Snape bounded into the dungeons, hopping on one foot with his arms outstretched crowing "Get it on! Bang the gong! Get it on!" He hopped up to his desk and tripped over his ominously-swishing robes, depositing him flat on the cold stone floor.
The students, hushed at their professor's abnormal entrance, sat dumbfounded in their seats as they listened to grunts and muffled cursings come from behind Snape's desk. Suddenly Snape leaped back up and looked around swiftly, hiding a large stuffed teddy bear behind his back and smoothing his hair with both hands and a dramatic intake of breath. He intook too much. He starting gasping and coughing.
Students were beginning to shift uneasily in their seats and glance nervously at each other while Snape, bent in double, hacked and coughed. He suddenly jerked upright and began to speak in his normal voice, normal air, and normal countenance, before Harry could start giggling uncontrollably at his professor's predicament.
"I expect you all to have completed your essays on the different kinds of poisons native to Abyssinia. I realize it was due on this Friday, but as it is now Tuesday, I expect sixth years such as yourselves to have completed them over the weekend."
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape jerked his glare over to her and slithered over to her desk, standing up and wiping dust and some unknown blue substance from his robes.
"Yessss, Missss Granger?" he hissed.
"Sir, you didn't hand out the assignment until just yesterday."
Snape was staring at Hermione's hand, still up and in the air. Hermione glanced from him to her hand, to Ron, and then, with reluctance, to Harry. For the latter, she was rewarded just as she expected to be: by his classic blank "Huh?" look.
Snape started out of his brief reverie and stared hard at Hermione.
He stared some more.
He stared for five whole minutes before he said, slowly and haltingly, "What---Miss Granger?"
By this time Harry had fallen into a catatonic state classic of those suffering Carrot Syndrome, and his limbs were jerking around out of control as he stared straight ahead and drooled, with the occasional rude comment about Democrats. Snape hopped up on the table and sidled down a few seats until he was sitting in Harry's workplace, legs crossed and batting his eyelids.
"Harry," he said sweetly, flicking his hair behind his ear.
Harry's hand then jumped spastically and hit Snape full in the face. He tumbled backwards and hit the floor with a splat.
A howl came from the crumpled heap of black robes. "Why?!" Snape sobbed. "All I ever did was LOVE you!"
Snape flew into the air and landing standing up, arms crossed and looking very cross indeed. No one mentioned that his eye was slowing darkening to bruise purple, and all politely overlooked the redundant description of Snape's posture and expression.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a teacher, Potter, and a little bit of my own punishment," he said silkily, pulling a crunchy orange carrot from his sleeve.
Harry came to at once. He looked at the carrot and began to drool profusely. Ron, sighing in exasperation, picked up Harry's rag and wiped his face quickly.
"Why does my family have to like him?" he muttered to Hermione, watching the unfolding torture with peaked interest.
Snape then pulled a food processor from his sleeve. He set it down, a sadistic glint in his eye, watching Harry closely. He then reached into his sleeve again, swore, and began to dig around. He finally came back up with a long extension cord. He then wrenched a monkey from the other sleeve and handed one end of the cord to the creature.
"Take this and plug it into the nearest socket you can find," he ordered the chimp.
The chimp nodded, and began to trundle off, muttering its cute little chimp babble. Snape turned back to Harry and crossed his arms, grinning evilly as Harry stared in horror at the carrot in so close a proximity to the food processor.
At the door, the chimp turned around, and in the rough, deep voice with nasal accent one would expect to find in a mobster or perhaps a New Yorker, said "Ey. Uhhhh....what's it ya wanme tuh doo 'gain?"
Snape turned with blazing eyes to the chimp. "Plug that into a socket and come right back."
"Rye." The chimp turned away again, muttering, "Lug it...no, slug...into a spocket....Spock...Satr Trek convention, hoo hoo...and go fly till I shite. Rye."
"Chimp!" Snape shouted at the retreating beast.
The chimp stopped and turned around. "Yeh?"
"What are you going to do?" Snape asked the ceiling wearily.
The chimp looked up and made a few impatient and obscene gestures.
"Uhhh," the ceiling replied. "What was that? I didn't know I was in on this just yet."
"Was I talking to you?" Snape snapped.
"Well...it was the monkey's fault!"
"Wuzz nah!" the chimp shouted.
"Was too!"
"WUZZ NAH!"
"WAS TOO!"
