"Isn't this a little..."
BLAM
"No! It's a LOT!"
And now it was Mortal Kombat class again, which had been moved to Room 101 for some unknown reason.
Professor Quirrel was escorted in by two young wizards who looked remarkably like Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman, and who stayed with him all class although they soon ceased to be noticed.
"Today, class, I had hoped to teach you more of the basic defensive technique of running away," said Quirrel. "But recent events remind me that before one can master running away one must master the art of backing down, and so instead we will learn through ritual humiliation, a technique I learned as a member of the Indigo Cow Fighting Society. Harry Tinker-To-Evans-To-Chance, come on down!"
With grave reluctance, Harry trotted up alongside Professor Quirrel.
"Mr Tinker-Tailor-Solder-Spy," said Quirrel, laying a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder, "have you ever been in a Turkish prison?"
"Um," said Harry, "no."
"Of course you haven't," snapped Quirrel, and slapped him in the face. "If you had, you would have had more sense to get in a fight with someone you can't beat! Which you have done twice in two days!"
Harry scowled. "I won the second time."
"Shut it, boy! Do you know what happens when you pick a fight with someone you can't beat?"
"Um," said Harry. "You...lose?"
"Correct! As happened in the Indigo Cow Fighting Society when Lord Voldemort came by! He demanded that Count Dummé himself teach him the Death Poke. When informed that learning the technique required a teenchy bit of patience, the Dark Lord ripped Count Dummé's tongue out through his bum and strangled him to death with it! Which was in exceedingly poor taste!"
Quirrel paused. "Technically Count Dummé did not pick a fight with Lord Voldemort. Nonetheless he lost to Lord Voldemort, so the point stands. You cannot win against Lord Voldemort, and the only lose-while-surviving move is not to play! This will be on the test!"
Everyone who could write took notes furiously. Gregory Goyle raised his hand. "Do you know the Death Poke, sir?" he quavered.
"Do I look like Lord Voldemort? Of course I do! And to answer your question, I am an expert at the Death Poke, or, to use its proper name, the five-point dual-sphere spontaneous implosion technique."
"Will you teach it to us, Master?"
"In time, in time. Have patience, or I'll rip your tongue out like I did to Count D...racula."
Goyle's co-conspirator Crabbe raised his hand.
"What do you want, buster?" said Quirrel impatiently.
"It's Vincent, sir," quivered Crabbe. "Does the... the five-point dual-sphere spontaneous implosion technique work against girls?"
"Girls?!" said Quirrel. "What the hell is wrong with you? Only Lord Voldemort would fight a girl! Boot to the head!" He booted Crabbe in the head from across the room. There was a scattering of applause. "Any other stupid questions? No? Good. Now, back to the ritual humiliation! Harry, take off all your clothes."
"EW, SQUICK!" screamed Hermione, and fled the classroom.
"Er...what?" said Harry.
Quirrel displayed the sad wry grin that made everyone love him no matter how weird or creepy or legally actionable he got. "Evanesco jimllfixit!"
"Yeek!"
"Don't worry, Harry, I'm calling J.K. Rowling!" cried Hermione, poking her head back in the door.
"Oh, pooh," scoffed Quirrel. "It's for his own good! Now, traditionally, Harry, this exercise takes the form of the whole class lining up and hocking loogies onto your fair white body, but as none of us have had breakfast I've laid in a supply of ethically-sourced vegan gluten-free phlegm alternative. Now, who will cast the first gob? Come on, don't be shy…
"All right, I'll pick: Sally-Anne Perks, come on down! ...Where'd she go?"
"Grovel, grovel," groveled Harry.
Forty minutes and thirty-nine C&Ds from J.K. Rowling's ninja lawyers later, Harry wasn't entirely sure whether he liked this class any more. Nor was he entirely clear what if anything he had learned. But after thinking about it until beads of sweat stood out on his brow he finally figured out why this was happening: he was in a hurt/comfort fic. But with whom was he being slashed?
"Excellent groveling, Harry," said Professor Quirrel kindly. "Aguamenti maxima frigideiro!"
"AUUUUGH" said Harry.
"Now, class," said Quirrel, "whilst Harry dries off using this lovely scrummy warm soft fuzzy Turkish prison towel — go off and do that in that little room over there, would you, join you in a tick — we'll have a short discussion of the Wizarding World's Statute of Secrecy as it compares to Star Trek's Prime Directive. Open your copies of Marshak & Culbreath to page...I forget, it's the part immediately after Omne and Spock beat the living snot out of each other..."
Winning? decided Harry.
"CEASE AND DESIST!" roared Ninja Lawyer #40, only to meet the same fate as the previous 39.
"Drat!" said Quirrel, blowing smoke off his wand. "I meant to ask that one a question..."
