DISCLAIMER: This may come as a bit of a shock to you, you might want to sit down...here it comes...WE...DON'T...OWN...THE...BOOK...OFFICIALLY...KNOWN...AS...HARRY...PO TTER!!! (cue dramatic music) DUN-DUN-DUN!!!!!!
A/N: Note: This was pre-OotP
CHAPTER ONE: A Decision Is Made
It was mid-way through Ron, Hermione, and Harry's fifth year. They were finishing what was by far the most interesting class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not so much because they learned a lot as because their teacher, professor Flabergasted, was "off the deep end", "lost his marbles", "off his rocker", "one clown short of a circus", or just plain crazy. Even Hermione had a hard time coping with his "diverse" teaching methods.
"So remember class, when going into a forrest infested with giant, possed, evil squirrels, always carry a toothpick. Class desmissed!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the line of students filing out of the classroom. They hurried up to the Gryffindor tower, wanting to get a head start on the tons of homework Professor Snape had assigned. Professor Flabergasted joined his colleagues in the staff room. They were deep in discussion of an idea he had propsed early that morning. Dressed in a Hawaiin shirt, khaki shorts, sandals, sunglasses, and a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, he paraded into the room. He took off his glasses and beamed at the surrounding teachers, all dressed in plain black robes.
"When's my flight out of this joint?" he boomed to his rather unimpressed audience. They were used to his antics this far into the school year.
"Really Zericdefist," Severus Snape, the potions teacher, began in a condesending tone, "You should know that shipping an entire school full of wizzards in Scotland to San Fransisco, a city full of muggles, is a complicated process and the decision must not be taken lightly. Even though it is obvious that Dumbledore will overule this ridiculous propisition."
A high squeaky voice came to Flabergasted's defense. Professor Flitwick drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't much, and said, "Let's not be hasty, Severus, it would be an excellent opportunity for the students to experience international magic." "Yeah! What he said!" Flabergasted agreed, and gave Flitwick a friendly whack on the back. Unfortunately, Flitwick had been standing on a desk so as to be eye to eye with the surrounding personage, so this whack sent him flying across the room and colliding with the opposite wall. He slid to the ground slightly dazed. Professor McGonnagal had remained quiet, sitting in an armchair by the fire bolt upright, her mouth pursed into a thin line. Finally the staff room door opened, and Profesor Dumbledoore swept into the room wearing a violet cloak adorned with golden stars.
"I have made my decision in regards to the trip to San Fransisco," he announced. From within the fold of his cloak he drew out a large, shiney silver sickle. "Heads, we go; tails, we don't." His employees stared at him, dumbfounded. He tossed the coin up in the air. The coin seemed to slow down in mid-air, steadily rotating. You could have cut the tension in the room with a knife. They barely dared to breathe. Finally, still spinning, it fell slowly down. Dumbledore caught it, and held up the result for all to see. Slowly, in a dramatic whisper, he called it out, mainly for the advantage of Flitwick who was still nursing injuries "HEADS!"