hey folks...here's the real chapter four. I honestly have no idea how i ended up with the text of chapter 5 where chapter 4 was supposed to be, but whatever, its ok now. god. i wonder how long it's been like that.

i wrote this a while ago now, so i dont really remember what's in it, but make of it what you will. I hope it's funny...lol, i can't remember. And i dont have time to reread it, so ill just post it and have it done with...yeah. AAAAAAAHHHi gotta write chapter 6...oh well, its a new school, and we actually have a lame little fanfiction club here, so maybe ill get my wonderful new friends to make suggestions...I should get them in touch with emmy and cocabella, too, i would think they'd like to talk...

IIIIIII do not own this, by the way.

CHAPTER 4: The Lost Chapter (uncovered from the ancient legendaryvault ofQueeno Charletto's Computero documentos. MENTO'S!HAHAHAHA...i love those little minty things...)

Ron snored noisily in the plump maroon armchair of the Gryffindor common room. Hermione sat, also asleep, nestled under his arm, her head resting on his chest, rising and falling with his steady breath. Harry was napping in the fire-place.

The first rays of sunlight broke through the tall, Gothic windows, pale and tentative and utterly new, alighting upon the thick carpet. Seamus entered the room from upstairs, yawning, his late Potions homework in the crook of his arm. He glanced up briefly, performed a perfect double take that would have greatly amused Ron had he been awake, and stared.

Ron with Hermione...now that wasn't that much of a surprise. But what were they thinking when they made out in the bloody common room? And what the bloody hell was Harry doing there?

As if to answer his question, Harry stirred in the fireplace, and suddenly spoke, loudly and clearly.

"Watchu talkin' 'bout, Willis? The prunes didn't want cheesewings, Spongebob, I thought she was too fat, and he wasn't an elephant at all. They weren't purple, they had big dimples, you were wrong, just like you said melon-flavored scissorclips. Spray-paint the vegetables, mommy, the prunes have pesticides on them. No, I don't like icepoop, it has cellulite. Oh, Pooh Bear can take care of that, sir, just step this way and kindly remove your pants…fart...mmmm...fart..." Harry wiggled deeper into the pile of ashes, and yet another spit bubble appeared on his lips, slowly growing and bursting. Seamus grimaced.

Ah. Of course. It was Harry. Why should he be wondering about Harry?

Seamus shuddered briefly, remembering yesterday's startling escapade. He had walked in on Harry doing...doing something...he had...no clothes on...no. No, he couldn't think about it. It was too painful. The scars were too deep.

He was working (without success) to keep his mind off this maddeningly disturbing subject when a sudden screech pierced the room's early-morning silence, causing him to jump a good foot in the air and whirl haphazardly around, heart rabbiting against his chest wall, his wand in his hand before he could remember how it got there.

Both Ron and Hermione were wide awake, and both appeared severely shaken by each other's close, suggestive positions. Obviously, neither reaction was good.

All three stared in consternation at one another in a single moment of stunned silence. All at once, Seamus burst into great peals of raucous laughter. Ron turned, and, with stony and unhesitant determination, slugged Seamus directly and efficiently in the nose.

At that point several things happened. It was one of those strange, hell-sent moments where that old fart Father Time simply refuses to let things happen in a logical sequence, thus avoiding a potential catastrophe. This is because, unfortunately, Geezer Time is a paid and bribed agent of God, that great Big Brother (or is it Sister?) up there in the sky, who wants His (Her?) own time spent sitting on a cloud to have some reliable and interesting entertainment. It's like reality TV. Real reality TV, in this case. Either way, the person screwed is on the TV, and you get to laugh.

The first and simplest thing that happened was that Seamus reacted to Ron's punch. He rolled with it, swinging himself backward so that he lost balance and crashed to the floor between a sofa and a coffee table. His hands flew to his face, and as he lay, stunned, eyes wide, on the carpet, Ron could see blood leaking between his fingers. A few drops found their way to the floor and sank into the carpet, matching its color. Seamus stared up from the floor in shock, and Ron could almost sense the wave of anger coming, just getting ready to surface.

