AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Ehmagawd, finally a new chapter! Sorry for the wait, g-chillzz, but Maddy went to college and got all lazy and does nothing but moon around with her boyfriend. BOOO! Hissss! Anyway, hope you enjoy, because it's going to take us another fifty years at this rate. If you want a chapter sooner, I highly recommend starting a riot at University of Connecticut to kick Maddy's butt into gear. Anyway. Excelsior!

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Never before had Hogwarts seen such a race. Except for that one time in

Bermuda.

The chariots were neck and neck, the whips cracking, Draco's sick spinners flashing, Blaise's hair blowing in the wind. They thundered down the tunnel, the pullers running like their lives depended on it, until they felt their hearts would burst—

Actually, what happened was that Nick and Greg kept stopping to make out on the way, and Blaise enjoyed the view too much to complain. Sara kept tripping over her own feet, and Catherine and Ron, in their zeal, would drag her behind them until she got caught in the wheels of the chariot, snagged on a rock, or Draco intervened (it was usually one of the former). "Good thing you're indestructible," Catherine would say every time, patting her shoulder before taking a page out of Nick and Greg's book and furiously making out with Ron.

Finally, Blaise's hormones acted up, and they flung him out of his chariot of their own accord. "Make out!" screamed the hormones, throwing themselves around in Blaise's brain.

The only one who was free, besides the still-crushed Sara, was Draco, who sat in his chariot cockily, watching his bitches have their fun. Blaise immediately flung himself into Draco's chariot.

Unfortunately, just as they started to make out, Blaise's foot hit the chariot, pushing it ahead just enough to cause it to roll down the hill that had conveniently appeared because the authors asked it to. Draco and Blaise were too engrossed in their making out to notice, so the only thing to alert them was the "Ahhhhhhh-oooo-eeeowwwwww!" of a Sara being crushed.

Catherine and Ron were dragged along as well, rolling under the wheels as they continued to make out.

Nick and Greg turned away from each other long enough to watch the whole mess speeding down the hill away from them. They both shrugged, and resumed their game of tonsil hockey.

A shout came from behind them. "Nick! Greg! Is that you? Grissom, I found them! Guys, look what we have!" Warrick raced towards them waving the photograph of the bloody footprints, Grissom and Dumbledore hot on his heels. In his zeal he slammed into the chariot, sending it over the hill. Grissom and Dumbledore ran after it, screaming "MY EVIDENCE!" and "GERIATRIC TREACLE!" respectively.

The two chariots zoomed along, carrying, dragging, and trailing the large group of crazies down the tunnel, until, with a great crash and sprinkling of splinters, they slammed into a huge wooden doorway that ended the tunnel.

Draco poked his head up from under the pile of wood that was once his chariot. He sighed sadly as he watched what remained of one of his dope spinners roll by. And he had worked so hard to get on "Pimp My Chariot," too. "All my bitches okay?" He called.

Catherine, Ronniekins, Sara, Blaise, Dumbledore, and Grissom popped up and affirmed their status as "okay." Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Grissom, but he was always open to new bitches, and wordlessly passed him the pamphlet and button. The other five showed him their buttons proudly.

Warrick popped up from under the rubble, screaming as usual, "Who's yo daddy! Who's yo daddy, you damn gamblin' machine!" He reached for the nearest arm, which happened to be Blaise's, and yanked it fiercely. Blaise yelped and threw Warrick into a wall, where the CSI lay crumpled, his leg twitching, as he muttered, "Poker…do the polka…"

"He's fallen asleep," Grissom said helpfully.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Draco. "Now, if I may, I'd like to lead you all away from this big suspicious door and into another part of the castle entirely—"

"Why?" Grissom asked. "What are you hiding?"

Draco sighed and pulled his bitch whistle out of his pocket. He blew it. "Bitches assemble!"

Immediately, the six bitches formed a line behind Draco. Catherine, who was at the front, saluted. "Yes sir!" they called in unison.

