Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to us. We are merely borrowing J. K. Rowlings' characters for the purposes of fun and revenge. Oh, and Auriga Sinistra probably belongs to She's a Star, Gedia Kacela and/or drama-princess. And simulacrums belong to Tammy aka Tamora Pierce.
Silvie's A/N: Since the idea for this fic was primarily Wenna's idea, and I'm the better writer of the two of us, it fell to me to write it. This will be written something reminiscent of Boxers or Briefs and Through the Closet. Also, I've been reading Terry Pratchett lately, and so my writing may be a poor copy of that too. Something about Discworld inspires me to write satire.
If you don't want to read the pointless stuff below, just skip it to Wenna's A/N. Or you can skip that too, if you want.
This is a retaliation fic at Dahee Fanel so you can thank Dahee the writing of this fic. Or if you hate it, you can curse her name. Read For the love of Thongs and Dumby by Dahee for the explanation. (Keep in mind that I am Silverstar and Wenna is… well, Wenna.) Expect OOCness.
There will be references to Sheroes Central, and to the Boxers or Briefs club (which is an offshoot of Sheroes), so don't worry if you're confused.
A note of advice: Never anger a volatile, PMS-ing younger sister if you value your ears. Or, in my case, stay out of her way when she receives a particularly unwelcome piece of news.
Wenna's A/N: As in the disclaimer, nothing is mine (thank goodness). I had no part in the Pratchettean aspects, even though they are funny. As said in Sil's A/N, this is a retaliation at Dahee Fanel. I was PMS-ing and was actually planning to do something worse to Dahee. You should be grateful it's only a fic, Dahee, even though I might still be able to do something when I can use the computer again. (Silvie: I think it was something along the lines of pulling out your guts and frying them before your eyes… Oh wait, that was me.) (Wenna: Mine was worse. Much worse. But anyway…) Enjoy. Especially for Emmo and Thicky.
Late o' Nights
Two figures were making their way stealthily through the Hogwarts corridors. At least as stealthily as one can be when can be when one is short and struggling at keep up with two, who is good at sweeping and not stealthing.
"For Merlin's sake, Flitwick!" Two snapped impatiently. "Keep up!"
The little man panted, "I'm doing the best I can, Severus."
"Do better." Snape was having a difficult time trying not to sweep along as usual. He was used to melodramatic entrances designed to strike fear into the hearts of his students and respect into the hearts of his colleagues [1]. Sadly, it seemed to strike laughter into the throats of Fred and George Weasley.
"Severus, you're sweeping again," Flitwick hissed in what was laughably referred to as his voice [2].
[1] This included both Death Eaters [3]as well as Hogwarts professors.
[2] As opposed to a squeak.
[3] Though Lucius Malfoy had generally rolled his eyes when the others whispered respectfully.
Snape sneered unpleasantly and adjusted his gait. He hated these nightly visits to Dumbledore's office.
Finally, they managed to reach the statue of the gargoyle. "Droobles Bluebell Bubblegum," Snape hissed softly. He was extremely experienced at giving secret passwords softly, though Merlin knew that the Dark Lord had never made any Death-Eater do… this. Severus idly toyed with the idea of rejoining the service of Voldemort, then quickly discarded it. His morals had changed, for the better, he hoped. And there was the fact that his girlfriend Auriga might decide to throw another coffee mug at his head if he switched loyalties…
The gargoyle sprang aside immediately to reveal a moving staircase to Dumbledore's lair. Snape and Flitwick pressed their backs against the side of the wall to keep up their pretence at subterfuge. Snape was aware that the feeling of a railing pressed into his back was extremely uncomfortable. He was also aware of his irritation at the headmaster for his insistence of keeping hidden.
But honestly, the headmaster must have finally cracked. Subjecting hardworking employees to such circumstances was inhuman! Of course, Snape had often wondered if the wizard was inhuman for his unflagging energy, but this was ridiculous!
