watch as sharp, pointy death approached.

The tip of the lance was mere inches away when he saw six spidery legs wrap around and restrain Bane, pulling him to the ground.

“The spider came out of its cage!� marveled Sinistra.

“It wassss easy!� remarked Gogara, struggling to keep Bane in a half-nelson . “All I hat to to was believe in my self, and I found the strength to break the--�

“That’s great, Gogara,� interrupted Magorian. “What should we do with him?�

“Accio Saddlebag.� It came into her hands. “Accio… what did you call them?�

“Leotards of Reflection.�

“Right, Accio those.� She flicked her wand.

The only thing Bane could see under the massive weight of the spider was the pants flying into Sinistra’s hands.

“Here you go.�

Magorian thanked her and clinked the saddlebag back into place, stuffing the leotards in them. “Let’s just leave him there.�

“No, let’s finish him off.� Sinistra was eager for vengeance.

“No one’s finishing me off!� yelled Bane. “Especially not with this armor!�

He had managed to wrestle free from the spider deadlock and pin it down with one of his hooves. Then he lifted his pike and had almost skewered it when Gogara rolled over again. They again commenced pitting their strength against one another; they seemed equally matched.

“Accio spear!� cried Sinistra, scared. Centaurs were not supposed to be able to keep Acromantulas at bay.

The spell simply deflected off of his impregnable armor. In fact, Bane was almost going to win until something jumped out from the distance and made the earth shake.

It was Grawp, likewise plated with futuristic armor. At its helm was Ganglia. The bear used its paws to direct the giant’s head, as if telling it where to attack. Grawp’s eyes landed on the centaur crumpled at its feet (which was thankfully Bane, for Magorian had also fallen). Curiously he used its thumb and forefinger to lift it up. Then realizing it was one of the many centaurs that had attacked it the previous summer, it opened its mouth wide and lifted the pleading centaur directly over its gaping maw, as if to drop it in.

“Grawpy! Bad boy, who do yeh think yeh are, eatin’ summat without me permission? Bad Grawpy!� admonished the voice of the Hogw-stra gamekeeper. Grawp placed the centaur on the floor disappointedly. Hagrid turned his attention to Magorian.

“I’m very sorry about this, Magorian, I heard from the other centaurs what happened. I never wanted them to kill yeh, see, I jus’ wanted them to teach yeh--�

“Teach me a lesson, yeah, I know. Let’s just call it even, okay?�

Hagrid nodded and proceeded to press a button in one of many pockets. All the armor fell off of all the centaurs and Grawp. “Don’ worry, Magorian, I’ll handle this one, you go on and meet all the other centaurs.�
Magorian and Sinistra did so. They all remarked about how Bane was too bossy, and a bit of a control freak. They were all glad they to be rid of him.

“So you’re all willing to join me again?�

“Sure,� said one of them.

“What about him?� Magorian pointed to David Blaine, who was on all fours nibbling at some Pez he’d found on the floor.

“Yeah, we wanna keep him as a pet.�

“Cool. I elect Nantos to be second in command whenever I’m gone. Bye!�

The duo left.

“Hey, babe, what’s your first name?�

“Paige,� replied Sinistra, blushing.

“Pretty.�

Soon they arrived on the grounds, and nearly died laughing when they saw that Hagrid had made Bane the doorman to his hut using the Flute of the Call of the Wild.

“Don’ worry, Professor Sinistra, I’ll let ’im go after a bit. Jus’ need him to see that he ain’t always the boss.�

“What happened to Gogara?� asked Magorian.

“Yeh mean the poor Acromantula this idiot was stepping on?� Bane narrowed his eyes in hate, but Hagrid made him do eighty laps around the grounds for it. “He’s gone back to the forest. Who knows if we’ll ever see ’im again?�

“Hey Sinistra, show me your boat,� said Magorian, for he had been thinking of dolphins while Hagrid spoke, which reminded him of beach balls, which reminded him of Cheerios, which reminded him of Mikhail Gorbachev, which reminded him of Christmas, which reminded him of hearing aids, which reminded him of cocker spaniels, which reminded him of France, which reminded him of dirt, which reminded him of Virginia Slims, which reminded him of boats.

“Okay!� said Sinistra, setting the scene for the next chapter. “Wow, this chapter’s come full circle, hasn’t it?�
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Next!�

Lucius sighed and rolled his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Lucius? I said ‘Next!’�

Lucius held up the sign that read NEXT.

“Splendid.� With the push of button, Voldemort ejected the latest batch of mercenaries auditioning to be in his inner circle. Fortunately for him, the same button opened the cockpit, allowing several more scantily-clad “counselors� to rush to his side and “console� him. In fact, noted Bellatrix heatedly, he seemed to be refusing to employ many qualified people just so that more hot waitresses could rush to his throne.

“Excuse me, sir, but that demon had three heads, and seemed more than willing to work for you for free. Are you sure it was wise—excuse me, I’m speaking!� Bellatrix angrily shoved away a brunette that was dangerously close to nudging his nose in her “medical examination.�

“Next,� said Voldemort.

“Sir, there’s not even any new applicants here yet…� he explained.

“NEXT!�

Lucius bit his lip and help up the sign. His arms were starting to get tired.

“Excellent.� Voldemort pressed the button again, and more women ran to his side.

“Sir…� wheezed Avery pathetically. “Sir… It’s getting very uncomfortable…�

“No more questions about why you have to greet the next applicants in a pillory!� decreed the Dark Lord standing up from his marble throne. “This is my jet, and those are my rules! So there.� He tipped a glass of grape juice into his mouth and sat down again. “No no, Crabbe, Goyle, no need to stop playing pattycake on my account. I’m very sorry, I’ve just been so irritable since I lost those Eskimos… By the way, why aren’t—not now Linda—why aren’t the latest applicants here yet?�

“Apparently there’s a pileup on the line. Seems some huge bloke is blocking the way. I can only barely see it from here,� said Avery, who was next to a pair of large rectangular doors. “Actually, sir, I’d appreciate it you had someone move a bit further away from the doors; every time they open I get hit in the head, see, and they’re very hard and heavy…�

“Jugson,� said Voldemort, “make sure Avery is closer to the doors. And tell me what’s going on out there!�

“Dolohov is pushing the bloke through now.�

They could all hear a thick Spanish accent arguing and Dolohov’s subsequent redoubled efforts to get whoever was obstructing the hallway into their compartment.

