Harry Potter and the Underground Cult
Disclaimer: Mostly everyone is Jo's 'cept Cheesy Badger Smile and some of the characters sadly but surely belong to Ferndale, USA. (And hopefully they are not proud).
'Ello, this is my first story, so like or die. Or both. Anyway, don't kill me if this story has some sort of mistake because I'm still better than you and I really don't have TIME. ~weeps~
"You would think," thought Harry Potter, "that a person would know their way around by their sixth year, even if it IS the Dungeons." Obviously, he was trying to get to Snape's Office (punishment for 'purposefully sabotaging his own potion.')
It was Saturday, and Harry was already a bit miffed since Snape just HAD to pick a Hogsmeade weekend to deal out detentions, and now he was lost to top it off.
As he was walking down the dark hallways, he began to hear a faint droning. He listened closely. As he got nearer, he realized it was some sort of chanting. At the end of this dead end hall there was a door, halfway ajar.
"That must be where the noise is coming from." The-Boy-Who-Is-Far-Too- Curious thought out loud.
Something inside him was telling him to be very quiet as he got closer to the door, so by the time he got there he was on tip-toes and barely breathing. He thought he could decipher the chanted words, though they didn't make sense.
"CHEESY! BADGER! ...SMIILE!!!!" Then again... "CHEESY! BADGER! SMILE!!!" Oh, what did these odd words mean?
As he looked through the door, he saw probably about twenty students crouching as if they were worshipping something; all raise their hands in what looked like the Nazi salute, except with a little twinkly-motion of the fingers. As he poked his 'andsome face through the crack however, there was a showering of shrieks and suddenly twenty wands were all pointed toward one thing: the black haired boy with the now very pale face poking his head through the door.
Harry let out a surprisingly girlish scream and fled back the way he came. Despite being lost, Harry, being an arrogant adolescent teen idol, kept his spirits up by telling himself how gorgeous he was.
Eventually, he was practically screaming out his own name in ecstasy, when he turned a corner and ran into Snape.
"Fiddlesticks," he murmured out loud.
"What? Trying to curse me, are you?" said Snape, with an evil twinkle in his eye.
"I think that you shall serve another few hours of detention." Wink wink. Harry shivered. He had heard many tales of what Snape did to young boys. Being as he was especially pretty, Harry couldn't imagine what Snape would do to him.
"Well, Mr. Snape sir, might I serve my detention with. someone else present?"
Snape looked at Harry in a somewhat puzzled manner, but quickly resumed his evil demeanor.
"Indeed you may."
"Thank you, Professor," At that, Harry flashed his most charming smile and followed Snape much like a small duckling would. That is, a simply striking, dark haired, green-eyed duckling. Harry, considering this, almost yelped out his name again, but refrained.
Soon they were in the part of the dungeons that Harry knew and he was very relieved that his pretty face was no longer in danger.
"In here, Potter." Snape led Harry into a dank classroom that smelled vaguely of... NO. Snape wouldn't be that cruel. Hold it, yes. Yes he would.
"Well, it is my favourite student; Harry Potter. You' re here for a detention I see. I'll make sure that he gets his fair punishment, Severus," said a dirtier-than-usual Filch. As he said this, his eyes glinted with a horrible glee.
Harry gulped and hoped that nothing too damaging would come of this filthy turn of events. He slowly inched over to the desk and took a seat. Filch loomed over him. Soon, Filch got tired of looming, and limped over to the other side of the room, where he sat poking an effigy of what looked like Mr. Clean.
"You will be pickling some things of Snape's, seeing as this IS his detention," Filch looked a bit disgruntled at this, and Harry didn't want to ponder why. He feebly pushed a bulging bag of something towards Harry and indicated a jar and some vinegar over on a table.
"Well, get started," he grinned then picked up a bag of what were hopefully tobacco and a pipe. Harry, reluctant at getting slime (because he knew it WOULD be something slimy) all over his hands, slowly walked over to the waiting bag.
"OH Sweet Mother of God what is this???!!!" screeched aid a very horrified Harry upon opening the bad. (The creative curse words he had learned from Ron not even a week ago. He found it would be a good time to use his newfound wittiness.) It looked like a bag of small brains mixed in with some goo. And fine goo it was at that. Perfectly slimy and green in every way.
He had no idea how long it took, but when he was done his eyes stung with the pain of a thousand dying hoboes, and his hands, well. we'd rather not describe his poor, miserable slimy hands. With dragging feet, Harry slowly made his way out of the now smoke-ridden classroom and into the hall.
Only when he was finally in his cosy bed did he realize how strange the day had been. But he soon forgot once more because he really was tired.
That night, though, he dreamed about the odd cult that he had found in the dungeons. The dream was like a continuation of what had happened when he poked his head through the door. He tried to run, but they caught up, all of them hooting and screaming at the top of their lungs.
When they finally came upon him they circled him this time chanting: "MYLES! MYLES!" and on and on. Then a girl he hadn't seen before with a Slytherin badge came up to him, forced him to his knees, and surprisingly slapped a sticker on his forehead. Then she muttered, "Fourth Honorary Myles," At this, everyone else murmured "Myles," as well and solemnly walked off, leaving dream-Harry alone with a sparkly star on his forehead, and a vague feeling of being blessed.
In the morning, all Harry could remember was the feeling of inhaling too much smoke. At this thought, he remembered his detention, and shuddered. But that was all over now. He smiled as he got dressed, reveling in the thought that every piece of clothing he put on made him look like a prince.
The Great Hall was already quite full when he walked in, as usual. Also as usual, every eye turned towards him as he strode his dashing young self down the Hall, towards the Gryffindor table.
