A/N: Perposterice prompt: A Muggle with the powers of chaos under his wing joins with Harry, Ron, and Hermionie…

A/N 2: Yes, more crack. I have an unholy love for Tommy Chong. Also, I'm trying to be consistent with the prompt, with the odd spelling. Enjoy!

Dave's Not Here, Man
soberloki

Harry prodded the bony man's shoulder, reminded fiercely of Sirius. "Sir?"

The man sat up slowly, glassy-eyed and faintly smiling. "Hey, how's it going?"

Hermionie pulled at Harry's sleeve. "Harry, don't. He could be anyone."

The man stuck his hand out to Harry. "I'm Dave, man. Where am I?" He was an American, by his accent.

Ron cleared his throat. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sir. I'm Ron Weasley, that's Hermionie Granger, and you're shaking hands with Harry Potter."

Dave gawked at Harry. "Hey, like in those books. Far out."

Hermione made a surprised noise as rumpled, pinkish feathers made an appearance at the tails of the man's rather hectic, and untucked, Hawaiian shirt.

"Are you aware you've got wings?" Harry asked, because it wasn't every day that even he encountered a winged American on the battlefield, shortly after dispatching most of his enemy's army. He supposed he was in shock, and it would turn out to be an hallucination, but for the moment it was fascinating.

Dave checked over one shoulder. "Whoa. I do? Man, I've gotta get more of that Super Smoke. Good stuff."

Ron caught Harry's eye and made the universal sign for loony, swirling one finger around his ear. Hermionie scowled at him, and moved to help the man to his feet. "Look, do you need help? Are you injured?"

"I'm fine. Hey, you got anything to eat? I'm starving." The Trio led him back toward the castle, none of them noticing the little plastic bag of green herb that fell out of Dave's back pocket.

qpqpqp

Thirty minutes later, a rat scuttled off with the prize. Another thirty minutes after that, Voldemort had the little bag, and offered a strange smile to Wormtail.

"Do you know what this is?"

Wormtail shook his head jerkily. "Is it… is it something we can use against Potter, My Lord? A weapon?"

"Leave me, Wormtail." Papers. Maybe a pipe. "Wait. Bring me the volume on Muggle torture devices from the library."

qpqpqp

"So Moira says, she says, 'Don't talk to me about a tough life, I've had to live in Romford,' she says." Voldemort took another long draw on the bong he'd Transfigured from Wormtail's silver hand. "Where's the chips? I said I wanted chips!"

Wormtail, exhausted and baffled by four hours of his Master's new personality, cringed and scuttled off to the kitchens, hoping against hope he'd find a house elf, any house elf, to provide the Dark Lord with chips.

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"You're joking," Harry snorted. "A Muggle. How'd he get here? The school's Unplottable, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Minerva McGonagall, interim Headmistress, temporized. "But clearly this Muggle has an altered consciousness. That can make unusual things possible."

Dave was having a bit of a kip on the sofa nearest the fireplace.

Ron glanced at the man. "I was starting to wonder what sort of proper Wizard would dress like that."

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Voldemort sat up suddenly in his musty wingback chair. "Hey Wormtail? I love you, man."