Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the copyrighed stuff; and American Pie isn't mine, either, even if I did alter it. XP

A/N: Muahaha.. My mind surprises me sometimes. This is basically a comedy fic that I can write on any time, without worrying about my copy of SS that is already falling apart. ;


Chapter One -- The Day The Moogle Died

It was the last Hogsmeade weekend of Harry Potter's fifth year, and he and his best friend Ron Weasley were on their way to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate the end of their O.W.L.s. Harry didn't feel much like celebrating, thanks to the fact that his godfather had just been murdered not long before. However, Ron had recovered from the furlough that had cost Sirius his life, and had somehow succeeded in talking Harry into this. Hermione had said it would be a good idea, but she still stayed behind at Hogwarts with Ginny.

"Hello, boys," Madam Rosmerta greeted them with a smile. Ron went rather pink around the ears, and Harry ordered two butterbeers. Rosmerta nodded and went to take the orders of a pair of middle-age witches who had just taken seats at the bar.

"Well, are you glad we're here at least?" Harry asked darkly.

"Huh?" Ron asked, looking over at Harry. He had been staring at Rosmerta as she walked away.

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron shoved him in the shoulder and said, "C'mon, Harry! Have a little fun."

"This is supposed to be fun?" Harry grumbled as Madam Rosmerta left two mugs on the bar in front of them. Harry picked up one and Ron the other, and they found a table in the corner, even though Ron quite obviously wanted to be in the thick of things.

It was when Harry took his first sip of the butterbeer that he thought something was wrong. "Oh, wow," he said, putting the mug down on the table in front of him. "This isn't butterbeer, Ron."

Ron took a swig, replaced the mug on the table, and shook his head. "It's got a kick to it," he admitted.

"Kick? Burn, you mean."

"So?" Ron asked, shrugging. "Maybe it's extra old or something. I dunno about you, but I could use something a little stronger right about now, anyway."

"Ron..."

"Oh, come on! You're worse than Hermione!" Ron put on a high-pitched voice and said, "You're a prefect, Ron! You're supposed to set an example, Ron!"

"Ronald, you mean," Harry said with a grin.

"Shut up, Harry."

"Ron! Harry!"

Harry looked up to see Dean and Seamus approaching their table, mugs clasped in their hands. "Can we sit?" Dean asked.

"Sure," Ron answered before Harry had a chance to say anything. Dean and Seamus sat down, and then Seamus caught a whiff of what was in Harry's and Ron's mugs.

"Is that firewhisky!?" he gasped, and Ron looked at Harry.

"Firewhisky!?" Ron asked, looking as if all his dreams had come true at once. "I'd always wanted to try firewhisky!"

"How'd you get it!?" Dean whispered, leaning closer. "We're not allowed, we're underage..."

"I dunno," Ron said, realizing this for the first time. "We ordered butterbeers, didn't we, Harry?"

"Yup."

"Maybe Rosmerta mixed up your order?" Dean guessed.

"Who cares!?" Seamus interrupted, gazing at Ron's mug as if it contained water from the Fountain of Youth. "I wanna try some!"

"Hey, it's my firewhisky --" Ron began, but Seamus interrupted, "Yeah, and I can just let it slip to Rosmerta that you have it, too."

Ron glared at Seamus, and Seamus glared at Ron. Harry pushed his own mug toward Seamus. "Here, you can have mine."

"He cannot!" Ron objected, pushing Harry's mug back toward him. "That's yours, Harry, and you're gonna drink it!"

"Who says!?"

"We do!" Dean and Seamus said suddenly.

"I dare you to chug it, Harry," Seamus said with an evil grin.

"Chug it!" Dean and Ron said together, and Seamus joined in: "Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!"

Harry groaned, but obliged. It burned even more when he downed the whole thing at once than when he had taken only a sip. After a second, though, it became a warm feeling in his midsection, and he grinned strangely.

"Aw, man," Seamus said suddenly. "I just realized -- now he's drunk it all, we don't get any."

"What are you, nuts?" Deam asked incredulously. "Refilling Charm, I just learned it. Check it out!" He pointed his wand at the mug and in a moment it was full again.

"Awesome!" Seamus roared, making people at the next table jump.

"Be quiet," Ron hissed. "They'll find us out!"

