I'm sooo sorry! "orz I've been busy, really, I have! T3T Plus, the Abigails have been uncooperative recently. _

I hope you're not too angry with meeeee~

-x-

Harry's next day was filled to the brim with bliss. He stumbled through it in a haze, overjoyed that Gryffindor had won the Quidditch match. The Abigails had even offered him their congratulations, Tiny going so far as to pat him on the head with a coo of "good Harry". He was sure he'd smiled at them, at some point. The look on Malfoy's face, however, was the absolute best. He looked like someone had stolen his puppy, punted it across Canada into a vat of toxic sludge, and then handed it back to him. The only confusion was Bartholemew.

"We had a Quidditch match yesterday?" he replied, his mildly surprised face peeking over the top of the latest issue of The Quibbler. "How interesting," he mused, going back to "101 Ways to Tell if Your Snarglebush Has an Infestation of Rosie-Crumblers". Ron gaped.

"Harry caught the snitch and won the game for our house," Hermione proclaimed proudly to the sixth-year. He poked his face back over to look at Harry, who was attempting to drown himself in toast. The redhead smiled.

"Nice job, Harry," he said. He then put his magazine more firmly in front of his face, ending the conversation. The Abigails looked on with mild amusement. Ron rounded on them.

"What's up with him?" he asked them. Burly shrugged.

"We've known him just as long as you have," she replied, going back to her food.

"But while y'all were playing or watching the match, he was sleeping," Brunette said.

"On the roof!" Tiny added cheerfully. Seeing no further place for this conversation to go, Harry decided to turn to small talk, which turned to talk of classes, which turned to complaining about Snape, and soon to mocking the professor. They all left the breakfast table in high spirits, which didn't last long.

-x-

"Why did you remind us?" Ron moaned, hitting his head on the desk repeatedly. Hermione glared at him.

"I assumed you'd done it already!"

"Well, of course we haven't!"

"How should I know you were a procrastinator as well as an idiot?"

Harry attempted to tune out most of the bickering, and turned with a sad face to his own small mound of weekend homework. He really had forgotten all about it. He dragged the first thing towards him, vowing silently to get at least one thing done before it was due.

"Two-page essay on the Centaur-Wizard-Troll trading triangle of 1205?" Harry murmured incredulously to himself. Hermione stopped abruptly in the middle of an insult concerning Ron's parentage, a fifteen-pound poodle, and six bottles of rum to beam at Harry.

"Oh, I found that fascinating. I took tons of notes on it, didn't you? Almost ran out of parchment!" Ron rolled his eyes at the girl behind her back, and Harry bit back a smile.

"Y-yeah, I did. Loads of them. Real great. 1205, brilliant year for, er, centaurs," he said, quickly glancing at the assignment to make sure he didn't get it wrong. He smiled hopefully up at her. Hermione deflated with a huff.

"You can borrow my notes, if you must," she said finally, passing over a pile of parchment. Harry gave her a lopsided grin.

"You're the best, Hermione." Ron looked vaguely disgruntled as he turned back to his homework, probably annoyed that Harry had gotten the notes first.

Suddenly, everything went black.

"Hey, who turned out the—"

"BISCUITS."

"Splurk—what did I do this time?" Ron sputtered indignantly.

"Clichéd phrase, Ronald. Don't use it," Hermione replied. Harry blinked into the darkness. Somehow, he wasn't unconscious. Being knocked out and/or passing out, though excellent assumptions at the time, were out of the question. His confusion was short-lived, however, as light flared up, and the trio groaned in discomfort, shielding their eyes from the brightness. Harry blinked rapidly, and the grinning faces of three girls he sadly recognized came into focus out of the light.

"Oh no," he muttered.

-x-

"Why are we doing this again?" Harry whined. He and Tiny were crouched in an alcove by the entrance to the dungeons, waiting for Snape to exit. She grinned impishly.

"We're doing it for giggles, of course," she replied, before shushing him. Harry fell silent as Snape swept by them, close enough for Harry to touch his greasy hair, if he wished—though he'd have to be mentally ill to want to touch the oily, matted locks. They were, however, the reason that he and Tiny were here. Though it had likely been done countless times before, they were going to attempt to give Snape a bath. The plan was simple enough.

"Remind me again why we're doing this the muggle way?" Tiny asked, helping with Harry's modifications to the plan.

"We don't want anything to go wrong, and if we use a spell, we'll probably mess it up," he said simply, lifting his end. They finished what they were doing, and set up the second stage, keeping an eye on the door in case Snape returned early from whatever it was that he was doing. Finally, they placed a wizard camera with plenty of film in it below the desk, and exited the room. They hid in the same alcove they'd been in earlier, and waited. A few minutes later, Snape came sweeping down the hall, his cloak flaring out behind him. He was annoyed, clearly, and didn't notice that his door was very slightly ajar, nor the length of strangely glinting stuff across the bottom of the doorway.

A few loud exclamations later, Snape stalked out of his office, fuming. A bucket perched merrily on his head, soapy water trickling down from it. Along with the suds all over him were copious amounts of silly string and neon-colored fake feathers, courtesy of the trip-wire-activated can and the second bucket. He stormed off down the hallway, leaving a feathery trail of coconut-scented shampoo bubbles.

Laughing only slightly hysterically, overjoyed at having pulled off their stunt, Tiny and Harry walked back into his office, stepping over the mess, and retrieved the camera. The picture had been taken as the door opened, and the pair hurried back to the others, who were hiding out in a "secret room" they'd found in the common room.

"That was brilliant," Harry snorted. Tiny grinned.

"I can't wait for Malfoy's turn," she said, rubbing her hands together.

Back inside the "secret room", Bartholemew developed their film. The group laughed again as they watched the Potions Master get a feather bath and a silly string ambush a couple of times. The sixth-year, who'd been on the wrong end of quite a few unfair points-subtractions, and a couple of unnecessary detentions, took his own bit of savage glee from the spectacle. The picture was pinned up on a hastily conjured bulletin board. Hermione took Harry and Ron aside, using the excuse that she wanted to hear all the details.

"What did Hagrid tell you about Nicholas Flamel?" she hissed at Harry. The messy-haired boy bit his lip.

"Nothing, really. He just said that the contents of the package were between Dumbledore and Flamel, and that's all," he whispered back. Hermione looked frustrated.

"Well, we can't talk here," Ron said, being the voice of reason for once. He looked around at the Abigails and Bartholemew. "It's best we don't get them mixed up in all this."

Harry nodded, and the three disbanded. The little group went to bed afterwards, and Harry's dreams were filled with strange images of Dumbledore and a faceless figure opening the package to have a soapy Snape spring out at them, wearing a neon dress with lots of fringe and tassels. He decided it was weird enough to be called a nightmare.

-x-

Please review! Copies of the Snape wizard picture for reviewers~! ^_^ (So sorry~)