Disclaimer: All aspects of the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers Entertainment. I shamelessly twist, bend, and snap this universe to suit my own needs.
Summary: Harry recognized the need for the DA in his first year rather than his fifth. With a group of powerful friends, unexpected allies, and the planning to overcome age old enemies and meddling Headmasters as well, can these students traverse the dangerous halls of Hogwarts and the world outside of them? Can they defeat the Dark Lord and his followers while fighting for communal reform?
Strangely enough, the DA's dedicated insistence to pranking Dumbledore made Harry feel better. Not because the Headmaster suffered what was probably the worst week of his life, though that certainly helped, but because they all did it on his behalf.
There wasn't a single member of the DA who joined in on the pranking because everyone else was doing it. They all did it because they felt like Dumbledore deserved it, because they felt the need for some level of vindication for Harry's sake.
When Monday morning came, the entire hall was rife with whispers about the sack of galleons and the challenge on the wall.
Creatively, the advertisement sang in a chipper androgynous voice:
Dumbledore,
Slumber no more,
Get ready for capers galore.
The pranks are back,
You're under attack,
This week won't be a bore.
It's mischief season,
You don't need a reason,
And even if you did —
A galleon prize is on the rise,
For whoever does him in.
The opening prank won't break the bank,
Don't worry you don't have to top it!
A hundred laughs we will have,
Before the Professors can stop it.
*Prize will not be awarded if lasting damage is done to the Headmaster.
**Lasting damage does NOT include psychological side effects.
The sack of galleons was floating just above the words with a counter above it; 200.
So, all of the students were noticeably excited to see if anyone rose to the challenge. Harry noticed the members of the DA (Daphne, Tracey, Nigel, and Ella to name a few) who had claimed the headmaster's bath products looked particularly devious.
When Dumbledore entered the Great Hall Monday morning among the whispers of the entire school, they were all very disappointed that he displayed no visible signs of pranking or anxiety.
Even some of the DA students were confused.
The Headmaster was definitely aware of the hundreds of eyes on him but seemed perfectly content to ignore all of them.
After five minutes of watching the Headmaster enjoy his breakfast, many eyes fell away.
The eyes of the DA members did not.
The first sign of something being up was Professor Sprout. She exited the great hall at a brisk pace and ignored the curious calls of her colleagues. Assuming she had urgent matters to attend to in the greenhouses, they ignored the oddity.
The next to begin behaving oddly was Snape.
While he remained as dour as ever, he seemed to have his attention focused wholly on a set of potions he was slowly emptying from his belt. He seemed to be sorting them somehow.
The students were noticing the oddities now and were watching the teachers table while whispering quietly.
"Hermione?" Harry whispered subtly. "What did they do to him?"
"Shh," she hissed, watching avidly. She looked like she would be taking notes if she could.
Flitwick was next. He was holding his wand and weighing it in his hands, testing the balance with one finger like one might a sword. Every so often, he would sneak a glance at the Headmaster.
McGonagall remained stoic for another minute and a half. Then, they noticed her sniffing. Yes, sniffing. She tilted her head up and sniffed in Albus direction before closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.
Meanwhile, most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuff's could see Flitwick trying to play some rendition of footsie with the headmaster who was on Flitwick's direct left. However, Flitwick's feet weren't anywhere level with the Headmaster's slippered feet.
Dumbledore was beginning to look quite consternated.
"Filius, my dear friend, I'm afraid these old knees won't stand up to much more rigor,"
"I know a charm for that!" Flitwick almost shouted, nearly jumping out of his seat. "I'm a charms master. And a world series duelist. Did you know that, Albus?"
"Why yes, Filius, I believe it was on your resume,"
As soon as Albus spoke to Filius, Snape and McGonagall both snapped to attention in an almost jealous reaction.
"Albus," the Scottish professor began slowly as if the words were taking up all of her concentration. "I feel like I should tell you how very highly I think of you."
The students could hear them all clearly thanks to the clever charm work of Nigel Wroxton.
"Why thank you, Minerva," Dumbledore said benignly. "I think quite highly of you as well,"
"Then we should begin courting," she said with a resolute nod.
