Chapter One

The day of the party everything was a mess at Cheshire's house. You'd think that if she knew she was having people over she would have cleaned up a bit. YOU'D think that, but SHE certainly wouldn't.

"Jeezy Creezy! Why didn't I clean yesterday? Why, Why?!" was her mantra at the moment, and there was nothing to stop her from repeating it over and over and...over.

Not to worry, though, folks: it was eight o' clock in the morning. It would all be done soon enough.

"Can't go on...must...eat...and...watch TV..." she muttered at nine.

So, that's what she did. She took a little break...well, perhaps that's a bit of an understatement. She took a big break and watched some late night talk shows that she had recorded on DVR, and there were three, and, of course, they're all at least an hour, so...well, basically she sat there until noon, when she got up in a frenzy to clean the rest of the house.

"Ok, let's be somewhat rational about this," she said to herself. "What rooms will they be in and which ones will be unoccupied? Um, well, I definitely don't need to clean my bedroom (it's pretty clean anyway), and I highly doubt they'll want to go into the kitchen to serve themselves, so I'm going to leave this giant pile of dishes in the sink. I don't care if they see them. They won't go into the garage, but that's a hopeless case if you're going in there to clean. Laundry room: no. Backyard: as if I'm going to clean that. Other bedrooms: completely off limits. So, that leaves the living room (obviously), the "dining room" (which is basically the other side of the living room), and the bathroom (bugger). Well, it's not so bad; they could start arriving now, after all."

No sooner had the words left her mouth than there was a cloud of green smoke in her living room: out of nowhere! The cause was pretty easily figured out, though, as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger tried to untangle their limbs and get out of Cheshire's unbelievably small fireplace.

"What on earth is the point of having one of these if it's not big enough to fit in?" Hermione asked.

"Um, well, we muggles don't use floo powder; we drive cars and take buses and trains and planes. Oh, and we walk. In fact, we don't ever step into our fireplaces."

"Then we just won't come by this mode of transportation anymore," she replied matter-of-factly. "Um...what are you holding?"

In Cheshire's arms was a body pillow with brown pillowcases on it. If that wasn't strange enough, she was clutching on to it as if it was going to save her life from something. Hey! The giant green cloud had scared her. What would you have done if you were holding something.

"It's a body pillow. They're very nice, very comfortable. You should try one. I trust Harry is not in a bout of depression?" asked Cheshire.

"Nope, I'm fine," Harry said.

"Good. And you're rat is still Timothy Spall, Ron?"

"What?" asked Ron who was clearly confused.

"Um, what I meant to say was 'Peter Pettigrew'."

"Oh...yeah," he said, slightly sad.

"Okay, I'm not done cleaning, so if you could use some of your awesome magic cleaning skills, which I'm sure you have, then I won't have to do anything as people continue to make even more of a mess in my house by entering it."

"Oh, sorry," said Hermione, blushing as she looked at the giant mix of soot and floo powder on the floor around the fireplace.

"It's fine, it's fine, just clean it up, please," said Cheshire.

"Yeah, Hermione."

"Shut up, Ron!"

Cheshire scuffled away to clean the what she could of the bathroom, but then decided that the garage would be more fun. Still clutching her pillow, she went through the laundry room and into the garage, where she opened the door of the car sitting in there. She crawled into the back seat and was just about asleep when she heard a heavy thump from inside the house. Jumping up (and hitting her head on the car ceiling in the process), she ran inside and into her bedroom. Why? Because she was scared and wanted to hide. Did you really think that she would try to investigate?

Upon entering said room, Cheshire closed the door and leaned up against it, holding her pillow more tensely than ever. As she opened her eyes, however, she noticed what someone writing a normal "characters-from-your-favourite-movies-fall-into-your-house" fan fiction would call "something kind of weird". This phrase here translates to "there are freaking pirates and Royal Navy personnel in my bedroom, that cannot be right!"

"There are freaking pirates and Royal Navy personnel in my bedroom and that cannot be right!" Cheshire exclaimed.

Up until she had made her presence known, said pirates and Royal Navy personnel (two of each, just like Noah and the ark) had been arguing, not with one of the people who were different than them (i.e: one pirate to one RN person), but with each other. However, when they stopped and saw the girl who was staring at them from by the door, they immediately turned nice. Well, all but one.

"Hello, Cheshire, fancy meeting you here," said Captain Jack Sparrow.

"This is sort of my house, you know," she replied, easing up a bit.

"Nice to see you, lass," said Captain Hector Barbossa, giving her a grin.

"Yeah, wish I could say the same," said Cheshire, nervously.

"Thank you for inviting us, miss, though, I do object rather strongly to your supposed last name," said Norrington rather kindly (duh, he's a gentleman).

"Yes, I kind of figured that."

"I take absolutely no pleasure in being here," Beckett announced to the room.

"That's fantastic for you, dear, but you really don't have any choice," Cheshire said, obnoxiously.

Beckett just huffed and turned away from her. She didn't know why he objected to it so much. There was going to be tea. He loved tea. Two lumps with plenty of cream in a little tea cup with hand painted periwinkles, because he was a sissy, was how he liked it. And he would have his tea the way he liked it. It was the least Cheshire could do for all of the humiliation she supposed he would go through during the course of the party.

"Why don't you all just come out here?" said Cheshire, tossing her pillow back on her bed and opening the door. "You know, fresh air, light, cheery wall colour, and all that jazz, huh?"

They all marched through the doorway, Jack and Barbossa with some rather well concealed lines to Cheshire on staying in the bedroom. When they all emerged into the living room Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting on a particularly clean sofa in a particularly clean house chatting quietly. They looked a bit taken aback when the other four guests entered, but Hermione, being the sensible one, went ahead and introduced herself and her friends. Barbossa took the same liberty with his group and the two cliques seemed to get on well enough. Seeing as everything was fine in the main room, Cheshire decided to actually try to clean the bathroom this time. She had grabbed a rag and was wiping down one of the two sinks, muttering that they were fine anyway, so why was she making herself do this, when she noticed that there was visible air (otherwise known as steam) rising from her shower. She dropped the rag in the basin and pulled back her coral reef print shower curtain to see two figures who had tea cups and pots hanging from every free space. They were down their arms, on their ears, and on top of their heads or, in one's case, hat. There was a mouse peeking out from one of the largest, most ornate tea pots.

"Somebody said there was a tea party here?" the Mad Hatter said with a thick lisp.

"Yes, we brought our own donation!" said the March Hare.

"Our own donation..." repeated the Doormouse, fading to quiet from the first syllable.

"Yes, there is a tea party here. Just go all the way down the hall and the main room will be on your right. There are already some people here."

"Great!" they said in unison, and skipped away in the direction of the rest of the guests.

Cheshire only hoped that her other guests were all ready for all of the madness that was coming with those three. She had begun cleaning again when she heard shouts of confusion from the garage. There was a moment of hesitation and she contemplated not going to check out the noise and continuing with the counters.

"Ah, screw cleaning the counters," she decided, and hopped off, literally, to the garage or, as she sometimes lovingly referred to it the "bakehouse".

Little did she know how appropriate that nickname was for the room at the moment.