A/N: Hem. Hem (-winces- Eeewww! Umbridge! -Washes tie-dye tongue-) I happen to have entered in a challenge with DobbyFan18, who is inspiringly insane, and also GOING DOWN UNDER (even though she's pointed out that she's not an Aussie and likes to go "w00t")! So, I have to include: "a hunk of cheese, a disconnected traffic light, and several cardboard boxes" in this chapter.
Chapter 3– The Boy-Who-Dunned
Now, as I have stated, it was indeed a very interesting evening. But I can't just LEAVE you there, honestly, so I'll tell you how the evening went.
Well, first of all, the breaking out of the singing and the dancing. You see, because everyone started at once it sounded a bit like this: "EGG NOG IN SPRING TIME!" Except, of course, that it was less . . . in English.
Dean (since this is pre-HBP and therefore pre-Dean/Ginny-weirdness) was kneeling on the fireplace (and not an abandoned corridor with The Great Ronald: Sprouter Of Words O' Wisdom's kid sister). He, obviously, was singing to the fire. It went a little somethin' like this: "Oh my pretty, pretty shnookums, how thee glow with scorching brightness. I would kiss thee, pretty shnookums, and if not for the fear of my melting lips! OOOOOHHHH! OHH, BABY, OOOOHHHH YEAAAAAAHHHH!"
Neville was crooning to his Mumsliona Bajestica (I'm too lazy to look up the name of his cactus, so sue me . . . Okay, I felt bad, it's Mimbulus mimbletonia. Happy?). It was attempting to do the worm in return.
Seamus, in true Irish spirit, was singing a Highland Rover song about a "wild rover" (which I would have no idea about, since I'm not Irish in the least . . . or, ya know, I am because both my parents were born there . . . but whatever). It was charming at first because of the swing-dancing accompanying it, but then he got to the part where he had to clap ("And it's no! Nay! Never!" -Clap clap clap clap- "No, nay, never- " and he was interrupted). The problem was, swing dancing and clapping are extremely difficult to do at the same time and he ended up flinging Lavender Brown across the room into Neville.
This caused Neville to fall forward and his plant to also go flying. Fortunately, it landed safely on Dean's head and saved him from the fire, which was starting to become quite fond of the complimenting young lad and scooting further and further to the grate. Unfortunately, he was saved because he was now unconscious. Boo-hoo, so sad, cry and cry and we're over it.
Ron was feeling a little bit shirked because all the dawgs were bein' mad grimy and jackin' his game. Honestly, don't they know how to give cred to a homie? Especially one who was currently armed with several hunks of smelly cheese in his pockets.
Harry knew (using his psychic powers I've decided to give him to appease Professor Trelawney and stop her from visiting my dreams and telling me I had a robotic foot) that Ron was such armed and tried to cease the Common Room-dwellers' singing. This wasn't hard, considering half of them were knocked out. (Hermione, however, was still on the table, getting her groove on and shaking her bon-bon so hard it looked painful.)
Just then, smoke appeared. (I realize this has nothing to do with anything, but that's sort of the point, isn't it?) Big, billowing clouds of purple smoke rose from the floor and covered the center of the Common Room. Everyone ducked for cover and Dean, who had just regained consciousness but was still slightly groggy, screamed, "HELP! RUSSIA'S COME! THEY'VE BROUGHT TEAR GAS! Oh, blimey, my head hurts . . . OH NO! THE RUSSIANS ARE SENDING DOWN PLANT BOMBS OF DOOM! HEEEELLLLPPP!" He was promptly hit with a rather stale (and therefore hard) chunk of cheese.
As the smoke started to clear, students stood up, coughing slightly, and tried to find the source of the incriminating smoke. A shadow became more focused as the clouds dissipated and there stood a lady. BUT not any old lady. Oh no, it was Trolley Lady, the woman who pushes the cart up and down the aisles on the Hogwarts Express.
Smiling evilly at the children, she opened her chapped and smirking lips to reveal yellow, crooked teeth. "Does anybody want . . . DEATH? HAHAHAHAHAHA! MWAAAAHAHAHAHA! HAHAHA- ECAW! ECAW! coughcoughcoughcoughcough -HAHA! Ecaw. cough Ecaw."
"Erm, no, thanks," Ron said nervously, wondering why this woman said "ecaw" when she coughed.
"Are you kidding? I'll take five!" Colin Creevey - who had been standing on the back of a couch singing "I'm Too Sexy For My Shirt" – jumped down, picked up the lamp form a nearby table, and handed it to her. "Thanks, lady!" he cried gleefully as she handed him a black lollipop with a picture of a dainty white ghost on it that was sucking its thumb and walking like an Egyptian.
