Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada. Zip. I own Mascarane. I think. None of the J.K. originals. I own Sirius Black. He's mine. I made him, I tell you. J.K. stole him from me. Mine. Fun with periods. And fragments. Wee. Okay. Sirius isn't mine. But he will be. You'll see. Bwuaha. Insert evil glare.
A/N: Okay, it's taken me WAAAAAAAAAAAY too long to come out with this. I wrote another version of the third chapter the first few weeks, but I hate it. It sucks. Not funny at all. I like this one. It's... new. Newer chapters will be coming out real soon, because I've been real lazy and I should have, like, the eighth chapter up by now. Like.
Note: If something is enclosed in slashes, it's supposed to be italic. An example is /this/. If you see a mistake, confusing point, ect, leave it in the review (and if you don't want to review E-mail me or something), and know for sure that I don't mind. Thank you, and onto the incredibly overdue story!
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The mirror was circular, and the glass seemed to be recently cleaned. The wooden frame was dark oak with a few cracks in it, and the design and structure looked extremely old. Harry didn't pay attention to his reflection; instead, he turned to Sirius.
"You were making a mirror?" asked Harry stupidly.
Sirius examined Harry. He patted Harry's shirt, right along the chest line, and looked disgruntled. Harry glared at Sirius, who had slumped to the floor.
"Did you look at yourself in the mirror?" asked Sirius. He seemed to be pondering something.
"No," said Harry. Sirius's face suddenly lit up. "I just looked /at/ the mirror."
"Look again," said Sirius brightly. When Harry hesitated, Sirius stood up to his full length and glared down at Harry. Harry twitched when Sirius repeated himself, in a more demanding tone, "Look again!"
Harry sighed and looked into the mirror. He saw himself, nothing new. He saw his bright green eyes, his jet-black hair, his scar, and his oval face…
Harry screamed. He tried to run, but Sirius grabbed him tightly. Harry looked and saw that Sirius was grinning evilly. Harry also felt Sirius's hand slowly creep up his shirt…
Harry nearly fainted. Earlier, Sirius's hand was flat against his chest, but now it was curved like a cup, and was actually covered around something… other than shirt. Harry looked down and saw that he was no longer male, but female.
Harry's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell onto Sirius, who caught him swiftly. He didn't know what happened next; all he heard was his name being called, other voices, and "OH MY GOD!" before he was engulfed in darkness.
Harry's eyes flickered. He tried to roll over, but something was on his legs. He blinked and saw a dark shape; he reached over, put on his glasses, and looked. Sirius was staring at him with a look of concern. Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply. It was all a dream… Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He stared at Sirius, who looked to be eighteen years old; exactly how he had appeared in the dream. He lifted his trembling hands, placed them on his chest, and screamed. It wasn't a dream; he was still female. Sirius jumped on him as Harry tried to run off, and wrestled him down on the bed (in a very awkward position, I must say). Sirius had Harry pinned, and Harry felt a wave of panic. His eyes were wide with horror, and it didn't help when Sirius looked quite pleased.
Harry kicked and struggled, but he noticed it was no use. He hadn't become weaker as a girl, but became a foot smaller than normal. Sirius the eighteen-year-old was already almost a foot taller than Harry when he was a male; now he was practically enormous.
Sirius grabbed a cloth from his pocket and tied Harry's hands to the bedpost. He was still sitting on Harry's legs, so he didn't tie them together. Sirius was examining Harry's body, full length. Other than the occasional patting of certain places, he didn't do anything.
Sirius began muttering to himself. He was scratching his chin and was ignoring Harry's constant protests. "Well, that worked… Yep, that's gone… Shorter… Curved… Much more attractive…"
Harry growled. His own godfather was saying that he was a lot more attractive, and Sirius didn't even seem to care that he was saying that to a "female" with the mentality of a male. However, he nearly screamed with fury when Sirius grinned at him.
"You're better as a woman," said Sirius. "Let's see how these came in, shall we…?"
Sirius began removing Harry's shirt. Harry, of course, wanted more than anything to knock Sirius off of him. If Sirius regained his memories, would he remember stripping Harry? Thankfully, he wouldn't, because Lupin stepped into the room right before the shirt uncovered something Harry definitely didn't want Sirius to see.
Lupin's gaze switched from Sirius to Harry. Much to Harry's surprise, Sirius didn't look remotely embarrassed.
"What are you doing?" asked Lupin quietly. He was staring hard at Harry, as if he'd never seen anything quite like him/her/it/thing.
"Seeing how well my mirror worked," said Sirius. His hands were still gripped on Harry's shirt, but he wasn't moving them in any direction.
