Sorry I took such a long time to upload - almost a month! But that was
because I thought no one was reviewing. *Hint hint*
Ok, enough small talk. On with the story. Enjoy!
*Takes bow*
*Ends up hitting head on the floor*
That's how grateful I am to my reviewers. You rock, people!!!
Disclaimer: Cake is rat clock, mark my words. With the help of Alfalfa Sprouts, I can do unto another person like a fish. Those who need a translation, press the 'submit review' button and type AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!
-----
"Stop Looking Out the Vindow, Drrrraco!"
Chapter Six: Tom Felton's Trash
"Uh...nothing much," Hermione said, shifting around uncomfortably. Then she frowned. "Where's Harry and Ron, anyway?"
Ron came running into the room. "HARRY'S DEAD!!!"
"Huh? Harry, dead?" McGonagall looked stunned. "I can't believe it! He was such a good student..."
Flitwick gave a squeak and passed out in shock.
Sprout burst into tears. "Oh, Harry! You were so young...so innocent..."
"Aw, cut the crap, people," Draco said. "Who cares, anyhow? I mean, come on! He is always blowing his top at you guys and throwing his weight around, isn't he?"
"Was," Ron corrected with a surly look on his face.
"Whatever. But, as always, I am absolutely right. Harry didn't regard you guys as friends. He treated you like...like how I treat Crabbe and Goyle."
"To be exact...he treated us like RUBBISH?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
"Worse," Draco said, shaking his head. "He treated you like HOUSE ELVES."
"What's wrong with house elves?" Hermione demanded.
Draco ignored her. "As I was saying, Harry did not regard you as friends. He's bad-tempered, arrogant, and an all-round pain in the rear. Also, his hair would have been fashionable, like, in the Sixties?"
"Uh. Whatever. So, Potter's dead, huh?" Snape said, raising an oily eyebrow, the same way someone would ask, "So, Tom Felton's out with a new single, huh?"
"Tom Felton? That rings a bell. Where did I hear that before?" Draco frowned, trying to recall and bearing an eerie resemblance to Goyle.
"Who said anything about Tom Felton?" Snape asked.
Ron was trembling violently and dabbing at his eyes with Hagrid's floral handkerchief. "I can't believe it. Harry's dead and all you guys can talk about is some guy called Tom Felton! Who is he, anyway? And WHAT new single? I bet it's trash," he said spitefully.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Flitwick brightly. "The title of his new single is Trash! You know, Tom Felton's Trash? It's this totally awesome rap! It's got a beat I can't resist!"
"Enough," Ron snarled. "I can't stand him already."
"So," Snape interrupted. "Who's going to organize all the funeral stuff? You know, what kind of coffin, and what to put on Potter's grave, and all?" He had already picked up the phone and flipped through the Yellow Pages to where all the coffin shops were listed, his fingers poised and ready to punch in Ah Hock Coffin Company's phone number.
"Uh...Snape, there's no need to get all worked up," McGonagall said.
"Of course there's a need," Draco said. "After all, we're talking about James Potter's son here. James Potter, Professor Snape's ARCHENEMY, for crying out loud. Why shouldn't he be worked up?"
"What kind of coffin do you want?" Snape prompted.
"Well, what colours do they come in?" asked Hermione. "I like periwinkle blue, but I suppose Harry would like his coffin to be in a colour he likes, don't you think, Ron?"
"That would not be advisable," Ron said darkly.
"Why?" Hermione asked. Draco leaned forward, looking interested.
"He told me not to tell anybody what his favourite colour is," Ron said. He blew his nose, ruining the lovely floral pattern on the handkerchief.
"You mean, 'was'," Draco said gleefully.
"So what is, um, was his favourite colour?" Sprout asked. "I read on the Internet that you can tell a person's personality from the colour he likes. Isn't that wonderful?"
"No, and it's incredibly stupid of you to believe that. But then again, you WERE in Hufflepuff," Snape said, hurling cutting remarks as sharp as machetes. Sprout made a sudden movement as if she was dodging something.
"Not amusing, Professor Sprout."
"It's pink," Ron said, covering his face with his hands. "Pastel pink."
"What's pink, Ron?" demanded Hermione. Then her expression changed gradually from puzzlement to shock. "You don't mean...that's Harry's favourite colour?"