“Stop trying to push him,� said the accent, “he can get through by himself! This is ridiculous…�

Then they all heard a clicking sound, and a large thud.

“Good… now, make a way for yourself, Dolc.�

They didn’t need to hear what happened next; they could see it clearly from Voldemort’s room- the hinges around the entrance doors cracked and fell apart, and a huge fist tore clean through the metal, cleaving the doors open. The force used to open the door (which was sufficient enough to break Avery’s stocks) was nothing compared to the hulking figure that now emerged from the debris-filled hallway.

The giant’s most striking feature was its skin- so pale it almost lightened the room, it stood in stark contrast with the pitch black wrestling leotards he (it?) wore. His eyes were round as red saucers and just as large, with jagged black streaks under them that were barely noticeable due to the luchadore mask covering his mouth and scalp. Dolc easily stood more than twelve feet tall, and the magnitude of his musculature even surpassed that of his stature; muscles were bulging intensely in places that Voldemort never even knew existed. He and his attendants stood transfixed at the sight of him.

“Hello,� said a familiar voice from below. The Dark Lord & company shook their head and looked down from Dolc’s face in unison. The Spanish man wore a narrow black sombrero and a small little grin that exuded more confidence than the three black tattoo stripes on each of his cheeks. He was everything his partner was not- lithe, smooth, and relaxed, it was clear that he was a powerful and confident fighter with the magical skills to match. He looked quite the snappy dresser as well, sporting a loose, opal shirt with cufflinks, a gentleman’s black vest, formal-looking black slacks and dress shoes. Only after a few seconds did Voldemort realize that he had castanets on his hands as well.

“My name is Zefir, and this,� he said, striking a pose on the floor and pointing his outstretched arm towards the ceiling, “is my friend (or should I say accomplice?), Dolc. We are here to interview with the Sixteenth Scourge, The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Voldemort himself!� He struck a few more poses.

Everyone gasped at the name, even Voldemort. (“What?� he would later explain. “My name is creepy.�)

“What? This is the place, no?� Zefir squinted at the throne all the way on the other end of the aisle, where, Bellatrix, her master, and his airport staff “hunnies� were currently open-mouthed in shock.

“If you’re here for the application, stand over there on the trap door,� Lucius drawled, pointing with his sign-hand. “And try not to destroy expensive state property while you’re at it this time.�

“Ah, could not be helped, mi amigo. As you can see, my friend here is muy grande. He has a tough time getting into the most spacious locales. In fact, he might not even fit with me on the trap door.�

“Then just let him stay over there by the wreckage,� spoke up Voldie at last. “Stand on the trap door and state why you should be my assassins-for-hire.�

“Stand?� queried Zefir, as with a pirouette and an impressive triple lux he landed gracefully on the words “TRAP DOOR� etched on the floor. “No, my friends, I’d rather entertain you all than bore you all to death by standing. Allow me to dance, and show you my worth on your team!� With a click of one of his castanets, vibrant salsa music started playing in the background and darkness enveloped the extensive throne room except for a cone of light fixated on him that functioned as a spotlight. He danced the night away, amazing his makeshift audience by ceaselessly outperforming each of his previous dazzling dance moves, totally in synch with the music beating around him. Everyone watching was so mesmerized that they heard nothing of the speech he had prepared to win them over, and pretty soon the applause of the rather small audience became deafening.

“So, will you hire me?� He cast a penetrating stare at Bellatrix, which made her blush. He was so charming, so cool…

“You’re hired!� said Voldemort enthusiastically.

“Excellent!� said Zefir. “It’s your turn to audition, Dolc. Why don’t you test your might on that frail-looking hombre next to you?� He clicked his commands with his castanets.

Dolc’s bulbous red eyes fixed on poor Avery, taking some time to process the information it’d been given. Then, with almost mechanical reflexes, he picked up Avery, crushed him on his knee, and dealt him a critical karate chop on the base of the spine- all in the space of a split-second!

“That’s what you get when you cross a giant with a Gothmage,� smiled Zefir. “Extremely powerful, but just as willing to take orders.�

“Perfect!� said Voldemort. “You two might even be better than a whole tribe of Eskimos. Your first mission: kill the centaur called Magorian. He’s humiliated me one too many times.�

“He’s only humiliated you once,� pointed out Lucius.

“That’s one too many times! Your first paycheck will go towards rectifying the fine mess you’ve made of the entrance hall of my jet. It took a lot of effort to steal it and pimp it out like this, you know!�

“That’s okay; I’ve always wanted to be a Scourge’s Assassin! C’mere, Dolc! Let’s celebrate!� Dolc had a personality of his (its?) own, and he happily bounded towards where Zefir was, dancing with him on the floor marked TRAP DOOR.

“We’re hovering over Magorian’s location now, sir!� called Jugson’s voice from the other room.

Voldemort smiled. Lucius lifted his sign. Voldemort smiled wider, He pressed his button. The trap door opened, ejecting Zefir and Dolc, and Voldie opened his arms wide to welcome the newest wave of cute waitresses, infuriating Bellatrix again. All in all, another day in his life.

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A portal appeared a short while after in the forest clearing, and Nantos stepped out of it. “What happened?�

“You’ve been made our second in command.�

“Where’s the first!?�

“Gone.�

Nantos eyed the crowd. “Well? WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!? FETCH ME THE CHEESE DOODLES!!!!!�

A/N: Again, sorry for the delay. I’m going to be going on a cruise right about tomorrow, so I probably won’t update for the remainder of the summer.

A/N: Hi, readers that by now probably no longer exist! Sorry for the extended leave of absence in posting new chapters, but I’ve been way too busy lately. Anyway, hope you enjoy this new chapter. Won’t be long until the subliminal messages start to kick in.
P.S.: This chapter will probably be longer than any other I’ve created so far, so you may want to take care of any possible distractions. Disconnect all your phones in case one of them might ring. And take down the door bell (force may be necessary in this case). In fact, you might as well just have them demolish your house, in case a potential fire should interrupt your reading.
P.S.2: Sorry about all those missing exclamation points from chapters previous. I'm stuck using WordPerfect on this computer, the title of which is an inherent lie, since regular Word more perfectly refrains from listing every single punctuation as a spelling mistake.

It was a really, really hot day. Even Fate was having trouble enduring the sweltering heat of a Hawaiian noon.

When she had decided to take a nice, relaxing nap in the sun, she had not counted on the 100+ degree weather to be such a drag, and had to contort nearby umbrellas with her hands to cast more shade on her towel (fortunately, other beachgoers were frozen in time, unable to do anything about it).

