Hot
Shots - Part Deux
Disclaimer: I don't own
nothin'. Not even what's-his-name Potter *grins* well, I have to stay true to
the challenge don't I? DO NOT MOCK ME! Hmph! Yeah...and, I think in this one
I've steered away from that plotline thingy from the movie and made it my own
story! YAY!
Now, if you guess what this fic is
for, then you'll be happy because you guessed right! YAY! Got it yet? OF COURSE
YOU DO! It's Mandy's challenge! YAY! The rules were:
-must be funny, must be in txt
format, and have a plot
-someone's ear must be cold
-someone needs to say"Lo ani lo
ohevet ha covah sheloh!" which means "No, I do not love your
hat!" in Hebrew. :)
-Molly Weasley needs to be mentioned
or in the fic (she's cool)
-you must write the entire fic
without ever using the name "Harry" (*gasp* I SAID IT!!!
NOOOOOOO!!!!!)
-someone needs to chew gum
obnoxiously
-and finally, there must be a
striped cat
NOW ENJOY! I LIKE TO YELL! READ!
THAT IS WHAT THOSE LITTLE LETTERS DOWN THERE ARE FOR!!!! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
(lots of R's, yes indeedy)RRRRRRRRR!
BOOM!
What's-his-face Potter cocked his
head. "You mean...it isn't the circus?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of
course not, doofus!"
"Um...I
don't think Hermione has ever said, or will say, 'Doofus'"
Too
bad. It's my fic. You don't like it, go write your own.
"I
can't. I'm your consience, remember?"
Yes,
unfortunately. And I think you spelt what's-it-called wrong.
"Did
I?"
Well
how am I supposed to know?!
"Hmph.
Fine. Let me be humiliated. Meanie."
Buttmunch.
"Buttmunch?"
Buttmunch.
"That's
really stupid and immature."
Look
who's talkin'.
Ron's eyes widened.
"It's...it's...it's..."
"'It's'
what?"
Just
shut up.
BOOM, CRACK!
The corridor floor split like an egg
does when you wham it on the side of a ceramic bowl. Uh...yeah. That would be
about right. I'll just shut up.
A very loud, deep, and faraway voice
echoed across the halls.
"RON...Ron....ron...ron...ron...YOU
FORGOT TO CLEAN YOUR ROOM...Room...room...room...room..."
Ron flinched. "Uh-oh..."
A flat-soled shoe the size of an
elephant came into view from around the corner. Then a glimpse of a
red-checkered dress. Then, lo and behold, Molly Weasley stood in front of them,
taller then...well...one of Bill Gates' mansions placed so that it was on its
side. That's pretty daggon big, if I may say so myself.
Mrs. Weasley's stared down at them
with her icy ("Icy?" Icy.) brown eyes, which were each about
the size of two wide-screen TVs, and said, "WHAT DID YOU SAY YOUNG
MAN?...Man?...man?...man?...man?..."
Ron glanced around nervously and
yelled, "Uh...nothing mum! Nothing at all!"
Ahem. Excuse me for the interruption
of that rather...er...interesting dialogue up there to point out to you what
the telemarketer was doing at this time.
Alvin Fumblefore saw the floor
crack, and he nodded solemnly. Well, cracked floors made him a bit queasy, but
every good salesperson knows a sucker when they see one. Hell, telemarketers
have even harder jobs at that, because they have to listen in order for
them to tell whether a person's a sucker or not.
Alvin started searching in his
pocket for something. Alvin was a sensible man, and though that has nothing to
do with what I'm about to say, I just thought I'd paint a little a picture of
his personality for you. Every wizard knows (with the exception of the very
stupid ones, of course) that the Hogwarts castle is magical. Everything about
it is magical. From the ceilings to the doors to the classrooms, and, yes, even
the floors hold magical properties of their own.
His face lit up as he grasped the item
he was looking for and pulled it out of the shadowy recesses of his robe. It
was a glass jar with some sort of blue, liquidy stuff in it. He walked over to
the crack, and waved the jar over it. Assuming he had caught the floor's
attention, he began his speech.