Everyone stopped talking and turned to stare at Ron. Ron sighed and nodded.
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
~*~
"You are NOT ordering a coffin that is pastel pink for Harry," Hermione said, running to catch up with Ron. They were walking to Ah Hock's Coffin Company (AHCC). Everyone else had returned to Hogwarts and resumed with their classes. All the students must have thrown a party when the Professors weren't around to teach, thought Hermione. Either that, or they were busy making plans on murdering Prof. Binns.
"Why not?" Ron said.
"Well, for one thing, have you ever seen a pink coffin?"
"Come to think of it," Ron frowned, "I haven't even seen a normal coffin."
"Vell, now you can see one in my coffin shop," said a voice. Ron and Hermione jumped three feet into the air. It was Viktor Krum!
"Oh, it's you, Viktor! Vat a surprise!" Hermione said. She always spoke like that when Viktor Krum was around, so that he wouldn't feel out of place.
"Oh. Viktor, eh?" Ron said, narrowing his eyes until he looked like Voldemort with a nose. Hermione ignored him.
"So, you've found a job at a coffin shop, then?" Hermione questioned.
"Yes, I haff. Don't tell anyone, but actually..." Krum lowered his voice. "I'm a vampire."
Hermione's eyes widened. "I never knew, Viktor! When did that happen? Did you get bitten?"
"I vas born a vampire," Krum explained. "My father vas vone. But now I can manage just fine vith sheep's blood. Good thing I vork at a coffin shop, othervise I'll haff to steal a coffin."
Ron, who wasn't let in on the conversation, said loudly, "Hermione, are we here to buy a coffin, or have a little get-together with your pen pal?"
"Buy a coffin, of course. Viktor, I don't suppose your coffins come in colours, do they?"
"Yes, of course they do. Do you vant Vomit Yellow or Dark Shit Green?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Look, Krum, I know you're thick, but what is possessing you to think that Harry Potter, a world-wide hero, would rest in peace with a coffin that is DARK SHIT GREEN?! He'll turn over in his grave!!!" Ron roared. His head suddenly burst into flames, thus the adjective 'fiery red hair'.
"So I guess you vant Vomit Yellow, then?"
"Never mind," Ron said, smacking his forehead, burning his hand in the process.
"Um, Viktor, I think you'd better show us some normal-looking coffins, please," Hermione said. Krum nodded and strode briskly off. Ron and Hermione followed ("Do you find it hot in here, Ron? Joke." "Har de har, Hermione.")
"These are de normal-looking coffins you vanted, Hermy-own-ninny," Krum said, gesturing the coffins laid out on the shelves. "They're made of high-quality marble, not some cheap wood."
Suddenly, the lid of one of the coffins swung open and Oliver Wood stuck his head out. "Someone called me?"
"No. Get back in there," snapped Krum. "He's cleaning the coffins," he explained to Ron and Hermione, having seen their stunned expressions.
"Just how many people from Hogwarts are working here?" asked Ron.
"Your twin brothers are vorking here part-time," Krum said. Two coffins opened up and the Weasley twins shouted "Yo!" at the same time. Ron's jaws dropped.
"Do you have any other coffins other than these?" Hermione asked.
"Vhy, of course I do!" He strode off, and Ron and Hermione followed. He walked all the way to the extreme left of the shelves and stopped in front of a coffin covered in a velvet cloth.
"This," Krum said, his eyes shining, "is the owner of this shop's most prized possession." He took a deep breath and pulled away the velvet cloth.
Ron and Hermione stared at the coffin before them. It was completely white with lightning bolts not unlike Harry's scar engraved on the sides.
"It looks as if it was made for Harry," Hermione whispered, lifting the lid off. The inside was made of blue velvet.
"It's perfect," Ron said. "But it's missing something." He reached into the pocket of his hand-me-down robes and took out his wand.
"Accio Firebolt!"
There was a loud crashing sound and Harry's Firebolt came flying through the air. Ron caught it swiftly. "If anything's going to Heaven with Harry, it's his Firebolt," Ron declared.
Hermione sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. "Yes, though I still think Quidditch is exceedingly senseless."
"Excuse me," Krum cut in, "that vill be two hundred dollars, please."
"Huh? For what?" snapped Ron.
"Your Firebolt has ruined the front door," Krum said, pointing. There was a large hole in the door where the Firebolt had crashed through.
