Charlotte's note:
Thank you so much to our reviewers, who are fabulous, few, and far between.
Note: We have nothing against people from Texas, unless you're conservative, or George Bush. So, if George Bush is reading this right now, go hide in a hole!
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"It says…?" Catherine prompted. There was no answer.
The CSIs stared at each other, somewhat confused. It appeared that Grissom had fallen asleep.
"Is he…?" Greg left the question lingering.
"I think so," answered Nick, quietly. Grissom gave a loud snore.
"What do we do?" whispered Sara. This was not the way she had imagined seeing Grissom asleep for the first time.
"Like…kick him or something?" Catherine suggested, before going back to texting her hottie. She showed Sara the screen and giggled. "He's so cute!"
Sara nodded, a pained smile pasted on her face. Ronniekins had written, "Luv U bB! Ur I's r sooooo pretty!"
"Focus!" said Nick, glowering. What did that Ron guy have that he didn't? Nick was easily as hot, if not hotter—
Nick's train of thought was crashed by a loud yelp from Greg, who had tried to kick Grissom in the thigh. "Jeeze," he said, "Grissom's muscles are like steel!"
"I know," Sara purred. Since Grissom was unable to hear her, the rest of the CSIs were happy to gag for him.
"Seriously," Warrick said, in a brief moment of lucidity. "What do we do?"
Greg looked at the others uncertainly. Would saying this reveal his secret? He couldn't bear the shame. But—it was his duty… "Do you—think—we should—just, like—read the paper—ourselves?" he stuttered, idiotically. "It's—right there, in his hands…"
The CSIs looked at each other, nervously. "You do it," blurted Catherine, to no one in particular.
There was a loaded pause, as they collectively realized that none of them could read.
Nick looked to Dumbledore. "You wrote the note that brought us here, you must be able to read!"
Dumbledore shrugged. "I just put down random letters and hoped that you would get the messege."
"You mean you didn't mean to say that you loved Grissom?"
"Well…what I meant to do was promise you wealth, women, and and endless supply of Floam, but I do love Grissom. And whatever I wrote did get you here, so I guess I win."
Greg was staring at him. Floam…the very thought made his mouth water. Beautiful Floam…more beautiful than the beautiful Hermione. The thought of a lifetime supply of Floam…floam…floam…
Grissom gave a loud, rousing snore that caused Warrick to leap into the air and fall into Sara, who burst into tears. "All of a sudden," she sobbed, "I just got the strangest feeling that I'm going to be kidnapped by the miniature killer!"
"The who?" Nick asked, but there was no time for Sara to answer, for, at that moment, the door to the bathroom opened, and Neville Longbottom strode in. His innocent brown eyes shined from beneath an adorably scruffy mop of brown hair. His slightly protruding teeth and numerous freckles completed the portrait of youthful beauty. Warrick gasped, and, for once, his thoughts were occupied with something other than gambling.
"One of the few students who's not on my list of boy-toys," Dumbledore explained dully. Neville looked chastened. "Just wanted to do my beauty routine," he said humbly, trying for a joke.
"I don't see why," Dumbledore said snidely, "It won't help you."
Neville looked at his feet. "Oh. Well, I guess I'll use another bathroom."
"That's okay," said Catherine, feeling bad, "You can stay."
"Yes," said Warrick, suavely, "Please do." He appeared to be the only one who had fallen prey to Neville's minimal charms, which was lucky, because the CSIs really couldn't afford to be fighting over another person.
Neville raised his eyes hopefully. "Thanks, but I don't want to interrupt you…" He began shuffling towards the door.
Sara watched Warrick with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, she jumped forward. "Stay!" she practically screeched. "I love you!"
Neville threw himself into her arms. "I thought you'd never say so! I thought I'd be a spinster forever!"
Warrick gaped at Sara, crushed. Sara stared back, defiantly, and then looked to Grissom who snored loudly. Her brilliant maneuver was…sort of working. She hadn't gotten Grissom's attention, but she had managed to piss off Warrick. Served him right for loving gambling more than her. She looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention. Nick and Greg were busy dramatically staring into each other's eyes. Catherine was giggling and texting Ronniekins. Sara sighed. She couldn't have everyone all the time, she reasoned, ignoring the fact that most of the time she didn't have anyone.
