Summary: It's baaaaaack...........
As the name implies, the ever-wacky, ever-evil Power Of Suggestion has returned to Hogwarts! What insanity will occur this time?
Note that this is a sequel (duh), so it's strongly advised to read the first part first. Just check my author page for a link!
*~*~*~*
Chappie nine is UP! Enjoy!
Categories: Humor Fics Characters: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 9
Completed: Yes
Word count: 14453
Read: 35358
Published: 08/30/06
Updated: 09/09/07
1. In Trouble Already, And It’s Only The First Chapter by FriendsOfSnape
2. What IS Your Fascination with My Forbidden Closet of Mystery? by FriendsOfSnape
3. Subplot Action, Part One: Questing For Arbitrar! by FriendsOfSnape
4. Music To My Ears by FriendsOfSnape
5. The Battle Of The Bands by FriendsOfSnape
6. Subplot Action, Part Two: Muggle Harassment by FriendsOfSnape
7. Villainy Is Vision-Impaired by FriendsOfSnape
8. Pushing The Limit by FriendsOfSnape
9. Sub-plot Action, Part Three: Plot?! by FriendsOfSnape
In Trouble Already, And It’s Only The First Chapter by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: It’s baaaaaaaaaaaaaack……….
You asked, and you shall receive. I had just so much fun with the constant hilarity of writing the original “Power of Suggestion,” that I mentioned that, mayhaps, I might be interested in doing a sequel…….
Well, here it is! And in accordance with the strange tradition I’ve started, this chapter was sponsored by McDonald’s (I know, I know, I’m a corporate lackey), my awesome music playlist of course, and the wonderful folks who reviewed with crazy ideas to help spark this second bout of insanity.
Harry Potter yawned. It was again Monday morning, and again he was sitting in double Potions, bored out of his gourd. They were supposed to be making a Calming Draught, or a Cheerfulness Draught, or something or other like that. Harry had quite stopped paying attention. He figured Snape would fail him no matter what he made.
And, as Harry turned in a flask of the goo from his cauldron that was a poisonous purple rather than the periwinkle blue Hermione’s potion was, apparently Snape thought the same thing.
“What is this, Potter?” he sneered, holding up the flask and tilting it, so the contents oozed to the side.
Harry, thankful that he was the last one to turn in his work so no one else was listening in, glanced quickly at the board. “A Coughing Concoction,” he answered. Oooh, so close.
Snape raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? Could it be, Potter, that you no longer think that my class is worth your time?”
“No sir.” Harry needed to take Potions if he was to realize his ambition of being an Auror.
“Then why have you not even bothered to check what you are making?”
“But “ I did “ on the board….” Harry looked at the board again. Now that he double-checked, the words “coughing” and “concoction” were used in the sentence, “Do not inhale the fumes, or you will start coughing over your concoction.” Harry did a facepalm.
“I think, Potter, that you need a detention to understand the finer points of potion-making. Like paying attention.” His dark eyes glittered menacingly. “Tonight, my office, eight o’clock.”
“Yes, sir,” said Harry through gritted teeth. He stormed back to his seat and started angrily putting away his things.
“What’d Snape want?” Ron asked.
“Oh, nothing, just to give me a detention.”
“Why?” Ron sounded stunned. “You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?”
“Oh, just some nonsense about me not paying enough attention. You know Snape, he’s always looking for a reason to give me a detention or dock points, even if it’s not a good reason.”
“Well, you weren’t really paying attention today, you know,” said Hermione fairly.
“What? Yes I was!” lied Harry automatically in his own defense.
“Well, remember when I had to stop you adding powdered griffin claw instead of powdered root of hellebore?”
“…No…”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe this detention’s not such a bad idea!”
“How can you say such a thing, Hermione?” asked Ron, sounding affronted. “Detention’s always a bad idea!”
Just then, the bell rang, drowning out any rebuttal that Hermione might have been making. The trio collected their bags, and went upstairs to lunch.
Entering the Great Hall, Harry accidentally bumped into a second year heading through the doors as well. “Sorry,” Harry muttered as he started walking again.
“S’no problem,” said the second year. “Hey, you’re Harry Potter! I’ve heard all about you. My name’s David.”
“Uh, nice to meet you.”
“I’m in Gryffindor too, so I guess I’ll see you around!” And he walked off, a bounce in his step.
“Weird, the kids now,” said Ron.
That night at a quarter to eight, Harry started down to the dungeons for his detention. As he left the common room, the second year from earlier jumped out of his seat and followed Harry.
“Hiya, Harry!” he said, somewhat breathlessly. “Whatcha doing?”
“Going to detention,” answered Harry. He was forcibly reminded of the Creevy brothers.
“Wow, who’ve you got it with?”
“Snape.”
“Ooooh. What did you do?”
“Nothing.” Harry was getting a bit annoyed now.
“Ooooh. That’s not very fair. You know, I’ve heard Snape’s unfair, but he’s never been mean to me.”
“Really? He’s always unfair to me.”
“Well, maybe you did something to deserve it.”
Harry spun around to look at the kid. He was grinning broadly. “Well, see you!” And he turned around and disappeared back down the hall.
Harry scowled and shuffled off to the dungeons again. Ron was right, the kids now were weird. As if Harry had needed to be in a bad mood before he got to Snape’s office.
A few minutes later, Harry was knocking on the door of said office and entered. It was now all-too familiar to Harry, with the walls lined with jars of slimy, sinister things in various colored potions. Something new was there though: a small table had been set up, laden with potions ingredients, and a cauldron was standing beside it.
“Close the door and sit down, Potter,” said Snape from behind his desk. Harry obeyed, shutting the door and sitting at the chair by the small table.
Snape finished marking an essay in front of him, then stood and walked over to the table. “As you can see, Potter, for detention, I thought we’d do something a little different. You are to make the potion you botched in class, but make it correctly this time. I’ve taken the liberty of giving you the correct ingredients, since you obviously couldn’t find them for yourself.” Harry’s hands balled into fists under the table. Snape’s lip curled. “After you have finished that, you will write the correct procedure, including where you went wrong the first time. Enjoy.” And with that, he swept back to his desk.
Harry picked up a piece of parchment that the instructions had been written on and read it. It was headed, “Confuddlement Draught.” Well, at least he’d guessed the starting letters right earlier. Resignedly, Harry picked up some ingredients and started mixing.
An hour and half later, Harry added the last ingredient and stirred clockwise five times. His potion wasn’t quite as pale as Hermione’s had been, but it was at least blue this time. He filled a flask and brought it to Snape, who picked it up and stared intently at it. He put it down on his desk and said, “Add a bit more hellebore next time. Clean up and write the theory, then.”
Harry rolled his eyes and went back to the table. He cleared out the cauldron and put away the ingredients, then picked up a quill and pulled a piece of parchment towards him. After glancing up quickly to make sure Snape was busy grading papers, Harry copied the instructions. At the end, he wrote, “I couldn’t tell you where I messed up the first time, as I wasn’t paying attention.”
Harry then gave this paper to Snape. Snape read this over, raising an eyebrow as he did. “I wonder, Potter,” he said, still looking at the paper, “if you know what plagiarism is?”
“Yes,” Harry answered.
“Because it seems you’ve just done a bit yourself. I don’t allow copied homework, and I certainly don’t allow copied detention work. I told you to write the theory; I can read my own writing any time I want.” He thrust the paper back at Harry. “Do it again.”
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but a knock at the door cut him off.
“Enter,” Snape said.
The door opened, and in walked a llama. It was, in fact, the llama that had appeared at the end of “The Power of Suggestion.” Harry’s jaw dropped. Even Snape looked taken aback. The llama cantered over and dropped a letter that had been in its mouth on Snape’s desk. Snape and Harry looked down at the note. It read:
It’s baaaaaaaaack………..
-Arbitrar
The two looked up quickly, but the llama had already walked back out of the office. They looked back at the note, and started swearing at the same time.
A/N: It has returned!!! MWAHAHA!!!!!!! AHAAAA *hack cough* Ahem. Sorry if this isn’t terribly funny yet, but we need some exposition, and I’ve been rereading book 5, so people are actually in character still. I know, mad, isn’t it? I promise it will get more amusing as time goes on. But feel free to review anyway!
What IS Your Fascination with My Forbidden Closet of Mystery? by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: Here we are, dear readers, chappie two! And since I can’t think of a good intro, I will go ahead with naming our sponsors.
This chappie was sponsored by: Dr Pepper (he makes the world taste better!), Potter message boards, pie, and you, fantabulous readers, with your crazy reviews!
Now, onto the show!
Harry Potter entered the Gryffindor common room in a towering temper.
“LLAMAS!” he shouted, startling just about everyone. He stormed over to Ron and Hermione, who were sitting by the fire.
“LLAMAS!” he shouted again.
“What about llamas?” asked Ron, looking terrified for his friend’s sanity.
“Llamas!” Harry hissed. His eye was twitching.
“I told you detention was a bad idea,” Ron said to Hermione. “He’s finally cracked.”
“Don’t get me started on detention!” Harry sat down heavily in the armchair next to Ron’s.
“Didn’t go well then?” asked Hermione, sounding smug.
“Of course not, it was with Snape.”
“Then what’s all this about llamas?” questioned Ron, sounding confused.
Harry’s eye twitched some more. “That’s the reason the detention ended! This llama showed up! That one we saw in the hallway right after Arbitrare or Arbitrar or whatever his name was got sacked?”
“That llama?” said Hermione, her eyes widening. “But I thought Dumbledore got rid of it!”