Lupin stepped forward and untied Harry's hands. Harry immediately pulled his shirt down, flung himself away from Sirius, ran out of the room, and screamed his way down the hall. Even Mrs. Black didn't have anything to say when her curtains flew open and she saw Harry.
Harry was very annoyed. Sirius took every chance he could get to try and strip Harry, and everyone kept glancing at his chest. Ginny huffed and turned away when she saw him; Ron burst out laughing and ended up rolling around on the floor.
Between howls of laughter, Ron managed to say; "Now we'll have to call you Harriet!"
Ron didn't manage to say anything else, as Sirius stomped on him and growled, "Don't insult my test subject!"
As if on cue, Harry dashed up the stairs and into his room, screaming the whole way.
Hermione was very pitying towards him; she, much to Harry's annoyance, bought him a bra and said, "It'll protect you from Sirius." Harry never wore it, but had been very tempted to strangle Ron with it when Ron had started calling him Harriet. He had to run off screaming a lot, as Sirius was constantly suggesting he wear pantyhose. However, nobody went near the attic. Lupin had magically locked it, just to make sure nobody else was female-ized.
Harry also felt jealous of Sirius. For some odd, twisted reason, Ginny and Hermione were utterly in love with Sirius. Harry had convinced himself it was just some Older-and-Handsome fad going around with all of the groupie girls, and that he, Harry, was just as good as his godfather. Sure, Sirius was older, not to mention taller, but hey, girls don't date guys just for looks, right? RIGHT?
However, what truly bothered him was when Sirius started noticing the looks he was getting from the girls. Harry didn't know how to explain it or what it was, but something Sirius had done made the girls swoon even more and start blushing madly whenever he walked by them. He had made such uproar with the girls that, much to Ron's horror, both of the love-struck women had attempted to change their appearances. They daily overdosed on lipstick and mascara, and Hermione even straightened her hair. However, it didn't waver Sirius in his decision, whatever that was.
Both Ginny and Hermione had started their own little war over Sirius's affection, and, much to their agitation neither was winning. Sirius would glide past both of them, a bored look on his face. They were practically stalking him, and the only time they were /not/ with Sirius was at night, because Sirius had insisted that he could read alone. Harry found this very tacky, because sometimes he would ask Harry to join him (he promptly refused). Either way, at night the girls were alone in the same room (Mrs. Weasley feared for their health) and would occasionally awake in the morning, bruised and sore. Hermione had even left her room with a bloody lip once, and Ginny had left with a large chunk of hair missing. Hermione's excuse was that she punched herself in the face for getting a question on her Transfiguration homework wrong, which had little doubts. No one doubted that she would punch herself over something so trivial, but some doubted she would have gotten the answer wrong in the first place. Ginny's excuse was that she was having a bad hair day, and later had to leave to shop for an Instant-Hair-Grow potion.
Harry was keeping track of who was winning the war over Sirius on a piece of parchment. He had his, Ginny's, and Hermione's name written horizontally on the top of the paper and little X's below their names to stand for the points they had.
It wasn't even lunch and Harry already had five points.
To make matters worse for Harry, one day he noticed that Sirius wasn't aging. He was still eighteen. When he asked Lupin of the matter, Lupin had shrugged and said that he had made the potion, so it was likely there were defects. Harry had, on last resort, used the Floo to visit Dumbledore at Hogwarts (A/N: This story takes place over summer vacation, right after the 5th book, but a certain little event in the end of the book didn't happen) to see where he could contact Snape. Dumbledore had given him the address (100 Acre Woods RD) and Harry had set off of a journey to destroy the One Ring, closely accompanied by the Fellowship.
At last, Frodo/Harry had reached the location of the evil Sauron/Snape. The house had the letters MOR in bright red letters on the doorframe. It gave off an evil presence, and Harry's scar hurt just by looking at it. The house was dark, the outside wallpaper was peeling, and all of the flowers and shrubs in the garden had died long since and were starting to become one with the mulch. Leading to the door was a twisted pathway of concrete with a sign on one side, on it written 'Bless this Mess'. He knocked on the MOR door (A/N: MOR door, MORDOR, get it?!) and stepped back, waiting for an answer.
Soon the door had opened just a crack, and Snape peeked through, eyes scanning around for a trace of the visitor. His eyes stopped on Harry, and he didn't seem to recognize him.
"Erm… Can I talk to you?" asked Harry nervously. Snape was a former Death Eater, so he didn't particularly trust him, nor did he like him. However, he /was/ the Potions master, so…
"I'm sorry, Miss. I have a visitor," answered Snape. He attempted to close the door, but Harry stuck his foot in the way.
"I really need to talk to you," demanded Harry. He ignored the Miss comment.
"Who are you?" asked Snape suspiciously.
