Infomercials Laid Bare
"What exactly are you doing?"
Harry Potter looked up, startled. It took a moment before he realised the voice had been Draco's. Having come down the stairs for a drink of water, Draco was sporting a silky pair of silver pyjama bottoms and a severe case of bed-head. Not that Draco's bed-head could hold a candle to the messiness of Harry's hair at any time of day, but as it was 3am Draco felt he had a reasonable excuse for his current state of dishevelment.
Realizing he was in no position to laugh, with a permanent case of bed-head and too-small pyjama bottoms decorated with cartoon golden snitches, Harry turned away from the Draco and back towards the television.
"I couldn't sleep. Ginny kept sleep-walking into my room and shrieking 'SNAKE' at me. It was driving me bonkers."
"Not a long trip, eh Potty?" Draco smirked at the square-eyed zombie on the couch and made his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.
All the other housemates were sleeping, although every once in a while the sound of Ginny having a psychotic episode broke the silence. To escape this, Harry had turned to the lifeline of all insomniacs: the early morning infomercial. At the moment the programme was promoting a star shaped waffle-iron, that frankly reminded Harry too much of Ginny's ill-fated bid for house-share dictator. However the three simple payments of 9.99 were seriously tempting.
"That thing makes star-shaped waffles?" Draco showed some interest as he sat next to Harry on the couch. Wincing in pain, he pulled a small pink kazoo from under his bottom and tossed it onto the coffee table. Goddamn Dumbledore and his kazoo! "It's so cheap, too."
Harry nodded, his eyes glued to the screen. "You should have seen what was on earlier. They had these knives that can cut through steel pipes. If I'd ordered them I could have got a second set free!"
Draco looked impressed.
"Then there were these things you can cook eggs in the microwave with. Egg-Waves, I think they were called..." Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. "Everything is so cheap, why don't Muggles buy everything off the telly?"
"The only people who are ever up this late are very, very drunk", said Draco with quiet authority.
"How would you know? You hate Muggles."
Draco shrugged. "Doesn't mean we don't have a telly. My mother's always up late watching wizarding game-shows and the home-shopping network. It drives my father crazy when she buys those tacky porcelain clowns, but it's better that she's on her medi-potions and buying cheap trinkets, than off her meds and on my back. She's insane when she's not heavily tranquilised."
Harry tried to stifle an unsympathetic snigger, but the mental image of Malfoy Manor bedecked with tacky china animals and gaudy candle holders was too much for him. "Malfoy, I'm officially terrified of your mother."
"I'll kick your ass if you talk about my mother again, Potter," growled Draco, evidently regretting his momentary candour. Then his scowl was suddenly replaced by an evil grin. "Anyway, it works out. I can get away with anything I want, and I've got this."
From his pocket Draco pulled a small plastic card that read 'Gringotts Black Diamond Mastercard'. "She never knew it was missing, and nothing I could put on this thing would be worse than her shopping sprees."
Harry regarded Draco with barely disguised avarice. His attention was - for the first time in hours - not on the television. "I think we should order the waffle-iron. There's no way Snape could put eye of newt in waffles."
"I wouldn't put anything past him," Draco said with a shudder, but nonetheless picked up the phone and placed the order. Next-day delivery of a waffle-iron was soon followed by requests for next-day delivery of a long handled paint roller, the Egg-Wave, a machine to vacuum-seal cans and plastic bags, a set of ginsu knives, and an ab-roller.
By dawn the infomercials were winding down and were about to be replaced by morning television. On the couch Harry had adopted his favourite pose for sleeping: feet on the headrest and head on the floor. Draco - too tired to take advantage of the pose for a spirited game of "Peg Potter" - was just staring blearily at the television screen when he jumped up and knocked Harry off the couch.
Harry landed on the floor with a resounding OOMPH. Standing up, he rubbed his neck and glared at Draco. "What was that for?"
"Look at this; we could get a degree through the mail."
Turning to the TV with interest, Harry watched as a fading American television star from the 1970s sold mail order degrees. Scratching the number into the edge of the coffee table, Harry turned to Draco. "Who is that woman, and why does she scare me?"
"Sally Struthers," Draco read from the screen. "I want a degree."
"Me, too."
Picking up the phone, the Slytherin grinned as someone answered. "Yes, we'd like to get our degrees in something... What? Hold on."