“Yeah, well, I guess he didn’t, cause it walked right into Snape’s office, and dropped a note on his desk that said ‘It’s back.’”
“What’s back?” said Ron, looking like he didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Well, the note was signed ‘Arbitrar,” so I can only assume it meant the Power of Suggestion!”
There were gasps all around the common room.
“Oh shut up,” Harry snapped. “I’m going to bed. Maybe this’ll all turn out to be a bad dream…” He stood up and headed off towards the staircase up to the dormitory, muttering along the way, “Though I think I almost preferred the dreams where Voldemort was plotting to kill me and such.”
If Harry had hoped that going to sleep would remedy his seeing a llama, and the note that said llama bore, he was sorely mistaken. He realized this as soon as he entered the Great Hall for breakfast.
People were flitting between tables more than usual, and many of them had some noticeably odd things about them. One fellow at the Hufflepuff table, with his thumb stuck up his right nostril, was talking to his friend, who kept burping large purple bubbles when he spoke. At the Ravenclaw table, a fifth year girl whose hair was bright green now hurried over to a friend further down the table, who had tapioca pouring out her ears.
“Bad dream, huh?” said Ron skeptically, as Harry settled into the seat next to him.
“Looks like it is back…” said Hermione vaguely over the top of her goblet of orange juice.
Harry sighed and pulled a plate of eggs towards him. “Well, all we can hope is that it leaves us alone this time.”
“That’s a long shot there, mate,” said Ron through a mouthful of bacon. “Though maybe it’ll get Snape and Malfoy again. That’d be almost worth it.”
“Yeah…” admitted Harry, looking distinctly more cheerful at this.
Hermione, however, looked highly affronted and hid herself behind her newspaper.
Just then, someone plopped into the seat on Harry’s other side.
“Hi Harry!” squeaked the someone. Harry looked around. It was that David kid who’d bothered him twice yesterday.
“Hi,” said Harry indifferently.
“Wow, it’s crazy here today!” said the David kid. He looked terribly excited. “I’ve never seen breakfast so loud, even when there was that food fight and Bobby Pearson got hit in the eye with a fork!”
“Uh huh.” Harry thought in the back of his mind that this may never have happened, but he didn’t want to start debating.
“I wonder what’ll happen next!” David was bouncing in his chair. “Well, see ya around!” He bounded out of his chair and sped off down the table.
“The Creevys better watch out,” said Ron. “They’ve got some competition now for biggest Potter fanatics in the school.”
“Shut it, you,” said Harry, throwing his napkin at Ron.
Again, it was Monday. More insanity had occurred through the week, including unused classrooms catching fire to gain attention, and clocks melting like a Dali painting.
But since it was again Monday, the trio again had Double Potions. And again, Harry got detention (he’d been chucking bat spleens at Malfoy).
So at eight o’clock, Harry again left the common room for Snape’s dungeon office.
Upon reaching the passage that lead to Snape’s office, however, Harry received a surprise: Snape himself in the hall.
“Sir?” asked Harry tentatively, as he approached his teacher. Snape did not look to be in a good mood.
“Potter,” said Snape curtly.
“Er, why are we in the hall? Sir?”
“Because I was waiting for you.” Snape turned to his office door, slowly turned the knob, and yanked the door open.
Harry’s jaw dropped. Inside the door was not Snape’s office, but a vast view of outer space. There were stars and planets swirling about, caught in the cosmic dust of a wide galaxy in the middle of it all.
Snape sighed angrily. “It’s doing that thing again!” he snarled, slamming the door shut and opening it again. This time, a sprawling medieval battle appeared. Snape shut the door just in time to stop a pike hurtling at them.
Snape kept opening and shutting the door, each time showing something else odd. A broom cupboard full of smelly mops, a barbershop, a Quidditch match (Snape muttered something about “lousy Wimbourne”), a dark hallway deserted except for a woman applying lipstick.
“Hey, Sev,” she said.
“Not now,” he said, shutting the door again. He opened it one last time, and there was his office.
“Finally,” he muttered. He and Harry entered.
After two hours of mind-numbing labor, Harry went back up to the Gryffindor common room. Well, after he tried something. He was about two steps from the door to Snape’s office when he turned back. He wanted to see something. Harry did as Snape did earlier, and slowly turned the doorknob, then threw the door open wide.
He was instantly deluged by croutons.
After a bit of a struggle, he shut the door. Then he opened it again.
Harry was looking into a dance hall full of frogs that were learning to do tap. Shut the door, open again; a room full of bags. Harry picked one up. It said on it, “Bottomless Bag. See What’s Inside!” He took the bag and stashed it in his pocket. He shut and opened the door again; a gang of angry carrots attacked him. With a stupendous effort, he shut the door.
He decided to not open it again.
A/N: Tada! Chappie 2! It is a bit short, I’ll admit, but not to worry! More insanity will ensue in the coming chapters! Share your glee, squees, cheese, sneeze, and sleaze via reviews! Ideas are always appreciated! Now, this author’s note must end before I break Internet rules on exclamation point abuse!
Subplot Action, Part One: Questing For Arbitrar! by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: So, something different this time. You see, when I was asking for sequel ideas at the end of “Power of Suggestion,” a review came in saying that someone should go looking for Arbitrar (yes, that is his name. The e at the end was to throw people off, remember?). So, that’s the plot of the subplot action!
This chappie was sponsored by the person who left that review (I’m really sorry I don’t remember who it was), and fantastic musics. Onto the chappie!
A thunderstorm was raging outside the Three Broomsticks. Rain pounded against the windows, and flashes of lightning illuminated the few patrons the pub had this late at night. The few candles on the tables did little to cut through the darkness the stormy night cast over the village of Hogsmeade.
In the corner farthest from the bar, a group of warlocks sat playing cards.
“Ar, that can’t be right,” growled one. “You’ve got four jacks.”
“So what?” responded a second, twiddling the end of his moustache. “I can have four jacks in my hand.”
“Not when I’ve got three meself!”
“Are you accusing me of cheating?” shouted the second warlock, standing up abruptly.
“Yeah, I am!” shouted the first.
But before a fight could break out, the door of the pub flew open with a crash. The warlocks stopped and turned to look at the new arrival.
A cloaked figure stood in the doorway. It surveyed the room, then moved inside, letting the door swing shut behind it. It moved towards the table the warlocks were sitting at. The warlocks watched the figure warily.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said a voice from under the figure’s hood. “What’s the buy-in?”
The warlocks looked at each other. “Eh, there is no buy-in,” answered one. “This is a private card game.”
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. What’s the buy-in?” The figure pulled from inside its cloak a bulging coin purse, and dropped it on the table with a great clinking noise.
All the warlocks’ jaws dropped. One had a pipe drop out of his mouth.
“Eh, that’ll work,” said the one. “Welcome to our game, friend.”
“Thank you.” The figure pulled a chair over from a nearby unoccupied table and sat down.
As the warlock across the table picked his pipe back up and started dealing cards, the stranger called over to the bar, “Madam Rosmerta, a round of drinks for my friends here.”
Madam Rosmerta started filling flagons at the bar, and the stranger turned back to the card game. “So, any interesting news here in Hogsmeade?” he asked casually as he looked at his cards.
“Well, there was that other day, when that odd feller came by,” answered the warlock with the moustache.
“Ar, that chap with the cow?” said one warlock with only a few teeth.
The stranger sat up a little straighter. “Chap with a cow?” he asked, sounding interested.
“Yeah, it was what, Friday before last?”
“Ar, Thursday ‘fore last, Lars.”
“Right, Thursday. This chap wanders by, stops in here for a drink.” Lars took a swig of his own. “Right, so, he stops in here, see, and he brings in this cow. Strange cow it was, eh Geoff?”
“Ar, strange cow. One horn pointed up, one pointed down. The earth shook with each moo!”
“And Madam Rosmerta just let a cow wander in here?” asked the stranger.
“No, she certainly didn’t. She said the cow had to go, and he says, ‘Well, it’s me helper cow, he ‘elps me, see?’ And sure enough, that cow was on a leash! Strange thing to see, eh, Geoff?”
“Ar, strange. But Rosmerta wouldn’t hear a word of it. She tossed him out, right then ‘n’ there.”
“Right on his rear, eh, Geoff?”
“Ar, right on his rear. And then he shouted up a storm.”
“Yep, shouted a storm! Claimed he’d gotten the sack and thought he’d get some hospitality ‘ere in town, said if he weren’t welcome, he’d go somewhere where he was. Said he were going to see some Muggles, right Geoff?”
“Ar, Muggles. Desperate, that.”
“Ar, quite desperate. Imagine showing up in some Muggle street with a cow and a jar of Every Flavor Beans! That’d draw some stares, eh, Geoff?”
“Ar, that it would.”
“Ar, what was the name of those Muggles he were going to see? Dunderbluss? Dunderhead?”
“Dursley, I thinks it was.”
“Ar, that’s right. What he’s running to Muggles for, I can’t guess. What was that chap’s name again? Arbiblar? Arbane?”
“Arbitrar. Or Arbitrare, is what he said he’d gone by for a while, in that job he got sacked from.”
“Ar, that’s it. Arbitrar. Strange bloke, he was.”
“Ar, strange.”
“Ar…”
There was a pause in the conversation while everyone shuffled their cards.
“So, stranger, what’s your story?” asked Lars the warlock. All eyes surreptitiously left the cards and went to the stranger.
“My story? I’m looking for someone. You see, I once had power, prestige, influence…I was once the leader of many, master of legions; I controlled so much more than my own destiny…. And yet now, it’s gone. Vanished. One morning I was on top, the next…. So I’m looking to find the man who gave me my power, and I’m getting it back. I will once again rule.”
