This is the first MonkeyAxman1302 & Rebel Goddess production. Not sure if that makes us Monkey-Goddess, Rebel-Axman or just MARG.

Disclaimer: The authors would like to hereby state that This is Not the Greatest and Best Story in the World, This is Just a Tribute. Bonus points for the first person to name the band in a review. This is only as filthy-minded as you are. Hence the rating.

This takes place in the absolutely tiny part of time that occurs at the end of HBP at the very end of the sixth year before Dumbledore is killed, actually about three nights before. Harry is therefore almost 17.

We don't even own what we've written. It owes its soul to Nonjon. If you haven't read his comic HP trilogy beginning with "Where in the World is Harry Potter?" then what by Merlin's earlobes are you doing reading this? Go, and if you've laughed yourself stupid enough to cope with this, return with our blessings. If you haven't laughed at that, check your pulse. We think you're dead and we could really use a new unidentifiable corpse.

The Basket Weavers of Slytherin

Through the dark halls of the haunted castle, the toad joyfully hopped. No prince in disguise, his life was one of simple pleasures – catching flies, petting pussies, eluding envious Potions masters who longed for toadskin shoes, pissing on insufferable nephew's underwear and other innocent pastimes.

Behind him the invisible boy ran, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridors.

The toad's jaundiced skin shone brightly in the otherwise dim hallways, tempting the boy ever onwards to places he should never enter.

"Trevor!" Harry risked a panting call as he skidded around a corner and watched the toad leap over the edge of the staircase into the waiting dark below. "Bloody toad!"

A crash echoing to his left told him that Peeves was about. "Wee student beastie?" The poltergeist crowed, "Student out of bed after hours!"

Thinking on his feet, Harry dove after the toad and instantly regretted it as his stomach met the stairs and his glasses flew from his nose only to smash into the far wall.

He groaned softly. "I'm going to thump Neville the next time he asks me to fetch his damn toad back after hours."

Peeves was an incandescent blur above Harry's head as he swooped towards the noise and through the wall, clearly on his way to fetch a higher authority.

Gingerly picking himself up off the stone floor, feeling every one of his sixteen years, Harry reached for his glasses. "Reparo." He said softly, then put them on and looked around for the first time, only then realising that he was in the Slytherin's dark dungeons, but with no idea of where he was in relation to the Common Room.

"Bugger."

It was not Harry's voice but Draco's that spoke.

"Crabbe, has your…"

The dim sound faded out of hearing as the blond haired Slytherin seemed to move away from the other side of the wall by Harry's head.

The sound returned, "…gone floppy?"

The other boy grunted in reply. "No mine's still as hard as Goyle's skull."

"Eww, it's gone all soft and sticky," Pansy squealed.

"Attention students!" Harry could hear the bat-like teacher's footsteps prowling across the room. "Grasp the untreated member firmly and rub briskly up and down with even strokes, making sure the shaft is well lubricated with hardening potion."

There was a brief pause and a moan.

"Now girls make sure the opening is fully prepared and that it is wet enough. Boys, push it firmly and carefully in, making sure that it is completely eased into place."

"You're doing it wrong, Draco. It doesn't go there." Pansy whined unhappily.

The blond boy grunted. "Of course it goes there. This is exactly how my parents showed me."

Harry couldn't hear the rest as he was trying to choke back vomit and began to cough.

Luckily, Trevor chose that precise moment to reappear and ribbit loudly to cover the sound, knocking over one of Snape's larger flasks of potion as he hopped across the room.

The potion fell onto the floor and Harry could hear it melting stone into bubbling goo from the next dungeon.

"Professor!" Millicent Bulstrode cried out.

"My moistening oil!" Snape yelled, slamming his fist down. "That damn toad! Fifty points to the student that catches it!"

"But my bush needs taming!" Millicent whimpered, "How will I cope if there's no wetting potion?"

Harry realised that his friend's familiar was about to become a bit too familiar with the Potion Master's feet and rushed into the dungeon to mount a rescue mission

To his utter relief, Trevor had so far eluded capture and was only a few feet away from the door.

To his utter bewilderment, Trevor was sitting in the middle of a bulrush covered swamp surrounded by fully-clothed Slytherins and a wide selection of woven baskets. The Slytherins sat in pairs with a woven basket before each of them, the boys carefully threading reeds through the sticks the girls held in place with firm grip. Millicent was paired with Snape and before them sat by far the most complex and well-made basket of all. Harry bit his cheek until it bled in order to stop himself from laughing his head off as he realised that Crabbe and Goyle's effort was far better than their blond-haired master's.

Only somewhat relieved to find out that the Slytherins were basket-weavers rather than orgiastic Death-Munchers, Harry made a Snitch-catch worthy dive for the toad but before he could get back upstairs, the furious Potions Master blocked his only exit. Harry was forced to retreat into a corner, Trevor carefully concealed under his cloak, and wait for the eager toad hunt to end.

"Dark-damned toad!" Draco grumbled to Crabbe as he gently pushed aside a well-tended bulrush to inspect the mud beneath. "I only just managed to smooth out the knot in my reed when it interrupted."

"Knot?" For the first time ever, Harry heard Crabbe snort derisively at one of Draco's remarks. "It wasn't a knot, it was a bloody snarl. You put that into your weave and you'd end up with a basket that would split as soon as your Mum put one of her punishing paddles in it."

"You bloody well take that back, Gryffie lover!" Draco's usually pale skin had turned delicate water-lily pink.

Harry would have paid half the money in his Gringotts vault to have had a camera at the moment that Crabbe swung at Draco's head. His massive ham-fist missed the shorter boy's head by an inch and instead punched a hole in the carefully constructed basket for torture implements that sat behind Draco.

The barbeque fork bounced off Draco's head and landed in Pansy's foot, causing her to scream and knee Blaise Zabini who was trying to pull it out again.

"Bloody hell, girl," the boy replied, "Are you trying to make me as impotent as your boyfriend?"

Harry would have paid the other half to have a picture of the chaos that ensued when Draco hit Crabbe in the solar plexus as he protected Blaise and Goyle suffered a crisis of loyalty. Harry could practically see the other boy asking himself which friend was he supposed to punch out first and could only just stop himself from laughing as he ran for the stairs, toad firmly in hand, sides aching from stopping his guffaws.

Harry's amazing luck at seeing Draco attacked by one of his own goons had burnt out his good fortune in the Slytherin basket-weaving room and a trail of muddy footprints that would have Filch cursing all students later, especially rascally sneaking ones, caught Snape's attention just as Harry rounded the staircase corner.

Enraged that someone may have discovered the most noble Slytherin secret, Snape rushed up the stairs hoping to catch the spying toad-thief.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he was flung back against his following students as a cackling Peeves dive-bombed him.

"Snape you ape, you've lost again! Crouching bullfrog, hidden Potter!"