Looking at Harry, Draco put his palm over the mouthpiece of the phone. "What do we want to get our degrees in?"
Harry shrugged and in an acrobatic manoeuvre turned himself upside down on the couch to sleep. Draco glared and hissed, "Well you're no help."
To the phone he said, "What are our options? -- Okay, one of those. -- Yeah, that too."
Having given his mailing information and credit card number, Malfoy hung up the phone with a smirk. "Rush delivery for two starter packets, Potter."
"What for?" Harry mumbled.
"You're going to get a degree in Television Repair and I am going to get one in Paralegal." Draco smiled arrogantly before closing his eyes, too sleepy to move.
"How come you get Paralegal?" Harry whined.
"Because I was the one who phoned up."
Harry nodded slightly, which was rather uncomfortable on his neck, given his upside down position. "Makes sense..."
A moment passed in silence before Harry spoke again. "What the hell is Paralegal?"
----------
Scooping up the mail from where it had fallen through the slot, Hermione idly flipped through the letters. Walking into the kitchen, and stepping over the crumpled form of Ginny who was lying motionless on the floor, she sat at the table and tossed the bills at Snape. Getting no reaction other than a surly grunt, Hermione sipped her third cup of coffee for the morning.
"What I want to know is how these bills are getting paid," Hermione finally said, breaking the silence and getting Snape's attention. He looked like hell, something Hermione attributed to consuming too much eye-of-newt, although she didn't dare voice that opinion out loud. Then again, another reason he looked a little... off, could be because of the very strange pigtails he'd begun wearing his hair in. Sadly, that was another topic that Hermione did not quite have the courage to breach.
Motioning to the bills, Snape said, "Second notices never seem to come, although I know well enough to not put my faith in anything so ambiguous. I'm keeping meticulous records of who owes what, in the event that our captor shows himself."
Hermione grumbled and put her empty coffee cup down.
"Given that we're captives, they can sod off don't you think? I'm not paying a penny. The way I see it, I'm owed money due to the mental baggage alone."
They looked at one another appraisingly and decided to let that subject pass. Snape turned back to the bills, but stopped when he came to two identical orange folders bearing the names "Dick Hurtz" and "I. P. Freely".
"POTTER!"
Harry - who had been sleeping on the couch in his trademark position - stirred and promptly over-balanced, falling headfirst onto the floor. Grunting in his sleep, Draco spread out on the newly emptied portion of the couch. Rubbing his head, Harry stood and glanced into the kitchen at Snape, who was waving the folders in the air, then at Draco, who was still sleeping peacefully on his stomach. It was really too much of a temptation to pass up, despite Snape's obvious impatience.
Taking hold of the back of Malfoy's pyjama bottoms, Harry was delighted and disgusted to note that Draco didn't wear undergarments to bed. Despite this shooting the shit out his theory that Draco wore women's underwear, it worked out for what he was going to do. Counting down in his head from three, Harry jerked up Draco's pyjama trousers until they were level with the blond boy's naked shoulder. Instantly Draco was awake and jumping up as though he were on fire.
"YOU WANKER POTTER! I'm going to bloody..."
Lunging at Harry, Draco abruptly sank to his knees with a whimper and eased his pyjamas out of his ass crack.
Raising his fist into the air, Harry grinned and danced around as only one who is wedgie free can. "I am victorious! 100 points in my new favourite game, 'Maim Malfoy'!"
Grinning once more at the whimpering boy, Harry took this opportunity to dart into the kitchen and deal with Snape. When Draco followed suit, limping slightly, Harry ducked behind Hermione and began to laugh maniacally. With a glare in Harry's general direction, Draco headed for the refrigerator - a picture of injured dignity.
"Well, Mr. Potter, I see that your juvenile sense of humour is as disgusting as ever," Snape sneered in a silky voice. "If you could refrain in the future from subjecting the more rational occupants of this house to your whims..."
Tossing the two big envelopes across the table, Snape motioned with an impatient look for him to read the addresses. When he did, however, he just pushed them back across the table with a shrug. "I didn't do that."
Hermione, catching sight of the addresses, stifled a giggle. Snape was not amused.
"Who did this, then?"
"I did," Draco said nonchalantly as he picked up the folders and eased himself into a chair. "I ordered these last night. It's our degree work, Potter. You're mental if you think you're gonna get yours now, though."