Disclaimer: Mostly everyone is Jo's 'cept Cheesy Badger Smile and some of the characters sadly but surely belong to Ferndale, USA. (And hopefully they are not proud).
'Ello, this is my first story, so like or die. Or both. Anyway, don't kill me if this story has some sort of mistake because I'm still better than you and I really don't have TIME. ~weeps~
"You would think," thought Harry Potter, "that a person would know their way around by their sixth year, even if it IS the Dungeons." Obviously, he was trying to get to Snape's Office (punishment for 'purposefully sabotaging his own potion.')
It was Saturday, and Harry was already a bit miffed since Snape just HAD to pick a Hogsmeade weekend to deal out detentions, and now he was lost to top it off.
As he was walking down the dark hallways, he began to hear a faint droning. He listened closely. As he got nearer, he realized it was some sort of chanting. At the end of this dead end hall there was a door, halfway ajar.
"That must be where the noise is coming from." The-Boy-Who-Is-Far-Too- Curious thought out loud.
Something inside him was telling him to be very quiet as he got closer to the door, so by the time he got there he was on tip-toes and barely breathing. He thought he could decipher the chanted words, though they didn't make sense.
"CHEESY! BADGER! ...SMIILE!!!!" Then again... "CHEESY! BADGER! SMILE!!!" Oh, what did these odd words mean?
As he looked through the door, he saw probably about twenty students crouching as if they were worshipping something; all raise their hands in what looked like the Nazi salute, except with a little twinkly-motion of the fingers. As he poked his 'andsome face through the crack however, there was a showering of shrieks and suddenly twenty wands were all pointed toward one thing: the black haired boy with the now very pale face poking his head through the door.
Harry let out a surprisingly girlish scream and fled back the way he came. Despite being lost, Harry, being an arrogant adolescent teen idol, kept his spirits up by telling himself how gorgeous he was.
Eventually, he was practically screaming out his own name in ecstasy, when he turned a corner and ran into Snape.
"Fiddlesticks," he murmured out loud.
"What? Trying to curse me, are you?" said Snape, with an evil twinkle in his eye.
"I think that you shall serve another few hours of detention." Wink wink. Harry shivered. He had heard many tales of what Snape did to young boys. Being as he was especially pretty, Harry couldn't imagine what Snape would do to him.
"Well, Mr. Snape sir, might I serve my detention with. someone else present?"
Snape looked at Harry in a somewhat puzzled manner, but quickly resumed his evil demeanor.
"Indeed you may."
"Thank you, Professor," At that, Harry flashed his most charming smile and followed Snape much like a small duckling would. That is, a simply striking, dark haired, green-eyed duckling. Harry, considering this, almost yelped out his name again, but refrained.
Soon they were in the part of the dungeons that Harry knew and he was very relieved that his pretty face was no longer in danger.
"In here, Potter." Snape led Harry into a dank classroom that smelled vaguely of... NO. Snape wouldn't be that cruel. Hold it, yes. Yes he would.
"Well, it is my favourite student; Harry Potter. You' re here for a detention I see. I'll make sure that he gets his fair punishment, Severus," said a dirtier-than-usual Filch. As he said this, his eyes glinted with a horrible glee.
Harry gulped and hoped that nothing too damaging would come of this filthy turn of events. He slowly inched over to the desk and took a seat. Filch loomed over him. Soon, Filch got tired of looming, and limped over to the other side of the room, where he sat poking an effigy of what looked like Mr. Clean.
"You will be pickling some things of Snape's, seeing as this IS his detention," Filch looked a bit disgruntled at this, and Harry didn't want to ponder why. He feebly pushed a bulging bag of something towards Harry and indicated a jar and some vinegar over on a table.
"Well, get started," he grinned then picked up a bag of what were hopefully tobacco and a pipe. Harry, reluctant at getting slime (because he knew it WOULD be something slimy) all over his hands, slowly walked over to the waiting bag.
"OH Sweet Mother of God what is this???!!!" screeched aid a very horrified Harry upon opening the bad. (The creative curse words he had learned from Ron not even a week ago. He found it would be a good time to use his newfound wittiness.) It looked like a bag of small brains mixed in with some goo. And fine goo it was at that. Perfectly slimy and green in every way.
He had no idea how long it took, but when he was done his eyes stung with the pain of a thousand dying hoboes, and his hands, well. we'd rather not describe his poor, miserable slimy hands. With dragging feet, Harry slowly made his way out of the now smoke-ridden classroom and into the hall.
Only when he was finally in his cosy bed did he realize how strange the day had been. But he soon forgot once more because he really was tired.
That night, though, he dreamed about the odd cult that he had found in the dungeons. The dream was like a continuation of what had happened when he poked his head through the door. He tried to run, but they caught up, all of them hooting and screaming at the top of their lungs.
When they finally came upon him they circled him this time chanting: "MYLES! MYLES!" and on and on. Then a girl he hadn't seen before with a Slytherin badge came up to him, forced him to his knees, and surprisingly slapped a sticker on his forehead. Then she muttered, "Fourth Honorary Myles," At this, everyone else murmured "Myles," as well and solemnly walked off, leaving dream-Harry alone with a sparkly star on his forehead, and a vague feeling of being blessed.
In the morning, all Harry could remember was the feeling of inhaling too much smoke. At this thought, he remembered his detention, and shuddered. But that was all over now. He smiled as he got dressed, reveling in the thought that every piece of clothing he put on made him look like a prince.
The Great Hall was already quite full when he walked in, as usual. Also as usual, every eye turned towards him as he strode his dashing young self down the Hall, towards the Gryffindor table.