Machiavella of Kingsport
Harry Potter
Hogwarts Gets WildChapter 7: How to Use a School as a Message Board
George and Fred Weasley could not believe their luck. Oh, and what beautiful luck it was. Here lay in their hands the perfect opportunity to shame the house of Slytherin, to turn their faces from mean green to a wonderfully embarrassed shade of crimson. So, who cared if the opportunity was granted by a lowly Slytherin, Malfoy himself? It wasn't like they, perfectly moral Gryffindors that they were, were going to get nailed. Oh, to see the look on Professor Snape's face come next morning at breakfast…it was almost too good to be true.
"'Ere, Fred, gimme that letter again…" George whispered in Charms, beckoning gleefully. "My god, I can't believe she even talks about the lint in his bellybutton…jeez…" He grabbed his throat dramatically and pretended to gag. The twins exchanged glances.
"Eeeew," they chorused. Too loudly, of course.
"Fred, George? Oh, do let me in on the fun, what's making you boys sillier than usual?"
"Uh, um, nothing, professor, nothing at all!" Fred lied, shoving the parchment quickly into his rucksack. "We were just remembering something from last night's dinner, isn't that right George?"
"Uh, yeah, you know that green jell-o stuff, it kinda looks alive…"
Professor Flitwick gave them a calculating stare through his gold-rimmed spectacles. "All right, boys, as long as it's nothing illegal." The class, who had been waiting tentatively for a punishment, broke into fits of giggles. "Well, then, lets get back to work. You need to learn the Self-Engorgement Charm before the end of class, and not one of you has bloated so much as a centimeter."
The students immediately got back to work, and Fred and George tried their hardest not collapse into crazed laughter.
The twins both skipped lunch to hurry to the library. There, they pored over books looking for duplication spells for the diary entries and love letters. Madam Pince highly suspected mischief, as they were stifling coughs of giggles every five seconds, but only told them to keep quiet.
"Ooh, there's one to paint on walls…but if you can't erase it, Filch would get pissed. Oh well, would serve that cheesy bloke right…"
"Mmm, how about this one on mass production of banners? We could hang 'em in the dining hall for morning…but not everyone looks at those."
Their whispers were inaudible to everyone save the twins, and they almost were late for class before they found the perfect charm—a self-declaring wall poster. "How many of those do you think we'd need? We've got, what, three or four articles, and we want the whole school to hear it…so what do you say? One of each in every major hallway, the most racy one we can have in the dining hall, right behind Snape's usual seat?" George suggested quietly, eyeing the librarian out of the corner of his eye.
"That would work. So in the common room, we hang around studying, and we go to bed like everyone else, act real natural. And then…hmmm…when everyone reaches the room and most everyone's asleep, I'll shove you awake?" Fred's eyes were gleaming excitedly.
"Yeah, yeah, and maybe we could snag Harry's cloak, you think?"
"We should probably ask him. Hell, he'd like the idea anyway, I'm sure he wouldn't mind donating to the cause for a night, eh?"
"Right. So you shove me awake, and then we'll sneak out real quiet and do some posting, you know, put the posters on mute until say eight o'clock in the morning. That's when people are already in the dining hall, most of them."
"How do you think we'll do that?" asked Fred contemplatively.
"Timers, stupid. Think about it. Either that or one of us could just silence it and then turn up the volume at eight when we're both in the dining hall."
"Timers would work. Let's go with that."
"Yeh—oh, hell! The bell rings in two minutes for class to start, and we're all the way in the south tower! Shit!"
Madam Pince shot the boys a look. "Quiet! I won't hear that kind of language in here!"
"Sorry…" They grinned sheepishly and shot off.
"Hey, Harry!" Fred caught him by the stairwell going to bed that night.
"Yeah?"
"You know that cloaky-thingy you go sneaking about it? The invisibility cloak?"
Harry looked suspicious. "Right, what about it? You need it or something?"
"We—me and George, that is—we'll be needing it for something tonight. We're going to make fools out of those Slytherins."
"Really?" The grin on Harry's face was pure evil. "How?" he whispered, his eyes darting around to make sure no one could hear.
"That's a surprise, now, we can't tell you. But it'll be great, classic, I tell you. Just lend us the cloak, okay?" Fred was anxious, shifting his feet nervously in the shadows.
"Yeah, sure, as long as those Slytherins get what they deserve! And get it good!" Harry led Fred to the chest at the foot of his bed, and carefully pulled it out, shielding it from view. Fred's eyes fairly glowed at the sight of the marvelous item, silvery and shiny like moonbeam.
