Chapter Twenty-eight: Sir Cadogan Comes Galloping Home (You forgot about him, didn't you?...So did we)

"How long has it been?" Harry moaned, sitting on the floor in his ribcage that imprisoned him.

"It must have been at least a week. I'm hungry." Ron whined.

"Well, according to the position of the sun outside, it has only been approximately an hour." Hermione huffed, giving the two a disapproving look.

"So hungry…" Ron moaned. " Vision fading."

"Ron, old chum, I hate to say it, but we may have to resort to cannibalism to survive." Harry quaked.

"Stop looking at me like that." Hermione, edged away from them, her every move followed by their hungry eyes.

"What ho and a dirty ho', awaaaaaay!" Sir Cadogan galloped into the room without a horse. "I have come to save you, young prince!"

"Where the hell have you been?" Harry demanded. "You would have actually been useful earlier when I was ambushed and attacked by Voldemort's agent!"

"What?" Sir Cadogan looked dumb…founded.

"I almost died! Sammy got injured and my new girlfriend did die!" Harry roared.

"I…I." Sir Cadogan looked completely stunned and aghast at this news.

"But you're here now, so you can make up for all that by helping us ou-"

"No, no…speak not, fair prince. I can see clearly and I know what I must do for my failure." He took a few steps towards the bone cage and took out his impressive sword.

"I HAVE FAILED YOUUUU!" He wept and screamed, plunging his own sword into his belly.

He collapsed to the ground with a few gurgles escaping his dying lips. Red oil paint poured from his side and gathered in a large puddle on the floor as his muscles began to convulse in his death throes.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, Sweet Prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." He gasped, reaching out longingly at Harry's fading visage.

As he collapsed into a pile of death, his remains transformed into a ghastly mural of his corpse painted onto the floor for evermore.

Harry, Hermione and Ron stared at his regained picture form in horror.

"WHAT THE HELL?" Harry pulled on his hair.

"Why didn't he help us before he killed himself?" Asked Ron.

"I think the more important question is: can that be washed off the floor? Because if not, I don't think I want to take Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore…" Hermione shuddered.

"Okay, students, I think you've learned your lesson now." Professor Summersong finally returned to her classroom after grading a couple hundred papers with magic markers. "So I'll-" Her voice trailed off as she stared at the floor. "What is that?" She pointed. "Did you somehow manage to kill a painting from inside that cage without wands?"

"Well, we…" Ron tried to explain.

"That's impressive. I think I'll add a bonus ten percent to all of your marks. Yes, even yours, Mr. Weasely!" She offered this shred of hope to her tiny, tiny students.

"Does this mean I'm not failing anymore?" Ron asked hopefully.

"No. But Miss Grainger, this does mean that you have achieved your class goal of one hundred and ten percent. Congratulations."

"I can now die at peace." Hermione sighed dreamily.

"Well, before that I'd better get you out of here." She pushed her shoulder against one of the larger ribs and gave a mighty shove, causing the entire chest cavity to roll over and setting the captives free.

"Wow! You must be really strong!" Ron marveled.

"Yes. Yes I am." She felt it prudent not to mention that the old skeleton was actually quite light and could be lifted by most children over the age of twelve.

"Here are your wands back. You probably have homework or something that you need to be doing, so how's about you get the h-"

"Excuse me, is this where I might find one Harold James Potter or a Severus Juniper Snape?" A suave man with a warm voice and a friendly sweater vest entered the room with a pantomime knock.

"Who wants to know?" Professor Summersong, not trusting him, spoke up quickly.

"My name is Thomas Poppenbottom. I'm from the Ministry of Magical Adoption." He finished, clearly expecting this to make sense to someone.

"I'm Harry Potter. What is this all about?" Apparently it didn't.

"Well, we had a request put in some time ago by one Severus Juniper Snape. He was quite adamant that your current family was inadequate and provided ample proof of this fact. It was quite appalling, really, and we were surprised our muggle counterpart hadn't realized the gross abuse and neglect sooner." He seemed sincere. "Having brought this to our attention, Mr. Snape expressed his wish to become your adopted father. Where is he? It's really more according to protocol if I can interview both of you at the same time."