"Courting?" Dumbledore, Merlin help him, started sputtering.
"Yes, courting, Albus," she answered. "Or do you not intend to make a proper lady out of me?"
More than a few students began snickering at that but Nigel's charm blocked the external sound so the Professors could continue their little soap opera.
"I think should think not, Minerva," Severus interrupted. "Albus would find me much more physically suitable for his attentions,"
"And me!" Filius piped up, sticking his wand in the air as if he were raising his hand. "I'm a man too!"
Severus and Minerva, who was slowly growing more catty, ignored him.
"Those are only rumors!" she hissed. "Albus needs a proper woman!"
All of the students were laughing or gaping now.
"Explains his robes," a few Slytherins noted.
"Always thought him a bit fruity," someone from the Gryffindor table voiced.
The other professors were watching with dropped jaws though they did nothing to stop the spectacle. This was just too good to pass up.
"Albus needs a real man!" Snape spat. "One who can provide for him in his ailing age — a potion's master, perhaps,"
Albus found a shiny blue-green potion shoved under his nose.
"S-Severus?" Dumbledore asked, growing more concerned.
"A girding potion. It reminded me of your eyes," he answered in his smooth, dark voice. "A potion to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses — much like you have done to me, Albus,"
"I thought girding potion was for endurance, Severus," the headmaster said, gently pushing the vial out of his face. He was trying very hard to steer the conversation somewhere normal. "I doubt we'd have much use for that at the moment,"
"Oh I believe we could find many uses, Headmaster,"
Someone from the Gryffindor table was making retching sounds that were't entirely dramatized. A second year Hufflepuff who feared Snape as much as Neville had in first year slumped against his friends with a glassy eyed stare.
When the greasy potions master reached out a placed a hand on Dumbledore's shoulder, the young puff seized faintly and passed out entirely.
One of the fourth years went to enervate him but Sean Peakes stopped him.
"It's probably better if he stays out for this, mate,"
When their acclaimed transfiguration mistress visibly reached over and placed hand on Dumbledore's thigh, the fourth year's jaw dropped a little.
"Yeah, you're probably right," he shot a wide-eyed glance at the passed out twelve year old. "I don't think Robby could handle this."
They went quiet then, watching the drama. The Headmaster looked like he desperately wished to be let go but Snape and McGonagall were competing to see who could squeeze the old wizard the hardest.
Luckily, or unluckily for the other two heads of house, Flitwick knew precisely what to do.
"Relashio," he cried, brandishing his wand at both of them and flicking it downwards in a pronounced movement.
Both McGonagall and Snape found themselves shooting out of their seats and under the table from their ankles. They slid to a stop to lay dazedly on the floor between the eagles and badgers.
"There now," Flitwick said, tucking his wand into a holster under his arm. "That's better, isn't it?"
"I doubt we needed such an excessive show of force," Dumbledore answered in a somewhat reprimanding tone. He did look slightly relieved though.
"How about one of finesse instead?" Flitwick asked, wand back in his hand.
Before the headmaster could protest or make a move to intervene, his charms master had waved his wand.
"Facio gregatim," he incanted.
All of the teachers plates from up and down the table began to frog-march towards the headmaster. With more organization than one could ever expect from plates and platters, they formed a loose circle around the charms master and Dumbledore.
Flitwick began flicking his wand like he was conducting the choir, directing the finery.
Bowls of breakfast mash and fried potatoes were forming pyramids with the platters of eggs. The three tier display of muffins was supporting the full weight of the the bacon and sausage platter though some of the sausages rolled down the sides. The plates that had previously been holding the other professor's foods were now lined up in front of the wide-eyed wizard juggling their contents.
As the teachers table reached full pandemonium, McGonagall and Snape seemed to find their feet. The dour potions master seemed a bit more dazed but McGonagall was gathering her robes in a furious huff.
The laughing students quieted; looked like the old cat was back to herself.
"Filius!" she barked austerely. "These- these shenanigans will not be tolerated!"
With a sweep of her wand, the platters almost morosely lost their acrobatic formations until they were all gathered around the headmaster in a haphazard but inanimate setting, some stacked like the simple dishes they were.
She pursued her thin lips, glaring at the charms master. Dumbledore was looking relieved.