The warlocks had all dropped their jaws again. The one fellow’s pipe had fallen out of his mouth again.
“Er, and who is this bloke?” asked Lars very quitely, sounding slightly spooked.
“Why, the very same man we’ve just been discussing. The man with the cow. Arbitrar.”
The warlocks continued to stare. Then they all burst out laughing.
“Ar, that’s a great yarn there!” chuckled Lars, tears in his eyes. “Imagine that cow bloke bein’ able to do that all! Eh Geoff?”
“Ar, yeah….”
“Ar, yeah, great yarn…Oi! Rosmerta! Drinks please!”
Madam Rosmerta came over to the table, carrying a tray laden with flagons of mead.
“Here you are, gents,” she said, passing around the drinks. “Oh, hi Neville!”
The stranger in the cloak started. “SHH!!!! I’m trying to keep a low profile here….”
“What are you doing in Hogsmeade? Shouldn’t you be up at the school?”
“No, I’m going after Arbitrar, like I said.”
“Huh. Well, good luck with that. Enjoy the drinks!” And she took her tray and wnt back to the bar.
“Hmph. Well, it’s been fun gentlemen, but since my cover’s been blow, I bid you goodbye.”
And before anyone could say another word, he stood up, went to the door, and disappeared into the rain.
A/N: FINA-FREAKING-LY!!!!!!!! Man, this chappie took a while to get here. Sorry about that.
But anyway, here it is, chappie 3! Did you enjoy the subplot action? Did you think it was silly? Did you think it was stupid? Give your opinions, ointments, onions, oinks, and oiling via reviews!
Music To My Ears by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: Ohhhhhh, it’s time again, yes it is, for that fabulous story for all you kids! Here for you now, much quicker this time, is chappie four, with an author’s note that rhymes! Because this time music’s the theme, sure to make all our favorite characters scream!
Sponsored by: Crazed reviews; crazed authors; streaming radio online; Dr Pepper, god of sodas; and long lines to play Warcraft. Enjoy!
Harry, Ron, and Hermione came down the stairs, heading for breakfast, only to find that when they got into the entrance hall a large new notice had been pinned up on the board. Fighting through the crowd in front of it, they were finally able to read it.
Attention! Hogwarts is hosting a VERY SPECIAL EVENT this Saturday in the Great Hall. Witches and wizards from across the country will be attending. All those wishing to participate, and for more details, please contact your Head of House.
“’A very special event,’ huh?” said Harry skeptically. “Wonder what they’ve cooked up this time.”
“Probably something stupid,” said Ron. “I mean, they didn’t even bother to tell us what it is.”
“Well, I’m going to go see Professor McGonagall about this,” said Hermione. “I wonder who’s even sponsoring this event?”
“Maybe it’s Neville,” Ron chuckled.
“No, he’s not in charge anymore, remember?” interjected Harry. “Besides, Hermione’d know if he had, she was on his committee for that stupid dance. Where is Neville, anyway?”
“I dunno. Let’s get breakfast, I’m starved.”
That afternoon, Harry and Ron were hanging around near the door of the Transfiguration classroom, waiting for Hermione to finish asking Professor McGonagall what the “very special event” that Saturday was.
“I spy, with my little eyes…” Ron was saying, “Something starting with ‘v.’”
“Vespa?” asked Harry, as a kid on a moped buzzed past.
“Nope.”
“Variety Show!” said Hermione, walking over.
“Er, no, it’s Professor Vector, see, she’s right over there.”
“No no, not ‘I Spy,’ the special event on Saturday! It’s a variety show!”
“A what?” asked Ron.
“No good can come of this,” muttered Harry.
“Yes, apparently there’s a Wizarding Wireless show, and they wanted to broadcast live from Hogwarts, and Dumbledore thought it was a great idea.”
“What do you do on a variety show, then?” Ron asked, still looking confused.
“It’s basically a bunch of different acts performing. Though from what Professor McGonagall said, it sounds like most of the acts are bands. Seems everyone wants to be in a band.”
“Hey, we should make a band!” exclaimed Ron.
“How? Do you know how to play any instruments? Do we have any instruments?”
“Yeah, we do,” said Harry, pulling out his Bottomless Bag and dumping out a guitar, bass, and drumset.
“Well then, do you know how to play?”
“Er, not exactly…But it can’t be hard to learn can it? I mean, not with this.” He pulled out a book entitled How To Make A Competent Band In Less Than A Week.
Hermione sighed. “Fine, we’ll make a band.” The boys cheered. “But we have to get this stuff out of the hallway first.”
That evening in the common room, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in their usual armchairs, deciding how best to make a band.
“Well, according to this book, we need to come up with a name,” said Harry, flipping through the first chapter of How To Make A Competent Band In Less Than A Week. “How about, Harry and the Potters?”
“Already taken,” said Ron. “How about The Trio?”
“Nah, that’s what everyone already calls us.”
As they sat puzzling, the llama wandered up and ate Ron’s Charms homework. Ron ran screaming after the llama, brandishing his wand and setting several tables on fire.
“Sad, that. Losing your homework to a llama…” commented Hermione.
“Hey, how about the Llama Losers?” said Harry.
Hermione shrugged. “Works for me.”
“Alright, next step…” Harry said, flipping a page. “Ron! RON! Get over here!”
Ron dropped back into his chair, fuming. “Stupid llama, that essay took forever…”
“Whatever, just copy Hermione’s. Anyway…”
“Harry!” said Hermione, sounding affronted.
“What, it’s not like he didn’t do that the first time. ANYWAY, it says that next we need ‘to adopt a general theme and/or genre’ for our music.”
“How about ‘Death to llamas?’” grumbled Ron.
“We can’t do that, we’re the Llama Losers!” said Hermione.
“Says who?!”
“Harry and I decided when you were running around after the llama.”
“It’s a stupid name.”
“Can you think of a better one?”
“…….No, Llama Losers is good.”
“General theme, guys!” chimed in Harry over the top of his book.
“What about, ‘Respect your llamas’?” suggested Hermione.
“That works, what about a genre?”
“Let’s decide that when we play.”
“Perfect segway Hermione, as the next part is deciding what instruments we’re going to play.”
“Can I not get stuck playing the bass?” asked Ron.
“No,” said Harry and Hermione at the same time.
“I claim drums,” said Harry.
“Alright, I get guitar,” said Hermione.
“Who’s taking vocals?”
“Um…we can trade off.”
“Sounds good. Now to the hard part: learning to actually play.”
The new band Llama Losers was getting in its first practice in the Room of Requirement. The room had been filled with posters of other successful wizard bands, instructional materials, and, inexplicably, a bowl of M&Ms with all the brown ones missing.
“Alright, let’s see what kind of music we want to do,” said Harry, sitting at the drumset, as Ron and Hermione picked up their respective instruments. “OK, one, two, three, four!”
A sudden noise filled the room, kind of like a cat with a migraine being beaten with a baby holding a dentist drill.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” shouted Harry over the noise, cutting them off. A ringing silence fell, the last vestiges of the horrible sound echoing around the room.
“Shall we be a rock band, then?” asked Harry.
“Sounds good,” said Ron.
“What sort of songs should we write, then?” Hermione asked.
“Something about how wrong the system is?” suggested Harry.
“Something about how depressing torrid teen love affairs are?” said Ron.
“Something that sounds good, but doesn’t really mean anything?” asked Hermione.
“Why not all three?” said Harry.
“Yeah, alright,” said Ron.
“OK, now to come up with a catchy tune for it.”
“We haven’t even written anything yet,” pointed out Hermione.
“Well…” Harry said slowly, consulting his book, “The words and melody can go together. It says that if you’re going to start a band in less than a week, words and music together is usually the best option. So I think that for now, we should just wing it.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to make sure the different parts we’re playing actually go together?” asked Hermione.
“Nah, it’ll work out. OK, again from the top!”
“Top of what?” Ron asked.
“Top of the song.”
“What song? Did we even do anything except make some noise?”
“In some circles, that is music. Now, again from the top! One, two, three, four!”
And the noise started again. After about an hour, however, the noise actually started to go together, and after two hours, it actually sounded like music.
“Wow, we’re starting to sound good!” said Ron excitedly. “We could really win this Battle of the Bands!”
“Ron, it’s a variety show,” corrected Hermione. “There’s just a lot of bands playing.”
“Anyway, it’s getting late, we’d better head back to the common room,” said Harry, checking his watch.
As they left the Room of Requirement, they saw a new sign up in the hallway.
Attention! The VERY SPECIAL EVENT on Saturday will be a BATTLE OF THE BANDS. It was originally going to be a variety show, but the only non-band acts (the whole two of them) were dropped due to lawsuits. So, join us for a great time on Saturday! BYOEP (Bring your own ear plugs).
Ron gave Hermione an I-told-you-so look.
“Say it, and you’ll get a guitar pick up your nose,” she threatened.
A/N: SO! How was that? There it is, chappie four! Please send in your opinions, irritations, and other such ideas/aggreivences via reviews! Bonus points to folks who get the M&Ms reference, and more bonus points if your review is musical-ish, like my author’s note at the top of the chappie! Even MORE bonus points if you come up with song ideas for the battle of the bands! I don’t want any bonus points left, I want to give them all to you!
The Battle Of The Bands by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: At last, the long anticipated event of the year has arrived! I was originally going to save this for a later chappie, but I couldn’t think of any filler. So I decided to push the plot up a bit and hold the BATTLE OF THE BANDS this chappie instead. I know you’ll be saddened by this news. *Hearty wink*
This chapter is sponsored by Dr Pepper (what else), madcap reviews, the crapload of CDs I need to listen to, and Twizzlers.
