A/N: Thanks for the reviews, gang, even though its starting to seem like only two of you review. That's ok, we kinda think about loving you, but then we don't cause we've never actually met and there's a good chance you're underage. This chapter is unique because it opens up with "Chapter the Tenth." You may have not noticed but none of our other chapters opened that way.

Chapter the Tenth—Three Heads Are Better Than a Kitty

Through a series of intricate academic wheelings and dealings, Harry was made Seeker of the Quidditch team. You do not need to hear the details of these transactions. Harry's teacher in this new sport was Oliver Biggerstaff, the fifth-year captain of the quidditch team. Oliver was a burly Scotsman, with a hilarious accent, thicker than the fog that rolled over the moors from whence he emerged. "Ach!" he said. "So ya want ta learrrrn hew to play quidditch, do ya?"

" I was told I want to learn," Harry said with an innocent grin.

"Aye. I was like yoo once. Let me give ya some advice: wear a magic rubber. Sure, she looks pretty now, but wait till she turns thirteen, and her field goes sallow, like a shark doll's eyes..."

"I don't understand. Is this how quidditch is played?"

Harry followed Biggerstaff out onto the quidditch pitch, each of them was holding one handle of a large box.

"My bed back home was about this size," said Harry.

Oliver laughed, "Don' werry, laddie, this'll put soom 'air on yer' peaches."

"I've never had fresh fruit before."

They put the box on the ground in the middle of the field. Oliver opened the box and inside were three balls, the one in the center being slightly larger. There was also a small case with the Hogwarts logo embellished in gold, in which Harry had hoped was a "good boy" treat.

"Now," declared Biggerstaff, "This big one is called the Quaffle!"

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Ha! Aye was like yoo wonce. Alway askin' questions." Oliver disregarded the question, "You take the quaffle, and the Chasers try to get it into one of thoos three hooooooooooops!" Oliver gestured to the mismatched hoops at each end of the pitch.

"Why are they at different heights?" Harry asked.

"Ha! It's a mystery!" Oliver bounced the ball once off of Harry's noggin and put it back in the box.

"Why'd you do that?"

"Ha! It's a mystery!" Oliver reached into the box and took out a small, heavy baton. He handed it to Harry and said, "You better take this."

Harry took it and was instantaneously infused with power. "Take that Uncle Vernon!" he said, swiping at the imaginary foe's gelatinous kneecaps. "NEVER AGAIN!"

Oliver caught the bat. "Easy there, idiot! Now pay attention." He gestured to the inside of the box, where Harry saw two very black balls struggling to be released from their harnesses. Harry caught the sounds of indistinct yet woefully racist remarks emanating from the balls. "These are bludgers. They're joost . . . Well, 'ave yoo ever felt that so happy that even your best dreams fall short?"

"Once after making friends with a spider," said H to the P.

"Well these are the opposite o' that feelin. A horrid combination of Despair, Hate, and Sexual Frustration aimed to shite all over your day."

"My spider's name was Snickers . . ."

"Anywho! Let's release one an' see what 'appens!" With that, Oliver undid the restraining straps and released a bludger into the air. It circled and darted about, like a vengeful ballerina bereft of music. But soon it spotted an innocent passerby (a second-year by the name of Plucky Doswell), and made a beeline towards the unfortunate pedestrian. It knocked into the boy and then knocked into him again, and again and again . . . and then it waited for him to get up and then it knocked him down again. When all movement ceased . . . it kept going.

Looking from afar, Harry said to his compatriot, "That looks pretty painful."

Oliver laughed a deep belly laugh. "The survivors envy the dead! C'mon, let's go check it oot!"

While the bludger was tackling the boy, Oliver tackled the bludger. He wrestled with it, eventually strapping it back into its highly inadequate prison. "Haggis!" the offending ball shouted before being shut away until it got the chance to kill once again.

Harry knelt by the broken boy. "Are you alright?" he asked stupidly.

The boy grasped Harry's hand in his bloody one. "Tell . . . Johnny . . . ," the boy croaked out through a throat full of blood, "tell him I . . . I love…" He spluttered blood all over Harry's nice robes like a sprinkler filled with rusty water, and then expired. Then he voided his bowels.

Harry checked himself to make sure he wasn't the one who voided. "Tell Johnny you love what?" Harry asked. "You love soup? I love soup too."

"Leave him, lad," Oliver said, leading Harry away. "He's better this way . . ."

"He's clearly not."

As they departed, a flock of birds descended onto the body. It was a good day to be a crow.

The last ball that Harry was exposed to that day was a small golden one Oliver had pulled out of the golden seal in the box. "The only ball," Oliver said, "I want yoo to worry aboot is this—the Golden Snitch."

"Snatch?"

"Snitch!"

"Oh." Harry took the ball in his hand. He liked its smoothness, its weight, its fluttery wing thingies. "I like this ball. It's not actively hostile."

"Ah you like it now! But just wait. It's wicked fast and impossible to see. You won't like it when you have to go elbow deep up an elk's ass to retrieve it!"

"I guess I won't," he said chirpily.

"This Snitch is worth 150 points. You catch this, the game is over and you win."

"Then why are other players needed on this team?"

"Ha! I was like yoo once! But there's no 'I' in quidditch, Harry!"

Harry, being illiterate, did not realize there are actually two 'I''s in "quidditch. Not being able to spell is a real bummer. With that, the boys picked up their equipment and headed to the castle, wherein they found they were locked out.

