Harry Potter and the Return of the Insanity

by SpamWarrior

I now present you with the third installment of my already bloated Insanity trilogy, in which I've taken every cliche and horror I could possibly imagine and crammed them into one gigantic mishmash that might, with some imagination, resemble a fanfic. XD

3. Part Three (subtitled: @#%&*$~!!!!! ::...

::Author takes a deep breath:: Okay, get ready for the World's Longest Author's Note. (Well, probably not the longest, but a big one nonetheless.) First off, I want to say that none of these wonderful characters belongs to me--most are the property of JK Rowling, and the one who isn't owns me. I'm sticking something in here that I forgot to put on the last part: If you want to know more about what Doors was telling Harry about Snape's past, I refer you to one of my other scary creations, 'Enter Sandman'. If you don't care about that and just want to find out what happens at the wedding, read on, and please don't murder me for what follows--I'm young, poor, and bored, and that tends to lead to, er, frightening things.

(I apologize in advance for the complete and utter stupidity of this post.) ^_^

Eves

It was the smell of sausage that woke him next morning, at about half-past nine and as rested as if he'd slept the whole night through. Sun was pouring through the frosted window, the small heater in the center of the room was glowing red-hot, and by the look of the pile on the sill it had snowed again some time during the night.

"Good morning, world," he muttered, stretching. He kicked at his blankets, feeling warm and lazily contented, when suddenly something thumped hard on the ground by his bed.

"What the--"

He scrambled off the four-poster and bent down, and found himself confronted with a small, very oddly-shaped package wrapped in--

"Tie-dye," he said, half a groan and half a grin. Whatever it was, the little parcel was oddly heavy, and so wound with brilliant yarn that he hadn't the faintest idea how to go about unwrapping it.

The bathroom door opened, admitting a great puff of steam and an odor of shampoo. Ron, still in his pajamas, came out toweling his hair.

"I was wondering when you were going to get up," he said, tossing the towel at Harry and opening his trunk. "Seamus and Dean are already downstairs, and the twins hauled Neville off somewhere an hour ago. Breakfast's still not ready, but--"

He stopped, catching sight of the--oddity--in Harry's hands. "What is that?" he asked, as Harry turned it over in search of a weak point in its armor-like wrapping.

"No idea," Harry said, pushing his glasses up and reaching for his wand. "Bit early for Christmas, I'd think."

Ron handed him the wand, which had been sitting just beyond his reach on the nightstand. "Well, I think we know who sent it," he snorted, as Harry snapped one of the strings with the tip of his wand. He watched curiously as Harry pried the yards of string off the egg-shaped package, revealing a soft, flannel-swathed bundle.

"If she gave me one of those singing egg things, I'll--"

He broke off, and both he and Ron stared at his present, Harry in bewilderment and Ron in open-mouthed astonishment.

In his hands was an orb, smaller by far that a crystal ball, and blacker than anything he'd ever seen. There seemed to be something wrong, something just slightly out of place about it, though, and as he looked at it he realized that none of the light in the room was reflected in its smooth sable surface.

"What is it?" he asked, turning it over in search of some clue.

As if his question had awakened it, the ball suddenly began to hum faintly, and a moment later the blackness had melted into a myriad of glowing colors, swirling like smoke within the confines of the orb. It grew warm beneath his fingers, and suddenly up his arm there shot one of the most comforting, lovely sensations he had ever felt.

Before Harry could even think, he had dropped the ball onto the bed, leaping back from it as though it had bit him.

"I don't know," breathed Ron, still gazing round-eyed at the little sphere and seemingly oblivious of Harry's reaction to it. "I've never seen one before, so I can't be sure, but Harry--I think that might be a Neverstone."

"A what?" Harry said blankly, feeling like an idiot.

"A Neverstone--I can't believe you've never heard of them, they're some of the most prized relics in all of wizardry, they're--"

"Hang on a minute," said Harry. "There's a note in here." He shook out the folds of bright material and picked up a folded square of parchment.

Ron leaned in to peer at it, and they recognized at once Doors's strong, slightly wandering script.

Harry,

Merry early Christmas.

This is a small keepsake your father and I had years of fun with. I thought it was time it were passed on to you. I hope you didn't find this when all your dorm mates were around, but if so, oh well.

I can't tell you in a note just what this little oddity is, but come find me once you've read this and I'll explain everything. I'm warning you now, it's a bit complicated, and I also warn you to KEEP IT A SECRET. I mean it, Harry, don't go running around shouting that you've got an early present, or the whole point of this will be in vain. Mum's the word, and it'd better say that way.

I'll be out by the Tree all morning, unless you're reading this during breakfast. Come pay me a visit.

Lorna

"Well, that's weird and no mistake," said Harry, handing the letter to Ron.

"Yeah," Ron said absently, looking from the note to the orb. "But it fits; everything else you've inherited from your parents has been weird--weird and cool. Go hurry up and talk to Doors, will you, I want to know if I was right or not." His eyes glazed over. "A Neverstone, I never would've--"

Harry shook his head and changed his robes, making a mental note to get an Ironing Charm put on his wedding outfit before tomorrow. Digging under his bed produced his winter boots, and catching his cloak off the peg by the nightstand he picked up the ball (which had gone dark once more), stuffed it into his pocket, and hurried down the staircase.

"Nice hair, Potter," Malfoy called, as Harry hurried past the Great Hall. He realized it must look like a pack of rodents had tried to nest in it, but right now he didn't really care--he had to know what this odd, sleeping orb in his pocket was, and why on earth Doors had given it to him now.

So lost was he in his thoughts that before he knew it, he had slammed head-on into somebody much taller than him, and nearly been bowled over in the door to the entrance hall.

"Oof! Sorry," he muttered, trying to scramble to his feet.

"Really, Potter, watch where you're going."

Harry's stomach dropped. He looked up and met eyes with Snape, who was glaring down at him as though he'd just crawled out of a sewer. He obviously hadn't suffered too many ill effects from his little night out, though Harry could fairly feel anger coming off of him in waves. He looked strange, somehow different than normal, but that was likely just Harry's overwhelming paranoia.

"In a bit of a hurry, are we?" he sneered, grinning unpleasantly down at Harry. "Off to sneak into Hogsmeade for some more toys?"

Harry felt himself pale. He hadn't been to Hogsmeade all year, but he was far from the only person who used the secret passage that led to the basement of Honeyduke's. He knew he ought to say something, but his tongue seemed to have glued itself to the roof of his mouth, and it only made Snape's smirk even fouler.

"Well, I'd say--"

Harry winced, waiting for the axe to fall, but Snape stopped short.

"What is that?" he breathed, in a tone exactly like Ron's. Harry whirled around, and saw with rising panic that the ball, whatever it was, had fallen out of his pocket and rolled about two feet behind him.

"Uh, nothing," he said hastily, snatching the orb and stuffing it back into his robes. "Just something Doors gave me."

Snape was staring at him with an expression Harry had never before seen on his sallow face. For a moment he couldn't guess what it was, until thoughts of Ron's reaction made him realize it was wonder.

"Lorna gave you....She had....and she never said..." Snape seemed stunned, and while at any other time Harry would have loved to hang around and relish the spectacle, he had to go find his aunt.

"Er, yeah," he said, thinking wildly. "And there's Marge, I've gotta go."

Snape jumped about a foot in the air and spun around, and Harry darted past him into the entrance hall.

"Potter, get back here!" Snape bellowed, once assured that no Dursleys were going to swoop down on him.

"Yeah, right," Harry snorted, fairly flying out the front doors and down the icy steps. He slipped on the bottom one and nearly took another tumble, but after a few minutes' floundering in the snow, he managed to gain enough ground to catch sight of the base of it--the Tree.

The Tree had been planted at the end of last term, grown from a seed Doors had pressed into his hand before going to her death with Voldemort. Nobody knew just what it was, (and as Doors herself wasn't telling, nobody likely ever would), but it had grown as her way of blessing and cursing the school as she saw fit. Now that she, well, wasn't dead anymore, Harry had no idea what it did, save grow at an astounding rate and provide formidable guardianship of the front doors.

His aunt, swathed once more in her piecemeal cloak of rabbit fur, was sitting in the snow with her back against it and a large square of parchment floating in front of her. As he drew nearer Harry saw that all sorts of lines and dots were wiggling across it, and he realized it must be her decoration plan for the Great Hall. If she saw him she made no sign, and so he crunched rather nervously toward her.

"Er--um--" Harry cleared his throat, his breath rising chill and frosty in the icy air. It was about two degrees out here, and what anyone in their right mind would be doing under a tree in such weather was beyond him.

Doors looked up, her startlingly bright eyes twinkling. "Good morning, Harry," she said, flicking the lines to a halt with a wave of her wand. "I take it you found your present?"

"Yeah," Harry said, blowing on his fingers. "And whatever it is, Ron about died when he saw it."

