Harry Potter and the Blatant Copyright Infringement!

Disclaimers: I got a rubber duck and a Drama Queen pillow for Christmas.

Note to The Real Evil Penguin: YES! YES! 'Galumphing' IS so from Jabberwocky! Have a cookie! Don't be afraid.

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Chapter Eight : Hand Me That Piano

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With the next chapter came the next day, and with the next day came an explosion of plot.

It began when Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on their way to breakfast. That wasn't out of the ordinary. The pictures on the walls were watching them, wishing they too could breakfast as well. That wasn't out of the ordinary, either.

The Creevy Brothers were lying face down in the middle of the hallway. That was a little odd.

"Why do you suppose they're lying face down in the middle of the hallway?" Ron asked.

"Maybe they're tired," Harry responded.

"No, they look sort of dead." Ron checked Colin's pulse. "Yep, I'd say dead as a doornail."

"What was your first clue, the lack of pulse or the fact that his camera's sticking out of his mouth?" Hermione asked.

"How can you tell that when he's face down?" Ron asked.

"Good-...I mean, oh, no! We'd better leave before I get blamed for it!" Harry exclaimed before the three of them began galumphing in the direction of Dumbledore's office.

"No galumphing in the halls," the portrait of Boris the Slightly Comatose called after them.

They slowed down to a trot. Suddenly, Professor Boogie-Mann dashed past them from the direction they had come, his cape wrapped around his body as he went, "MWAHAHAHAHA!"

They watched him wordlessly as they trotted on. Professor Boogie-Mann disappeared around a corner.

"You know what I think?" Harry panted as they trotted.

"What?" Hermione and Ron panted together.

"I'll bet Snape did it."

They got to Dumbledore's office, but then realized that they didn't know the password. So they just started shouting out everything that came to mind.

"Fizzing Whizbee!"

"Drooble's gum!"

"Cockroach cluster!"

"Licorice wand!"

"Cheese whiz!"

"Spam!"

"Crunchy Frog!"

"Lewis and Clark!"

"Go, go, Power Rangers!"

"Diet Coke!"

"Breakfast burrito!"

"Mince meat pie with just a touch of whipped cream but no crust, thanks, I'm doing Atkins!"

"Those little colored sprinkly things you put on ice cream, but I can't think of their name!"

"No more buttered scones for me, Mater, I'm off to play the grand piano!"

"Wafflebuttons!"

With that, the door sprang open. The three looked at each other in question. "Wafflebuttons?"

"I have no idea where that came from," Harry admitted. They shrugged it off and proceeded to galumph up the moving staircase.

"No galumphing on the staircase," the picture across the hall reprimanded before it disappeared from sight.

"Why are we galumphing twice this chapter?" Ron asked as they ascended.

"Because we didn't in the last one."

Entering Dumbledore's private sanctuary, they found the Headmaster engrossed in something he was writing with parchment and quill.

He was muttering as he was writing, "I long for the touch of your..."

"Professor!" Hermione cried out.

Dumbledore looked up quickly.

"Sir, you must come right away!" Harry said. "Something has happened to Colin and Dennis Creevy!"

Taking in the three frightened faces in front of him, Dumbledore rose immediately and moved toward the door. "What happened?" he asked.

"It's...it's kind of hard to say, sir," Harry said.

"They're dead," Ron said helpfully.

"Thank you, Mr. Tact," Hermione said sourly.

Dumbledore stopped suddenly. "What do you mean, dead?"

Hermione answered promptly, "Dead, adjective. No longer alive – having passed from the living state and being no longer alive. Inanimate – never having been alive and having none of the characteristics of a living thing. See deceased."

"Oh, that dead. Are you quite sure?" he began hurrying down the stairs, the students following him closely.

"Relatively, sir. They weren't breathing and had no pulse. And Colin had a camera in his mouth," Harry said, trying to keep up with the Headmaster.

"At least we think. They were face down," Ron added.

When they reached the Creevy Brothers, they were still dead and had drawn a small crowd. Hard to imagine why – I mean, they weren't doing anything entertaining. Just lying there. Face down. With or without camera in mouth.

"Stand aside," Dumbledore said. The students did so.

"Professor!" John Expendable-Character cried out. "They're dead!"

"Oh, John, that's old news," Hermione said with a touch of exasperation.

Dumbledore knelt down and checked them for signs of life. He stood grimly and announced in clipped tones, "All students will return to their common rooms at once."

"Why is it that whenever something happens, we have to go to the common room?" Neville asked the throng in general.

"Because it beats 'Just keep wandering around and get killed too,'" Ron suggested.

The students returned to their common rooms as instructed. Dumbledore hurried to tell the rest of the school there would be no classes today.

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Creepy, huh? Is anyone depressed by this? We, your beloved authors, aren't. We're downright ecstatic. Euphoric. Giddy. Tickled pink. We hate the Creevy Brothers. And that stupid camera.