It was Friday night in the common room, and there was a low buzz of excitement in the air, which was caused by someone eating batteries. He sneezed lightning bolts after that.
Anyway, the trio was sitting in their customary chairs, fine tuning the song set they’d made up for the Battle of the Bands the next night.
“Are we sure we want to do ‘Angst and Chocolate Milk’ for this?” asked Hermione of one song. “It’s kind of short and frankly pretty stupid.”
“We’ve gotta keep that one!” said Ron. “How depressing would it be if milk and chocolate broke up? No more chocolate milk! Think about that, Hermione.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine, we’ll keep it. But I’m concerned that we’ll run over our allotted time if we perform all these songs. Especially with Harry’s tendency to break into twenty minute drum solos…”
“I’m just giving the public what they want,” Harry replied.
“We can’t have extended solos of anything if we’re to do this whole set in time!”
“Psh, they’ll let us. Remember, I’m Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. And now Rock God.”
“Harry, we haven’t even preformed yet. How can you be a rock god when no one’s heard us play?”
“Weren’t you listening? I’m Harry Potter! Besides, I’ve now got a fauxhawk.”
“A what?”
“A fauxhawk. It’s where you comb your hair into a mohawk shape, so there’s no shaving the sides of your head involved. It’s a punk look, you wouldn’t understand.”
“Right…And what happened to your glasses?”
“Rock Gods don’t wear glasses! Name one band with a frontman who wears glasses.”
“Weezer,” said Ron and Hermione at the same time.
“Besides, you’re not the frontman, you’re the drummer,” Hermione said.
“Who says the drummer can’t be the frontman? I’m Harry Potter!”
Hermione rolled her eyes again. “Fine, you can be the frontman. But put your glasses back on; what if you fall off the stage?”
“My fans will catch me,” Harry answered.
“Harry, do you know how incredibly arrogant you sound?”
“Yes, yes I do.”
“Glad we cleared that up,” Hermione muttered, turning back to the set list.
The next day in the Great Hall, the scene was chaos. Last minutes checks on lighting and sound were being done before the Battle of the Bands officially started. Up in the sound booth sat Snape. After his stint deejaying for the school dance in the previous story, he was put in charge of the sound systems.
Snape was very bored with this job, as the sound systems were all fine, but he had to stay put for no apparent reason. He was yawning widely when there was a knock at the sound room door. He got up, stalked to the door, and threw it open.
“This had better be important,” he said. Then he realized that he was talking to empty air; no one was at the door. He looked left and right down the hall. No one was there either. He was about to shut the door when he heard a “Pst! Snape!” from his right. He looked that way, but there was still no one there. He pulled out his wand and followed the sound. He was almost at the end of the hall when the lights flickered out.
“I think I’ve seen this music video,” he said to the darkness. “If a door opens and I’m in China and dressed like a ninja, so help me….”
“Quit complaining, you,” said a voice.
“Oh, it’s you, Bellatrix. What did I do to deserve this?”
“We don’t have a bassist.”
“Because you shoved him in the lake.”
“Oh yes. Ghastly business that. No, that’s not the right word. I actually think ‘hilarious’ would be more applicable.”
“You never cease to irresistibly remind me of a black widow. No pun intended.”
“How flattering. Are you going to help us or not?”
“Can’t you just get Rastaban or whatever his name was to play bass for you?”
“No, he’s the drummer. And don’t even mention anyone else, you’re the only other Death Eater with any musical talent.”
“Now it’s my turn to be flattered. Did the Dark Lord put you up to this? Because I can’t honestly see you breaking into Hogwarts just to play a few songs.”
“Well, he did send me to find you, but a battle of the bands! Complete with a chance to traumatize the kiddies. That’s too good to pass up.”
“Uh, why can’t he just use the Dark Mark? I thought that’s what it was there for.”
“He’s a busy evil genius, you know! Besides, he’s in the middle of a crisis, that’s why he needs to see you, but he’s too distracted to use the Mark. I think, actually, that he sent me to fetch you in order to torture us both.”
“Well, it’s working.”
“Yes, quite. ANYWAY! You. Bass. Next to last act. Be there or suffer.”
“I’m already suffering. Ow!” Snape got whacked upside the head with a piece of rolled up newspaper. Then the lights flickered back on, and he was alone in the hall.
“I think I’d rather have wound up in China,” he muttered.
Later that evening, the Battle of the Bands had started and was going very well, or as well as can be expected for something in this story. Currently, the Llama Losers were backstage, getting ready for their act.
“For heaven’s sake, Ron, you are NOT painting one of those emo tear drop things on your face!” Hermione was saying.
“But they’re so cool! And band-ish!” Ron argued.
“No! NO weird face painting. Harry, why on earth are you wearing eyeliner?!”
“I wondered why he looked like Brandon Flowers before the moustache….”
“It’s a rock thing. You wouldn’t understand,” Harry said.
“I’m in a rock band now, Harry, I think I might get ‘rock things,’” Hermione replied testily. “No eyeliner, you look weird.”
“You get to wear eyeliner.”
“I’m a girl, I’m allowed.”
“Besides, I’m Harry Potter!”
“Yes, we know.”
“Then you should know you can’t make me do anything. Just stop being so bossy and go check when we’re up.”
Hermione threw Harry a very dirty look, and stalked out of the dressing room.
“Hey, go easy on Hermione,” said Ron. “She is the smart one, after all.”
“So? I’m Harry Potter!”
“We know!”
Just then, Hermione came back in, looking anxious. “We’re on next! One band couldn’t make it; Those Who Were Previously In Power had to drop out because their lead singer disappeared.”
“Isn’t that Neville?” Harry asked. “I wonder where he went…”
“Never mind that now, we’re up next, and we’re following Zoo Police! They had a hippo on stage! We need to be good, guys!”
“Don’t worry, I’m Harry Potter!” And Harry swaggered out towards the stage.
The other two rolled their eyes and followed. They were backstage, watching the aforementioned hippo being herded past, when they heard the announcer introduce them.
“Here they are, with their famous frontman, Harry Potter! Give it up for the Llama Losers!”
The trio walked out onstage to a screaming crowd of obsessed fangirls and such.
“Hello, Hogwarts!” said Harry, grabbing a microphone. “Are you ready to rock?!”
“One second!” called a guy from the front row. He sneezed a small lighting bolt. “OK, we’re good!”
“Er, yes, good to know. Anyway…” Harry took up his position at the drumset and started a beat. Ron and Hermione came in with their respective parts, and the band began to sing:
“No-one knows how hard teen love is, that systems all wrong, we just want something that sounds good. Love's mucked up, it's squeaky, it has all gone wrong. All these bands think they can sing, it's deafening! Bet they can't get dates, 'cause we can't!”
The crowd went wild for no apparent reason.
The Llama Losers performed all their songs, even making room for “Angst and Chocolate Milk,” despite Harry breaking into one of his infamous twenty minute drum solos, and Ron suddenly at the end singing, “Oh, Switzerland, how I dream of thee...! Where the sun doth shine, and the chocolate is free...!”
“Thank you, Hogwarts!” Harry yelled to the crowd as they were ushered off-stage. “I’ll be here all school year! Barring a Voldy attack!”
As they left, the next band, the Banshees, took the stage. The trio, er, Llama Losers watched curiously from off-stage.
“Their bassist looks really familiar…” Hermione said.
“Their lead singer looks really familiar…” Harry said.
“Is that a Dark Mark patch on the drummer’s cap?” Ron said.
As the Banshees began to play, the trio’s jaws dropped. And not just because of the traumatizing songs (“Killing Curse in the Morning” and “Defy the Dark Lord and Die” among them).
“Holy crap, that’s Snape with his fake beard!” Hermione exclaimed.
“Holy crap, that’s Bellatrix!” Harry exclaimed.
Ron stayed silent. The other two looked at him. “Oh, um…why, that’s old What’s-His-Face!” Harry and Hermione facepalmed.
“Well, anyway, we should tell Dumbledore!” Hermione said.
“We can’t, he’s up next!” said Harry.
“WHAT?”
“See for yourself!” He pointed to the stage, where the silver hair and beard of the headmaster gleamed in the lights.
“Hello, we are Dumbledore and the Time-Back Turners!” said Dumbledore amicably to the crowd. “I certainly hope you’ve enjoyed the evening, and certainly hope you’ll enjoy our music. After we perform, the winner of the Battle of the Bands will be announced, so please stick around!”
“Is that the barman from the Hog’s Head in the back?” Hermione asked.
“Is that Snape without his fake beard playing bass again?” Harry asked.
“This night cannot get any weirder,” said Ron.
Ron was sure of this stance until the end of the last song, called “Pickles,” where Dumbledore said, “Do the Funky Llama dance!” and started breakdancing. Then he jumped to his feet, said, “Respect your llamas, man!” and ended on an arm-folded rap pose. Then the llama wandered on stage and ate Dumbledore’s multi-colored woolen toe socks.
“I stand corrected,” said Ron.
The announcer then came on stage with an envelope in hand. “Attention! I have here the winner of the Battle of the Bands!”
The crowd again went wild for no apparent reason.
“Will everyone please lean forward expectantly!”
All the bands and the audience did so; the atmosphere was tense. Then someone gave the atmosphere a shoulder rub and it was fine. But the crowd was still tense.
