A/N: Hi. This is only my second story, and my first stab at comedy, so I'd be really grateful if you'd read and review. Thanks!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't need them to be.

There it was, in huge, audacious, magenta letters, stuck on top of the bulletin board in the Great Hall, with a little laughing face painted inside the circle of the O:

Miss Teen Queen Hogwarts!

Now how was he supposed to resist a challenge like that?

Little did he know, someone was watching as he scrawled his name neatly on the signup…

Draco sighed. "Is it just me, or does anyone else think the way Potter holds his pen is so flippin' hawt?"

"I think you're flippin' hawt," supplied Goyle helpfully.

"Shut up," Draco snapped. "we had our thing, and it didn't work out. Move on."

Meanwhile, Harry checked out his competition. Millicent Bulstrode. "Christ," he sighed. "She's so flippin' hawt. There's no way I could beat her."

"You bet your skinny butt you can't," said Millicent, coming up behind him. She pinched the aforementioned butt and walked away, extrememly pleased with her bawdiness.

Draco nearly went mad with jealousy. "Did you see that!" he shouted, irate. "She's scamming on my man!"

Most of the people in the Great Hall turned to stare at him. "Man?" someone coughed.

Draco pulled his emergency ladies' wig out of his shoe and put it on his head. Immediately, everyone tured away from him, and looked around, confused. "Where did Malfoy go?" someone asked.

"My clever ruse worked again!" cried Draco. He took the wig off and sat down.

"Draco?" said Crabbe. "Where did you come from? And where did that girl go? She was so flippin' hawt."

Draco stared at him, confused. "When did you learn to talk?"

Harry returned to the Gryffindor table, proudly holding his quill in front of him, like a trophy. "I've done it," he said.

"Oh my god!" Ron cried. "Did you use protection?"

Harry nodded, pleased with himself. "With this new hand-grip, I can write for hours without a single pain in my hand. And it's so attractive." He pulled the foam tube off his quill. "It comes in twenty-six different colors."

"Can I borrow one?" Ron asked knowingly, and elbowed him in the side.

"Sure," Harry grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Honestly," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I don't understand why you're so secretive about your hand-grips."

"It's a guy thing," said Harry. He heard the commotion over at the Slythering table and looked up.

And the world came undone in a single bound.

Standing next to Goyle and Crabbe was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was like two bunches of green summer twigs, her eyes, like the marble that knocks every other marble out of the ring. Her hands, like a lumberjack's after a long day's work. His heart began to pound. It was love at first sight.

And then, he blinked and the girl was gone, replaced in a heartbeat by Malfoy.

"Nooooo!" Harry howled as he tore out handfuls of his own hair.

"Must you do this every meal?" Hermione asked.

"Where did she go? Where?" he cried wildly. "I must find this girl!"

"What if she's entering the Miss Teen Queen pageant? Will you still love her then?"

Harry levelled Hermione with a glare. "Of course I will. She'd never beat me."

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry paced back and forth for hours, thinking, a practice he was quite unaccustomed to.

Now I form words in my head, he thought, and then…Holy God! I'm reading my own mind! "Hermione! I can read minds!"

"You own? It's called thinking, Harry."

"Oh, right…" Okay, and now…I can make pictures in my mind too! Holy—"Hermione!"

"Just because you can make pictures in your mind does not mean you are a genius, Harry. You're just thinking, remember?"

"Oh, right…" Now that I've learned to draw pictures and read my own mind, I can—th—th—th—t-h-i-n-k about how to meet this girl…

Thinking…

Thinking…

Thinking… "Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I may need some help."

She sighed. "Why don't you ask Malfoy if he knows about this girl?"

"Brilliant!" Harry cried. "Christ, I love this thinking thing. Talk to ya later, babe." He ran out.

On his way to the Slytherin tower, which he just happened to have the password to, a prefect stopped him in the hall. "Harry Potter?"

Harry stared at him with disdain. "You will refer to me as The-Boy-Who-Lived. Either that, or Conchita."

"All right, Conchita," said the prefect. "The headmaster wants to see you in his office."

