Dysfunctional Equanimity

"Dammit, Elisabeth, would you chew with your mouth closed? Believe it or not, we really aren't too keen on seeing your chewed-up Chocolate Frogs in their natural habitat."

Several other students seated at the Slytherin table snickered as chubby, blonde, curly-headed Elisabeth Parkinson-Nott quickly shut her mouth and swallowed the remainder of her snack. "Sorry, Cassandra."

The small witch seated next to Elisabeth who had spoken so harshly sneered. "I would certainly hope you'd be sorry, after offending my delicate sensebilities like that." As she spoke, Cassandra Clairsworth sat up straighter in her seat and tossed a haze of hair the color of blood over her shoulder. The corners of her catlike mouth quirked up into a mirthless smile as Elisabeth shrunk down into her chair under her, Cassandra's, imperious gaze. A snort-- elegant and feminine, but a snort nonetheless-- escaped from the false grin.

"Delicate sensebilities my ass."

At this comment, Cassandra jerked around in her seat to meet the narrowed hazel eyes of Heidi Tandell, a tall girl with short brown hair cropped close around her ears. This hairstyle, along with her button nose, gave her the appearance of an elf standing on a box. The drab khaki jacket and nondescript tee-shirt-- Hogwarts robes having become obsolete since the incredible influx of Muggle-borns and half-bloods had demanded a more relaxed dress code-- that adorned her torso did nothing for her pale, sallow complexion. She wore no makeup, and maple-colored freckles dotted her nose under thin, blond eyelashes. The strong contrast between her button nose and angular jaw was further distinguished by the usual position of her mouth, set in a thin, hard, unwavering line.

"What did you say?" asked Cassandra dangerously, pale green eyes glittering.

Heidi rolled her eyes. "Nothing, Cass. Absolutely nothing."

Cassandra smiled, her mouth turning up at the corners. "That's what I thought."

*

"That's what I thought," said Amy MacNamara mockingly, eyes fixed on the section of the Slytherin table where Cassandra and her cronies were seated. "Honestly. What the hell crawled up her arse and died?" The brunette Gryffindor nervously tugged on the end of her messy ponytail.

"A Blast-Ended Skrewt," replied Al Weasley, not even bothering to look up from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Five. Because his freckled nose was most often buried in the pages of a book, the classmates of this ultra-studious member of the infamous Weasley dynasty had become more than used to holding conversations with his bent head of fiery red hair. "What else?"

"There's no way in hell a Skrewt could fit up her scrawny arse," commented Rosalind Weasley, smacking her gum loudly as she spoke. "I highly doubt if even your standard bug could make its way up there."

Al glanced up at his almost-identical cousin irritably. "Must you do that? You remind me of a cow who's gone postal on its own cud."

Rosalind stuck her tongue out at him.

Next to her, Aaron Barrett snorted. "Weasel, the tongue looks better when it's inside your mouth. Mind returning it to its original location?"

Rosalind's blue eyes shimmered dangerously, appraising the specimen of teenage male placed before her. The short, energetic Quidditch Seeker was known to hate only two things in the world more than Slytherins: circus folk and Aaron Barrett. She hated everything about her fellow fifth-year Gryffindor, from his spiky brown hair to his yellow-tinted glasses to his bowling shirt embroidered with "Larry" to his well-worn slate khakis to his dog-chewed DC sneakers. "Listen, Barrett, I told you not to call me that--"

"Aaron, dear, has it ever crossed your mind that Rosalind is very likely to attack you with a rusty pair of tweezers if you refer to her as ‘Weasel' again?"

Aaron winced as Marie-Kaitrine Dominique Patil, a formidable girl with an astounding mass of curly dark blonde hair and an intimidating French accent, sat down in the chair to his right. "Actually, Kaites, it has, believe it or not."