Flitwick pressed his back to the wall. He registered the pain, but wasn't too worried about it. Dumbledore had been odder than usual lately with his requests, but he didn't mind it so much. Everyone knew that Dumbledore was cracked in the head, didn't they? Bats in the belfry, a screw loose and all that. Besides, without Dumbledore's odd requests, he wouldn't have a chance to get any. Women all seemed to want men who were taller than they, not some old midget who taught charms. Of course, he occasionally managed to charm them –he chuckled at the pun– for a while, but it never lasted long. Lately, he'd gotten so starved for companionship that he had cast his eye to Hagrid…
But with Dumbledore's suggestions, he'd managed to forget about that avenue of thought and about the dangers of being crushed, which had crossed his mind several times. He was aware that most of the women were considered minors, but surely Dumbledore would not have ordered him to break the law.
On second thought, he had given Harry Potter and his friends free rein in the school, with many intended punishments unfulfilled. Flitwick cast a sideways glance at Severus. He knew the Potions master had had his detentions for Potter thwarted on more than one occasion. In fact, the exact count probably came up to… more than a hundred times, actually. Or more. Perhaps a thousand was a more accurate count.
With permanent indentations in their backs, the moving staircase finally reached Dumbledore's office. Flitwick reached for the handle. Then he realised that he couldn't reach it. He turned pleading eyes on Snape, who was sneering at his attempts to reach the handle. Snape looked faintly amused and easily turned the knob. "We are here, headmaster," he announced.
"You are also late," Albus Dumbledore said mildly. "But no matter. Come in quickly!" He tugged his professors in.
"Headmaster, what—?" Snape broke off to stare in amazement.
"Aren't they wonderful?" Dumbledore was fairly beaming. "Come in and examine them for yourself."
Snape and Flitwick exchanged glances of disbelief, before they remembered that they weren't really friends and looked away. Then Flitwick gingerly stepped over the floor of Dumbledore's bedroom. It wasn't natural for a bedroom to be so… clean.
"Go on, Severus," Dumbledore urged. His enthusiasm was rather obvious. Thankfully, it was also not contagious. The Potions master sneered and took a step into the room. He was determined to complain if the door shut with a foreboding slam. The only place in Hogwarts that was meant to do that was the dungeons. Much to his disappointment, it shut with a quiet click. He might have been able to use that as a lever to get out of this ridiculous business.
Flitwick was carefully prodding the things. Snape felt something brush his foot and looked down. He exclaimed in surprise. "What in Merlin's name?"
A thong shaped animal peered up at him. "Butter!" Dumbledore called, bustling up to pull it away. He held up the creature to look at it straight in the eye. "What have I told you about coming out when visitors are around?" The creature whimpered apologetically.
Dumbledore reached under the bed to let the creature scamper back. Snape caught sight of the chaos within and shuddered. The socks were caked with layers of filth. "What in Merlin's name was that?" he snapped.
"Oh, don't be alarmed by Butter," Dumbledore smiled. "After years of not being washed, she took on a life of her own. Quite literally, in fact."
"Why Butter?"
"There used to be big red letters spelling out the word 'BUTTER', but they seem to have disappeared under the dirt."
Snape shuddered again.
"How on earth did you get these?" Flitwick demanded from across the room, drawing both wizards' attention back to the things.
"I merely opened a portal through the fabric of the multi-verse [4] to move to another reality in which these magical manifestations are not uncommon."
[4] More than one verse, since authors constantly develop universes.
"Meaning that you opened a portal to another author's universe," Snape enunciated slowly. "And stole their magic?! Headmaster, do you know how much trouble we could get into?"
"Would you rather have to keep up this business at night?" Dumbledore countered.
Snape considered that, and Auriga's coffee mugs. "Now that you mention it…"
Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Excellent, old chap!"
Snape glowered.
"Why exactly don't they open their eyes?" Flitwick wondered. "The Charms professor was caught up in the complexity needed to create the things.