She mulled the martini in her hand as she mulled the predicament in her head, gazing at the waves of the once-roiling ocean she’d ceased unfeelingly. No matter how fervently she assessed the last two days it always came down to the same question in the end: Why had Tempis refused to talk to her yesterday?

Tempis had always been Fate’s favorite sister, and vice versa; for as long as she could remember they had been on the best of terms. In fact, it was Tempis who donated her mastery of time to her little sister when she’d grown sage enough to learn how to, a feat the other sisters still haven’t learned to do. Tempis taught Fate everything she knew: archery, poetry and music, bartending, even weaving (which she’d incorporated into her profession—the subtle and meticulous tapestry that is destiny).

So she was going to Pele, her second favorite sister, for advice. Pele had always been the partier of the bunch; with a flair for the unexpected and a gift for dancing, she practically existed for the nightlife. Even better, she knew about a hundred million great jokes, a fully-stocked and well-loaded arsenal of clever quips and comebacks, often getting the whole bar or dance club to shoot alcohol out their noses and laugh hysterically for hours. It was from Pele that Fate got her great sense of humor.

Which reminded her…

Fate snapped her fingers and time unfroze. Hapless Hawaiians shook out of their temporal prison, eyes darting wildly for the cause of the mangling of their umbrellas. She savored a cheap laugh and snapped her fingers again, taking another sip of her martini and looking across the ocean.

There it was: Pele’s lair. Towering over the calmed waves, it claimed the volcano it was situated on as its own, bonding with the flaming-hot face of the smoldering mountain almost symbiotically. Together they created a living, breathing cauldron of stone and flame- Mauna Loa. Of course, the Muggles couldn’t see it, but Fate had come to Pele’s hut on dozens of occasions. Most of the time, she came for pleasure. Today it was strictly business.

Fate jetted across the frozen water and, ascending the steep mountainside, reached the entrance to Pele’s house and rapped on the wooden chamber door. Usually the large timber hut was scorching hot to the touch, but today it was almost lukewarm compared to the heat outside.

Until, that is, the door suddenly caught on fire.

“What the…� Fate knocked again. A brilliant red eye appeared through the looking glass at the center of the burning wood.

“Leave at once,� called out a husky voice from beyond the blazing effigy.

“P-Pele, it’s me! It’s Fate!� she said, shocked. “Don’t you recognize me?!�

The flames redoubled their intensity and the cliff-face rattled as the mighty mountain made its anger known to all, causing Fate to topple to the floor. Fate looked up at the door in disbelief, then in renewed terror as Pele’s head emerged from the peephole and looked down at her cowering form.

“Leave at once,� said Pele again, the ashy smoke billowing out of her eyes doing nothing to mask the terrifying streaks of anger on her face.

Tempis had rejected her with cold indifference; Pele looked as if she could not stand the very sight of her. Fate, shaken to the very core, departed immediately. What the hell was going on!?

Pele only let the flames subside when she was absolutely sure Fate was gone. She hated having to scare off her favorite little sister, but it was the surest way to keep her out of harm’s way. Out of trouble.

Sighing, she stepped back from the looking-glass and attended her Seerswell, giving a quick glance at the miniature contract beside it.

Heh, thought Pele. “Trouble.� More like “that bastard.�

She had tried bombarding the contract with her hottest beams of lava, sending it to melt at the center of the earth, and even firing it into the sun, but nothing seemed to be able to tarnish it in the slightest. This, of course, frustrated her to no end. There was only one thing left to do.

The Seerswell’s waters swelled at her presence, but no image would begin to appear in its dirty depths until she uttered the password.
Pele lowered her sensuous lips to the shallow rectangular pan, almost touching the dun-water roiling within when she whispered, “Katmandu.�

Apparently content, the dun-water inside the shallow basin undulated, forming an image.

“The Savant! Show yourself!�

The Savant’s head rippled into sight, clearly surprised and not a little drunk.

“Fate?� slurred the head, confused. Di’n’ I tell you t’ c’mere n’ massage my feet an hour ago?

Pele huffed, and the water in the Seerswell threatened to boil and evaporate. “I’m Pele, you idiot!�

“Pele!� he gushed. “How could I *hic* forget you?�

“Hurry up, author-man!� called a voice in the distance. “Vance and Lance brought two more kegs!�

The reflection of the head in the divining well turned to look in the voice’s direction, yelling “Ish it Canadian beer?!�

“Afraid so, but hey, beer is beer! Ooo, that sounds lyrical, I ought to make a riddle out of it…�

“Wanna come to this party, Fate…�

“Pele!�

“Sorry, Fele. Wanna *hic* come to this party? It’s on a… what’s this thing *hic* called again Cavekeeper? A sat-ur-ite.�

“A satellite?�

“Yesh. We’re havin’ a splendid time, you should, you should come.�

“What, and have you trick me again?! Don’t you dare even think of commanding me there! I just want to know what you did to Tempis!�

“What’s that, Felempis? You didn’t enjoy our little dance?� It seemed that even when he was utterly smashed, The Savant could still be a prick.

Pele bit her lip. How she would like to scorch that stupid grin right off his face… and the rest of his face with it. Even two weeks after the fact she still couldn’t get over how easily she’d been duped into signing the contract.
The face of a drunken old codger appeared at The Savant’s shoulder. “Who’s that?�

“I’ll be his worst nightmare if he doesn’t tell me where Tempis is!�

The Savant reeled and massaged his temple with his free hand as The Cavekeeper handed him a frothy mug of Canada’s finest. “Whoa, babe, calm down and say that slowly…�

“Tempis? Isn’t she that chick you were braggin’ about?� queried The Cavekeeper. “And what’s with this doodad you’re lookin’ through anyway? Why, back in my day, we used to take rebellious young tykes like you by the hair and lash them good, what with their ‘spraypaint’ and their ‘bifocal lenses’ and their ‘clean water systems’ and their ‘progress!’ The ungrateful little snobs!�

“My bragging was nothing compared to hers,� countered the author cheerily. “For claiming to be the oldest being on the Earth and having complete control over time, she sure was easily fooled.� The Savant took a giant swig. “I got her to sign the contract in no time. I’ll be grabbing Gaea by the reins next.�

“You won’t!�

“Don’t flatter yourself, honeybuns. There’sh nothing you can do to shtop me.�

“How did you get her to sign the measure!?� Cavekeeper, eyeing the fiery glare of the head in the water, had to shout over the din of the sasquatches telling riotous tales of their shenanigans to an adoring audience of party guests. “She’s a biter!�

“First I ‘accidentally’ spilled soot all over the floor—you’ll remember this was, this was right after Aesopbot blew up—and she stepped in it. She said she was used to ash and slow-danced with me. I got her to sign her name with footsteps.�

“And the floor was a giant contract?�

“She was too drunk to notice.� The Savant belched. “I shrunk the contract and *hic* gave it to her. Why do you need to know where Tempis ish anyway?�

“Fate’s frozen time down here. You must be too high up to notice.� In more ways than one, she noted bitterly.