----------
"Look what Potter did to my flawless skin." Leaning over the armchair in the diary room, Draco had dropped his kecks and was exhibiting his lily white buttocks to the camera. After a minute of silence for inspection and a couple of waves of his bum in the air, Draco pulled up his pants and sat down with a wince. "He ruined me!"
Narrowing his grey eyes, he frowned. "And not like that, I know what you're thinking pervert. Hmph. As if I'd ever let Potter near my ass in that capacity. No way."
With a full-on glare, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Nuh-uh."
Then looking right and left, despite his knowledge that he was the only person in the room, he turned and mooned the camera again. This time he was giggling like a little girl. Secure in the knowledge that no one would ever see the diary room tapes.
----------
On the third floor, Ron was being subjected to a rather vague lecture from his sister.
"Something's coming," said Ginny darkly. Her sleep had been more troubled than usual for the past few nights by terrifying and possibly prophetic dreams.
"What sort of something?" Ron asked, pulling an acid green T-shirt over his head and hunting around the room for a clean crash helmet.
"I'm not sure yet."
"It's not another ess-en-ay-kay-ee, is it?"
Ginny shot him a poisonous look.
"Don't patronise me."
"All right, I was just asking."
"I woke up in the kitchen doorway this morning. The night before Hagrid found me wandering in the garden. You know what it means when I start sleepwalking."
"That we need to start locking your room from the outside when you go to bed?"
"It means something's going to happen," Ginny insisted. "Why don't you take me seriously?"
Ron thought this was rather unfair. If any member of the household wasn't treated seriously, it was him. People took Ginny seriously, if only out of a healthy sense of self preservation. They took Hermione seriously, because she was clever. Harry because he was the Boy Who Lived. Maybe Ron needed a 'thing' too?
He paused in his musings to realise Ginny was still glaring at him, waiting for an answer. What had the question been? Ron couldn't remember and decided to bluff his way out. Adopting his most reassuring tone, he reached out and ran a hand through Ginny's hair.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."
To his surprise, Ginny gave him a thoroughly evil look and stomped from the room, pausing in the doorway to shout: "Fine, I'll go find somebody who will listen. And I'd change that T-shirt if I were you, Ron Weasley. It looks like somebody threw up on it."
Ron watched her leave, thoroughly baffled. Then looked down at the T-shirt. Perhaps he should rethink his outfit? Hey, maybe that could be his thing!
Hurriedly, Ron began to undress.
----------
While Draco had eventually been persuaded to let Harry open his degree pack, the wedgie related activities of that morning were by no means forgotten and the atmosphere in the kitchen remained tense.
Harry's face was scrunched up in thought. With one hand he was tapping a pencil, with the other he was trying to balance a second pencil between his nose and upper lip. He was failing with the lip thing and his tapping was driving Draco, who sat across the table from him, insane. Quildemort was leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for the explosion as Harry's taps started to coincide with Draco's brand new facial tick. Quildemort's desire for bloodshed was stymied however, as Ron chose that moment to stride into the kitchen, naked as the day he was born.
"Hiya."
Instantly two pencils dropped to the kitchen table, and a glass smashed as it slipped from Quirrell's hand. Ron merely smiled sunnily at the occupants of the kitchen and went to the refrigerator. Luckily the refrigerator shielded his nakedness from the boys at the table. Unfortunately for Voldemort, Ron decided he needed something on the bottom shelf and leaned over. With a shudder, Quildemort fled from the room.
Closing the door, Ron emerged with an apple and took a seat at the table. Harry was unable to form words at this point but Draco was always up for a challenge. "Forget something, Weasley?"
Ron looked confused, glanced back to see if he'd forgotten to shut the refrigerator all the way, then looked back to the smirking boy with a shrug. "Nope, I'm all set thank you."
Draco smirked, if possible, harder. "No, your clothes, dummy. Forget to pay for them, and had them taken away did you?"
Ron glared at Draco, then took a big bite out of his apple. "Nuhnn, Ihm a nhhuhdihst."
Harry and Draco exchanged glances, then looked back at the naked boy. "Excuse me?"
Swallowing the fruit, Ron cleared his throat and announced, "I've become a nudist."
At that, Harry began to choke but the blond merely snickered and said, "At least we know he's a natural redhead, now."