"Oh, this is great, Harry, we owe you…"
"Not at all. Shaming Slytherins is good enough payback for me. Use it well, Fred." Harry chuckled as he showed the seventh year out, and then Fred scampered over to his room by George.
"George, I got it!"
"Shhh! Put it away, wait until eleven. You can wake me up then."
"Holy shit, it's gonna be great!"
"Shhh!"
But neither of them could keep from squirming all the way until eleven. Finally, Fred slithered out of bed and tapped George to make sure he was awake. "Time to go." George nodded and stood, and Fred retrieved the invisibility cloak from the chest at the foot of his bed. With a flourish he flung it over the two of them, wands and items pocketed, and they crept out the door without a sound.
The paths were clear all the way to the first main hallway, and George and Fred could hardly contain their glee. George pulled the parchments from his pajama pants pocket. "Which one should we do first?"
Without hesitation, Fred replied, "The shortest one, just to make sure it works. You remember how to do this, right? We can each do two—a love letter and a diary entry. Okay."
George shuffled through, and found the shortest of the love letters. "Here's a short one. Now what is it, I speak the words as I write them on the wall with a wand, and then, what's the word I have to say?"
"Um…oh, yeah—Napicitye—Don't you think that sounds Russian?"
"You numbskull, it is Russian. It's the infinitive of the verb 'to write'." George sighed, taking a look at the letter.
"I didn't know you knew Russian."
"I don't. Russian pen-pal."
"Right…"
"Now shut it, Filch might hear us even though we're hidden. Keep that in mind. Now…Let's go." He pulled out his wand quietly, and dictated the words of the letter in a whisper and he traced the words on the cold stone wall. "Dear Severus, you are the one and only man of my dreams. I worship every part of you from…"
It was hard to keep from insane, maniacal laughter. Fred found he had to silence himself with a mute charm to keep himself quiet as he listened to George saying the very words that were going to make Pansy Parkinson notorious. At last, when George was finished, he spoke the charm word and turned the volume down extremely low as he tested the poster. When he was satisfied, he put it on a mute timer and set it for eight o'clock in the morning. "Right, then, Fred—here's a love letter, and which diary entry do you want to post?"
"How about the Draco one, just for variety?"
George nodded, and so they continued on, huddled together inside the invisibility cloak, shuffling along carefully. They jumped at the slightest noises, and froze at the tiniest of movements. Just when George had finished with his diary entry about Snape, he stopped. There before them was a cat—a scrawny, gray cat, with eyes huge like shining orbs in the night. Mrs. Norris. He nudged Fred as if to say, don't say a word.
Mrs. Norris appeared to be looking straight at the twins, and for a while she stood there, staring. She bathed herself, and stretched, and finally, after what seemed like ten minutes, she finally walked airily past, her nose and tail in the air. They almost breathed identical sighs of relief until they remembered that they weren't supposed to be there at all. Fred nudged George in the direction of the dining hall, and the two of them tiptoed through the great double doors.
At night, with no diners to fill the space, the dining hall seemed so very great and cavernous, almost menacing, with the imitation night sky heavy and blue above them. The stars were out, and shining brightly, and a full moon hung huge and white over their heads. But as it was artificial light, the Weasleys still had to stumble about in the dark, making their way to the faculty table.
Finally, Fred spoke. "So, which one are we posting above Snape's seat?"
George grinned nastily. "Let's make it the longest, juiciest, most embarrassing diary entry…how about the one with the fantasy about him in the shower?"
Fred's half grimace, half smile showed complete agreement. "So who's gonna do it, me or you?"
George shivered with disgust. "You…I can't bear to say another word of sickly praise about that greasy potions master. Eurgh."
"Fine then." Bile rose in Fred's throat, but he fought it down, and spoke as he wrote. When he was finished, he even spiced up the colors from plain black and white to a garish fuscia and a horrible, slimy-looking green. He stood back, attaching the timer to the back, and muted it.
George chuckled evilly. "It's a work of art."
The next morning, Fred and George sat next to Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the usual Gryffindor table, acting as though nothing was about to happen. The time was quarter of seven. Few people were in the dining hall, but all of them were buzzing wildly with chatter. The twins were sure it was about their ingenious work on the posters. For Ron and Harry were giggling uncontrollably, describing all the sickest parts of Pansy's diary entry about Draco Malfoy. They waited patiently for eight o'clock to arrive as they slowly consumed their fried eggs, toast and bacon.