Doors grinned, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind one pointed ear. "I don't blame him," she said, rolling the parchment and sticking it in her pocket. "Walk with me, Harry, and I'll tell you a story."

Harry felt his heart sink. Much as he wanted to know just what the strange object weighing down his pocket was, he didn't really want to walk around in arctic temperatures until his ears fell off to find out. Doors seemed to notice this, for she stood up and smacked her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Harry, honey," she said, taking out her wand again. She pointed it between his eyes, muttered something, and a moment later a lovely wave of warmth washed over him, as though he'd just stepped in front of a roaring fireplace. "You should've said something."

Harry shook his head, not wanting to go into that one. "Anyhow--"

"Anyhow, now that you're not going to drop dead of hypothermia, come with me."

And before he could say anything else, Harry found himself being led through the sparkling drifts, around the trunk of the great tree. He'd never paid much attention to it before, but now that Doors brought him up close he realized that there were knot-holes placed at strategic intervals to climb up into its branches. His aunt hopped up them with a not-so-surprising agility, leaving Harry to scramble up as best he could behind her.

He poked his head through the snow-frosted boughs, and found himself faced with what had to be the most spectacular treehouse on the face of the earth. It had to be enchanted; there was no way you could have missed it from outside if it wasn't.

It was all one room, roughly the size of the Gryffindor common room and far more interesting. There was no glass in the windows, but scattered about were all sorts of oddities that had probably come out of Doors's apartments in the castle--whirling silver gizmos, several brilliant tapestries, an odd assortment of furniture, and so many prisms that the walls fairly danced with little flashing rainbows.

"You like it?"

Harry started, dragging his eyes away from the odd splendor around him and looking at his grinning aunt. "Remus and Sirius and I have been working on it," she said, pulling her wand out of her pocket and pointing it at the empty fireplace.

"Drisendio," she muttered, and at once a roaring, brilliant silver fire sprang up, warming the room instantly. "I don't think anyone else knows about it, so we're sure to not be disturbed." She swept a bow to one of the fat, squashy green armchairs, before settling on the one opposite and setting down her wand.

Harry sat, slipping a hand in his pocket to feel the orb. It was surprisingly warm to his touch, and once again seemed to be humming faintly.

"It's all right, it's not going to hurt you," Doors said. "Here, let me see if it's recognized you yet."

Reluctantly, Harry drew the small sphere from his pocket and handed it to Doors. The misty lights were swirling deep within it, almost as though it were only half-awake, but the moment his aunt touched it they flared and spread to the surface, tumbling in a sort of organized chaos within their glass prison.

"Oh, good," Doors said, cradling it in the palm of her spidery hand. "It knows who you are, Harry, and what's more it seems to have accepted you."

"It's what?" said Harry, wishing he could grow fed up enough to snap at her. "What is it, and why should I care if it's accepted me or not?"

Doors grinned at him, tossing the orb at him so that it nailed him squarely in the chest. He noticed at once that the pattern of its whirling smoke shifted, becoming much smoother and more even than it had been for Lorna.

"That, my dear nephew, is a Neverstone," Doors said with satisfaction. "They're some of the rarest and most highly sought-after objects known to wizardry, and with good reason. Over these things wars have been fought, and countless bloody goblin rebellions been staged."

Harry stared at her blankly. "What?" he said, looking down at the orb that was still humming in his palm. Sure, it was pretty enough, but what did it do? Surely it couldn't be worth holding a war over. "You're telling me people killed each other over this thing?"

Doors sighed. "Don't you pay attention in History of Magic?"

Harry looked at her.

"Good point," she said, chortling. "I remember old Binns' lessons. Well, if you HAD cared to listen rather than sleep, you would have learned that Neverstones are relics left by the very first witches and wizards to ever walk the earth. Magic isn't native to this world, you know, though by now it's so interwoven into everything that it might as well be."

She twirled her wand idly, before pointing it at a small plant on the table and sending a vine trailing over the floor. "The very first of our kind, then called Magi, came to this world from somewhere very different, a world so unlike this one that it took about five generations for them to get over the shock. And that world--" here Doors pointed her wand at the wall and unrolled a tapestry with a snap "--was called Naevaerland."

"Neverland?" Harry said, growing suspicious--this had to be a joke. Wasn't Neverland where Peter Pan had come from?

"Don't you give me that look, you heard what I said," Doors laughed, seeing his thoughts on his face. "Not James Barrie's Neverland. I'm talking about the real thing here, the Land of Never and Always. Naevaerland is the Gate of Heaven, which all souls must pass through before they can go up--or down. It's a bona fide little world, with all sorts of wee odd inhabitants I'd just love to loose on this school. And it's the world where all magic, good or ill, originated."

She pointed at the tapestry, a truly beautiful thing Harry recognized from two years previous, when it had hung on the wall outside her tower room. It showed a great mountain, high and rocky, and tiered with three rings of disproportionately large trees. The longer he looked at it, the more he seemed to see, until he could have sworn that the woven trees were fluttering, and the clouds around them swirling and floating on a wind he half fancied he could hear.

"What the--" he breathed, but Doors gave him a shove that nearly toppled him off his chair.

"Don't study it too long," she warned, something impish in her eyes that Harry knew meant nothing but trouble. "You stare at that thing long enough, it'll suck you right through and into Naevaerland--but only if you're of the right sort. Obviously, you are."

"But it--I heard--" Harry started wildly.

"You heard a ghost of the winds of Naevaerland," his aunt said, clearly pleased. "And it's very fortunate you did, for it means you will be able to read the Stone as well as it can read you."

Harry looked down at the orb, which was churning in a brilliant tumult in his hand. It certainly seemed to be saying something, but he could as soon have deciphered Hermione's Arithmancy homework than guess what it was. A thousand questions chased themselves around in his brain, but the only one he could give voice to was, "How did you get ahold of something like this?"

Doors raised her eyebrows. "Really, Harry, you've known me this long and you have to ask?" she said, somehow infusing an even greater glee into her odd voice. "No, honey, I actually can't tell you how I got hold of it--not yet, at any rate. But I will tell you what it is, and what it does, and--" here the slightest flicker of sorrow passed over her face "--and what your father and I used to use it for."

She sat silent a moment, as though collecting her thoughts. "I told you that Neverstones are some of the most sought-after objects in all of wizardry, and there's a very good reason for that. Not only can they tell you anything--and I mean anything--going on around the world at any given moment, they can also look into the past, future, and What Might Have Been."

She put an emphasis on these last words. "I don't recommend you try the latter, as it leads to nothing but heartache. However, once you and the Stone have reached an understanding, it may reveal powers to you that it has never before used--the Stones react differently to each of their keepers, and bestow on them gifts according to their individual needs and desires. What it gives you also depends on how much the Stone likes you, though I don't think that will be a problem, in your case."

The orb in Harry's hand grew suddenly warmer, with that same lovely, all-consuming, comforting sort of heat it had washed over him in the dormitory. This time he didn't drop it or cry out, and the longer he held it the stranger and more wonderful the sensation grew.

"W-What's it doing?" he asked tremulously, unafraid but curious.

"Talking," Doors whispered, the light in her eyes flaring brighter for a moment. "Don't worry, you'll understand what it's saying sooner or later."

Harry seriously doubted this, but the feeling trailing through his fingers to his whole body was so pleasant that he hardly cared. There were, however, two things he was so curious about that not even the mind-fuzzing joy of the orb could drive them out of his head.

"What do you mean, it gives you abilities? Is it like those spells McGonagall tried teaching us, the ones that give you greater power?"

Doors looked thoughtful. "Well.....sort of. More like it takes whatever gifts you've already got, and amplifies them to the point where they'd be equal with a Naevaerland Magi. It's what it did to James, which is mostly why he and all those idiots were able to get away with the Animagus transformation--no underage wizard could get even close to powerful enough for that without the help of a Stone--or a demon, but I doubt even Voldemort would be that stupid."

Harry mused over this one for a moment, but his second, far more pressing question was nagging so that he had to let it out. "And can you see--other worlds--in this thing?"

Doors looked at him keenly, her eyes piercing his own with a gaze that seemed to read his very soul. She'd done this before, and every time it made Harry squirm as though she'd hopped right into his mind to have a look around.

"You want to see your parents, don't you?" she asked, her voice unusually serious.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak under the scrutiny of her stare.

The small professor sighed. "More than that, you're wondering why Remus and Sirius didn't bring them back as well, aren't you? If magical resurrection is possible, why did they stop with me? Why didn't they bring back everyone ever murdered by Lord Voldemort?"

Harry stared at her, horrified. What she said was true, every last word of it, and yet these were things he would never fully admit even to himself.

Doors laid a spidery hand on each of his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Harry, and I don't mean to pry, but--well, your face does read rather like a signboard." She waited for him to chuckle, but he continued to gaze at her as though transfixed.

