Disclaimer: All of the funny lines are from Blazing Saddles.

Chapter 5, Candygrams and Old Wounds: In which Draco plots revenge, the residents of Potterville try to adjust to their new sheriff, and the dubious fate of Crabbe and Goyle is revealed.

Draco Malfoy was in an extremely foul mood. Or, as he himself would express it in his current Olde Western incarnation...

"I'm plumb pissed off," Draco snarled to no one in particular. For a brief moment, he wished his old school pals Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were there for him to abuse. He always felt better after screaming insults at good ol' Crabbe and Goyle. Lyle was a poor substitute. Draco spat tobacco juice and the scowl twisting his thin, pale features deepened; the brown stream had missed the spittoon by at least two feet. "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he raged. Draco strode out of his tent, shouting, "Lyle!" He would just have to make do with the railroad foreman.

"Over here, Mister Malfoy, sir," called Lyle. He and the rest of Draco's band of thugs were lounging around a campfire, enjoying a meal of biscuits and baked beans.

Draco paused, his pale grey eyes narrowed in confusion. Those noises... "What in tarnation is that? A pond full o' bullfrogs?" he muttered. Draco shook his head. "There ain't no ponds in the desert, you dummy," he chastised himself. The wind changed direction and the true meaning of the croaking, tooting and warbling sounds became clear. "Sweet mother o' pearl," the younger Malfoy cried, hastily pulling his ten-gallon hat off his head and fanning the air.

"More beans, boss?"

"Dagnabbit, Lyle, I think you done had more than enough! Now listen here, you remember that werewolf that clocked me upside the head? The one my Paw was a-gonna have strung up?"

Lyle nodded eagerly. "That uppity werewolf what don't know how to sing worth crap," he agreed. "I reckon he's good and dead by now, huh?"

Draco grabbed the plate of beans from the hapless flunky's hands and dumped it over his head. "No, you idiot, he ain't dead. He's the new sheriff of Potterville! Now what am I gonna do to get back at that lousy, low-down, no-good son of a—"

"I know boss, I know!" Lyle wiped baked beans out of his eyes and hopped from foot to foot with excitement. "You can sic Mongo on him!"

Draco's disgruntled expression changed to one of pure glee. "Oh, Lyle, that's just too cruel. Why, Mongo would tear that puny little sheriff into itty bitty pieces... I love it!"

——————

Morning found Remus Lupin ready to go out and win over the residents of Potterville. He adjusted his wand holster a little lower on his belt, buffed his star-shaped sheriff's badge to a bright shine, and headed for the door.

Snape, whose attention had seemingly been occupied by shaving with a straight razor, looked up from his reflection in the small shaving mirror. "Do yourself a favor, Lupin. Don't go out there."

Snape's voice was as cold and sneering as ever, but Remus thought he detected a hint of concern. He shook his head ruefully, sure he was letting his imagination get the better of him. "I have to go, Snape. I'm the sheriff. I swore an oath to protect these people. Besides, I know they'll come around, eventually."

The gunslinger shrugged. "Suit yourself." He went back to his shaving and Remus sallied forth.

Crossing Main Street, he met Arabella Figg. The elderly squib was wearing a poke bonnet and carrying a shopping bag. Remus tipped his hat to her and smiled disarmingly. "Mornin', ma'am," he said. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

Mrs. Figg gave him a withering glare. "Up yours, werewolf."

——————

Draco approached the cave with caution. The ground around the entrance was littered with gnawed and broken bones bones of cattle. Cattle, and... It was probably better not to dwell on it. "Mongo... Mongo, remember me? It's yer old friend, Draco Malfoy."

Lyle and the others cringed back as Mongo shuffled out, blinking his small, dull, deepset eyes in the bright sunlight.

"Dang, I forgot what a big mother he is," Lyle breathed. Mongo was a giant, easily twice as tall as the average man.

The monster shambled forward, the knuckles of his fists dragging along the ground. His shaggy head swung curiously toward the sound of Draco's voice. "Dra-co?"