“And the winner is…” The announcer ripped open the envelope and pulled out the little card inside. “Uh, actually, winners are….The Llama Losers, because it’s Harry Potter; the Banshees, because they threatened the judges; and Dumbledore and the Time-Back Turners because they were actually the most talented band and Dumbledore does a mean breakdance.”
Everyone looked very confused. The announcer grinned uneasily, and said, “Sooo…..there’s your winners! Congratulations, and thanks to all bands that participated!” He then ran before the crowd with torches and pitchforks could overtake the stage.
“I stand corrected again,” Ron said.
“Ron, rule number one: it can always get more bizarre. This is Hogwarts, after all,” said Harry.
They were sitting in their customary armchairs in the common room as an after-party took place around them. A snack table had been set up and people were drinking a lot of butterbeers.
“Well, this has been a very crazed, disjointed chapter, I mean, week,” Hermione commented. “I think I’m going to bed now guys. Goodnight!” She got up and headed up the spiral stairs that led to the girl’s dormitories.
“Good, she’s gone. Now we can party!” Ron ran to the snack table, ate several crab claws, drank even more butter beer, threw up, and passed out behind a couch, all in less than five minutes.
“Er, right,” said Harry. He headed over to the snack table. While he was there munching, a girl came up and squealed, “You’re Harry Potter! This is like, the most amazing thing EVAR! Can I have your autograph?!”
“Sure,” Harry replied. “Who am I making it out with, I mean, to?”
“HARRY!” Hermione yelled down from the stairs. “NO PICKING UP ON GROUPIES!”
A/N: Oh man, I’m gonna have to raise this story’s rating for that last bit alone. Quoth Bella: ANYWAY! There it is, chappie 5! Better late than never, no? Give me your opinions via reviews, spews, and news! And kudos to those who get my many and varied band references scattered throughout!
Subplot Action, Part Two: Muggle Harassment by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: Hello again, fair readers! Once again, we catch up with the subplot following Neville’s quest for power! *Sigh* I love how delightfully OOC that sounds.
At any rate, this chappie was sponsored by more CDs, spare time, and the silliness induced by not enough sleep. Also! Being able to stream radio online makes me happy. Enjoy!
Privet Drive was a very quiet street. Everyone was too busy being nosy to do anything productive. Today was no different, the square houses holding their square occupants in silence.
The only unusual thing was that today, someone in a long cloak with the hood up was walking down the street with a very purposeful gait. He was looking for number four, Privet Drive. He was sure he’d find his answers there.
Number four, Privet Drive was no different from other house, at first glance. It was just as normal and square as any of the other houses on the street, with a large square car parked in front, and a low square garden wall surrounding the property.
It was this house that the cloaked figure approached now, making his way up the walk. He arrived on the front step, and rapped his knuckles smartly on the door. He stood back and waited for an answer.
And he waited. And waited. And waited some more. He looked at his watch, then knocked again. And again he waited. He was just about to knock a third time when he heard a muffled yell from inside the house. Puzzled, he drew a wand from inside his cloak and tapped the doorknob. The door swung open, and he stepped cautiously inside.
There was a crash to his left, and he stuck his head in the doorway to the living room. Then he blinked a few times, because there was a very unusual sight there.
The house’s three occupants were back in a corner: Dudley Dursley was cowering with his back to the wall and his hands over his head, shivering like the biggest bowl of Jell-O you’ve ever seen. His mother, Petunia, had her bony arms draped around him, shouting hysterically. His father, Vernon, was the only one on his feet, his large moustache bristling madly. He was holding a broom, the end of which was set on fire, and was jabbing it at a monkey on the other side of the room.
“Back, you beast!” he bellowed at it.
“Excuse me!” Neville called over the noise. “Have you seen a man with a cow come past here?”
“What?!” Vernon waved the fiery broom at the new arrival. “No, I haven’t! I don’t see crazy things like that!”
“Says the man waving a flaming broom at a monkey.”
“Who are you?! How did you get in here?! WHY ARE YOU ASKING QUESTIONS?!!!”
“My name’s Neville Longbottom, I’m a friend of your nephew’s.”
Vernon’s eyes widened. “You’re one of THEM!” he shouted, going even more berserk. “YOU LED THIS MONKEY HERE, AND NOW YOU WANT TO SET A COW ON US!!!”
“What? No, I’m looking for the cow!”
“YOU MAD THING! GET OUT! OUT! TAKE YOUR MONKEY AND GO!!!”
The monkey let out an agitated screech and started flying around the ceiling. Petunia screamed, and Vernon started haphazardly swinging the broom, singeing the light fixture.
“Monkey?!” Neville said incredulously.
The monkey stopped, screeched with glee, and swooped down on Neville with a hug.
“Aww,” said Neville. “How did you get here, Monkey?”
“Oooh ooooh eeeh!” Monkey answered.
“Well, that would be awkward. I hope the ninjas were friendly, at least.”
“Ooooh oooh eeeh EEEEH!”
“What’s that? You know where Aribtrar went?!”
“Ooooh ooooh!” Monkey pointed out the door.
“Well then, let’s get going! Lead the way!”
Monkey ran out the door. Neville turned to the mortified Dursleys.
“Er, well…..Bye then….” And he shuffled out the door after Monkey, leaving the three looking terrified and confused. Vernon then swore, having just noticed he’d set the ceiling on fire.
A/N: There we are, chappie six! Man, that was short. Er, if I promise to make chappie seven a lot longer and have it up sooner, will you not lynch me for this one? *Grins sheepishly hopefully*
At any rate, send in your opinions, flames, hopes and fears via reviews! The fate of the world depends on it! (Note: the fate of the world may or may not depend on your review.)
Villainy Is Vision-Impaired by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: Welcome back, lovely readers, for chapter seven! Since you didn’t try to kill me for the short, short, short (yet terribly funny) chappie six, you get a special treat. Er, chappie seven! And some cyber cookies. (^_^)>O
This chapter is sponsored by Teh UBER List (The new playlist I created with almost EVERY SINGLE CD I OWN on it), getting off of work in the early afternoon, and you for not lynching me.
“So, why exactly did the Dark Lord send you to bother me?” Snape said at the Battle of the Bands after party.
“I told you, he’s having a crisis. And he seems to think you can help, despite anything I say about you being completely untrustworthy,” Bellatrix replied, poisoning the drinks.
“He’s in the middle of a crisis, and you found time to participate in a band contest?”
“Yes. Well, I figure he won’t mind the delay if I maim and/or kill a few people on the way out.”
“Oh, by all means, go maim away.”
“Excellent.” Bellatrix drew her wand and started to head off.
Snape grabbed her arm to stop her. “That was sarcasm,” he said with the air of one explaining something very obvious to a very stupid three year old.
“Let go of me, Snape, before I stick my wand up that very large nose of yours.”
Snape sighed. “Again with the nose jokes. You know, your dear flea-ridden cousin couldn’t come up with anything better either.”
“I killed him, you know!”
“And no one’s more grateful than me. But it didn’t take a lot of brainpower to beat Sirius Black.”
Bellatrix looked about to argue back, but Snape cut her off. “Look, Bellatrix, I could argue with you all day, but we both know I’d win.”
She was about to argue back again when Snape said very loudly, “Crisis!”
“Oh, right, crisis…Um….” She looked around, set a few people on fire, then turned to Snape and said, “Right, let’s go.” He rolled his eyes and they headed out the door.
They reached the Entrance Hall, and Bellatrix headed towards the front doors, while Snape was heading towards the dungeons.
“Where are you going?” Snape asked.
“The door, so we can get outside the grounds and Apparate,” Bellatrix responded with the air of someone explaining something very obvious to a very stupid three year old.
Snape shook his head. “I’ve got a shortcut. It’s potentially shorter.”
“Potentially?”
“Depends on how it behaves.”
And Snape led the way down to his office in the dungeons. They reached the door, and Snape opened it to find a tidal wave crashing down on them. He quickly shut the door and opened it again, now looking into a very cluttered coat closet.
“Here we are,” Snape said, and stepped into the closet.
“How do you even know where we are?” Bellatrix said.
“The pimp cane,” Snape answered simply.
“Wha?”
Snape opened the other door of the closet and stepped out into the Death Eaters’ headquarters.
Currently, the handful of Death Eaters in the room were eating.
“Geez, you two are only now getting in?” asked Rastaban, or Rastaman, or whatever his name is. Bellatrix’s brother-in-law. You know who I mean. “I just nicked some sandwiches from the after party and left.”
“Well, you know how Bella gets,” invented Snape, not missing a beat. “Falling down drunk, throwing herself at me. I mean, I know she wants me, but does she have to make it so painfully obvious? Especially in pubic. Good thing I’m a Potions master, I had something on hand to sober her up-“ Snape suddenly grimaced and leaned on one of the chairs in the room. “And I’ll be able to repair my kidney.” He looked back over his shoulder at Bellatrix. “You just shanked me with a wand.”
“That I did.”
“I hate to interrupt,” spoke up the owner of the aforementioned pimp cane, Lucius Malfoy. “But the Dark Lord is waiting for you two…”
“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?” Bellatrix asked.
“This is a humor fic, Bella, I go where I’m needed.”
“Right, anyway…” She grabbed Snape’s collar and dragged him after her.
They entered a room where the Dark Lord Voldemort was pacing.
“About time you two got here!” he said. “I’ve been having a crisis for several HOURS now!”
“Many apologies, my lord, I was maiming people,” responded Bellatrix promptly.
“Oh good, at least you were doing something productive. What’ve you done for me lately?” Voldy shot at Snape.
“I smacked Potter upside the head in the Goblet of Fire movie.”
“Oh yeah, that was awesome.”