She sighed again. "There is a reason that only I could come back, and I promise you will know it when the time is right. Needless to say, that's not right now. And while a Neverstone may show you things beyond this world, nothing can breach the walls of Heaven--nothing going up, at any rate. Trust me, Harry, though you might not see them, I know for a fact that James and Lily rarely do anything other than watch you and Sirius act like idiots."

This time Harry had to laugh--not at Doors's words, but at that indefinable something in her voice that forced chortles out of the most unwilling listener.

"Oh, that's comforting," he snorted. "Knowing my mum's impression of me is based on Sirius and I throwing small bombs down a well and enchanting rabid socks."

He and Doors burst into fits of helpless laughter, and the orb in his hand flared momentarily warmer. Harry realized (with something of a start) that it was laughing as well, and he filed this odd bit of information away, to deal with later.

"Come on, Harry," said Doors, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "Let's go have some breakfast. And whatever you do, don't go pulling that thing out in front of everybody--the last thing in the world we need is more chaos."

Harry put the orb in his pocket and got to his feet, stretching and running a hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end. He had just started for the trapdoor down when he heard what was unmistakably the crunch of footsteps in the snow below them.

"What the--"

He and Doors looked at each other, before both darting to the far window. A figure swathed in black was hotfooting it back up the stairs and into the castle.

"Son of a crackwhore," muttered Doors, leaning her hands on the sill and hanging her head. "Well, this ought to make life a little more interesting."

Even from this distance Harry recognized Snape, slipping and nearly falling as he scrambled back through the great front doors. And suddenly, he knew just what it was that had seemed different about the Potions master when he saw him in the entrance hall.

Snape had washed his hair.

****

"You're kidding," said Ron.

"For the last time, no," Harry snapped, somewhat irritably.

It was about half an hour after breakfast, and he, Ron, and Hermione had scrambled to have a powwow in the only place in all the castle where they could get some privacy--Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was so cold down here that Hermione had lit blue fires in all the sinks, and offended Myrtle into diving down and hiding in the S-bend.

"But--but Harry--" Hermione stuttered, so excited she could scarcely speak, something little short of miraculous. "You--you're saying--"

"Snape washed his hair?" Ron choked, gaping.

"Oh, for the last time, Ron, YES," Hermione said, her tongue apparently loosening. "Get over it, we've got bigger things to talk about."

Harry rolled his eyes. He'd told them both about the Neverstone and his meeting with Doors, and while Hermione seemed to grasp the point (a little too well, actually), Ron was too hung up on the fact that Snape had suddenly taken an interest in hygiene to understand the full implications of the small ball weighing down Harry's right pocket.

As if that weren't aggravating enough, their private enclave was turning out to be anything but. They hadn't been in there five minutes before Fred and George burst in, each armed with enough explosives and gags to fell a small army, and had been more than willing to share the space with them until Ron said Hermione had to take care of 'female issues' and wanted to be left alone. Fred and George had made tracks right quick, and Hermione had hit Ron so hard that he already had a nasty bruise forming under his right eye.

"Can we please get back to the subject here?" Harry demanded, wishing mightily the orb would give him the power to seal both his friends' mouths shut. Ron and Hermione, who had been sniping mercilessly at one another, looked at him.

"Er, sorry," Ron said sheepishly.

"Yeah, Harry, go on," said Hermione.

"Thank you," Harry said wearily. "Now--"

His words were cut off by the door, which banged open quite suddenly and admitted a jumble of legs and arms that, once disentangled, proved to be Denis Creevey, Natalie McDonald, and about a dozen impious-looking first years with suspicious bulges in their robes.

"Oh, hiya, Harry," Denis said cheerfully, apparently oblivious to the fact that Harry looked like he was about to explode. "Mind if we join you?"

"YES I MIND!" Harry bellowed, his patience snapping at last. "CAN'T A PERSON GET A BLOODY MOMENT'S PRIVACY IN THIS PLACE?"

Denis and Natalie stopped short, staring at him with looks that said quite clearly 'You're off your onion.'

"Sorry," they mumbled, shooing their herd out the door. Harry glared after them so fiercely that Ron burst out laughing.

"It's not funny," Harry said, though his mouth was twitching as well. "Seriously, though--Doors told me not to tell anybody about it, and I think she meant you two as well. I know she didn't want Snape knowing about it, but she and the Marauders'll fix his wagon. And meanwhile--" his hand settled on his pocket with a satisfied air "--I have less than twenty-four hours to communicate with this thing and turn this wedding into something Hogwarts will never forget."

Ron looked ecstatic, but Hermione eyed him dubiously. "Are you sure that's what Doors meant by giving that to you?" she asked, crossing her arms. "I mean, it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that she was actually being serious, you know," she added.

"Oh, sure it was."

"Yeah, and we think your plan is absolutely smashing, old bean."

Harry whirled around to find Fred and George in the doorway once more, wearing identical expression of evil glee and now unencumbered by their masses of equipment.

"Great," groaned Ron. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Enough," said Fred. "And we need to talk to you two--alone," he added, glancing at Hermione.

"About what?" she asked suspiciously, scowling like Professor McGonagall.

The twins glanced at one another. "Er--female issues," said George.

Ron let out a choking cough, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she said, storming from the bathroom.

"She's going to get you for that, you know," Harry remarked.

"Yeah, well, we weren't kidding," said Fred. "We overheard Malfoy this morning, muttering to himself about 'breaking the news' tomorrow. Now, I'm not sure, but I think he's planning to pop the question to Hermione tomorrow at the wedding."

"You--you mean THE question?" Ron croaked, paling.

Fred nodded grimly. "And I don't want to know what Lucius would do if he suddenly caught dear old Draco proposing to a Muggle-born in the middle of everyone's worst nightmare."

Harry winced.

"But--but we're only sixteen! What would make Malfoy think Hermione would--would EVER--oh, WHY did you have to go and put that spell on him in the first place?" Ron finished, his face reddening with fury and frustration.

The twins looked highly uncomfortable. "Well, it wasn't supposed to last THIS long," said George. "In fact, the spell we tried is supposed to hang around for a month at most. Either we messed it up big time, or Malfoy really likes her."

"I'm not sure which prospect is worse," Ron muttered, looking a bit queasy.

"Oh, Hermione's litany of woe doesn't end there," Fred said cheerfully. "After we'd passed Malfoy--"

"Who really was mooning like an idiot, I might add," put in George.

"--we almost got bowled over by your cousin, who seemed to be thinking (if you could call it that) along the same lines as Malfoy. Now, quite apart from that combination likely sending poor Hermione round the bend if she ever found out, there's the issue of what Malfoy and Dudley might try to do to each other if they discover they're after the same girl."

"Corking," muttered Harry. He slipped his hand into his pocket, and felt the orb hum sympathetically under his fingers.

"On a lighter note," said George, in a tone that meant no good for anyone. "Did you get a load of Snape at breakfast? His Greasiness has finally discovered the use of a shower."

"Yeah, so Harry said," sniggered Ron. "Any idea why?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Fred, his face cracking into an evil grin. "Gentlemen, we present to you Exhibit A, as captured by one C. Creevey in the hallway the other day."

He presented with a flourish a small wizarding photograph, which proved to be Aunt Petunia in her hideous pink bridesmaid's dress. She seemed to be scowling at McGonagall, who was eying her with utmost disdain.

"I believe one of you will know her quite well: Petunia Dursley, age forty, wife to Vernon and mother to Dudley. By all accounts happily married--or, at least, until this whole mess started; observers of late have noticed a pronounced marital strain between she and her husband. That said, I turn you over to my cohort, Monsieur George."

George's grin was even eviler than Fred's, as impossible as it seemed. "I now present you with Exhibit B, our very own Potions master. Severus Snape, age thirty-six, by all accounts the meanest, nastiest, and most generally unpleasant person on the face of the planet. Professor Snape is well known for his hygiene--or lack of it--and yet he was observed by, well, everyone to have washed his hair. What does this portend? As the jury, that judgment is up to you."

"Oh, God," groaned Harry, an urge to laugh and an urge to vomit warring within him. "That is NOT a pleasant mental image."

Fred gazed at him reprovingly. "Really, young Potter," he said, sounding so uncannily like Percy that Ron backed away in fear. "Just because you're sixteen doesn't mean you're called upon to be perverted."

"And just because you've graduated doesn't mean Snape can't still murder you," Ron retorted, having recovered somewhat.

George looked affronted. "Why, whatever do you mean?" he asked, his eyes widening with the patented Weasley attempt at innocence.

"Oh, sod off, you two, I've lived with you for sixteen years, remember?" snorted Ron, leaning against a sink and nearly setting his robes afire. "You try and mess with Snape and his--issues--and you'll wind up joining Moaning Myrtle in here."

"Ooo, really?"