"That's right, Mongo, it's me, Draco." He spoke as though the giant were a toddler. "Does Mongo wanna have hisself some fun? Mongo wanna smash somebody for Draco?"

Mongo's face split into a fearsome, toothy grin. He rubbed his huge, meaty hands together and tugged impatiently on the chains that secured him to the rocks of the cave. "Mongo smash. Mongo smash!"

——————

It was mid-afternoon. The new sheriff of Potterville had been sitting silently, staring at the wall, since his return from patrol that morning. It was plain that he'd had minimal success in winning over the Weasleys and their friends. Snape wrinkled his nose; judging by the lingering odor, the werewolf had been pelted with stink pellets. "The Weasley twins being the probable perpetrators," Snape muttered to himself. He sighed; he'd been hoping that Lupin would snap out of this funk on his own. Reluctantly, he pulled up a chair next to the despondent man and waved his wand. "Scourgify," he muttered. "Pull yourself together, Lupin. You've faced far worse than a few stink pellets and illiterate insults."

Remus continued to stare straight ahead, his expression stony. Snape's words barely registered. He'd pushed aside the hurt when his friends had deserted him, had made excuses for them during the long weeks he'd spent locked up in Azkaban. They were grieving for the dead... Nursing Harry back to health... Any day, he'd get word that they believed in his innocence, that they were preparing his defense. Even after it became clear that no one from the Order of the Phoenix had ever made the slightest attempt to clear his name, Remus continued the denial. The New West had made them all forget, that was what it was.

This morning, it had become painfully obvious that none of them had forgotten him. They all believed that he was a traitor. A murderer. They hated him. Remus retreated inside himself and just sat, staring blindly at the wall.

Watching the unresponsive man, Snape felt his patience beginning to slip. "What did you expect?" he sneered. "'Welcome back, friend'? 'We forgive you for killing our sons, our brothers'?"

It was exactly what Remus had been hoping for. Anger at Snape for pointing out his foolishness roused Remus from his lethargy. "I didn't kill anyone," he gritted. "You know I would never have—"

"'Come on in, make yourself at home'," Snape continued relentlessly. "'Marry my daughter.'"

Remus hung his head. "You were right, Snape," he admitted. "I can't win them over. You don't have to rub it in."

Snape shook his head impatiently. Once, he would have enjoyed seeing the werewolf in pain, but no longer. He'd begun to feel an odd sort of kinship with the man, since waking up in the jail cell and finding out there was someone else who remembered life before the New West. At any rate, it had been his intention to cheer Lupin up, not make him more depressed. Clearly, his efforts so far had failed, and Severus Snape had had enough of failure.

The cold black eyes regarded Lupin for a long moment. His usual bullying tactics weren't working. Slowly, with great reluctance, Snape reached out and laid a hand on Lupin's shoulder. When the friendly gesture wasn't rebuffed, he spoke again. "You've got to remember," he said gently, "it isn't just the old war wounds that are affecting the Weasleys. The New West has influenced them all, don't you see? They've absorbed the morals and mores of the time, adapted to the new roles that have been laid out for them."

Lupin seemed to perk up a bit. Emboldened, Snape patted his shoulder, a trifle awkwardly. "The Weasleys are just simple farmers now," he continued. "You have to understand, these are people of the land. The common clay of the New West. You know, Lupin. . . Complete and utter morons."

Remus threw back his head and laughed. "Thanks, Snape," he said finally.

Snape had jerked his hand away and retreated behind the deputy's desk. "I simply couldn't abide watching you wallow in self-pity any longer, Lupin," he sneered. Remus just grinned.

——————

Ginny Weasley was the first to notice the monster riding into town on a two-headed, fire-breathing Brahma bull. She shrieked out a warning. "It's Mongo!"

Soon the peaceful, bucolic setting was disturbed by the sounds of wood and glass being smashed into smithereens and the terrified screams of men and cattle. Remus peered out the window of the sheriff's office. "What's going on now?"

Snape shrugged. "It's none of your concern, is it, Lupin? The good citizens of Potterville have made it plain that they don't want your help."