"Transfiguration is a far nobler art. As a transfiguration master himself, Albus already knows this," she huffed primly before beginning a complicated wand motion.
"Minerva, perhaps we should refrain-" Dumbledore tried.
It was too late.
Her transfiguration was already complete and Filius' food circus was now an amalgam of things.
The table was now so cluttered it was hard to make out, though that was made easier by the takeoff of a flock of birds of paradise.
What remained on the table was hard to describe. Most of the platters had been transfigured into a stack of lemons that teetered precariously. The food itself had been transfigured into shudderingly realistic chocolate cockroaches and a yellow lollipops that were sizzlingly and marring the heavy wood table.
"Minerva, what are you doing?" Dumbledore asked more loudly than he'd spoke the entire affair.
"You like these things," she answered as if she were completely sure of her statement and thought the headmaster had forgotten. "Cockroach clusters and acid pops, lemon drops,"
"These aren't lemon drops, Minerva, these are lemons,"
She frowned heavily.
"Quite so, Albus,"
He shouldn't have corrected her.
With another wiggle of her wand, every lemon dissolved into twenty or so lemon drops. For a single second, they held their previous positions in the lemon-pyramid before they fell with a whoosh.
Hundreds of lemon drops spilled onto the floor and into the headmasters lap. They rolled every which way and under every table.
Flitwick, not to be outdone, animated the cockroach clusters and the lemon drops that remained on the table. The lemon drops were jumping and hopping through little hoops conjured by the excitable part-goblin.
Minerva's lips pursued again and the normally perfunctory professor began competing, for lack of a better word, with Flitwick.
She began directing a few of her flock of tropical birds to snatch the lemon-drops out of the air. Their beaks were surprisingly strong and each time they snapped up the candy they crushed it into powdery chunks. The rest of them were circling like vultures above Dumbledore.
When a flap of one of her birds wings caught the Headmaster in the face, he was done. He stood suddenly and withdrew his wand.
"That is enough!" he said loudly. "Minerva, Flitwick, Severus — hospital wing, now."
"Will you be there, Albus?" Severus asked, shaking off the rest of his dazedness.
"I- Yes, Severus."
The black haired man nodded seriously before spinning on his heel with a dramatic whirl of his cloak and heading for the doors. Dumbledore watched him carefully until the billowing robes of his potions master disappeared around the doors.
Minerva and Flitwick had silently restarted their…game. Flitwick would try to keep a lemon drop out of the grasp of Minerva's birds and each time he inevitably failed, he'd begin again with more of the candies.
The diminutive professor was currently floating eight candies and when three of McGonagall's birds crushed their catch at the same time, Dumbledore was caught in the eye by the powdery crunch.
"Enough!" he said again, waving his wand sweepingly in what surely would have been an impressive stop to their animations.
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that the creatures and candy were not only animated but transfigured. His cancellation spell turned his lap into an unrecognizable mixture of food and tea. The table and the floor surround the head table were in similar states.
The best, perhaps, was McGonagall's bird flock.
A good ten were still in high air above Dumbledore. A few seconds after the initial crashing and splashing of the failing transfigurations, the remains of the birds splashed down in the general center of the head table.
Dumbledore was, predictably, covered the most. His birds seemed to be composed primarily of porridge and fried eggs. Flitwick bore a large brunt of the breakfast gravy and the crumbled remains of some muffins.
The students were positively dying. A few of the unaffected professors noticed but they were laughing too hard to care.
They could see Dumbledore take a steadying breath. A sweep of his wand cleared both himself and professor Flitwick of their breakfasts.
"Minerva, Filius, hospital wing," he ordered again.
After a few moments reluctance, they both obeyed. Flitwick slid out of his seat and under the table in lieu of walking around.
"He said my name first," they could hear Minerva hiss as the two juxtaposed teachers left the hall.
"Well he cleaned my robes first!"
The students were still laughing. Aware now, Dumbledore dispelled the silencing ward and began setting the table to rights. He didn't say anything nor did he look at the students; they all reckoned he was a bit too shell-shocked.
"I'd be right traumatized too if Snape offered to share his endurance potion with me," Seamus said a bit too loudly, responding to Dean.
