Pure crack. A request fic, blah blah blah. This was suggested to me by the same genius who brought you 'OMG someone killed Bella!', and it's not quite what he envisioned, but here goes.
The hallways flickered with a muted orange glow, and if one were to take a look at it, they would see naught but a lone figure standing at the very far end. It was tall, shadowed and willowy, and its name was Minerva McGonagall.
The tip-tap of booted feet echoed from the far side, and she took her hands out of her robe pockets and folded them in front of her, looking prim, proper and ramrod straight.
Hagrid lead the troop of little children to the deputy headmistress and they stopped a metre or so away from her presence.
She noticed a small frog jump across the stairs in front of her.
And her world went red.
5 years ago, a girl had had a toad pet that had bounced across the stairs in just the same way. She had ended up tripping on it, breaking her wand, her nose and her dignity.
4 years ago, a toad had crawled onto her robes and spontaneously exploded. She never found out how.
3 years ago, a boy had a toad and it had come under her foot and died. The child had started bawling his eyes out there and then in the hallway.
2 years ago, another toad had made its way in front of her, and Mrs. Norris had come and eaten it. The boy who owned it had made a huge issue out of it and had wanted his toad refunded; right in that corridor.
1 year ago, a toad had landed on her hat and knocked it askew, ruining her balance and she had turned into a cat on instinct. Loosing herself in the frenzy of landing on her feet, she had gone ballistic and had eaten the offending amphibian. No-one claimed that particular toad.
And everyone of those years, she had not been able to give her super-amazing-ultra-uber-pwnage speech to the first years.
SHE WOULD NOT BE DENIED HER SPEECH!
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" The Transfiguration teacher screamed out in her fury, wand lifted and aimed, and poor Trevor was no more.
Her bloodlust faded away, and the logical line of action continued.
"Oh shit," she murmured.
She looked left. She looked right. She looked into the huddle of scared and pale children and sought out anyone with a distraught or horrified expression.
She found one.
"TREVOR!" Neville screamed, aghast, looking at the limp and broken body of his not so faithful animal companion. He pushed his way through the twenty or so students in front of him and bent next to the murdered toad, trying to check for any remaining shred of life.
He sobbed greivously. Memories of Trevor and him flooded his grief struck mind and made his pain worse. No more would the toad try to run away from him, no more would he spend endless hours trying to find him again...
Oh, the Agony! Oh, the sheer unforgivable acts of carnage!
Something broke within Neville right then. The meek boy vanished in a haze of berserk rage and a monster took his place; a monster created from the power of love. He stood up, face still bowed, and then his face darkened in resolve. He turned and faced the murderer of all things amphibian and growled.
"YOU," he pointed, approaching the addressed with clenched fists. He drew his wand out with his left hand and broke out into a run.
McGonagall was stumped. Things had gotten out of hand, and that was an understatement. She eyed the boy that was barelling towards her and thought of a few non-lethal curses to stop him. When he raised his wand, all thoughts changed to defending herself from any curses he might throw at her instead.
Stupefy? Sectumsempra? Avada Kedavra? She speculated. She begun muttering a complex twelve-spell matrix with weird fluttery dance moves and wand twirlings that left her unable to do anything else, looking all elite-witchy and awesome.
"AAAAAUUUGHHHH!" He just ran up to her and stabbed her with his wand.
…
Well, the child was just a first year.
The hall was the picture-perfect scene of chaos and panic. The students had formed clumps amongst themselves, trying to find comfort from each other, and they all were bordering on hysteria. Everyone was avoiding Neville like the plague.
"Oh no! Someone has killed the Professor! What're we gonna do?"
"OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG..."
"I mean, obviously a First year can't kill someone like that, a witch has to die in style, there's no way that she went down with a stab wound. Just you wait Ron, we'll wake up in the train soon and this'll all be a stupid dream..."
"Oh sod off Hermione..."
"OMG OMG OMG OMG... It's Harry potter! *Squeal*"
"I mean, seriously, this goes so far from established truth that I'm sure none of this is real..."
"OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG... Wait, the professor's dead? Oh."