“Oh really? Well, don’t worry sweety, we’ll fix that right up! Oh Racecar!�

The author’s eternal lapdog, Racecar, was barely visible serving drinks to the guests behind the two heads. “Yes, mastersire?�

“Summon Tempis!� The Savant returned his attention to the head in the water. “As you’re about to witness, time may last forever, but binding magical contracts are even more forever.�
Racecar pulled out of his robe a gigantic trombone and blew into it as loud as he could. Instantly Tempis appeared beside him, kneeling in forced reverence.

“Cavekeeper, adjust the Seerswell. Make sure she can see this.�

The Savant walked up to her sister’s prostate form. Tempis was the eldest sister, but one wouldn’t have been able to tell, for she was the fairest of them all. Besides being clad from neck to toe in form-fitting armor and having two pairs of swords strapped to her back, she had all the appearance and mannerisms of an innocent fourteen-year-old girl. (In fact, she bore an almost uncanny resemblance to Ginny Weasley, only her hair was longer and lighter and she had no freckles.)

“Normalize the—thank you, you can put the trombone down now—normalize the—I said put it down! Normalize the flow of—Racecar!

“Normalize the flow of time!� Racecar blew into the trombone triumphantly. The author shook his head.

“Ugh… what he said.�

It was as if an invisible current ran up her arm and made her hand shoot into the air. Unwillingly, almost instantly, her fingers snapped of their own accord. She grimaced.

“There. Everything should be better now.�

The image of two sasquatch brothers running around the corridors of the space station filled Pele’s tearing eyes for nary a second. They were blissfully unaware of what was going on. Racecar, dismissing Tempis with but a musical note, dropped the trombone and gave chase.

“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you just ask Fate to normalize time?

“Clause DXII: You cannot inform anyone I haven’t got to yet of my plans.�

“But I’ve already gotten to Fate.�

“What!?�

“Yesh. In fact, she was the first one. Back then I forgot to put in that helpful little clause,� The Savant hiccupped, “but I’ve wised up.�

“Uh, author-man? Oh hi Pele,� said the face of a sasquatch as it entered her line of vision. “There’s this group of aliens, they say they’ve been meaning to talk to you all night.�

“Ah Jeez, don’t tell me they’re here for…�

“Socks!�

“Great, not you again! If I told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times! The next shipment’s coming tomorrow!�

“But you said… Our people are waiting for their fuel!� said the extraterrestrial ambassador, flagella flailing wildly.

“I’m sorry, but we just can’t churn out socks that quickly! I’m very sorry that your economy and transportation depend on it, and that without a readily available supply of socks your entire society collapses. But between you guys and Dumbledore I’ve been sending massive orders of socks faster than I like to think is possible! Listen, I can refer you to this Dark Lord, he’s worked wonders for… Ah Jeez, is this thing still on?�

The light of the Seerswell abated, its waters receding to a murky black once more. Time was flowing again, and the volcano had quit shaking. Pele could not help her sisters. She could do nothing to ameliorate the situation in any way. But the Earth was still revolving around the sun, and Hawaii was intact. All she could do was wait… and watch.
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It was a very, very cold night. Even Tekkulat, who had endured the bitter sting of an Arctic waterfall for two weeks and become leader of Nihoth when he was sixteen, was having trouble keeping warm on his throne. Of course, the wintry glow of the ice crystal in his hand would make even the most hardened Eskimo shift uncomfortably. Fortunately for him, he would soon get to move around and exercise his muscles. For in the distance he could make out two figures coming down the barren slope of Motm’s Mountain.

“Behold! They return bearing a gift for their king!� Tekkulat stood up from his icy throne and pointed at several of his subjects commandingly. “You, you, go fetch a pedestal. Dewpo, kindle the cauldron! You, you, and you, go assist Imta and Sakkuit in bringing Motm’s spoils down the mountain!�

Yes, it was good to be king. You got to own all the cool magical artifacts passed down the royal line, to loaf around and have servants feed you in the comfort of your bed, and, best of all, to have a special spot reserved for you in the halls of the Great Walrus God after you died. No one ever questioned your authority and carried out your commands quickly and diligently; for them there was little to no doubt that Tekkulat was ordained by the Great Walrus to rule their sacred mountain range.

And why would they doubt my place on the throne? Tekkulat asked himself, twiddling the amulet in his fingers and narrowing his eyes. I can use magic.

Indeed, it was their ability to use magic that had cemented Tekkulat’s family’s sense of divine right. None of the other Nihoth tribe Indians had ever displayed such power, though he had discovered that there were indeed others who wielded this power. This is why he chose to ally himself with the strongest wizard of all time.

All to have it explode in my face. Literally. Still clutching the amulet, Tekkulat brought it up to the large gash on his forehead and let loose a full blast of icy wind. The chirurgeons that inhabited Mt. Motm around seven hundred years ago had created a rather peculiar branch of holistics—the patient was to constantly inflict pain unto his wound in order to remind him or herself that it could always be worse. Of course, being a wizard, and a king at that, Tekkulat hardly ever had to treat his own wounds. But the battle had been brutal. In fact, he reminded himself reluctantly, he’d almost died.

The four Eskimos he had sent up Motm’s mountain were slowly approaching the snowy hill. Tekkulat was glad for the distraction; if he squinted, he could almost make out what they were lugging. It was big… rectangular… clear…

“Leader!�

The contents of a big black kettle sloshed onto the frozen ground.

“Very good, Dewpo. Everything’s almost in order.�

“Then the ceremony will be held tonight, leader?�

Tekkulat smiled and looked to the sky. “It certainly looks so.�

“Shall I alert the others?� whispered Dewpo into his liege’s parka, his eyes darting from the tense faces of the people seated cross-legged before the throne to the luminous streaks of light marring the stars.

