Capítulo Dos: Two Snapes?
"Two Snapes?" Ron repeated, incredulous, a piece of toast hanging precariously from his limp hand.
Sighing, Mrs. Weasley watched as the used breakfast dishes washed themselves busily, then took some toast for herself. "That's what Mr. Weasley said, dears," she continued, nibbling. She was dieting, and had adopted the philosophy that if you took small bites of the same food you always ate, you, in turn, would slim down.
"Oh, I bet Snape's furious," Hermione assessed, brown eyes wide.
Harry had nothing to contribute but a muffled choking noise. Almost unconsciously, as he too was shocked, Fred Weasley karate-chopped Harry's back. A piece of bacon, almost intact, flew like a projectile missile from his throat and rolled across the table cloth.
"Urgh, Harry, are you all right?" inquired Ginny from across the table, staring, disgusted, at the ejected pork.
"Fine…" he wheezed, gulping water. "When she said that…just kind of sucked it down."
"I'm glad we came to visit. You could have died," said Fred solemnly. "Divine intervention," agreed George from near the sink.
"Back up!" stuttered Ron suddenly. "Snape has a brother!"
"A half brother, dear. He's probably nothing like Snape, you don't need to worry," Mrs. Weasley corrected him.
"I hope he's nothing like Grawp," Hermione mumbled, eyes wide with fear as rather unpleasant memories of another half brother flooded her thoughts.
"Grawp? Who's Grawp?" Mrs. Weasley questioned.
"Only the scariest thing in the world," Hermione replied.
Mrs. Weasley's question remained unanswered in her opinion, but she was no longer sure that she wanted to know.
"This is horrible. Two Snapes! We won't be moving onto seventh year!" Ron groaned.
"Ha! At least we won't have to deal with them!" George laughed, winking at his twin.
"Will he be joining the Order?" Harry asked.
"I don't know. You'll have to ask your father," Mrs. Weasley replied.
Later that night, the Weasley boys sat together with Harry in Ron's cluttered bedroom.
"I bet his nose is twice as big as Snape's!" Fred snickered.
"And he's four times as greasy!" George laughed.
Harry thought for a moment and said, "Didn't someone say he was Hispanic?"
Ron chuckled. "Hispanic? Don't be ridiculous!"
Embarrassed for his stupid comment, Harry pulled the blankets over his head and slowly began falling asleep. He dreamed of a cupcake. It was pink.
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"Ha!" Harry burst into consciousness with a laugh, "I told you that he was Hispanic!"
Mr. Potter, due to the fact that he was currently in the wake of the Hogwarts Express, had not realized that he had suffered yet another injury inflicted as a result of his stupidity. So excited was the poor git to start another school year, that he had galloped headlong, whooping all the while, into a column… a real, brick column that was quite solid indeed. By the time the Hogwarts Express had pulled into the station, Harry was catatonic, and his bleeding ears entailed a brain hemorrhage. Though, by magical standards, his affliction was the Muggle equivalent to a paper cut, Mrs. Weasley was positively beside herself when the door to the staff car slid opened and an extremely frazzled Poppy Pomfrey emerged. A nurse was always brought along on the train ride since a tragic incident involving a first year, a stray Fillibuster's, and a rogue toad; and it seemed that Madam Pomfrey would be the only mandated medic to have ever actually done something medical. It seemed, that is, until from nowhere (in reality, it was from behind a Slytherin girl with a glandular problem, however, no one witness the actually arrival, so all present would later claim that the newcomer could control hyperspace) a flash of pink silk, black leather, and rippling tresses appeared.
"The calciochloriside in his coccyx is unbalanced!" a melodic, Spanish accented voice called before anyone actually got a look at its source.
In unison, everyone turned to see a gorgeous man with tanned olive skin, silky black hair, seductive black eyes, a large nose and… a pink ruffled flamenco shirt. Girls swooned, parents disapproved, and the more masculine men were laughing so hard that there were tears in their eyes.
"Seguro, please go back in the train," begged Madam Pomfrey.