Professor Snape strode in, whiter than usual, at one minute of eight. His fists were clenched, and his jaw was jutting forward angrily. The twins heard him mutter as he whisked by on his way to the table, his eyes on the floor. "Goddamn those little kids, getting up to their foolish pranks, I will NOT be portrayed in this manner…going to have a little chat with Dumbledore…"
Dumbledore himself, seated at the head of the faculty table, was not looking happy, and not even a twinkle of the usual merry amusement sparkled in his blue eyes. The students began pouring in, most of them chattering and laughing, and the twins couldn't help but wonder if their prank had been such a good idea. Fred looked at his watch. Fifteen seconds…
The Gryffindors, closest to the hall, heard anguished wailing outside. George grimaced, and hid his face. Pansy. Ten seconds…five…three…Fred used his wand to subtly turn up the volume. The poster just behind Snape's chair announced loudly to the world that "I am Pansy Pellicotta Parkinson, age fifteen…" George unconsciously groaned.
Hermione, next to them, turned. "You two didn't have anything to do with this, did you?" She eyes them suspiciously. "I have to admit, though funny and shaming for Slytherins, it wasn't very nice."
George began to look sick, but he covered up, saying, "Uh, no, no, we didn't do anything. Not us. Probably some Hufflepuff, right, Fred?"
"What? Oh, oh—yeah. Some Hufflepuff."
Hermione's eyes narrowed.
Up at the table, Sybill Trelawney worriedly rushed to comfort Snape, who looked ready to drop dead from embarrassment. "Oh, Severus! Are you okay? I will hurt the fiend who did this! I will report them to Dumbledore! Oh, Severus, do answer me!"
The professor, tried desperately to shut his ears from the blaring poster, but couldn't help hearing, "He's tall, slender, and underneath the robes…" Trelawney sheltered him with her thin, spindly arms about his shoulders, tears of worry in her eyes. Her expression changed quickly, though, when she heard herself called a bitch…
"My god! Miss Parkinson wrote that about me? She was my favorite student!" And then she clapped a hand over her mouth and fainted dead away. Dumbledore shook his head, searching the crowd of half horrified, half amused students, his eyes seeking the guilty. They landed upon the Weasley twins, green-faced and cowering at their table. He made up his mind to have a word with them later…
Snape had made up his mind to sit straight and sit the breakfast out, pretending not to hear the words issued from the poster behind him. But his thoughts were crazy. My god! This is just sick! I can't believe my own student…a Slytherin…writes about having a crush on me! It's gross! Sickening! I shall never, ever look at her in the same light ever again! I wonder if this calls for a grade deduction…? And then, without warning, he threw up on his breakfast plate.
"…I imagined him all naked, and wet, and dripping, his hair clinging to his hard muscular chest…"
The Slytherins all ran to the exits of the hall, except for Malfoy, who just sat there, his meal deserted, howling in laughter, the tears in his eyes running down his cheeks. The Ravenclaws, refusing to take sides, were sitting in silence, eating as though nothing was happening. The Hufflepuffs were too nice and considerate to even think about gloating in the disgrace of a Slytherin, and so they calmly filed out of the hall. The Gryffindors were all, however, giggling and laughing until their sides hurt, yelling congratulations to the pranksters who had done the job—without a doubt, the Weasley twins. Fred and George just sat miserably in their impending doom listening to the raucous cheers emanating from their housemates and didn't have enough appetite to finish their breakfast. It was a blessing to all—except them—when the bells rang for classes.
Dumbledore caught them on the way out, waiting until the stretcher containing Professor Trelawney was borne out by Argus Filch and Madam Pomfrey. "Fred, George—I have to say that, though I have enjoyed your usually harmless pranks for seven years…This time, I am deeply ashamed. Ashamed that two of my…brightest…students have gone so far as to tarnish the reputation of their fellow pupils as well as those of two wonderful faculty members. What you have done is disrespectful and deeply wounding, and there is a fine line between what sort of jokes are okay and not okay. You have crossed this line by a full kilometer, perhaps more. What you have posted on my school walls is profane, and could even cost me two fine teachers, should they be so embarrassed that they find that they must leave Hogwarts. I hope they will not.
"Now, by the Gryffindor cheers you both received, I am assuming this was all you?" Dumbledore had each of his hands on Fred and George's shoulders. The hall was empty, and his voice reverberated off the walls loudly. Fred and George both nodded, their heads bowed in regret. But Fred spoke up.
"Okay, I'm not trying to use a scapegoat here, but infact, there's another guy involved."
"A Gryffindor, I presume?"
"Err, no, actually…" Fred squirmed uneasily. Professor Dumbledore lowered his face dubiously and kept his two suspicious eyes on him.
"Then, who was it?"
"…it was Draco Malfoy, sir." When Dumbledore looked doubtful, Fred continued. "He paid us a bag full of galleons, and found all the stuff for us, and told us to do it. I swear."
