Disclaimer: I own nothing, hombre.

/wat

"That will be all. Essays are due on my desk promptly at the start of class tomorrow. Failure to turn in two feet of parchment of adequate content will result in after-dinner detentions cleaning cauldrons," Snape said, as the forth year Hufflepuff/Gryffindor class scurried off. It was the last class of the day, so when the final dunderhead finally made himself scarce, Snape allowed himself to collapse into his chair and groan in sheer agony. Hufflepuffs, though not nearly as obtrusive as Gryffindors, were just as idiotic. The two houses combined was more yellow in a room than Snape had the mental capacity to handle.

That was why he always tried to pair Gryffindors with Slytherins, and Hufflepuffs with Ravenclaws.

But that year, Dumbledore was pushing some sort of "standard" and wanted to "break down House rivalries." Thus, Snape was forced to pair up some badgers and lions.

The result was a perpetual migraine.

With a sigh, Snape lifted himself from his chair and went to tidy up after his block-headed pupils. Bits of parchment littered the floor. With a sneer, Snape picked them up one by one. Growing up in the Muggle world, he had grown accustomed to using his hands for minuscule tasks such as this.

More than any other wizard could manage, he thought absently.

Most of the bits of paper he picked up were short notes girls – and Cedric Diggory – had been passing back and forth during class. Snape scowled, glancing over them despite himself.

Do you remember the principles?

Snape didn't recognize the handwriting – probably because the student who wrote that particular message had never written their own essay in their life – but he recognized the response's lettering. Diggory, without a doubt. He could recognize that tidy scrawl a mile away.

We'll talk later. Harry told us not to discuss this outside confidentiality, at least until he gives us the OK.

Snape rolled his eyes. Leave it to Potter to dictate what students may and may not talk about outside confidentiality- Wait, hold on.

As Snape dug through the scraps of paper on the ground, he realized with a growing feeling of dread that almost all these notes had something to do with Harry Potter and his cult. What rank do you think you'll get? I can't wait to sink my teeth into that Time Baby. I wonder when we'll get to sacrifice a lamb? I saw Highpriest re-purpose every hole in Goyle's face – when do we get to do that? I hope we all get gold robes like Harry has.

A sickening feeling of dread was rising in Snape's guts. Oh Merlin. Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ in a cradle. Potter's cult was expanding, and fast. Snape found notes like this from almost all of his classes. If Harry Potter's influence had already spread this far, it was only a matter of time before he took over the whole world.

Snape paused. Took over the world? He shook his head, as if doing so would purge the radical notion from his head. This was an eleven-year-old boy, after all, not the friggin' Dark Lord. Harry Potter was just being a fool. Of course he wasn't interested in world domination. There was no way in wizard-Hell that that kid wanted to take over the world.

-O-

"That Kid wants to take over world," boomed Stanford Pines, slamming a six-fingered fist against the table, "in the name of Bill Cipher!"

Stanley and Fiddleford shared a sidelong look of confusion. "We know that, Ford," Stan said warily. "Now if you don't mind, can we return to our conversation about the maple syrup industry?"

"Maple syrup is a major asset of North American culture," added Fiddleford, trying his very best to be helpful.

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose, slightly red in the face. "Sorry, sorry. I've just been very worried-"

"Crazy," Stan muttered from the corner of his mouth, elbowing Fiddleford in the ribs. Fiddleford was not amused.

"-for the past few weeks. For years, Kid Cipher's been speaking for Bill and doing all that demon's dirty work for him. Now, out of nowhere, he's gone. Poof. Vanished. Like he was never here," Ford said. His expression darkened a bit, and he added, "Until recently, when Fiddleford saw him with that other little boy."

"Um, girl, actually. A preteen, brunette, British girl," corrected Fiddleford. "With huge front teeth. And a bowtie, like the Ciphers. Oh, but she was very polite. A bit disturbing, but polite."

Ford rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What I'm trying to say is that something isn't right."

Stan laughed, loud and robust. He smacked his knee, the table, and Fiddleford, then the table again, and Fiddleford twice for good luck and good measure, respectively. The two nerds of the trio glared at him as Stan gradually controlled his laughter. With a sniff, he finally said, "Sixer, I had to set up gnome traps last weekend because those pests keep getting into our crackers. Nothing's ever right here."

Ford sighed. "Normality is relative, Stan. By the way, what did you put in those traps?"

Stan shrugged. "Just some cheese. I figured they're like rats, right?" said Stan, frowning a bit. "Why, does it matter?"

A nervous glance was exchanged between Ford and Fiddleford. Stan's eyes shifted between them, the furrow of his brow increasing as the seconds ticked by. Suddenly, all at once, the entirety of the gnome infestation keeled over inside the walls, and expelled gases into the air through their posteriors.

It was putrid.

The three of them bolted from the house, gagging and coughing and rolling around the grass outside. It was Ford who recovered first, adjusting his glasses with one of his extra fingers. "Euh, Stan, you idiot," he gagged. A deer stood in the trees, staring at them. Ford glared at it and it scuttled away, emitting the deer equivalent of a terrified neigh.

"You just had to pick the town with the gnomes, didn't you, Sixer?" scowled Stan. "You couldn'ta picked the Arizona town with the strange hooded figures and the kid with two heads, huh? It just had to be the one with the perfect climate for gnomes."

Ford rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting off his trousers before helping Fiddleford stand. "Just use peanut butter next time, okay?" he pleaded, before turning his attention to the other intellectual party. "I've been thinking, Fiddleford: what if Bill has sort of let Kid go for a bit? Like a vacation?"

Fiddleford laughed a bit. "A dream demon from another dimension giving his acolyte a day off? That doesn't seem feasible."

"Maybe, but I have a theory... of a sort," Ford said, getting "that gleam" in his eye. He spoke quickly and in a low voice, so Stan had to come closer and strain his ears to hear. "We've pretty much always known that Kid was Bill's avatar in this plane of existence. But what if Bill's training him to be more? To act as a servant or ambassador of his weirdness? This could be a test run to see if Kid Cipher's ready."

"If that's true," butted in Stan, "then that would mean Bill's plan would commence soon, wouldn't it?"

Ford opened his mouth, as if to contradict his brother, but shut it tight when he realized what Stan had actually said. "Well, yes. Basically this is cause for quite a bit of a lot of alarm," Ford conceded.

"Theoretically, say this – let's be honest – this guess turns out to be true. What then?" Fiddleford asked.

Ford looked grimly toward the sky, causing both Stan and Fiddleford to look around, unsure of exactly what Ford was looking at. "Then we have to destroy Kid Cipher," he said, full of finality.

-O-

"We have to destroy Kid Cipher," said Hermione grimly, "at the next game of wizard chess."

Ron scowled. "Merlin, 'Mione, quite pretending like there's a "we" when it comes to wizard chess."