A/N and Disclaimer:
Cloe: Hey look I'm not posting it at 3am for once.
Gryf: Congrats.
Gryf: But I wish it was 3 am...
Gryf: ~whines~ I seem more awake then!
Cloe: Fine, you wanna wait and then we can write this?
Gryf: Er...no.
Cloe: ::looks smug:: Didn't think so.
Gryf: Whatever. Ok, disclaimer.
Gryf: Anything not JKR's is probably ours.
Cloe: And if that isn't ours its someone else's.
Gryf: But the ideas for what Snape...eh...goes through...is all ours.
Cloe: In this chapter you will find, more pranks, a new (and utterly unimportant) DADA teacher who you never meet, and a nasty replacement...who heh heh you'll see.
Gryf: And the nasty replacement isn't an accident.
Cloe: Oh one warning if you have a week heart or are pregnant or taking medication, proceed at your own risk.
Gryf: Yeah, you just might laugh yourself into a heart attack.
Gryf: BTW, in case anyone is curious, we're not even half done with this fic.
Cloe: Yeah, and we're already starting a prequel called 'A Certain Sense of Irony'.
Gryf: But it's not posted yet...or will be for a while.
Gryf: Once it is, it will soon be joined by a sequel...a sequel of that...and hopefully thousands of reviews!
Gryf: ~continues to dream hopefully of plentiful reviewers~
Cloe: So look out for more up dates, we'll finish this and start on those ... eventually.
Gryf: Remember, if you have any suggestions for outfits or cameos, email me at Lizmystic@aol.com.
Cloe: Yeah, don't email me 'cos I'll just forget.
Gryf: Yeah, I'm the packrat. I'm even logging this...I think...maybe not...nah.
Gryf: But I am the packrat, so if you email me what a suggestion, 99% it will get in.
Cloe: Unless I don't like it.
Gryf: Which can be discouragingly often, but please don't be discouraged.
Cloe: Chances are if its funny, or really imaginative it will get in somewhere.
Gryf: And we'll even start a thank you list at the bottom and include you.
Cloe: Yep, so onto Chapter Eight?
Gryf: Yeah, it's almost done.
Gryf: I just have to get past the hail and the wind...
Gryf: To the transfiguration part...even if Circe is a passable weather witch.
Gryf: Er...I'll shut up...
Cloe: Thank you.
Cloe: And Gryffith? This chapter I'm about to post, is chapter eight.
Cloe: You are thinking of chapter nine.
Gryf: Ok...then chapter 9.
Gryf: If the prologue had a slot for itself, then chapter 8 would stay chapter 8.
Cloe: Yeah yeah. We've had this conversation before, Gryffith my dear, lets not get into it again.
Gryf: You started it!
Gryf: And don't call me dear, there's nothing "dear" about me.
Cloe: I'm not listening, I'm not listening ::plugs ears:: lalalala I can't hear you.
Gryf: Ok, we need to stop soon...this A/N is almost longer than the chapter!
Cloe: ::umplugs one ear:: I'm posting now, dear. So stop talking, sheesh.
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out at Cloe and leaves~
Cloe: ::smirks:: I'm still getting the last word. . .
*******************
Guardian Angel from Hell,
Chapter Eight, AHHH! He has Chicken Legs!
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
by Gryffith and Cloe
*******************
Chapter Eight
Ron yawned awake the next morning in the shadows of his canopy bed, woken by the sounds of someone scrabbling in the next bed, Harry's bed. He sat bolt upright, suddenly tense and uptight and having freaky flashbacks of a figure standing over him with a knife-who he now knew to be Sirius Black and who he knew held no grudge against him-and hearing again and again Neville being scolded for writing his passwords down only for a stranger to find them.
Muscles taut, Ron slipped his fingers around the pull-cord and yanked it down vigorously, sending the curtain flapping to the side and to find himself staring into Harry's startled green eyes. Relieved, he sat back in bed, "What the hell are you doing, Harry?" He looked out into the twilight darkness, "And what time is it?"
Harry sighed, "I'm looking for the map. And the clock is over there."
The redhead glanced over; the red lines were arranged in the shape of 5:39 AM. "Ugh, when I get back to sleep it will be time to get up! Oh and which map are you looking for?"
"The marauders map, Ron."
"But-I thought it was confiscated!"
"No, I got it back. I want to keep track of Circe this time."
"Oh…ok. What day is it again?"
"Friday."
"Oh man…Professor Fwelip and Snape! What a combo…if they teamed up they could bore and bully the world to death and it would be theirs to command."
"Oh hush, don't compare her to Snape; she may be bore, but at least she's not a bully."
"I don't think so. I think a bore's as bad as a bully. Do you need any help looking for that map?"
"Yeah, I remember putting it in this trunk but I can't remember where."