"Couldn't possibly have, Barrett doesn't even have a mind for anything to cross. Sorry to be late, gang, but Father insisted we meet the new professors before coming down to eat," remarked Kaites's twin sister Persephone Longbottom. The straight-haired-- and unmistakably British-- girl was the distorted mirror image of her sister. Taking a seat next to Al and crossing one leg over the other in order to adjust the buckle of one ubiquitous combat boot, she continued. "Am I right, though, about Aaron?"

Aaron glared at Persephone. "Careful, Perri, you might disturb the little gnomes living in your boots."

Perri flicked a middle finger in his direction, a risky action when one considered the fact that her estranged parents, Parvati Patil and Neville Longbottom, were the new Divination professor and assistant Headmaster, respectively. Luckily, both were seated at the Head Table and were far too engrossed in one of their frequent arguments to pay any attention to the actions of their twin daughters. Two of the new professors, Professor Thomas of Muggle Studies and Dr. Branford of Defense Against the Dark Arts, had the poor luck to be seated between the feuding divorcées, and both could be seen with their hands over their ears. "Shut up, Barrett. You aren't worth wasting my valuable, minty-fresh breath."

She turned to Dan Regan, a short, chubby fifth-year who played reserve Chaser on the Quidditch team. "So, Danny boy, how was your summer?"

"As fun as a summer can be when you spend it with him," replied Dan irritably, jerking a thumb at a group of seventh-years. It was common knowledge that Dan's stepbrother Aidian Kipper was among those in that group. "Everything is Nay this, Nay that, nothing but Nay since we got off the train in June. That girl's ears must have been ringing all summer." He rolled his eyes. "Where's Mark, by the way?"

"Probably off chasing some skirt," said Perri ruefully. Up until two weeks ago, she had been steadily dating Mark Wood, a popular seventh-year who was the captain of the Quidditch team. "I still cannot believe that he was actually so stupid as to not only arrange a date with me at the same time as he'd planned on meeting that Slytherin bitch, but at the same place!"

Al finally looked up from his book. "Which Slytherin bitch? They all seem to be."

Perri shot a dark look at the Slytherins, most of whom in turn glared back. "Cassandra Clairsworth, of course. Who else?"

"You mean she actually sank so low as to date a Gryffindor?" asked Amy sarcastically, adjusting her glasses. "Didn't think she had the stones."

"Amy, sweetie, you'd probably agree to marry Severus Snape if he had the posterior of Mark Wood," said Rosalind regretfully. "It's a shame that ass was wasted on such a conceited prat."

"You would be conceited, too, if you looked as he does," sighed Kaites, twisting one curly lock of hair around her finger absently. "Mon dieu, is he ever gorgeous."

"Okay, can we discuss a more acceptable subject for dinner conversation? Such as squeezing bubotubers for the pus?" asked Aaron irritably. "Really, this is enough to make me lose my breakfast."

"How did he ever get tangled up with that little piece of Hell?" continued Rosalind, pointedly ignoring Aaron.

Perri shrugged. "Got me. I'd thought she was involved with Dave Lawrence, but I suppose I was wrong."

"Speaking of people who are simply too hot to be allowed..." sighed Amy, casting a longing look at the prefects' end of the Slytherin table, where the male in question was seated. "If he weren't in Slytherin, I think I'd make a go for him."

Amy's sentiment was echoed by most of the female population of Hogwarts; girls had been known to faint if Dave Lawrence were to say ‘hello' to them. Perfectly set blonde spikes rose from his head, six feet and two inches from the ground. Clear hazel eyes, a perfectly shaped nose, and a sardonic smile were set against the backdrop of a tanned face; beneath his outfit of black chinos and a green shirt, his body was the godlike equilibrium of muscle and lean. He was the perfect combination of all-around good-guy looks and bad-boy appeal. His being in Slytherin House, however, severely limited the amount of girls willing to speak to him.

"Good luck," snorted Rosalind, "half the girls in the school are all over him. Not much chance of you even getting to breathe in his delectable Gucci cologne."

Al slammed his book shut. "Aaron, about those bubotubers--"

*

CRASH!