"Why you're quite welcome, dearest. And what can I do for you, kiddies?" Everyone immediately flocked to the woman and began making requests for different flavored shoes.
Harry, however, was rolling around on the ground, foaming at the mouth, clutching his forehead and trying to get people's attention. Usually a hiss of pain and smack on his head was enough for people to instantly worry and begin dancing the can-can. When he found that no one cared, he stood up, wiped away the foam, and yelled, "HEY!"
Everyone turned to face him.
They did. Indeed they did. Except not EVERYONE did, did they? Dean didn't, he was unconscious and his hair had cheese all up in it. Bet he didn't face him, did he? And Parvati didn't either, because the licorice stick she'd been given was stuck to her tongue and she was in a desperate tug-of-war to free it. And-
ExCUSE me, lil miss THANG, but this is MY story! YOU ART NOT WELCOME HITHER! So go ba-dunk-a-dunk over they-ah.
Oh NO you did NOT just mention my ba-dunk-a-dunk! You know how – how that – h-hurts my – my . . . FEEEELINGSSSS!
Oh, do shut up. I told you already that the pink gloves and orange stockings, whilst clashing extraordinarily, did not make you look fat. You've got no junk in da trunk, okay?
-sniff- Really? And you forgive me for correcting you? I really didn't mean to, it's just . . . well, not everyone turned to face him, did they?
-sigh- No. No, they didn't. So, anyway, everyone except for Dean and Parvati faced Harry and-
Well, then there's-
YOU'RE FAT GO DIE!
WAAAAHHHHH!
SO, they faced him and gave him a rather odd look. "What?" Ron asked, his Buddhist monk robes flowing on their own in an almost Snape-like billowy manner.
"My scar hurts!" Harry whined, pointing to his scar, which was flashing neon yellow.
"Why ever would that be?" Hermione asked, once again prim and proper, her bun magically back in place and modest robes loose and boring.
"BECAUSE SHE'S VOLDEMORT!" Harry yelled, pointing at Trolley Lady. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide, staring at Harry in shock.
"Harry, honestly, how can Trolley Lady be - " Ron started.
But Harry let out an Amazon War Cry (despite him not being a woman, let alone an amazing warrior . . .) and leapt onto the back of the coach. He then proceeded to flip and summersault, cartwheel and ricochet around the furniture and walls of the room; he circled the room a few times, spiraling ever closer to Trolley Lady. He even Petrificus Totalus-ed Dennis Creevey and used his body to pole-vault over everyone's heads, sticking his mount behind Trolley Lady. He stuck out his hand, grabbed the obnoxiously large zipper claiming "MADE IN YOUR MOMMA'S HOUSE . . . IN CHINA" that hung from under her wig, and unzipped the woman's façade . . .
Meanwhile, the Dun-Dun-Dun-First-Year-With-The-Really-Deep-Voice (who shall, from here forthwith, be dubbed Bob), woke up. He found himself in the frozen Alaskan Tundra, which surprised him considering he had fallen asleep in the Swiss Alps. However, he had Louisiana and was therefore content.
He stood up, looking around at the haze of blurry white dots, raining around him in a violent ballet, all in a race to reach the ground before the next, to fall upon their brothers and sister, slowly but surely building a frozen wall of powder and keeping out all but the most courageous (-cough-stupid-cough-) explorers. Well, ANYWAY, he got bored of just gazing around after a while, and started walking.
Now, since none of you want to know about how he trudged across the frozen wilderness, battling polar bears and antibodies and poisonous dart frogs, I'll just skip that part. So. He ended up in the middle Cincinnati, which is in Ohio and also very, very fun to say. Cincinnaticincinnaticincinnaticincinnati. Told ya. He was at an intersection, which happened to be playing host to a whole mess of automobiles, for some reason.
Bob started walking down the sidewalk, when he came across the strangest thing. Professor Snape. Except it wasn't Professor Snape. It looked like him, tall and greasy with too much hair and nose and not enough of that "humanity" junk people are always going on about. But he was wearing a long, tweed, green dress with a fox-fur scarf, a gigantic red handbag, and a tall hat with a stuffed vulture on top.
Bob, in his extraordinary shock, walked into a pole belonging to a streetlight. Said traffic light - which was currently serving as a perching point for several golden lion tamarins (cute li'l monkeys) that had escaped from a nearby nursing home – promptly disconnected. It flickered a few times (the woman currently waiting for it to turn green thought it was winking at her and blushed a matching red), and went out.