Ron climbed down and helped him look until breakfast about two hours later, and they had cleaned out the trunk almost to the very bottom. From there it was a matter of minutes-
"Hey! Harry, Ron, the others are already at breakfast. You don't want to miss it, do you?"
The two boys looked up at Neville, at each other, and then back at the trunk. Ron stood up, "Come on, Harry, we'll get it after lunch."
The black haired boy nodded and the three grabbed their books and ran to follow the tantalizing smells wafting from the Great Hall. Yet breakfast was a quiet meal for them, mainly caused by the fact that Hermione was still sitting at the other end of the table in the talking with Neville-and looking completely miserable. Finishing quickly, the pair of boys made their way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, consumed with the attitude of "we're here so let's get this over with." The problem with that attitude: the teachers seemed to take it as an invitation to spin their class out even longer, especially some of the more spiteful teachers.
Ron entered the room first, looked to the teacher's desk automatically, froze, and then made way for Harry, muttering, "You were right, bullies are worse that bores. I would rather have the bore right now."
Harry walked in, confused, then saw the potions teacher at the defense against the dark arts teacher's desk, complete with greasy, oil-slicked hair and nasty smile. The boys stared in silence for a moment, then the redhead stuttered, "Wh-where's the Professor?" referring to the lean and angular hag who had been hired at the last minute to take the class.
Professor Snape smiled condescendingly, though the expression, so unusually worn, seemed more like a painful grimace, "Unfortunately, Professor Fwelip is a little under the weather this morning. Apparently someone had the bright idea to put an Engorgement charm in her tea. She is in the infirmary right now, recovering. Quite the interesting spectacle…her entire torso was swollen thanks the fumes breathed in and what she swallowed." Snape's eyes glinted maliciously in his now frowning sallow face; it was common knowledge that Snape hated any teacher who had the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
Ron started too snicker but Harry elbowed the redhead and prodded him to a seat in the back of the room before students coming in got there first. Neville, who had been held up by a trick staircase and a fake wall, stumbled into the room last and was surprised to see Snape sitting at the teacher's desk. Wanly he took the front right corner seat by the chained cabinet-he always had that seat cause he was always last to arrive; the cabinet hadn't been used since Mad-Eye Moody had taught last year (very few of the Hogwarts students actually knew that Mad Eye Moody hadn't taught that year) and rumor had it that inside were a collection of skulls, or a death eater that he kept to torture for fun, or other such things.
Professor Snape took 5 points from Gryffindor because Neville was late, causing all the Gryffindors to groan and whisper complaints to each other. In retaliation to that, Snape assigned the class a two-foot long essay on the habitats and habits of Hurroks, causing the entire class to grumble. Leering at them, the sallow-faced teacher followed it up by lecturing them all on golbats and their properties. Dean Thomas rolled his eyes and scrounged among his pile of books and papers for something to doodle on. At last he discreetly pulls out the naughty magazine his older brother had left lying for anyone to see…or take. He found a blank page, the back of a full-length picture, and took out a pen and started doodling, pretending to take notes. At last Dean finished what he was doing and quickly held it over his shoulder for Hermione to pass to Seamus-all three were used to this arrangement and Hermione usually found Dean's drawings interesting or would add something to Seamus's notes. Hermione took the note and started to glance at the drawings…but saw the naughty magazine picture first. It was the kind of thing one would see at a strip club, made to interest dumb males. Her mouth turned slight upward at the edges as she imagined what a man would say, think, or feel if he was forced into one of those embarrassing outfits. Quickly she dismissed the notion, glanced at the sketches, and passed them back to Seamus. The Irish boy, when he received the folded magazine page, paid more attention to the stripper than to the sketches, much to Hermione's disgust.
The class went on monotonously…until footsteps echoed on the stone along the aisle between the right column of desks and the wall, from the door to the cabinet. The chains rattled and the lock seemed to disappear for a moment, but was visible again with an audible click. Snape glared at Neville, who was nearest the cabinet, but didn't say anything. He was just talking about their venomous wing tips when a high-pitched cackle ruptured his lecture and iridescent lavender smoke began to billow out from behind the chained closet-only Neville heard the small TINK-tink-tink of the metal smoke bomb on the stone floor before it exploded. Snape, who was at the other side of the room, saw the smoke and glared suspiciously. Neville took out his wand and tried to look brave, but only succeeded in looked incompetently stupid. The closet began to clang and clamor and disrupt the lecture, so Snape finally snapped, "Longbottom! Open that door immediately and stop fooling with it!"
Neville gawked at the closet door for a moment, and then realized that the chain, caught on a stray hook, was all that was keeping whatever was thrashing inside from getting out. He gulped and tapped the chain from the hook, causing it to slither with a tinkling fluidity through the padlock and to the floor. The closet doors flew open and out came…Professor Snape! Neville backed away from it, terrified.