The four of them jumped, and looked up to find themselves faced with the now not-so-glum face of Myrtle herself, who was perched atop the far stall door. "I wouldn't mind at all," she said, blushing silver. "And there's TWO of you--I wouldn't need that picture of Jimmy Alan any more....."

She trailed off, apparently realizing she'd said too much, but by the time she tried to correct her mistake, the quartet of live bathroom visitors had fled to the safety of the hallway.

They ran smack into Hermione, who had apparently been waiting just outside the door. "Are you quite finished?" she asked, glaring at the twins.

"Yeah," said Ron, looking shaken. "And we just learned more about Moaning Myrtle than any of us ever wanted to."

To Harry's intense surprise, at these words Hermione burst out laughing. "Oh, you poor dears," she said, in a fairly passable Mrs. Weasley impersonation. "You found out about Jimmy, didn't you?"

Harry shook his head, and beat tracks for the Gryffindor common room before anything else could pop out and scare him.

****

Some minutes later, he found himself lying on his stomach on the floor of the boys' dormitory, hands laced under his chin and the orb directly in front of him. Its smoky lights were dancing and tumbling within it, and while the occasional isolated flash of understanding hit him, Harry had no more idea of what it was trying to say than he did of what went on in Malfoy's mind. (Not that he really wanted to know on that count.)

Not that he hadn't tried. As soon as he'd made it back to Gryffindor Tower--after doubling back several times to shake off various Lockharts--Harry had locked himself in the dormitory and begun trying every crackpot trick he ever learned in Divination to communicate with the Neverstone. None of them had worked, and so now, exhausted and swiftly developing one mother of a headache, he simply stared at it with somewhat crossed eyes.

A sudden pounding on the door broke through his thoughts. "Hey, Harry, lemme in," called Seamus, rattling the knob.

Harry snatched up the orb and sprang to his feet, leaping onto his bed and hastily reversing his Locking Charm.

Seamus stumbled into the room and cast a wary glance around. "Nothing's going to explode, is it?" he asked, his grey eyes darting over the innocuous-looking beds.

Harry cracked a grin. "I hope not," he said, his hand on the orb under his blankets. "But I shouldn't think so."

Seamus heaved an audible sigh of relief. "Thank God," he muttered, leaning against the doorjamb. "It's about the only place in the castle that hasn't been picked over by about four different gangs of Fred and George imitators."

"Lovely," said Harry, still grinning. "But I think the Weasleys themselves have had more than a little hand in the chaos-brewing. Ran into them about an hour ago, armed with enough explosives to make their performance last year look like the opening act."

Seamus winced. "Argh, I'm beginning to think this whole thing's more trouble than it's worth," he muttered. "Between my mum and worrying about getting impaled by some flying fondue fork, I'd rather they just eloped."

Harry felt a slight stab in his chest. As much as all his friends were complaining about having their parents at Hogwarts, he couldn't help but feel jealous of them--he'd never had any parents to complain of, and here everyone else was ungrateful of theirs.

Seamus didn't seem to notice. "Well, I'd better go rescue Neville before Denis and Natalie tie him to a ceiling fan or something." He flipped open his trunk, pulled out a pair of Muggle bolt cutters, and made for the common room once more.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung shut behind him. He drew the orb from his blankets and looked at it thoughtfully, the colors dipping and whirling within it.

"What might have been," he murmured softly, gazing at it. Doors had said knowing what might have been caused nothing but heartache, and he could see her point--if the Mirror of Erised was bad, knowing how completely different everything could have been would be incomparably worse.

And yet....amid this sea of parents Harry felt woefully alone, and to see his family just once, and hear their voices in something other than a scream--surely that much couldn't hurt.

Cautiously he cupped the orb in his palms, feeling its warmth flare as he focused his attention on it.

"Can you show me?" he asked, in a whisper so faint even he could scarcely hear it.

The lights within the ball brightened, tumbling in a chaotic mayhem that nevertheless resembled some form of a pattern. There was a roaring in his hears, as color and light spun faster and faster--

--and suddenly he threw the orb away, sending it bouncing to the foot of his bed and breathing as though he'd just run a mile.

"No," he said, wiping his forehead. "I'm not going to do it. They're dead and they're going to stay that way, and looking at what could have been isn't going to bring them back."

He flopped weakly back onto his bed, his heart racing and mind miserable. He knew he was right to avoid the orb's temptation, but it didn't make him feel any better--the ache in his heart was like the dull thump of ice in the middle of nowhere, and for some odd, unaccountable reason he felt tears welling in his eyes.

"Harry?"

The dormitory door creaked open, and Doors stuck her head in. "Oh, Harry," she said, stepping in and waving the door shut behind her. "Honey, I didn't give you that thing to start you on a whole train of misery."

Harry hurriedly wiped his eyes, ashamed at his weakness. "I'm fine," he said, somehow managing to keep his voice steady.

Doors snorted. "Yeah, and I'm Professor Trelawney's evil twin." She sat beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. "Look, I'll make you a deal, all right? After this whole mess is over I'll see if I can't pull a few strings and get you a visit with your dear old ancestors."

Harry looked at her, his eyes round. "You could do that?" he asked.

"Well, I dunno, I've never tried. Can't be too hard, though, if I ask the right people." She drew Harry into a motherly sort of hug. "You're not alone, honey, no matter how much you might think so. One of the advantages of having so many dead relatives is having them constantly hovering somewhere over your head."

She gave him a little shake and released him, hopping off his bed and nudging his altar server's robes with her foot. "Nice to know my nephew takes care of his dress clothes," she said, glancing impishly at him with one eyebrow arched. "I can tell you one thing, you ever see your mother the first thing she's going to do is tell you off for being such a slob."

Harry laughed in spite of himself. "I don't need a mother," he said, catching the robes as the tossed them to him. "You're more than bad enough."

Doors regarded him keenly for a moment. "Why, thank you, Harry," she said, before turning and leaving him with a pile of wrinkled material and a considerably better mood.

"Argh," he muttered, glancing at the clock. "We'd better get cracking, if we want to have a hope of competing with Fred and George." And trailing his dress robes, he dashed from the dormitory in search of Ron and Hermione.

****

Several hours later found he, Ron, the twins, Hermione, Ginny, and Natalie and Denis's minions collapsed in chairs in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had declined any part in the overt gag-setup, though she did offer to do a little spying in the Great Hall (which had been off limits as of the end of breakfast, so that the decoration crew could finish their work.) She said (in a very disapproving sort of voice) that they didn't need to worry about rigging the Hall itself; from the look of it, the three Marauders were doing a more than passable job of it themselves.

So Harry and the Weasleys had gone over every inch around the Hall with a fine-toothed comb, setting up trick paintings, armor, and several disgruntled bits of enchanted carpeting, that tended to throw whoever stepped on them about fifteen feet.

Harry had a renewed respect for the Weasleys and their young followers--he doubted even the Marauders could have come up with better gags, and some of the things the twins had thought up were sheer genius. Planting baby boggarts in every broom closet on the first floor had been only the first stage of a plan that must have been started sometime back in June, and which would, if implemented correctly, give Hogwarts the 'memorable' occasion all the adults seemed to be itching for.

He yawned and massaged his arms--pranking was a strenuous business, and the fact that he would have to be up earlier than anyone else in the common room next morning was not a pleasant one. He'd gotten Fred to teach him an Ironing Charm (where he'd learned it was anyone's guess, but Harry didn't want to question), so his robes were clean and pressed and hanging in the dormitory closet, but even the thought of all the mayhem they had planned wasn't enough to make him look forward to tomorrow's horrors.

"Get to bed, Harry," George said, waving an imperious hand. "Let the Lords of Mischief handle the finishing touches."

"Right," Harry said, heaving himself to his feet. "Just don't blow us all up before tomorrow, all right?"

The twins looked mortified. "And let all our work go to waste?" said Fred, aghast.

"We wouldn't dream of it, old bean," added George.

Harry shook his head and trooped up to bed, followed by Ron. The rest of their roommates should already be asleep, it being well past eleven o'clock, and it was with his mind blissfully blank that Harry pulled on his pajamas and crawled into bed--what awaited him tomorrow would just have to keep waiting, he wasn't going to worry about it now.

"G'night," he called to Ron through his curtains.

"Night, Harry." There came the rustling of blankets as Ron settled in, before firing one last granule of speculation into the darkness.

"I wonder what Lockhart's giving Marge for Christmas?"

There came a chorus of disgusted "Eeewww"s.

The Wedding

Christmas Day dawned bright and cold, with sun glancing off the frosted windows and searing brilliant prisms over everything. It was as still and quiet as a graven image, and so cold that the icicles hanging off the eves were cracking as the sun hit them.

Harry and his dormitory found themselves awakened to this wintery splendor, much earlier than any of them would have liked, by a terrific banging and clatter of pans.

