Disclaimer: In no way, shape, or form do I own the characters. The poems are also not mine, they belong to buggaboo1. The plot, however, is mine. So back off.
Hogwarts On It's Head
Summary: A series of poems suddenly knock the Hogwarts student body on it's collective rump. They're everywhere! But who wrote them?
Triumph! The third chapter is finally here! I know I took a long time, but you know how it feels when you want to start something, but can't? I know it has a name, procrastination, but I hate that word. I like to think it of creatively filling up time before doing something else. But here it is! I'd like to mention once more that the poems are the property of buggaboo1.
Enjoy,
Hard Day's Knight
Act Three, Scene One
Hermione was quite sure that a head cold was the worst possible thing a person could ever have. It provided a sore throat, a runny nose, ears that were suddenly hard of hearing, and a head that could not think. Logically, Hermione knew that there were worse things that could happen to a person. She had seen quite a few of them in the War after all. But she also knew that she felt miserable.
It seemed that her only comfort was that most of the school felt exactly as she did.
Only days after "Love Life (Or Not)" had debuted, practically the whole entire house of Hufflepuff had come down with bad colds. In the process of doing all their good deeds, the Hufflepuffs had inevitably spread it to the rest of the school. Most of the teachers included. So one could only blame the epidemic on the Hufflepuffs (who were currently hiding out in their common room, afraid to come out), however innocently they had done it. In the mean time, Madame Pomfrey had everyone eating tons of chocolate.
Due to such general misery and discontent, that week's ditty (everyone was sure the series would continue) was especially coveted. Eyes opened eagerly early Friday morning, desperate for a bit of humor. (Despite how insulting it was to certain people.) It was a school phenomenon. Most people automatically loved it. Some even went so far as to call it a school tradition, in hopes that the author would hear and be encouraged to write more for the rest of the year.
You can imagine the crashing sense of disappointment when the eyes opened and nothing was there.
It was not on the doors, or the bed hangings. Nor was it on the bathroom windows or the dressers. It was not under the bathroom sink or on top of the bookshelves in the library. The greenhouse was devoid of any parchment, the Great Hall wasn't plastered with them. It wasn't in any teapots (Snape was extremely grateful for this.) or on any of the banisters. The portraits were missing their customary Friday poem and the House Elves hadn't a whiff of it.
The students were crushed. Heart broken, they washed their faces dutifully and brushed their teeth. They plodded to their trunks and pulled them open, ready to get dressed. Only, low and behold, the poems were in their trunks!
"Ev'ry year Dumbly goes out on a mission
To once again fill up the DADA position.
His choices have been, shall we say, quite erratic,
ev'ry appointment has been problematic.
"The first of the lot was that turbaned chap, Quirrel
With a stuttering tongue and a face like a squirrel.
They think I have eyes on the back of my head -
Well, he really did! And now he is dead.
"That Gilderoy Lockhart was horrid, I swear
Even if he had rather nice teeth and nice hair
(Think I have hair envy? Uh-uh, not me.
I think the goth look suits me to a T!)
"I snickered with glee when he asked me to duel.
As I said before, I'm not purposely cruel
But I must confess that it quite made my day
To send that dork flying a long, long, long way
and then watch him land with a sickening thump -
he spent a few days putting ice on his rump.
And later, when I most politely did proffer
To help him again – he turned down the offer!
"I later drew horns, pimples, and a goatee
On the front-cover photo of "Magical Me".
The vain, pompous popinjay now does reside
In a ward in St. Mungo's, his synapses fried.
"Next there was Lupin, a former Marauder
(more on those later, that topic is broader
Than fits in with my stated topic du jour)-
Like each of those four, he was quite immature
and never grew up; I kept having to say
that students do not make good lycanthrope prey.
But would he listen? No! To my disgust
Three of my students almost bit the dust.
"It was at that point I decided to mention
That he is a werewolf (which got their attention)
And then he got fired – which pleased me a bunch.
It just isn't right to eat students for lunch.