"No! This boy needs my help! Can you not see for yourself? This is clearly a job for Seguro Snape!" Seguro posed dramatically and José Juan Pablo (now a neon pink) began hooting a theme song (something like a mix between James Bond and "La Cucaracha").
About that time, the abandoned patient let out a wet gurgling sound; apparently, poor Harry was drowning in his own blood. "HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD!" shrieked Ginny, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley in varying degrees of synchronization, the latter fainting conspicuously onto Colin Creevey, who snapped a lovely picture of her ample behind before being buried beneath it.
Ron, having long since wet his robes laughing at his fallen comrade, stared, disbelieving, at the bronze God who claimed to be a Snape. "You're his brother?"
"Quiet! Lay down!" With no warning and little explanation, Seguro tackled Ron to the ground and positioned him in what looked very much like a Lamaze stance. "Your water broke; the baby is on its way!" Absolutely thrilled, Fred and George knelt quickly and each grabbed a hand. "Push, Ron, push!"
"Get off, you gits!" Ron cried, struggling under the weight of the three grown men.
Madam Pomfrey hurried over and attempted to pry Seguro off of Ron. No one noticed Harry convulsing in the background, blood bubbling in his throat.
"Poppy! If this baby doesn't come now, then the mother will die!" Seguro screeched.
"Ron, what have you not been telling me!" Mrs. Weasley, no longer unconscious, but still sprawled over Colin, shrieked.
"You slut!" chimed Ginny.
"Mum, it's not my fault he's a nutter!" Ron shouted, and then self-consciously tugged at the front of his robes. "Do I really look that fat?"
"Yes," said Fred and George to the gangly teen, watching as Seguro descended on Harry's motionless corpse (?) and took him firmly by the lapel.
"Live!" he cried, shaking the boy vigorously by the collar. Harry's head bobbed comically, his glasses askew, but he didn't reply.
"Don't move him!" growled Madam Pomfrey, trying to detach Harry from Seguro's desperate grip.
"Harry! Harry! Do it, he's a teacher!" recommended Hermione, weeping, almost hysterical.
"He's a teacher?" came a drawling voice from the small crowd that had gathered around the activity. Amidst several orgasmic gasps, the overly good-looking Slytherin stepped into sight. In the next paragraph, the ridiculous extent of Mr. Malfoy's aesthetic appeal will be described. It is inevitable, so…
How hot was sixth year Draco? Well, rest assured, the temperature would put the Devil's sauna to shame. His skin was as pale as the moon, but lacked the craters, as any whisper of acne had passed with his pubescence. His eyes were like melted silver, pooling around his dark pupils and reflecting like mirrors. No doubt this effect was very cool when he saw his reflection in the morning. People thought it was nothing more than severe narcissism when he spent hours gazing at himself in the bathroom, but it was only because he was muttering, "Where does it end?" too quietly for anyone to hear. Blowing in a wind all others were immune to, his flaxen hair hung longer than previous years and framed his magnificent visage. He stood tall and proud, robes clinging to his masculine curves and muscular ripples.
"That idiot is a teacher?"
Many people, including Gryffindors, had to agree with Draco that the suggestion was ridiculous.
"Excuse me, Mariposa, but you have no right to make such comments! 50 points from Slytherin!" Seguro snarled, for a moment looking as menacing as his brother.
"Finally, a Snape with some sense in his head," grumbled Pomfrey.
Draco allowed his fellow Slytherins to argue with the new professor while he swam through the chaos to the trembling body of Harry Potter. For a moment, it seemed that the stunning Malfoy was going to end Harry's life with a single kick to the teen's already wounded skull. But instead, Draco dropped to his knees and began bawling. "Harry! I've been waiting to tell you this for six years! I love you!" Harry's emerald eyes dilated with shock. He grunted something in protest as the Slytherin began groping him. "I swear on you're death bed, I will avenge you!" Draco exclaimed.
How? By destroying the wall I ran into? Harry thought rather sarcastically. His vocal cords were perfectly operational, but, at that point in time, the only outlet for his statement had been…er, blocked. Draco had taken it upon himself to lovingly administer what looked (and sounded) like a cross between CPR and an extremely wet kiss. At the sight of this, Ron began having genuine labor pains. Groaning, he rolled over and vomited in a majestic fountain.