And so the argument between chimp and ceiling continued on for a while, becoming more and more colorful and less and less appropriate to account for, word for word. Sadly, in the end, the ceiling ended up with chimp poo splattered all over it and the chimp had been squashed to death by a portion of rotted linoleum.
Hermione looked at Ron. "Linoleum? On the ceiling?"
"You didn't know that?" Ron asked incredulously. "All Muggles use linoleum on their floors, we use it on ceilings. That's what makes the Great Hall's ceiling bewitched. Most Muggles need funny powders or pills or plants to see the magical images in linoleum, but they're there."
"Oh," Hermione said grumpily, slouching into her chair. Ron knew more than her on a subject. She slid down so far in her chair that she was spit out and down a hole in the floor. When she landed, she found herself in a dark place, surrounded by sobbing and wailing.
Suddenly a bright light shone down right on her. Could this be--
"NOOO!!!!" She screamed as the Face loomed before her. Short red hair. Wire-framed glasses. AND A WARDROBE ENTIRELY BLACK!!!
"Hermione Granger," the face said. "You are the Weakest Link."
"Shut up you arrogant wench," Hermione shouted. "You're not even British!"
"Wha--yes, yes I am," the Face stuttered.
"No you're not."
"Yes I am." The Face clapped a hand over its mouth as its accent faltered. It had finally happened: it had been found out.
"Awww, cray-ap," the Face drawled in its normal voice and nasal tone. "I wuzz makin' mill-yuns and mill-yuns of doll-ers in this here bizzznuss and you come 'long and spoil 't all. I don' wanna go bay-ack to sale-ing maygaseen sup-scripshuns."
The weeping and wailing all around Hermione turned to shouts of pure joy. No more would being on Weakest Link be considered a punishment for a capital crime! The world was safe from the Face (because no on really knows that lady (?) anyway). Hermione had saved all of mankind!
"Just the Brits."
Excuse me?
"I only saved the Brits. The rest of the world can rot in hell."
Evil little child...
"The Brits will rule!"
Yes, yes I'm sure they will--
"Down with the non-British plague!"
Hermione, we--
"NEVER AGAIN WILL A BRIT NEED DEAL WITH ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD!!! WE ARE A RACE UNTO OURSELVES!!! WE ARE THE SUPERIOR--"
I am sorry to inform you, the reader, that Hermione Granger will no longer be appearing in this fanfic. She is currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing nursing several lacerations and a concussion inflicted by a lethally-handled fluffy bunny slipper.
"Good riddance," Ron muttered to the drooling Harry. "Why does my family have to like her, anyway?"
"Weasley! If you would PLEASE stop responding to the voices in MY head!" Snape roared. "Unless...of course you were to ask them how I could get power to this food processor..."
Sorry, Professor. No help there.
"Dammit."
Snape whirled on Ron.
"Say," he said. He looked at that redundant narration, shrugged, and continued. "You have funny brothers, right? Fake-wands kind of guys?"
"Yes, sir," Ron squeaked. He shifted in his seat and squashed the mouse in his pocket.
"Yes, the hair gave it away." Snape stared at Ron's bright red hair.
He stared some more.
He stared for a whole--
"Well, where--"
He almost stared for a whole five minutes.
Snape glared at the ceiling and gave the voices the universal sign of disapproval, catching his robes on the way up. They snagged and tore, and all of the girls in the class stampeded up to the front of the room for a better view.
"Well..." Snape paused and whirled, to the disappointed groans of the girl-people, waving his judo-chop hands at the ceiling and emotionally scarring Ron at the sight of the torn backside of his robes.
Still eyeing the ceiling suspiciously, Snape turned back to Ron, to the squeals of delight from the female-folk, and finished in a rush, "Well? Where are the fake wands?"
"Sir?" Ron asked. Harry continued to drool at the sight of the carrot on the table, his leg kicking out spastically and in time to "When the Saints Go Marching In."
"The fake wands! The fake wands! I want fake wands!" Snape wailed to the heavens, arms upstretched.
"Shut up and stop whining," Metatron called down.
"Eh?" Snape glanced down at his hands and up at the heavens again. "What a very intriguing metaphysical dilemma...If I'm here, how can--"
A spoon clanged down at Snape's feet. Glancing up, he saw the Sheriff of Nottingham grinning insanely down at him as he hung from the chandelier. Snape waved his fist at the Sheriff in reply to the threat.