Hermione leapt from her seat, "It's a boggart, Neville! A boggart!"
Although she screamed, Neville didn't appear to hear her. The brunette grimaced and then bellowed, "RIDDIKULUS!!!"
The boggart flashed, causing everyone to look away or at least blink, and when they could see again every single jaw in the room dropped. Instead of the customary black robes and boots, the Snape look-alike was foolishly standing in black spiked French heels, its hairy white legs shivered, as the stripper's outfit didn't go any lower than the pelvis. The scanty skirt barely covered what looked like black underwear and three lumps showed in front: Snape's squished genitals. The outfit's top piece was basically an elastic strip of black cloth and looked unnecessary and idiotic against Snape's straight, pale torso. To make it even more embarrassing, red lipstick, pink blush, and sea green eye shadow adorned the man's pasty lips, cheeks, and eyes, not to mention the plastic headband from which two big white rabbit ears stuck up perkily. His face looked like an over-enthusiastic rainbow!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" The look-alike Snape had glanced down and sized up his new outfit. His skinny legs wobbled and his sausage-round arms flapped irately as the boggart fought for balance. The room erupted into a surprised but thunderous roar of laughter and the startled boggart tried to take a step forward in the heels but when he put his weight back on them the thin spikes snapped under the strain and the boggart tumbled to the floor, spurring even more guffaws, snorts, and belly laughing. At the very back of the room, Ron thought he heard a clicking noise, but he pushed the notion aside and concentrated on trying not to burst with laughter. Unexpectedly, the boggart exploded and it's ethereal remains blended as silver steam with the purple smoke and gradually both masses of gas dispersed.
The snickers went on for several minutes and then died down as everyone turned to Professor Snape to see what he would do. But it didn't appear as though their teacher could speak, as his teeth were ground together so tight that no glue was stronger and his usually sallow face was so dark a purple that the rest of him must be stark white as so much blood occupied his head. At last his white lips parted and the furious words forced themselves through clenched teeth, "Who let that boggart out?"
Neville stuttered, "Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-you did, s-sir."
Dean nodded affirmatively, "Yeah, you told him to."
Snape's pitiless black eyes bugged out at the tall artist and he hissed menacingly, "Did I ask you, *Mister* Thomas?"
Dean shook his head, "No, sir. But you didn't ask anyone. Who else was supposed to answer?"
Harry leaned over and muttered under his breath to Ron, "Prejudiced git."
Ron snorted and the teacher's bloodshot eyes glowered at the redhead and Snape hissed with even more percussive emphasis on chosen syllables, And *what* is so *funny*, *Mister* Weasley?"
Ron coughed to gain time and to cover another guffaw, "Er… ahem… er… do I think what is funny, sir?"
"That is what I asked you, Mister Weasley."
"Er…well the way you say Mister Thomas and Mister Weasley instead of the regular Mister strikes me as bloody hysterical, sir," the redhead replied, carefully maintaining a straight face.
Snape's eyes popped, "Ten points from Gryffindor for that remark! And Miss Granger!"
Speaking above several more snorts, the brunette gulped, "Um… yes, sir?"
"Exactly why, when you said the spell, did the boggart look like that?"
Hermione blushed and carefully avoided looking at Seamus and Dean, "Well, you see, sir, I had recently seen such an idiotic outfit in a Muggle magazine and I had wondered how a man would feel if he were forced into such and embarrassing get up."
"Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
"What for!" Hermione demanded indignantly, hands on hips.
"For being exposed to such magazines!"
One or two Ravenclaws grinned, but the majority looked troubled. Rand protested, "But sir! Hermione only did what we'd all been taught to do!"
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for speaking out of turn!"
No one dared say anything else for the rest of the class and there was a stampede to get out when it was finally dismissed. Unfortunately for the Gryffindors, they'd be going right back to Snape after lunch. In the Great Hall, Harry snagged a bite to eat and then rushed to the Gryffindor common room, followed by Ron. Together the boys collected the marauders map and started to go to potions, but they heard some noises in the far corner of the common room.
"Hello?" Ron called out.
Colin Creevey's head popped up from behind a chair, "Oh, hi Harry."
Ron blushed and frowned while Harry replied, "What's wrong?"
Colin's lip trembled, "I can't find my camera. I've been looking all morning. It was missing when I woke up."
"You've been looking all morning? What classes have you missed?" Harry asked surprise evident in his voice.
Colin sighed, "I'm gonna get it from Professor Sprout, but, oh well."
The fifth years shrugged and exited through the portrait hole. Ron tosses his head back at the room, "Well, at least Creevey can't snap so many pictures of you."
Harry laughed and the boys joked about what could have happened to the camera until they entered the dungeon. Most of the students were already there, so the pair sat down quickly. In a few moments Professor Snape came out from the back room, muttering something about the consistency of the oil he had just finished rubbing over his scalp. The teacher chose a few students to hand out vials of the Firox venom and then began explaining its properties and uses.