That set most of the room off again and the headmaster, with a final wave of his wand, began striding from the room to check on his heads of house.
He reached the center of the Great Hall just as Professor Sprout entered. She was carrying an enormous tangled armful of vines blooming with wide, feathery and glowing flowers that were a mix of purple and blue.
"Oh no," Neville whispered, eyes wide.
"What?" Harry asked immediately.
"That's passiflora virgo liana…"
"So?"
"Oh Albus, I thought I'd missed you!" Sprout huffed, dirt smudged faces smiling relievedly.
"Professor Sprout?" Dumbledore asked cautiously.
She bustled up to him and before he could move away, transferred the entire bushel of vines into his arms.
"They don't do well with men," Neville said just as the plant settled in Dumbledore's arms.
Immediately, the docile plant began snapping and and weaving it's vine appendages. A few caught in Dumbledore's long hair and beard, curling into it. Immediately, more vines began tangling with aggressive, snappy movements.
"Oh dear," Hermione summed up.
It took Professor Sprout an exorbitant amount of time to untangle the flowering vine from the headmaster. Once she had, Dumbledore assured her that he would escort her to the infirmary where they would put her offering in water.
As soon as they were gone, the laughter reached new heights. The students were then sent off to their classes (excepting DADA, which was still cancelled).
All of the effected professors were in their classrooms by the time the first bell rang. Apparently, their visit to the hospital wing had been fruitless because there was absolutely nothing wrong with them.
Rumor had it that Dumbledore spent all morning with Madam Pomfrey trying to figure out what was wrong with Albus.
"Seriously, Hermione, what did they do?" Harry asked his friend as they sat side by side in history.
She smirked scarily.
"Pheromones,"
"Farah what?" Ron asked from her other side.
"Pheromones, Ron," she repeated. "They're chemicals naturally produced by the body. The pheromones Dumbledore was dosed with made him smell attractive."
"But why'd it only work on the heads?"
She faltered. "That I don't know how they did."
"Never thought I'd see the day, Hermione not knowing something."
"I do know McGonagall and Flitwick weren't supposed to react as strongly as they did," Hermione said. "We could have never planned for that level of perfection. His cancellation charm? Priceless."
"Probably because Flitwick's got goblin heritage and McGonagall's an animagus," Harry proposed.
"Forget them — did you see Dumbledores face when those vines got loosed in his beard?"
Neville poked Ron in the back so they all turned to face him partially; Binns droned on.
"I'm kinda disappointed; Sprout really damaged that passiflora dragging it out of the greenhouse and off of the headmaster."
"What was she supposed to do?" Hermione asked, knowing there was a trick to nearly every plant.
"Suppose a good splash of urine would have loosened it's vines,"
"Of-" Ron cried before turning it into a hacking cough. "Sorry, Professor,"
The ghost glared but continued his lecture with nary a pause.
"Blimey, I'd have paid to see that,"
"Technically we are paying to see it," the brunette reminded.
"Something tells me this week is going to be really interesting," Harry predicted.
Harry's prediction more than came true.
Over the next week, Dumbledore had been turned into every color of the rainbow and every manner of creature. A leprechaun, a Dracula-esque vampire, a veela (sans aura — poor Robby had to be considered), and more. The Dumbledore mermaid (definitely pulled off by a group of fourth year claws) had been particularly interesting. He'd been waltzed around the great hall, line-danced on the head table (all of the professors were hit by that one), break-danced around the entry hall, bounced up the staircase, and, at one particularly low point (or high, depending on how you looked at it), spider-webbed to the ceiling above his gargoyle.
The pranks that the DA arranged were slightly less friendly if you really examined them; they were the ones that lasted the longest or the ones that struck the Headmaster in private. Some of the boils could be downright painful.
The best, Harry found, were the small pranks by the students interested in joining in but not getting spectacularly caught.
A first year muggle-born Hufflepuff managed, with the tricky application of a levitation charm, to spread a thin layer of cling wrap over Dumbledore's mug. When the headmaster had gone to pour his juice out of his personal decanter, he'd been treated to a spray and splash of it.