The choking on the other side of the table got ten times worse at that and Harry fell to the floor, jabbing himself in the chest trying to dislodge his own spit. When he finally recovered he sat back up, red faced and sweating and asked, "Why are you a nudist?"
"It's a lifestyle choice." Reducing the apple to its core, Ron hopped up, to the others' dismay and tossed the remainder of the fruit in the bin. Turning back to them he said, "I'm going to go watch some TV," and left the room.
There was a good five minutes of frozen silence before the two boys cracked up. Draco, leaning back in his chair, said, "That boy is a complete nutter."
Harry nodded in agreement, then looked sadly down at the packet of paper in front of him. "Malfoy, Television Repair is too hard. Why did this have to arrive first? I want some waffles."
"Waffles?" Hermione asked as she teetered into the room under the weight of a box. "This was on the front step, by the way. What did you order, bricks?"
Draco smirked. "It's nothing heavy, Granger. You'd better work on that muscle, or lack thereof. Is Snape not working you out enough?"
CLUNK-SMACK! The box hit the floor as Hermione's hand connected with the back of Draco's head. Shooting him a death glare, she stalked from the room leaving an amused Harry and an annoyed Draco to deal with the box. Watching Draco rub his head, Harry sighed wistfully. "I hope that's the waffle-iron."
"There are more important things at hand, Potter," Draco drawled. "And you know we can't make waffles until the Egg-Wave is here. It makes a meal."
With a dramatic sigh, Harry gave in and looked back to his packet of degree materials only to be interrupted by the doorbell. "What else are we expecting?"
Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Stuff."
"Indeed," Hermione huffed as she pushed three new boxes into the kitchen. Standing up properly she adjusted her shirt and kicked the nearest box. "Next time go and retrieve your own things, Malfoy."
"And miss seeing you look all flustered? I think not Granger."
Glaring at Draco seemed to be Hermione's only function as of late, but the effect was not lost. "There was another package, but Dumbledore seized it when he saw the shipping label."
"Which was?" Draco asked.
"Bert's Bodybuilding."
Putting his head in the cradle of his arms, Harry snorted into the table, while Draco looked momentarily stricken. Motioning toward the living room, he asked, "And nudie Weasley's in there, too?"
Suppressing a shudder, Hermione nodded.
"Perhaps we should stay in here for while?"
----------
Dumbledore regarded the small machine with interest. Two handlebars attached to a wheel seemed like such a small thing when compared to its grand promises of six-pack abs in under a month. He'd had six-pack abs before – a long time ago – and it was a certain nostalgia that moved him to pick up the device and... roll.
Ron chose this exact moment to walk in at the door to the living room. Dumbledore was mid-roll, weight on his toes
Ron was frozen. Paused awkwardly mid-step. All the hairs on his body were standing on end. Quite a sight, since he was still as naked as the day he was born. His brain was screaming at him to run, to hide, to do anything and everything to get him out of there. Instead he was dumbstruck on a level that he had never sunk to before.
In the middle of the living room, posed on tiptoe, arse in the air and gripping a garish contraption was Albus Dumbledore. In fact, Dumbledore was also frozen, regarding Ron from between his arms.
"Ronald, you are aware that you are lacking your clothes?"
Ron blinked.
"Yes, sir."
With an indulgent smile, Dumbledore returned to the task at hand. With an amazing show of muscle, he rolled forward and then backward to his previous position.
"Ten!"
All that greeted his gleeful proclamation was the sound of running feet and breaking glass.
In the kitchen, Harry, Draco and Hermione listened thoughtfully to the window being smashed.
"I reckon he did that naked," said Draco with a pained expression.
Hermione nodded. "There wasn't time to even put his crash helmet on, let alone clothes."
They sat in silence for a moment considering the potential injuries that can arise when a naked male throws himself through a plate glass window. Finally Hermione spoke...
"We should probably go see if he needs help or hospital or something."
"Excuse me," Dumbledore called from the living room. "Miss Granger? Mr Potter? Mr Malfoy? Some assistance, please."
----------
The packages had now begun to arrive thick and fast. Ginsu knives, a leaf blower, an electric belt-sander, a food processor, a pack of laser pens and a heavily discounted chainsaw were all delivered to the house in quick succession. (And just as quickly confiscated and hidden in the pantry by Snape, who wasn't keen to see how much havoc the others could cause with a chainsaw.)