"Hermione, go talk to Neville. I'm sure he'll actually care about whatever you're saying."
This headless-chicken behaviour went on for a while.
Somewhere amongst the First-years...
"Hey Lavender..."
"Yeah, Cho?"
"...Nothing. I coulda sworn I'm forgetting something."
Neville was far from over with his vendetta though. The universe had taken his Toad away from him. Nothing would be a fitting vengeance for it other than the complete eradication of the school that took Trevor.
"EVERYONE!" he bellowed, standing with his foot on top of McGonagall's head.
The crowd shushed and turned to the grieving Teacher-killer. Hermione disapprovingly turned with the rest of them.
"This school... No, this hellhouse... has murdered my Toad."
GASP! Everyone went teary eyed at the absolutely ghastly deed that Neville had been the brunt of. Everyone started crying with deep shuddering sobs. Everyone except Hermione.
"I mean, he killed a teacher and no-one cared? Is this really happening?"
"Hermione... Y-you uncaring l-little... Witch!"
"Honestly Ron..."
Neville was on a roll, it seemed. He pointed passionately to everyone, and girls swooned at the very thought of being relatively important to someone as charismatic as him.
"...and who knows? Someday they may kill your toad. Then what? Will you let them desecrate your precious companions like that? Will you let them be SLAIN?"
"HELL NO!" Everyone with less than half a brain, which was pretty much everyone except Hermione, chorused together.
"Will you join me in my vendetta!.?"
"HELL YES!" Everyone who didn't know what vendetta meant, which was pretty much everyone except Hermione, shouted out again.
"Then come, comrades. Let us begin the massacre," Neville chuckled darkly, then erupted into full-on cackling. The entire crowd followed his lead, and the entire portion of the castle sounded like dying Sheep on laughing gas.
"I mean, everyone just ups and follows? They really expect to be able to defeat Dumbledore and some of the other most powerful wizards and witches in the entire world? Is anyone sane here?"
"Don't doubt the power of love, Hermione," Harry said with glowing eyes and followed his new role model.
Elsewhere, in the mystical depths of the retarded Castle I call Hogwarts...
"Oh yeaaaaaa... that's the shit right there..."
The man with the longest beard in the galaxy lifted his head out of the pensieve (disguised bong) with his eyes rolled inwards and tongue lolling out. His glasses hung askew off one ear and smoke drifted out of his mouth and nose.
"... Oh teh Weed..."
Fawkes squawked from his perch, calling Dumbledore a Stupid Stoned bastard.
Dumbledore just took a step in its direction and face-vaulted, breaking his already broken Nose on the floor. Fawkes snidely screeched out a few more expletives.
The aged Wizard slowly stood up and Avada Kedavra'd his Phoenix, making it burst into flames and crumble into ashes.
Oh fuck you, it cheeped melodiously in its baby tweets.
Suddenly, within a fraction of a nano-second, Dumbledore's visage lost its demonic grin and assumed a somber, responsible and powerful expression. He drew his hands to his temples and closed his eyes, swaying slightly from side to side.
"I sense some great evil afoot in the castle..." He said softly, voice no more than a whisper in the air. He focused some more, then finally opened his eyes looking ten years older than he already did.
"Fawkes, alert the faculty immediately." He watched the small ball of feathers flap its two minuscule appendages and was satisfied.
"It seems I must hold council with the Smoke Spirits once more," he odiously proclaimed.
He turned and threw his face back into the pensieve (disguised hallucinogenic bong), eyes going unfocused once more.
The crowd of students walked into the great hall, walking with such swagger and bravado that they looked like a right bunch of badasses. Neville lead them all, moving his shoulders and arms with such exaggeration that they almost got dislocated.
His love for Trevor kept him going.
Everyone on the five tables looked at them in downright envy and admiration. No-one had ever seen such a Dramatic entrance in the entire history of Hogwarts, as everyone was remarking to themselves. Every female within a one mile radius randomly swooned, overwhelmed by the immense macho-ness of Neville's shoulders. Except Hermione, of course.
"I mean, do these people have no self-respect? Professor Sprout just fainted! For an eleven year old! That is coming to kill her! What the heck Is happening?"
