Crabbe and Goyle had redirected themselves to the kitchen. Now they reached it during that busy two-hour period before dinner was to be served. House elves were bustling around noisily. Crabbe and Goyle paused at the doorway and peeked in.
"Looks busy today."
"Yep."
"Plan 2."
"Sure." They walked into the kitchen slowly, wearing their very best confused expressions.
An old and unusually tall house elf (he almost reached waist level on Crabbe, who was the taller of the two) confronted them. "What is you students doing here?" he demanded.
"Uhhhh," drawled Goyle.
"We're lost and hungry," said Crabbe, scratching his head aimlessly.
The house elf did not look impressed. "Wasn't you two 'lost' here LAST WEEK?"
"It's easy to get lost," said Crabbe, pouting.
"especially for us," added Goyle with a grunt. His eyes looked particularly dull and beady.
"and it smells so good here. What are you cooking?" asked Crabbe, looking around vaguely.
"NOTHING FOR YOU SIRS!" said the house elf. "You best be leaving!"
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged the "Plan 3" glance.
"But I'm so hungry, I could eat a horse! - OR A HOUSE ELF!!" threatened Crabbe, his voice suddenly deep and menacing. He seized the tall elf and lifted him effortlessly to eye level.
"PUT RANDOLPH DOWN SIR!!"
"Randolph - that's an odd name for a house elf, isn't it?" Crabbe asked conversationally, turning to Goyle, who gave him a prompting look in return. "I MEAN - I WONDER HOW HOUSE ELVES TASTE!?" he bellowed.
"BETTER WITH BUTTER, HUH, HUH!" snorted Goyle.
The remaining house elves watched in horror as Randolph continued his struggles, and Goyle began to expound upon the rare delicacy of House Elf.
"..AND BRISKLY SAUTEED WITH A LIGHT MOSELLE - THEY ARE TO DIE FOR!" he went on, still in Threatening Goyle™ mode, but clearly on a roll. Crabbe tried to keep a straight face.
"MAYBE WE WON'T HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL THAT PREPARATION IF THESE OTHER TASTY- I MEAN - NICE ELVES WOULD KINDLY GET US SOME SANDWICHES!" Crabbe announced.
The house elves took the hint. Soon Crabbe and Goyle were back in the main hallway with two generous roast beef sandwiches.
"Now I can think straight," said Crabbe satisfactorily.
"Let's not get too optimistic."
"Heh"
"We could ride the staircases while we eat."
"All right."
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"I love these staircases," announced Crabbe as they sat on one which continued to move leisurely back and forth between two opposite overhangs.
"Yep," Goyle munched on his sandwich. "Like an amusement park."
"Hey, make it go faster."
"No, I don't want to get sick." said Goyle simply. "Besides, I don't know the spell to make a staircase go faster."
"You can make it up."
"No better than you. And I'd rather watch," answered Goyle, removing himself to a stationary overhang and settling down for a show.
"Hmph. Well it's easy enough to make up a spell. Malfoy does it all the time and pretends he's not." Crabbe stood up and straightened his robes. "Let's see then," He pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at his staircase, which continued contentedly to move back and forth. "Accelerando!" he cried. Nothing.
"That's Italian, stupid," Goyle informed between munches.
Crabbe tried to muster as much dignity as he could. "I was being facetious," he said petulantly.
"You need Latin, and don't forget to say it in italics," called Goyle from his safe perch.
Crabbe nodded and turned his attention back to the staircase. He held up his wand rather primly; it looked especially silly in his overgrown hand. "Yes, Latin.. ahem-" Having thought of an appropriate-sounding word, he now inflected his already deep voice with some sort of authority. "Praerapidus!...." No, that was too short to be a decent spell. Best start over. "Praerapidus mobilus - A UM!" The staircase began to lurch back and forth wildly. Crabbe lost his balance and grabbed onto the railing for dear life. Goyle spit out his mouthful so as to laugh more obnoxiously.
