… Hopefully this is amusing for someone. Someone who is just as… or maybe even more sick minded than I am. LOLOL

enjoy!

The Case of the Half Treacle Tart, Half Toad.

Seamus dashed towards the Great Hall, robes bouncing happily behind him, books hitting him repeatedly (and rather uncomfortably) on the arse. He ran as if he were chased by mutant bunny rabbits, by a hoard of sweet-lobbing Snapes, or by a mantra shouting, totem-pole touting Trelawney. His muscles were stretched taut and his stamina neared the breaking limit; he had to get there, or he would die trying.

It was lunch, and Seamus Finnigan was hungry.

Who could he blame? That blasted Flitwick had held him late because he had somehow managed to put a cheering charm on the class goldfish. That made absolutely no sense, since he was supposed to be casting a freezing charm. The goldfish, upon being magicked, proceeded to become so happy that it positively asphyxiated from glee. It was now floating, belly up in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, because a teary eyed Flitwick had bid Seamus to "dispose of the poor creature… I can't bear to do it myself."

The dead goldfish had flippantly refused every single toilet on every single floor. How did Seamus know? He tried them all. Even the girl's bathrooms. Flush after flush, the goldfish would repeatedly float back into the toilet bowl, even after having been vortexed down a minute pipe most likely not intended for poo.

… poor Goldfish. Its scales were looking rather worse for wear when Seamus, holding the fish gingerly by its fin (its tail had ripped from repeated picking-ups and flushings), pleaded with Myrtle to take care of it.

And now, here he was, fifty fife minutes late for the hour-long period designated for lunch. He huffed and he puffed, and he collapsed right at the door of the Great Hall, face first. He managed to lift his face (amidst sniggers from a crowd of newly bloated first years passing the door on the way out) to witness the last of the food vanishing from the tables.

"Merlin's bloody balls!" He cursed loudly, gaining five reproving stares from a five… no… six-headed merman perched jauntily on Professor Sprout's shoulder. The sixth head was too busy pulling itself out from where it had gotten tangled with Professor Sprout's flyaway hair to manage shooting its own reproving daggers at poor, starving Seamus.

"I'm hungryyyyyy!!" Seamus wailed, as the hall erupted into chaos. An army of tiny elephants had appeared to siphon the grease and owl poo off the Great Hall floor, and all of those unused to the phenomenon were screaming bloody murder and sprinting for the doors.

In the ensuing confusion, Seamus was stepped on four times, kicked three times, and was hit in the face by a plastic bag full of something cold, slimy, and round.

By god, it was labeled Merlin's bloody balls.

Seamus promptly fainted.

So it was no wonder Seamus trudged into Transfiguration more than a little disgruntled. Not only had he missed breakfast (he was helping a Ravenclaw sixth year pull his head out of a toilet, where an immeasurably enraged Weasley male had stuffed it upon witnessing a furious make-out session between said sixth year and the littlest Weasley), but he had missed lunch too. He had also been trampled, humiliated, and hit in the face with Merlin's balls (which, at Dumbledore's insistence, were now hanging in the trophy room with Seamus's name engraved underneath in gold,). Could the day possibly get any worse?

… Apparently, it could. He was late. To McGonagal's class. Which was like suicide, except more painful, and a lot less convenient. Sighing, Seamus dropped into his seat like a sack of over-ripe potatoes, blocking the sound of his assigned partner animatedly threatening to castrate Seamus and throw his part into the lake as cannon fodder for Durmstrang the next time they came for the Triwizard Tournament.

"What are we doing today?" He asked his seat partner, Dean, dully.

"We're transforming shrooms into orange rabbits the size of an orange," Dean replied brightly. His face, Seamus noticed, was slightly orange. And his shroom, which was fuming a bit ominously at the edges, was most definitely not.

"Uh… whats the spell?"

"I think its Warinmango Narcotiru. Or it could have been Warintiru Narcomango…."

"Or it could have been shut the hell up Dean, you're going to explode your shroom." Seamus growled, pissed that his friend was, if not more, just as unreliable as he was.

"That's pretty fair," Dean picked up his wand again, and waved it over his shroom.

Staring at the smoking fungi placed at… rather odd angles in front of him (if you looked from a 67 degree angle, they looked like they were engaged quite readily in some… rather unspeakably dirty activities), Seamus muttered, "aren't shrooms hallucinogens?"

"No idea." Dean looked up from his mushroom, which was rapidly turning neon pink. "Why are you staring at the shrooms like that? The look you're giving them is pretty… intense. Pervy, kind of. Which makes no sense, cuz you're looking at mushrooms."

