Chapter Three
A cry rang out in the communal prison, one so chilling that Mrs. Norris had a heart attack and became a piece of taxidermy on Filch's desk.
Trevor had committed his revenge. He hopped away, lazily, knowing that his master would be displeased, but that he had been satisfied, and that his heart was now stilled.
Professor S Snape, a teacher too wonderful for words, a Death Eater too wonderful for curses and a man...a very slimy man, lay dead next to a mixture of minimising tooth lotion, his black cloak making a temporary grave before Draco came along and dumped him in Hagrid's celery field.
A terrible end, I think you'll agree.
No-one knew quite how Trevor did it, and quite honestly, no-one cared.
Millicent Bulstrode, when the news reached her ugly ears, wept ugly tears, and went to her ugly bed and never came out again...apart from the ugly festival that came once a year to Ugly Village.
Big Nev awoke to find he was Trevor-less, and that an attractive (yet rather big-toothed) femme-fatale was watching him from the corner of his room.
'Hello, Neville, sweedie,' she licked her lips. 'My, haven't you grown?'
From this point, many horrible and graphic circumstances happened which I do not want to go to detail in. Quite horrible, involving mink coats and Nev's collection of guns. Anyway, it ended in Neville shouting 'I shall not kill him' in a weird orgasmic way.
Hermione rubbed her hands – a successful night indeed. She adjusted her suspenders (a fiver from Marks and Sparks) and smiled seductively in Big Nev's direction.
As Neville lit a cigarette, the door swung open and there, in the enfolding shadows, sat Trevor....and he croaked.
The scream was heard all through Hogsmeade. Madame Rosemerta was confused at first, since she was the only person who screamed in Hogsmeade (a nice comfortable virginal village) but then blamed it on the gnomes and their gothic rituals; little did she know of the horrors that befell Hermione Granger that night.
Harry Potter stopped his Jaguar. Hermione's scream, he mused, looked in the overhead mirror, quickly ran his fingers through his gelled hair and got out of the car with a plastic revolver he had got free from Coco-Pops.
'No worries, Babe,' he growled. 'I'll save you.'
A cry rang out in the communal prison, one so chilling that Mrs. Norris had a heart attack and became a piece of taxidermy on Filch's desk.
Trevor had committed his revenge. He hopped away, lazily, knowing that his master would be displeased, but that he had been satisfied, and that his heart was now stilled.
Professor S Snape, a teacher too wonderful for words, a Death Eater too wonderful for curses and a man...a very slimy man, lay dead next to a mixture of minimising tooth lotion, his black cloak making a temporary grave before Draco came along and dumped him in Hagrid's celery field.
A terrible end, I think you'll agree.
No-one knew quite how Trevor did it, and quite honestly, no-one cared.
Millicent Bulstrode, when the news reached her ugly ears, wept ugly tears, and went to her ugly bed and never came out again...apart from the ugly festival that came once a year to Ugly Village.
Big Nev awoke to find he was Trevor-less, and that an attractive (yet rather big-toothed) femme-fatale was watching him from the corner of his room.
'Hello, Neville, sweedie,' she licked her lips. 'My, haven't you grown?'
From this point, many horrible and graphic circumstances happened which I do not want to go to detail in. Quite horrible, involving mink coats and Nev's collection of guns. Anyway, it ended in Neville shouting 'I shall not kill him' in a weird orgasmic way.
Hermione rubbed her hands – a successful night indeed. She adjusted her suspenders (a fiver from Marks and Sparks) and smiled seductively in Big Nev's direction.
As Neville lit a cigarette, the door swung open and there, in the enfolding shadows, sat Trevor....and he croaked.
The scream was heard all through Hogsmeade. Madame Rosemerta was confused at first, since she was the only person who screamed in Hogsmeade (a nice comfortable virginal village) but then blamed it on the gnomes and their gothic rituals; little did she know of the horrors that befell Hermione Granger that night.
Harry Potter stopped his Jaguar. Hermione's scream, he mused, looked in the overhead mirror, quickly ran his fingers through his gelled hair and got out of the car with a plastic revolver he had got free from Coco-Pops.
'No worries, Babe,' he growled. 'I'll save you.'