"The world works in strange ways, Hermione. Now shut up."
The ghosts played some ominous sepulchral music on their broken limbs, synchronizing them to Neville's every step. The young revolutionary stopped in front of the faculty table, and it seemed as if the entire world came to a halt.
Professor Flitwick stood on top of the table, looking down on the crowd that had formed around him. His diminutive height did not make him any less impressive; rather it seemed to make every eye that wasn't focused on Neville drawn to him.
"What have you done, youngling?" He all but growled.
They stared at each other for what seemed like eons. Before those two, time seemed like a meaningless quantity, their endless energy entrancing all who gazed upon them. Except Hermione, of course.
"I mean, Professsor Flitwick? THE Professor Flitwick? Actually acting as if Neville has a chance to win? This can't possibly get any more ridiculous-"
"Hermione, how many times have you been proved wrong today?"
"..."
Something shifted in the air, and fate made its decision.
"HIYAAAAAAA!" Neville reached forwards and pulled Flitwick's beard. Hard. So hard it was nearly ripped off, and the only thing that saved it was the way he fell to the floor with it. The students behind him took the scream as the signal to begin their attack, and with a mighty battlecry that would make even the dead grip their ears and cry out in agony, the slaughter begun.
Forks armed in the hands of the first years became deadlier than any wand in the hands of the most trained wizard, which wasn't saying much since apart from two or three wizards the rest were just hogwarts students. Students that would take their wands out then more or less froze, not knowing much of combat magic against hordes. They were easy pickings then.
Flitwick tried to get up, but he was soon trampled by a bunch of particularly rowdy first years who thought that cracking his skull would be very funny. They succeeded, needless to say. Neville Longbottom coldly gazed upon the dying orbs of the once great wizard, the blood running from his wounds appeasing his heart greatly.
Every single fifth to seventh year ran away when Percy Weasley, driven to stop the bloodthirsty children by his obligations as a prefect, was sliced and diced by a salvo of thrown plates while in the midst of his impressive show of authority. They just didn't think it was worth it anymore and left for their dorms.
"I mean, Ronald Weasley, you just threw the plate that knocked your brother's head off! And you're standing there laughing? Are you out of your mind?-"
"He was an asshole anyway, Hermione. Never shared his stuff, always told on me-"
"-I mean... RON! Mind your language!"
"-Oh Shut The Fuck Up, honestly."
Hermione's eyes teared up at the sheer horrendousness of everything.
What little remained of the students years followed suit, hiding and cowering in some nearby classrooms, praying that the blood-bathing monsters did not find them.
No-one else was alive by that time, except for the first years, of course. And Professor Sprout, who had conveniently fallen under a table when she fainted, hid from sight by sheer luck.
Neville walked amongst his loyal soldiers, commending them for their fervor and praising each for the kills they made. The other children did everything short of worshipping their commander, clasping his bloody hands like drowning people clutch at straws.
He called everyone to attention by releasing a feral shriek of fury that made even the enchanted ceiling tremble. Draco Malfoy's eardrums burst open, and not wanting to make him feel left out Crabbe and Goyle popped their own open too.
"My dearest comrades in Blood and Pain! We have brought a measure of peace to my Toad with the blood of the innocent running down the stones of this house of sin. But he wants more..."
The assembled children cried out in passion, willing to do anything to assuage the unrest brought to the poor animal by this cruel cruel world. They clawed on the wooden desks, bellowing and stomping with the force of their desire for carnage, waiting for the word that would set their bloodthirsty sights on their next victims.
"We must kill... The Headmaster..."
"Death to Dumbledore!" "Long live Longbottom!" "Yaaaayyyyyyyyyyy!"
Cheers sounded out unanimously from everywhere.
Hermione sat on the steps of the great hall, sobbing into her lap. She was no longer sure if it was a dream or not. Just what had happened to the world? Why had it become so... Stupid? If she didn't believe in a god before, she definitely did so now. And this God was a fucktard.
"Hermione, come on now. Lord Neville has decreed that we move to pwn Dumbledore's ass for 200 galleons. Just one more kill and I go beyond Godlike, can you believe it?"