She gave a little sigh of disgust as Neville started sobbing into her shoulder. She hadn't, of course, counted on becoming some adolescent's babysitter/statutory rapist, but hey. You never knew where life was going to take you.
At that moment, Catherine gave a particularly high pitched giggle, and Greg squealed loudly over a piece of Catherine hair he had stolen off her head. Nick, angry that Greg had stopped paying attention to him, punched a glass bowl, shattering it to pieces. Warrick gave a howl of jealousy and began to beat his chest in rage, a supernova 800 million light-years away exploded, the earth tilted another 67.5 degrees on its axis, and the apocalypse came and went several times. Any of these events on their own would not have been enough to stir Grissom, but when they all occurred simulataneously, he was shaken awake.
"AAAAAOOOOAGHAAAAAAAAEEEE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, expressing his outrage at this Series of Unfortunate Events TM, and, in the process, dropping the synopsis of the crime scene…
Where it rolled across the floor and down a drain. Once again, the CSIs found themselves in a position to say,
"Oh. Shit."
The chaos ended abruptly, and the group stared at the drain, unbelieving.
Greg blinked. "How did that even roll? It was a sheet of paper."
Grissom sighed. "I guess science has betrayed us once again. We must find a new way to solve this crime."
Greg shook his fist in the air. "Damn you science! We give you everything we have and you turn your back on us! Why? WHY?!" He dropped to the floor, head in his hands, sobbing. Dumbledore seized his chance, and dashed to comfort Greg, but was intercepted by Grissom, who needed some comfort of his own. Dumbledore briefly considered hexing him to get him out of the way, but then decided that Grissom was the next best thing after Greg and went with it. Good thing, too, because if Dumbledore had laid a finger on Greg, Nick would have kicked his you-know-what from here to cell block D.
Neville looked up, his tear-streaked face sending off gratuitous rainbows on the walls. At first, he was slightly shocked, seeing his Headmaster and some random dude making out, but he was quickly distracted by those other two hotter random dudes making out, one wearing an awkwardly short skirt. Neville, momentarily, wondered if he was not in Kansas anymore, but then realized that there had to be a whole crap-load of closet gays in Kansas, and this sort of thing probably happened all the time there. Not like in Tex-ass, where the conservatives were packed in like sardines.
Then, Neville remembered what he had resurfaced from Sara's shoulder to say. "Crime?" he asked tremulously.
Two pairs of people abruptly stopped making out, and all six of the CSIs stared at each other, a practice that appeared to be becoming quite common.
"Oh, right," Grissom said slowly, "We were supposed to be solving a crime."
"Crime?" Nick asked, puzzled. It appeared that he had forgotten the entire concept of the word.
"Yeah," said Greg, dazedly, "You know, with the killing, and the…laws…"
"Oh," Nick scoffed. "Who wants to deal with that?"
Greg grinned and shrugged, and they started making out again.
"Hey hey hey, come on guys. Get this under control," Catherine said, stepping in between them and hurling them across the room. "The sooner we solve this, the sooner I get back to my Ronniekins (who just sent me the funniest text, by the way giggle). So LET'S DO THIS!"
Greg pulled himself out of the indentation he had made in the wall when he slammed into it, thrown by Catherine in her overly motivated state. "But how are we supposed to solve a crime without science?"
Catherine shrugged. "Interrogate people until someone cracks?"
Neville raised his head hopefully. Maybe he finally had a chance to be uselful! For once in his life! "I know someone we can interrogate!"
"Is it someone hot?" Nick asked hopefully, much to Greg's chagrin.
"Well, I certainly think so!" Neville nodded enthusiastically.
Unfortunately for the CSIs, that was not saying very much.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"He's right in here," Neville whispered. He had led them to an oddly placed painting of a bowl of fruit, and was now molesting a pear as the CSIs looked on in horror.