"Excuse me, but do you know how
horrible you look? No, no, I don't mean that you look horrible because people
walk on you; I mean you look like that because of that gigantic crack through
your middle. Is it painful? I bet it is. Now please pay attention, because I am
about to make you the deal of a lifetime, " he paused, savoring the effect
of the floor's attentive silence.
"What?"
Hey,
it's my story.
"I
didn't say anything."
Good.
Let's keep it that way.
It wasn't long till he started back
up again. "You see this jar I'm holding? It contains a little concoction I
like to call, 'Flooride'. Get it? Flooride? Whooo...I kill myself...anyway,
this here Flooride will heal up any cracks you have, get rid of all the
wrinkles, and shine those nasty black heel marks away as well. If you pay a bit
more, we could make it so that the dirt and dust particles disintegrate when
they touch you! All this can be yours, my friend, for the petty payment of 2500
galleons a week for the next fifty-two weeks. So, whaddaya say buddy? Take it
or leave it."
The floor considered it, got mad,
and spewed dirt and plaster into the telemarketer's face.
"Well gee, buddy, you don't
have to be that rude!" he said as he brushed the dirt off of him.
"I should have stuck with telephones..."
Now back to your regular written
fanfiction.
"Aw,
damn. I don't wanna go back. I want it to end. Hmph!"
You
cussed. Ha, ha, ha!
"Shut
up."
You
shut up.
"No,
I insist!"
Hey,
look, let me write the stupid story and then I'll shut up, okay?
"Stupid
story, you got that right...fine, have it your way."
Thank
you mighty one.
"DON'T LIE TO
ME!...Me!...me!...me!...me!..." Mrs. Weasley roared.
That person with the scar (who is he
again?) hissed something in Ron's ear. "It's the mother from Hell..."
Ron gulped. "Mum! What happened
to you, mum?!" he yelled up to his gigantic mother.
"YOUR FATHER WAS TINKERING WITH
THOSE MUGGLE THINGS AGAIN, AND I GUESS WHEN HE WAS ENCHANTING THEM SOMETHING
WENT WRONG, AND HERE I AM! THOUGHT I'D COME BY AND VISIT YOU AT YOUR WORK, BUT
THEN THEY TOLD ME YOU WERE ON DUTY, SO I ASKED THEM WHERE YOU WERE, AND THEY
SAID," her voice changed back to what might have been considered normal tones,
""They've left for Hogwarts, ma'am," THAT'S WHAT THEY TOLD ME,
SO I DECIDED TO GO AND TIDY UP YOUR DORMS, AND LET ME TELL YOU RONALD WEASLEY,
YOUR ROOM WAS NOT ACCEPTABLE IN MY STANDARDS! AND
UM...YOU...POTTER...YOUR OWL WAS WEARING PINK AND PURPLE POLKA DOT UNDERWEAR!
WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN TEACHING THAT BIRD?! AND THEN I,..I,...i,...i,...i,..."
"We get the point Mrs. Weasley,
" Hermione interrupted quickly. Mrs. Weasley's manner suddenly changed
immediately.
"HERMIONE?! IS THAT YOU?! OH, I
HAVEN'T SEEN YOU FOR AWHILE! HAVE YOU AND RON GOTTEN BACK TOGETHER?!...
Together?!... together?!... together?!...together?!..." Mrs. Weasley winked her huge
left eye.
Hermione and Ron suddenly started
blushing furiously. "Um...er...no, Mrs. Weasley..." Hermione
murmured.
"COME
AGAIN?!...Again?!...again?!...again?!...again?!" Mrs. Weasley asked as she leaned
down to hear her better.
Ron got a sudden inspiration.
"She said that we are---"
Hermione gave him a look that said,
'You say it, you die, bucko.' Ron took the hint.
"---not back together.
Yet." he added hopefully with a sideways glance at Hermione, who was now
busying herself by looking at her watch.
"OH...WELL THAT'S NICE,
THEN!...Then!...then!...then!...then!..." Molly said cheerfully.
"Mrs. Weasley?" shouted
the guy with messy black hair. "Isn't there somewhere you need to be right
now?"
Ron looked at the guy with relief.
Mrs. Weasley looked up thoughtfully,
which was not a very pleasant sight, as what's-his-face Potter, Ron, and
Hermione happened to see up her nose. No, that's not exactly your idea of a
pretty sight.