The Flying Midget hit the ground with an almighty clatter; its three occupants were flung from the car in the process of said messy landing. Fortunately, a last-minute Cushion Spell from the wand of one of the occupants helped to soften their landing a bit.

"Oh, shit."

"What the hell..."

"Mommy, can I have some toast and jam? Mommy, I'm hungry..."

"Joey, get your face the hell out of my shirt."

"Aw, Lin-- I mean, Mommy?"

With an exasperated sigh, Linda Potter pulled Joey Malfoy's face out of the neckline of her heather-grey tank top. "If I ever catch you doing that again--"

"You'll spank me?" interrupted Joey hopefully.

"AAAUGH!" screamed Linda, standing up and brushing grass off of her army green flood pants. "Tell me, Joey, do you like being able to write your name in the snow?"

Joey quickly shut up.

Bobby Weasley rolled his eyes. "It figures," he said to no one in particular, "my car plummets out of the sky into the middle of nowhere, becoming totaled in the process, and yet Linda and Joey are still fighting over Joey's overactive hormones. Why am I not surprised?"

"Because the fact remains that World War Three could erupt at this very second and I would still have no other objective than to kick Joey square in the balls for being a little bastard," answered Linda, glaring at Joey.

Joey grinned cheekily. "You love me, and you know it," he said, tugging at one of Linda's braided pigtails.

"Touch the hair and die, Malfoy."

"As long as I get to do it young and pretty, dying doesn't bother me," he replied cheerily. "What do you say we figure out where the hell we are?"

Bobby cuffed him on the back of his pretty blonde head. "News flash, Captain Pervert. If you'd been spending the last few minutes looking at your surroundings rather than staring into Linda's cleavage without restraint, you'd see where exactly we are."

Joey rolled his eyes at his cousin before looking around him; in the distance, a monstrous stone castle lay, illuminated by the light bouncing off a huge lake. The Flying Midget had conveniently landed on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. "Okay, Schmucky, I get your point," he said grudgingly. "Now what?"

"Now we put on white face paint and re-enact the final scene of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in all its transsexual glory," said Linda caustically. "What do you think we do, dumbass? We go up to the school."

"What was the first option again?"

Linda smacked him. "You know, I sometimes wonder what it was Draco and Ginny were smoking when they conceived you."

"I think I know my parents well enough to answer that question," answered Joey, unfazed. "They had probably gotten into a huge fight, became smashed out of their minds at separate bars, came home, and conceived me during wildly drunken makeup sex, the sheer adrenaline of which--"

"Okay, Joey, that's enough to give me nightmares for weeks," interrupted Bobby. "It was disturbing enough seeing Linda's parents doing it--"

"They were not doing it," said Linda, pupils dilating and face going pale. "They were trying to get a quarter out of the couch cushions and accidentally fell on top of one another..."

Bobby grinned widely, beginning to make his way up the hill that led to Hogwarts. "Sure, Linda. You can believe whatever you want to believe. But as far as I'm concerned, your parents were having a little more fun than people normally would be while attempting to find a quarter. If I'm not mistaken, they were getting pretty close to--" he lowered his voice several octaves-- "having sex."

"Face it, Linda," said Joey, "your parents had to have sex in order for you to be here. And if I'm not mistaken, they continue to do so on a regular basis. They probably do so more than the average couple--"

"AUUUGH!" screamed Linda, running up the hill. "No! I was a test-tube baby! Foam-born! Immaculately conceived! No way in hell did my parents have sex! That's not possible!"

"Linda, it's quite simple," called Joey, running after her. "First, your parents, who loved each other very much, decided they wanted to express their love in a physical manner..."

"No, Joey, it's ‘wanted to have a child'," interrupted Bobby, following the other two. "So, the mommy and the daddy got into bed--"

Linda, who had reached the monolithic front doors of the school, let out an unearthly howl, the exact same horrific scream she'd let out the previous September when she had discovered that the Gap had run out of size 10 petite corduroy flares in rust. "NO!"

"Yes," corrected Joey, who had caught up with her. "And then, they started kissing--"

Before he could eke out another word, Linda pulled her wand out of her massive handbag and pointed it at him. "Sansvetements," she muttered.