The second thing that happened was that Harry woke up. It was a bit less simple than the first incident. He did it with a sputter and a yell, spraying ashes all over the crimson carpet, sitting up sharply and banging his head hard on the roof of the fireplace. Needless to say, he lay back down very suddenly.

The third thing that happened was that Proffesor McGonagall came sweeping in majestically through the portrait hole, eyes alert and blazing. Her mouth opened and she screeched, "Harry Potter!", scanning the room dramatically like a hawk on the hunt, but her reaction at the odd scene in front of her was drowned by the following increasingly chaotic events.

The fourth thing that happened was that Draco Malfoy appeared out of absolutely nowhere, flanked by his cronies and decked in an impressive array of insulting badges and other anti-Potter paraphernalia. Underneath the glittering posters and badges and t-shirts, all bearing variations on "I Hate Potter", were somewhat baggy, black hooded robes, obviously supposed to resemble the dementors' ghoulish apparel. All of them began yelling and making lame ghostish hooting noises at the same time.

The fifth thing that happened was that Hagrid burst into the room. The author believes no description is necessary. Hagrid has a very distinct way of bursting into a room.

Next, Dumbledore's pheonix, Faulks, flew, without any apparent reason, into the room, and appeared to go mad.

Actual dementors, attracted by the mating calls inadvertently made by Malfoy and his fellow assholes, entered the room, increasing the chaotic atmosphere and growing noise and also producing a lot of fog, which didn't help much either.

The last and most catastrophic thing that happened was that the fireplace burst into flames. With Harry still in it. Hell ensued.

No, it really is that simple. It was hell.

When Logic returned, say, oh, an indefinite amount of time later, she found the little world of the Griffindor common room in every type of comedic chaos known to man.

Harry was somehow flying around the room close to the ceiling, his clothes and hair on fire. He giggled. "Flame on! Flame on!" he yelled gleefully.

Malfoy and Co. were screeching like fire alarms and performing an odd, slow pattern of weird motions: not a dance; it was far too strange and alien.

Seamus was spinning in circles and singing, "Ooooohhhhh my head, ooooooohhhhhhhhh my head, oooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh my head..."

The dementors appeared to be...er...mating.

Faulks was taking delighted pains to crash into Harry in mid-air.

Charletto, Cocabella, and Emmy were surrounding a large smoking cauldron, humming and chanting, their voices rising and falling eerily in unison. As they reached a climax, a long-haired Greek girl popped out of the cauldron and said "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TOUCHDOWN. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TOUCHDOWN," and dissapeared. A smaller, dark-skinned and shorter-haired girl with a wide, mad grin and braces replaced her. "HIGH SHKOOL HEA WEE CAAAAAAAAAAAAM," she shrilled, flecks of spit dotting her mouth.

In a corner the entirety of the Monty Python troupe was heartily singing and dancing The Lumberjack Song. Hagrid cavorted around them. Proffesor McGonagall sat on the floor in front of them, clapping her hands and laughing in delight. She rocked back and forth in time to the music.

All that, and through a general background of tumbling acrobats, bumbling clowns, confetti, food fights from no where, fireworks...shit. Well, folks, the author appears to have run out of chaotic imagination for the moment, do the rest for yourself, if you please.

Anyway.

Logic looked around in dainty dissapproval, adjusting her immaculately placed laurel wreath. Bloody fanfictions with their bloody teenage authors and bloody crazy characters and bloody pointless plotlines...if it was up to her, she'd leave the whole bloody mess for Lucifer in all his glorious vanity to clean it up, just like he did with all the funky, dirty places of the world eventually. But then she'd have the big Kahoot to answer to, and only God-well, everybody, actually-knew just how Godly God got when She had those positively immortal mood swings of Hers.

Logic sighed and simply stood, waiting politely to be noticed. She was eventually, and the inhabitants of the Griffindor common room looked at each other with growing realization as reality settled in, and the happenstance stoner behavior began to wear off.

Seamus loosened his vice-like grip on his scalp and rubbed his face. "Well, fuck," he said in wonder. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Michael Palin of the Monty Python troupe spoke up. "Er...um...what...what are we doing here? I don't…no, I don't believe I recognize this place..."