Suddenly a very neatly dressed man with a black cowboy hat dashed through the classroom and swept up the spoon, whipping out his Army Revolver as he backed over to the door.
"Just what I needed for my mint jelly," Elliot Marston murmured to himself. He left the classroom, shooting two students who were skipping class on the way out. What a sexy sharpshooter.
"Holy--" Snape began, before he was poked by another man disguised in a woman's feather hat. "Now now, there's no need for obscenities. Just let me redo the impression of the key."
"Key?" Snape said blankly.
The man in the hat stiffened in fury. "Collins!" he hollered as he stormed out of the room.
Suddenly, a man with a very interesting head prosthetic which made him none the less handsome or adorable strode in, wearing a purple NSEA suit.
"By Grapthar's Hammer!" Dr. Lazarus/Alexander Dane gasped as he quickly assessed the situation. He whipped out a funky little tech toy. "The nearest fake wand is right over here..." and he began to stagger around, eyes glued to the device. "Wait, no." He stopped and flipped it around just as he ran into a wall. "That way."
"You were holding it upside down!" a student wailed.
"Shut...up."
The man stepped on another student. "This one has several fake wands!" he called. He hauled the student up and pushed him in front of Snape.
"Um...how do I get them?" Snape asked nervously as the rock monster-kid began to chase him.
"Well, you're just gonna have to figure out what it wants. What is its motivation?"
"What are you talking about?" Snape shouted as he dodged a rocky fist. "How am I supposed to know?!"
"Oh, right. Of course it's always about you, isn't it?" The man threw his device down and stomped on it (it made a very satisfying scream that sounded very much like a dying dustbunny) before storming out into the hall.
"Where are you going?" Snape cried, hanging upside down from the monster's grip.
"To see if there's a pub!" was the fading response.
A loud, resounding gunshot echoed through the classroom, and every had to hit the floor to avoid being struck by the ricocheting bullet that went right through the CG rockmonster kid, killing it instantly. Everyone, that is, except for Neville, who, in all his stupidity, stood up to see what was going on while yelling, "I have said it for years--he's mentally unstable!"
"Theo, see if you can dispose of that," Hans Gruber told his associate, who hauled the body of Neville and the rock-monster kid out of the room with the help of some of the other German thugs.
Hans sat down in front of Ron. "That's a very nice robe, Mr. Weasley. It would be a shame to ruin it."
Ron stared at the handsome German thief blankly. Hans sighed wearily. "I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four. One--"
Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and Harry continued to stare and drool at the carrot, screaming an obscenity about Al Gore and boiled peanuts.
"Two--"
Snape sat, brow furrowed, trying to think what all of these unexpected cameos could possibly have in common.
"Three."
Ron glanced up at Hans, who pulled out his pistol just as another man came running into the room.
"Hans Gruber!" the man said in a very deep, even, smooth, and commanding voice. "You are under arrest for promoting subversion through all of your anti-cheese literature. You will come with me, where you will be locked in a room and see no one but me until I beat a confession out of you, mentally or physically, it is your choice--"
Hans shot the man and stood up, saying quite resignedly, "Okay, we'll do it the hard way." He turned to Snape. "I wanted this to be professional. Efficient, cooperative, not a lot to ask. Unfortunately, your student did not see it that way, so the Interrogator will not be joining us for the rest of his life." He picked up a plate from the buffet table and began to pick at it nonchalantly as he spoke. Snape had to trip several fat students in their desperate attempts to make it up to the food table. "You can leave whatever way you want. You can walk out of here or be carried out. But have no illusions, we are in charge." He waved the gun for emphasis, accidentally squeezing off a shot that killed Trevor the Toad. "So, decide each of you," Hans said, sticking the gun under each of the students' noses in turn. "But please remember, we have left nothing to chance."
Suddenly, the Sheriff fell from the ceiling and knocked Hans out of a window. The Sheriff stood up, pushing his black fur cape behind him.
"Cousin," Snape said forcedly. "I trust you justify your intrusion with news of profound value?"
The Sheriff nodded. "I met a hooded man today who bade me w--" The Sheriff paused. "Wait, no, that's not my line!" He stared at Snape in dawning knowledge. "You stole my lines! I suppose you took Miss 10:30 and 10:45, as well?! You're in on it with that Robin Hood, you little ferret!"
Snape shook his head imperceptibly, nodding to the class and waving at the carrot. Harry let out a whimper.