"Uh...voops."
~*~
Ok, enough small talk. On with the story. Enjoy!
*Takes bow*
*Ends up hitting head on the floor*
That's how grateful I am to my reviewers. You rock, people!!!
Disclaimer: Cake is rat clock, mark my words. With the help of Alfalfa Sprouts, I can do unto another person like a fish. Those who need a translation, press the 'submit review' button and type AIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!
-----
"Stop Looking Out the Vindow, Drrrraco!"
Chapter Six: Tom Felton's Trash
"Uh...nothing much," Hermione said, shifting around uncomfortably. Then she frowned. "Where's Harry and Ron, anyway?"
Ron came running into the room. "HARRY'S DEAD!!!"
"Huh? Harry, dead?" McGonagall looked stunned. "I can't believe it! He was such a good student..."
Flitwick gave a squeak and passed out in shock.
Sprout burst into tears. "Oh, Harry! You were so young...so innocent..."
"Aw, cut the crap, people," Draco said. "Who cares, anyhow? I mean, come on! He is always blowing his top at you guys and throwing his weight around, isn't he?"
"Was," Ron corrected with a surly look on his face.
"Whatever. But, as always, I am absolutely right. Harry didn't regard you guys as friends. He treated you like...like how I treat Crabbe and Goyle."
"To be exact...he treated us like RUBBISH?" Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
"Worse," Draco said, shaking his head. "He treated you like HOUSE ELVES."
"What's wrong with house elves?" Hermione demanded.
Draco ignored her. "As I was saying, Harry did not regard you as friends. He's bad-tempered, arrogant, and an all-round pain in the rear. Also, his hair would have been fashionable, like, in the Sixties?"
"Uh. Whatever. So, Potter's dead, huh?" Snape said, raising an oily eyebrow, the same way someone would ask, "So, Tom Felton's out with a new single, huh?"
"Tom Felton? That rings a bell. Where did I hear that before?" Draco frowned, trying to recall and bearing an eerie resemblance to Goyle.
"Who said anything about Tom Felton?" Snape asked.
Ron was trembling violently and dabbing at his eyes with Hagrid's floral handkerchief. "I can't believe it. Harry's dead and all you guys can talk about is some guy called Tom Felton! Who is he, anyway? And WHAT new single? I bet it's trash," he said spitefully.
"Exactly!" exclaimed Flitwick brightly. "The title of his new single is Trash! You know, Tom Felton's Trash? It's this totally awesome rap! It's got a beat I can't resist!"
"Enough," Ron snarled. "I can't stand him already."
"So," Snape interrupted. "Who's going to organize all the funeral stuff? You know, what kind of coffin, and what to put on Potter's grave, and all?" He had already picked up the phone and flipped through the Yellow Pages to where all the coffin shops were listed, his fingers poised and ready to punch in Ah Hock Coffin Company's phone number.
"Uh...Snape, there's no need to get all worked up," McGonagall said.
"Of course there's a need," Draco said. "After all, we're talking about James Potter's son here. James Potter, Professor Snape's ARCHENEMY, for crying out loud. Why shouldn't he be worked up?"
"What kind of coffin do you want?" Snape prompted.
"Well, what colours do they come in?" asked Hermione. "I like periwinkle blue, but I suppose Harry would like his coffin to be in a colour he likes, don't you think, Ron?"
"That would not be advisable," Ron said darkly.
"Why?" Hermione asked. Draco leaned forward, looking interested.
"He told me not to tell anybody what his favourite colour is," Ron said. He blew his nose, ruining the lovely floral pattern on the handkerchief.
"You mean, 'was'," Draco said gleefully.
"So what is, um, was his favourite colour?" Sprout asked. "I read on the Internet that you can tell a person's personality from the colour he likes. Isn't that wonderful?"
"No, and it's incredibly stupid of you to believe that. But then again, you WERE in Hufflepuff," Snape said, hurling cutting remarks as sharp as machetes. Sprout made a sudden movement as if she was dodging something.
"Not amusing, Professor Sprout."
"It's pink," Ron said, covering his face with his hands. "Pastel pink."
"What's pink, Ron?" demanded Hermione. Then her expression changed gradually from puzzlement to shock. "You don't mean...that's Harry's favourite colour?"
Everyone stopped talking and turned to stare at Ron. Ron sighed and nodded.