Most notable, however, was the much anticipated waffle iron.
Snape hovered over the new appliance warily. Its appearance amongst Draco's many purchases had been largely ignored. Running one long finger over the smooth metal and Teflon insides, Snape stepped back and considered the possibilities. It was too shallow for anything soupy, and anything non-soupy was really not his forte. The problem was, however, that he couldn't get the damn thing to work.
In the grand tradition of hard-to-work appliances, it came with no instruction manual. The top part of the appliance that folded open kept snapping down on his hand and the knob on the surface refused to change the temperature, no matter where it was pointed. Having too much dignity to actually throw the machine across the room, the usually stoic Potions Master gave in to the urge to glare, shout at and then hit the unsuspecting appliance before giving up on it.
"Have you plugged it in, yet?" Harry asked hopefully from the kitchen doorway, earning a scowl from the frustrated man.
Looking again at the waffle iron, Snape spied the three-pronged plug sticking out of the back that he hadn't seen before. Pushing the plug into the wall socket he neatly explained to Harry that, "It keeps falling out. Muggle inventions are always so shoddy."
Harry accepted this dubious excuse solely out of a desire for waffles, but was distracted by the machine itself. "Um, Professor… Why is it hopping about like that?"
"That's what it's supposed to do, you ignorant boy," Snape bluffed, now eying the waffle iron that seemed to dance across the counter top. "They all do that when plugged in."
Reaching toward the appliance to stop its mad flight, Snape had to withdraw his arm quickly as it flapped open and tried to snap down on his hand. His close proximity to the iron told him that it was rather hot, while the snapping clued him into the fact that the iron was in fact acting strangely.
----------
"You never want to do things as a team anymore," Voldemort whined. Through strategic mirror placement, bother Quirrell and the Dark Lord were making their case to the diary room camera.
Quirrell frowned. "Y-you take me from granted. This is my body, y-you know!"
"Yours is it? This is a partnership! I feel trapped in a loveless sham. I'm a sorry excuse for a Dark Lord." Voldemort burst into tears.
Unable to hold his ground as tears, or what he sincerely hoped were tears, ran down his neck, Quirrell sighed. "I will m-make more of an effort."
Voldemort snuffled. "We can go back to the way it was?"
Quirrell nodded.
"Excellent." Instantly cheerful again, the Dark Lord grinned. "What are you still hanging about here for? That old wreck Dumbledore has an ab-roller in his beard and I fancy a shot at that Egg-wave!"
On the way downstairs, Quirrell found himself wishing - not for the first time - to fall and bash the back of his head in.
----------
"I told you that television repair was perfect for you," Draco said with a smirk as he smoothed the game-pad onto the floor.
From behind the television Harry snorted. "All I did was read the instructions on the box."
Dumbledore watched the proceedings with interest. This wasn't unusual in itself as he was always indulgent to the whims of his housemates. What was unusual was the fact that the brightly coloured ab-roller was firmly tangled in his beard and was showing no signs of moving anytime soon.
When Hermione had offered to cut the plastic contraption from his beard, the old wizard had only shook his head sagely and pronounced "That it would work itself out, there is no need to be hasty."
Hermione had been sceptical. In turn, Quildemort had been sat on the couch for more than an hour, slyly looking at his nemesis and giggling. Their had been no sign of Ron since his starkers swan dive, and it was with a view to maintaining the norm that the other boys had - upon receipt of the game system - implemented the framework for a massive Dance Dance Revolution tournament.
"First round," Draco announced, consulting his clipboard. "Ginny Weasley versus Harry Potter."
Sulkily Ginny took her position, followed by Harry. What followed was a hideously choreographed, no holds barred, techno-pop smack down. Feet flew. Then so did Ginny. Ostensibly, this was because a basilisk had appeared in the kitchen. In fact Ginny simply knew she was no match for the mad dance skillz of the boy-who-lived. Or so Harry claimed, and it was far from an idle boast. The same grace, speed and physical coordination Harry had brought to the Quidditch pitch before his incarceration were now turned to the slightly less respectable sport of Dance Dance Revolution.
Harry finished the track effortlessly and took his seat to a round of applause.