John Cleese hit him upside the head. "Nonsense, my good fellow," he scoffed. "Can't you tell you're stoned out of your skull? We're all simply having a collective hallucination. As…as always."

"Er, are you so sure?" drawled Eric Idle doubtfully. "It doesn't seem like a hallucination or a dream, and I usually don't even know who I am during a hallucination anyway." He paused thoughtfully, tapping his chin. "What do you think, Graham sweetheart?"

Graham Chapman spoke up pompously. "Er, quite right, I should think-haCOUGH!" he hacked explosively. He struggled to speak, but only coughed again.

"Graham? Graham, are you alright? Grahammypoo?"

One of Malfoy's henchmen spoke up tentatively. "Er...Sorry, but…I believe you're in the future, and in this future, Graham Chapman is dead by now...sorry, mate, but I don't think he's supposed to be here, that's why he's looking so ill...looks like the laws of physics are really doing a number on him…"

"Oh." Cleese looked around at his companions. "Well, ah...I guess we'd better be going, then...?"

Palin stood up. "Right then. Ah, goodbye for now, then, folks," he called cheerily, whipped out a wand, and disappeared.

"Come on, Graham," said Idle, supporting the man, who appeared to have collapsed. "Come on, old chap, let's get out of here."

"Quite right!" piped Terry Jones. He pulled out his own wand, following Michael. The rest of the troupe did the same.

Professor McGonagall finally appeared to come to her senses. "OUT!" she screeched, waving at the hordes of random visitors. The circus performers waded off through the thick carpet of sparkly confetti, leading the elephant behind them on thick ropes. Malfoy and Co. shuffled out, and the dementors swooped off, disappointed, to continue their sexual ritual elsewhere. Faulks fluttered down on an armchair, Seamus sat in the armchair, and Harry plopped down in front of the fireplace once more. Seamus looked around. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

As if in answer, the two of them rolled out from behind the sofa, entwined in each other's arms and kissing passionately. The room stared. Even Harry managed to stop drooling for a moment to stare in fascination. McGonagall paled, Seamus rubbed his forehead, and Hagrid blushed furiously and shifted on his feet. The professor cleared her throat huffily.

Ron and Hermione continued their, um...er...continued.

McGonagall tried again, and this time Seamus joined her.

Hermione opened her eyes, and screamed shrilly. Both jumped hurriedly to their feet, faces beet red, robes ruffled. "Er, we were, er, just, er," Ron stammered. "Were...ahm...er...ahem..." he looked around uncertainly at the staring witnesses, and made a visible effort to compose himself. He helped Hermione pull her shirt back down, and put a nobly protective arm about her. "Er...never mind what we were doing, we're done now." He cleared his throat nervously, raising his nose in the air.

"Well said," Seamus said sarcastically. He raised his hands and clapped slowly. Both lovers sent him thoroughly venomous looks. Harry giggled.

"Enough!" shrieked McGonagall. She waved her hands above her head as if to shoo away flies or demons or tiny flying monkeys with sharp teeth. She pointed a claw-like finger at Harry. "I NEED HARRY POTTER!"

Seamus blinked. "Well, McGonagall, we knew you had feelings for Harry, but this is something else entirely-"

"SHUT UP!"

"Shutting up."

McGonagall took a deep, calming breath. "Harry," she began, "I'm afraid I have very grave news."

Harry burbled.

Ron cleared his throat. "Erm, proffesor?"

"Quiet, Ron. Harry, is it possible that we speak alone?"

Blub.

Hermione stepped forward and put a cautionary hand on McGonagall's arm. "Erm, proffesor, I'm afraid there's something wrong with him."

McGonagall looked distracted. "What do you mean?"

"Well..." she looked at Ron, who avoided her gaze."Well, we always knew Harry was a little-"

"Psycho," muttered Ron.

"-strange," finished Hermione. "But then something happened to him. We think he might have taken a rather nasty fall or something and hurt his head, because he's practically incoherent-"

Ron laughed dryly.

"-and so, if you have anything to tell Harry, you'd better tell us, because he's either not going to understand or not going to care about whatever it is you have to say, however important."

McGonagall absorbed this for a few moments in silence. She opened her mouth carefully to respond.