"Gaaa!" There came a loud clunk as Ron fell out of his bed, disturbing the mound of presents that had taken up residence at the foot and bowling over his nightstand. Neville dove under his pillows, while Seamus sat up, bellowed something about torpedoes, launched his water glass, and flopped back to sleep.

"What's the big idea?" Harry demanded, rubbing his eyes and yawning a jaw-cracking yawn. He fumbled for his glasses, and before their intruder (which he quickly identified as a house-elf in a flannel toga) could squeak a response, he had let out a yell of glee that brought the rest of his dorm out of hibernation.

"Presents!" he cried, eying the pile at the end of his bed as the elf dropped all her pans and collapsed with a sigh beside the peat-stove.

"You were expecting grenades?" said Seamus, who had already attacked his and was surrounded by a flurry of torn wrapping paper.

Harry shook his head and began assaulting his own pile, curious to see how he had wound up with so many presents. Several minutes later he was surrounded by a box of false wands, supercharged belch powder, and a squawking rubber chicken (from the Weasley twins), a box of Honeyduke's sweets from Hermione, a new Broomstick Servicing Kit from Ron (who had just opened his own present from Harry and let out a whoop of delight upon discovering a full set of Chudley Cannon robes), and a large, spiky martian flower with magical pollen from Doors.

He had just opened Sirius's gift (a new and improved Marauder's Map) when a smart knocking sounded on the door, and Lupin stuck his head in.

"Harry, you're wanted," he said, a faint smile playing about his pale features. The moon had been almost full last night, which mean he'd likely been up swallowing that vile potion.

Harry grimaced and grabbed his bathrobe, leaving his friends to finish their present slaughter in peace.

"Good grief," he muttered, as he and Lupin descended the sunny spiral staircase. "I didn't think they'd get hold of me this early."

Lupin smirked slightly. "Oh, don't worry, Harry; I think you're going to like what you're about to see."

Harry gulped; these words from the mouth of a Marauder never bore anyone any good. He followed the professor through the cheery morning corridors, realizing swiftly that they were on a course for Doors's rooms. They passed Peeves, his arms full of sticky, decades-old candy canes, but he was too busy stuffing them into the door locks to notice them.

"Do I even want to know?" Harry asked, slowing as they passed a giant picture window looking out on the glittering white world.

Lupin didn't let him linger. "Hurry up, Harry, she'll have my head if you're late." He rapped on the door of Doors's room, and Sirius, wearing an extremely evil grin (Harry gulped again), opened it and bowed them in. Harry took one look around, stopped dead in his tracks, and dropped his jaw.

He had always known his aunt was something of a mad scientist, but this was just ridiculous. Her entire room was crisscrossed with a tangle of tubes, pipes, and weird glass things she had either stolen from Snape or the crazy house. Strange, colored liquids bubbled through and dripped from all of them, filling the room with a vague odor of fruitcake.

"Oh, I was right, I don't want to know," he moaned, though he was wildly curious as to just what all this was for.

Lupin and Sirius laughed, but neither had a chance to respond, for Doors herself appeared a moment later.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, feeling his jaw drop further. "I hope you're not planning to wear that to the wedding," he said, when he regained his voice. "Small aircraft might try to land on your head."

Doors grinned at him and stuck out her tongue, but Harry's worries were not unfounded--her robes were as long and floppy as usual, but this particular set had been covered from neck to hem with long strands of Muggle tinsel, so that it looked like a cross between a bear hide and Mrs. Finnigan's disco ball. It reflected little glitters of light back onto the walls, and made a funny swishing sound every time she moved. She'd pinned her hair up as sloppily as ever, the silver strands standing out every bit as bright as the tinsel, but from the end of every bobby pin hung a tiny red or green Christmas bauble, tinkling and clattering with each turn of her head.

"Oh, now, there's nothing wrong with having a little holiday spirit," she chided him, glancing at his own less than festive attire. "The bathrobe does wonders, by the way."

Harry flushed, realizing his robe still had smears of jam on it from some time in November, and it hadn't smelled the greatest since their encounter with Marge's nocturnal habits several nights before--so much sweating had left it comparable to the aroma of the Quidditch lockers.

"Er, like I said to Lupin, do I really want to know?" he asked by way of changing the subject, sweeping an arm at the mess around him.

Sirius picked at the hem of his robe, which was equally as frightening as Harry's. "If you've any Marauder spirit, you certainly do," he said, walking over to Harry and knocking a beaker of something purple over with his elbow. The beaker smashed on the floor and immediately began eating a hole in the carpet, which Lupin promptly stepped on.

"Oi," muttered Doors in a long-suffering voice, waving the mess away with her wand as Sirius threw a fatherly arm around Harry's shoulders. "Today, my boy, you're going to witness the true meaning of pranking, in all its frightful glory."

"Somehow I was afraid of that," Harry muttered, but Sirius didn't hear him.

"This, my dear boy--" he gestured to the mess of tubing "--is the future of all joking, the perfect gag, maker of the Ultimate Weapon!" He looked down at Harry with a slightly mad glint in his eyes, grinning insanely. Harry edged away from him.

Doors smiled. "He means this," she said, dropping a bean into his hand.

"A bean?" Harry said, looking around at them. "You've all gone starkers."

Sirius heaved a sigh, but Lupin said quietly, "Not just any bean, Harry. That and all its fellows are the new, improved, super-sensitive generation of Exfydales Beans."

Harry yelped and dropped it as though Lupin had just told him it was a live skrewt egg. Sirius dove for it, but Doors stopped the bean in midair with her wand, leaving Sirius to crash to the floor in a heap.

"As Remus was saying," she continued, ignoring the interruption. "These have about eight times the exploding power of your average bean, meaning you need about half as many. They also need a lot more ill-will to go kablam, so we're safe until the reception."

"And I had to know this because...?" Harry said, still eying the floating bean as though it was about to attack him.

Doors and Lupin looked at one another and Lupin forced a small package into his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," he said solemnly. "You now hold the fate of all this wedding in your hands."

Harry gulped.

"Well, come along, Mr. Pothead," said Doors, clapping a hand on his shoulders. "Let's get you back to Gryffindor Tower before McGonagall comes looking for you and sees this mess."

And without another word, she marched him all the way back to the Tower with his cargo.

He found most of his fellow Gryffindors assembled in the common room, comparing presents and dress robes under the watchful eyes of none other than McGonagall herself, wearing holly-red robes and a wreath around her hat.

"Ah, Potter, I've been looking for you," she said briskly, doing a slight double take at Doors's outfit. "Lovely hair, Lorna, I really think it'll catch on."

"Sure, I was hoping so," said Doors. "Though it's really not complete without the lights." She flicked a small switch at her waist, and a moment later her ornaments were accompanied by dozens of small, flashing Muggle Christmas lights.

"Delightfully tacky, no?" she grinned, as a horde of students left off their presents to gawk.

McGonagall rolled her eyes, and Harry, after a chuckle, sighed. "What did you want, Professor?" he asked.

McGonagall took him by the elbow and led him off to the side, while the rest of the House continued examining Doors's interesting headgear.

"I wanted to get ahold of you before anyone else did," she said in a low murmur. "We were going to have another meeting before breakfast, but there's not going to be time, so I just thought I'd warn you--whatever happens, DO NOT laugh at your aunt's wedding dress. Lockhart's relatives have been getting a little jinx-happy since the events of the other evening, and not all of them are as hopelessly inept as he is. We don't want any duels breaking out if we can help it."

"Great," muttered Harry. "Anything else?"

McGonagall allowed a ghost of a smile. "Try to stay alive through this, could you, Potter? We'll need you come the next Quidditch meet."

She gave him a shake and turned to address the rest of the House, most of whom were still transfixed by Doors's costume. "Breakfast will be eaten in the common room this morning," she said, her voice stern as she dragged the eyes of all the students toward her. "After which you will all return to your dormitories to prepare for the wedding. Seating will begin at ten thirty, though those involved--" everyone's eyes flicked to Harry "--will be obliged to be in the Great Hall a half hour beforehand."

Harry watched as McGonagall surveyed the room, out of which all the mirth had been sucked faster than you could say 'knife'. She sniffed, before snapping in her most McGonagall-like voice, "Oh, for heaven's sake, nobody's died--"

"Yet," interjected Seamus.

"--and this whole mess will be over and done with by evening. I expect nothing less than the bravery and chivalry worthy of a Gryffindor from you all." She left the tower, turning at the portrait-hole and waving her wand. The chairs flew to the sides of the room, and two long tables laden with food and assorted crackers appeared.

"Enjoy," she said, before disappearing into the corridor.

The students loked at one another, shrugged, and set to.

Harry wedged himself between Ron and Hermione, chewing absently on Christmas pudding while his mind wandered.

"Penny for your thoughts?" said Hermione, holding out a Knut she'd just found embedded in the trifle.