"True enough." Remus echoed Snape's shrug and turned away from the window. He felt uncomfortable and a little guilty ignoring the chaos in the streets, but Snape was right. It was none of his concern.

Ten minutes later, Fred Weasley—or perhaps his twin George, Remus could never be entirely sure which was which—slammed through the door in a panic. "Sheriff, Sheriff, Mongo's bustin' up the town! Ya gotta help us, Sheriff! Please!"

Remus gave him a long, level look. George—or possibly Fred—was dressed in a high-collared shirt in the typical style of the late eighteen-hundreds. His long sleeves were rolled up and held in place with arm garters. A white apron covered his clothes; he must have come from working in the saloon. The Weasley twin's eyes were wild with fear, his face pale beneath its freckles.

Oh, please, is it, now?" Remus drawled. "Listen to that, Kid. This morning these folks wouldn't give me the time of day, and now, they're begging for my help."

"Sheriff, for the love of God! It's Mongo!"

"Oh, all right," Remus said, relenting. It was always nice to be needed.

Fred—or George—stuck his head out the door and shouted, "The fool's—" With a guilty glance at Remus, he hastily rephrased his message. "The sheriff's gonna do it! He's gonna take on Mongo!" The saloon-keeper rushed off.

Remus shook his head ruefully. "Who is this Mongo character, anyway?"

From behind the deputy's desk, Snape replied. "The question isn't who... Mongo is more of a what."

"A what?"

"Before the Final Battle, the creature now known as Mongo went by the names of Crabbe and Goyle," Snape elaborated. "You might remember them from their school days at Hogwarts? They were both in Slytherin House... strapping young lads, fine athletes—"

"You don't mean those two hulking brutes that were always tagging after Draco Malfoy?"

Snape scowled at the unflattering description; Remus remembered, belatedly, that he'd always favored students from his own House. "The very same, Lupin. Young Masters Crabbe and Goyle happened to get in the way of a hex cast at young Malfoy," Snape went on after a moment. "A particularly nasty hex. It would have killed Draco. Goyle and Crabbe survived, but they were... Well, I suppose fused is the proper term for it."

Remus swallowed. "You mean..."

Snape nodded. "Twice as tall," he said, "twice as broad... And twice as thick," he added in an undertone.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to lend a hand?" Remus said without much hope. He already suspected what the answer would be. Snape didn't disappoint him.

Propping his feet up on the desk, the former head of Slytherin House smirked at him. "As we already agreed, Lupin, Potterville's problems are not my problem. Ah, no, don't do that," he cautioned as Remus began to buckle on his gun belt. "If you shoot him, you'll only make him mad."

——————

Remus peeked cautiously around the door of the saloon. Mongo was inside, gleefully crushing an even dozen of the patrons between the player piano and the wall. The only person who seemed to be putting up any resistance at all was a buxom young woman hiding behind the bar. Whenever the monster's attention was distracted, she would levitate a bottle over his head and smash it with the reductor curse. Being hit repeatedly on top of the skull didn't seem to be acting as a deterrent, unfortunately. On the contrary, it looked as though Mongo was enjoying having alcohol dumped over his head.

Up close, Remus could make out the individual features of the unfortunate Slytherins. Mongo retained Crabbe's pudding bowl haircut and Goyle's unibrow over dull, deepset eyes. Both boys had shared the hulking size and long, gorilla-like arms even before they'd been magically fused. Remus retreated for a moment. Gryffindor though he might be, there was no way he was going to walk into the saloon without a plan to defeat the giant.

——————

"Candygram for Mongo! Candygram for Mongo!" Remus had transfigured his sheriff's clothes into a telegram delivery boy's uniform. He walked boldly up to the monster and repeated loudly, "Candygram for Mongo!"

Mongo left off smushing the saloon patrons and blinked stupidly at the large red box in Remus' hands. "Huh?"

Remus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Candygram for Mongo. Sign here, please."

