Once upon a time there was a company that made chainsaws. Today, the company still makes chainsaws, but with a new twist: each saw is adorned a little label that says "WARNING: Do not use near genitals." One can only imagine why they felt the need to caution us against such things. Perhaps there was some sort of lawsuit, after which these warnings were required to be placed on the product in plain view. Then, if anyone repeated that terrible, terrible mistake, the makers of the chainsaw would be perfectly free from fault - after all, the user was warned. With this in mind, please read the following messages carefully.

Disclaimer: I borrowed names, places, etc. from Ms. J.K. Rowling to serve as a medium for my dementia. I have taken great (very, very great) liberties with her work, and if such offends, I suggest you leave.

Warning: What you are about to read comes from a deranged mind with a love for J.K. Rowling's books and a distinct inability to take anyone or anything (including herself) seriously, except under the influence of certain controlled substances which serve to shove her rudely into reality. Said substances were not used in the making of this fan fic.

P.S. Do not use near genitals.

xoxoxoxo

For all his airs of sophistication, for all his years of classy upbringing, when it came right down to it, Blaise Zabini was still just a guy. He thus engaged in behavior characteristic to his gender, which was why he was currently flicking bits of parchment at the object of his affections, two seats over and one row up.

The young lady in question was oblivious to his activities, seeing as not one "projectile of love" (as Blaise referred to them) had yet hit her. The students around her, as well as the professor, were throwing annoyed looks his way, which were lost on the love struck teen.

"Score!" Blaise whispered to himself as the crumpled bit of parchment struck the girl's left ear, earning him a dirty look and a rude gesture. Which, Blaise reasoned, could be seen as an invitation. He grinned at her, blew a kiss, and mouthed "Later", which she ignored, returning to her task of drawing on the notebook before her.

His name in hearts? He dared to hope.

xoxoxoxo

Well, well, well. What was Zabini up to now? Draco Malfoy narrowed his eyes at his best friend sitting directly in front of him. Zabini sure as hell had a lot of nerve, throwing things at his girl. Such acts of violence against his beloved would not be tolerated! Well, two could play this game.

Muttering under his breath, Draco tore the corner off his notes and crumpled it into a ball. Ready, aim, fire! Direct hit! The parchment struck the girl square on the nose, and Draco smirked in response to the murderous look Blaise shot him. The blond turned his attentions back to his target to find her giving him a death stare that a basilisk would envy. He gulped and shrank down a bit in his seat.

It idly crossed his mind that it was quite sad when a Gryffindor's glare could make a Slytherin's look like Hello Kitty in a temper tantrum.

Not that he knew who Hello Kitty was. Being far too, ah, manly and anti-muggle for that sort of thing. Ahem.

xoxoxoxo

Bloody hell. What was wrong with these people? Were all the Slytherin guys on freaking crack this morning?

Hermione Granger peeked at the weirdoes in question discreetly out the corner of her eye. Holy Merlin - No. They weren't. She sighed. Yes. They were. Both boys were in possession of perfectly functional wands, the use of which would make this class a hell of a lot more interesting, yet it appeared they were engaging in battle with . . . quills. Of all things.

Hermione watched the fight disinterestedly for a moment longer before turning back to her notebook. She smiled as the stick figures of Zabini and Malfoy she had drawn and charmed met several creative, horrible deaths, over and over. Smile widening slightly, she began sketching a half-ferret, half-human blond creature being decapitated by a hippogriff. Oh, for the simple pleasures.

xoxoxoxo

"Say, Mione," Ron Weasley began, jogging to catch up with his friend. "Mione, wait up!"

She inhaled deeply and prayed for patience. "Please don't call me that, Ron. Now what is it?"

The redhead was panting slightly as he reached her side. "Cripes, you move fast, Mione." Her left eye twitched. Ron failed to notice. "Anyway, what's going on with Zabini and Malfoy?"

Hermione blinked at him, feigning befuddlement. "Er, they're secretly lovers? I dunno, you want gossip, go to Lavender. No one ever tells me everything." She shrugged and continued to the library.

"Mione!" He ran after her.

"Don't. Call. Me. That," she snarled, quickening her pace.

Again, Ron paid no heed to the warning. "That's not what I mean and you know it. Geez, slow down! If you have something going on with those two, you're going to have a lot of explaining -"

"She already does," Harry interrupted, waiting by the library doors. "Mione, what the hell are you wearing?"

She struggled to ignore the abominable nickname; She couldn't very well complete her Hogwarts education locked in Azkaban on murder charges. So she would seek revenge by irritating him as much as he did her. In a delay tactic expressly to aggravate him further she looked down at her black combat boots, striped over-the-knee socks, denim miniskirt and black Linkin Park spaghetti-strap tank top. "Um, clothes?" She replied sarcastically.

He gave her a look indicating her levity was not appreciated. "Mione, I thought I told you to get rid of those things."

"You want me to wander around naked? Well, sure, I guess, but-"

"Shut it, Mione; you know exactly what I mean. That's hardly a classy look. You want present a more mellow, clean cut image. I hope you took my advice and removed that tongue ring. It's quite unsanitary."

"No, you're unsanitary," Hermione retorted obnoxiously, attempting to further provoke him.

There was a long pause.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, bewildered.

"Excused!" Hermione chirped, then skipped down the hall before they gave up trying to work out

what she said.

It didn't make sense. She knew that very well. But, see, this was the point. Reasonable arguments the boys were accustomed to and spoke right over, but such unorthodox replies made them shut up and think for a moment. They hadn't quite figured out that the intent of their formerly serious and straight laced friend was to be ridiculous and not make sense. Which was just how she wanted it.

She trotted down a grassy hill toward the lake, stopping just before a tree near the shore. She glanced around to ensure no one was watching before climbing. Settling on a branch about fifteen feet up, she pulled out her notebook and quill to add the finishing touches on her latest drawing. Hermione loved this spot; it was the best place to escape those who sought to disrupt her peace. No one ever thought to look in a tree, of all places, for the brainy, non-athletic Gryffindor.

Or so she thought.

xoxoxoxo

Step one to repairing the crap I wrote during dumber years. I've decided to make it my summer project.

Thanks for all your praise and encouragement, as well as sympathies for the loss of my beloved laptop, may she rest in peace.