CHAPTER 4: The Return of the Enemy
'Well, I am sorry to hear of your discomfort, Potter, but there is nothing I can do. Now, go and play Quidditch like a good boy,' Professor McGonagall answered him with a scowl after he had recounted the story. She had never been too caring. And what did she mean "good boy"? Harry could be a very bad boy if he wanted. And anyway, Harry couldn't play Quidditch in case his balls did actually fall off, which seemed rather likely.
He went up to the Gryffindor common room, where a number of people, including Ginny, asked why he was limping in a rather peculiar fashion. He wished not to unravel the story of what had happened, if they hadn't seen then they didn't need to know. Harry told them he had gastric flu and had to go to bed right away in case he died. Had he actually known what gastric flu was, then he would have told a different lie, like he had swallowed a caterpillar which had invaded his sandwich from Sainsbury's. But instead he had to deal with 'having' gastric flu for a week or so. What was even more annoying, Ron had left his mark. Harry looked like he had been using a penis enlarger on the wrong thing and now his balls were enormous.
The next day, in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Harry was glad to see a different face teaching the class. Last year had been terrible. Snape had them writing 4 parchment essays on basically nothing. The new teacher was rather enthusiastic and seemed a bit scary with his likeness for school. Professor Stock had 53 and a half orgasmic fits that lesson and 53 of them were down to Hermione. The half was caused my Seamus bending down to pick up his quill and Stock becoming a bit too excited.
Stock had not set them too much homework, just a spot of research on Voldemort, which Harry had already done in his head within the first 9 seconds of it being set. Potions on the other hand, was one hell of a lot worse. They entered the classroom to see black, greasy hair oozing down a long head, and the thin posture to which the head belonged, was wearing tight, black robes. At first, Harry thought it was the person the Prophet had named the most ugly person in the world, Debbie Cowap, but it was much worse. But on the looks side, a bit better. Not much, but a bit. Professor Snape had returned. And come to think of it, so had Draco. Harry put up his hand to ask the question 'Why have you returned?' Not that he felt that they were a threat, just because he generally wanted to know.
'What do you mean, "returned"? I never left,'
'Yes you did! I saw you with my own ear- I mean eyes!'
'I don't know what you're talking about, Potter.'
'You ran away with that thing (he swung his arm round to point at Draco and narrowly missed Ron's head) after killing Dumbledore!' Harry was becoming more enraged by the second.
'What the hell are you talking about? Dumbledore is upstairs, in his office getting drunk. No one killed anyone, Potter. That is a pretty pathetic attempt of a rumour seeing as Dumbledore can be heard singing and prancing around the corridors late at night. Now Potter, please remove that balloon from your trousers so we can begin.'