Libraries are beautiful things. There's literally something for everyone at a library. For example, I'm sure Millicent Bulstrode would love to read Female Henchmen: The Path to Absolute Celibacy (and Perhaps the Occasional Mudfight With Another Female Henchman) and that King Weasley is just dying to get his hands on a copy of How to Grow a Pair: A Novella for the Mentally, Physically, and Economically Challenged. Hence, I was not surprised to find Revenge & Retribution for the Righteously Enraged in the Advanced Magic section of the library.
Initially, I was rather elated. After all, I had found the book which contained the spell I needed to steal Malfoy's bloody wit. But if locating such a book just meant consulting Madam Pince's exhausting library catalogue, then any vengeful individual could find this book too. For example, Draco Malfoy or the hundreds of people I've –ah- unintentionally instigated over the years. Honestly! I'm getting a bit concerned here. Imagine what would happen if Colin Creevy discovered that he could easily rob me of my looks? (At this point in time, I would like to confirm your suspicions that I am indeed unbelievably, indescribably, inhumanely, DEVASTATINGLY handsome, and thus an object of envy and obsession to those of Creevy's rather... unfortunate physical disposition). Imagine what would happen if Neville Longbottom knew that he could steal Potter's infallible luck? That seemingly insignificant robbery could very well mean the end of the wizarding world as we know it! (If you haven't figured it out yet, I am not a member of the Harry Potter Fan Club, and hence I will be quite honest about Wonderboy's role as "The Savior of the Wizarding World". Please. I'm sure if I had Potter's luck, I'd also mysteriously find myself standing upon the one trapdoor that just happened to lead to the Philosopher's Stone. Bloody hell! If I had Potter's luck, I'd go and fight basilisks as well. After all, I'd only have to wait a couple of minutes before a bloody bird found me, dropped a hat containing a sword, blinded the creature for me, and then flew me to Dumbledore's office. I can see it all happening now. Potter facing Voldemort. The Death Eaters strap Potter to a tree. All hope seems to be lost. Suddenly, an apple falls from the tree, hits Potter on the head, and voila! The apple turns out to be a portkey to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Never mind that it was bloody winter. For Harry Potter, it would rain apple portkeys everyday, regardless the season... but I digress).
Perhaps, I should have known that something would go wrong. If not for the reasons I listed above, then most definitely for the reasons I have listed below. Revenge & Retribution for the Righteously Enraged is written by none other than Xenophilius Lovegood, Looney Lovegood's father. To be as succinct as possible, that man is BLOODY PSYCHOTIC! Like most books, R&R for RE has a portrait of the author on the back cover. I do not believe that my eyes have recovered from the atrocity that is Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood. He was wearing pink and yellow striped robes, heart-shaped spectacles, and an enormous necklace made out of owl pellets (According to the caption, the owl pellet necklace is a form of protection against Harry Potter, whom Mr. Lovegood believes to be in conspiracy with magical sea turtles. With Potter's track record, I wouldn't be surprised). Furthermore, Mr. Lovegood dedicated his book to a "Krumple-Horned Snorkack". What IS that? Please, enlighten me... Actually, don't. I'd rather not know what that blasted thing is anyway. So, you can see why I should have refrained from consulting this particular book for my revenge. Alas, my impatience got the best of me, and I continued on.
Lovegood's potion required the following ingredients: hippogriff blood (Hagrid's got one of them, doesn't he?), fresh dragon scales (Now, I know for sure that Hagrid's got one of those too. Named Norman or something... You wouldn't believe the things you can learn by hiding in a suit of armor after hours... TRULY remarkable... Aside from hearing tidbits of Potter & Company's crusades, I've also had my pick of the amazingly succulent school gossip. For example, I can't tell you how many of the Quidditch players have strode by me, furiously whispering about their migration to the land of glitter and fairies, if you catch my drift), the target's essence (This could be hair, blood, or other bodily fluids...but I digress), and lastly, vanilla bean extract (For flavoring, of course. Mr. Lovegood notes that "this addition truly does make the potion rather delectable". Wanker).
I was able to procure the hippogriff's blood easily enough. Forget the fact that I almost lost an arm to that stupid bird/horse/cow. Interestingly enough, Hagrid no longer has Norman... Nonetheless, I temporarily borrowed some scales from Snape's Potions cupboard. With regard to the target's essence, I decided to use Malfoy's hair. Unfortunately for me, the boy is freakishly immaculate. Only after a rather intense snogging session with Pansy did his perfectly styled hair get a bit tousled. Even then, his robes were free of stray hairs. I did, however, discover two platinum strands of hair on Pansy's robes. (And no, I would not like to explain how I was able to examine Parkinson's robes so... thoroughly). And now we must address the issue of house elves. Knowing that the kitchen staff was bound to have some vanilla bean extract lying around, I politely asked one of the house elves for a bottle. Those creatures can be so bloody RUDE! All I wanted was some bloody extract! They thought I was trying to bake my own cake, which to them, is a federal crime. Now, I don't care for baking, but knowing that they won't let me bake myself a cake is making me rather angry. I blame it all on Granger and her SPEW junk. We've enslaved house elves for thousands of years. Now that they're getting wages and shorter hours, indicators of a democratic system of capitalism, all of their repressed yearnings for freedom are finally seeping out (Huh. Perhaps I should look into philosophy if this whole story-telling thing doesn't work out...I do believe I have Aristotle's perfectly chiseled nose. And his posture).
After hours of arguing and fervent gesturing, I threatened to take off my socks, cut them into tiny pieces, and give them out to each of the house elves- a handkerchief of sorts. With ALL of my supplies in tow, I finally headed towards the dungeons. After locating an empty classroom, I lit my cauldron and slowly began mixing in the ingredients, save for Malfoy's hair. After seven minutes had passed, I added in the two strands of hair. The potion, which had been a deep burgundy hue, became a bubbling black concoction which later became a glowing silver color. How ironic. I bottled the liquid, cleaned my equipment, and headed back to the dormitories. And of course I encountered Malfoy along the way.
"How are you, Zabini?"
Prick. "Brilliant, Malfoy. And yourself?"
"Been better. Granger's given me another detention. For some reason, she believes that I lit her hair on fire during Potions today... I told her that it was impossible, I was at least three meters away from her…"
He looked at me then, his eyes appraising everything about me. "Oh really... That is a bit strange... Maybe her hair self-combusted... It's been known to happen once in a whi-"
"How'd you do it, Zabini?"
He's sharp. Real sharp. "Whatever do you mean, Malfoy?"
"I know it was you. It definitely wasn't me... and there's no one else who has the balls to light the Virgin Queen's hair on fire. Especially while Snape was bloody talking to her."
Good point. "I don't know mate, it wasn't me..."
Suddenly, Malfoy's entire posture changed. His shoulders became relaxed, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothed out. This can't be good.
"Alright, Zabini. Let me know if you change your mind. I don't associate with ...liars."
He walked away from me, a smirk indented upon his cheek. Moments later, I felt a burning sensation creep along my legs. I looked to the heavens and sighed. I knew this would happen.
The bastard had put my pants on fire.