By the time Bob opened his eyes, he had a pleasant view of the gum-strewn sidewalk that was bouncing up and down, along with his spleen. He twisted his neck around and was poked in the eye by a beak. Instead, he looked back down at the ground, wondering why he was bent in half and still bouncing up and down. A long green stretch of fabric came down from under his stomach and two very white, very hairy legs were occasionally poking out as whoever was carrying him over their shoulder was jogging down the sidewalk.
Aha! Bob thought. It's that non-Snape person! For a few seconds Bob was transfixed by the beautiful blue slippers (with pink sequins) the person was wearing, but then he remembered his "in case you find yourself being carried over a random stranger's shoulder" manners and began kicking and punching and screaming at said random stranger.
Non-Snape dropped Bob on the floor and stood over him, long green dress billowing out and revealing the afore-mentioned long and hairy legs. He looked down on the eleven-year-old (and pushed his hat back up because it'd fallen over his eyes), and sighed dramatically.
"We need your help. All of us. The entire world is at stake and it's up to you to save it. We can't stand up against the Dark Lord without you. It's in your hands, young Bob. Will you save us all?"
Bob chewed on his lip as he lay sprawled on the pavement, thinking it over. "Sure. But only if I can keep your purse. For Louisa, of course," he clarified at the odd look (as if Non-Snape had any right to look at him funny?), and held out his beloved plug.
Meanwhile, back in the Common Room. Harry had unzipped Trolley Lady to reveal, -gasp!-, A TEDDY BEAR!
Wait, WHAT? A TEDDY BEAR? Sweet Lord Almighty, please come forth and smiteth my horrible multiple personality for she hath been inflicted with some horrendous disease to cause such pitiful Lack Of Sense –
Hey! Will you shut up? I'm quite sick of your CONSTANT badgering, alright? Just SHUT UP, already! I've gotten this far, haven't I?
Well, yeah, but I've gotten this far as well, and I haven't gotten any credit, now have I?
Well, no. You've got a point there . . . But, wait! What am I saying? You haven't been the one WRITING all of this! You just come out at random intervals and correct me or question my Almighty Authority! And yet you DO get credit because, I don't know if you've noticed, but WE ARE THE SAME PERSON!
Okay, okay! No need to get so snippy, jeez.
So, as I was saying before I was SO RUDELY interrupted, there stood a giant red teddy bear named Veruka.
Everyone stood quite still for a moment, until a 9-year-old Anakin stepped out from behind a plaid armchair that he'd been hiding behind for half the night, waiting for the right time for him to make his presence known. Mini-Ani, clad in full Tatooine-garb, pointed at the bear and said (as if it were the most obvious thing in the world which, really, it wasn't), "Hit the nose!"
Ron eagerly obeyed, as he was getting quite fond of the cheese chunks in his pockets (so much so that Hermione was starting to get jealous). He picked up one and brought it behind his head in a perfect Baseball-Pitcher Pose. Bringing one foot off the ground to give him power, he chucked the chunk at the maroon teddy bear's nose.
It, quite punctually, transformed into a large cardboard box. Said box's lid sprung opened and it gave several hiccups, launching more cardboard boxes of various sized around the room like a Russian matrioshka nesting doll.
Except it wasn't a doll, was it? It was a box.
-IGNORES evilness and takes sarcasm seriously- Yes, dearest, you are right. It wasn't a doll at all. It was a box, emitting several other boxes. Some with beautiful landscapes painted upon them, some with tartan and tie-dye prints, some chugging bottles of Pepto Bismal; as we all know, no one parties harder than a cardboard box.
Oh, yes. On that wonderfully ridiculous note let us switch settings.
Exactly, Fatty, now go eat a chocolate bar.
WAAAAAAHHHHHH!
H'okay. So. We return to Bob and Non-Snape, who was now just Snape as he had explained to Bob that he was undercover on a mission to find the first-year who Dun-Dun-Dunned like no other, and was invaluable to the War Of The Dark Lord Voldemort.
They knew that this mission was of dire importance. If they didn't reach the school in time to stop You-Know-Who, then all 6.5 billion (as of February 25, 2006 and courtesty of Wikipedia) human beings on Earth - a large number of which are adorable and innocent little babies who are chubby and soft and wonderful, by the way – would perish in the eternal fires of Lord Voldemort's reign. So, naturally, they went for pizza.
