CHAPTER FIVE
BRIDGET'S MISSION
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. BIG SURPRISE. BET YOU NEVER SAW THAT ONE COMING.
Bridget looked McGonagall in the eye like a lion-tamer. "I was Aussie kissing my boyfriend, you know, givin' him a BJ, and I was about to tell him watch where he was pouring his baby gravy when I realized…" Bridget chose her words carefully, "I have made a major personality change and I'm in the wrong house." She offered a sniffle. McGonagall's expression softened a little. She was taking the bait. "I no longer suited for my house. They tease me." She began sobbing uncontrollably. "'Silly little girl!' they say. Well I'm not a silly little girl! I am a human being with thoughts and feelings!"
"Come, come now," the teacher said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.
Bridget twisted her face into a look of utter devastation and threw herself onto the professor's desk, howling. "They call me 'a big softie' after I tell them not to make fun of Muggle-born students here." She drew a shuttering breath. "I think I should be re-sorted, Professor."
"But Miss Goyle…why didn't you go to your head of house?"
"Professor Snape? He doesn't understand me. Plus he's a ball-ache. He said I was mystery to him."
"I do so love mysteries!" cried Sherlock Homes.
"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT VISITING ME AT WORK, PUDDLES? GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!"
"Fine then, no need to be a bitch about it." Sherlock dropped the accent.
Bridget looked quizzically at her soon-to-be Head of House. "There was an incident with a love potion and a Muggle novel." The professor explained vaguely. "I'm afraid we'll have to see the Headmaster about your little dilemma."
Dumbledore looked up from the Hogwarts rule book. "According to this…" he said, "you need to be auctioned off."
"WHAT?" exclaimed Professor McGonagall and Bridget in unison.
"It says right here:
'If ye student be in the mind that thou art in the wrongful House, they must stand in fronth the crowd and bids should be cast suppertime. The student will go unto the House of the highest bidder. If unhappy in his newfound House, back to whence he came he shall go.'"
"That's pretty clear," Bridget admitted. "Okay, how's Friday for you guys? Good? Good. See you in class, bitches."
Bridget and Harry Potter's plucky sidekick were skipping class yet again, making out behind a statue of Ingrid the Innocent. (Who, according to legend, banged the 33rd headmaster of Hogwarts until both their legs went numb in his office on the last day of school, then murdered him so that no one would know she wasn't a virgin. Since no evidence could convict her, she was "innocent".) Ron's over-eager hands were about to take them to second base when Bridget broke away. Ron made a longing noise. "Oh hush you," She pecked him on the cheek. "Cutie."
Ron whined. He kissed her month, his open, and tried to put his tongue in her pie-hole. She pulled away again. "Ron," she said, more stern this time. "I'm going to try and join your house. So that we can spend more time together. Oh, and I like to cuddle after sex, and just talk."
Ron blinked at her. "Er. Okay. How are you planning to do that?"
"Well, I'd sort of lay against you…and we can rub each other's backs…"
"No, I mean join Gryffindor."
"You'll see." To his horny teenage delight, she gave his ego a squeeze. They commenced tongue wrestling.
Dumbledore, seemingly at random, stood up during dinner that Friday. Bridget smirked to herself. Earlier that day she had given Ron a bag full of gold to bid on her. Ron had wanted to know if he could keep the leftovers, to which Bridget had yelled her reply in his ear, ending the discussion.
"Okay arsehats, listen up, 'cause I ain't gonna say it twice." The shriveled old man spoke. As usual when he addressed the student body of Hogwarts, he was high. "Today, a certain student of Hogwarts wants to change houses. In order to do so, she will be auctioned off. She will go to the house of the highest bidder. The proceeds will go to the Find a Replacement for Filch Quick Before his Glowering and Whining Drives Us All Mad Fund." This caused a cheer from the tables in front of the headmaster. "Bridget Goyle, will you please come up here?"
Malfoy said loudly, "And we can do whatever we like to the person we buy?"
Dumbledore scowled. "Of course not. IF YOU WERE LISTENING, I SAID Bridget would go to the house of the highest bidder. Grow a brain, stupidface."
Draco looked taken aback.
Harry Potter, who was still in his ghetto phase, sniffed his yellowing wife beater and adjusted his do-rag.
"Professor Flitwick, if you will do the honors?" Dumbledore politely turned it over to the vertically-challenged teacher.
"Thank you, headmaster." The professor peeped. "Do I hear a sickle?"
"Two." Draco raised his hand.
"Three." Hermione raised her hand for the millionth time that day.
Ron was asleep. Bridget chucked her shoe at him. He snorted and said "Oy!" in annoyance, sitting up. He threw he shoe back at her. It hit Snape.
Bridget glared at him.
"Oh yeah, er, one galleon." He raised his hand.
Flitwick waited. "One galleon, going once. Twice. SOL—"
"—TWO GALLEONS!" Malfoy yelled. Hermione scowled.
"Two galleons, going—"
"Three!"
"Use that money to buy a prettier face, Wesley! Four galleons!"
Bridget made an angry noise and started after Drake Cake. She was held back by Hagrid.
Neville raised his hand shyly. "Er."
"Speak up, boy!" Flitwick's squeak was barely audible.
"Er, ten. Galleons." He added.
Draco glowered and sat down, not remembering having had stood up in the first place, because I didn't write that he did. "Damn author…"
Ron beamed, then frowned at Neville. "Fifteen."
Silence gripped the Great Hall and began shaking it, sending students clattering out of their seats and making a great deal of noise. The hush vanished.
"Fifteen, going once! Twice! SOLD! To the gentleman with the bad haircut!"
"Hey." Ron couldn't say much more after that, other than "Ooff," due the fact that Bridget had just jumped on him in delight.
Okay, I know, short chapter. Next chapta: a makeover, popping cherries, Trimspa, Bob, bad poetry, and grapefruit.