After finding an open window to the girl's bathroom, the two boys ran to their dorms, Harry taking with him what he thoughts were a bunch of tootsi-rolls. He said the password and was greeted by Ron.

"Why are you holding so many vag-rags?" asked Ron.

"I don't know. Want a tootsi-roll?" Harry held out the hand clutching the cotton dam.

Ron smacked Harry's hand free, "That Tit Malfoy challenged me to a game of 'Don't Touch the Lava!'"

"That sounds fun," said Harry.

"A Weasley never backs down from a challenge! Unless it's really scary. Or we think we'll lose. Or there are girls watching."

"Well I'll be watching and judging the whole thing. Every inch of it. Staring without speaking. Laughing probably," interrupted Hermione.

"Goodie!" yelled Harry, "It'll be like a slumber party!"

"Well I'm glad you're excited, cause you're gonna be my second," Ron patted Harry on the shoulder who in turn learned into the touch of another human. "Don't touch me."

The three Gryffindors made their way to the third floor where Draco said, quote, "I'll totally be there by myself, alone, and present. Not a trap. Not a trap. Bring your friends cause it's so untrappy." However, when they looked around for a few minutes, all they found was a cat. Not just any cat, this cat was Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's kitty, recently escaped from Kitty Citty. The cat had terrible red eyes, and a terrible red heart which could not comprehend love.

"It's Filch's kitty!" Ron said, pointing at the felonious feline.

"We'll get in trouble here!" Hermione said. "We're not supposed to be on the third floor!"

"I hope Draco is okay," Harry opined.

Ron grabbed Harry by the cloak collar. "IT WAS A TRAP, YOU FOOL! His fleet was waiting on the far side of the moon!"

"You talk good."

Hermione grabbed them both. "Let's get out of here!" They ran, always pursued by the kitty, always tripping over their cloaks. The soft paws of the cat made a pittering sound on the stone floor as it gave chase. In the minds of our three heroes, this sound was a dirge. Harry didn't know what a dirge was, but he really had to tinkle, so he ran like a dripping wind. At the end of the hallway, there was one neglected door. Neglected by whom? None could say (though it was probably that shiftless groundskeeper).

"In here!" Hermione yelled, tugging on the door. "Locked!"

Harry stepped forward. "I'll handle this." Harry proceeded to bang on the door and yell loudly. "If I yell loud enough, Uncle Vernon opens the door to beat me; but if you're quick enough you can run between his legs."

"What happens if you're not quick?" Ron asked.

"Don't be not quick."

"Step aside, ladies!" Hermione said, recovering her smugness and withdrawing her wand from her pocket. "Alohamora!" she said, and the door unlocked. The three rushed in through the door and slammed it in the face of a kitty who was just doing her job.

"Good work, MIONE!" said Ronald.

"Does anyone think that that's too much power for any one person to possess?" asked Harry.

"Standard book of I deliver a message; chapter Shut it!" said Hermione, flicking Harry on the nose.

It was at this point they became aware of a large, angry, three headed doggy sitting atop a trap door. The three heads were talking. Yes, talking. Each head had an opinion all their own regarding life.

"I'm telling you," spake the first head, "the only way to gain knowledge is through empirical data! The mind is a Tabula Rasa!"

"No! No! Idiot! Truth comes from reasoning! The senses lie!"

The third head, by far the most esoteric of the trio, yelled, "Have you even read Kant, you cunts?! We can only know phenomenal reality, never nouminal reality!"

The first head bit at the others, "If I can see it, feel it, smell it, then who the hell are you to say I'm wrong?!"

"Hey!" the third head said, "Do you guys see those three kids in the room with us?"

"I don't know," the second head mocked, "are they really there or do you just perceive them to be there?"

"Well why you don't reason them into existence then?!"

"Let's just eat them now," the first one said, "and argue about whether they existed later!"

By this point, the kids were gone, screaming down the hall, thoughts of the dangerous kitty long since put from their minds.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione made it back to the common room. And after they changed into their jammies, they were ready to come to terms with the Greek horror they had come across. "I bet Hercules wouldn't have run away!" Ron said.

"Next time give him a ring," Hermione said, holding a cup of coffee with literally the hair of the dog in it. "You don't use your eyes do you, Ronald, you blockhead? Did you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor!" Harry said, clapping for himself.

"A trap door! It's guarding something!"

"I guard my food when I'm eating."

"We've all heard your growls," said Ron. "But what could that dog be guarding?"

"I don't know," Hermione said.

"If I had to guard something," Harry suggested, "and I had access to a seemingly limitless supply of power in the form of magic, I would create a pocket-dimension that exists between this world and another far more terrible one, and hide it there!" Harry hugged his knees to his chest and began rolling around on the floor, singing "I'm a Caterpillar!" all the while.

Fred and George, having come down to get a stiff one, viewed the scene for a moment. "I've made cum stains brighter than him," Fred said.

"I can corroborate!" George said. Then they both went back to dreamland (with Mr. Bubbles).

"Since I'm not an idiot, I'll be the designated thinker for our team." said Hermione. With that she went to bed.

Ron collected Harry from the floor, brought him up the stairs to their beds, and laid him down for a dreamful sleep. Ron then went to bed, too.

A/N: It may surprise some of you, but for the next chapter we're going to try something different and open it up with, "Chapter the Eleventh." I know this might upset some people, but . . . get over it.

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