Draco began to lead them away, but it was no avail.

If only, if only, they hadn't underestimated Warrick.

Warrick, who didn't even need to wake up in order to cause chaos. He gave a jerk in his sleep, dreaming of blackjack, that was so strong it caused everything in the vicinity, including the carriage under which Nick and Greg lay, to explode. This momentarily dislodged the couple from making out. Distracted, Greg looked up, saw a big door, and ran for it.

Ran into it actually. And then ran through it, sending it flying in fifty directions. Nick, Warrick, and the bitches, who had been released from the spell Draco had put upon them with his bitch whistle, saw the gaping hole where the door used to be, looked at each other, and bolted through it and into the room beyond.

"Day-yaaaam," said Draco.

OOOOoOOOOOOOOoOOOOOOoOOOOOoOOOOOOo

"OMFG," said Grissom.

And that was the end of the world as they knew it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOooOOOOOOoOOOOOOOOOOOOooOOOOOOO

Draco blew his bitch whistle again, trying futilely to bring his bitches back to order. Unfortunately, they were so engrossed in his deepest darkest secret that the only response to the whistle was Warrick, in his usually twitchy manner, bashed Draco over the head.

Meanwhile, Greg lay on the floor, groaning and rubbing his head. "That's the last time I run into the first huge wooden door I see when I wake up…those mothers HURT." Nick rushed to his side, babbling pledges of everlasting love and devotion. Greg simply blinked and allowed himself to be bandaged. Whether this was from laziness or massive brain injury was not clear.

Grissom was too engrossed in his surroundings to be interested in the plights of anyone else. His eyes roved over the walls as he realized that they had stumbled upon the casebreaker. The answers to all their questions (Who was the victim? Why was he killed? Would Grissom ever find true love?) seemed imminent.

Before him stretched shelves and shelves of wooden puppets, as far as the eye could see. Hundreds and hundreds of puppets were organized into six sections: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin, People I Find Hot (this was by far the largest section) and Random People I Saw in My Dreams. The room was filled to capacity except for a single empty spot.

On a large podium in the middle of the room, a plush velvet pillow sat bare and lonely. The podium was labeled, in sparkley gold letters, The Hottest Fking Person Ever. Grissom's mouth began to water at the thought of someone even hotter than his sweetiepie (who had made her way out of his pocket and was currently chewing on his leg), but sadly, the puppet was missing.

He dashed over to the podium with his kit, intent of solving The Mystery of the Missing Hottie. He circled it quickly, his dagger-sharp mind instantly assessing what needed to be done. He snapped his fingers, and his team assembled in front of him. The Grissom Snap was more potent than even the bitch whistle, and the CSI's were powerless to resist.

"Stop! Drop! Roll!" Grissom screeched at the team, who looked at each other, confused. This might have been some code that they were supposed to have learned in CSI school, but as most of them dropped out before they finished their first year, they were perplexed. Finally, each of them looked at the others, shrugged, followed Grissom's instructions, literally.

Amidst the sea of rolling, roiling CSI's, Draco snuck furtively towards the door. Unfortunately, as most schemes in Hogwarts, his was destined to fail. Nick had become especially entranced by his own rolling, and had made a break for the door was well, with the intent of showing the world his superior rolling technique. He rolled right into Draco, who fell over and into Nick's arms. Epiphany ensued.

As they gazed into each other's eyes, fireworks exploded, cannons blazed, and a nearby chorus of angels began to raise their voices in heavenly song. They blinked slowly, unable to look away. Big dark darkness of darkity dark met bright silver grey blue green violet, and they knew that they were meant for each other.

Greg howled.

OOOOOOOooOOoOOooOOoOOooooOOoOooOOoooOOOOoOOOooOOOOO

Thanks, Charlotte, for telling them where I live…anyway, sorry for the delay. I accept all responsibility. But, come on guys, college. Boyfriend. You understand, right?

I hope you like it, it's been a long time coming. Peace out homes.

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