"What?" Harry couldn't get past the reeling sensation in his stomach. "Why?"

"Surely you aren't happy living with the Dursleys!" The man looked aghast. "This is your ticket out of that cupboard under the stairs."

"Don't play stupid with me! All of my post from the wizarding world was addressed to my cupboard under the stairs. You've known all along and haven't done a damn thing about it!" Harry shouted, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Besides, I already have a legal guardian: my godfather Sirius Black."

"Who is a wanted fugitive and murderer. I know you are still becoming acquainted with the wizarding world, Mr. Potter, but matters of blood are almost always deferred to. It was your mother's wish for you to live with your aunt and uncle. Were it not for the intervention of - really, where is Mr. Snape?"

Everyone looked uncomfortable.

"He's on his deathbed." Professor Summersong finally said.

"Ah. Well, in that case…" Mr. Poppenbottom tapped his robes with his wand and they changed from the odd sweater vest combination to a friendly, heartfelt set of more traditional, purple robes. "I'm Mr. Poppenbottom of the 'Make a Wish' Foundation. I was wondering if you, Mr. Potter, would grant a poor dying soul who hasn't known a moment's happiness his final, dying wish."

"What the hell?" Harry put his face into his palm.

"How could you make such an outlandish claim? Surely Professor Snape might have had at least one moment of happiness!" Hermione demanded citation!

"I can prove it." Mr. Poppenbottom took out a small sphere. "Ever since signing away the rights to privacy back in '56, the Ministry has had leave to watch everyone at every moment of every day. Which we have. This is the entire life and times of Severus Snape, condensed for easy viewing." He tapped it with his wand and the show began.

The streaming images began with the untimely birth of a headless baby.

"I knew it was a mistake!" A man with stab wounds complained!

"Hi hiiiin!" Snape's mother whinnied.

"No, I knew it couldn't end well – what with my enchanted stab wounds and your horse face." He shook his head.

Snape's mother snorted and stamped her foot impatiently.

"I know you wanted a girl. I'm not quite sure what we can do about that."

She looked up at him with her big brown eyes.

"No, how about we compromise. We'll name him Severus due to his headless nature and then Juniper can be his middle name. That way he'll be sort of like the girl you always wanted, only completely inadequate." Snape's father avoided subjecting his son to a sex transfiguration.

Snape's mother then ate her placenta and licked him clean.

Harry vomited silently out the corners of his mouth.

"I wish you wouldn't be so mean to me, brother Severus." A headless child whined. "It's bad enough that mother and father have yet to buy me a new head when you already have such a marginally functional one."

"Shut your hole, wanker!" Snape, about five years old, yelled at his brother.

"Awaaaaaugh!" Severedhead screamed.

"Shut it! You'll wake up Grandma Tentacalinda and Grandpa Tentaclese! You know what happened last time. Will you be quiet if I play catch with you in the main foyer?"

Severedhead stopped screaming and his torso bobbed up and down in agreement.

Relocating to the main foyer, the two were playing an amicable game of catch.

"Well, that doesn't look like suffering!" Hermione narrowed her eyes in concentration.

"Ah, you see, he is starting to enjoy himself and were it not for what happens next, he would indeed have experienced a moment of happiness." Mr. Poppenbottom inclined his head darkly, the horrid scene reflecting off of his spectacles.

"Jesus boys, I told you to shut it or the puppy gets it!" Grandma Tentacalinda slithered down the stairs in nearsighted, half-awake oldness.

Waving her many tentacles from side to side in order to display her displeasure, she knocked over a kerosene lamp that spilled all over Snape.

"WhHJASKEHTJSKELHTGJKSH!" An even more hideous being, Tentaclese, squelched down the stairs.

He also waved his tentacles in displeasure, but was completely blind. His milky white eyes failed to see the giant flaming chalice, which tumbled over easily enough. Apparently having stab wounds and a horse face made you immune to child-proofing your house.