Harry was just about to bring out the map when Snape asked a question and called on Hermione's upraised hand.
"When fresh, the venom can be used to burn away warts or other fungi. But if it is prepared carefully it can calm upset stomachs, help heal internal injuries, and keep a person from freezing to death," Hermione answered promptly.
"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "Stop being so arrogant in your efforts to have a bigger brain than your companions, Ms. Granger."
Seamus shouted, "You called on her! She was just answering your question!"
Harry stood up, "Hey! She doesn't try to be better than anybody! She just wants to be the best!" Several Slytherins snickered and Hermione burned red as Ron pulled Harry back down.
Annoyed the redhead tried to repair his friend's damage, "What Harry meant was that Hermione always tries to do her best, unlike some people, so naturally she would know more. And you can't take points from Gryffindor for that! You called on her!"
Snape took five more points for the disruption and started to turn on Ron, but he felt his head instead, "Why is my head tingling… AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
The class roared with laughter. Why? For their teacher had suddenly grown a gargantuan purple afro, that's why. The spectacle grow even more incredible, even though Parvati knew no color would clash so against that pallid-now white face than that lurid purple, when purple, ramrod straight braids tight with starched pink ribbons sprouted from his neck.
But…then hairs on the side of his head began curling and lowering down, setting off a collective disappointed groan from the majority of the class.
Boots and shoes scuffed on the floor and whispers sounding suspiciously like, "Almost!" and "Too bad it couldn't have lasted" ran around the room. Most of the students turned their hands back to the tasks in front of them but a few remained to watch the curling hair. And they watched, waiting for it to stop. And so they waited.
But…the curling didn't stop. The hairs tightened into impenetrable ringlets, faded to a dead brown-gray, and then fell off. One by one, every jaw in that room dropped except one, Snape's never having closed since his scream died down, as all hair on his head except for down the middle fell off, leaving the man with a lurid purple, foot-high Mohawk and tiny little braids on his neck.
And as one, the entire class roared, most of them just laughing, and others praising the prankster for such a sight and a rare few cursing the prankster for the cramp in their sides caused by laughing too hard.
In the midst of the confusion, Harry discreetly pulled out the map and nudged Ron. The two boys sorted with their fingers through all the names there, distracted by all the surnames and annoyed that they hadn't learned Circe's last name. Then, by the doorway, was Circe…Malfoy? She was a Malfoy? How could she be? She was a Gryffindor! She was cool! She was…but it said right there clear as-
"Aha!" the map was whipped from their grasps by a white claw-like hand.
The boys looked at each other aghast and then glowered their loathing at Professor Snape, although they had to swallow snickers and guffaws at the sight of that Mohawk and those braids!
Stifling the urge to laugh with his hatred for the potion's teacher, Ron stood up, becoming a few inches taller, aside from the Mohawk, and reached for the map, "Give that back!"
"Sit down!" Snape barked, holding the map behind him.
But then the map was torn from his grasp and held aloft by two disembodied hands. One hand let go, disappeared, and then surfaced again holding a wand, which tapped the parchment accompanied by the words "Mischief Managed."
Snape sputtered angrily, "Give that back! Show yourself!"
The hand holding the wand shifted the stick of wood to between thumb and palm, and then the fingers curled and pulled something back…revealing a silvery blonde ponytail, brilliant purple eyes, and a cheerful grin. "G'day, mates!" she chirped in an affected Aussie accent.
Draco's eyes bulged, "Th-th-th-that's the girl that that that-"
Circe's lurid eyes rolled comically, "Please do us all the favor of shutting up!"
As the Slytherins digested this astonishing information, the pale hands rolled up the parchment, tucked it beneath invisible folds of invisible cloth, and retrieved a camera. A camera, most of the Gryffindors recognized as Colin Creevey's personal favorite camera, and the hands held item up to her eyes aimed at Snape, "Say Mohawk!"
The black box in the white hands clicked and the little piece of glass on top of it emitted an enhanced flash, forcing everyone in the room to blink and/or look away, and when their vision cleared the disembodied head and hands were gone.
***************
P.S. from Cloe and Gryffith (Ha I got my name first)
A Thank You, to all our friends and fateful readers (even if you don't review), and we'd like to recommend Sinead's "Fifteen years and Back Again" (Sin Head! Say hi to Dai for me) and AngieJ's "Trouble in Paradise." (Thanks for reading our fic, glad you like it.) Also if you are in the mood for dark weird Draco-based fics and filks, go take a look at Lindsey Beth's stuff. (Did that one girl ever stop stealing your idea?)
Remember to Review, we love feed back, and praise if you just wanna give that out. ; )
Cloe: Hey look I'm not posting it at 3am for once.