“So what’s this crisis you’re having that was so urgent you sent Bella to bother me at work?” Snape asked.
“Huh? Oh, yes, crisis.” Voldy stopped pacing and glared at Snape and Bellatrix. “A severe problem of a severe sort has come to my attention recently! I first noticed it at the meeting last Tuesday-“
“Oh, that Nott got a haircut?” Bellatrix said.
“Or was it Avery losing that bet and coming in drag?” guessed Snape.
“No! It was”wait, what?!”
“Never mind. Continue.” Snape smiled politely.
“Yes! Crisis…As I said, this came to my attention during the last meeting, and it may be why I didn’t notice anything else….” Voldy shuddered and continued, “Well, I was looking over my notes, and noticed how very blurry all the words were! And I looked up and noticed how very blurry everyone else was! It seems that my eyes, while stylish and frighteningly red, don’t see as well as they used to…” He sighed, then became very brisk. “So, Snape, you’re a Potions master. Whip up something to fix it.”
“Er, my lord, while I am really that brilliant and such, I’m afraid I’m not licensed to deal with eye problems. Especially because if I screw up, you’ll take mine.”
“What?! What the crap do I pay you for, anyway?”
“You don’t pay me at all.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Don’t despair, my lord, I know of a reputable, yet thoroughly evil optimologist in Knockturn Alley.”
“Why didn’t you say so sooner? Let’s get going!”
And so they went to the office of Dr. Evileye, at 66 Knockturn Alley.
“OK, Mr. Dark Lord, which is better? One, or two? One, or two?” asked the doctor.
“If you didn’t switch them so quickly, I could tell you.”
“Alright…One?” Pause. “Or two?”
“Two!”
“OK, one?” Another pause. “Two?”
“Faster than that, you idiot.”
*Some time later*
“OK, cover your left eye and read the chart for me.”
“E…V…I…L…R…U…L…E…S…”
“You’re making that up!”
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are!”
“OK, I am.”
*Much, much later*
Currently, Voldy was picking out glasses frames. “How about these?” he said, trying on a pair. “They’re kind of cool…”
“I believe our mutual arch-enemy wears the exact same model…” said Snape.
“Larry King?!”
“Uh, no, Harry Potter, my lord.”
“Oh. Never mind then.” Voldy set the glasses on fire and chucked them on the flaming pile of his previous rejects.
*A Whole Freaking Lot Later*
Snape and Bellatrix were falling asleep. They were waiting for the doctor to fit the lenses with Voldy’s prescription in the frames he had (finally) picked. While Voldy was waiting very expectantly, the other two were bored out of their skulls, and thus, falling asleep.
In fact, Bellatrix had started snoring and Snape was nodding off when the doctor came back.
“Here we are…” Snape vaguely heard him say. “How’s this?”
“Hey, alright!” Voldy said. “Everything’s so clear!”
“Here, why don’t you take a look at yourself in the mirror? See how the frames suit you…”
“OK then….AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”
Snape jumped a clean three feet in the air and landed on the floor; Bellatrix shouted and shot off a spell, which blew up a model of the human eye.
“I DON’T HAVE A NOSE!!!!!”
“Wha? Buh?” Snape sat up, and Bellatrix peeled herself off the ceiling.
Voldy tuned to them, aghast. “I DON’T HAVE A NOSE, GUYS!!!”
“We know,” Snape said, very slowly and clearly, as though diffusing a bomb. “You haven’t for a while.”
“Really?!”
Snape and Bellatrix nodded. “You mean you haven’t noticed?” Bellatrix asked.
“No…When was someone gonna tell me?!”
“We thought you did it on purpose!” said Snape.
“Why would I do that?! I look like a freak! Who’s gonna take me seriously as an evil dark lord if I don’t have a nose?!”
“Well, you are the most feared wizard there is…” said Snape reasonably.
“And all of us minions take you very seriously,” Bellatrix added.
“Stop sucking up guys, I look stupid!” And Voldy whipped a brown paper bag out of nowhere and pulled it over his head.
“Oh great, he’s getting despondent…” muttered Bellatrix, rolling her eyes.
“Lemme see…” said Snape, searching his pockets. “Master, I have a lollipop….”
“Leave me alone!”
“If I might,” came an unctuous voice from the corner. Dr. Evileye was smiling in a slimy way. “He might try these, they have a nose built in.” And he held up a pair of Groucho Marx glasses. Snape tried his utmost to not laugh, while Bellatrix just looked confused.
“Built in nose?” said Voldy. “Lemme try them…” He handed over the non-nosed pair he had been wearing, and the doctor took them and switched the lenses. Then Voldy took the newly fitted-to-him gag glasses and put them on. All under the paper bag, mind.
“Well, I don’t know…” Voldy said.
The doctor rolled his eyes. “Take the bag off of your head and look in the mirror, sir.”
Voldy did so, and said, “Wow!” with a big grin on his face. “These are great! Thanks, doc!”
“The nose is extra, by the way.”
“What? Screw that.” And Voldy killed the doctor dead. “Let’s go guys. Rastaman has sammiches!”
A/N: Two-thirty in the morning makes us CRAZY! Yes it does….precioussssss….*Slaps self* Ahem! How was that? Much longer than last time, no? And quite humorous? So now you have no choice but to keep me around to write more. Anyway, send reviews and such acquainted materials via….well, reviews. Er, yes. Can you tell it’s late?
Pushing The Limit by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: Good morning/afternoon/evening/whenever, dear readers! Once again, insanity strikes, in the form of me! Technically, I should go to bed, because I’m typo city here, and finding everything inordinately funny, but you get a story instead!
Of note: This chapter title refers not only to part of the “plot” (I use the term loosely) of the chapter, but to the number of rather inappropriate jokes I hope to get away with. That’s right, earning that raised rating! >:D
This chappie’s sponsors! My music! YouTube! Weird, weird, weird convos with friends. I thank you.
It was late late late one Tuesday, and some members of the Order of the Phoenix were milling about the basement kitchen in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Two things were casting light on the gloomy room: one was a fire crackling in the grate, the other was a glowing box thing on the table.
Currently, Tonks was sitting in front of the box, looking curiously at it, while moving around a weird little lumpy thing attached to the box with a cord. Moody was looking suspiciously over her shoulder.
“I don’t like this thing,” he gruffed, pulling out his hip flask and taking a swig of its contents.
“You don’t like anything, Mad-Eye,” Tonks said, still watching the box.
“Sure I do.”
“Name one thing.”
“Liquor?
Tonks stopped for a minute. “I stand corrected.”
“What are you guys doing?” came a voice from the kitchen door. Tonks and Moody looked up; Lupin had just entered the room and was looking questioningly from them to the box.
“Hey, Remus,” said Tonks. “The Order just got a computer.”
“How’s that thing powered? This is a wizard house.”
“All the magical interference actually powers it. That and we’re stealing cable from the neighbors.”
“Ah. So, what are you doing with this computer?”
“Well, right now I’m trying to set up our website, but it’s kind of a pain. These chaps called the Warner Brothers already took a lot of the Order of the Phoenix domain names…”
“They’re onto us…” Moody muttered darkly.
Tonks just rolled her eyes. “Moody’s not to keen on the idea, of course, but everyone else seems interested enough. Of course, none of them can help. I think I might need some tech support…”
“Sorry to be late,” said the author, wandering in with a Dr Pepper and a plate of nachos. “I was getting a midnight snack, you see. I notice you got the idiot box set up; don’t expect me to be tons of help with a website, I don’t have one. Yet.”
“I’m not speaking to you,” said Tonks, frowning at the box.
“What? Let’s be technical, I haven’t killed you off yet.”
“You’re going to.”
“Eventually. But I haven’t yet!”
“I think I missed something…” Lupin said vaguely.
“The author has another fanfic,” Moody started to explain, “where you and Tonks snuff it in a couple chapters. I don’t know what your problem is, I died before the thing even started.”
“Oh,” said Lupin. “Well, that’s not terribly pleasant to hear.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the author assured. “It’s a total bit of nonsense. Which, come to think of it, I oughta finish before Deathly Hallows comes out.”
“Um, good luck with that then,” Lupin said, inching away from the author, who was now sitting at the table, prying nachos apart.
Tonks looked up from the computer screen, seeming about to say something to the approaching Lupin, but instead stopped and said, “Remus, why are you wearing a scarf? It’s July.”
“Uh, it’s part of my look?”
“……..No it isn’t.”
“Sure it is! I’m sickly and need warmth. And chocolate. I always have lots of chocolate on hand.”
There was a pause. “What the crap, Remus? That makes no sense. Now you owe me chocolate for making me listen to that.”
Lupin sighed, reached into his pocket, pulled out a bar of chocolate, and handed it over to Tonks, who pocketed it.
“Do I get chocolate?” asked Moody.
Lupin sighed again, pulled another bar out of his pocket, and gave it to Moody.
“What about me?” piped up the author.
“No. You’re mean.”
“Awww…” The author gave Lupin the puppy dog eyes.
“Oh, fine.” He tossed a bar down the table.
“Yay!”
Then quite suddenly, to keep the action rolling because the author hates down time in stories and heck knows we don’t need no stinking transitions in this story, Snape swept into the room. Of course. You didn’t think I’d leave him out, did you?
“No one speak to me for a moment,” he said to the room at large. “I’ve got to try and repress the last eight hours.” He sat heavily in the closest chair and banged his head on the table. “I was at the pub,” he told himself. “Yes, at the pub, being hit on by hordes of gorgeous women. Not a one of those women was Bellatrix, no sir, they were all perfectly sane, except that they were hitting on me, and none had eyeglasses, but they all had really nice-“
“Wait, you spent the last eight hours with Bellatrix?” asked Lupin. “No wonder you’re so late.”