"Shut up, Dean."

"Okay.."

McGonagall swept around most ominously, like Snape, peering over each student's shoulder to observe their work. She was wearing the most atrocious, puke colored set of knickers, outside of her robes, and had a large, rather awkwardly shaped silver "S," placed rather conveniently in a diamond shaped patch of green fabric, glued to her chest.

Seamus's eyes bugged out. "Um… professor?" He enquired.

"Don't ask, Mr. Finnigan. I lost a dare to Professor Snape."

From across the room, Harry and Ron looked up, and sniggered. Hermione raised her hand tentatively. "Um… professor?" she enquired.

McGonagall flushed, the tip of her ears so red they began to steam. "Yes, Ms. Granger, they are Professor Snape's knickers."

The entire classroom burst into laughter.

Snape chose that time to sweep in. He was wearing a white and red polka dotted, lace adorned pair of knickers over his chest (one arm was fitted through each leg hole, and the waist stretched around his back). On his head, a matching bra was strapped around his chin, its two cups forming a pair of ears. Simpering, Snape stretched out his hands, which were overflowing with Tootsie Rolls. "Chocolate, dears?"

Half the class fled the room, screaming, crying for their mothers, or in a furious search for Madam Pomfrey and anyone who were relatively competent at Obliviate.

Snape stared around the room sadly, his puppy eyes so disturbing Seamus nearly wanted to run himself. But he stayed. He didn't want to risk detention, and thus possibly missing dinner.

"Okay, the rest of you," McGonagall ignored the obvious snickers. "You must concentrate very hard on what your shroom will become. Any wandering thoughts will cause… rather unexpected results."

Seamus was not listening.

"The spell is Narcotitti Wangomango." McGonagall's eyelid twitched slightly when she said it, as if she thought it was the most ridiculous excuse for a spell she had ever heard. "Please, begin."

Seamus was not listening.

Instead, he was dreaming of what the next hour would bring- Steak and Kidney pie, roasted lamb, baked potato, all dribbled over with chocolate sauce. Kippers and bacon and treacle tart—

Waving his wand dreamingly, he muttered, "Wangingtitti Narcomango."

There was a deafening explosion and a burst of glittery pink smoke.

"Trevor!" Squealed Neville. "Trevor is gone! WHERE'D HE GOOOOO"

The smoke cleared slightly around Seamus's feet. There laid a pair of shrooms, tangled in the most interesting position, where they landed when the tip of Seamus's wand had prodded them off the desk.

Neville began to shake. "Nooooo Trevor…"

The glittery smoke cleared a bit more, Seamus's manly calves, strapped into precariously pointy high heels, floated into view. Half of the remaining students fled the room in terror.

The desk was now viewable, and the only thing left obscure was Seamus's face. On the desk, next to a pair of calloused, manicured (with sea foam green nail polish) hands, was a toad.

"Trevor!" Neville uttered a thoroughly fangirl scream, and dove for the toad.

And somehow landed on Seamus's lap. The toad had disappeared.

A disappointed Neville looked up, and burst into tears.

Seamus had a full coat of makeup on. His eyes were carefully lined in kohl liner and smudged with pine green and light turquoise eyeliner. His lips were a shade of light coral, thanks to some well applied lip stain. A streak of blush curved along Seamus's well defined cheek bones and accentuated his eyes.

A single dot of red was in the middle of Seamus's forehead, and somewhere far away, Indian snake charmer music played.

Seamus's well groomed hand came into view, clutching Trevor. Seamus inspected it closely.

"Doesn't look like anything's wrong with him," he proclaimed, examining Trevor's back. He then flipped the toad unceremoniously onto its back to examine its underside. "Nope… everything's fi—"

Seamus's voice died in his throat as he saw the toad's stomach. Quickly, he shoved the toad back into Neville's hands. "Just doesn't look like there will be any baby Trevors coming along anytime… or ever." He added brightly.

Confused, Neville took a look for himself. Then, horrified, he screeched, "YOU BLOODY GIT! YOU TURNED TREVOR'S DICK INTO TREACLE!"

Wow. I must have been really insane when I wrote this. o.o; Um.. I have no idea where the idea came from… the original reference was inside Dragon Tears, where I mention a half treacle tart, half toad specimen. Well I know this isn't exactly HALF toad… it'll do.

I feel much better, and less insane now. Hopefully my rambling thoughts made someone laugh.

Review please! D