“No need, no need,� assured Tekkulat, waving his hand. “They can see the brilliance of tonight’s aurora as well as I. It seems as if Kocha wasn’t such an old kook after all. Pity her death was so… violent.�

Dewpo winced. He remembered the trauma of his grandmother’s prophecy like it was yesterday. Writhing and raving in her deathbed like the Day of Judgment had come… Then again, she must have seen visions that looked an awful lot like doomsday…

“What was it she said before she died?� nudged Tekkulat, always with that triumphant smirk about him. “Tell me again.�

Dewpo gulped and with considerable effort relived that horrible day. “The tribe of Nihoth will under a dark (and equally stupid) influence suffer a great tragedy, and the great mountain will fall and ‘be fouled.’ But one night strands of colored light in the sky will appear, unraveling only when the scales of karma are balanced once again. Stars’ light will shine on Nihoth, and the mountain will be reclaimed. All wrongs will be set right.�

“Well I imagine when she said it was a whole lot more dramatic. But that’s okay, you got the gist of it.�

“Y-yes, leader.�

“Who knew that crazy old hag was a Seer?� Tekkulat asked himself, treating his scar with another searing glacial ray. “The battle—a great tragedy.�

Whatever was being hauled over to the gathering was now making an audible scraping sound, alerting everyone to look back at the ruins of Mt. Motm.

“The great mountain will fall and ‘be fouled.’ Motm is probably gone for good.�

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.

“Ah, but we shall talk later!� Though he was now in a state of excited expectation, Tekkulat still needed to rub his hands together to keep warm, for it was getting colder and colder as the scouts approached... and it did not take long to see why.

“Great Walrus,� exclaimed one of the tribesmen, getting up and pointing, “It’s a giant block of ice!�

“Don’t be silly!� scoffed Tekkulat from behind the wafting vapors of the cauldron. “We see ice every waking moment, why would they bring such a thing back down from the moun--�

Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Thud. The rectangular block of ice cast a sheen so bright it was practically blinding.

“There… there are… there’s treasure in there, right?�

“Doesn’t look like it, leader,� panted Imta. “Just some furry--�

“You mean to tell me that Motm had nothing in his hut—or indeed, his entire mountain—to steal?�

“No, leader, only this,� assured another of the scouts, “but if your Highness would just take a moment to--�

“I don’t believe this!� cut in the irate king. “All these years we’ve been waiting for that old man to finally drop dead, and you mean to tell me that his entire mountain yielded nothing of any value? Unbelievable!�

Tekkulat upturned his cauldron in rage, and its acidy contents spilled on the permafrost, quickly snaking towards the gigantic cube of ice. Tekkulat had been planning to use the potion he’d brewed to transmute some of Motm’s belongings. But as the smoke of the newly-collapsed cauldron cleared, he could see that there was something inside the block… something much more valuable than anything Tekkulat could have hoped for.

The creature within rattled and shook as the acid began to eat its way through the centuries-old slab of rime. It was a furry, formidable-looking giant with pure white fur, uncommonly big with a huge mallet tied to its tail and what looked like a slab of beef half-chewed in its mouth. Tekkulat was almost afraid to come face to face with it, but in all likelihood it was close to death anyway.

What happened next, however, dashed Tekkulat’s preconceived notions. The block of ice exploded, its former captive unconsciously bounding forward from the broken shards. It quickly commenced to make a show of sloppily eating the outsize slab of meat in its mouth, relishing it heartily as drool dribbled down its jaw and froze within seconds. The villagers around it gasped and fled from the spectacle; it was only then that the creature opened its eyes to survey its new surroundings.

“A yeti?� pondered Tekkulat, his robes billowing as he began to circle the beast, examining it intently. The beast let the steak fall to the floor and turned to gaze at the frantic denizens running quickly and swiftly from the dangerous animal (the Nihoth had learned long ago that screaming and agonizing only informed nearby predators of their whereabouts). Not quite the effect he’s desired—nor, come to think of it, the place he’d wanted to do it in…

“Ah yes.� Tekkulat’s eyes un-narrowed. “A yeti. Of course.�

The creature scratched its head, as if struggling to figure out where he was, or, possibly, what he was doing there in the first place.

“Name youself!� commanded the stately autocrat abruptly, a wand shooting up his sleeve into his waiting hand.

“Where am I?� demanded the yeti gruffly.

“I said name yourself!�

The spell bounced right off of the yeti’s coarse of coat of fur, shooting into the sky. It shrugged the jinx off like it was nothing, its temper flaring to legendary heights.

“WHERE AM I?� The floor shook as the hammer it held aloft with its long slender tail came crashing to the earth.

A quick but potent shield charm saved him. Huge chunks of ice hurtled with deadly speed in every direction.

“No… could it be?� he huffed, pressing his hands against his protective bubble to wipe away the frost. But he had no time to think; a second potentially lethal fusillade came his way, forcing him to duck into the very ice.

“I am Wesktholt!� it screeched proudly and repeatedly, leaping into the air and pummeling the ice under which Tekkulat hid with each iteration. “I am Wesktholt!�

Tekkulat gasped in amazement—so it was Motm that had sealed Wesktholt away over fifteen hundred years ago?! He couldn’t have possibly been THAT old!

“I AM WESKTHOLT!�

The king rolled away just in time. He had to do something fast; his spell was fading and he didn’t look forward to the prospect of becoming stuck underground for eternity.

“I am Wesktholt! Greatest of Plunderers! Worst of Despots! Future ruler of your pathetic world! I am the FOURTH SCOURGE!!!�

Cracks ran further down the sheet of ice above him; as Tekkulat narrowly avoided a burst of falling debris, he decided he had no choice but to sink back up to the surface.

“I know who you are, Wesktholt, and I can tell you where you are!�

Wesktholt looked back at him, mallet brandished threateningly.

“This is Nihoth, the land of my people! For centuries we have lived in these mountains, successfully protecting our sacred homeland from every intruder under the providence of the Great Walrus!�

The mighty albino turned to faced him. “I’ve never heard of Nihoth. I thought I’d destroyed all of the mountain civilizations!�

“In the Himalayas, maybe, but you’re not in Babylon anymore.�

“How did you…?�

“I know everything about you, big man,� said Tekkulat, and Wesktholt was forced to move his head lower and lower to meet the Eskimo’s eyes. “Well, everything you can learn from a book anyway. Actually, come to think of it, I’d like to get to know you personally—don’t worry, big man, I’ll get it. Accio!�

Wesktholt’s steak shot into Tekkulat’s grip. It had become hard as steel.