Sunddenly, the painting fell away, and a bustling kitchen was revealed, filled with tiny persons who had eyes like tennis balls, according to J.K. Rowling's illustrator.
"There!" Neville shouted, pointing at none other than the esteemed Dobby, esq.
"Mr. Neville!" Dobby squeaked. "Such an honor it is to meet your friendses!"
The CSIs stared at him, blinking. Never before had such a strange, grammatically challenged creature crossed their paths.
"What the hell are you?" Greg scoffed, "The elementary school dropout child of Yoda and Gollum?"
The other CSIs giggled. Dobby, not fully grasping the point of Greg's quip (due partly to his lack of experience in American pop culture, partly to his pure stupidity), giggled along with them.
That was when Warrick noticed the fork in Dobby's hand.
"GET DOWN! HE HAS A FORK!" He roared, shoving the rest of the group to the floor. He vaulted off their backs, did a backflip, and cuffed Dobby to the conveniently-placed bedpost.
Grissom raised his head cautiously. "Warrick?" he said hesitantly, "What are you doing?"
Warrick pointed to a very confused (yet obliging) Dobby. "He was armed and dangerous, he had a fork!"
Grissom blinked. "What does a fork have to do with anything…OH." He suddenly remembered the abundance of silverware around the murder victim. "Good job, Warrick. You get a gold star."
Warrick jumped up and down and clapped his hands. "I get a gold star! I get a gold star! Wheee!"
Grissom smacked the sticker on Warrick's forehead. "Okay! Shut up now!" he rasped.
"Excuse me," said Neville, "But I happen to know for a fact that Dobby had nothing to do with the murder."
"Oh, really? And how?" Grissom asked haughtily.
Neville pulled a picture out of his pocket and handed it to Nick, an air of gravity surrounding his person.
Greg stared at the picture. "He's right," he said dazedly. "I've never seen such concrete proof…"
Grissom grabbed the picture and examined it closely. In the scene, Dobby stood in front of a door, holding a sign that said, "I DIDN'T DO IT!"
Grissom gasped. "I've never been more convinced in my life! Brilliant!" In his eagerness, he grabbed the hacksaw he usually kept in his pocket and whacked off the bedpost in one blow, sending Dobby flying across the room.
Sara was fixated on the hacksaw. "That is so hot," she whispered.
"I agree," said a conversational voice to their left.
Quickly, the entire herd whipped their heads around so fast that cream would have become RediWhip.
Draco Malfoy kicked his legs back and forth, balanced on the counter-top. "Hello," he said.
Suddenly, the light finally went on in Grissom's attic. "You—you were the kid we were supposed to interrogate—before…" he trailed off. "I met my sweetums!" He produced the spider from his pocket and proceeded to whisper slightly stale nothings at it. Dumbledore looked affronted, and turned away.
"Draco Malfoy," he sneered, folding his arms. Draco gave a cordial nod.
"I thought he was one of your boy-toys," Sara said.
"He was until he stole my Pookie muffin-pants!" Dumbledore declared hotly (in more than one sense of the word).
Draco smiled at Sara conspiratorially. "Me and Potter had a little—thing," he said vaguely, gesturing.
"Lucky," said Sara wistfully.
Grissom's attic light flickered on again. "INTERROGATE!" he screamed, pointing at Draco, before falling into another wave of useless babbling.
Catherine held up her phone. "You'll never guess what Ronniekins just asked me—"
She never finished her sentence, because at that moment Warrick's CSI senses tingled, and without a word he gave a line-backer-like grunt and tacked Draco. "Where were you on the night of the thirty-second?" he demanded, before passing out cold.
From under him came the faint voice of Draco. "Well, this is certainly interesting."
And it was. Greg and Nick had begun to make out again.
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Maddy's note:
I feel like I had so little input in this…I still think it's effing hilarious. Maybe even the funniest yet. The chapters just seem to be getting more and more cracktastic. But you tell us what you think. Thanks so much for your reviews, you THREE WONDERFUL PEOPLE 3333 Everyone else, follow their example. Plz? Kthxbye!