Harry coughed. "Potter, /sir/."
Snape's eyes widened. "Oh! Indeed? Come in then! He could have at least gotten a boy, but you'll do. The scar was a nice addition."
Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion, but Snape had ushered him into the house so he had no time to inquire what his Potions professor meant. Harry had only a moment to examine the room, because Snape was steering him down a hallway, but it looked remarkably like Headquarters. The wallpaper was moldy, and the house smelled like rotting wood and moist furniture. Harry understood, simply because Snape never was really here, but either way… As Harry was led down the hallway, he picked up the faint smell of roots from a room he passed, and there was an occasional pitch-black chair rooted against the wall. Snape flicked his wand and a door burst open; inside, Harry's heart stopped and his scar hurt.
The room was pink, and very obnoxiously so. The chairs were purple beanbags; the table that the beanbags were seated around was white with multicolor legs. The rug was a soft pink, but the walls were hot pink with white hearts scattered here and there. There was a frilly bed in the corner, and the canopy above the bed was a tacky shade of magenta, and though there were no windows, there were assorted lava lamps scattered about the room. There was an open dresser that was lavender, and it certainly didn't suit the colors of the clothes inside, which consisted of black robes and red slipper socks. There was a snake cage with large bubble letters spelling out 'Nagini' on the front, and even the snake inside had little pink heart tattoos glued on it's scales. The rest of the room was littered with other heart objects that Harry couldn't, and didn't want to, identify. And, sitting on a purple beanbag, sipping tea from a plastic Barbie teacup was the most feared wizard of all time.
Voldemort.
Harry's mouth hung open and Snape used his finger to lift Harry's chin to shut it.
Snape lowered his lips to right beside Harry's ear and murmured so softly Harry could hardly hear him. "This is his room, not mine. Don't ask me why he wanted it pink, and whatever you do, when he asks you about his Beanie Babies collection, don't, DON'T, point out the yellow duck."
Harry raised his eyebrows and watched as Voldemort spun around in his chair thing. He pulled back his hood, revealing shiny black hair that smelled faintly of apples, pure white skin, and catlike blood red eyes.
Voldemort rose from the chair and skipped (yes, skipped) over to Harry. He held out his hand and grinned widely. Harry was so surprised he forgot his scar was hurting as bad as his ears did when he went to listen to the Backstreet Boys in concert with Ginny. (His excuse was, quote, "Ain't nothin' but a mistake.")
"And this must be the Potter model, nice to meet you, Potter model, what's your real name, Potter model?" asked Voldemort, and Harry got the impression of the Easter Bunny on crack because he was hopping around so bad.
"Ha-Harriet Digger," replied Harry, racking his mind for a name he could properly use. (A/N: There's a pun there, actually; POTTER, DIGGER. Gardeners…)
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Digger, now be a dear and stand on the table, will you?" said Voldemort, pointing out the pretty plastic table in the middle of the room.
Harry gave Snape a helpless look and jumped up onto the table. He stood in the middle, because it wobbled dangerously beneath him.
"Good, good, now, just stand up there a little longer, will you? The others will be here in just a tic, just a sec, just a moment, just a minute," explained Voldemort.
"Umm… Right…" muttered Harry. He couldn't leave until he asked Snape about the potion.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a group of Death Eaters carrying various sweets and soda pops in their arms paraded inside. Harry noticed that the Death Eaters in question were Malfoy, Bellatrix, Macnair, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Voldemort clapped his hands and giggled with glee, which was very unorthodox for an evil wizard. He ran to his dresser and pulled out nine pairs of furry pink robes, which he promptly handed to Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Bellatrix, Macnair, Harry, and Snape. He pulled the eighth robe over /his/ head.
Snape groaned and donned his robe; the others cried and giggled, which, mind you, was very unorthodox for followers of the world's most evil wizard. Harry simply stared at the robe. He glanced at Snape, who was motioning for him to put it on. Harry sighed agitatedly and pulled his over his head and noted how stupid he looked. He rubbed his forehead and watched as all of the Death Eaters put the sweets and drinks on the table before lining up in a straight line against the wall. Harry, dumbfounded, watched as Bellatrix picked up a pink remote off of a bedside table and pressed a little red button; he jumped in surprise as the closet, which was perfectly blended in with the wall, except for the furry little doorknobs, flew open and revealed a large, expensive music player. It had ten speakers, which five were in the closet and the rest were scattered around the ceiling (stuck there by a Permanent Sticking Charm) and all suddenly blared music from the Village People. One by one, as they shouted out their piece, the Death Eaters jump-turned to face Harry.
"Y!" cried Malfoy, using his arms to take the shape of a Y.
"M!" cried Bellatrix, using her arms to take the shape of an M.