Snape peeled his head off the table to look at Lupin. “You make everything sound so scandalous,” he said. “For your information, we were helping the Dark Lord pick out eye wear.”
“Voldemort needs glasses?”
“Apparently, his eyes, while stylish and frighteningly red, don’t see as well as they used to.” Snape rolled his own. “So we spent several hours picking out frames. And that was after I got roped into playing bass for a couple of bands, as well as being the head sound tech.” He banged his head back on the table. “So yes, a long day, and now I’m repressing it. Where was I? Oh yes, at the pub. With the gorgeous women. Really nice-“
“Hey Snape,” Tonks asked. “D’you know anything about computers?”
He looked up again. “A bit. Why do you ask?”
“I’m trying to set up the Order’s website, but it’s not going so well.”
“Ah, waging war on the Dark Lord with the Muggle medium of the Internet?”
“Whatever works.”
“It might interest you that the Dark Lord has an e-mail address now.”
“Really?” Moody said, raising an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
“Now he’s interested,” Tonks muttered. “Wait, that’s it! If we get our website set up, we can send a lot of annoying e-mails, so he can’t get any important letters from the Death Eaters!”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea…” said Lupin.
“You’re just agreeing ‘cause it’s Tonks,” said the author with a sly grin.
“I’m not speaking to you now, either.”
“You don’t even need a website to send out spam letters, you just need a lot of fake e-mail addresses,” Snape said, getting up and moving over to look at the computer also. “Besides, wouldn’t a lot of letters from the Order of the Phoenix in the inbox of the Dark Lord arouse some suspicion?”
“OK then, where do we start?” Tonks asked Snape.
“Oh, I know of quite a few free e-mail sites…”
“You sound like you’ve done this before.”
“I might’ve.”
*Meawhile!*
“Petunia! It’s another batch of fake e-mails from this Half-blood Prince fellow! Find me the number for Interpol!”
*Back at Grimmauld place!*
“Alright, so what should we use for an address?” said Tonks.
“Something fairly innocuous. Make sure we don’t make anyone suspicious.”
“OotP?”
“Uh, no.”
“TeH oRdEr?”
“No teen girl spellings! Perhaps I should just make them…”
“Fine, you do it if you’re so clever.” Tonks got up from the chair she was in and stood to the side, arms folded; Snape sat down instead and started typing.
He worked for a couple of minutes in silence, while the other three watched.
“Crap, he is better than me,” said Tonks.
“I’d work even better if someone got me some coffee…” Snape suggested.
Everyone looked over at the author, who paused in mid-swig of Dr Pepper and stared back at them.
“What?” the author asked. “Just because I make coffee at work sometimes, doesn’t mean I’m gonna do it now.”
“Oh yes it does,” said Snape.
“Make Lupin do it. Everyone knows you hate him.”
“Good idea. Lupin, get me some coffee.”
“I don’t know where the stuff to make it is,” he answered quickly.
“Coffee grounds are in the panrty,” Moody said, his magical eye swiveling around. “The coffee pot….argh, that psycho house elf got a hold of it; it’s in the drawing room now.”
Lupin sighed. “I’ll go get it…”
“Careful, that mad snuff tin got out of the china cabinet again.”
“Don’t worry, Alastor, I think I can handle it.”
“Need any help finding the coffee pot?” Tonks chimed in.
“Yeah, I might,” Lupin said.
“I can just tell you where it is,” Moody said, as the other two left. “Or not.”
“Bah, they’ll find it,” Snape said. “They just have to summon it. I’d do it from here, but knowing my luck, it’d hit the one support beam holding this place together and we’d all die horribly. That and I’m too lazy to.”
The kitchen fell into silence for a little while. Only the intermittent sound of Snape typing was heard.
“Geez, what’s taking them so long?” Moody asked after a few minutes.
“They’re probably going about it the hard way,” Snape said. “I expect they’ll be back shortly. Or else I’m tempting fate and summoning the thing.”
Luckily for Snape, Tonks and Lupin entered the room just then.
“Get the coffee pot?” asked Snape, glancing up from the computer screen.
Tonks and Lupin looked at each other. Then Lupin said, “Oops,” and ducked back out of the room.
“Tonks, any reason why you’re wearing Lupin’s scarf?” the author asked casually, peeling a pair of nachos apart.
“Lupin’s…?”
“Yes, Lupin’s scarf. The one he alleged he wore because he’s sickly and needs warmth.”
“Oh, well…Remus, he…well, he’s a bit of a biter”I mean!” she suddenly spoke very loudly, as if that would nullify the incredibly kinky statement she’d just made, “It’s very cold! And drafty! Yes, very cold, and drafty, in this basement. So Remus lent me his scarf.”
“I thought he was the one that was in need of warmth?”
“Well, yes, but my need is greater right now.”
“Is that why you’re wearing his sweater too?”
“Wha?” She looked down. “Um, yes.”
“Maybe you’d be warmer if you were wearing pants…”
“What?!” She looked down again. “Hey, I’m wearing pants!”
“I know. But the mere fact that I got you to look made it all worth it.” The author grinned, then got hit upside the head by a rolled up newspaper Tonks was wielding. “Ow! What is everyone’s utter fascination with causing me head trauma?!”
There was a rather inappropriate slurping noise from the other end of the table; the author and Tonks looked over to see Snape sipping from a Styrofoam cup, and Moody sniffing suspiciously at a similar cup.
“This is some gooood coffee,” Snape said, with a smirk. “What did you say it was called again?”
“I can’t pronounce it,” replied the author. “It had about four c’s in it, and a couple of z’s.”
“Wait, where’d you get coffee?” Tonks asked, looking between Snape and the author.
“There’s a Starbucks across the street. While you and Lupin were upstairs ‘finding the coffee pot,’” the author made finger quote marks. “I went and got some illicit brew for our desperate friends here. And I managed to come back wearing my own clothing!” Tonks hit the author with the rolled up paper again.
The door opened again, and Lupin walked in, silver pot in hand. “Hey, I found it!”
“Good for you! If only we still needed coffee…” Snape said, smiling nastily.
Lupin frowned. “Fine, I’ll go make some for myself then.” And he stalked off into the pantry.
Tonks rolled her eyes and said, “I’ll go talk to him…”
“Yeah, ‘talk,’” said the author, pulling out more quote fingers. “I’ve got a feeling it’s not coffee beans you’ll be grinding in there.”
There was a sputtering from the other end of the table. “OK, I just snorted a lot of my drink…” Snape said.
Tonks whacked the author with the paper once more, for good measure, and followed Lupin. Her hand was on the doorknob of he pantry when the author called, “Hey Tonks!”
“What?”
“Just turn your collar up,” the author mouthed, miming the same action.
“Shut up…” Tonks mouthed back.
A/N: Oh geez…You know that phrase, about “give them an inch, they’ll take a mile”? I think this would perfectly describe this chapter. Like, barely anything about Tonks/Lupin, and then they’re trading sweaters…I guess late late night to early early morning makes me kinda dirty. >:D
Anyway, if you think I’m an idiot, send me a review saying so! If you think I’m brilliant, seek professional help. After sending a review. (You think I’ll have to raise the rating again?)
Sub-plot Action, Part Three: Plot?! by FriendsOfSnape
A/N: So, I’m dreadfully lazy. This story arc was originally going to cover a couple chapters, but it’s down to one now. I blame the fact that I’m writing a book and am short on writing time. However, this shall hopefully answer a few things/satiate your crazy buds.
Sponsors! Music, reviews. The usual.
Neville and Monkey wandered up the dark street, searching. They’d followed Arbitrar’s trail this far, but it had gone cold.
“Where could he be, Monkey?” Neville asked, sweeping the light from his wand from side to side across the road. “I haven’t been in this many chapters for no good reason!”
“Oooh oooh eeh eeh,” Monkey answered. “Ooooh oooh ooh Eeeh?”
“No, remember what happened with the Chinese Ambassador? He’s somewhere around here, I know it. He’s got to be!”
Just then, the wand light fell on a Snorkack-sized hoof print.
“Success!” Neville cried. “Look, there’s another one! And they’re fresh!”
“Oooh ooh eeh eeh ooooh.”
“Oh, shush, I took a correspondence course in tracking. Anyway, it looks like the prints lead this way…” The light fell on a sign that read “Welcome to Hogsmeade!”
“Well, what the crap was the point of travelling all the crap way around the globe for no crap good reason?!” Neville said “crap” a few more times, and Monkey jumped up and down and screeched his displeasure.
“Fine then,” said Neville, gaining his composure again. “We’ll just follow these tracks until we find Arbitrar!”
And so they followed the tracks. They went up the High Street, down a winding lane, and Neville ran headlong into a tall iron gate.
“Ow! Dirty sonofa-“ He looked up; he’d run into the gate of Hogwarts. “What. The. Crap…Whatever. I’ll just go back to the school, and find Arbitrar!”
Meanwhile, in a dark, unused classroom at Hogwarts….
Arbitrar giggled maliciously. “Come, Snorky! We must distribute these copies of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows! Surely no one in the school will have read it.”
Snorky mooed evilly in agreement.
“Let’s hurry it up then; we’ve got to meet that mysterious OC David kid no one remembers, because he hasn’t been written about in like, six chapters.”
In the Gryffindor common room, there was a massive character party of some sort. The author had called a meeting, and this was as good a place as any.
“But what about my homework?” said some Gryffindor second year.
