August 31st. Tomorrow, the Hogwarts students would come back, complaining,
after having a nice summer, Albus Dumbledore had hoped. Though, he knew that
this would not be true. After frantically searching for several months, he
found no one who wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.
"Alby, this just came for you," Minerva McGonagall handed him a folded
letter. He read it aloud:
Thank you for the offer, but I have some important things to assess this year.
Love, Whitney Houston.
"Damn," Dumbledore said to himself, "Even the crackwhore dismissed the job
opportunity."
"Well," McGonagall said, annoyed, "We could just leave this class out this
year."
"Yes," he replied, "But, those poor children will never have the adequate
information they need." He stood up to go get a pot of tea laying on window
sill, when he tripped on an empty tea pot and fell out the open window.
McGonagall walked over to the window to see Dumbledore in a wretched heap 500
some odd feet (I don't know meters, I'm a dumb American) below. "Well," she
said to herself, "I better get Poppy."
After running, walking (McGonagall is getting awfully old, you know), pacing,
running again, walking, and finally power walking, she reached the hospital
wing.
"Poppy!" She yelled, gasping for breath, "Need . . . go . . . outside . . .
Alby!"
"Oh, you seem as if you ran a 15K race. Why don't you sit down for while?"
"Can't . . . dying . . . must . . . save."
"Oh, all right. Tell me where I need to go."
"Right . . . Outside . . . Dumbledore's window!"
After 10 minutes, Madame Pomfrey returned with the writhed figures of Albus
Dumbledore. "Well," Made Pomfret chuckled, "It seems we're a little late."
"You mean, he's not . . . " McGonagall was in near tears.
Madame Pomfrey laughed, "Oh, no. He's just in a state of shock. He should be
out of it in . . . oh . . . 10 to 12 months."
Minerva gasped, "How are we going to find a replacement? We can't even get
Whitney Houston to teach here, how are we going to find two replacements in
one day?"
Madame Pomfrey smiled, "I think I have an idea."
***
"I can't believe I was tricked into doing this," Snape frowned as they entered
the building. "And why the hell would they have a convention here?"
"They're Americans in Entertainment, it's not supposed to make sense,"
McGonagall said with a smirk.
Many hours had passed, but none with any hope. They had talked to Barbara
Walters, Joan Rivers, Pat Sajack, Regis Philbin, Tommy Lee, Calista Flockhart,
Bill Cosby, Steven Segall, Martha Stewart, and Janet Reno, but all had
unfortunately (if you can call it that) refused.
"This is getting us no where," Snape sighed, but then he sighted a very tall,
black guy sitting by his self.
"I pity the foo' who mess wit T." The man said as Snape approached him.
"You have spunk. The kids will like it for a week, but the teachers will dread
talking to you."
The man sighed, "What you be talkin' 'bout foo'?"
"Oh, come on," It had been awhile since Snape had exercised his people skills,
but he thought he was doing a very good job. "I'm offering you the chance to
sit in an office for 9 month, play with magical things and order around people
you will never see or remember again."
The man looked more interested, "I be listenin'."
"Anyway, you're hired if you agree to the job."
"Simple as dat?"
"Absolutely."
***
"Oh, golly gee!" Hermione exclaimed when they arrived at the castle, "I am so
happy to be here again!"
Harry and Ron stopped in the middle of their path. They saw something awfully
strange, and worth stopping for.
"Oh, God," Ron said with a frown. "I have seen him before..."
Harry frowned also, "Yes, Dudley has a poster of him in his room. I think
he's in this stupid group in America, Dudley absolutely adores them."
Then Hermione saw what they were staring at. "OOOH! Isn't he just the
hotte...I mean, oh, God, do you think he's working here this year?"
Harry and Ron ignored her comment. Ron continued Harry's conversation, "Isn't
he that guy from *N Sticks, or Outta Sync, or whatever they're called?"
"It's *N Sync," Hermione corrected them.
***
"Do 'ya think I look aight?" The new headmaster asked McGonagall as they sat
down for the welcoming feast.
"Uh...yes, Mr. T." She replied, trying to sound sincere. It was hard not to
laugh, he was dressed in a ripped black muscle shirt with hundreds of gold
chains. He had a ratty old pair of jeans, and earrings that were twice the
size of his head. She buried her head in her hands. 'This is going to be an
interesting year,' she thought to herself.
***
The Thursday after they arrived, the 5th year Gryffindors, to their utter most
joy, had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Kill me now," Ron cried before they entered. From the former testaments
from the people who had already had it, it seemed as if this would be their
worst class.
"It can't be that bad, can it?" Hermione tried to cheer them up.
Figures - she was wrong.
"Word." He said when everyone entered. When everyone took their seat, he
began 'teaching'. "Dude, my name be Justin Timberlake, and I don't know why I
be teachin' you here."
Hermione raised her hand.
"Uh, you who looks like she just hit puberty."
Hermione cleared her throat, "What happened to Professor Dumbledore? All the
other teacher wouldn't tell us, and I figured you were...well...you get the
idea."
"Damn, woman! Who is this Dumbledore chick, and why is she so important?
Anyway, take out your books and turn to page 21."
Neville raised his hand.
"You who looks like he sat on a bike pump."
"We did this 4 years ago."
***
A/N: I rather dislike N Sync, and JT is easy to make fun of. Most of the
characters belong to JK Rowling. Mr. T belongs to the A-Team (or did, a long,
long time ago.) Flamers welcome, I wrote this story late night, and has just
realized it is rather...far fetched. 5 reviews and I write the next chapter.
after having a nice summer, Albus Dumbledore had hoped. Though, he knew that
this would not be true. After frantically searching for several months, he
found no one who wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts job.
