(The next day at breakfast, Harry and Hermione are conversing idly about nothing, both anxiously waiting for Ron to arrive.)

Hermione: Where the heck is Ron? I need to talk to him about those Playwench magazines. I found one in my trunk last night, do you think he planted it there as a joke?

Harry: No, I think he was trying to help you out in those scenarios when you use your wand for alternative purposes.

Hermione: (indignantly) I stopped doing that, okay?? Remember when I accidentally turned my bladder into a miniature giraffe? That was the end of that! Plus, it made all my spells go screwy.

Harry: (stopped listening after Hermione opened her mouth) Look at Cho today. Isn't she positively glowing?

Hermione: Yeah, maybe that's cuz she's got a bun in the oven and its almost done!

(Just then, Ron shows up, looking disheveled and very satisfied. He sits between his friends, grinning broadly.)

Hermione: Big morning?

Ron: Harry, now you know for certain just exactly why I sleep naked.

(A first year with mussed blonde hair hurries into the hall and takes a seat at the Hufflepuff table, blushing furiously as she pulls her skirt back down over her no no area.)

Hermione: Ron! That's disgusting!

Ron: Hey its not my fault! They stifle them in Hufflepuff!! What they need is a good pornographic movie. That'll show them how to entertain themselves….that chick was pretty starved for sexual attention if you ask me. Hey, there they are!

(Harry and Hermione turn in the direction that Ron has indicated as the two new teachers make their way into the Great Hall, their hips swaying like toy sailboats on the high seas during a storm. Every single male head (no, the other head) in the great hall swings to look at them as they take their seats.)

Ron: For crying out sakes that should be illegal. I want them smothered want them covered like my waffle house hashbrowns.

Hermione: (rolls eyes) Too much discovery channel on your off-hours Ron?

Ron: (sweetly) Did you remember to clean off your wand this morning Hermione?

Harry: Children, children, we're all friends here! Don't make me call in the Hufflepuffs to tie you down and do their "101 Disney skits" play for you again!

Ron: Now that's enough to make ANYONE sexually frustrated.

Hermione: Wow, this entire story is becoming awfully perverse. I think you need some character modification, Ron. What do you think, Narrator?

(I think Ron's character is just fine and if he's up to the task he should give me a call. I'm free on Friday.)

Ron: (winks) Pick you up at eight?

Harry: Ron, could you please focus! My frickin scar hurt last night, don't you care?

Hermione: Harry, everyone stopped caring about that ages ago. Honestly, your so melodramatic. "Oh, Voldemort murdered my family and he makes my scar explode with pain." Well boo-frickin-hoo.

Ron: Guys, they're coming this way! Do you think they could be part veela, look how everyone stares!

(Hermione opens her mouth to speak, but before she gets a chance Fleur Delacour launches herself onto the teacher's table and strips down to nothing in seconds flat. Everyone is too busy watching Vivian and Marilyn, however, and no one notices. Depressed, Fleur attempts to stab herself with Proffessor McGonagall's spoon. Hermione closes her mouth in satisfaction.)

Harry: (Also notices Fleur's pornagraphic pleas for attention) Ron, I think it's safe to say that these ladies are much, much more than veelas. They're orgasmically attractive.

Ron: How would you know, Harry? You're like the virgin bride or something.

Harry: Wow!

Hermione: Okay Narrator, time to cut out the inside jokes or the only review you'll get will be from Marilyn!

(You're right. I'll try to lay off, okay?)

Hermione: Right, okay. (looks down at plate) Gosh, I hate this school food! What do I have to do to get some "PIZZA!" (has pizza spasm and falls off chair)

Harry: Well, I need to find out why my scar's hurting again. Do you think it has anything to do with Voldemort? Or maybe Satan?

Ron: (helpfully) Or Bob, the devil cat that is now the president of the world?

Harry: (desperately, his green eyes welling up with tears) I don't know Ron. I just don't know.