"How do you know he's-"

"Numnapruneseysnumnanumnanumna...EARTHQUAKE!" The others turned to look at Harry bounced up and down in the fireplace, chewing something that dribbled purple fluid down his chin. Ron grimaced.

Proffesor McGonagall turned back. "Right! Ron, Hermione, I need to speak to you. The rest of you, OUT!"

"The rest of them" filed out moodily. One of them shouted, "Can't you at least address us by our names? I mean, we're important to the story!"

Charletto looked up from where she leaned against the wall with her dorky typing machine thingy, her undorky fedora perched at a jaunty angle on her head. "Sorry," she called. "That's simply because I can't remember just the extent of the plot-line chaos I spun at the beginning of the scene, having written it several days ago, and don't want to have to scroll up and read all over my crappy work once again to remember just who and what I brought into the common room." She settled back down over her laptop, and then looked up again. "And if you don't know what a fedora is, screw you. Look it up." She popped a piece of Orbit Wintermint gum into her mouth.

"Right," said McGonagall, once the common room was empty but for her, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "Now that we've wasted a startling amount of time with the idle ramblings of an ill mind-" (here Charlotte laughed softly and tipped her hat) "-making the chapter needlessly long as Charletto makes herself fat on bagels and chewing gum, I have something to say!"

Ron and Hermione sat expectantly. Even Harry waited.

"I'm afraid Volde-Voldemort-" McGonagall made herself finish the hated word, "-has struck again."

A chill ran down Hermione spine. Predictably. "What- what do you mean?"

"He has appeared to take on Muggle characteristics. Last night, in a London sushi restaurant, he attacked without warning, killing at least four innocent Muggles."

Both Ron and Hermione paled. Harry, unfortunately, didn't appear to care.

"But what does it mean?"

"We don't know," the professor said solemnly. "All we do know is that the Dark Lord is on the move, and has grown stronger, inventing new ways of hiding, possibly even inventing Muggle identities."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Ron, however, looked disappointed. "What are you telling us this for? The audience already knows it, I was getting all excited!"

"Ron!" Hermione hit him. Charletto did the same.

"You ignorant bastard. I need your reactions, can't you see? I don't have a damn clue as to where the plot's going anyway, I need something! You might as well help me out, things are hard enough without the characters committing mutiny. You…you….ugh. God." She sighed in frustration.

"Alright, alright..." Ron shifted sullenly. "Bloody teenage aspiring authors...so business-like...think they bloody well know everything about literature..." He jabbed a finger at her. "I should know; I am literature!" He settled back again. "Humph...why can't I have Cocabella for an author, she'd be nicer..."

Charletto rolled her eyes. "Coca hasn't even written anything yet, and Emmy would just turn you into a pig or a danish or something weird like that. At least I'm partly sane."

Pause.

"No you're not, and at least Emmy doesn't hold page-long conversations with us which probably don't interest the reader as much as they do your own selfish need to be recognized!" Ron cried.

Charletto looked taken aback for a moment. Slowly, her face grew pointedly stony. "You'll be sorry for that, you-" she muttured darkly under her breath, followed by a barely audible string of extremely offensive and angry words. She glared burningly out from under her hat, and Ron sighed.

"Anyway, you're too bloody American," he said, idly flipping her his finger.

Charletto immediately stood, and, whipping a small star-spangled banner from her back pocket, belted the American national anthem, making a point to screech on the high notes, fist planted firmly over her heart. Then she hit him again, harder this time. "I demand respect from my subjects." she said sternly. "No insubordination, no insults. Remember, sucker, your life is in my hands."

Ron made a visible effort to disguise his scowl, secretly fingering his own small Union Jack. "Won't take much more…bloody Yanks…" he muttered, and was shut up very quickly as Charletto clobbered him determinedly one last time, this time laying him flat.

"Nice punch!" exclaimed Harry.

"Oh, stop with the violence and profanity," Cocabella and Emmy called simultaneously.

McGonagall broke in yet again. "Whatever. In any case, Potter, Weasley, Granger, you're going to need to meet with the headmaster. After that, it's straight to St. Mungo's."

"Poo," said Harry.