Next up was Ron versus Draco, in a highly entertaining match. To the popped up tunes of Duran Duran they were off. Draco not only had perfect rhythm, quickly stepping in time to the music, but he had a drastic advantage to Ron in that he could easily distinguish between his right and left. Ron was sadly left in the dust as he kept tripping up on his own feet. It didn't help that the glare of the neon flashes on screen were reflecting off his crash-helmet into his eyes and by the fact that he was still bare-ass naked. While that little fact was majorly disturbing to Draco, (truthfully it was the only thing that put him off his step) it was worse for Ron who was having some unforeseen difficulties with flailing and waggling.
Needless to say while their match was on everyone else had fled the room in terror.
After Draco had yelled that it was safe for them to come back in, Hermione and Quildemort took the floor and launched into a depressing version of Nori, Nori, Nori. Neither of the competitors was blessed with natural rhythm, but Hermione managed to keep her score out of negative numbers by watching the screen like a hawk and moving in a jerky and highly unflattering manner that at least managed to be fairly accurate.
The Dark Lord was not nearly so fortunate. His limbs were conspiring against him and this was not the exaggeration it might have been from one of the other players. Quirrell had decided that DDR was a stupid game and was attempting to sneak back to the safety of the sofa at every opportunity. Add to this the fact that Lord Voldemort had to play with his back to the screen and it was no surprise that his eventual score was truly miserable. He slunk back to the safety of the kitchen, swearing revenge.
Harry smiled encouragingly at Hermione as Draco stepped up beside her.
As Hermione neared the pad, Draco leered at her. "Now we all get to see the skills that only one man has seen before."
Hermione glared but was distracted by the thumping beat of J-Pop and the montage of half dressed Japanese schoolgirls that flooded the screen. It was this pervy image that made Draco miss the first step, the much loved right and left combo. From there it only got more complicated, the flashing arrows swimming before their eyes.
Draco knew he wasn't going to be able to get his footing back and despite Granger's overly technical approach and lack of rhythm he was in danger of losing. In a split second decision on his course of action, Draco chose to stop moving all together so that his side of the screen registered flashing misses and warnings. Everything fell into place perfectly. Hermione did a series of cross-board steps jerkily before chancing a look at the perfectly still Draco. The trap was sprung.
"This match is unfair, Granger. The rest of us haven't been training with nightly gymnastics. I'll wager you could stick your leg above your head. Plus I don't know what sort of rhythm Snape has been…"
He never got to finish his taunt, as Hermione launched herself at Draco, pulling his hair and forcing them to roll all over the game pads. They chanced a few perfect moves on the screen, but mostly they were misses and by the end of the song Draco was sporting a bloody nose and grasping a chunk of Hermione's hair. Needless to say their scores were equally miserable.
As there were no whistles about, the high hum of a kazoo rang through the air and Dumbledore waved an empty bag of Ready Salted crisps, "That's a red card for the two of you."
"If they're disqualified, does that mean I win by default?" Harry asked, with a hint of smugness.
"Doe, certainly dot!" said Malfoy with some difficulty. "We deed a replacement."
"I'd be more than happy to oblige." Dumbledore began climbing down from the hammock, however the unaccustomed weight on the end of his beard meant that he overbalanced and the ab-roller came careering out of his beard, hitting Ron in the solar plexus before careering back into Dumbledore's beard and lodging itself even more firmly than before.
"On reflection, Sir, I think maybe we should find somebody else."
"We could ask Hagrid," said Hermione doubtfully.
"Doe thank you, Granger. I don't want that dasty oaf breaking my dew toy."
"Then I do win," said Harry triumphantly. "If there's no other competitors, then I win by default."
"Not so fast, Potter!" came a silky voice from the direction of the kitchen. "I suppose I could lower myself to try your silly muggle game, if it would make you stop crowing for five minutes."
Scowling, Harry shifted his weight on the pad, dialling the difficulty level up to its hardest setting before Snape emerged from the kitchen, shrugging off his cloak and taking his place on the second dance mat. The words End of the Century appeared on screen as Snape and Harry both readied themselves.
"Okay, you little brat. Let's boogie."
3… 2… 1!
Loud apocalyptic music filled the room. The house shook with tension and the power of the surround-sound speakers that Draco had bought for precisely this sort of moment. The glass rattled in the windows. The dogs howled in the backyard and the owls froze, fluttering manically in mid air above the television. They were off, their blood pulsing in time with the music, their eyes riveted to the screen.