Snape was immediately engulfed in flames.

"Ahhhh!"

And though his parents bought him a new head as a get-well-soon present as he recovered from fifth degree burns, he could only feel sadness at its ugliness. This, of course, had been the money his parents were saving up to buy Severedhead his own head, resulting in an irreparable rift between the two brothers.

"Why is this happening?" Ron sobbed.

"The rest of his childhood is pretty much the same. Harry, I know that Hogwart's is your bastion of sanity and not being beaten by your relatives, so I especially want to show this to you. For you see, Mr. Snape did not even have that."

"Uhh, could you please let me pass and not beat me up today? I have a head cold." Snape looked warily at James Potter and his posse of lemmings.

"I dunno if we can do that, Juniper." James crossed his arms and smiled bastardly at Snape. "You see, I promised these fine fellows a beating!"

"Blimey." Harry looked sadly on. "My Dad was an asshole."

"Stop!" Lily Evans came in between Snape and James. "Don't hurt him! He has secretly delicate feelings and you have no idea how this could come back to haunt you later in future generations."

"It's okay, baby. I have a car!" James explained.

"Oh, wow! I never saw it from that angle before." Lily looked pensive.

"How's about you and me, sugarcakes?" James pointed at himself with both thumbs while doing a violent pelvic thrust.

"Does this answer your question?" Lily knelt down behind Snape.

"It sure does!" James pushed Snape, who tripped over Lily and lay sprawled on the ground.

"Oh, I can't stand to see him like this!" Lily fled the scene, running like a girl.

"You heard her boys!" James took up his broom.

Everyone followed suit and beat Snape to death with their broomsticks. He was only resuscitated by a passing house elf.

"Why didn't you let me die?" Snape sobbed.

"We would have exceeded our yearly student death quota." The house elf squeaked cheerfully.

"There's much more, but I won't bore you with the details. The point I wanted to make, Mr. Potter, is that despite how crappy your life is, Mr. Snape never had the luxury of safety and love that you did. And so, on behalf of his unheard plea, I am begging you to grant his last wish and sign this form," it appeared floating in mid-air, "with your blood and become his one and only son."

Everyone looked at him expectantly, their eyes moist with sorrow and sympathy.

"No."

"Harry!" Hermione was appalled.

"What? If you like him so much, you become his daughter!" Harry snapped.

"I'm not an orphan!" Hermoine put her hands on her hips.

"What about you, Ron? Your parents have so many kids – surely they wouldn't miss you." Harry turned to his friend.

"Sorry, Harry. Snape asked for you. It's his dying wish." Ron sniffed, almost moved to tears.

"How about you professor? I'll bet if you kissed him, having been touched by a g-g-g-girl will give him his last moment of happiness." Harry prompted Professor Summersong.

"No…he doesn't seem to like human contact. Besides, due to our history, we would both find it repellant." She shook her head.

"No way! Why should I suffer because he wants to be happy! He's made my life miserable and I don't even like him. This is stupid!" Harry stamped his foot. "It's not my fault my parents were bastards – why should I shoulder the weight of their bad choices?"

"Look, kid, the Magical Make a Wish Foundation isn't nearly as successful as its muggle counter-part, what with most people being able to perform magic and all. I need this. I really need this or our organization will have to fold. So, I'm willing to make an illegal deal: if you sign this form for someone who will be dead in a matter of days, I will give you your parents' spy spheres!"

"You should give them to me anyway!" Harry got furious, his glasses steaming up. "If you and the wizarding world value blood so much."

"Well, I won't. Sign it." Mr. Poppenbottom wouldn't budge.

"Fine, you asshole!" Harry stabbed his finger with a quill and signed the document.

"Excellent!" The man tossed Harry the spheres.

"You had this planned from the beginning!" Harry was outraged.

"Yeah, what are you gonna do?" And Mr. Poppenbottom left, never to be seen again.

"Well, at least you have your parents' spheres." Ron prompted Harry into being less outraged.