"Ah, yes of course," the Sheriff said. He pulled out another spoon and handed it to Snape, who nodded quickly. The Sheriff then swept off down between the tables. "Now I have heard that Longbottom mat still be alive. Either tell me where he may be hiding...or you'll all be hanged and we'll catch him anyway and do the same thing to him!" he finished in a rush.
Snape, sighing exasperatedly, pulled a dagger from inside his robes and charged at the Sheriff, stabbing him in the chest. The Sheriff staggered around and keeled over, drooling almost as much as Harry.
Snape sauntered over and stood over the dying man. "Well at least I didn't use a spoon."
The Sheriff collapsed and gave up the ghost with the final realization that all his good lines had been taken from him in this last scene of life.
"Now!" Snape shouted, whirling back on Harry, causing all of the students to jump, especially all those who had retreated to corners and were frantically snogging one another.
Snape swept up to Harry again, throwing the broom on the floor as he grabbed the carrot. "Now, Potter, here is your punishment, at long last." He pulled the carrot over into position and lowered the spoon. Harry watched with quivering jaw and trembling spittle as Snape did so. A few students, bored, returned to snogging under the desks. Snape heard this and began to viciously whack and hack at the carrot, punctuating his yells and hollers about "Those--*whack*--of you coming here--*whack whack*--who will--*whack*--NOT--*whack whack*--PAY--*whack whack whack*--ATTENTION!!!" *whack whack whack whack*
Harry began to scream uncontrollably as the carrot juice flowed and bits of mangled pulp hit him in the eye. Ron, thoroughly exhausted by it all, waited until Snape was hauling snogging students out from under desks before whacking Harry hard on top of the head.
Harry blinked and continued to scream.
Ron was flabbergasted. He hit him again, harder this time. Harry didn't flinch.
Ron looked helplessly at Parvati. She nodded understandingly and kicked Harry, hard, under the desk. Being as it was under the desk, no one will ever know just where she kicked, even the omniscient and highly intelligent author, but it was enough for Harry to slump unconscious to the classroom floor.
Snape whirled at the sound of the hollow twang as Harry hit the ground. He leaped onto a desk and began to lead the whole of the class into a round of "Ding-dong, the Pothead's Dead." Never was the end of a Potions class so raucous and full of joy.
The students, hushed at their professor's abnormal entrance, sat dumbfounded in their seats as they listened to grunts and muffled cursings come from behind Snape's desk. Suddenly Snape leaped back up and looked around swiftly, hiding a large stuffed teddy bear behind his back and smoothing his hair with both hands and a dramatic intake of breath. He intook too much. He starting gasping and coughing.
Students were beginning to shift uneasily in their seats and glance nervously at each other while Snape, bent in double, hacked and coughed. He suddenly jerked upright and began to speak in his normal voice, normal air, and normal countenance, before Harry could start giggling uncontrollably at his professor's predicament.
"I expect you all to have completed your essays on the different kinds of poisons native to Abyssinia. I realize it was due on this Friday, but as it is now Tuesday, I expect sixth years such as yourselves to have completed them over the weekend."
Hermione's hand shot into the air. Snape jerked his glare over to her and slithered over to her desk, standing up and wiping dust and some unknown blue substance from his robes.
"Yessss, Missss Granger?" he hissed.
"Sir, you didn't hand out the assignment until just yesterday."
Snape was staring at Hermione's hand, still up and in the air. Hermione glanced from him to her hand, to Ron, and then, with reluctance, to Harry. For the latter, she was rewarded just as she expected to be: by his classic blank "Huh?" look.
Snape started out of his brief reverie and stared hard at Hermione.
He stared some more.
He stared for five whole minutes before he said, slowly and haltingly, "What---Miss Granger?"
By this time Harry had fallen into a catatonic state classic of those suffering Carrot Syndrome, and his limbs were jerking around out of control as he stared straight ahead and drooled, with the occasional rude comment about Democrats. Snape hopped up on the table and sidled down a few seats until he was sitting in Harry's workplace, legs crossed and batting his eyelids.
"Harry," he said sweetly, flicking his hair behind his ear.
Harry's hand then jumped spastically and hit Snape full in the face. He tumbled backwards and hit the floor with a splat.
A howl came from the crumpled heap of black robes. "Why?!" Snape sobbed. "All I ever did was LOVE you!"