"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
~*~
"You are NOT ordering a coffin that is pastel pink for Harry," Hermione said, running to catch up with Ron. They were walking to Ah Hock's Coffin Company (AHCC). Everyone else had returned to Hogwarts and resumed with their classes. All the students must have thrown a party when the Professors weren't around to teach, thought Hermione. Either that, or they were busy making plans on murdering Prof. Binns.
"Why not?" Ron said.
"Well, for one thing, have you ever seen a pink coffin?"
"Come to think of it," Ron frowned, "I haven't even seen a normal coffin."
"Vell, now you can see one in my coffin shop," said a voice. Ron and Hermione jumped three feet into the air. It was Viktor Krum!
"Oh, it's you, Viktor! Vat a surprise!" Hermione said. She always spoke like that when Viktor Krum was around, so that he wouldn't feel out of place.
"Oh. Viktor, eh?" Ron said, narrowing his eyes until he looked like Voldemort with a nose. Hermione ignored him.
"So, you've found a job at a coffin shop, then?" Hermione questioned.
"Yes, I haff. Don't tell anyone, but actually..." Krum lowered his voice. "I'm a vampire."
Hermione's eyes widened. "I never knew, Viktor! When did that happen? Did you get bitten?"
"I vas born a vampire," Krum explained. "My father vas vone. But now I can manage just fine vith sheep's blood. Good thing I vork at a coffin shop, othervise I'll haff to steal a coffin."
Ron, who wasn't let in on the conversation, said loudly, "Hermione, are we here to buy a coffin, or have a little get-together with your pen pal?"
"Buy a coffin, of course. Viktor, I don't suppose your coffins come in colours, do they?"
"Yes, of course they do. Do you vant Vomit Yellow or Dark Shit Green?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Look, Krum, I know you're thick, but what is possessing you to think that Harry Potter, a world-wide hero, would rest in peace with a coffin that is DARK SHIT GREEN?! He'll turn over in his grave!!!" Ron roared. His head suddenly burst into flames, thus the adjective 'fiery red hair'.
"So I guess you vant Vomit Yellow, then?"
"Never mind," Ron said, smacking his forehead, burning his hand in the process.
"Um, Viktor, I think you'd better show us some normal-looking coffins, please," Hermione said. Krum nodded and strode briskly off. Ron and Hermione followed ("Do you find it hot in here, Ron? Joke." "Har de har, Hermione.")
"These are de normal-looking coffins you vanted, Hermy-own-ninny," Krum said, gesturing the coffins laid out on the shelves. "They're made of high-quality marble, not some cheap wood."
Suddenly, the lid of one of the coffins swung open and Oliver Wood stuck his head out. "Someone called me?"
"No. Get back in there," snapped Krum. "He's cleaning the coffins," he explained to Ron and Hermione, having seen their stunned expressions.
"Just how many people from Hogwarts are working here?" asked Ron.
"Your twin brothers are vorking here part-time," Krum said. Two coffins opened up and the Weasley twins shouted "Yo!" at the same time. Ron's jaws dropped.
"Do you have any other coffins other than these?" Hermione asked.
"Vhy, of course I do!" He strode off, and Ron and Hermione followed. He walked all the way to the extreme left of the shelves and stopped in front of a coffin covered in a velvet cloth.
"This," Krum said, his eyes shining, "is the owner of this shop's most prized possession." He took a deep breath and pulled away the velvet cloth.
Ron and Hermione stared at the coffin before them. It was completely white with lightning bolts not unlike Harry's scar engraved on the sides.
"It looks as if it was made for Harry," Hermione whispered, lifting the lid off. The inside was made of blue velvet.
"It's perfect," Ron said. "But it's missing something." He reached into the pocket of his hand-me-down robes and took out his wand.
"Accio Firebolt!"
There was a loud crashing sound and Harry's Firebolt came flying through the air. Ron caught it swiftly. "If anything's going to Heaven with Harry, it's his Firebolt," Ron declared.
Hermione sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. "Yes, though I still think Quidditch is exceedingly senseless."
"Excuse me," Krum cut in, "that vill be two hundred dollars, please."
"Huh? For what?" snapped Ron.
"Your Firebolt has ruined the front door," Krum said, pointing. There was a large hole in the door where the Firebolt had crashed through.
"Uh...voops."
~*~