"..."
The first years walked onwards to the place where the final showdown would happen, and strangely enough they found the headmaster's office, nevermind that they were first years and hadn't stepped into hogwarts before that day and hadn't been guided around either.
"Destiny calls," Neville muttered. Which was probably how they all ended up in the right place. Destiny.
Neville turned back towards his loyal followers, children of his own age that would follow him to the ends of the earth if he so willed, and caught their attention automatically.
"We may not come out of this alive, my brethren. We may die on these very steps, fallen to the unholy hands of the headmaster and his toad-slaying minions!"
The crowd (of 20 or so) growled in fury, barely controlling their urge to prove how not killable they were.
"But if we can avenge my toad, it will not be for naught! So come! WE END THIS NOW!"
"YEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" The stone of the walls and the ceiling trembled in the wake of the army's steps.
Hermione was all but catatonic by now. She couldn't focus on her own steps, and her eyes were swollen from crying so very very much. She had only one last hope left, and she tried to go and convince him that what was happening was madness of the sheerest kind.
"Harry, how can you let this happen? Of all people, you should know what it's like to fight for the right reasons! You are the reason the previous major Dark Lord died, how can you follow someone so like him happily?" She was awfully on the verge of breaking down again. She grasped Harry's cloak and shook him.
"Hermione, Voldemort killed my Parents. I loved my parents. That's why I know that he deserved to die."
Hermione nodded shakily, not knowing where this was going.
"A school teacher killed Neville's toad. Neville loved his toad. That's why he knows they all deserve to die. So let him kill them, it's only fair," Harry suggested, calmly walking onwards behind Neville.
Hermione broke. She stopped where she stood and collapsed on the floor, thinking it was better to die than live in a world where retardedness always triumphed over reason. Especially one where retardedness was reason.
Meanwhile, inside Dumbledore's office...
The Headmaster of Hogwarts could hear the students outside his office quite clearly. But he was as calm and unperturbed as everyone knew him to be even at the worst of times. And it most definitely was one of the worst of times. He had lost nearly all of his trusted colleagues to a handful of 11 year-olds... Well, everyone except Snape, because Snape had a strange immunity from dying retarded deaths. Or else he would've died the day he was born.
"And you honestly believe that Neville has good reason to do this?"
"The death of a loved one is not a matter to be taken lightly, Severus, except when it's someone evil whose loved one dies. Then it's ok. But I have a plan to stop this mess. Please go open the door."
Fawkes had managed to fall onto the floor from his perch, and squawked out obscenities at the world and everyone in it, Dumbledore especially. At hearing the bearded-one give the 'open' order, however, he gave up his futile battle against his lack of wings and vanished with a flash of 'Fuck-this-I'm-outta-here' phoenix fire.
The Gargoyle was surprisingly not there. The door opened with a very meek and un-ominous creek, and the people behind Neville ceased to speak. This was the moment, after all. Their Lord would have to face the dangers inside alone.
Neville could see the object of his rage sitting in a massive thronelike chair, his silhouette looking very large, and very obviously evil.
"So you made it here, You foolish boy. You really believe that you can defeat me?"
Neville used to be someone who could be easily intimidated. USED to be. But now, he had something even Dumbledore didn't.
He had...
A dead toad.
Booyah.
"You will pay for your insolencies! AND the murder of Trevor!" Neville said. He reached for his wand, covered with gore from McGonagall's Stab wound, aimed it at the still shadowed Headmaster, and screamed the one spell that ended his Pet's life channeled with all the hatred his noble heart could muster.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Green light burst out of his wand and struck the Headmaster in the middle of his chest.
But he did not die.
He burst into slow and malevolent laughter, mocking the very fabric of all that was good.
"You think a little curse like that will end me? Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? Well, you thought wrong!"
Neville's Nemesis stepped into the light, his beard splayed into strange unruly upside down spikes.
"My power levels are over 9000!"
Neville couldn't restrain from gasping. The power level of evil was just too legendary, and besides, Neville had used all his trumps once already. Pulling someones beard and stabbing them with a wand can only get one's self so far, and now he had to try something else. Something like...