The headmaster had been entertained by the circular cut of clear film for the rest of breakfast. Flitwick had given the young man five points and Harry had personally given him ten galleons for a prank well done.
After all, simplicity is the ultimate form of sophistication.
To his credit, Dumbledore bore it all with surprisingly good nature.
Harry was sure that the Headmaster suspected his part in it even though it truly wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived's idea; only once had the Headmaster met his eyes and he had seen a sort of resignation behind the half-moon spectacles. He seemed to realize that there wasn't anything he could do. There was a price on his head and threats of detention had nothing on 200 galleons.
Despite the best efforts of Professor Vector and everyone else, the galleons were immovable. The message had been eroded by Wednesday but the singing charm couldn't be removed so the students still heard it every time they walked by.
"I'm sure the students could use a bit of fun, Minerva," he was heard saying. "There is a war on, after all, and I do not mind if it is at my expense."
"I would like to know who's expense it is truly at," she had hissed, jerking a hand towards the floating sack of galleons.
Dumbledore just hummed serenely before crushing his peas diligently.
He'd learned Monday night that his peas couldn't be trusted. It was only Wednesday but the precious green vegetables had been targeted at every lunch and dinner meal. Still, they were one of his favorites and he insisted on having them with his meal. So, he'd tested them religiously and shielded his plate protectively from the fiend who targeted his precious peas.
The pea-prankster, however, had anticipated this.
Based off of muggle bang-snaps (little white fireworks you throw on the ground), the prankster's latest prank was slightly more fiery. She'd diligently sealed them inside of real peas with surgical precision (for her dedication was great), disillusioned them, and floated them behind the headmaster, over his shoulder, and onto his plate to bypass his convex shield.
As soon as Dumbledore's spoon crushed the five poppers, tiny little fireworks zapped up and mounted an attack on his facial hair. Two ate through his beard in streaks, leaving it uneven and singed. Two targeted his bushy eyebrows specifically and reduced them to nothing. The last targeted the string on the tip of his pointed hat that held the pulsating star bauble on.
His eyes dimmed morosely as his entire plate was tainted by thin amounts of soot and his bauble fell into his potatoes.
Never mind his facial hair. It'd only be the fourth time he had to regrow it.
"Amateur," Alice Tolipan snorted as she watched students laugh at the fruits (or vegetables) of her prank.
Come Friday night at dinner, the hall was in a buzz. Today was the last day of the prank war and none were more excited than the DA.
Today was their final prank. Originally, it had just been Jimmy and Sean Peakes and their sheep but since the response to the price they'd put on Dumbledore's head had been immense, the entire DA had pitched in.
A personal elf delivered Dumbledore's meal, as had been the practice since Wednesday (that last pea incident had done it for the man and he still wasn't sure how that dastardly prankster had managed it). The old wizard was no longer bothered by the fact that no one was willing to take their eyes off him anymore. Even his professors were watching him openly.
Dinner went uninterrupted for neigh on 30 minutes; none of the students had given up on their vigilance. They'd learned early in the week that there was no schedule in which pranks would occur.
On the hour, Hogwart's cast iron bells began tolling. That seemed to be the signal.
The grand double doors opened with a bang. The headmaster flinched before steeling himself. He was far too old to develop such a tick.
Still, there was nothing.
After a long moment, they heard a sort of clopping from the Grand staircase though they could see nothing yet. The students were quite familiar with the clopping noise of hooves as they'd heard it plenty this week. Goats had been a running theme.
The second thing they heard was the definitive bleating of six sheep to the tune of Mary had a little lamb. All of the sheep were black and the sleigh they were pulling had been changed into a more sled-like design.
Little bells all along the harness jingled as they want and the sheep seemed generally unconcerned with the large audience.
Rather than going straight up the isle, they turned left and skirted the edges of the hall along the far side of the Slytherin table. Then they hooked right so they passed in front of Snape and Flitwick, clearly dragging the sled with purpose in mind.
With some maneuvering, they had the sled straightened directly in front of Dumbledore. The black sheep stilled, feet moving softly as their bleating ceased.
Dumbledore, for his part, was silent. He was quite sure he'd foiled their prank. His robes had been enchanted, as had his utensils and dinnerware, and his chair had been carved with runes by Professor Babbling herself.