"I suppose." Harry grumped.

"Why don't we leave Mr. Potter alone and he can spend some time enjoying getting to know his parents better." Professor Summersong forcefully ushered Ron and Hermione from the room.

Harry held the spheres pensively in his hands, and then tapped them both at once.

"Oh, James!" There was heavy breathing.

"Lily!" James gasped.

"Oh God, why?" Harry screamed, throwing them against the wall where they shattered into a million pieces.

Shaking and fighting back the urge to vomit again, he took out his childhood checklist for non-orphans and checked one off. He then walked out to join his friends.

"How was it, Harry?" Ron asked, giving a thumbs up.

"Let us never speak of this again." He intoned darkly.

"Masters, masters!" A house elf scurried up to them before anymore questions could be asked. "There is a meeting of most importance in the Great Hall. Master Dumbledore requests that everyone be there!" Bassey shouted, the very floors shaking from the frequency of his voluptuous velvety chocolate voice.

"What could this be about?" Summersong wondered aloud.

"It must be a surprise birthday to make up for all of the birthday parties they had for Harry but not for any of the other characters." Ron mused aloud.

"Yay! Cake!" Hermione ran out the door.

"Wait for me! I'm too poor to know what cake tastes like!" Ron wailed.

"I'm too hated to know what cake tastes like." Harry said softly.

"Stiff upper lip, Mr. Potter. Let's go see what the headmaster has to say." Summersong offered kindly.

Everything in the Great Hall was abuzz with nervous chatter as the entire staff and student body waited for Dumbledore to announce the reason for this unprecedented gathering.

A hush fell over the crowd in a wave of silence as the headmaster stood to his full height, his silver beard glistening in the fake lighting.

"I know that all of you are wondering why we are all here right now." He began, his voice conveying only power and strength instead of senility.

"The truth is that in a very short while, Hogwart's will soon be under siege," an angry buzz of chatter swelled at that, "by Voldemort's armies."

The room went deathly silent. Then everything erupted into chaos.

Students were running all over the place, not sure of where to go in such a crisis, but not able to stay still. Many screamed and a few even cried while others just sat down and hugged their knees in silent prayer. One first year even wet himself.

"SILENCE!" Dumbledore roared, frightening everyone into silence again. "Do not panic. That is the worst thing that can happen right now. Evacuation via floo powder will begin immediately starting with the first years and ending with the seventh years. Please line up according to house and class, and your Head of House Professor shall lead you back to your common room, where your Head Boy and Head Girl will send you all home. Please cooperate and evacuate in an organized and calm fashion and I promise you that you will all be able to get home before they arrive." Dumbledore finished. "I wish you all the best of luck and hope that we shall meet again." He offered his farewell as the first years shuffled nervously out in tow behind a professor.

"Any remaining professors are asked to please set traps and obstacles in a perimeter around the castle to slow the advance of Voldemort's armies to buy us some time to ensure full evacuation."

Bridgit and Cora, standing off the side, approached Dumbeldore as his plans were laid out.

"Sir, do you really think that we'll be able to get them all out before the armies arrive?" Cora asked incredulously.

"Very sharp of you, Miss Willowstaff." Dumbledore smiled bitterly. "In truth, we'll be lucky if we're even up to the fourth years by the time they get here. Myself and the other professors will have to do our best to buy time. Yourself, Miss Firecatcher, Mr. Starsinger and Miss Hellstorm are under no obligation to remain here. If you take part in the evacuation, I recommend taking the floo to the Canadian embassy, and transport home from there can be arranged by the government officials." Dumbledore started ushering them towards the line that was now forming.

"I never really liked floo powder." Bridgit looked like she was saying something profound. "It gets stuck up your nose." She disappointed everyone's expectations.

"Yeah! We're not running!" Cora agreed.

"By your own admission, we're not going to make it out on time anyway." Sammy pointed out. "So we might as well be useful in some way to help others escape."

"Besides, how could we face our own government after ditching our mission to help protect the school?" Reagan smiled.