Snape flew into the air and landing standing up, arms crossed and looking very cross indeed. No one mentioned that his eye was slowing darkening to bruise purple, and all politely overlooked the redundant description of Snape's posture and expression.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a teacher, Potter, and a little bit of my own punishment," he said silkily, pulling a crunchy orange carrot from his sleeve.
Harry came to at once. He looked at the carrot and began to drool profusely. Ron, sighing in exasperation, picked up Harry's rag and wiped his face quickly.
"Why does my family have to like him?" he muttered to Hermione, watching the unfolding torture with peaked interest.
Snape then pulled a food processor from his sleeve. He set it down, a sadistic glint in his eye, watching Harry closely. He then reached into his sleeve again, swore, and began to dig around. He finally came back up with a long extension cord. He then wrenched a monkey from the other sleeve and handed one end of the cord to the creature.
"Take this and plug it into the nearest socket you can find," he ordered the chimp.
The chimp nodded, and began to trundle off, muttering its cute little chimp babble. Snape turned back to Harry and crossed his arms, grinning evilly as Harry stared in horror at the carrot in so close a proximity to the food processor.
At the door, the chimp turned around, and in the rough, deep voice with nasal accent one would expect to find in a mobster or perhaps a New Yorker, said "Ey. Uhhhh....what's it ya wanme tuh doo 'gain?"
Snape turned with blazing eyes to the chimp. "Plug that into a socket and come right back."
"Rye." The chimp turned away again, muttering, "Lug it...no, slug...into a spocket....Spock...Satr Trek convention, hoo hoo...and go fly till I shite. Rye."
"Chimp!" Snape shouted at the retreating beast.
The chimp stopped and turned around. "Yeh?"
"What are you going to do?" Snape asked the ceiling wearily.
The chimp looked up and made a few impatient and obscene gestures.
"Uhhh," the ceiling replied. "What was that? I didn't know I was in on this just yet."
"Was I talking to you?" Snape snapped.
"Well...it was the monkey's fault!"
"Wuzz nah!" the chimp shouted.
"Was too!"
"WUZZ NAH!"
"WAS TOO!"
And so the argument between chimp and ceiling continued on for a while, becoming more and more colorful and less and less appropriate to account for, word for word. Sadly, in the end, the ceiling ended up with chimp poo splattered all over it and the chimp had been squashed to death by a portion of rotted linoleum.
Hermione looked at Ron. "Linoleum? On the ceiling?"
"You didn't know that?" Ron asked incredulously. "All Muggles use linoleum on their floors, we use it on ceilings. That's what makes the Great Hall's ceiling bewitched. Most Muggles need funny powders or pills or plants to see the magical images in linoleum, but they're there."
"Oh," Hermione said grumpily, slouching into her chair. Ron knew more than her on a subject. She slid down so far in her chair that she was spit out and down a hole in the floor. When she landed, she found herself in a dark place, surrounded by sobbing and wailing.
Suddenly a bright light shone down right on her. Could this be--
"NOOO!!!!" She screamed as the Face loomed before her. Short red hair. Wire-framed glasses. AND A WARDROBE ENTIRELY BLACK!!!
"Hermione Granger," the face said. "You are the Weakest Link."
"Shut up you arrogant wench," Hermione shouted. "You're not even British!"
"Wha--yes, yes I am," the Face stuttered.
"No you're not."
"Yes I am." The Face clapped a hand over its mouth as its accent faltered. It had finally happened: it had been found out.
"Awww, cray-ap," the Face drawled in its normal voice and nasal tone. "I wuzz makin' mill-yuns and mill-yuns of doll-ers in this here bizzznuss and you come 'long and spoil 't all. I don' wanna go bay-ack to sale-ing maygaseen sup-scripshuns."
The weeping and wailing all around Hermione turned to shouts of pure joy. No more would being on Weakest Link be considered a punishment for a capital crime! The world was safe from the Face (because no on really knows that lady (?) anyway). Hermione had saved all of mankind!
"Just the Brits."
Excuse me?
"I only saved the Brits. The rest of the world can rot in hell."
Evil little child...
"The Brits will rule!"
Yes, yes I'm sure they will--
"Down with the non-British plague!"
Hermione, we--
"NEVER AGAIN WILL A BRIT NEED DEAL WITH ANYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD!!! WE ARE A RACE UNTO OURSELVES!!! WE ARE THE SUPERIOR--"
I am sorry to inform you, the reader, that Hermione Granger will no longer be appearing in this fanfic. She is currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing nursing several lacerations and a concussion inflicted by a lethally-handled fluffy bunny slipper.