"How exactly do they work?" Flitwick demanded.
Dumbledore answered, "And they work like this." He pointed his wand at one of the things and muttered an incantation.
Snape watched curiously. "How did you get that thing out so fast?" he demanded.
"Practice, my dear Snape," Dumbledore answered breezily.
"I'm not your 'dear' anything," Snape snarled. (Silvie: I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. He sounds just like Wenna when she was PMS-ing! But no one suggest Wenna/Snape because I will have to kill you. I don't want the git for a brother-in-law.)
Dumbledore absently flapped his hand at him. "Whatever you say, my dear Snape."
Snape growled and reached for his wand, but the thing Dumbledore had pointed his wand at suddenly opened its eyes.
Whenever the incident was brought up later, Snape would growl and insist that it was a cough, albeit one that sounded extremely odd. Flitwick would nod in obeisance and secretly convey to the listener later that it was an extremely girlish scream.
Albus Dumbledore strode across the bedroom to pull the thing to its feet. The thing stared at the old man in the eye and smiled. With a twinkle in his blue eyes.
"Wh-what is it?" Flitwick quavered out from behind the bed. Butter brushed against his knees.
"I'm A Simulacrum," Albus Dumbledore said.
His twin beamed next to him. "For practicality's sake, we'll call him Dumbledorfl."
"Dumbledorfl?" Flitwick squeaked.
"Dorfl is a golem."
"A golem?" Snape asked. He felt as though he was half dreaming. The headmaster did not randomly multi-verse jump. The headmaster did not steal magic from other authors' universes.
"From the Discworld," Dumbledorfl supplied helpfully.
Dumbledore was wandering through the remaining simulacrums. "You shall be… Dumbledorf… and you are Dumbledrain… and Dumbledork…"
"Should I Take Asdis Tonight?" Dumbledorfl asked obsequiously.
"Hmm?" Dumbledore looked up. "Oh, yes. Yes, by all means take Asdis."
Flitwick suddenly found his tongue. "Albus, would you mind very much if I took a look at the formula used to create these simulacrums?"
"Of course!" The man some people affectionately referred to as the Antique dug around in his pockets to find a scrap of paper. The Charms professor snatched at the paper eagerly. Then his eyebrows scrunched up.
"Lemon drops…?"
Dumbledore leaned over his the shoulder of his vertically challenged professor. "Whoops. Wrong paper. That's my receipt for my lemon drops." He handed a different piece of paper to Flitwick. "Speaking of lemon drops, would anyone like one?" He took out his ever-present box of lemon drops.
Snape reached out to take one before remembering Butter and quickly snatching his hand back. "Ah, I believe I shall pass…" Flitwick was too busy poring over his scrap of paper so Dumbledore and Dumbledorfl each took a drop and popped it in their mouths. Then they woke up the other three simulacrums.
Flitwick's eyes gleamed with an unnatural fervour as he lifted his eyes from the paper. "This could revolutionize the magical world as we know it. Think of the time we could save using this formula…"
"Think of the ways the Dark Lord could use it," Snape said sharply. "And probably try to improve on it. Bloody bugger was always trying to improve everything, including his lifespan."
"Well, there is that," Flitwick conceded reluctantly. He glanced down at the words that stingily covered as much surface as possible. "Excellent notes," he muttered in approval. "Though I can't say the penmanship has much to offer."
"The mage is the best in his country. Apparently only seven are currently at the standard he managed to study."
Snape felt his jaw drop. "And if he realises someone's been through his notes?" he croaked.
Dumbledore twinkled and waved his hand. "We'll cross our bridges when we get there. He turned back to his crowd of simulacrums. "Well, Dumbledorfl is taking Asdis, Dumbledorf can take Emmo, she's generally a good sort. And who's the last on my list today? Hmm… oh my."
Snape and Flitwick, hearing the headmaster's tone of voice, felt their blood freeze. "N-not Thong Girl," Flitwick whimpered.