"Spirits of Hogwarts, Heed my call!"
Neville cried to the sky, raising his wand in the air. An aura of shimmering energy seemed to surround his form, and his eyes shone with intense concentration.
Now was the moment of severe reckoning. Only someone with a pure heart could summon the energy of the plan- the school in the way Neville was doing so. But deep down, in the recesses of his heart where Trevor had burrowed and made his place, there was no doubt of it. No-one's intentions were as pure as Neville's were in that moment.
"Give me your energy so I can beat the bad guy!" He shouted through gritted teeth. A faint ghostly ball of blue light surrounded the tip of his wand, and the accumulating luminousity revealed Dumbledore's snarling face.
Ghosts came through the walls of the office and revolved around the growing ball of immense spiritual energy, all given to Neville, the champion of all that was good and not unholy, by them and the other beings of the mystical castle of hogwarts. And soon, the time for victory was upon him. He let go of the ball.
"Spirit Avada-Kedavra Bomb!" Neville threw the sphere at the Bad Guy. To beat him. And Beat him he did. With a gut-wrenching and eyeball-squeezing explosion, and with a ghastly scream of agony thrown in for good measure, the evil known as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was no more.
No seriously..?
What actually happened was that as soon as the door to the headmaster's office opened, Neville found a Penseive (disguised hallucinogenic controllable bong) hurled unceremoniously at his head, where it balanced itself precariously and fed its bearer with its toxic fumes. Soon, unable to bear the weight of the Stone basin, the avenger of amphibian honour fell to the floor, and his skull cracked under the weight of the penseive.
The penseive shattered too and stone shards rocketed away, unfortunately, shaking Neville out of whatever fantasy he was immersed in. One about defeating Dumbledore, no doubt.
The entire crowd of Nevilles' followers was apalled at the ease with which he had been vanquished. Everyone except for Hermione, of course, who was overjoyed beyond words at the seeming reassurance that not all was wrong and that evil wasn't good and love did not justify murder, among many things.
"Hey! Wait a second, I remember now! Lavender, Have you seen my toad?" Cho asked frantically, rifling through her bag.
"No, sorry Cho."
"Huh, I coulda sworn he was just here..."
Nevilles final thoughts were of triumph, despite the fact that he was lying in a puddle of his own blood and was going to die. His life had already flashed before his eyes, he was seeing the light and feeling cold; in short, all death stereotypes had been accounted for. His toad was avenged, and he and his pet could finally rest in peace now.
He knew he would not be able to live any more; the explosion from the Spirit Avada-Kedavra Bomb was too much even for him to handle.
His dying eyes were drawn to a Toad hopping a few steps away from him. The Toad croaked. Loudly. In a very odiously familiar way. It had a nametag around its front left paw; a nametag reading 'Trevor'.
"Hey buddy..." Neville rasped out and closed his eyes. His toad had found peace, and now was the time for him to do so as-
"What the FU-"
...
Neville promptly died from Bloodloss.
"Well, that was... Simple," Snape drawled out from where he leaned on the wall, right next to Dumbledore. Both were inside the office, and both observed Neville die with not even the slightest amount of regret or shame. A little relief, actually, nothing more.
"Indeed, Severus." Dumbledore gazed at the ruinous state of the corridor, more than a little saddened. At the death of a student or at the breaking of the Penseive (disguised hallucinogenic controllable addictive bong), Snape could not say.
"I believe this episode of slaughter has been brought to a close," he muttered with a tone of finality, and turned to write a letter to Borgin and Burke's to order another Penseive (bong... thingy).
Elsewhere in the corridors...
Harry Potter stood, his Heart pounding, gazing at the sight of his snowy white owl impaled with one of the pieces of the penseive straight through its feathery chest. It gave out a mournful chirrup and its avian soul left it, its poor eyes glazing over.
Harry's scream of murderous grief and anguish reverberated through the castle.
The End
…
?
By the end of this I thought it was kinda cliched, but it was a long way in the coming, so I posted it without smoothing it out. Its here now, yayyyy.
May Neville rest in peace, I feel for the guy. Frogs are awesome.