"Probably to give me another medal," said Conchita, and proudly tore open his jacket to display his collection of awards.

"Are you asking me to buy one of those?" the prefect asked.

Conchita rolled his eyes and flounced off the the headmaster's office.

"Just follow your heart, Jenkins," Dumbledore told his student warmly. "Always walk with your chest stuck out, and your heart will tell you what to do."

Jenkins looked confused. He stuck out his chest and fell over. "See?" said Dumbledore. "You followed your heart into the ground."

"Enter, Harry," Dumbledore called as Jenkins followed his heart right out the window.

Harry stared at the window, aghast. Dumbledore chuckled. "Kids these days."

"Shouldn't you do something about him?" Harry asked.

"Of course not. Everyone signs a waver before they come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. He picked up a piece of paper off his desk. "I happen to have yours right here."

Harry stared at the piece of paper. His name was signed at the bottom in neat, flowing writing. "I didn't sign that," he said.

"Never mind that," Dumbledore said, a bit hurriedly, "About why I called you here…"

Harry's confusion vanished, and he grinned. "It's all right, sir. I know why."

"Do you?"

"Yes. It's because you're in love with me."

"That, Harry, is a matter for another day," Dumbledore said, and chuckled affectionately. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about you entering the Miss Teen Queen Hogwarts pageant. I'm sorry, but it's simply forbidden."

"What!" Harry shouted. "This can't be happening!"

"I'm sorry, Harry—"

"No!" Harry shouted. He picked up a trinket from the desk and threw it against the wall, where it smashed and lay in a sad broken heap on the floor. "Everything I've ever loved—gone…"

"It's okay, Harry—"

Harry picked up another trinket and ground it between his teeth. "Go on!" he cried. "Get angry."

"Material possessions mean nothing to me," Dumbledore said calmly. "At least, not so much as your love."

Harry collapsed on the floor and broke into loud, shuddering sobs. "I want to die!" he wailed.

"I can arrange that too," said Dumbledore.

Suddenly, Harry raised his head, looking determined. "Then I know what I have to do."

"So you'll go out with me?"

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore's head. "Avda Keaderva!"

"Excuse me?"

Harry lowered his wand, confused. "You were supposed to die."

Dumbledore chuckled. "No, no, Harry. That's Avada Kadavra."

There was a flash of green light and a scream. "Oops," said Dumbledore.

The smoke cleared and Harry stood, clutching his forehead. "Ow!" he howled.

"Harry! I thought I'd killed you!"

"Hey, they don't call me, 'Why-don't-you-die-already' for nothing." Harry picked up a mirror and looked at his forehead. "Oh, no!"

"What is it?"

Harry turned. On his forehead was a scar in the shape of a cockroach.

"Okay," Dumbledore said, "You can be in the pageant."

Harry skipped all the way down to the Slytherin common room. He stood in front of the shiny green door and donned his spandex jumpsuit with the velveteen hood. He wanted to blend in.

"Hooskennooned," he said. The snake on the door hissed at him and the door opened.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the room stopped and stared at him. Draco fell out of his chair. "Potter!"

Harry glowered at him. "Get up, idiot."

"Why are you here, darling—Harry—Potter?"

"Did you just call me darling Harry Potter?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Oh, okay. Listen, I was wondering…" Harry suddenly became acutely embarrassed. "There was this girl…in the Great Hall today…do you know her?"

Draco groaned inwardly. Foiled once again by his gorgeous female alter ego. "Yeah, I know her. What's it to you, my love—Harry—Potter?"

"Did you just call me my love Harry Potter?"

"No."

"Oh, okay. Well…yeah. I think I may be on love with her."

"A bit sudden, isn't it?" Draco asked, feeling ill. "Listen. Maybe, if we went out sometime, we could…talk…"

"No! No time for that! I have to find the girl! Please, tell me who she is," Harry begged.

Suddenly, Draco had an idea. "How about you make it worth my while?"

"I'll do anything!" Harry cried.

"Let me be your pageant coach," said Draco.

"Deal!" said Harry.