The students were murmuring quietly before more noise started coming from the entrance hall.
Two of the stone sentries had jumped down with a thunderous crash from their wall alcove. They were equipped with shiny bugles. They marched purposefully until they stood on either side of the large doors.
They raised their bugles at the proper moment and the charmed instruments began to play a jaunty assembly call. The sheep stomped in agitation.
The floor began to rumble and all of the students watched Dumbledore with interest; it seemed to come from the center of the hall. After a moment, it faded. It was the teacher's platform that began to rumble now.
A crack appeared in the head table and it began pulling apart until there was a four foot wide gap in front of the headmaster.
He arched a brow.
His throne-like chair hadn't moved an inch. The sled was but a few feet in front of him as if waiting for him to step onto it.
As it turned out, it was not waiting for him to step onto it. It was waiting for his chair and a thin layer of the Hogwarts stone to separate from the floor and lurch forward. Then, his chair, heavy as it was, tipped forward and forced him to stumble out.
He threw one hand out and tried to catch it on McGonagall's side of the table. He only succeeded in forcing his hand wrist-deep into a dish of piping hot chestnut stuffing.
He fell forwards onto the sled and immediately felt the surprisingly powerful wards triggering. His feet were secured and he was propelled to his feet, finding balance surprisingly easy to keep. Still, it was far from pleasant being jarred and drug about at his age.
His landing on the sled triggered the beginning of a loud buzzing from behind the teacher's table; so far, nothing more had revealed itself. The sheep were still stationary and he was beginning to draw his wand to dispel the enchantments, the other teachers already trying ineffectively.
All the seventh years had worked on that sled; it wasn't going down easy and they wouldn't have nearly enough time.
Then, the ground in the center of the room started rumbling.
The student's tables parted in much the same way as the head table had, though noticeably smoother.
All of the DA looked alarmed; some of them were right at the center of the rearranged Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables. They knew for sure this wasn't any of their doing.
The ground was beginning to ripple. As they gasped and scrambled back, closer to the Gryffindors or snakes depending on the side, the ripples gave way to a clockwise swirl of the stone.
A black hole seemed to form in the center, set a few feet into the floor, and quickly expanded to fit a man of Hagrid-like proportions. The hole began to glow with a plethora of ethereal colors in soft magical pastels.
The sheep panicked as the ground shifted under their feet. Conjured sheep, they lacked any true intelligence but knew that they needed to run through the doors ahead of them. Heedless of the still swirling cortex, the six sheep barreled into it.
Albus was waving his hands furiously but there was nothing he could do; he was going in.
As soon as the last few inches of the sled cleared the lip of the odd hole, it closed up. The floor returned to it's calmer rippling state.
"Oh my god," a professor cried. "I killed Albus Dumbledore,"
"You?" Minerva cried. "You did this?!"
"I-I," they floundered. "It wasn't meant to go like this! And the sheep aren't mine!"
"Then who is responsible, you blithering idiot?" Snape snarled at his colleague as he stalked towards the edge of the floor.
Cloak billowing, his dark wand was already swishing diagnostic charms at the rippling stones.
"Back away, you dribbling fools, lest you breathe your putrid, puerile aerations too close to my person," he snarled acerbically at the Hufflepuffs who'd been cut down the middle.
Robby took one look at the fearsome potions professor and passed out again.
"He really can't handle the strain, Hannah," a concerned Sean said. "This is getting to be too much for him,"
"It'll be over soon," Hannah assured him. "Just let him sleep through it,"
"I'll put a silencing charm on him, so Snape doesn't seep into his dreams," Sean said with a shudder.
"I swear I didn't know, Minerva!" the guilty teacher floundered, wringing their hands. "Just meant to be a bit of a light show, minor wardrobe adjustment — something to entertain the younger ones, you know?"
"This is-" the deputy drew herself up. "Severus, tell me you can do something-"
"Stand back!" he barked; the surface of the stone was swirling turbulently again.
It seemed to be forming to a head again. In a dazzling show of light, the pastel yellows, greens, pinks, and purples beamed up into the ceiling. Rapidly, the opening expanded again.