The rest of the house was riveted also, but for another reason. Firstly because under his robes, Snape had been wearing loose, sexy trousers and a very flattering muscle tank that proclaimed, "Ipanema Dance Contest 1978". Even more attention grabbing was the fact that he was good, so good that Harry was having a hard time catching up.
Each step Snape hit exactly on time, gracefully flowing from step to step. His precise movements wasted no time and exuded animal magnetism. Sweat was pouring down both their faces, saturating their clothes and mucking up the dance mat. With a flourish the song ended, to be replaced by the dual sound of heavy breathing.
On the screen the results flashed and a creepy man gravely pronounced, "FLAWLESS VICTORY."
Snape smirked. "Was that the best you've got, Potter? I suppose that makes me the champion."
Harry stood, thunderstruck and like all the other occupants of the room he watched as Snape gathered his robes and strode out of the room. "Did I just lose to Snape?"
"You really have kept him in shape, eh Granger?"
Draco tried to leer, but failed as Hermione stood up and smiled down at him. "No, he's always been in great physical shape. Pity about you and the baby fat."
----------
"When I said I wanted you to teach me, I actually meant I wanted to learn how to get a high score listing on Dance Dance Revolution."
Snape stared intently at her over the chessboard.
"I think this game is more suited to your natural talents."
"Meaning I have no rhythm, is that it?"
"No, meaning that you have all the skills that should make you a natural at strategy games. Now pay attention. The pawn may seem like an unimportant character, but in fact it has the potential to be the most powerful piece on the board."
Hermione tried to stifle a yawn and failed.
"I know all this. In case you'd forgotten, I've been playing this for years: muggle chess; wizard chess; life-sized, bash-your-brains-out, psycho chess! You name it, I've played it, now make your move!"
Snape pushed a pawn forward in the classic King's Opening. Hermione scowled at the board and tried to decide whether to counter with Caro-Kann or a French Defence. Her glance fell sideways and landed upon the waffle iron, which was currently sitting on the living room floor. Its wire had curled into an unusual shape. It seemed to spell out C5. Wait that was it! Hermione slid a pawn forwards to the C5 spot in a tricky Sicilian Defence. Snape countered by moving his Knight's pawn forward two spaces and her glance fell once again to the floor. The waffle iron's lead now spelt out B4. Smugly, Hermione reached out to slide her pawn diagonally. Snape would never know what had hit him.
Half an hour later and Snape couldn't see a way out. No matter how he moved, Hermione would checkmate him in four moves or less. He stared at Hermione in a temper. "It's mate, mate, mate, no matter what I do!"
As Hermione blushed to the roots of her bushy hair, Snape reflected that perhaps his choice of phrasing has been unwise.
He decided to try a different tack. "You've been cheating, haven't you? Somebody has to have been helping you out. It's Weasley isn't it? He's been feeding you moves!"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She began to stand up and shout at him over the chessboard, but a strong feeling of deja-vu made her sit back down again in a hurry. "I'll have you know that Ron is rubbish at muggle style chess and what's more, I'm perfectly capable of winning without any help!"
"Then why were you letting Eric help you?" Ginny was sat on the couch, reading through one of the mail order degree packs and occasionally making notes in the margins.
"Who's Eric?"
"He is," responded Ginny, pointing at the waffle iron.
As if on cue, the waffle iron hopped backwards and opened and closed its lid. Snape looked conflicted. On the one hand he now had proof that Hermione had been cheating, but on the other hand this would mean acknowledging the existence of a sentient waffle iron.
"There it is," Harry said as he sprinted from the kitchen. "I've been tracking him all day. He'd better make some bloody good waffles."
At his approach Eric backed up and left off a steamy hiss.
"That's it!" Ginny exclaimed. Hopping up, she dashed up the stairs as a much harried and still naked Ron came down.
"What's she on about?" Ron asked, but the question went ignored in the events that followed.
Harry lunged at the waffle iron and as if in slow motion, it leapt out of the way and barrelled towards Dumbledore, who was napping in front of "The O.C." Hermione and Snape watched like tennis spectators as the out of control appliance knocked the ab-roller from the sleeping wizard's beard and ricocheted off the plastic to fly - iron open - at Ron.
His dive for cover came too late. The steaming mad iron landed open faced against the most delicate part of the Weasley anatomy. The resultant shriek shattered the downstairs windows.