"A Slytherin…would pay two Gryffindors…to shame another Slytherin? I find this hard to believe, Mr. Weasley." Dumbledore's voice hardened. "Are you telling me the truth?"
"Y-yes, Professor," George spoke feebly, stammering. He straightened himself and stopped cowering. "Yes."
Dumbledore looked away, and removed his hands from the twins' shoulders. "Very well, then, I shall have a word with him. "But"— He added quickly, before they could leave, "This will not go unpunished. You both have detention, a week from today. Report to Argus Filch at the end of classes; he will assign your work. I expect you to remove this vandalism from my walls."
"Yes, Professor," They chorused, and they grabbed their bags and hurried to Charms.
"Draco Malfoy…"
The boy sat slumped in a chair before Professor Dumbledore, refusing to meet his eye, but repressing a smile. "Yes, Professor. I think I know why I'm here."
"Yes, I believe you do, from what the Weasleys have told me. So you paid them to vandalize my school with another Slytherin's private writings about two of my highly reputable teachers?"
"Yes, I did."
"Is there anything in particular that provoked you to do this?"
"Nothing. I found it very funny, is all." He giggled, brushing away a strand of white-blond hair from his blue eyes. "Extremely funny."
"And you are aware that many didn't?"
"Yeah. Listen, I know you're gonna punish me. But whatever you do, don't tell my dad. He would tan my hide—or send me a Howler—for shaming someone in my house. Especially my former girlfriend."
"There is nothing to keep me from informing Mr. Lucius Malfoy of your disturbing behavior, Draco."
Draco went pale. "Oh, no, please don't, please…"
"I'm afraid that is what will have to happen, Draco. And you owe a detention to Argus Filch one week from today. Report to him after classes. Is that clear?"
"Sure, Professor. And—one more thing—I'm not the one who made Pansy in love with Snape."
"Professor Snape. Really—and who—or what—did?" Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples. He really didn't want to hear student gossip stories…but, he let Draco talk.
"Well…don't ask me how I know, you don't want to hear…but see, it all started when Seamus, Dean, and Harry made a love potion for Professor Snape to fall in love with Professor Trelawney, because Professor Trelawneyhad been complaining that Professor Snape never paid attention to her and she was in love with him. The potion worked, as you can see…" He faltered, seeing that Dumbledore was calm, but visibly angry. His blue eyes were cold as ice as he listened in silence. "But it was only set for a week. They gave the potion to him one day after the Hogsmeade trip at Halloween, I believe, because that was when we saw a change. But after the week was up, Professor Snape was still in love with Professor Trelawney. He even…" Draco shuddered. "…He even gave himself a makeover. Weren't you wondering why his hair was always slicked back? The day after that happened, Pansy handed me her notes for potions so I could know how to chop up the willow roots. When I spilled dragon spittle all over the parchment, I saw through to the other side where there was more writing. That was the first love letter…and then I found another…and so I searched that night for Pansy's diary and found the entries about Professor Snape." There, he had gotten it all out.
It took Dumbledore a long time to reply. "If this fantastical tale of yours you told is true…if…well, then I shall have a word with Messrs Dean, Seamus, and Harry. If their story agrees with yours, they share detention with you. As for Pansy—I want you to apologize to her in full. Nicely. I will summon her now. You, stay right here and wait, Mr. Malfoy." The headmaster stalked off angrily, and as he left the room, Draco smirked. I never get in trouble without dragging Gryffindors down with me. Good thing what I told him was true…
As the day waned, only one person was slightly satisfied, and that was Pansy after she made that filthy Draco Malfoy cower at her feet begging for forgiveness. Served him right, going around and spreading her secrets. She couldn't believe he'd done it though, at first, until he'd confirmed Dumbledore's firm allegations. They had been a couple last year, until Draco had broken up with her because he would be away during the summer break. She had forgiven him then, too.
However, she was still deeply embarrassed. What did Professor Snape think of her? He would not possibly love her, not after this. Not when he knew that all she did in potions class was stare at him and drool and have dirty fantasies. He would never see her in the same light again…and not any of Pansy's money could change that. For the first time in her life, Pansy's riches were useless.
This time around, Pansy knew she could not wreak revenge on the despicable scum Malfoy. She would have to be satisfied with his Howler at breakfast, and his detention. No use lowering herself to Malfoy's level, simply out of the question. No—she would hold her head high, and pretend that nothing had happened. She was too good to let Draco drag her into self-denial and eternal shame. And plus, there was that silly Gryffindor's birthday party to crash next week anyhow. That Granger Mudblood. Nothing bad, per se, but enough to ruin her stupid little party…
TO BE CONTINUED…