"Please let him be alive, please let him be alive," the semi-responsible party chanted.
The DA were still watching slack-jawed; many students held the same look so they didn't stand out. What in the hell?
The floor sunk in a bit then burst upwards, the headmaster shooting up as well as a hoard of other small beings. Once they settled, Harry noticed they were fairies; the picturesque kind and not the kind that ferociously attack any who look upon them. Their wings were delicate and they were all no taller than a hands length. All of them glowed in a variety of those pastel colors.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked like a major malfunction.
He had a light blue glowing pair of fragile fairy wings, proportionately sized to his tall frame but that's where the resemblance ended. His hair was down to the back of his knees, beard included. The sheep, poor dears, had seem to become a part of his wardrobe. His previously sweeping robes had been replaced entirely with thick un-spun sheep wool. Rather than plain black or white, they'd been splotched with color.
The sled was still attached to his feet but it had been split in half, now not unlike a particularly thick and heavy set of ski's. The floor settled completely and Dumbledore fell the few feet he'd been floating.
"Oh dear," was all he had time to say before his new ski's were jerking into motion.
After a moments delay, the DA's planned prank kicked in. The music started a couple seconds too late and fast forwarded to catch up.
Rimsky-Korsakov's Flight of the Bumblebee blared loudly. The buzzing heard earlier grew before a cloud of bees were released from over the teacher's heads. They flew impossibly fast to swarm around the headmaster interspersed with the now roaming fairies.
First the headmaster was swirled around the entrance hall; the students thought to follow him but the wicked fast movement of their Headmaster as he came in hot off of the banister deterred them.
The bees were exploding in small but impressive whistles and bangs of color. The music had reached it's crescendo when the bees finally dissipated completely and the headmaster was literally skiing on the walls now. The fairies had turned mischievous (still true to that much of their nature) and had begun to throw food at the imposter who was mocking him with atrociously oversized wings.
"Do you see the wings on that hussy?" a purple fairy chattered to her pinker friend. "Oversized and flimsy — mocking us, that disgusting giant. Not even practical for flying — he uses his fake feet devices."
"Get him!" pinky squealed, leading the charge.
Meanwhile…
Lavender clapped as two beautiful pink and purple fairies chittered back and forth. She was shocked when they made a coordinated effort to lift a gravy bowl and launched it at the passing headmaster.
Then, she clapped harder. The other fairies did the same, lifting drumsticks in teams of three and throwing them at the old wizards face and wings.
The students took this as an excuse to discreetly or not so discreetly get their own tosses in. Some were brave and threw things directly at the headmaster but others…
Daphne Greengrass took particularly relish in emptying an entire bowl of mashed potatoes over Draco Malfoy's head. Her wand was back in it's holster before anyone could see it. Except Blaise; he shot her a wink and wandlessly topped the blonde off with a red sauce meant to go over the roast. In the melee, he felt he could chance it. It was worth it to see that secretive smile of the edge of the beautiful blonde's lips.
It took thirty minutes for the pandemonium to settle and the fairies to be dispelled. Everyone was vaguely reminded of Lockhart's Cornish pixie lesson.
At the end of the exuberant piece of music, the headmaster skidded to a halt and collapsed in his seat. The broken sled fell apart at his feet and all of the tables moved back together.
"Professor Babbling, you will explain what you meant this instant!" McGonagall demanded.
"There was supposed to be a bit of a fairy light show, some flying around maybe," the runes professor insisted as she waved her hands, looking harried.
Albus still looked a bit wooly himself.
"What were you thinking?" she Scot criticized. "You are a Professor! There are standards of decorum, Bathsheda."
"Please, this week has been anything but decorous," Babbling returned. "Besides, I could use 200 galleons as much as the next broad. And I don't care what excuses you make, Minerva, I know you were more in control of those birds than you let on,"
"Why I never-" McGonagall drew herself up pointedly.
They were interrupted by the loud jingling of the sack of galleons. By wordless agreement, Zara floated the sack to the Ancient Runes professor. No one suspected her and she was the picture of subtlety.
Babbling's involvement was completely unexpected but it'd taken their sheep prank to a whole new level. Botched it a bit but the overall effect was still worth it.