"COME TO THINK OF IT, THERE IS!
GOODBYE RON, HERMIONE, AND...THAT ONE KID RIGHT THERE...There...there...there...there..."
Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she walked (or more approriately, 'stomped') off.
The telemarketer, who had just now
noticed the huge woman, hurried over to um...that guy with the Firebolt, Ron,
and Hermione.
"Your mother?" he asked.
Ron nodded reluctantly.
"Er...yes..."
"A bit big isn't she? Do you
suppose she'd be interested in---"
"No." Ron cut him off.
"But---"
"Forget it."
Hermione sighed heavily. Looked like
they were never gonna find Professor Trelawney at the rate they were going. Not
that that was such a big loss. It just meant a huge cut on her paycheck.
Hey, you gotta make a living. Even if it does mean saving someone who you
absolutely loathe. Money is money, right? Right.
"Ahem." said a very
irritated, yet musical voice from behind them. They all whipped around to see,
amazingly, an orange and blue striped cat sitting comfortably in the middle of
the air. Well, technically, there isn't a 'middle of air'. Air is...air. But
you get the picture, right?
Anyway...
The cat's tail twitched and it
waggled it's whiskers royally.
"I am the Cat of Solving
Annoying Little Problems That You Really Don't Want Solved So You Can Give Up
and Go Home. Good evening."
They all blinked, which was sign
that they either had never heard of such a thing, or they were just confused
because the cat told who it was before it said, 'Good evening'. But whatever
the case, they blinked at the cat.
The cat got annoyed at that. Very
annoyed.
"Can you mortals not show the
proper respect for someone who is helping you?" it asked impatiently.
They blinked at it again.
"Look at the door, idiots.
Honestly..." The cat stood up, turned around, gave the telemarketer and
gang a nice view of his butt, and before it disappeared by walking through the
wall, it muttered, "No good mortals...can't figure anything out for
themselves..."
Hermione, having a higher
intelligence then her three companions, looked at the door to Professor
Trelawney's office. And there it was, pinned on the door with a sharpened
bagpipe horn, a piece of parchment with words cut out of a magazine and pasted
on it to form those things we literary folk like to call 'words'.
"Oooooooo...ahhhhhhh...we're
so impressed..."
Yay.
"Yay
yourself."
Lalalalalalalalalala!
I can't hear you! I'm not listening!
"Good."
What
was that, the wind?
Ron, who had been staring at
Hermione (of course), followed her gaze and, being very tall, he pulled the
horn out and gave Hermione the note. It read:
I
have her. You'll never find me. You all stink like rotten meat. Nyah, nyah,
nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah! Why don't you all just give up and go home? ARR! Oops...
YOU ALL SHOULD GO HOME YOU MEANIES AND LEAVE ME ALONE! Try again tomorrow!
Okay?
-
THE KIDNAPPER
P.S.
- MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Ron got a look of disgust on his
face. "Lo ani lo ohevet ha covah sheloh!"
"What?"
Ron shrugged. "I was
angry."
"Why?"
"Because he said I stink like
rotten meat!"
"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight..."
NCH! NCH! NCH!
The man with green eyes turned
around, "What the hell are you doing, Alvin?"
The head of Pigpimples looked at the
man and opened his mouth. The man saw a nice, big wad of yellowish gum on
Alvin's molars.
"I'm chewing gum
obnoxiously." Alvin said plainly. He started chewing again. NCH! NCH! NCH!
NCH! NCH! NCH! NCH! NCH!
"Well can you stop?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you won't buy a piece
of gum from me."
"How much?"
"Twenty-five galleons
each."
"NO WAY!"
TO BE CONTINUED...YEAH...SUUUUURE....
Yes,
of course it will, now shut up and review me. Why? Because deep, deep down
inside of you there is this little nagging voice that says, "Now why don't
you be good today and review somebody?" And that somebody should be ME!
MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Just kidding! I just like reviews, that's all... I also like
to sniff crack. That's not a crime, is it? It is? Aw crap...they're on to
me...(for those of you who are utterly serious and cannot take any joke in any
form, just remember, I AM KIDDING YOU...PEOPLE!)
toodles,
Ron Weasley's Cutie