"Good riddance," Ron muttered to the drooling Harry. "Why does my family have to like her, anyway?"
"Weasley! If you would PLEASE stop responding to the voices in MY head!" Snape roared. "Unless...of course you were to ask them how I could get power to this food processor..."
Sorry, Professor. No help there.
"Dammit."
Snape whirled on Ron.
"Say," he said. He looked at that redundant narration, shrugged, and continued. "You have funny brothers, right? Fake-wands kind of guys?"
"Yes, sir," Ron squeaked. He shifted in his seat and squashed the mouse in his pocket.
"Yes, the hair gave it away." Snape stared at Ron's bright red hair.
He stared some more.
He stared for a whole--
"Well, where--"
He almost stared for a whole five minutes.
Snape glared at the ceiling and gave the voices the universal sign of disapproval, catching his robes on the way up. They snagged and tore, and all of the girls in the class stampeded up to the front of the room for a better view.
"Well..." Snape paused and whirled, to the disappointed groans of the girl-people, waving his judo-chop hands at the ceiling and emotionally scarring Ron at the sight of the torn backside of his robes.
Still eyeing the ceiling suspiciously, Snape turned back to Ron, to the squeals of delight from the female-folk, and finished in a rush, "Well? Where are the fake wands?"
"Sir?" Ron asked. Harry continued to drool at the sight of the carrot on the table, his leg kicking out spastically and in time to "When the Saints Go Marching In."
"The fake wands! The fake wands! I want fake wands!" Snape wailed to the heavens, arms upstretched.
"Shut up and stop whining," Metatron called down.
"Eh?" Snape glanced down at his hands and up at the heavens again. "What a very intriguing metaphysical dilemma...If I'm here, how can--"
A spoon clanged down at Snape's feet. Glancing up, he saw the Sheriff of Nottingham grinning insanely down at him as he hung from the chandelier. Snape waved his fist at the Sheriff in reply to the threat.
Suddenly a very neatly dressed man with a black cowboy hat dashed through the classroom and swept up the spoon, whipping out his Army Revolver as he backed over to the door.
"Just what I needed for my mint jelly," Elliot Marston murmured to himself. He left the classroom, shooting two students who were skipping class on the way out. What a sexy sharpshooter.
"Holy--" Snape began, before he was poked by another man disguised in a woman's feather hat. "Now now, there's no need for obscenities. Just let me redo the impression of the key."
"Key?" Snape said blankly.
The man in the hat stiffened in fury. "Collins!" he hollered as he stormed out of the room.
Suddenly, a man with a very interesting head prosthetic which made him none the less handsome or adorable strode in, wearing a purple NSEA suit.
"By Grapthar's Hammer!" Dr. Lazarus/Alexander Dane gasped as he quickly assessed the situation. He whipped out a funky little tech toy. "The nearest fake wand is right over here..." and he began to stagger around, eyes glued to the device. "Wait, no." He stopped and flipped it around just as he ran into a wall. "That way."
"You were holding it upside down!" a student wailed.
"Shut...up."
The man stepped on another student. "This one has several fake wands!" he called. He hauled the student up and pushed him in front of Snape.
"Um...how do I get them?" Snape asked nervously as the rock monster-kid began to chase him.
"Well, you're just gonna have to figure out what it wants. What is its motivation?"
"What are you talking about?" Snape shouted as he dodged a rocky fist. "How am I supposed to know?!"
"Oh, right. Of course it's always about you, isn't it?" The man threw his device down and stomped on it (it made a very satisfying scream that sounded very much like a dying dustbunny) before storming out into the hall.
"Where are you going?" Snape cried, hanging upside down from the monster's grip.
"To see if there's a pub!" was the fading response.
A loud, resounding gunshot echoed through the classroom, and every had to hit the floor to avoid being struck by the ricocheting bullet that went right through the CG rockmonster kid, killing it instantly. Everyone, that is, except for Neville, who, in all his stupidity, stood up to see what was going on while yelling, "I have said it for years--he's mentally unstable!"
"Theo, see if you can dispose of that," Hans Gruber told his associate, who hauled the body of Neville and the rock-monster kid out of the room with the help of some of the other German thugs.
Hans sat down in front of Ron. "That's a very nice robe, Mr. Weasley. It would be a shame to ruin it."