"C!" cried Snape, doing the same thing the other two did but instead his arms took the shape of a C.
"Dur!" cried Crabbe, his arms going behind him and scratching his bum.
"Duh!" cried Goyle, his arms scratching his armpits like a chimpanzee.
"A!" cried Macnair, his arms taking the shape of an A.
Harry watched in horror as all six of the Death Eaters danced, occasionally shaping their arms into poor copies of the letters of the alphabet. Voldemort was clapping along, giggling with happiness, and hopping in tune to the song. When the song finished, the Death Eaters and Voldemort turned to Harry.
"Well?" asked Voldemort, his eyes shining.
"Sorry?" he asked, looking at Voldemort who suddenly had a murderous look about him. "I-um-didn't hear you, I was, umm… Lost in the wonderful song, and mesmerized by the fabulous dancing,"
Voldemort's eyes widened with joy. "She liked it! She liked it! Finally! We don't have to kill this one!"
Harry's eyes widened. The Death Eaters all crowded around the table, taking their seats, and Snape helped Harry off the table. Harry didn't even notice his head was pounding as if someone was constantly taking a hammer to it, but face it, if a bunch of Death Eaters were dancing to the Village People in pink robes, would you notice?
Harry sat in-between Snape and Bellatrix, turning to face Snape, but had the air knocked out of him from how hard Bellatrix shoved sweets and a soda pop into his stomach. She didn't seem to notice. Harry looked questioningly at her, after getting his air back, and she grinned.
"Your share!" she chuckled, watching with interest as Crabbe and Goyle experimented on where they could shove the pixie stick tubes. Crabbe shrugged and snorted a freshly opened pixie stick (DON'T DO THIS AT HOME). Harry shrugged and went along with it.
It was around three hours before Harry had a chance to question Snape about the potion. Harry, who was exhausted from all the games and dancing that had followed the sugar rush the pixie sticks gave him, slumped over to Snape, who was sitting on Voldemort's bed.
"Can I ask you something?" he wheezed, eyes drooping.
Snape nodded. "What?"
"You know potions that make you a baby again?" asked Harry, and Snape nodded. "What if the potion stops working before that person gets back to their normal age?"
Snape thought for a moment. "You give the person who made the potion a swift kick to the head for messing it up, and you feed the victim bologna sandwiches until they throw up."
"Is that all? Feeding the victim until they puke will help them start aging again?" asked Harry.
"No, but it's bloody funny to watch." Answered Snape. "Really, what you have to do is say the secret word."
"And that is?" inquired Harry. He was getting quite tired of this.
"Hello, it's a secret word, right? If I told you, it would be a known word, not a secret word, wouldn't it?" replied Snape, as if Harry should have known this all along.
"ALL RIGHT, how about if we make a /new/ secret word to replace the old one you're about to tell me?" offered Harry.
"All right, the word is 'Booger Puke'," said Snape. "And… okay, I've got the new secret word."
"Booger Puke?" asked Harry in disbelief. "…I… guess… who comes up with these things?"
"Some crazy Muggle who's watching what we're doing," explained Snape.
"Pamela Anderson?" cried Harry.
"No, Julia Roberts," corrected Snape.
"JULIA ROBERTS? NO! I WANT PAMELA! PAMELA! PAMMY!" shrieked Macnair. He started sobbing so violently that Voldemort had to kiss his forehead and rock him back and forth.
"Ermm… Right, well, I'm out of here… But one question first," Harry added. "Why did you let me in here?"
"Because we needed a judge, and You-Know-Who's infatuated with Potter, so he wanted a look-alike." Snape explained, but his voice had an odd ring to it. "'Bye then."
"Um, yeah, bye," muttered Harry, running out of the room and away from the Village People Death Eaters.
He dashed down the road, went back into the house that had the fireplace he used to get to Snape's house, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from his pocket, and threw it into the fireplace. He dashed through the fire, feeling his stomach churn, and found himself on the floor of the Headquarters, gazing into the face of a very annoyed girl that looked suspiciously like Ginny Weasley.
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Nyaha! The scene isn't done yet, I assure you. There'll be more Sirius/Hermione/Ginny in the next chapter, which will be coming soon. Less than a week. I'm already working on it. Really. I am. [Shakes off rabid Remus plushie] Anyway, please Read and Review, and believe me, though I may have the Death Eaters acting queer, they aren't. Totally straight. Even happy-go-lucky Voldemort. BWUAHAHAHA! [Voldemort plushie sucks his finger] What can I say, I'm working on about four different stories right now, and the first few weeks I suffered writer's block. Grrrr. Anyway, I left you on a cliffhanger! Well, not really. The next chapter finishes off the love triangle, unless it gets so big I have to make it two chapters. (This chapter was six pages long, and the average chapter is four)
A/N: Okay, it's taken me WAAAAAAAAAAAY too long to come out with this. I wrote another version of the third chapter the first few weeks, but I hate it. It sucks. Not funny at all. I like this one. It's... new. Newer chapters will be coming out real soon, because I've been real lazy and I should have, like, the eighth chapter up by now. Like.
