Disclaimer: Why would anyone want to own Harry Potter? I mean, after the way it was mutilated in book 5, I'm surprised that J.K. Rowling wants to own it anymore.

"Rrr. .." James growled irritably, returning a few dungbombs to their proper place. "Stupid kids don't know how to put things away right. . ." He cast his gaze around the store for anything out of place. Finding nothing too terribly gone astray, he deemed himself deserving of a short break. He had, after all, been working for two hours -- since noon -- and although it was worth it just to get paid, working in a joke shop could be exhausting .
"Hey, got anything new?" someone asked. James turned around to see a boy about his age with longish black hair and gray eyes.

"Well, there are a few smaller items, but nothing worth your time," he told the other lad. "Although I've heard that Da -- er -- Mr. Potter has something big in the works."

"So you're the owner's kid?" James affirmed this with a nod.

"Yeah, it's pretty nice. I get all my supplies here."

"It's a shame that I couldn't try some of these out on my brother," Sirius told him, gazing wistfully at the racks of pranks. James grinned in spite of himself. Although his conversations with this customer were usually short lived, they always left him in a better mood. The funny thing was that he didn't even know the boy's name.

"I wish I could sympathize, but I don't have siblings," the bespectacled boy lamented.

"Trust me, you're a lucky boy," Sirius informed him with a rueful grin. "You want mine? Better yet, take me instead."

James laughed outright at his acquaintance's blunt request. He was about to reply when the sound of something breaking echoed through the store. He winced noticeably and closed his eyes. "Do I want to know what that was?" he muttered, then added more loudly, "I think I'd better take care of that. Later." And preparing himself for the worst, he headed once more into the depths of the shop. . .

----

The Evans family had just finished dinner, and Lily was clearing the table when the doorbell rang. Petunia, poring over her newly delivered magazines in the living room, sighed deeply with annoyance. She hated to be interrupted again, but she was also the one nearest the door, so she stood up and glared at her sister.

"Don't touch my chair," she snapped. She composed her face to look as pleasant as she could in this state of irritation and opened the door. Outside it stood a woman just shy of middle age. She was dressed in a very old-fashioned manner, even with a long cloak in place of the light jackets that most people wore on summer evenings. She looked very prim and proper, and her brown hair was twisted back in a tight bun. She nodded in acknowledgement of Petunia.

"Good evening," she told the girl, who was standing with her mouth agape and a little in awe of this bizarre woman. "My name is Minerva McGonagall. Is this the Evans residence?"

Petunia nodded dumbly, and then cleared her throat and replied, "Yes. May I help you?"

"Are Lily and your parents home, please?" the woman asked. Petunia nodded.

"I'll go get them," she stated, turning around to go fetch them. She found that her sister was already standing behind her looking quizzical.

"Aren't you going to invite Ms. McGonagall in?" asked Lily, for once remembering her manners better than her younger sister did. "Please, ma'am, come in."

"Thank you, Lily," McGonagall replied graciously. "And I prefer Professor McGonagall, if you don't mind." Lily led the woman into the living room that her sister had abandoned and invited her to have a seat. Ironically, she noted that their guest had chosen the chair that Petunia had reminded her not to steal. Lily took a seat on the sofa herself. She cleared her throat to fill the silence.

"So, where do you teach, then?" the redhead asked the professor. Just then, Petunia entered with her parents. McGonagall stood up and shook both of the Evans' hands.

"Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Evans. My name is Minerva McGonagall," she introduced herself for the second time. "I am the Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I-"

"You're joking!" Lily interrupted. "There's no such thing!"

"Lily, don't be rude to our guest," Mrs. Evans scolded her daughter. She herself was looking a bit doubtful, though. "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. Could I offer you some tea?"

"Thank you, there will be no need," McGonagall told her. "Let me take care of it." As Mrs. Evans opened her mouth to protest or question, the strict- looking professor reached into an inner pocket of her cloak. She pulled out a miniature tea set that looked as if it could be used for dolls and tapped the teapot once with a long, wooden wand. The teapot swelled to the size of a normal tea set as the Evans family gaped. McGonagall then calmly reached into her cloak and pulled out a packet of tealeaves, which she dumped into the pot. She then tapped the pot once again, and a puff of steam issued from the spout.

"Tea, anyone?" she queried mildly, and poured herself a cup. Petunia's eyes bugged out, and she began to sputter.

"But - but - you can't do that. . . It's not possible!" the Evans' youngest daughter wriggled in her seat as she tried to come up with a logical explanation.

"My dear, it is quite possible," McGonagall informed her, holding her teacup daintily. She then turned to address Mr. and Mrs. Evans and Lily. "And the reason that I am here this evening is because your daughter, Lily, should be able to do just that - and a great deal more - after attending our school. Hogwarts is-"

McGonagall was interrupted for the second time that evening by the sound of the loud thump that Lily made, falling out of her seat in a dead faint.

----

Severus carefully placed the school books that he had just purchased into his bookbag as he walked out the door of Flourish and Blotts and into the light of the bustling Diagon Alley. He flipped through the pages of the one book left in his hand, looking forward to spending a little quality reading time at the ice cream shop down the street.

The bookish boy pushed open the door of the ice cream parlor and shivered in the blast of cold air that hit him. It was a nice change from the summer heat that he had been surrounded in, and he smiled as he strode through the door and towards the counter.

He was peering through the glass at the various flavors in their tubs when the doorbell jangled again. Sev glanced behind him to see another black- haired boy entering the store while shoving a bag from the local joke shop into his pocket. The new customer joined Severus at the glass, and they resumed the difficult task of choosing a flavor.

"I recommend the raspberry chocolate chunk," the boy with the joke shop bag announced. Severus looked up and smiled a little.

"Actually, I'm rather partial to the vanilla cashew crunch," her responded.

"Hmm. . .some people have no taste," Sirius muttered good humoredly.

"Like you and your joke store bag?" Sev queried innocently. The other boy laughed.

"How about you and your book?" Siir retorted. Severus widened his eyes.

"Please tell me that you aren't one of those who holds a grudge against anyone who's actually literate," the slightly shorter boy retorted indignantly.

"Who, me?" Sirius asked. "Of course not. One scoop of raspberry chocolate chunk," he added, turning to the man behind the counter. "In a cone." The man nodded and turned to Sev.

"And for you?"

The shorter boy glanced impertinently at his impromptu companion. "A scoop of vanilla cashew crunch. In a cup."

----

Sidra: We don't really know what to say, but we're writing an authors' note anyway.

Pyxis: Well, actually, I was going to say something along the lines of "I hope that you are enjoying our loverly bout of insanity thus far," and so on. But then that makes me sound all anal retentive and stuff, and not quite up to my usual insane standards.

Sidra: In that case. . . Carry on then. And all of those people reading out there had better review, or we will send Jose the flying squirrel after them.

Pyxis: I'm not sure they're in on that inside joke. It goes something like this: Jose the flying squirrel will decapitate your head. And it's funny, darn you!

Sidra: Yes! Laugh, darn you laugh!! (end insanity)

P.S. - we are not a schizophrenic. We are insane co-authors who think that it would be rather fun to be schizophrenic. Please carry on with your lives assured of this little fact. (attempt two: end insanity)