The headmaster had just gotten his robe set to rights and looked quite put out with the entire situation.
"I believe we have indulged these pranks for long enough," he spoke after a long moment, eyes devoid of their usual twinkle and sounding very put upon. "Any further pranks shall be much more vigorously investigated and the punishments levied will be much more severe."
He drew himself up, clearing a stray piece of food.
"In other news, Auror Clarence Beckhard will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts post beginning Monday. Classes shall resume as normal. Books are being generously provided by the DMLE."
There were some excited murmurs before McGonagall stood with her tight pressed scowl.
"Dismissed; to your dormitories, immediately."
Hermione looked like the cat that caught the canary.
"I told you Babbling was the next professor we should bring in," she chirped.
"Joining in on a prank doesn't prove anything, Mione," Ron disagreed. "She's still a professor,"
"That was one hell of a prank though," Jimmy said, eyes still wide.
"We're just glad we got to be a part of it," Sean added. "It was magnificent."
"Has your need for blood been satisfied yet?" Harry asked his long-time friend.
"Do you think it has?" she asked rhetorically. "But I'm almost satisfied."
"Almost?"
"Well…"
Monday morning saw each student with a large, leather bound photo album. Each teacher received one and even the house elves had been gifted a kitchen copy. Madam Pince had received five copies so that they could be added to the library — taking her job very seriously, the aging librarian would add them to the school's book collection regardless of content.
The morning of their delivery would be forever marked as the day laughter shook the castle from dungeon to tower. Even Hagrid's hut gave a rumble.
In gold stenciling, it was titled the "Project Pranks — the Albus Dumbledore Compendium." Inside were magical pictures of every prank that had been visited upon the venerated headmaster. At least half of them hadn't been seen by the general student populace as they were the images from his private quarters or office.
In a carefully warded corner of the Gryffindor common room normally claimed by the DA lions, the core group were hemming and hawing over their own books.
"How did you get these?" Harry asked as he looked at pictures from the Headmaster's private quarters, increasingly blown away by his brilliant brunette friend.
"House elves," she smiled happily.
"Didn't even know you could get their memories in a pensieve,"
"Winky and Chie worked something out,"
Harry happily thumbed through the book before securing it with his cloak and other photo album in his DA trunk attached to his amulet.
"So what's the plan today?"
"Classes, dinner, then the library to research our transfiguration essays," Hermione outlined.
"But what about setting up watch on Malfoy and-"
"Gareth is seeing to it," Ron interrupted. "Said he didn't like the ferret's shifty look."
"He always looks shifty,"
"Apparently he's been looking extra shifty,"
"Okay but what about the Wizengamot?"
"Susan is talking to Neville's gran and Andromeda Tonks; they'll take over the Potter and Black proxy respectively."
"Give Andromeda Ravenborough too,"
"How about we wait to see if she even agrees?" Hermione suggested. "She doesn't even know who she's voting for yet and we don't know how completely we can trust her."
"Aren't you showing her an outline of how we want to vote-"
"Harry, just let them handle it. You're going to run yourself into the ground at this rate," Hermione stopped him. "Plus, you can't interfere in the Wizengamot until after Umbridge's trial is over. It'd be a conflict of interest."
"How long until that charade is done?"
"Two more days according to Amelia," Hermione answered. "Either way, don't worry about it."
"Yeah mate," Ron pitched in. "Now let's go to breakfast. Maybe we can get a fly in before dinner."
"You want help practicing for keeper tryouts?"
"Don't know if it's my year yet,"
"Nonsense," Harry waved off. "McLaggen did rotten last year, only good in practice."
Hermione smiled as the boys devolved into talk about Quidditch. And it did count as a devolution in conversation, mind you, because flying broomsticks and deadly balls hundreds of feet into the air- I mean, really? Shaking her head of that tangent, she was glad to see her boys talking about something more inane than war or battle strategies.
A/N: Well, you guys are at the end of what I have pre-written. I really still have a lot of inspiration and muse for this story but I'm very low on time. Your kind words and reviews mean so much to me - thank you all for being so supportive. I hope you enjoyed this chapter; if anything, I feel like this might be one I go back and revamp later.