Note: If something is enclosed in slashes, it's supposed to be italic. An example is /this/. If you see a mistake, confusing point, ect, leave it in the review (and if you don't want to review E-mail me or something), and know for sure that I don't mind. Thank you, and onto the incredibly overdue story!
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The mirror was circular, and the glass seemed to be recently cleaned. The wooden frame was dark oak with a few cracks in it, and the design and structure looked extremely old. Harry didn't pay attention to his reflection; instead, he turned to Sirius.
"You were making a mirror?" asked Harry stupidly.
Sirius examined Harry. He patted Harry's shirt, right along the chest line, and looked disgruntled. Harry glared at Sirius, who had slumped to the floor.
"Did you look at yourself in the mirror?" asked Sirius. He seemed to be pondering something.
"No," said Harry. Sirius's face suddenly lit up. "I just looked /at/ the mirror."
"Look again," said Sirius brightly. When Harry hesitated, Sirius stood up to his full length and glared down at Harry. Harry twitched when Sirius repeated himself, in a more demanding tone, "Look again!"
Harry sighed and looked into the mirror. He saw himself, nothing new. He saw his bright green eyes, his jet-black hair, his scar, and his oval face…
Harry screamed. He tried to run, but Sirius grabbed him tightly. Harry looked and saw that Sirius was grinning evilly. Harry also felt Sirius's hand slowly creep up his shirt…
Harry nearly fainted. Earlier, Sirius's hand was flat against his chest, but now it was curved like a cup, and was actually covered around something… other than shirt. Harry looked down and saw that he was no longer male, but female.
Harry's eyes rolled back into his head and he fell onto Sirius, who caught him swiftly. He didn't know what happened next; all he heard was his name being called, other voices, and "OH MY GOD!" before he was engulfed in darkness.
Harry's eyes flickered. He tried to roll over, but something was on his legs. He blinked and saw a dark shape; he reached over, put on his glasses, and looked. Sirius was staring at him with a look of concern. Harry closed his eyes and sighed deeply. It was all a dream… Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. He stared at Sirius, who looked to be eighteen years old; exactly how he had appeared in the dream. He lifted his trembling hands, placed them on his chest, and screamed. It wasn't a dream; he was still female. Sirius jumped on him as Harry tried to run off, and wrestled him down on the bed (in a very awkward position, I must say). Sirius had Harry pinned, and Harry felt a wave of panic. His eyes were wide with horror, and it didn't help when Sirius looked quite pleased.
Harry kicked and struggled, but he noticed it was no use. He hadn't become weaker as a girl, but became a foot smaller than normal. Sirius the eighteen-year-old was already almost a foot taller than Harry when he was a male; now he was practically enormous.
Sirius grabbed a cloth from his pocket and tied Harry's hands to the bedpost. He was still sitting on Harry's legs, so he didn't tie them together. Sirius was examining Harry's body, full length. Other than the occasional patting of certain places, he didn't do anything.
Sirius began muttering to himself. He was scratching his chin and was ignoring Harry's constant protests. "Well, that worked… Yep, that's gone… Shorter… Curved… Much more attractive…"
Harry growled. His own godfather was saying that he was a lot more attractive, and Sirius didn't even seem to care that he was saying that to a "female" with the mentality of a male. However, he nearly screamed with fury when Sirius grinned at him.
"You're better as a woman," said Sirius. "Let's see how these came in, shall we…?"
Sirius began removing Harry's shirt. Harry, of course, wanted more than anything to knock Sirius off of him. If Sirius regained his memories, would he remember stripping Harry? Thankfully, he wouldn't, because Lupin stepped into the room right before the shirt uncovered something Harry definitely didn't want Sirius to see.
Lupin's gaze switched from Sirius to Harry. Much to Harry's surprise, Sirius didn't look remotely embarrassed.
"What are you doing?" asked Lupin quietly. He was staring hard at Harry, as if he'd never seen anything quite like him/her/it/thing.
"Seeing how well my mirror worked," said Sirius. His hands were still gripped on Harry's shirt, but he wasn't moving them in any direction.
Lupin stepped forward and untied Harry's hands. Harry immediately pulled his shirt down, flung himself away from Sirius, ran out of the room, and screamed his way down the hall. Even Mrs. Black didn't have anything to say when her curtains flew open and she saw Harry.