Mongo scribbled something illegible across the receipt Remus held out for him, then took the red box eagerly. It was wrapped with a wide gold ribbon tied in a large bow and was emitting faint wisps of smoke. Remus turned smartly and exited the building. As he reached the sidewalk, he stuffed his fingers in his ears.

"Mongo like can-dy," the monster said, struggling to untie the bow. Boom! He keeled over unconscious as the oversized Howler blew up in his face.

Behind the bar, the buxom young saloon girl clutched her sides, laughing.

——————

"More bubbles, Narcissa!" Lucius Malfoy had retired to his bathroom as soon as Draco had relayed the news of Mongo's failure.

"What in tarnation are we gonna do about that damn uppity werewolf, Paw?" Draco stood at the head of the tub, pulling on rubber gloves. "Any thoughts?"

"My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought, cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives," Lucius assured his son.

"Gol-darnit, Paw, you use your tongue purtier than a twenny-galleon wh—"

"Ah-ah-ah, language, Draco," Lucius cautioned. Narcissa was seated at the foot of the tub, giving her husband a pedicure. She gave Draco a scowl of disapproval.

"Sorry, Maw," Draco muttered sheepishly. He picked up a bottle of peroxide in his gloved hand and proceeded to touch up Lucius' dark roots.

Lucius massaged his forehead, deep in thought. "I know, I know," he crowed. "The Beast has failed. It's time to send in... the Beauty! Splendid, splendid," the senior Malfoy went on. "She's never failed me."

Draco frowned. "You don't mean Mimi von Karkaroff, do you? She ain't no beauty, Paw. Why she's just a stuck-up, mouthy little mud—"

"Language, Draco!" Lucius glared up at his son, but Narcissa, busy with her nail file, hadn't seemed to notice Draco's faux pas. "It's a perfect plan, son. Mimi will destroy the sheriff, and then... Potterville will be mine! Mine! Mine!"

Lucius suddenly stopped in mid-rant and looked around, panicked. "Where's my snakey? Where's my snakey!"

Draco and his mother scrambled to locate the rubber snake. "Here it is, Paw," Draco panted.

Lucius grabbed the toy from his hands. "Thank Merlin! That was a close one," he breathed, clutching it to his chest. "Daddy loves snakey," he whispered. The elder Malfoy held the rubber toy up to his ear. "Does snakey love daddy?" he asked, squeaking it. The answer must have satisfied Lucius, because he leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes, calm once more.

Draco and Narcissa exchanged a worried look. "You see, Sweetheart?" said Narcissa. "Mommy always warned you. Casting too many Unforgivables... The same thing happened to your Auntie Bellatrix." She sighed. "One minute, you're at the top of your form, and the next... A raving loony."

"Don't you worry none, Maw," Draco reassured her. "You know I prefer whompin' over hexin' any day!"

——————

That evening, there was a knock at the door to the sheriff's office. Remus cautiously opened it to find Arabella Figg holding an apple pie. "I just wanted to thank you for your bravery and ingenuity in standing up to that monster," the old woman quavered. "Oh, and sorry about the 'up yours werewolf'."

"Apology accepted," Remus smiled.

"Of course, you'll have the good taste not to mention this to anyone," Mrs. Figg added.

"Of course not," Remus assured her wryly. She slipped away into the gathering darkness and Remus shut the door. "I'm rapidly becoming a big underground sensation in this town," he told Snape.

Snape smirked. "In another twenty-five years, you'll be able to shake their hands in public." As Remus set the pie down on his desk, Snape tossed him his fringed buckskin jacket. "Come along, I don't wish to be late for the show."

Snape was wearing his black hat and coat, Remus saw. His belt was slung around his hips, wand in one holster, a gun in the other. Remus had returned Snape's wand earlier; as far as he was concerned, the gunslinger was free to go at any time. Considering all the trouble the little village of Potterville had been experiencing lately, Snape hadn't turned down the loan of a pistol when Remus had offered.

"Where are we going in such a hurry?" Remus asked, pleased to be invited along.

"Mimi von Karkaroff is performing at the saloon tonight," Snape replied. His dark eyes gleamed. "You definitely won't want to miss it."