"You're damn fools," Dumbledore shook his head, "but you shall be remembered fondly for it."

"Headmaster!" Harry jogged up to the teacher's podium followed by Ron and Hermione. "No one really loves me, so I have nothing to lose by staying here and fighting."

"Lots of people love us, but we're going to stay on the principle of the matter." Hermione smiled.

Ron kept on mentally telling himself that not breaking up with Hermione and staying to fight to the death wasn't as bad as it sounded.

"Sure. Letting you guys solve the problem hasn't failed me so far…" Dumbledore mused.

"But last year, it ended up with a student getting killed!" Ron protested.

"So what? For his first five years at Hogwart's no one even knew he existed. Besides, students die here all the time." He chuckled.

"But I thought you said no student has ever died here!" Ron looked horrified.

"Silly Mr. Weasely. I said that no student has ever not died here. Really, you need to pay more attention."

"That's what she said." McGonagall snickered as she breezed by.

"Right then. To the war room."

"You guys have a war room?" Sammy was impressed.

"Not really. It's just the teacher's lounge. It goes by many names."

"I have dire news, everyone: my crystal ball has informed me that…Voldemort rides to castle Hogwarts upon boats that can sail over land as though it were water." Professer Trelawney held up her crystal ball. "Truly, he is more powerful than we had feared."`

"We told you that!" Cora snapped.

"Yes, I know you did." Trelawney smiled at her crystal ball, which was conveniently being held in front of Bridgit and Cora.

"No! It was us!" Bridgit stamped her foot.

"Hush, my pet, the normals can't hear and I'll look like I'm crazily talking to myself." She stuck it in a baby sling she was wearing. "I'm the best mom ever." She congratulated herself.

"I can't believe Voldemort's been routing through the garbage and stealing my precious 'too crazy' ideas. Who knows what other evils he may have stolen and then created?" Dumbledore muttered.

"We need a strategy." Sammy spoke up, tired of wasting time.

The Hogwarts staff, foreign exchange students, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered in the teacher's lounge as they discussed their battle plans. The less important characters had vanished into the oblivion of wordless not-being-described.

"Ah, yes. I knew I was forgetting something. Who was it that I appointed to be emergency war general again?" Dumbledore asked of all the assembled staff.

Everyone went silent and cast sad, sad looks at Trelawney.

"You're kidding, right?" Dumbledore looked horrified.

"You were busy having a nosh with Madame Rosemerta when you were filling out that particular position." McGonagall seethed.

"Righto! This is a battle of legendary importance, therefore we should let fate decide the parts we are to play. I have written everyone's name down on a scrap of paper and placed them in this hat." Trelawney began, clearly savoring the drama, importance and attention.

"Help me! I've been kidnapped." The sorting hat cried.

"SNAKE!" Trelawney shrieked, and punched the hat.

"Furthermore, the hat will randomly sort us into battle squadrons. I shall first select those who will battle the dementors that will inevitably be in Voldemort's army. This is order to keep them away from Harry and any other children with horrible, horrible lives that should never have been."

Harry looked exceedingly sad, especially since the Make A Wish Foundation and his parent's spy spheres had made this situation worse.

"I am the sorting hat and I like to rhyme. I like to rhyme I do it all the time." The sorting hat began, at a loss for a good poem. He said this and spat out a few pieces of paper.

"Bridgit, Cora and the moleman division will look after the dementors."

"All right! We're in the same group!" Bridgit and Cora gave each other a mighty bounce clap.

"You guys! This isn't like picking teams for dodgeball!" Sammy hissed.

"Deatheaters are deadly, they smell like blight, these are the people they will have to fight." The hat spat out some more paper.

"The group assigned to dealing with Deatheaters shall consist of Dumbledore, Sammy and Reagan."

"It's like winning the lottery…of death." Reagan sighed.

"My crystal ball tells me that Voldemort has risen an army of the undead, so we shall dedicate a division to the elimination of these crimes against nature." Trelawney explained.