"Sure, I'll be quiet, just pass me Harry's mug..."

And somehow, an hour and a half later, all four of them were standing arm-in-arm in the middle of the bar, singing at the top of their lungs:

"A long, long time ago

I can still remember how

That Moogle used to make me smile

And I knew if I had my chance

That I could make those people dance

And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver

With every paper I'd deliver

Bad news on the doorstep

I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried

When I read about his widowed bride

But something touched me deep inside

The day the Mooooogle died!"

"Hey, Ron," Harry said suddenly. "What is a Moogle, anyway?"

"Dunno," Ron said thoughtfully.

"A Moogle?" Dean asked, overhearing their conversation. "Oh, it's a little furry white critter with a sorta red bally thingy on top of its head. They have loads of them in this Muggle video game, Final Fantasy eight. Or maybe it was seven. Or something, I dunno..."

"It was nine, I'm sure of it," Seamus said seriously.

"Oh, if you say so."

"You mean.. a little furry white creature died?" Ron asked, tearing up. "That -- is -- so -- sad!"

"Here's to the Moogles!" Harry roared, swiping an empty mug off a nearby table and lifting it high into the air.

"The Moogles!" the other three repeated, doing the same. Ron accidentally stole a mug that was still half full, and emptied it all over his robes as he lifted it.

"Wait," Ron said suddenly. "What did this Muggle -- Moggle -- Moogle -- whatever -- thing do, anyway? How do we know we should be sad because it's dead?"

"Dunno," Dean said slowly, looking around at his friends. "Did anybody ever meet the Moogle?"

"What's a Moogle, again?" Harry asked blearily, looking at Dean cross-eyed.

"We told you," Seamus said exasperatedly. "It's from Floral Fantasy -- I mean, Final Flannery -- I mean -- oh, whatever..."

And with that, he picked up a random mug off a table and took a swig of it. "Bleargh," he cried, pulling a face. "Gillywater!"

"Don't take my drink, then, you little scalawag!" cried a short witch with frizzy hair, jumping up from her seat and hitting Seamus with a heavy handbag.

"Oi -- geroff my friend!" Ron yelled, advancing. However, he tripped over the leg of a table and sprawled at the witch's feet.

"And you!" the witch cried, smacking him with her handbag, too. "You just stay away, is all!"

"Hey," Dean objected, taking a step toward the frizzy-haired witch. "Why don't you quit hitting people, eh?"

"Why don't I hit you and make you shut up, then, eh?" the witch asked fiercely, advancing with her handbag raised menacingly. Dean cowered, but Harry sprang into action.

He raised his wand and pointed it at the witch. "Impedi-minty-mollar-ama-something that I forget..." And then his words were consumed by giggles and he doubled over.

Seamus helped Ron to his feet, but promptly knocked a butterbeer bottle off a nearby table and splattered them both with its contents. Ron slipped in the liquid and fell down again, knocking a table into a scruffy-looking wizard. The wizard seemed to think that his neighbor had thrown the table at him, and promptly hit the other man with a well-executed jinx.

It was pandemonium, but none of the fifth year Gryffindors seemed to notice anyone except themselves. Ron kept trying to get up and bruising his elbows as he fell back down again, and Seamus was now having a drink thrown at him by a fourth year Ravenclaw who he had accidentally bumped into.

Harry straightened up when he heard Dean yelling at the frizzy-haired witch not to hit him; but when Harry looked around for the source of the noise, he didn't see the frizzy-haired witch any more. Instead, he saw something horrible, something unspeakable, something that he hadn't seen since his third year at Hogwarts. There was Severus Snape, in a vulture-topped hat, swinging a red handbag at Dean Thomas.

Harry gave a strangled yell and ran to tell Ron, tripping over the same table in the process. He fell right next to Ron, but somehow managed to stand up and pull him up, as well.

"Ron!" he gasped. "Snape -- he's back -- and he has the red handbag!"

Ron yelled, turned, and ran for the door, knocking into Seamus, who was trying to do the same thing. Harry scrambled back over the table, grabbed Dean's arm, and pulled him out of the bar after Ron and Seamus. And all the way up the High Street, Dean was yelling, "Evil handbag -- red handbag -- it's possessed! Run, run for your lives!"