The Carnivorous Pony

It all started off in potions. No one really knows why it always starts off in potions, although the widely held theory is that the presence of Professor Snape, who, despite being a greasy, vindictive man, old enough to be any of his class's father, is in fact a sex god biding his time and exerting his influences on the students.

"You should have prepared your recipes for your truth potions by now." He said, leering at Lavender Brown, who, instead of running away screaming simply giggled. "We will be testing them at the end of the class."

The class brewed their potions without much event, although several of them were realising how attractive their potions teacher actually was. Ron wondered why he'd never noticed that that mysterious smell of mildew that hung about Snape's person was actually essence of muskrat, his favourite smell...

"Right, goblets out and test your potions."

Hermione raised her potion to her lips, ready to drink it, when a drop of water from the damp dungeon ceiling splashed into her cup, turning the potion from crystal clear to mucky brown.

"Noooooo!" Snape yelled, diving across several desks to knock the cup out of her hand, but he was too late. On swallowing some of the potion, Hermione had turned into a broom. Not a Firebolt or a Nimbus 2001, either, but the sort of broom Filch used to sweep up after Peeves.

Everyone gasped, except Draco Malfoy, who had been seized with the need to list all the euphemisms for 'erection' that he'd ever heard, and had not noticed.

"Dammit!" shouted Snape, "I always hoped this wouldn't happen to one of my students..." here, he couldn't resist a trademark leer, "the drinker of a truth potion mixed with dungeon water is instantly transported to another dimension and is replaced with an ordinary household object. Someone will have to go after Hermione and bring her back."

Everyone looked thunderstruck.

"I'll do it!" shouted Malfoy, who was imagining he'd been offered the chance to write the definitive work on euphemisms.

"Excellent, Mr Malfoy," said Snape, "I'll get the dungeon water."

Draco Malfoy accepted the challenge, because he had not been paying attention. Now he was quite pleased that he had, for no other reason than that he had a broom fetish.

Not a mild one at that, but an obscene liking for them that was hardly less than concupiscent.

He liked the shape of the handle, the way that it shined in the moonlight, and most of all, the pointed twigs in the brush. He shuddered; just thinking about it gave him ideas for the definitive works on euphemisms.

Professor Snape sauntered up a ladder to get some dungeon water off the ceiling. He climbed the ladder as ostentatiously as possible, and everyone knew he only did it to give the class a peek at his chamber of secrets. They all obliged, gathering at the foot of the ladder, gazing into the folds of his underskirts. His discipline was at best; lax when it came to horny students, but that was the view the school took.

As Professor Snape descended the ladder, trying to please his fans, he curtsied on the bottom step.

And in true movie fashion, DISASTER STRUCK,

Professor Snape tripped, spilling the potion over the whole class. Everyone who had been touched with it was replaced. Snape nonchalantly turned to walk out of the classroom, but paused at what had replaced Malfoy. It was a tin of pink emulsion. Snape raised one eyebrow and quickly hid the tin under his robes. He would have fun with that later.

It is entirely possible that the class had ended up in a completely other dimension and were, at that very moment learning about each other's hidden sensitive sides, or unwittingly taking part in ancient mating rituals.

You, dear reader, will have to wait for the next instalment of The Carnivorous Pony to find out...