Gryf: Congrats.
Gryf: But I wish it was 3 am...
Gryf: ~whines~ I seem more awake then!
Cloe: Fine, you wanna wait and then we can write this?
Gryf: Er...no.
Cloe: ::looks smug:: Didn't think so.
Gryf: Whatever. Ok, disclaimer.
Gryf: Anything not JKR's is probably ours.
Cloe: And if that isn't ours its someone else's.
Gryf: But the ideas for what Snape...eh...goes through...is all ours.
Cloe: In this chapter you will find, more pranks, a new (and utterly unimportant) DADA teacher who you never meet, and a nasty replacement...who heh heh you'll see.
Gryf: And the nasty replacement isn't an accident.
Cloe: Oh one warning if you have a week heart or are pregnant or taking medication, proceed at your own risk.
Gryf: Yeah, you just might laugh yourself into a heart attack.
Gryf: BTW, in case anyone is curious, we're not even half done with this fic.
Cloe: Yeah, and we're already starting a prequel called 'A Certain Sense of Irony'.
Gryf: But it's not posted yet...or will be for a while.
Gryf: Once it is, it will soon be joined by a sequel...a sequel of that...and hopefully thousands of reviews!
Gryf: ~continues to dream hopefully of plentiful reviewers~
Cloe: So look out for more up dates, we'll finish this and start on those ... eventually.
Gryf: Remember, if you have any suggestions for outfits or cameos, email me at Lizmystic@aol.com.
Cloe: Yeah, don't email me 'cos I'll just forget.
Gryf: Yeah, I'm the packrat. I'm even logging this...I think...maybe not...nah.
Gryf: But I am the packrat, so if you email me what a suggestion, 99% it will get in.
Cloe: Unless I don't like it.
Gryf: Which can be discouragingly often, but please don't be discouraged.
Cloe: Chances are if its funny, or really imaginative it will get in somewhere.
Gryf: And we'll even start a thank you list at the bottom and include you.
Cloe: Yep, so onto Chapter Eight?
Gryf: Yeah, it's almost done.
Gryf: I just have to get past the hail and the wind...
Gryf: To the transfiguration part...even if Circe is a passable weather witch.
Gryf: Er...I'll shut up...
Cloe: Thank you.
Cloe: And Gryffith? This chapter I'm about to post, is chapter eight.
Cloe: You are thinking of chapter nine.
Gryf: Ok...then chapter 9.
Gryf: If the prologue had a slot for itself, then chapter 8 would stay chapter 8.
Cloe: Yeah yeah. We've had this conversation before, Gryffith my dear, lets not get into it again.
Gryf: You started it!
Gryf: And don't call me dear, there's nothing "dear" about me.
Cloe: I'm not listening, I'm not listening ::plugs ears:: lalalala I can't hear you.
Gryf: Ok, we need to stop soon...this A/N is almost longer than the chapter!
Cloe: ::umplugs one ear:: I'm posting now, dear. So stop talking, sheesh.
Gryf: ~sticks tongue out at Cloe and leaves~
Cloe: ::smirks:: I'm still getting the last word. . .
*******************
Guardian Angel from Hell,
Chapter Eight, AHHH! He has Chicken Legs!
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
by Gryffith and Cloe
*******************
Chapter Eight
Ron yawned awake the next morning in the shadows of his canopy bed, woken by the sounds of someone scrabbling in the next bed, Harry's bed. He sat bolt upright, suddenly tense and uptight and having freaky flashbacks of a figure standing over him with a knife-who he now knew to be Sirius Black and who he knew held no grudge against him-and hearing again and again Neville being scolded for writing his passwords down only for a stranger to find them.
Muscles taut, Ron slipped his fingers around the pull-cord and yanked it down vigorously, sending the curtain flapping to the side and to find himself staring into Harry's startled green eyes. Relieved, he sat back in bed, "What the hell are you doing, Harry?" He looked out into the twilight darkness, "And what time is it?"
Harry sighed, "I'm looking for the map. And the clock is over there."
The redhead glanced over; the red lines were arranged in the shape of 5:39 AM. "Ugh, when I get back to sleep it will be time to get up! Oh and which map are you looking for?"
"The marauders map, Ron."
"But-I thought it was confiscated!"
"No, I got it back. I want to keep track of Circe this time."
"Oh…ok. What day is it again?"
"Friday."
"Oh man…Professor Fwelip and Snape! What a combo…if they teamed up they could bore and bully the world to death and it would be theirs to command."
"Oh hush, don't compare her to Snape; she may be bore, but at least she's not a bully."
"I don't think so. I think a bore's as bad as a bully. Do you need any help looking for that map?"
"Yeah, I remember putting it in this trunk but I can't remember where."