Harry was very annoyed. Sirius took every chance he could get to try and strip Harry, and everyone kept glancing at his chest. Ginny huffed and turned away when she saw him; Ron burst out laughing and ended up rolling around on the floor.
Between howls of laughter, Ron managed to say; "Now we'll have to call you Harriet!"
Ron didn't manage to say anything else, as Sirius stomped on him and growled, "Don't insult my test subject!"
As if on cue, Harry dashed up the stairs and into his room, screaming the whole way.
Hermione was very pitying towards him; she, much to Harry's annoyance, bought him a bra and said, "It'll protect you from Sirius." Harry never wore it, but had been very tempted to strangle Ron with it when Ron had started calling him Harriet. He had to run off screaming a lot, as Sirius was constantly suggesting he wear pantyhose. However, nobody went near the attic. Lupin had magically locked it, just to make sure nobody else was female-ized.
Harry also felt jealous of Sirius. For some odd, twisted reason, Ginny and Hermione were utterly in love with Sirius. Harry had convinced himself it was just some Older-and-Handsome fad going around with all of the groupie girls, and that he, Harry, was just as good as his godfather. Sure, Sirius was older, not to mention taller, but hey, girls don't date guys just for looks, right? RIGHT?
However, what truly bothered him was when Sirius started noticing the looks he was getting from the girls. Harry didn't know how to explain it or what it was, but something Sirius had done made the girls swoon even more and start blushing madly whenever he walked by them. He had made such uproar with the girls that, much to Ron's horror, both of the love-struck women had attempted to change their appearances. They daily overdosed on lipstick and mascara, and Hermione even straightened her hair. However, it didn't waver Sirius in his decision, whatever that was.
Both Ginny and Hermione had started their own little war over Sirius's affection, and, much to their agitation neither was winning. Sirius would glide past both of them, a bored look on his face. They were practically stalking him, and the only time they were /not/ with Sirius was at night, because Sirius had insisted that he could read alone. Harry found this very tacky, because sometimes he would ask Harry to join him (he promptly refused). Either way, at night the girls were alone in the same room (Mrs. Weasley feared for their health) and would occasionally awake in the morning, bruised and sore. Hermione had even left her room with a bloody lip once, and Ginny had left with a large chunk of hair missing. Hermione's excuse was that she punched herself in the face for getting a question on her Transfiguration homework wrong, which had little doubts. No one doubted that she would punch herself over something so trivial, but some doubted she would have gotten the answer wrong in the first place. Ginny's excuse was that she was having a bad hair day, and later had to leave to shop for an Instant-Hair-Grow potion.
Harry was keeping track of who was winning the war over Sirius on a piece of parchment. He had his, Ginny's, and Hermione's name written horizontally on the top of the paper and little X's below their names to stand for the points they had.
It wasn't even lunch and Harry already had five points.
To make matters worse for Harry, one day he noticed that Sirius wasn't aging. He was still eighteen. When he asked Lupin of the matter, Lupin had shrugged and said that he had made the potion, so it was likely there were defects. Harry had, on last resort, used the Floo to visit Dumbledore at Hogwarts (A/N: This story takes place over summer vacation, right after the 5th book, but a certain little event in the end of the book didn't happen) to see where he could contact Snape. Dumbledore had given him the address (100 Acre Woods RD) and Harry had set off of a journey to destroy the One Ring, closely accompanied by the Fellowship.
At last, Frodo/Harry had reached the location of the evil Sauron/Snape. The house had the letters MOR in bright red letters on the doorframe. It gave off an evil presence, and Harry's scar hurt just by looking at it. The house was dark, the outside wallpaper was peeling, and all of the flowers and shrubs in the garden had died long since and were starting to become one with the mulch. Leading to the door was a twisted pathway of concrete with a sign on one side, on it written 'Bless this Mess'. He knocked on the MOR door (A/N: MOR door, MORDOR, get it?!) and stepped back, waiting for an answer.
Soon the door had opened just a crack, and Snape peeked through, eyes scanning around for a trace of the visitor. His eyes stopped on Harry, and he didn't seem to recognize him.
"Erm… Can I talk to you?" asked Harry nervously. Snape was a former Death Eater, so he didn't particularly trust him, nor did he like him. However, he /was/ the Potions master, so…
"I'm sorry, Miss. I have a visitor," answered Snape. He attempted to close the door, but Harry stuck his foot in the way.
"I really need to talk to you," demanded Harry. He ignored the Miss comment.
"Who are you?" asked Snape suspiciously.
Harry coughed. "Potter, /sir/."
Snape's eyes widened. "Oh! Indeed? Come in then! He could have at least gotten a boy, but you'll do. The scar was a nice addition."
Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion, but Snape had ushered him into the house so he had no time to inquire what his Potions professor meant. Harry had only a moment to examine the room, because Snape was steering him down a hallway, but it looked remarkably like Headquarters. The wallpaper was moldy, and the house smelled like rotting wood and moist furniture. Harry understood, simply because Snape never was really here, but either way… As Harry was led down the hallway, he picked up the faint smell of roots from a room he passed, and there was an occasional pitch-black chair rooted against the wall. Snape flicked his wand and a door burst open; inside, Harry's heart stopped and his scar hurt.
The room was pink, and very obnoxiously so. The chairs were purple beanbags; the table that the beanbags were seated around was white with multicolor legs. The rug was a soft pink, but the walls were hot pink with white hearts scattered here and there. There was a frilly bed in the corner, and the canopy above the bed was a tacky shade of magenta, and though there were no windows, there were assorted lava lamps scattered about the room. There was an open dresser that was lavender, and it certainly didn't suit the colors of the clothes inside, which consisted of black robes and red slipper socks. There was a snake cage with large bubble letters spelling out 'Nagini' on the front, and even the snake inside had little pink heart tattoos glued on it's scales. The rest of the room was littered with other heart objects that Harry couldn't, and didn't want to, identify. And, sitting on a purple beanbag, sipping tea from a plastic Barbie teacup was the most feared wizard of all time.
Voldemort.
Harry's mouth hung open and Snape used his finger to lift Harry's chin to shut it.
Snape lowered his lips to right beside Harry's ear and murmured so softly Harry could hardly hear him. "This is his room, not mine. Don't ask me why he wanted it pink, and whatever you do, when he asks you about his Beanie Babies collection, don't, DON'T, point out the yellow duck."
Harry raised his eyebrows and watched as Voldemort spun around in his chair thing. He pulled back his hood, revealing shiny black hair that smelled faintly of apples, pure white skin, and catlike blood red eyes.
Voldemort rose from the chair and skipped (yes, skipped) over to Harry. He held out his hand and grinned widely. Harry was so surprised he forgot his scar was hurting as bad as his ears did when he went to listen to the Backstreet Boys in concert with Ginny. (His excuse was, quote, "Ain't nothin' but a mistake.")
"And this must be the Potter model, nice to meet you, Potter model, what's your real name, Potter model?" asked Voldemort, and Harry got the impression of the Easter Bunny on crack because he was hopping around so bad.
"Ha-Harriet Digger," replied Harry, racking his mind for a name he could properly use. (A/N: There's a pun there, actually; POTTER, DIGGER. Gardeners…)
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Digger, now be a dear and stand on the table, will you?" said Voldemort, pointing out the pretty plastic table in the middle of the room.
Harry gave Snape a helpless look and jumped up onto the table. He stood in the middle, because it wobbled dangerously beneath him.
"Good, good, now, just stand up there a little longer, will you? The others will be here in just a tic, just a sec, just a moment, just a minute," explained Voldemort.
"Umm… Right…" muttered Harry. He couldn't leave until he asked Snape about the potion.
Suddenly, the door burst open and a group of Death Eaters carrying various sweets and soda pops in their arms paraded inside. Harry noticed that the Death Eaters in question were Malfoy, Bellatrix, Macnair, Crabbe, and Goyle.
Voldemort clapped his hands and giggled with glee, which was very unorthodox for an evil wizard. He ran to his dresser and pulled out nine pairs of furry pink robes, which he promptly handed to Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy, Bellatrix, Macnair, Harry, and Snape. He pulled the eighth robe over /his/ head.
Snape groaned and donned his robe; the others cried and giggled, which, mind you, was very unorthodox for followers of the world's most evil wizard. Harry simply stared at the robe. He glanced at Snape, who was motioning for him to put it on. Harry sighed agitatedly and pulled his over his head and noted how stupid he looked. He rubbed his forehead and watched as all of the Death Eaters put the sweets and drinks on the table before lining up in a straight line against the wall. Harry, dumbfounded, watched as Bellatrix picked up a pink remote off of a bedside table and pressed a little red button; he jumped in surprise as the closet, which was perfectly blended in with the wall, except for the furry little doorknobs, flew open and revealed a large, expensive music player. It had ten speakers, which five were in the closet and the rest were scattered around the ceiling (stuck there by a Permanent Sticking Charm) and all suddenly blared music from the Village People. One by one, as they shouted out their piece, the Death Eaters jump-turned to face Harry.
"Y!" cried Malfoy, using his arms to take the shape of a Y.
"M!" cried Bellatrix, using her arms to take the shape of an M.
"C!" cried Snape, doing the same thing the other two did but instead his arms took the shape of a C.