Harry laughed, somewhat gloomily. "Thoughts? Not sure I have many of those at the moment. Fears, yes; worries, yes; downright terrors, yes, but thoughts?"

Ron elbowed him in the ribs. "Cheer up, 'Arry," he said around a mouthful of toast. "You know the twinsh and th' Maraudersh'll make things more intereshting." He swallowed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, to Hermion'es disgust.

"Yeah, if they don't kill us all first," said Harry grimly.

****

In what seemed like no time, he found himself confronting his reflection in his white altar server's robes. He'd polished his glasses, but he felt trying to make his hair behave was one battle he'd rather not fight. A glance at the clock told him he had about ten minutes before he was due in the Great Hall, and so, with a resigned sigh, he trudged out of Gryffindor Tower and down through the hallways.

At least nobody was around to pity him--the rest of the House was busily preparing for the upcoming nightmare, and the corridors were utterly deserted.

He came upon the doors to the Great Hall and halted, his courage--and his stomach--giving way. He probably would have turned and bolted right there, but at that moment the doors opened and Harry found himself face-to-stomach with--

"Hagrid?" he croaked, looking up.

Hagrid it was, in his hairy brown suite and horrible orange-patterned tie, his hair tied back with a long strip of rawhide and smelling of some kind of over-abundant cologne.

"'Ey, 'Arry," he said. "Dumbledore sent me t'see where ye were. C'mon in and see the Hall, looks a treat--er, sort of."

Hagrid appeared to be the only person in all of Hogwarts unfazed by the upcoming nuptials, and his lack of concern heartened Harry greatly.

"Hey, Hagrid. What're you doing here so early?" he asked, as Hagrid swept him into the Great Hall.

"Yer aunt told me t' be here early to keep an eye on them idiots." Hagrid scowled darkly at a group of Lockharts, who were setting up a giant black camera on a tripod.

Harry glanced around the Hall, feeling his spirits rise in spite of himself--Hagrid was right, it did look a treat, and Doors had really outdone herself in spite of Lockhart and Marge's deplorable taste. The pink and frills had been kept to a minimum, and his aunt had somehow tricked a small, creeping vine with moon-white flowers into growing around the walls.

A large and quite pretty arbor dominated the far end of the hall, wound with garlands and flowers and poinsettia blossoms, and before it stood row upon row of white chairs on a red velvet carpet. The walls had been hung with the customary Christmas tapestries, and Harry reflected that the bridal outfits didn't match the decor at all. Doors had probably done that on purpose.

Sunshine poured in through the enchanted ceiling, dancing over flower boxes and garlands that must have taken her ages, but around the corners of the Hall he noticed something inevitable--

"Bathtubs," he muttered, shaking his head at a large, claw-footed monstrosity overgrown with flower-laden vines and creepers. He would have admired more, but the nervous-looking vicar tugged at his collar several times and called out,

"Places, people, places! We need to get these photos done before the guests start showing up!"

Harry found himself being dragged bodily over to a set of risers draped in white velvet. Nearly all the rest of the wedding party seemed to be there already--Petunia, scowling in her pink baby-doll gown; McGonagall and Trelawney eyeing one another beadily from opposite ends of the risers; Lockhart in black tuxedo robes, and Dudley, looking furious and sulky in a set of altar server's robes so large he looked like a small circus tent. The only people who seemed to be missing were Snape and Marge herself, and Harry felt a sight more jolly at the scene that was likely to occur when the latter caught up with the former.

Scarcely had he thought this, however, than Marge came sailing in like a large, chiffon-draped battleship, and Harry knew at once that he wasn't the only one biting his tongue against a wild shriek of laughter.

Marjorie Dursley in her wedding gown had to be the singular most hideous thing Harry had ever seen in his life, even including Dudley in Uncle Vernon's old tux. The dress itself was more than bad enough--eggshell white and dripping with enough tulle, sequins, and satin trim to send the prissiest of little girls shrieking in fear, but it looked ten times worse on Marge.

A magical corset (it had to be magical, any Muggle garment would have burst its seams by now) had drawn up her already ample bosom to giddy heights, while doing its best to slim down her thick waist. Her mousy hair was arranged in an enormous pompadour, crowned with a sequin-studded headpiece surely left over from twenty years past, and a long, embroidered white veil that would have put the Bayeaux Tapestry to shame.

This horrific vision proceeded to trundle its way over to the photographer, beady eyes surveying the crowd. "Where's the best man?" Marge demanded, hitting an off note in her beseeching falsetto. "We can't have the photos without the best man, it just wouldn't do!"

Harry hastily turned a laugh into a cough, and Marge glared at him. "What was that, boy?" she barked, in a voice much more like her own.

Harry fought the urge to gulp as she advanced on him, taffeta rustling ominously. "Uh, I said I'll go get him," he blurted, taking an unconscious step backwards and nearly toppling off the riser. Without waiting for a response he turned and fairly fled, grateful for any excuse to get out of there.

"Good Lord," he moaned, once safely in the hallway. "I'm not going to make it to the Eucharist."

He set off down the corridor, his task somewhat dogged by the fact that he had absolutely no idea where Snape lived--somewhere in the dungeons, obviously, but in a place like Hogwarts that didn't help much.

"Maybe I can just hide in the broom closet until it's over," he mused as he rounded a corner--and ran headlong into Doors, minus her 'festive' togs but still bearing the distinctive hairdo, carrying a platter laden with corsages.

"Well, hello to you too," she said, whisking the flowers back onto her platter and helping him to his feet. "What're you doing out and about? You should have been in the Great Hall about ten minutes ago."

Harry shivered. "I was," he said. "Snape didn't show, and I figured going to get him would spare me the terror for a few minutes. Probably going to be more than a few minutes, since I have no idea where Snape is."

Doors laughed. "Poor kid, is it really that bad?"

"Worse," he said fervently, his eyes round and horror registering on his face. He must have looked as bad as he felt, for Doors shook her head sympathetically.

"Well, come on," she said, sending the platter floating on its way with a wave of her wand. "Let's keep you out of there, then." She took his hand and led him down the hallway, through a bewildering series of twists and turns.

"You know where Snape lives?" Harry said, amazed.

Doors snorted. "Are you kidding? He found a little 'present' from the Marauders and I just the other day, if his yells were any indication." She turned him down a secret passage behind a tapestry of Hufflepuff's badger.

"All this is going on and you still find time to torment Snape?" Harry shook his head. "You guys are way too in to what you do." The passage was dark, and the two of them had to slow considerably to avoid smashing into something. The walls glistened damply in the light of the few torches, and Harry sensed that they were going rather perceptibly downward.

"Who said we did it recently? Lupin and I planted that bomb in his shower in fourth year. He just didn't get around to turning the thing on until now."

She stopped him short in front of a tall and forbidding wooden door. "Never actually tried getting in through the front way," she reflected, jumping for and missing the heavy brass knocker. "Sirius did once, and it wasn't pretty."

Harry thought it better not to ask.

"Well, fine then," said Doors, after a third failed attempt at the knocker. She rapped hard on it with her knuckles, sending a dim echo through the clammy passage.

"What is it?" demanded Snape, his voice muffled through the door.

"You're late," Doors called.

"So what?" Snape shot back.

Doors rolled her eyes. "Here we go," she muttered. "Lockhart's waiting for you."

"So?"

"Marge is waiting for you."

"So?"

"The rest of us are waiting for you."

"So?"

Doors shot Harry a glance that was at once mischievous and exasperated. "The Maid of Honor's waiting for you," she said, her odd voice infusing as much wicked vehemence into this innocuous phrase as was humanly possible.

There came the scrape of a chair being pushed back, and a moment later the door burst open.

"How late am I?" Snape asked.

Doors gave him a triumphant smirk, but for a moment Harry could only blink.

The person who had opened the door bore no immediate resemblance to Snape. Not only was his hair clean, it had also been trimmed and slicked back, and his black robes were pressed and bore absolutely no evidence of the Potions accidents they normally did. To say it was a difference was a vast understatement, and Harry couldn't help but feel that Uncle Vernon was in serious trouble.

"About damn time," said Doors, crossing her arms. She swept a bow. "Go on, get moving, we haven't got all day."

Snape glared at her, but swept on down the corridor nonetheless. Doors and Harry followed him, the former to make sure he didn't bolt and the latter because he had nothing better to do.

"Marge is going to eat him alive, you know," he whispered.

"Oh, yeah," Doors murmured back.

The pair grinned at the very thought.

****

Several minutes later, however, Harry had absolutely nothing to grin about. No sooner had the three of them burst into the Great Hall (Snape pointedly ignoring Marge, who started cooing) than he and the Potions master were dragged off to the photos, while Doors set out her corsages and disappeared again. After ten minutes of being poked and prodded by the various Lockharts who were arranging the pictures, his temper was frazzled and he was already beginning to wonder just what they would do if he leaped at the photographer and tore his head off.