Ron climbed down and helped him look until breakfast about two hours later, and they had cleaned out the trunk almost to the very bottom. From there it was a matter of minutes-
"Hey! Harry, Ron, the others are already at breakfast. You don't want to miss it, do you?"
The two boys looked up at Neville, at each other, and then back at the trunk. Ron stood up, "Come on, Harry, we'll get it after lunch."
The black haired boy nodded and the three grabbed their books and ran to follow the tantalizing smells wafting from the Great Hall. Yet breakfast was a quiet meal for them, mainly caused by the fact that Hermione was still sitting at the other end of the table in the talking with Neville-and looking completely miserable. Finishing quickly, the pair of boys made their way to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class, consumed with the attitude of "we're here so let's get this over with." The problem with that attitude: the teachers seemed to take it as an invitation to spin their class out even longer, especially some of the more spiteful teachers.
Ron entered the room first, looked to the teacher's desk automatically, froze, and then made way for Harry, muttering, "You were right, bullies are worse that bores. I would rather have the bore right now."
Harry walked in, confused, then saw the potions teacher at the defense against the dark arts teacher's desk, complete with greasy, oil-slicked hair and nasty smile. The boys stared in silence for a moment, then the redhead stuttered, "Wh-where's the Professor?" referring to the lean and angular hag who had been hired at the last minute to take the class.
Professor Snape smiled condescendingly, though the expression, so unusually worn, seemed more like a painful grimace, "Unfortunately, Professor Fwelip is a little under the weather this morning. Apparently someone had the bright idea to put an Engorgement charm in her tea. She is in the infirmary right now, recovering. Quite the interesting spectacle…her entire torso was swollen thanks the fumes breathed in and what she swallowed." Snape's eyes glinted maliciously in his now frowning sallow face; it was common knowledge that Snape hated any teacher who had the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.
Ron started too snicker but Harry elbowed the redhead and prodded him to a seat in the back of the room before students coming in got there first. Neville, who had been held up by a trick staircase and a fake wall, stumbled into the room last and was surprised to see Snape sitting at the teacher's desk. Wanly he took the front right corner seat by the chained cabinet-he always had that seat cause he was always last to arrive; the cabinet hadn't been used since Mad-Eye Moody had taught last year (very few of the Hogwarts students actually knew that Mad Eye Moody hadn't taught that year) and rumor had it that inside were a collection of skulls, or a death eater that he kept to torture for fun, or other such things.
Professor Snape took 5 points from Gryffindor because Neville was late, causing all the Gryffindors to groan and whisper complaints to each other. In retaliation to that, Snape assigned the class a two-foot long essay on the habitats and habits of Hurroks, causing the entire class to grumble. Leering at them, the sallow-faced teacher followed it up by lecturing them all on golbats and their properties. Dean Thomas rolled his eyes and scrounged among his pile of books and papers for something to doodle on. At last he discreetly pulls out the naughty magazine his older brother had left lying for anyone to see…or take. He found a blank page, the back of a full-length picture, and took out a pen and started doodling, pretending to take notes. At last Dean finished what he was doing and quickly held it over his shoulder for Hermione to pass to Seamus-all three were used to this arrangement and Hermione usually found Dean's drawings interesting or would add something to Seamus's notes. Hermione took the note and started to glance at the drawings…but saw the naughty magazine picture first. It was the kind of thing one would see at a strip club, made to interest dumb males. Her mouth turned slight upward at the edges as she imagined what a man would say, think, or feel if he was forced into one of those embarrassing outfits. Quickly she dismissed the notion, glanced at the sketches, and passed them back to Seamus. The Irish boy, when he received the folded magazine page, paid more attention to the stripper than to the sketches, much to Hermione's disgust.
The class went on monotonously…until footsteps echoed on the stone along the aisle between the right column of desks and the wall, from the door to the cabinet. The chains rattled and the lock seemed to disappear for a moment, but was visible again with an audible click. Snape glared at Neville, who was nearest the cabinet, but didn't say anything. He was just talking about their venomous wing tips when a high-pitched cackle ruptured his lecture and iridescent lavender smoke began to billow out from behind the chained closet-only Neville heard the small TINK-tink-tink of the metal smoke bomb on the stone floor before it exploded. Snape, who was at the other side of the room, saw the smoke and glared suspiciously. Neville took out his wand and tried to look brave, but only succeeded in looked incompetently stupid. The closet began to clang and clamor and disrupt the lecture, so Snape finally snapped, "Longbottom! Open that door immediately and stop fooling with it!"
Neville gawked at the closet door for a moment, and then realized that the chain, caught on a stray hook, was all that was keeping whatever was thrashing inside from getting out. He gulped and tapped the chain from the hook, causing it to slither with a tinkling fluidity through the padlock and to the floor. The closet doors flew open and out came…Professor Snape! Neville backed away from it, terrified.