“Go do it in the library,” the author suggested. “Or your room. Just not here. Now shoo.”
The second year, muttering under his breath, ducked through the portrait hole with an armload of books.
The room already held Harry, Ron, and Hermione; there was also half the Order. Well, OK, it was only Moody, Tonks, and Lupin. McGonagall and Dumbledore were there also, sipping tea and watching Ron trouncing Harry at chess.
“Move the knight, Harry,” Dumbledore advised.
“Uh, sir? Shut up please.”
“So who are we still waiting for?” Lupin asked the author.
“I thought you weren’t speaking to me.”
“Curiosity has gotten the better of me.”
“Fine then, we’re waiting for a few others. That’s all I can say. Well, that and everyone needs to behave themselves. I’m looking at you, Moody.”
Before anyone could comment on this weird and cryptic remark, a vast BAMF! overtook the room. Out of the smoke stepped Voldy, Bellatrix, and a couple other DEs no one can ever remember the names of.
“Mwahahaha!” said Voldy. “Oh look, it’s the Order of the Phoenix! And I mean look, since I can see you all now.”
All the Order members were trying to not laugh at Voldy’s ridiculous gag glasses.
“Nice glasses, Tom,” said Dumbledore amiably. “Where’d you get them?”
“Some evil doctor guy in Knockturn Alley. But you can’t get a pair, because I killed him dead. He dared overcharge me.”
“Ah.”
“Hey, Rastaman, you bring any sammiches?” the author asked one of the other Death Eaters.
“Uh, no, we ate them all.”
“Boo! Away with you then!”
He scowled and Disapparated, along with the other guy who wasn’t adding anything to the convo.
Voldy elbowed Bellatrix, and asked her in a carrying whisper, “Was her hair always purple?” He pointed at Tonks.
“Sometimes it’s pink,” Bellatrix responded in a similar whisper.
“Hey, Bellatrix,” Tonks called over contemptuously. “Here’s something from my mom for you.” She chucked over a thick envelope.
Bellatrix opened it and looked at the contents. “Aw, ‘I Hate You’ birthday cards from several years past. Thanks so much. Tell Andromeda I hate her too.”
“I wish I had a sister!!!!!” Voldy cried, and started sobbing on Bellatrix’s shoulder.
“Uh, my lord, you’ll wreck your glasses…”
“Oh yeah.” He stopped crying at once and looked around at them all evilly impressively.
“I have the distinct feeling I’ve just missed something…” came a voice from the portrait hole. Everyone turned and saw Snape had just entered.
“How’d he get in here?!” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet and conveniently tossing the chess game he was about to lose.
“This is a humor fic, Harry, he can know the password if he wants,” the author said. “Besides, you didn’t even bat an eyelash when Voldy and co. suddenly bamfed in.”
“Well, I, uh…Look, an overturned chess game!” He dove behind the table and started to pick up the spilled pieces.
“Okay, now that we’re all here,” said the author, calling order to the bizarre collection of people present, “I’ve got to ask you all something big. Since book 7 has come out, the series is over, I must ask you all to keep it under wraps. I don’t feel like putting spoiler tags on my story, so I’ve got to ask you all to ignore canon, and go about insanity as usual. No unhelpful references; I don’t want to get in trouble here.”
Everyone stared for a minute.
“You make it sound like that’s gonna be hard,” said Ron.
“I’ve been dead since book 6, I’m still here,” said Dumbledore.
The author shrugged. “I figured it wouldn’t be hard, I just wanted to give everyone a head’s up, so they would at least know why I drop things on them.”
“Why’d you have to call everyone together, then?” asked Tonks.
“Maybe you can Apparate, but I can’t! Besides, we haven’t had a DE/Order confrontation in this story yet.”
“Yeah, real confrontational here.”
“You chucked stuff at Bellatrix, doesn’t that count?”
Before anyone could respond to this, the Fat Lady’s portrait swung forward, and another person stepped in.
“Not now, David, we’re having a huge, possibly evil meeting,” said Harry to the boy.
“Oh, I’m just holding the door for my uncle,” said David, grinning malevolently. “Coast is clear, Uncle Edgar!” he shouted over his shoulder into the hall behind him.
And tromping in behind him came Arbitrar, followed closely by his Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
“So that’s why that kid was so weird…” muttered Harry.
“Eeek, a creepy Snorkack!” Voldy shrieked, leaping into Bellatrix’s lap.
“I’m not complaining, mind,” she said.
“Ahahahahaha!” Arbitrar said, gazing around at all the stunned looks. “Surprised to see me, are you?”
“Well, obviously,” said Snape. “Considering you were so unceremoniously sacked.”
“Who is this guy?” Bellatrix asked.
“Some lunatic I threw a knife at.”
“We’ll have to compare knife throwing notes sometime, Snape.”
“Wait, you can throw knives?”
“I’d assume so. I’m awesomely evil like that.”
“Hey, this is my ego trip!” Arbitrar shouted. “And to prove how sinister I really am, I’ve obtained several copies of book 7, and am distributing them around! The spoilers will be everywhere! Ahahaha!”
Everyone stared at him.
“Uh, Edgar, everyone’s read it already,” said the author.
Arbitrar’s evil grin fell. “You have?”
Everyone else nodded.
“Well, this was a crap idea, huh?” he said to Snorky, who merely mooed in response. “Well, uh…..Every-Flavor Beans!!!” He chucked a bunch of the treats into the air, then leapt for the window. Instead of crashing through, he merely bounced off the glass.
“Ow, crap…” He struggled to his feet, feeling his nose. “Man, I just wanted to cause some havoc with spoilers…”
“That’s kinda what this meeting was about, actually,” the author continued. “I was just telling everyone-“
“Well, since you’re all done, I’m sure you loved the book, then!” Arbitrar interrupted. “I liked the part where-“
“No spoilers!” cried the author.
“Personally, I liked when-“ started Tonks.
“Shut up guys!”
“Or how about when-“ said Lupin.
“Knock it off!”
“And then there was the part-“ said Harry.
“Oh yeah, when-“ said Ron.
“No, the bit where-“ said Hermione.
“Cut it out now, I mean it!”
“Anybody want a peanut?” everyone said.
“I loved that whole chapter where we-“ Voldy said.
“Oh, yeah, loved that bit when-“ Bellatrix agreed.
“That does it!”
“How about when Harry-“ Dumbledore started.
“ARGH! YOU NAMED NAMES! Now I’m so much trouble!”
“Come now, the series is named after Potter,” said McGonagall. “It stands to reason he’s in the books.”
“Well, yeah, but still…”
“Oh, there was that bit at the beginning where-“ Moody said.
“I’m so close to pulling out the duct tape, I’m dead serious…”
“I personally enjoyed when-“ Snape said, smirking at the author’s plight.
“Next person to say anything will suffer my wrath, I swear!”
“How about I just read it aloud, and we can all enjoy our favorite bits again?” called out Arbitrar. He whipped out one of his illicit copies, opened it, turned the page with a flourish, and started to read. “Chapter one! ‘The-‘”
“SPOILERS!!!!!” screamed the author, swiping Arbitrar’s copy of the book and beating him over the head with it.
Just then, the portrait flew open again, and in came Neville and Monkey.
“AHA!” Neville cried. “I’ve found you, at last!”
“Buh?” said Arbitrar, trying to shake off the mad author.
“I said, I’ve found you. I’ve come to get my power back”
“…………BUH?”
“The Power of Suggestion. It gave me limitless power! And when you left, I had nothing but my ambition remaining. Then I found Monkey, and I was a little less depressed. But I’ve come to reclaim the rest of my power!”
“Neville, I never really gave you any power. This story was as weird as it was because it was written that way.”
“Don’t drag me into this…” the author said.
“What? Then what the crap was the point of all of it?!” Neville shouted.
“Don’t worry,” said Arbitrar, “I can explain like this….Snorky, attack!”
The Snorkack lunged, and sent Monkey flying into the opposite wall with a shriek.
“Monkey, no! Oh, you’ll pay for that…MIMBLY!”
There was a sudden, faint, thud from upstairs. It came again, getting louder. And again, and again. Dust started to shake from the ceiling.
“Anyone else having a Jurassic Park flashback?” asked the author.
Suddenly, from the staircase to the boy’s dormitories came a large, lumbering, grey, bloby thing, covered in spines, pulsating slightly, and growling angrily.
“WHOA!” said Arbitrar.
“Is that the old Mimbulus Mimbletonia?” Harry asked.
“That it is!” Neville answered.
“What’d you feed that thing?” Arbitrar said with a bit of panic.
“Peanut butter and Strengthening Solutions.”
“Oh, bless him, he learned how to make a potion,” said Snape, just a little sarcastically.
“RAR!” said Mimbly.
“MOO!” said Snorky.
They charged at each other. Snorky lowered his horns, but Mimbly caught hold of them. They pushed each other back and forth for a bit, then Mimbly tossed Snorky aside. Snorky mooed angrily, getting to his feet. Mimbly charged at Snorky again, and they crashed out of the window. Sounds of them fighting could be heard from the grounds below.
“OK, that was a little strange…” said the author.
Everyone else had crowded around the windows.
“I’m betting on the plant,” said Ron.
“No way, the cow’s gonna win!” said Voldy.
“Uh, I think we can leave it at that…” said the author. “Let’s just say everything went on crazily ever after. Now, go read Deathly Hallows, if you haven’t already. I won’t be the one to spoil you.”
A/N: There we go, chapter 9! Send reviews, via reviews. That is how it works. Yes. *nods* Until then, I have a book to write. Toodles!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.