Ron stared at the handsome German thief blankly. Hans sighed wearily. "I'm going to count to three. There will not be a four. One--"
Ron squirmed uncomfortably in his seat and Harry continued to stare and drool at the carrot, screaming an obscenity about Al Gore and boiled peanuts.
"Two--"
Snape sat, brow furrowed, trying to think what all of these unexpected cameos could possibly have in common.
"Three."
Ron glanced up at Hans, who pulled out his pistol just as another man came running into the room.
"Hans Gruber!" the man said in a very deep, even, smooth, and commanding voice. "You are under arrest for promoting subversion through all of your anti-cheese literature. You will come with me, where you will be locked in a room and see no one but me until I beat a confession out of you, mentally or physically, it is your choice--"
Hans shot the man and stood up, saying quite resignedly, "Okay, we'll do it the hard way." He turned to Snape. "I wanted this to be professional. Efficient, cooperative, not a lot to ask. Unfortunately, your student did not see it that way, so the Interrogator will not be joining us for the rest of his life." He picked up a plate from the buffet table and began to pick at it nonchalantly as he spoke. Snape had to trip several fat students in their desperate attempts to make it up to the food table. "You can leave whatever way you want. You can walk out of here or be carried out. But have no illusions, we are in charge." He waved the gun for emphasis, accidentally squeezing off a shot that killed Trevor the Toad. "So, decide each of you," Hans said, sticking the gun under each of the students' noses in turn. "But please remember, we have left nothing to chance."
Suddenly, the Sheriff fell from the ceiling and knocked Hans out of a window. The Sheriff stood up, pushing his black fur cape behind him.
"Cousin," Snape said forcedly. "I trust you justify your intrusion with news of profound value?"
The Sheriff nodded. "I met a hooded man today who bade me w--" The Sheriff paused. "Wait, no, that's not my line!" He stared at Snape in dawning knowledge. "You stole my lines! I suppose you took Miss 10:30 and 10:45, as well?! You're in on it with that Robin Hood, you little ferret!"
Snape shook his head imperceptibly, nodding to the class and waving at the carrot. Harry let out a whimper.
"Ah, yes of course," the Sheriff said. He pulled out another spoon and handed it to Snape, who nodded quickly. The Sheriff then swept off down between the tables. "Now I have heard that Longbottom mat still be alive. Either tell me where he may be hiding...or you'll all be hanged and we'll catch him anyway and do the same thing to him!" he finished in a rush.
Snape, sighing exasperatedly, pulled a dagger from inside his robes and charged at the Sheriff, stabbing him in the chest. The Sheriff staggered around and keeled over, drooling almost as much as Harry.
Snape sauntered over and stood over the dying man. "Well at least I didn't use a spoon."
The Sheriff collapsed and gave up the ghost with the final realization that all his good lines had been taken from him in this last scene of life.
"Now!" Snape shouted, whirling back on Harry, causing all of the students to jump, especially all those who had retreated to corners and were frantically snogging one another.
Snape swept up to Harry again, throwing the broom on the floor as he grabbed the carrot. "Now, Potter, here is your punishment, at long last." He pulled the carrot over into position and lowered the spoon. Harry watched with quivering jaw and trembling spittle as Snape did so. A few students, bored, returned to snogging under the desks. Snape heard this and began to viciously whack and hack at the carrot, punctuating his yells and hollers about "Those--*whack*--of you coming here--*whack whack*--who will--*whack*--NOT--*whack whack*--PAY--*whack whack whack*--ATTENTION!!!" *whack whack whack whack*
Harry began to scream uncontrollably as the carrot juice flowed and bits of mangled pulp hit him in the eye. Ron, thoroughly exhausted by it all, waited until Snape was hauling snogging students out from under desks before whacking Harry hard on top of the head.
Harry blinked and continued to scream.
Ron was flabbergasted. He hit him again, harder this time. Harry didn't flinch.
Ron looked helplessly at Parvati. She nodded understandingly and kicked Harry, hard, under the desk. Being as it was under the desk, no one will ever know just where she kicked, even the omniscient and highly intelligent author, but it was enough for Harry to slump unconscious to the classroom floor.
Snape whirled at the sound of the hollow twang as Harry hit the ground. He leaped onto a desk and began to lead the whole of the class into a round of "Ding-dong, the Pothead's Dead." Never was the end of a Potions class so raucous and full of joy.