Hermione leapt from her seat, "It's a boggart, Neville! A boggart!"
Although she screamed, Neville didn't appear to hear her. The brunette grimaced and then bellowed, "RIDDIKULUS!!!"
The boggart flashed, causing everyone to look away or at least blink, and when they could see again every single jaw in the room dropped. Instead of the customary black robes and boots, the Snape look-alike was foolishly standing in black spiked French heels, its hairy white legs shivered, as the stripper's outfit didn't go any lower than the pelvis. The scanty skirt barely covered what looked like black underwear and three lumps showed in front: Snape's squished genitals. The outfit's top piece was basically an elastic strip of black cloth and looked unnecessary and idiotic against Snape's straight, pale torso. To make it even more embarrassing, red lipstick, pink blush, and sea green eye shadow adorned the man's pasty lips, cheeks, and eyes, not to mention the plastic headband from which two big white rabbit ears stuck up perkily. His face looked like an over-enthusiastic rainbow!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!" The look-alike Snape had glanced down and sized up his new outfit. His skinny legs wobbled and his sausage-round arms flapped irately as the boggart fought for balance. The room erupted into a surprised but thunderous roar of laughter and the startled boggart tried to take a step forward in the heels but when he put his weight back on them the thin spikes snapped under the strain and the boggart tumbled to the floor, spurring even more guffaws, snorts, and belly laughing. At the very back of the room, Ron thought he heard a clicking noise, but he pushed the notion aside and concentrated on trying not to burst with laughter. Unexpectedly, the boggart exploded and it's ethereal remains blended as silver steam with the purple smoke and gradually both masses of gas dispersed.
The snickers went on for several minutes and then died down as everyone turned to Professor Snape to see what he would do. But it didn't appear as though their teacher could speak, as his teeth were ground together so tight that no glue was stronger and his usually sallow face was so dark a purple that the rest of him must be stark white as so much blood occupied his head. At last his white lips parted and the furious words forced themselves through clenched teeth, "Who let that boggart out?"
Neville stuttered, "Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-you did, s-sir."
Dean nodded affirmatively, "Yeah, you told him to."
Snape's pitiless black eyes bugged out at the tall artist and he hissed menacingly, "Did I ask you, *Mister* Thomas?"
Dean shook his head, "No, sir. But you didn't ask anyone. Who else was supposed to answer?"
Harry leaned over and muttered under his breath to Ron, "Prejudiced git."
Ron snorted and the teacher's bloodshot eyes glowered at the redhead and Snape hissed with even more percussive emphasis on chosen syllables, And *what* is so *funny*, *Mister* Weasley?"
Ron coughed to gain time and to cover another guffaw, "Er… ahem… er… do I think what is funny, sir?"
"That is what I asked you, Mister Weasley."
"Er…well the way you say Mister Thomas and Mister Weasley instead of the regular Mister strikes me as bloody hysterical, sir," the redhead replied, carefully maintaining a straight face.
Snape's eyes popped, "Ten points from Gryffindor for that remark! And Miss Granger!"
Speaking above several more snorts, the brunette gulped, "Um… yes, sir?"
"Exactly why, when you said the spell, did the boggart look like that?"
Hermione blushed and carefully avoided looking at Seamus and Dean, "Well, you see, sir, I had recently seen such an idiotic outfit in a Muggle magazine and I had wondered how a man would feel if he were forced into such and embarrassing get up."
"Twenty points from Gryffindor!"
"What for!" Hermione demanded indignantly, hands on hips.
"For being exposed to such magazines!"
One or two Ravenclaws grinned, but the majority looked troubled. Rand protested, "But sir! Hermione only did what we'd all been taught to do!"
"Ten points from Ravenclaw for speaking out of turn!"
No one dared say anything else for the rest of the class and there was a stampede to get out when it was finally dismissed. Unfortunately for the Gryffindors, they'd be going right back to Snape after lunch. In the Great Hall, Harry snagged a bite to eat and then rushed to the Gryffindor common room, followed by Ron. Together the boys collected the marauders map and started to go to potions, but they heard some noises in the far corner of the common room.
"Hello?" Ron called out.
Colin Creevey's head popped up from behind a chair, "Oh, hi Harry."
Ron blushed and frowned while Harry replied, "What's wrong?"
Colin's lip trembled, "I can't find my camera. I've been looking all morning. It was missing when I woke up."
"You've been looking all morning? What classes have you missed?" Harry asked surprise evident in his voice.
Colin sighed, "I'm gonna get it from Professor Sprout, but, oh well."
The fifth years shrugged and exited through the portrait hole. Ron tosses his head back at the room, "Well, at least Creevey can't snap so many pictures of you."