"Next in the line-up: the wiz with the Eye,
Alastor Moody, a paranoid guy.
A famous old Auror, a well-known old grouch -
Except that he turned out to be Barty Crouch.
"The real Mad-Eye was locked up in a trunk
I tell you, to find out that fact really stunk.
(I think at this point I would support a motion
On the broad-reaching ban of all Polyjuice Potion.)
"The next in the bunch was a Ministry pawn:
Sadistic, pink-cardiganed She-devil spawn.
She placed me on probation! Probation! For me!
I wanted to hex her to South Tennessee!
"I hated that witch - well, I hate everyone,
But that nasty old Umbridge I hated a ton!
I have to confess that it caused me elation
To see her laid up with a centaur fixation.
"I don't know why Dumbledore just cannot see
That the logical choice for the job is, well, me!
I've asked him for years, but he won't see the light
I guess for a headmaster he ain't too bright.
"Gollum? The Tooth Fairy? Maybe Darth Vader?
A demon-possessed Elvis Impersonator?
Who will he hire next year? I can't say.
But I'm sure that his choice will be cause for dismay.
It sat folded and neat on each student's clothing, looking as innocent as a little lamp. Underneath the poem were the words, "Get well soon." In large blocky writing, so unlike everything else on the parchment. The runny nosed students smiled in glee.
Act Three, Scene Two
"Hmmm…" mused Ron to Hermione and Harry on the way to breakfast. "This mysterious author must be smart to notice the rash of colds." He sniffed.
"Ron, almost everyone has a cold."
Ron turned to Harry. "So? No one pays attention to whether or not everyone else is sneezing."
"The sneezing mainly comes during allergy season Ron. Two months away. Besides, there's so much mucus in this school that we could wash out a tissue convention." Hermione stated, blowing her own nose.
Parvati's face scrunched up as she passed. "Ewww Hermione. That's gross."
Harry shrugged. "It's true, even if it is a little, um…gross." Ron nodded in agreement, and was about to question Hermione about her seeming complacency over the latest poem when her head disappeared below the line of his own and Harry's. They both looked down to the floor to see Hermione sprawled on the ground, rubbing her derrière with a mountain of papers spread across the floor around her.
"Wiping the floor with your bum mudlbood?" Draco Malfoy sneered from behind Ron and Harry, who had kneeled down to help her.
"Sod off Malfoy!" Ron snarled. Draco advanced, wand at the ready, ready to shove Ron into a bean can if he got the chance. But then one long fingered hand gripped the boy's shoulder, momentarily sending him reeling back.
The Potions Master loomed behind his protégé. "Careful Mr. Malfoy." Came the smooth tones. He turned to the Golden Trio. "Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor for," there was a distasteful look around. "littering."
"That's not fair!"
Snape smiled. "Five more points, Mr. Potter. For sass." The pair stalked off toward the dungeons, and Hermione's eyes were flashing, surely from anger.
"Oww." She murmured, collecting a few of her papers and then standing up. "What did I slip on?"
"A citrus nobilis deliciosa I believe." Came a sing song voice.
Hermione looked to the ground as Harry and Ron scratched their heads in confusion. "I slipped on an orange?" she asked the new comer, who was Luna.
"Tangerine. A dead on I think."
" A tangerine? What was that doing here?" Now Hermione was rather confused.
Luna started to walk past them. She still had on her basilisk gloves, and today, her scarf was a bright butternut squash color that clashed horribly with her hair and robes. She sneezed as she glided past Ron, who looked at her warily as she did so. "Not even the faintest. Cheers!"
Harry spotted a couple of snickering Slytherin second years and was about to go after them when his friends stopped him. "It's not worth it Harry."
"Ron's right Harry. Just help me pick up my papers, okay?" They grudgingly started to collect Hermione's papers from the cold stone floor, gathering no help from the other students. Harry sat down after a minute or two of it.
"Merlin 'Mione! How many papers do you have?" A large amount were still scattered about.