"Alby, this just came for you," Minerva McGonagall handed him a folded
letter. He read it aloud:
Thank you for the offer, but I have some important things to assess this year.
Love, Whitney Houston.
"Damn," Dumbledore said to himself, "Even the crackwhore dismissed the job
opportunity."
"Well," McGonagall said, annoyed, "We could just leave this class out this
year."
"Yes," he replied, "But, those poor children will never have the adequate
information they need." He stood up to go get a pot of tea laying on window
sill, when he tripped on an empty tea pot and fell out the open window.
McGonagall walked over to the window to see Dumbledore in a wretched heap 500
some odd feet (I don't know meters, I'm a dumb American) below. "Well," she
said to herself, "I better get Poppy."
After running, walking (McGonagall is getting awfully old, you know), pacing,
running again, walking, and finally power walking, she reached the hospital
wing.
"Poppy!" She yelled, gasping for breath, "Need . . . go . . . outside . . .
Alby!"
"Oh, you seem as if you ran a 15K race. Why don't you sit down for while?"
"Can't . . . dying . . . must . . . save."
"Oh, all right. Tell me where I need to go."
"Right . . . Outside . . . Dumbledore's window!"
After 10 minutes, Madame Pomfrey returned with the writhed figures of Albus
Dumbledore. "Well," Made Pomfret chuckled, "It seems we're a little late."
"You mean, he's not . . . " McGonagall was in near tears.
Madame Pomfrey laughed, "Oh, no. He's just in a state of shock. He should be
out of it in . . . oh . . . 10 to 12 months."
Minerva gasped, "How are we going to find a replacement? We can't even get
Whitney Houston to teach here, how are we going to find two replacements in
one day?"
Madame Pomfrey smiled, "I think I have an idea."
***
"I can't believe I was tricked into doing this," Snape frowned as they entered
the building. "And why the hell would they have a convention here?"
"They're Americans in Entertainment, it's not supposed to make sense,"
McGonagall said with a smirk.
Many hours had passed, but none with any hope. They had talked to Barbara
Walters, Joan Rivers, Pat Sajack, Regis Philbin, Tommy Lee, Calista Flockhart,
Bill Cosby, Steven Segall, Martha Stewart, and Janet Reno, but all had
unfortunately (if you can call it that) refused.
"This is getting us no where," Snape sighed, but then he sighted a very tall,
black guy sitting by his self.
"I pity the foo' who mess wit T." The man said as Snape approached him.
"You have spunk. The kids will like it for a week, but the teachers will dread
talking to you."
The man sighed, "What you be talkin' 'bout foo'?"
"Oh, come on," It had been awhile since Snape had exercised his people skills,
but he thought he was doing a very good job. "I'm offering you the chance to
sit in an office for 9 month, play with magical things and order around people
you will never see or remember again."
The man looked more interested, "I be listenin'."
"Anyway, you're hired if you agree to the job."
"Simple as dat?"
"Absolutely."
***
"Oh, golly gee!" Hermione exclaimed when they arrived at the castle, "I am so
happy to be here again!"
Harry and Ron stopped in the middle of their path. They saw something awfully
strange, and worth stopping for.
"Oh, God," Ron said with a frown. "I have seen him before..."
Harry frowned also, "Yes, Dudley has a poster of him in his room. I think
he's in this stupid group in America, Dudley absolutely adores them."
Then Hermione saw what they were staring at. "OOOH! Isn't he just the
hotte...I mean, oh, God, do you think he's working here this year?"
Harry and Ron ignored her comment. Ron continued Harry's conversation, "Isn't
he that guy from *N Sticks, or Outta Sync, or whatever they're called?"
"It's *N Sync," Hermione corrected them.
***
"Do 'ya think I look aight?" The new headmaster asked McGonagall as they sat
down for the welcoming feast.
"Uh...yes, Mr. T." She replied, trying to sound sincere. It was hard not to
laugh, he was dressed in a ripped black muscle shirt with hundreds of gold
chains. He had a ratty old pair of jeans, and earrings that were twice the
size of his head. She buried her head in her hands. 'This is going to be an
interesting year,' she thought to herself.
***
The Thursday after they arrived, the 5th year Gryffindors, to their utter most
joy, had their first Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"Kill me now," Ron cried before they entered. From the former testaments
from the people who had already had it, it seemed as if this would be their
worst class.
"It can't be that bad, can it?" Hermione tried to cheer them up.
Figures - she was wrong.
"Word." He said when everyone entered. When everyone took their seat, he
began 'teaching'. "Dude, my name be Justin Timberlake, and I don't know why I
be teachin' you here."
Hermione raised her hand.
"Uh, you who looks like she just hit puberty."
Hermione cleared her throat, "What happened to Professor Dumbledore? All the
other teacher wouldn't tell us, and I figured you were...well...you get the
idea."
"Damn, woman! Who is this Dumbledore chick, and why is she so important?
Anyway, take out your books and turn to page 21."
Neville raised his hand.
"You who looks like he sat on a bike pump."
"We did this 4 years ago."
***
A/N: I rather dislike N Sync, and JT is easy to make fun of. Most of the
characters belong to JK Rowling. Mr. T belongs to the A-Team (or did, a long,
long time ago.) Flamers welcome, I wrote this story late night, and has just
realized it is rather...far fetched. 5 reviews and I write the next chapter.