"Dur!" cried Crabbe, his arms going behind him and scratching his bum.
"Duh!" cried Goyle, his arms scratching his armpits like a chimpanzee.
"A!" cried Macnair, his arms taking the shape of an A.
Harry watched in horror as all six of the Death Eaters danced, occasionally shaping their arms into poor copies of the letters of the alphabet. Voldemort was clapping along, giggling with happiness, and hopping in tune to the song. When the song finished, the Death Eaters and Voldemort turned to Harry.
"Well?" asked Voldemort, his eyes shining.
"Sorry?" he asked, looking at Voldemort who suddenly had a murderous look about him. "I-um-didn't hear you, I was, umm… Lost in the wonderful song, and mesmerized by the fabulous dancing,"
Voldemort's eyes widened with joy. "She liked it! She liked it! Finally! We don't have to kill this one!"
Harry's eyes widened. The Death Eaters all crowded around the table, taking their seats, and Snape helped Harry off the table. Harry didn't even notice his head was pounding as if someone was constantly taking a hammer to it, but face it, if a bunch of Death Eaters were dancing to the Village People in pink robes, would you notice?
Harry sat in-between Snape and Bellatrix, turning to face Snape, but had the air knocked out of him from how hard Bellatrix shoved sweets and a soda pop into his stomach. She didn't seem to notice. Harry looked questioningly at her, after getting his air back, and she grinned.
"Your share!" she chuckled, watching with interest as Crabbe and Goyle experimented on where they could shove the pixie stick tubes. Crabbe shrugged and snorted a freshly opened pixie stick (DON'T DO THIS AT HOME). Harry shrugged and went along with it.
It was around three hours before Harry had a chance to question Snape about the potion. Harry, who was exhausted from all the games and dancing that had followed the sugar rush the pixie sticks gave him, slumped over to Snape, who was sitting on Voldemort's bed.
"Can I ask you something?" he wheezed, eyes drooping.
Snape nodded. "What?"
"You know potions that make you a baby again?" asked Harry, and Snape nodded. "What if the potion stops working before that person gets back to their normal age?"
Snape thought for a moment. "You give the person who made the potion a swift kick to the head for messing it up, and you feed the victim bologna sandwiches until they throw up."
"Is that all? Feeding the victim until they puke will help them start aging again?" asked Harry.
"No, but it's bloody funny to watch." Answered Snape. "Really, what you have to do is say the secret word."
"And that is?" inquired Harry. He was getting quite tired of this.
"Hello, it's a secret word, right? If I told you, it would be a known word, not a secret word, wouldn't it?" replied Snape, as if Harry should have known this all along.
"ALL RIGHT, how about if we make a /new/ secret word to replace the old one you're about to tell me?" offered Harry.
"All right, the word is 'Booger Puke'," said Snape. "And… okay, I've got the new secret word."
"Booger Puke?" asked Harry in disbelief. "…I… guess… who comes up with these things?"
"Some crazy Muggle who's watching what we're doing," explained Snape.
"Pamela Anderson?" cried Harry.
"No, Julia Roberts," corrected Snape.
"JULIA ROBERTS? NO! I WANT PAMELA! PAMELA! PAMMY!" shrieked Macnair. He started sobbing so violently that Voldemort had to kiss his forehead and rock him back and forth.
"Ermm… Right, well, I'm out of here… But one question first," Harry added. "Why did you let me in here?"
"Because we needed a judge, and You-Know-Who's infatuated with Potter, so he wanted a look-alike." Snape explained, but his voice had an odd ring to it. "'Bye then."
"Um, yeah, bye," muttered Harry, running out of the room and away from the Village People Death Eaters.
He dashed down the road, went back into the house that had the fireplace he used to get to Snape's house, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from his pocket, and threw it into the fireplace. He dashed through the fire, feeling his stomach churn, and found himself on the floor of the Headquarters, gazing into the face of a very annoyed girl that looked suspiciously like Ginny Weasley.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Nyaha! The scene isn't done yet, I assure you. There'll be more Sirius/Hermione/Ginny in the next chapter, which will be coming soon. Less than a week. I'm already working on it. Really. I am. [Shakes off rabid Remus plushie] Anyway, please Read and Review, and believe me, though I may have the Death Eaters acting queer, they aren't. Totally straight. Even happy-go-lucky Voldemort. BWUAHAHAHA! [Voldemort plushie sucks his finger] What can I say, I'm working on about four different stories right now, and the first few weeks I suffered writer's block. Grrrr. Anyway, I left you on a cliffhanger! Well, not really. The next chapter finishes off the love triangle, unless it gets so big I have to make it two chapters. (This chapter was six pages long, and the average chapter is four)