They stopped in at Dewey's Pizza (because I Googled it and it's got a cool litte planet sign I thought appropriate). Snape got bacon and sausage pizza because he thought it manly, and let's face it, withthe women's clothes he was wearing, he really needed some masculinity; Bob got salt and pudding because it was Louisa's favorite and he was a true gentlemen. Unfortunately, halfway through the pizza they both noticed a decidedly tadpole-like scent wafting from the pie ((YAAAY!MARCH 14 IS PI DAY! Get it? Pie/pi, like in math? 3.14,3/14?)) and gave the rest to a hobo on the side of the road who instantly began to tap-dance.
Eventually, they found some place in Cincinnati where there was a Floo network and Flooed to Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I wonder, have they heard of it?
Hey, I insulted you and made you cry, why aren't you sulking in a corner of my essence eating ice cream?
Because I just realized something.
Yeah, and wha's that?
To quote an idiot: "I don't know if you've noticed, but WE ARE THE SAME PERSON!"
Ah. I see.
Really?
NO! What the Cornelius Fudge are you going on about?
Well, if we're the same person . . . and I'm fat . . . Well, I think you can do the math.
No, actually, I've never been very good at algebra. . .
IF WE'RE THE SAME PEOPLE AND I'M FAT THEN SO ARE YOU!
Wait . . . you mean, I look just like you do?
Precisely. You're a lucky fellow, huh?
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOO!
. . . Well, that was rather rude. You can't go running off screaming in horror and crashing into walls you know, you've got people who are waiting for you to finish your pointless attempt at literature.
Oh blimey-in-a-jar, you're bloody unconscious? NO WAY!
Well, no doubt about it, that's pretty unconscious. Looks like I'll have to continue the story for you.
-moans-
. . . Well, if you insist. -Grins evilly- H'okay. So. Where were we?
So a pink box hiccupped from the large one and decided to sing. This was the last straw. After all, it had my multiple-personality-friend's voice (your ex-author). This voice tends to resemble a herd of pickled Bundimun skating on a frozen lake in Delaware, which – as you can imagine – is quite horrible.
Harry knew he had to put a stop to it at once. He kicked the box.
Oh, please, he so didn't kick the box.
Excuse me? He so did kick the box, I don't know what YOU'RE talking about, you're not even supposed to be CONSCIOUS!
Well, I am.
But . . . but you're fat.
Yeah. I got over it. Be gone with ye.
POOF!
. . . Hey. It WORKED! HALLELUJAH! So. He didn't kick the box. He drew his wand, moved forward to strike, and proceeded to trip over the edge of a polka-dotted rug and tapped the cardboard box with his foot.
It fell over onto its side and turned into Voldemort.
I would use more dramatic effect but it's 12:12 AM and I don't feel like it. Deal.
Voldemort stood up and brandished his wand at the world, prepared to Avada Kedavra its arse to smithereens. At that point, Snape and Bob crashed through the portrait hole.
Neville had retrieved his Mimbulus mimbletonia from beside Dean and was standing straight and ready to take on anyone who dared to take it from him.
Dean was unconscious, lucky bugger.
Colin was licking his Death with distress.
Parvati had given up trying to detach the licorice from her tongue and it hung down to her chin from her opened mouth.
Lavender had decided Mini-Ani was the most adorable thing ever and was poking him in the stomach like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.
Snape hugged the vulture hat to his chest in an effort to survive the horrible tension.
Ginny, who had been taking hula lessons in her dormitory, walked down the stairs and sat on the singing pink box to shut it up.
Told ya you had a horrible voice.
Shut up.
Harry held his toe and suddenly grew a life-long deep and highly prejudiced loathing of all rugs everywhere in the world.
Hermione released her hair clip and shook her hair down around her shoulders, grabbing Ron's hand and knowing that if they were to plunge into the depths of eternal hell, there was nowhere she'd rather her hand be.
Ron's (possibly) last Words O' Wisdom were, "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak," in honor of the greatest wizard that ever lived.
Tom Riddle opened his mouth in preparation to utter the words that would ignite the world in fire and brimstone.
Bob, the Dun-Dun-Dun-First-Year-With-The-Really-Deep-Voice, clutched Louisiana in his hand and whispered, "Dun. Dun. Dun."
And Voldemort was ashes.
And the world was saved.
And Bob became the Boy-Who-Dunned.
And Harry had something to do with it.
And Ginny's hula instructor – who happened to be Barney – came down the stairs, put an Elvis record and started to dance.
And they weren't nuttin but a hound dog.