"Zombies are smelly, zombies are fun. After you kill them your job will be done." The hat was clearly not trying anymore.

"Summersong, McGonagall and Trelawney- oh! That's me! Hey guys! We're in the same group." Trelawney smiled as Professer Summersong and Professor McGonagall flinched.

"Harry Potter has a bolt-shaped scar, Voldemort hasn't killed him thusfar. Let's keep it that way or there won't be anymore sequals…guitar."

"And the people in charge of guarding Harry are: Ron, Hermione and Harry. Good luck, guys! Try to keep him alive."

"Everyone left over will form our last line of defense." Trelawney rescued them from oblivion by speaking their names aloud. "So that is: Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout, Hooch, Binns and Flansberg."

"I don't know magic! And I'm an American. Maybe I should just leave." Mr. Flansberg was aghast at his cannon fodder status.

"Oh no you don't! Ever since you started socializing with us, important things have happened. People have been paying attention to us more and we found that map to the ultimate staff of knowledge." Professor Sprout held him back.

"Yeah, but then we got sidetracked with this stuff, you said the map didn't matter anyway and then used it as tinder to light the barbecue." Mr. Flansberg snapped.

"That's not important! What really matters is that you're good luck. Trust me on this; I'm a charms teacher." Flitwick winked.

"I hate you."

"And Madame Pomfrey shall act as the lone medic." Trelawney finished.

"This was rigged! I want a recount." Madame Pomfrey objected, eager for some bloodshed.

"Hold the phone, everyone!" A gravelly, barely-human voice hissed from the doorway.

Everyone turned to behold Neville Longbottom and some kind of hideous monster.

"Dear God! Voldemort has unleashed a mutant and it's taken Neville hostage!" Bridgit screamed.

"Umm…this is my grandmum." Neville hastily introduced her.

"Pleased to meet you, gak!" She waved a pincer in greeting.

"What are you?" Sammy asked in barely-hidden revulsion.

"I get that a lot. I am half Klingon and half praying mantis." She gestured to her battle armor. "I invented British cuisine, although back in my day it had a lot more blood in it. Kids these days…so squeamish. Right Neville?" She hit him with her pincer.

"Yes ma'am!" Neville cried on the inside.

"Oh, dear God. Neville…I didn't know. I'm so sorry for saying all those things behind your back." Ron apologized. "Clearly your night terrors are justified."

"You should have seen grandpa." Neville shuddered.

"To what do we owe this honor?" Dumbledore courteously asked.

"I'm here for parent-teacher interviews." She explained.

"I'm sorry, what? That was months ago. And we're kind of in the middle of something right now." Dumbledore said, somewhat crossly.

"I couldn't come before, being busy locked in a blood feud with the McMuffin clan. But now those p'taq are no more and the mighty Praying Klingon clan is victorious! Seeing that my calendar was now free, I decided to come." She explained.

"Sorry you had to come this way for nothing," McGonagall began, mouth pressed into a thin line and clearly not sorry. "but-"

"Shut your hole, woman! I am aware of your impending doom. We have come to fight!" Neville's grandmother roared.

"Ah. I see. Well…you can go with Bridgit, Cora and their barely-human army." Dumbledore gestured towards them.

"AWESOME!" Cora's eyes shone with excitement.

"Can I go now, grams?" Neville whined.

"NO! You must join us in glorious battle so that you can both become a man and die with honor."

"Okay…"

"Can I have a pointy sword thing too?" Cora asked, on the tips of her toes.

"It is called a Bat'leth and if you prove yourself in battle, puny human, I shall give you mine."

"AWESOME!" She repeated herself.

"See grandson? This human realizes that today is a good day to die."

"I hate deathday." Bridgit muttered.

THUMP!

A dull, hollow, wooden sound echoed throughout the castle.

"What was that?" Professor Summersong whirled around.

"I believe they are here." Mr. Flansberg gestured out the window to a thick mainmast.

"And so it begins." Dumbledore said quietly.

"Battle stations, awaaaaaay!" Trelawney ran out the door.