“I was terrorizing a town square in Constantinople, chewing that steak real scary-like—I’d skeletonized someone’s cow beforehand, if I recall correctly—and all of a sudden this old guy behind me gets real pissed. Next thing I know…� Wesktholt scratched his head. “I’m here.�

“That must’ve been Motm… perhaps someone had rejected him? Well anyway, you should know that you’ve been frozen for what looks like the better part of two millennia, and your hopes of world conquest are basically totally obliterated.�

“What! The whole world knows and fears me! I destroyed single-handedly six of the seven Wonders of the World! I conquered, subdued and razed to the ground every society that dared oppose me!�

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, big man,� he sympathized, “but you’re forgotten. History’s covered up your exploits, explaining away the carnage you wreaked with lie after lie.� Tekkulat stirred up an evil little glint in his eyes. “Your name no longer commands any fear. But I can change that!�

“How?�

“There is something you and I both want,� he replied, conjuring a rope as he spoke and magically binding it around the hole of the steak. “Or rather, different things that will come of the same means. You want destruction and glory. I simply want to do what’s best for my people. Here.�

Wesktholt took up the rope and swung it a few times; he rather liked the idea of his new weapon.

Tekkulat’s toothy grin mirrored that of the yeti. “If you accept my proposal, then we will attain what we need.�

“I haven’t heard your proposal yet.�

“Ah, already so eager to achieve your former glory? Then let’s not waste time babbling on and on.� Tekkulat looked up to the sky, the wavering streaks of color that had so tenaciously hung onto it all but dissipating that very moment. “Kill the centaur named Magorian. Afterwards bring his corpse to me.�

“And what do I get in return?� asked Wesktholt greedily. “Sorry, but I’ll be needing some material goods to… er… motivate me.�

“Tell you what. Take this.�

Tekkulat placed his amulet of ice into the giant monkey’s hand.

“With it you’ll be able to instantly freeze things. Think of it as a little advance payment.�

Wesktholt gripped the talisman hard and gave him a shifty look. “How do I know I can trust you?�

“Dear me, accusations already! I was willing to kill a nice old lady who exhibited just a trace of magical power in order to ensure my place on the throne! Surely you can relate to that?�

The barbarian seemed appeased by this statement. “And should I get bored on the way there?�

Tekkulat flicked his wand and a cordless radio spun into existence, a warbling female voice issuing from it immediately.

“We’re partial to Cher around these parts,� said Tekkulat unabashedly. The radio was made to revolve around the yeti’s head.

“Ooo, nice to see how much magic’s evolved since I’ve been gone!� echoed the big ape cheerily. “Well, time to fly!�

“Wait, I didn’t tell you where he… oh great.�

Wesktholt had already leapt into the horizon and out of sight.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ah, isn’t this nice?�

“Mmm,� said a slightly sleepy Sinistra, gazing at the beautiful sunrise on the back of her favorite centaur. She was surprised at how quickly Magorian had broken in his sea legs.

Overall, the forecast for the weekend was excellent. It was perfectly cloudless, the waves were stable, and Ganglia was fixing them a nice breakfast. (Magorian had assured her beforehand that the bear could make a mean Greek omelet.)

“No seagulls in sight!� exulted Magorian triumphantly. “I knew I picked the right place!�

“Yeah, who knew the Third Sea was so… serene?� Sinistra yawned. “I mean, I’ve never even heard of the Third Sea…�

“Nohead Peglegs told me all about it! You see, there are sev--�

“Who?�

“Nohead Peglegs! Greatest pirate of the seven seas?�

“Not ringing any bells.�

Just then, a bell rang.

“Ah, breakfast is ready! Come on, let’s go get a bite!�

“OkaaaaaAAAAAAY!� Paige held on for dear life as her steed galloped with all speed and crashed through the kitchen door without warning. Fortunately, this only gave poor Ganglia eight simultaneous heart attacks (as opposed to the normal fifty), for just then a thunderous crash rocked the boat, canceling out a load of other cardiac arrests.

Eggs, bacon and milk sprayed all over the cabin of Dumbledore’s ship.

“I. Hate. Damage control!� screamed Magorian, galloping back out of the kitchen to survey the damage and damage the damage even more. Sinistra followed him, wand at the ready.

“Are you bien, mi amigo?� A man with a flamenco suit and a vibrant orange-and-black sombrero helped his huge luchador friend up with a spell as snazzy as his tuxedo. “Lucky this boat was here, really.�

Dolc murmured its assent, climbing swiftly back on its enormous feet.

“What’s this?� said Magorian, smiling broadly. “My adventure senses are tingling!�

“Que?� said Zefir, unaware they were being watched. “Oh, look, it is a centaur!�

“Centaur, centaur.�

“What do you think, Dolc? Should we ask it for directions?�

“I’ll be happy to point you in the right direction, boys!� replied Magorian with all the eagerness of a local psychologist after a devastating and traumatizing plane crash. “Just as soon as you fix the huge dent you made in our ship, that is.�

“Reparo Totalus. Really, Dolc, that’s the second vehicle you’ve partially destroyed in under fifteen minutes!�

“That’s an interesting friend you’ve got there,� said the centaur, examining Dolc’s hulking form.

“I don’t suppose you know any centaurs named ‘Magorian,’ do you?� asked Zefir.

“You’re speaking to him,� said Sinistra.

“Oh, is that so? Well in that case we shall have to kill you,� said the Spaniard debonairly, not missing a beat. “Dolc!�

“Dolc pockmark feeble centaur with imprints of fist!� he bellowed, charging at the Magorian with all the force of someone who was really forceful. The half-giant was uncommonly articulate, in part due to the fact that he was also half-Gothmage.

“Protego!� The giant’s blow was blocked just in time by Sinistra; the Leotards of Deflection were still badly burnt and in need of mending.

“Whoa, guys, surely we can settle this peacefully?� said Magorian, protected by her momentary force field.

Every motion Zefir made to disable the charm was blocked in kind by Sinistra.

“Dolc send centaur to see maker! Dolc want test laws of entropy on face!� The giant continued to bang on the shield.