Harry laughed and the boys joked about what could have happened to the camera until they entered the dungeon. Most of the students were already there, so the pair sat down quickly. In a few moments Professor Snape came out from the back room, muttering something about the consistency of the oil he had just finished rubbing over his scalp. The teacher chose a few students to hand out vials of the Firox venom and then began explaining its properties and uses.
Harry was just about to bring out the map when Snape asked a question and called on Hermione's upraised hand.
"When fresh, the venom can be used to burn away warts or other fungi. But if it is prepared carefully it can calm upset stomachs, help heal internal injuries, and keep a person from freezing to death," Hermione answered promptly.
"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "Stop being so arrogant in your efforts to have a bigger brain than your companions, Ms. Granger."
Seamus shouted, "You called on her! She was just answering your question!"
Harry stood up, "Hey! She doesn't try to be better than anybody! She just wants to be the best!" Several Slytherins snickered and Hermione burned red as Ron pulled Harry back down.
Annoyed the redhead tried to repair his friend's damage, "What Harry meant was that Hermione always tries to do her best, unlike some people, so naturally she would know more. And you can't take points from Gryffindor for that! You called on her!"
Snape took five more points for the disruption and started to turn on Ron, but he felt his head instead, "Why is my head tingling… AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"
The class roared with laughter. Why? For their teacher had suddenly grown a gargantuan purple afro, that's why. The spectacle grow even more incredible, even though Parvati knew no color would clash so against that pallid-now white face than that lurid purple, when purple, ramrod straight braids tight with starched pink ribbons sprouted from his neck.
But…then hairs on the side of his head began curling and lowering down, setting off a collective disappointed groan from the majority of the class.
Boots and shoes scuffed on the floor and whispers sounding suspiciously like, "Almost!" and "Too bad it couldn't have lasted" ran around the room. Most of the students turned their hands back to the tasks in front of them but a few remained to watch the curling hair. And they watched, waiting for it to stop. And so they waited.
But…the curling didn't stop. The hairs tightened into impenetrable ringlets, faded to a dead brown-gray, and then fell off. One by one, every jaw in that room dropped except one, Snape's never having closed since his scream died down, as all hair on his head except for down the middle fell off, leaving the man with a lurid purple, foot-high Mohawk and tiny little braids on his neck.
And as one, the entire class roared, most of them just laughing, and others praising the prankster for such a sight and a rare few cursing the prankster for the cramp in their sides caused by laughing too hard.
In the midst of the confusion, Harry discreetly pulled out the map and nudged Ron. The two boys sorted with their fingers through all the names there, distracted by all the surnames and annoyed that they hadn't learned Circe's last name. Then, by the doorway, was Circe…Malfoy? She was a Malfoy? How could she be? She was a Gryffindor! She was cool! She was…but it said right there clear as-
"Aha!" the map was whipped from their grasps by a white claw-like hand.
The boys looked at each other aghast and then glowered their loathing at Professor Snape, although they had to swallow snickers and guffaws at the sight of that Mohawk and those braids!
Stifling the urge to laugh with his hatred for the potion's teacher, Ron stood up, becoming a few inches taller, aside from the Mohawk, and reached for the map, "Give that back!"
"Sit down!" Snape barked, holding the map behind him.
But then the map was torn from his grasp and held aloft by two disembodied hands. One hand let go, disappeared, and then surfaced again holding a wand, which tapped the parchment accompanied by the words "Mischief Managed."
Snape sputtered angrily, "Give that back! Show yourself!"
The hand holding the wand shifted the stick of wood to between thumb and palm, and then the fingers curled and pulled something back…revealing a silvery blonde ponytail, brilliant purple eyes, and a cheerful grin. "G'day, mates!" she chirped in an affected Aussie accent.
Draco's eyes bulged, "Th-th-th-that's the girl that that that-"
Circe's lurid eyes rolled comically, "Please do us all the favor of shutting up!"
As the Slytherins digested this astonishing information, the pale hands rolled up the parchment, tucked it beneath invisible folds of invisible cloth, and retrieved a camera. A camera, most of the Gryffindors recognized as Colin Creevey's personal favorite camera, and the hands held item up to her eyes aimed at Snape, "Say Mohawk!"
The black box in the white hands clicked and the little piece of glass on top of it emitted an enhanced flash, forcing everyone in the room to blink and/or look away, and when their vision cleared the disembodied head and hands were gone.
***************
P.S. from Cloe and Gryffith (Ha I got my name first)
A Thank You, to all our friends and fateful readers (even if you don't review), and we'd like to recommend Sinead's "Fifteen years and Back Again" (Sin Head! Say hi to Dai for me) and AngieJ's "Trouble in Paradise." (Thanks for reading our fic, glad you like it.) Also if you are in the mood for dark weird Draco-based fics and filks, go take a look at Lindsey Beth's stuff. (Did that one girl ever stop stealing your idea?)
Remember to Review, we love feed back, and praise if you just wanna give that out. ; )