"I think," said Hermione slowly, once the screams subsided, "that Ron might be through with nudity for the time being."
----------
"Let me get this straight."
Voldemort was sitting on Draco's bed, talking with Ginny. Quirrell had been leafing through Draco's back issues of Cosmo, but had put them away and begun paying attention to the conversation after a pointed cough from Voldemort.
"You're trying to tell me that the reason you were having a staring contest with a waffle iron was that it was - in fact - alive."
Ginny nodded solemnly.
"Not only this, but you claim the waffle iron is called Eric and will save wizarding society from the greatest evil it has ever known."
Ginny nodded again.
"Because I was under the impression that was Potter's job. I'd been led to believe that the boy was your last hope."
"No," Ginny said. "There is another."
"Fine," said Voldemort, standing up. "I'm going to get it right this time. No failed attempts on newborns which can grow up to defeat me. That waffle iron is going DOWN!"
It was at this point that Ron staggered past the doorway on the way to his room. Voldemort took a good look at the diamond print scar.
"On the other hand, biding one's time is a well respected villainous strategy."
----------
Against all odds, Ron had maintained his "lifestyle choice" for the rest of the evening, despite all the associated injuries. Upon his reappearance in the living room later, Hermione had engaged him in a game of chess. This was partly to make Ron hide the more disturbing of his injuries under the table and partly so she could try out her new chess moves on someone who probably wouldn't notice if Eric helped her out a bit.
However, Ron was not nearly as unobservant in this capacity as Hermione had hoped.
"Oi, since when are you good at chess?"
Dismissing the idea of letting him know he was really being beaten by a waffle iron, Hermione smiled sweetly.
"Oh, y'know I've got all the tactical skills to be a natural at strategy games."
"You always said the game was a pointless exercise when we played at school."
Ron crossed his arms over his disturbingly pale and freckled chest. Hermione repressed a shudder. Eric the waffle iron wriggled his flex, causing Hermione to move into checkmate
"When I left school, I was but the learner. Now I am the master!"
Ron stood up in outrage revealing all that had been hidden under the table. Hermione finding her eye-level was taking her to unpleasant places, jumped up too. For a moment the two combatants stared at each other
"You're going to rise up and slay me!" Ron pointed at Hermione accusingly.
"I always thought she was a Sith Lord." Draco supplied from the couch.
Ron gaped at Draco before darting up the stairs and predictably bounding out the window. As Draco began to laugh, Hermione glared at him
"I don't appreciate being compared to Darth Vader, you know."
Hermione's glare deepened and Draco's laughter turned into spluttering and gasps for air as he began to choke. He grabbed his throat and glared at Hermione. Things could have gone very badly if Harry hadn't arrived and quickly given Draco the Heimlich manoeuvre. A green Smartie shot across the room and joined its brethren on the floor.
Draco gasped for breath.
"You okay there, Malfoy?" Harry asked.
Draco glared.
----------
The waffle iron had grown bored with the blazing argument developing in the living room and had removed himself to the hallway, where a small door partway up the wall led to the cupboard containing the electrical meter. Eric leaned back on his hinge and then opened his jaw violently, propelling himself with a neat jump into the meter cupboard. There was a large hole in the back of the cupboard leading into the walls of the house itself. (The hole had not been there on the housemates' arrival, but the large amount of structural damage caused since then had left odd holes and cracks in almost every wall, floor and ceiling of the building.) Fearlessly, Eric leapt.
It was sheer bad luck that Ginny happened to be passing just in time to see Eric's long power cord, swishing up after him into the meter cupboard with a distinctly serpentine motion and managed to convince herself she'd just seen a basilisk heading to its lair in the walls of the house.
It was worse luck that her quest for a hiding place led her to the pantry.
----------
Outside, stark naked in the remnants of a rose bush, Ron sat twitching. He'd had enough of the house, his housemates and the indignity of his lot. It occurred to him after a moment that he was sitting on a very good idea. Slowly, he climbed out of the wreckage of the bush and apologised to Hagrid before heading for the house, covered in scratches and thorns and clutching a fistful of rosebush. Nudity, it turned out, was probably not his thing after all.
He paused for a moment on the threshold, listening to the odd noises coming from inside the house. An argument in the living room was being drowned out by screams and the sound of an engine revving.
Ginny had found the chainsaw.
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