“I’ll get you yet, pretty! The beautiful complexion of your skin will soon be matted with blood!�

“Are you trying to kill me or to flirt with me!?�

“A little of both,� taunted Zefir, expertly dodging one of her jinxes with his prodigious agility and rebounding yet another with a carefully-timed counterspell. “This is horseplay, my dear; perhaps, if you hand over the centaur, we can call off this silly squabble and perhaps enjoy a moonlit stroll on the beach together?�

“Why do you want him anyway?� she asked, jumping back to avoid a heat ray and nearly toppling over the rail of the boat into the sea.

“Not me, chica—the boss.�

“Assassins!� she yelled derisively. “Who would want Magorian’s head, and why?� Even in the heat of battle Sinistra couldn’t help but pause to analyze the situation.

“What are you talking about!?� snorted the centaur, rolling his eyes. “Who wouldn’t want my head? It’s so ruggedly handsome and manly. It would make a great addition to any home. Put it on the mantelpiece. Stick it on a Christmas Tree. Hang it by the oven.� Magorian ran his hand through his hair and let out what he thought was a sexy neigh. “I’ve an absolutely irresistible head.�

“Dolc want reconstruct your body with knuckles!� The shield showed no signs of strain under Dolc’s heavy wailing. “Dolc need mop floor with spine!�

“You’ve good taste, my friend. My gentle yet sturdy backbone can double as a fixture to hang coats on!�

Zefir had no trouble pirouetting to avoid another of Sinistra’s attacks. “I could do this all day, you know.�

“As can I!� Sinistra gesticulated fiercely with her wand and sent the ship’s steering wheel spinning in a graceful arc towards Zefir’s neck.

“I don’t think so, dama. Oh Dolc!� The mariachi mage clicked his castanets and gave his liege a new order. “Be so kind as to show this little lady the door.�

He did as he was told, having tired of fruitlessly bashing the force field. Instantly he lunged forward, intending to smash Sinistra’s head against the door of the cabin. Ganglia jumped in the way just in time, latching onto the lumbering giant’s hand like something that latches onto things really well. It was a little known fact that in Ganglia’s slobber dwelled a particularly hostile strain of flesh-eating bacteria, (perhaps because the author had never disclosed it before).

“Oh, and that was such an expertly articulated hand too,� mourned Magorian as his Dolc’s hand fell off in chunks. “Exquisite detail, beautiful craftsmanship! Would have fetched at least eighty Galleons in the Knockturn underground!�

“Do not get so cocky yet, friend!� Zefir whipped the sombrero off his head and a dozen swinging blades appeared at its rim. The steering wheel coming directly at him didn’t stand a chance.

Dolc’s hand had regenerated fully. Magorian, as unfazed as he was by the giant’s uncanny ability to instantly heal as he was by the visible crack forming on his shield, put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.

“Good,� said the chieftain, contented. “Now let’s all try to settle this like adults.�

Magorian paused. No one raised an objection.

“Excellent! Now, see that spire out there in the middle of the ocean?�

They all looked in the direction Magorian indicated, Ganglia running up to the edge of the boat to get a better view.

“Kinda looks like an iceberg, only made of rock?�

“I see it,� said Zefir.

“It’s a pretty spire, isn’t it?�

“Yes……..� contributed Sinistra, not sure where he was going with this.
There was another long pause.

“Well, anyway,� said Magorian finally, “let’s eat. I’m starving.�

Even the bear groaned--its master couldn’t maintain a train of thought for more than four seconds.

“How about this? Me and Dolc against you and the lady. A two-on-two fight to the death…� Zefir removed his castanets and humbly set his sombrero on the floor. “…Without weapons.�

“On one condition. I get to use Ganglia instead of Sinistra.�

“What!?�

“Somebody needs to steer the ship.�

“Why me?�

“Because Ganglia doesn’t have any thumbs. Besides, he’s a better at fighting in close quarters than any mage.�

Sinistra huffed and spirited towards the front of the boat, fashioning a new steering wheel where the first one was. “I’ll steer us towards the spire. You can fight there!�

“Have I seen that spire before?� Zefir asked himself, squinting at the peculiar formation of rock jutting out of the surface of the sea. But before he knew it, he was already assuming a defensive stance on the “landberg;� after all, centaurs had a distinct advantage on higher ground.

“Ready…�

Dolc beat its chest, prepping its enormous body for combat.

“Set…�

Sinistra wiped the sweat off her face and clutched the megaphone to her again, safe on the hull of the yacht.

“Go!�

A monstrous serpent burst out of the water and coiled up its spire, spraying the intruders with a violently purple electric mist.

“What the…?� Zefir deflected the spray with a baton that he’d hidden under his sleeve. Magorian took the brunt of the fog with no ill effect; his central nervous system had developed an immunity to every kind of disturbance, so he shrugged it off like nothing. The flesh torn off by the lightning regenerated quickly in Dolc, and Ganglia was agile enough to evade the 40,000-volt fog altogether and land on the boat with Sinistra.

“What is that thing?� she yelled.

“Halt!� boomed a voice louder than hers from just over the horizon. “Cease at once, Falenanguilla!�

The serpent, whose name was apparently “Falenanguilla,� ducked back into the ocean reluctantly, and the strange mist disappeared. A flying Hummer swerved to a stop above them, and a man in a white lab coat popped out the sunroof.

“What do you think you’re doing on Falenanguilla’s nest? Come to steal some o’ his eggs, ya stinkin’ poachers? I’ll show you lot what’s what, you--�

But another, more familiar voice was fighting for the megaphone, yanking it from under the lab technician and speaking into it from inside the car.

“Do not be alarmed, citizens! Dr. Kicker is a bit out of it today, but rest assured there were no eggs to snatch and that the spire is not private property!�

“What are you talkin’ about, you little…�

“They’re visitors. Quit scaring off potential investors!�

“They’re gonna steal Falen’s eggs!�

“It hasn’t laid any yet, you old coot!�

Magorian and company simply stared in bewilderment as the fight between the scientist and whatever was in the car escalated beyond words.

“I’ll have you know that it laid two just yesterday!�

“You liar, you were up watching that Golden Girls marathon all day!�

“It’s an hilarious show! I can’t help loving those girls and the antics they get up to!�

At this the voice in the Hummer levitated out of the sunroof to accost the scientist eye-to-eye. It was the most bizarre thing the chieftain had ever seen in his life: a floating brain with an anchor tied to its medulla.

Zefir gasped in astonishment. Everything finally clicked into place. “No… it can’t be!�

“What is it?� asked Magorian, trotting down and patting him on the shoulder.
“Is this… the Third Sea?�

“The one and only.�

“Dolc! We’re following those two to the museum!� If this meant anything deeper to Dolc, he sure didn’t show it.