"I'm afraid so." The naturally cheerful old man had turned rather grim. "Dumbledork, I'm afraid you pull the short straw. You poor thing."
Dumbledork scratched his head. "Duh, what?"
Snape looked at the man. His eyes seemed duller than the other two. With a sense of horror, Snape realised he knew the look. He saw it every day in the eyes of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Then he felt a malicious sneer curve his lips. He could think of no better simulacrum for Thong Girl. The one who tried to keep Dumbledore locked up in her basement, not knowing it was actually Snape in disguise. Of course, he had managed to get away, but Thong Girl didn't care. It was part of her challenge. Merlin, he hated her. And was fearful of her. She had thrown a cement thong at the Dark Lord's head when he had tried to burn her house down. Snape shuddered. The girl was scarier than Trelawney.
Dumbledork shrugged. "Very well, then. I shall at-tempt to un-under-undertake (Yes, that's the word) this task set for me."
Snape stared at the man. You poor bugger. Thank Merlin it isn't me.
"Well, gentlewizards," Dumbledore said. "That's all for tonight. You may get some well-earned rest. Hopefully, Severus, this might prevent you from attempting to raise Harry's detentions to ten thousand. Good night."
Flitwick scuttled off, slightly relieved to be able to get a good night's rest, slightly sorry to stop getting some. Ah well, there was always Hagrid.
Snape scowled. Bloody Potter. At least Auriga wouldn't have an excuse to throw another coffee mug at his head again. He swept off. Now he wouldn't have to drink Polyjuice Potion with Dumbledore's toenails within. The Potions Master contemplated doing a dance of glee, then swiftly discarded it. One never knew when that bloody Potter might be around. Or not... he glanced around quickly and danced a jig.
And Dumbledork went off into the night to meet Dahee Fanel aka Thong Girl. He was never seen again.
Far off in another universe, a voice was heard. "DAINE!!!"
Veralidaine Salmalin peered into her husband's workroom. "What is it, Numair?"
"Someone stole my simulacrum formula!" Numair cried.
Daine's eyes widened. "Do you need it back immediately?"
"Well, it's actually my first formula," Numair admitted. "The one where the simulacrum disappears after a few hours, so I suppose that's all right."
Daine relaxed. "That's all right then. Shall we go and see Sarralyn?"
Numair's face melted into the mushy face he wore when he thought of his daughter. "Why not?" He dashed off towards his daughter's room, leaving his wife behind shaking her head.
That bloody Potter and his insufferable best friend felt their jaws drop from under the Invisibility Cloak as they saw their angst ridden professor dancing in the hallways. They also nearly dropped the loot they had scavenged from the kitchens. "Ron," Harry managed to whisper. "D'you have the camera you confiscated off Colin?"
Ron sniggered. "Yeah, right here."
Harry smirked. "Excellent. Fred and George could maybe do something with it for the next match against Slytherin..."
And far away, Dahee Fanel loaded her Thong machine gun with cement thongs and went off to stalk Dumbledore, little knowing that the Antique had eloped with Rita Skeeter and the happy couple were somewhere in the Bahamas flying off into the sunset as beetles. Big, black ones.
Silvie's A/N2: Butter is based on Terry Pratchett's luggage and Dahee's original BUTTER thong. The sapient thong is mine, Dahee, so you can't steal her. Dumbledork is totally our own inspiration. Blame it on Dahee, you crazed fangirls.
Numair, Daine and Sarralyn belong to Tammy Pierce.
Dumbledorfl belongs in part to Terry Pratchett and partly to my Science teacher who suggested the name Dumbledorf unknowingly in Science class when I was writing this down. Can I help it if my inspiration comes during Science?
Further Reading: For the Love of Thongs and Dumby by Dahee Fanel, Letters to Voldemort by Susan B., and In the Secret Closet by Thicketgirl.
Wenna's A/N2: Thank you, thank you, thank you, Thicky, for your fic.