"Congratulations!" George began. "It's a boy!" Fred completed.
Meanwhile, Hermione, though momentarily distracted by the fascinating progress of Draco's tongue, finally shook her head free of any fantasies and sprung forward to end the suffocation. "Get off him, you horny dimwit! He's not dead yet!"
"It's the kiss of life!" Draco cried defensively. "I'm heroic, not horny!"
For some reason everyone was too focused on the "birth" to realize that the Boy Who Lived was dying. Lucky for Draco, only Hermione saw as he dove onto Harry and began tearing his clothes off. If anyone else actually had seen, there would have been a mass suicide of Draco lovers.
"Not horny? Malfoy, he doesn't need to be naked to be rescued!" Hermione yelled.
"The clothes are restraining his breathing! Back off and give me room to operate! I must examine his genitalia!" Draco screeched, clawing at Harry's pants.
"Good thinking, my boy! Ten pointes to Slytherin!" a silvery voices sad suddenly. Seguro had broken free of Madam Pomfrey's restraining headlock and was now leaning with some kind of clueless authority over Harry's body. "Every good doctor knows that the only way to cure a cerebral hemorrhage is to grab the pen-"
"Please, don't make me do this, professor!" Every one present swiveled their head in the direction of Hermione's frightened, yet uncharacteristically resolved squeak. She was gripping her wand tightly, as if holding on for dear life, and one eyebrow was twitching from sheer concentration.
"Away, frizzy girl!" Seguro commanded, quite unwisely. "Leave me to my work…go condition that fright wig or something!"
BAM! A beam of green light hit him squarely in the chest. Several perverted first-years were disappointed, convinced that they were about to witness an interesting encounter, had not Hermione just murdered one of the better looking members of the threesome…
"OH MY GOD, HERM, YOU KILLED HIM!!!" Ron shrieked.
But as the smoke settled it became obvious that Hermione had killed no one. Seguro stood tall, slicking his hair back into place. Due to his Dr. Bravo's High Viscosity Hair Gel©, the Avada Kedavra spell had ricocheted off his hair and swerved around Draco to hit Harry Potter instead.
Ron pouted. "No…no, you didn't…"
"Harry! My lover! You're hurt!" Draco squealed.
Draco was right. Harry Potter now had two lightening bolt scars: the original was on his forehead and the new one on his nose, gushing blood and glowing a freakish neon color. "Ouyaee…" he groaned inarticulately, pawing at the raw cartilage.
Draco, shallow as always, tilted his head in appraisal. "Erm, my love is undying and all…but, my, you're hideous now…Ha! Your parents are dead!" Kicking Harry in the shins and throwing a dirty look at the less attractive Gryffindor, he melted back into his Slytherin entourage, not before slipping his number to Seguro, who patted him on the head.
"Well, then…let's get to the school. Can't be late!" Seguro announced, ushering students onto the train.
"Here's your new son," Fred and George laughed, placing a dead owl in the arms of their brother.
No one realized that the dead owl was Hedwig… Ron didn't even notice that it was a deal owl.
"I will call it Sir Barthalumulimsington IV!" Ron exclaimed, holding his son to his chest.
Mrs. Weasley leaped off of Colin Creevey to rush for her new grandson. Colin's arms and legs were crushed from the weight of the large woman and Madam Pomfrey, completely forgetting Harry now, ran over to help him.
"Wait…" Harry moaned, but was ignored. The platform was cleared and the train began puffing smoke. "Don't leave me!" Harry groaned, crawling after the train.
The train was soon miles ahead. Harry collapsed onto the tracks, giving up his chase. Suddenly, the conductor remembered that he had left his ugly conductor hat and put the train in reverse. Harry's eyes grew wide with fear as the train backed nearer and nearer. There was a disgusting crunch sound as the Boy Who Lived was crushed under the wheels. The conductor jumped off of the train, picked his hat off of the ground, dusted it off and returned onto the train. Harry was squished like a cockroach under the wheels of the train as it drove off towards the castle.
"Ow…" he grunted.