"None of that raucous laughter - this is dangerous!" bellowed Crabbe.
"Stop it then!"
"Uh - STRIGO-.. uh -ARE .. Obstructo-rus!? -ResistooooOOAA!" He nearly toppled over the banister, "A---Subsistare a--?? ad HOC?! Ad nauseam?????"
Goyle roared with laughter, "That's why I'm not on there with you! the nausea!!"
Crabbe glared as best he could, although the staircase was now spinning around in circles in addition to flying back and forth. He decided to make a dash for it and leap to safety. (Spell casting seemed more dangerous than that, momentarily at least.) He stumbled towards an end of the staircase.
"Good," directed Goyle. "Now jump. I'll help." He stood up, ready to lend a hand if necessary.
"Put down the sandwich first!!!!"
"Oh..right.... Ok, GO!!"
Crabbe shut his eyes and jumped, arms outstretched. There was only a moment of uncertainty before Goyle grabbed him and pulled him to safety.
"Ok," said Goyle, sitting back down to finish his sandwich.
"That was... uh.. kind of rough," said Crabbe, rubbing his temples.
"Yes." Goyle pulled out his wand in the other hand. "Impedimenta," he said to the staircase. It slowed and stopped politely.
Crabbe glared at him. "All right..hmph. But we're not telling Malfoy about this little episode."
"'Course not. But we should visit him sometime."
"After you write your poem."
"We'll prank the Gryffindors then."
"That's what I thought."
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Back in the Slytherin common room, Crabbe and Goyle took their usual seats before the fireplace. There was an empty chair between them, which they would look at forlornly from time to time throughout their conversation. For the most part, though, they were occupied with devising a prank.
"Potions?"
"Too Boring."
"Love notes?"
"Too Dangerous."
"Hexed Broomsticks?"
"Too Obvious."
"Leather and Stiletto Heels?"
Goyle paused. "Too '80s."
"Just making sure you were alive."
They were interrupted by a chipper voice that they recognized only too well. The stumpy and square-jawed Pansy Parkinson marched into the common room. "What were you guys talking about?? All I heard was stiletto heels!"
Another quick exchange. "Well.. we overheard Professor McGonagall in the hall-"
"WHAT!"
"Gregory means that we were just joking," corrected Crabbe.
Pansy sat down in the seat between them. Crabbe frowned ever so slightly. "So I guess you guys know about Draco," she sighed.
"Yeah, out for a week."
"I don't know how you guys are going to deal with that - I mean, I don't spend half as much time around him and I'm already feeling the loss!" She put her hand to her heart melodramatically.
Goyle and Crabbe glanced at each other over her head.
Crabbe grinned. "Dear Gregory here is writing him a poem." ("Poem" had two syllables.)
"Oh, that's nice!"
"You keep going on about that poem so much, Vincent, I am beginning to think you want me to write it for you, not Draco," said Goyle.
Pansy couldn't quite figure out how to interpret that one. "So..what's it about?"
"Impending disaster," Goyle answered nonchalantly.
"Gregory, that is not going to cheer him up!" said Pansy sternly.
"Ohh, that's a good thought. Maybe you should write him a cheerful one," said Goyle.
"Yes! sometimes you can be such a blockhead!" she cried in exasperation. "But... Now that you mention it, I think I would be more capable than you of writing a cheerful poem. I'll go do it now." She hurried off to her room.
"Good," announced Goyle.
"And I don't want any of your silly poetry."
"Heh."
Crabbe grinned. "And I'm hungry again too."
"Malfoy was right. We are going to sit in the Slytherin common room and eat all day, aren't we?"
"I'm not giving up without a fight," answered Crabbe sternly. "And that's exactly why I need another snack."
Will our heros EVER get off their behinds and prank the Gryffindors, or will they give in to their culinary urges and eat ALL DAY? (Hopefully not, as that can only be so exciting) OR WILL PANSY PARKINSON USURP THEIR PLACE AT DRACO'S SIDE? stay tuned...