"Yeah. And what is this?" Ron held up a piece of parchment that looked suspiciously like a place for someone to write a poem, and already had. Colin Creevy stopped turning the corner and held his camera at the ready. Lavender Brown "clumsily" dropped a few of her books, and stared at the Trio, waiting. A group of chattering Ravenclaws stopped chattering and pretended to help Lavender.
Hermione turned bright red, but her voice was calm, steady, virtually unaffected. "It's not what you think Ronald. It's my diary, and very private." She snatched it out of Ron's hands and picked up the rest of her papers, with which Colin hurried to help her with.
Act Three, Scene Three
"Why have we not caught this mischievous author?" Professor McGonagall demanded of Snape, who was sitting in front of her desk, and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore on the wall across from her.
Dumbledore shrugged good naturedly and Snape scowled. "I've no clue; there've been no whisper of the identity in the dungeons." Dumbledore nodded in agreement.
McGonagall was still not a happy camper. In fact, she wouldn't be one until this whole fiasco was solved. "Perhaps it is someone from outside the castle."
"I would care to disagree Minerva." Came the brittle voice of the portrait. It was the first time it had deigned to volunteer any words since it's mounting. "It is impossible."
Snape was in agreement. "I have my eyes on the Golden Trio. I think that they're working as a team."
Act Three, Scene Four
A correspondence from Professor Severus Snape to Miss Hermione Granger.
Miss Granger,
I am requesting your presence in the dungeons tonight at seven o'clock. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are also to come. We will be discussing your Final Project and the assignments Potter and Weasley have failed to turn in. Seven o'clock sharp.
Prof. S. Snape
Act Three, Scene Five
A response to Snape's note.
Professor,
We will be there. What missing assignments? I've made sure t hat they're done all their homework.
H. Granger
Act Three, Scene Six
A letter from Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley to another Mr. Weasley.
Ron,
We need you to send a copy of the third poem, as well as the first two. Hermione has ripped our copies to shreds. Like we said, everyone down here thinks they're as fun as two dozen blue pixies, a bottle of glue, and some glitter. And for Merlin's sake Ron, DO NOT TELL HERMIONE!!!
Fondest Laughs,
F. and G. Weasley
Act Three, Scene Seven
The author sat down the next night. The poem had debuted successfully. 'What a surprise.' They thought sarcastically.
They cracked their knuckles tiredly. Being a school-wide adored author was hard work. Keeping their identity secret was even harder. And the special correspondence with Fleur Delacour, who acted as a proof reader, was incredibly time consuming. Fleur was their kind of person though.
The so far unknown person grimaced from a headache and sniffed, trying to procrastinate. What a drag. Why did they keep on writing again?
Oh yeah. Because it's fun.
Grimly, they picked up their color changing quill and set it to the parchment. Inkless. A quick wave of the wand and it was amply inked. Perhaps they'd call this one, "The Good Old Fool". No, that was too mean. Better write the poem before naming it. Carefully, they began to write.
They once made me (continually) shudder,
What more is there to say? It's the Marauders!
Me? I was innocent, tortured without guilt'
While they sat laughing over glasses of milk...
To be continued…
Author's Note – Oh my gosh! I loved all the reviews! (Just like any normal author.) I'm really glad that this has done so well. I was originally afraid that people would think that it's too weird. But I guess that fear was unfounded.
IMPORTANT – buggaboo1 has just informed me that she cannot write another poem at this time. At first, I was very disappointed because that meant that the next chapter would be the last and I wanted it to be a five chapter affair. I was going to ask you all for inspiration (or poem's of your own, I'm not picky.) but then I got some ideas and started writing my own. I will still be using buggaboo1's last poem in the fifth chapter, so bestill your hearts. No matter how terrible mine is, you'll have her's to look foward to in the last chapter...
Special shout out too – EriksDiva, padfoot'smoon, ariti, DreamRiderau, duj, buggaboo1, BANDGEEK2300, Rambie, Emerald Soccer Cat 591.
Thanks, and review!