Fortunately the vicar intervened before he had a chance to test his query, telling them that the guests were due to be seated any minute, and that they'd better get out right quick. Most of the party did so, and Harry and Dudley took their positions on either side of the great closed doors.

Professor Sinistra, who had rather grudgingly agreed to play the organ, struck up a wandering little background tune, and at a signal from the vicar (who was hiding by the side entrance), Harry and Dudley opened the doors.

One of the first guests to file in was Lucius Malfoy, arrayed in sweeping grey robes and moving arm in arm with Narcissa, who was dressed in stunning silver. The two made their way to a back corner (Harry really couldn't blame them for that; no sign of Marge and they were already looking a bit queasy), and Harry barely had time to blink before he was bowing in Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan, who gave him an encouraging sort of smile and sat as far from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy as possible.

He had to admit it was interesting, watching all the dressed-up students and parents ambling their way in, but he was nevertheless starting to wonder just when their trick carpet was going to act up--

"SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP!"

CRASH

"Well, that answers that one," Harry muttered, choking back a snicker as Mr. and Mrs. Patil, both looking highly affronted, scrambled through the door and straightened their robes.

"Goodness, I don't remember there being so many tricks in this place," Mr. Patil murmured to his wife. Harry coughed, sure his face was reddening and giving him away.

Sirius showed up not long after that, grinning like a Cheshire cat and fairly jigging with anticipation. Picking up women at a wedding was a disgusting thing to do, but Harry had a feeling Sirius was going to get offers whether he wanted them or not--not for nothing did half the female population of Hogwarts nurse a secret "sweet on" for him, and he'd certainly gone all-out this time. His dress robes were royal blue, and his longish black hair had been so artfully disarrayed that Harry suspected he'd had Doors do it for him.

"Stay away from bathtub number three," he whispered as he passed Harry, fully aware of the admiring looks he was getting from most of the Hogwarts mothers.

"Right," muttered Harry, seriously afraid to know what would happen to him if he didn't.

The Hall filled quickly; they hadn't, as Harry had at first thought, gone overboard on the seating by any means. He hadn't before realized that having all the Hogwarts alumni attending also meant there would be a good many ghosts, but all around him pearly, translucent people were popping through the walls and gliding to the fringes of the Hall.

Their trick carpeting also proved to be a success--many more people than the Patils were sent sailing after stepping in the wrong place, which left Dudley petrified and Harry shaking with suppressed laughter.

Hermione and Ron went in together, Ron's eyes darting nervously around in search of Malfoy. Harry noticed he was careful to walk through on the side Dudley stood guard over, which was a very good thing--if his cousin had been drooling before, it was nothing to the look of idiocy on his face as he beheld Hermione in her dress robes. She'd chosen a festive and very pretty set, all cheery reds and made of a light, floaty material that set off the browns in her hair and eyes. She'd smoothed her hair down and tied the front wings back in two slender braids, and Harry caught more than one fellow Gryffindor staring at her in disbelief.

Ron wasn't looking too bad himself--his dress robes were brown and velvety-looking, and he'd evidently had his mother attend to his hair. He would have looked far better if he hadn't been so distracted by his search for Malfoy, but he and Hermione made it safely to a seat near the middle without any sign of him.

The Weasleys, minus Fred and George, were the next to enter, all dressed to the nines and looking as though they'd been given a thorough going-over by Mrs. Weasley before leaving their rooms. Bill's hair was still long, though his earring was conspicuously missing, and Percy, in starched robes of navy blue, was looking so self-important that Harry wanted to smack him. Ginny, on the other hand, had on a set of brilliant purple robes trimmed with silver, and he could see at once why Ron had been so angry when she bought them--the set must have cost her a small fortune, but she certainly seemed happy with them.

Harry directed them to where Ron and Hermione were sitting, and was wondering mightily how long all this was going to take when Doors and Lupin arrived, and all he could do was stare.

His aunt had never looked very human--public opinion was fairly unanimous in pronouncing her more of an elf than anything, but it wasn't likely that anyone looking at her now could say otherwise if they'd wanted to.

She'd let her hair down, so that it spilled in a slightly stringy and flyaway mess to her knees, and tucked behind her pointed ears it made her weathered, mischievously elfin face more unusual than ever. Her long robes were a rich, dark wood brown and edged with deep green, the collar run through with a single silver thread that set off the ones in her hair. The fact that they weren't eight sizes too large only served to enhance the effect, for while in her normal robes she could get away with having the figure of an eleven-year-old, this set made it quite obvious that she could have swapped clothing with the second years if she'd wanted to. No one could have called her beautiful, not in any consciously understood sense of the word, but Harry couldn't help staring at her nonetheless.

Doors laughed, the odd magic of her voice snapping him out of his reverie. "Clean up pretty good, don't we?" she asked, elbowing Lupin in the ribs. The two had apparently gone for a pair effect, for Lupin's robes were the same wood-brown hue as Doors's, though he'd rather wisely forgone the green trim.

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Well, we're grabbing seats up front, so mind you join us once your duties are done," she said, something in her smirk making his stomach drop about three inches. She and Lupin proceeded to the front row, both pausing to bait Sirius, who was already surrounded by a small crowd of admiring females.

Harry shook his head; the Hall was nearly full, and any minute now he and Dudley would be getting the signal to shut the doors and march up the aisle for the candle-lighting. He seriously doubted whether Dudley would be up to such a task in front of a hall full of wizards, but he hoped for the sake of Marge's patience that his cousin would try.

The last few stragglers trickled in, lightly serenaded by a choppy rendition of a love song written by Wendelin the Weird after her fourteenth burning, and the vicar bade Harry and Dudley to shut the doors. Harry managed this without much trouble, but Dudley, who had never been one for physical activity and thus had the strength of a blowfly, wound up having to hurl his significant bulk at the heavy wooden slab before it would shut all the way. He let out an admirable "Oof!" in the process, which the audience courteously ignored.

Harry took up his metal candle-lighter and delivered a sharp kick to Dudley's shin, warning him not to collapse or wet his pants. The two started down the long red aisle, Harry actually remembering to put his left foot first. Dudley of course did not, and so wound up huffing and puffing about two steps off-key with the music and bobbing his light like a lost hinkypunk.

Things went perfect as punch in spite of this, while Harry willed himself not to flush redder than a beet under the eyes of so many people and Dudley waddled gracelessly, until they reached the altar and began lighting the long candelabras to either side of it. No sooner had he reached his light over his head than Dudley let out an extremely rude noise that Uncle Vernon used to blame on 'barking spiders.' His face immediately went the same shade as Hermione's robes, and Harry very wisely decided to hold his breath until he was done. He was rather concerned over the candles, however--if they exploded, it wouldn't be the first time a burst of Dursley flatulence had set the house alight.

Several guests coughed, but Harry managed to make it to his seat beside Doors and Lupin without further incident. Doors took his hand and squeezed it sympathetically.

The vicar strolled up the aisle next, looking as nervous as ever in his high-collared robes. He laid his book of sacraments on the altar and cleared his throat several times, tugging on his collar and already sweating profusely.

Harry turned in his chair to watch the side doors, just in time to see McGonagall and Trelawney trying to squeeze through at once. Of course they got nicely stuck, and it wasn't until a pink-clad foot shot out and kicked Trelawney hard on the rear that the pair got moving again.

Harry groaned. "Here we go," he muttered.

A wave of near-silent tittering swept the room as the crowd got their first view of the hideous bridesmaids' dresses, but the look on McGonagall's face was enough to freeze the laughter in Harry's throat. Her mouth was set in the thinnest of thin lines, and her eyes were narrowed and cold.

Trelawney, on the other hand, seemed so torn between misty-eyed rapture and irritation at having to walk with McGonagall that she looked rather constipated. Someone had obviously told her to leave off the jewelry, but her long emerald earrings still glinted stubbornly in her ears.

There was a brief scuffle as they reached the altar and both tried to turn right, and Harry heard McGonagall hiss quite distinctly, "Sybil, get over there or I'll shove my foot so far up your--"

She glanced at the vicar and fell silent. Somewhere across the room, Sirius snorted.

Snape and Petunia entered a moment later, and Harry took one look at them and had to bury his face in his hands, teetering dangerously on the verge of insane laughter.

They couldn't have made more of a contrast if they'd tried. Petunia, as bony and horse-faced as ever in her frilly monstrosity of a dress, her blonde hair as terrifying as Marge's had been and her eyes crusted with lurid pink eyeshadow, looked as though the whole room smelled of a particularly foul Dungbomb. Snape, on the other hand, would have looked the perfect ghastly Death Eater if he hadn't been wearing an expression roughly similar to that of a lovesick cow--Harry half expected him to start mooing.

Petunia, for her part, looked more than happy to part with Snape at the altar, though she obviously wasn't thrilled to be standing by McGonagall.