“Wait, what going on? What’s this about a museum?�

“Nothing that concerns you, centaur. This target is much more valuable than the prize on your head.�

The argument between the scientist and the floating brain-anchor had since subsided, and Dr. Kicker was examining one of the trespassers from his Hummer. “Mac, haven’t we seen that thing before? The one over there… it looks like a cross between a Gothmage and a giant!�

“Do you recall ever splicing the two?� replied Mac, the megaphone hooked to its anchor.

“Vaguely.�

“Then fly down there and find out!�

“I wouldn’t wanna intrude…�

“You hypocrite,� huffed the brain exasperatedly, “weren’t you just screaming your head off about ‘intruders?’�

“That ain’t hypocrisy! That’s reaffirmin’ my dislike of bleedin’ intruders!�

“Whatever, just park the car on the frickin’ boat and get your inquisitive ass over to that stupid spire!�

Sinistra’s yacht rocked as the Hummer thudded onto the ship. Magorian, Zefir and Dolc each climbed back onto the boat in an unspecified way that you shouldn’t really worry about right now.

“Excuse me, sir, but who the hell are you?�

“My card.�

“Eh?� Sinistra felt a business card form in her hands.

D.R. Kicker
Curator of Fab Lab # 11
Head Mageneticist of International Waters
[Sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic. No, really.]

“Mageneticist?�

“Magic geneticists. They use a combination of magic and science to mesh multiple organisms into living creatures of their own design. This is where I must have stolen Dolc all those years ago… I was only twelve years old, so I don’t remember much about the break-in. Back then my raids were mostly a rush,� said Zefir to no one in particular.

“I thought I’d seen that thing before!� said Dr. Kicker, slamming his car door behind him from which Mac had only just slipped through without getting fatally crushed.

“So Dolc came from your laboratory?� said Magorian.

“Uh…� D.R. suddenly stopped, his haste to reach his old specimen having seemingly evaporated. “There is no laboratory. It’s just a museum. The most boring museum in the world. The only exhibits are of goldfish. Really boring goldfish.�

“Shut up, Kicker, you’re not fooling anyone,� said Mac, gazing at Magorian from behind the technician’s shoulder.

“How can I possibly not be fooling them? Why would they wanna know where the laboratory was if they already knew everything about it?�

“No one’s going to invest in a museum of ‘really boring goldfish,’ Kicker, we’ve been over this a thousand times!�

“But I need to disguise the true identity of the laboratory, or else everyone will know I’m a phony!�

Magorian and the rest were again forced to stare back and forth as Kicker and “Mac� spouted off biting remarks increasingly loudly.

“Uh, guys, not for nothing, but shouldn’t we do, like, something?� aired Magorian.

“What do you mean?� said Sinistra.

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but that giant serpent-things’s back.� The centaur pointed over the quarreling pair and, sure enough, there it was, poised to strike. “And also, the boat is sinking.� Magorian trotted in place, and a thin of film of water spritzed to the beat of his hooves.

“The Hummer must be weighing down that side of the boat!� said Sinistra, pulling out her well-worn wand. “I’ll have to levitate it into the water!�

“This hybrid must be another experiment!� shouted Zefir. “Yes, I can see it clearly, it’s a cross between a moth and an eel! Worry not, there is a method to kill such beasts!�

Kicker stopped screaming about how Golden Girls was indeed a legitimate documentary replete with allegory and social commentary, leaving the floating brain to moan on and on about the debt they were accumulating to thin air. For if there was thing that could make the cussing old scientist leave mid-argument, it was the threat of a grumpy sea serpent mangling his car and getting the leather seats all wet and salty.

The monster recoiled as a barrage of Conjuctivis Curses flared in its eyes. The serpent’s mouth opened to unleash another jet of ionic fog when...

“STOP!!!�

Everyone ceased what they were doing immediately. Even Ganglia and Dolc stopped playing cards on the deck of the boat.

“Listen, I think if we all just settled down and talked things through, we come to some sort of conceivable compromise here. I’ll take my hummer off the boat if you promise not to inquire any further about the laboratory. I mean museum. Of goldfish. In fact, it’d be just swell if you lot just left and never came back. Deal?�

Then everyone laughed, piled into his Hummer, and drove off, zooming happily away.

“What just happened?�

“I believe they all just piled into you Hummer and drove off,� said Mac. “Zooming happily away. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him who I was!�

“Well, they’ll obviously find out in the next chapter. Man the steering wheel, Mac... we’re going after them!�

“But how, the car’s too fast--�

D.R. gave a resounding whistle, and the serpent coiled around the boat in obeisance, heaving it along with its massive body.

“That’s how,� he smirked. The seabreeze lifted D.R.’s shaggy hair from his eyes, and he could see his base of operations drifting amidst the rolling waves.
I should get out more often, he surmised, enjoying the feel of the boat as it rocked back and forth..
--------------------*---------------------
“Uh... what just happened?� asked Sinistra tentatively.

“It looks as if we all spontaneously decided to steal the car at the same time,� replied Zefir, who was cramped even in the magically-enhanced interior of the SUV due to his companion’s massive bulk. “Where are we–no, Dolc, we can’t play blackjack right now–where are we go–yes, even if the bear taught you how to shuffle. And how did he even manage it so fast? The entire thing was mentioned in about eight words... yes, we can play later. Now, where are you taking us?�

“I’m taking you guys to that freaky scientist’s lab,� said Magorian, (who was overjoyed to be able to drive, since the interior of the Hummer allowed his horse-half some wiggle room). “It’s where you want to go, isn’t it?�

“You’d do that for us? We tried to kill you.�

“I’m sure you had your reasons,� he shrugged. “Besides, I want to see what it’s like in there. Bet it’s more interesting than goldfish.�

“There it is!� Sinitra pointed to her left, and everyone looked through the window.

“What, the cloud?� said Magorian.

“No, not the cloud, look down!�

“What, the cloud beneath it?�

“Look at the tower!�

“Under the cloud?�

“Yes, under the cloud.�

“But there’s only a cloud under the cloud.�

“No! Underneath the cloud that’s under the first cloud! It’s a giant freaking tower, how can you miss it? Big sign that reads ‘Fab Lab 11?’�

“Oh, that tower! Why didn’t you say so the first time?�

Sinistra just clapped her hand to her face and shook her head. A hatch opened at the apex of the strange building. Magorian shifted gears, and down they went...