"What's that? Vetements? Linda, did you hit me with a fashion-victim spell again?" laughed Joey, not noticing the tasteful khaki light that had shot from the tip of Linda's wand. "I'm not particularly scared, although that leather catsuit you put me in last time gave my poor parents quite a scare--"

"Oh, no, Joey," replied Linda evenly, "it's not a fashion victim spell."

"No, it's not," agreed Bobby, who had made it to where his friends were standing. "It's definitely not that."

"Well, what is it?" asked Joey, completely oblivious to the effect the spell had taken upon him.

Linda snorted. "Look down, Joey dearest."

Joey did as he was told, not expecting the sight that met his pale grey eyes. "What the hell--"

Instead of seeing the clothes he had so carelessly chosen that morning-- plaid shirt, khaki pants, and beaten sneakers-- Joey was unpleasantly surprised to see that he was clad only in his overexposed down-arrow boxers. Linda's spell had succeeded in ridding him of his clothing.

"I must have mucked up the inflection," Linda was musing. "You're not supposed to even have those on, by all rights you should be starkers--"

She was cut off by a red-faced Joey launching himself at her with inhuman force. "You are going to PAY for this!" he was yelling in his best William Wallace emulation.

Linda took time for one brief, well-deserved giggle before turning around, pushing in the doors, and speeding into the Hogwarts entry foyer. Joey, of course, scrambled after her.

Behind them, Bobby groaned. "Joey really can't keep his trousers on today, can he?" he muttered before grudgingly following them into the building.

*

Meanwhile, inside the Great Hall, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was delivering his annual beginning-of-term speech. The students in the Hall sat in silence, paying rapt attention to their exalted Headmaster's words. However, the same could not be said of their teachers.

Per usual, Potions Master Severus Snape of Slytherin and Transfiguration Teacher Minerva McGonagall of Gryffindor were glaring at each other from their seats at opposing ends of the table; over the years, this action had been repeated so many times that the students had lost all interest. Assistant Headmaster Neville Longbottom and his ex-wife, Parvati Patil of Divination, were sending hexes at one another under the table. The breadbasket next to Parvati was mysteriously empty, and Neville was frequently wincing. Professor Binns, the ancient History ghost, was floating above his seat, not noticing that Peeves was carefully affixing long pink nails to his ghostly hands. Hagrid, the gamekeeper, was still absent; in recent years, he had been assigned to the entirety of the Sorting, down to calling out the names of the first years. Various other professors were in various states of boredom, confusion, and irritation at Parvati's poor aim with grain rolls.

"...a full list can be obtained in Argus Filch's office," Dumbledore was saying. "Now, however, we will move onto the annual highlight of our feast, the Sorting of the First Years! Hagrid?"

At precisely that moment, a rumbling came from outside the doors that sounded exactly like the heavy footfalls of the gamekeeper and the nervous tiptoes of the first-years. However, the figure that fell through the door looked nothing like Hagrid, and those that followed were certainly not first-years.

"Dammit, Joey, it was just a joke! Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" said the first figure, oblivious to what she had just walked in on. "You are so screwed..."

She flattened herself against the door as two more figures ran in, one wearing a bemused smirk and a Hawaiian shirt, the other clad only in boxer shorts. It was this second boy that spoke first. "Linda, I am this close to--"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Nice of you to join us, Miss Potter, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Weasley."

All three of the recent entries turned, paled, and gulped.

Linda groaned. "Toto, I don't think we're in Massachusetts anymore..."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock."

Joey whimpered, now fully aware that approximately five hundred strangers were staring at him in nothing but his underwear. "And I thought this day couldn't get any more degrading than it already was, dammit."

Linda and Bobby turned to him at the same time. "Shut up, Malfoy!"

The entirety of the Great Hall watched this scene play out in interest, Persephone and Kaites in particular. Finally, the former spoke.

"Joey, put some pants on so I can kick you hard in the arse!"

*