There was a decent pause, and then Professor Sinistra struck up a somewhat overenthusiastic wedding march. Harry took his head from his hands and ventured a look at the far doors, and immediately wished he hadn't.

The doors had swung open of their own accord, and standing in their place was one of the most horrible sights he'd ever seen. Marge alone had been bad enough, but Marge and Lockhart together was enough to make him wish he could just roll his eyes back in his head and pass out.

The two of them started buoyantly down the aisle, and for a moment, just one fleeting, wild moment, Harry thought they might actually make it through this thing without any major disasters. But only for a moment.

As the couple drew nearer he rubbed his eyes, not sure if he was seeing things correctly. The tittering that rippled across the crowd like a wave assured him he was not, and without thinking he smacked his forehead and groaned inwardly.

Antennas were sprouting from Marge's hair, pushing their way slowly through the hairspray-stiffened mass as she and the oblivious Lockhart sailed down the aisle. By the time she reached the altar they were an impressive two feet long, waving and bobbing above her, and Harry could fairly feel the silent wrath of the Lockharts rising off the audience in waves.

He glanced at Doors and Lupin, both of whom were keeping carefully neutral expressions on their faces, and then at Sirius, who was clearly enjoying himself so much that he probably wouldn't notice if Marge started stripping. The Weasley twins were still nowhere to be seen, and Denis and Natalie's horde of über-pranksters looked as innocent as the children they weren't.

He didn't spend long pondering the identity of the party behind the antennae, however--as soon as Marge set foot on the crimson velvet under the arbor, the bobbing projections started flashing red and green, alternating to the unheard tune of what was unmistakably 'Louie Louie'.

The chortling grew worse, and somewhere behind him Parvati Patil choked audibly. Harry himself was wondering how long he could hold out, but McGonagall reached out and none-to-surreptitiously snapped the projectiles off, glaring severely at the whole lot of them as she did so.

The vicar, looking more nervous and frightened than ever, mopped his sweating face with a handkerchief and cleared his throat. "Er, dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the union of unwavering love--" here Marge wiped drool off her chin, staring avidly at Snape "--which has blessed the two who stand before me with its sacred and indefinable bond."

McGonagall coughed dryly, glaring at Marge so fiercely that she dragged her eyes back to the vicar, though her expression clearly stated that her mind was still elsewhere--just where, Harry really didn't want to know.

The vicar looked at her questioningly, before continuing in the same slightly nasal voice, "Marriage is a symbol of such love, and of the bond of fidelity that goes along with it--"

The entire Hall, minus the Lockharts, let out a universal snort. Petunia rolled her eyes, and Snape looked ready to kill.

"--and it is not to be entered lightly. I trust that both of you are willing to devote your lives to one another, and cleave together in an inseparable--"

Lockhart was nodding eagerly, but it was plain that Marge hadn't the faintest idea the little man was speaking at all. Whether Uncle Vernon noticed this or was just annoyed, Harry didn't know, but he barked out, "Get on with it, man!" in such a snarling tone that he might as well have been talking to Harry.

Petunia glowered at him, then glanced at Snape, who gave a little start and nearly knocked over one of the candleholders.

"Anyway," said the vicar, clearly annoyed by all the interruptions. "These two have decided to enter the bonds of holy matrimony, and now that I've reminded you all what a solemn rite that is, I believe the bride and groom have specially prepared their own wedding vows."

Doors and Lupin shifted slightly in their seats, and Harry immediately glanced around to make sure all the bathtubs were still in their correct places. He tensed, ready to run for it should any of their 'special' beans decide to make their presence known.

His attention returned to Lockhart, who was beaming like an imbecile--he had to have polished his teeth with Vaseline, nobody had choppers that shiny--and holding up a small card.

"My dearest darling Marjorie," he began, in a voice so sugar-coated it fairly dripped with saccharine. "Light of my life, treasure of my heart, Squidgy-widgey-poo, darlingest snookums honeybaby--"

By now half the Hall was turning green, looking anywhere but forward and pressing handkerchiefs to their mouths. Lucius and Narcissa in particular seemed ready to toss their cookies, but just when things were looking serious there came a scrap of salvation--in the form of a knock at the door.

"--sweet pudding-pie pooky--" Lockhart stopped. "I say, what was that?" he asked, in the high monotone of an extremely bad actor. Harry could have sworn that he muttered aside, "Dammit, they're early."

The entire hall looked as bewildered as Harry felt--who would come calling on Christmas day, and why would they bother to knock at Hogwarts?--but all seemed more than grateful for the interruption.

The knock was repeated, three sound thuds on the great front doors, and the vicar, looking even more terrified, said, "You, lad, go on and see who that is."

Harry glanced at Doors and hopped to his feet, glad enough for a chance to get away from Marge and Lockhart. He trotted out the far doors and through the bright entrance hall, approaching the front doors with unusual trepidation.

He eased one open, and found himself confronted with--

"Fred?" he said, bemused and just a little annoyed. "What are you doing?"

It was indeed Fred Weasley, standing directly in front of George, but now that Harry got a look at him he realized the boy was terrified.

"H-H-Harry," he stuttered, his face whiter than paper beneath its freckles. "Harry, w-we're in b-b-big trouble."

Harry gawked at him, wondering just how in hell he'd managed to go off his rocker when another voice spoke, a voice so soft and sibilantly evil that he shuddered from head to toe.

"What he means, young Potter, is that you're in big trouble."

The blood drained from Harry's face. For five seconds solid he simply stared, unable to believe his eyes. It couldn't be, it would be too unfair, and besides, the bastard was dead.........

Before his horrified gaze stood the image that had haunted his nightmares for the last six years, and one which he thought had bought the farm at the end of last term. What he was doing here now was beyond anyone's guess, but standing on the front steps was none other than Lord Voldemort, with an entire army flanked out across the grounds behind him. The only thought in Harry's shell-shocked brain as he stared into the Dark Lord's merciless red eyes was 'Boy, we shouldn't have invited all the alumni', but what came out when he opened his mouth was--

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S MOLDYWARTS!!!!!"

Before he could blink he had pulled Fred and George into the castle, slamming the great and heavy door in Voldemort's chalky face. The two of them looked ready to drop dead of fright, but both gamely followed Harry as he pelted back into the Great Hall.

"Well?" said the vicar, as though he hadn't heard Harry's bellow. "Who was it?"

The look Harry shot the little man was so witheringly horrible that even Snape seemed to flinch before it. "Who was it? Who was it? Oh, let's see, the milk man, the garbage collector, and the streetsweeper were all having a bender on a flying Harley. IT WAS VOLDEMORT, YOU TIT, VOLDEMORT!!!" And so saying, he promptly collapsed onto the plush carpet.

Had he thrown a bomb into the Hall, he could have wreaked no greater havoc. Half the assembly leaped to their feet (several of the ladies trying to jump into Sirius's arms at once), some with cries of horror and some with barely restrained whoops of joy.

Harry was barely conscious of the mad stampede that threatened to follow, as every witch and wizard in the Hall flew about like startled chickens. Petunia, who was looking downright confused, caught Trelawney by the collar and demanded to know just who this Moldywarts was. Trelawney shrieked something in reply, and a moment later Petunia had leaped into Snape's arms and begun screaming hysterically.

Snape didn't look at all displeased by this, but Uncle Vernon sure did--he bounded to his feet with a bellow like an enraged bull, wading through the crowd and sending the little vicar flying with a stray blow from his flabby elbow. Despite the fact that Snape was a wizard and Vernon only a very hacked-off Muggle, it probably would have been the end of the Potions master, had not Dudley jumped to his feet as well and at once let out a truly thunderous fart. Most unfortunately, he happened to be standing directly in front of a candle when he did so, and a four-foot jet of flame shot backwards and promptly set the entire arbor alight.

"FIRE!" bellowed Mr. Patil, and at once about eight hundred different jets of water sprayed at the blaze, soaking everything within twenty feet of it but making little difference in the small inferno, which was fueled by all the cheap chintz Marge had insisted on.

"Welcome to the end of the world," muttered Doors.

Harry turned and looked at her, as she gazed with something like wry amusement at the mayhem. "Come on, honey, that door's not going to hold on its own without some help."

Harry followed her numbly into the entrance hall, watching without seeing as she and Lupin bespelled the great doors with as many tricky incantations as they could think of. Shutters slammed over all the windows, barring themselves against the black tide that lay in wait beyond them. Within a matter of minutes Hogwarts had turned itself into a seemingly impregnable fortress, and thus the way was paved for the Inevitable Catastrophe.

::Author laughs insanely:: Muahahahaha! The fat's in the fire now! I realize what a truly horrid place that was to break at, but as this part is already about fifteen pages longer than I wanted it, you'll just have to live until I get the next part out. Please don't mimic Dudley and shoot streams of fiery methane at me; all this does have a point, as lame and unlikely as that may seem. ^_^