The Goo Squad

Chapter Two

Lord Voldemort sat in his secret lair, plotting the downfall of the sixteen-year-old Boy Who Lived. Cackling, he envisioned Harry Potter wreathed in flames and shrivelling to ashes.

"My Lord?" asked Lucius Malfoy, bowing as he entered the innermost recess of the dark caverns.

Lord Voldemort snapped out of his reverie. "What is it, Squib?" he hissed.

Lucius quivered. "My Lord, I'm not a Squib! I just...sort of...have no magical powers...." His voice trailed off as he fell flat on his face trying to defend himself.

"Whatever," said the Dark Lord dismissively, brushing Lucius aside. "Now, what did you interrupt my musings for, you pathetic excuse for a fledgling wizard?"

"I just wanted to tell you that a known Mudblood and supporter of Harry Potter has appeared in our lair and knows the passwords. She is Hermione Granger, but insists that she is actually Bulstrode, our Agent 42."

"Ahhh..." sighed Lord Voldemort. "Bring her to me."

"At once, my Lord," Lucius nodded, then drew a Walkie-Talkie from his pocket and pressed line 3. "Crabbe!" he barked. "This is Malfoy. Bring Her Royal Highness the Mudblood in at once."

Lord Voldemort watched, disinterested. "You know, Squib, you could just yell. The lair isn't that big. Or you could run and get him."

Lucius shrugged. "I don't yell; it's undignified. And running is the most undignified of all."

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Walk and get him, then."

"Am I a common errand-boy?" shrieked Lucius. "I mean--sorry, My Lord, not my place to yell at you."

"And if you had any proper wizarding skills, you could just use your wand," murmered Voldemort. Lucius flushed but remained silent.

"My Lord, here is the Mudblood."

"I'm not a Mudblood!" insisted Hermione, who was really Millicent Bulstrode, Agent 42.

"She isn't, Nott," Voldemort agreed. "Polyjuice Potion."

Goyle's mouth slid open and a puzzled look appeared on his face. Crabbe spoke for both of them. "Uh...what's that?"

"It changes you into another person, you fool!" yelled Lucius, hoping to redeem himself somewhat. "It's the wizard equivalent of makeup or plastic surgery."

Naturally, this just confused the Death Eaters even more.

"Oh, get out of my sight, all of you!" Lord Voldemort lost his patience. The bumbling Death Eaters cowered and Disapparated. Well, all except Lucius. He waited for further instructions or comments, feeling that he was not included in the "all of you." For once, he was right.

"Malfoy," groaned He Who Must Not Be Named, But Is Named Anyway Because The Author Gets Tired Of All The Hush-Hush Stuff. "Malfoy, what is plastic surgery?"

Lucius was only too eager to explain. "It's Muggle medicine, My Lord. They take knives, cut themselves open, and change the way they look."

Lord Voldemort groaned again and buried his head in his hands. "Why," he asked, his voice full of suffering. "Why are all my Death Eaters dimwits who don't know simple potions and do know Muggle idiocy?"

"It's not idiocy!" snapped Lucius. "Muggles have the most remarkable ways of dealing without magic, you'd be surprised! They have this fantastic--this incredible--this amazing device called a computer. Unbelieveable, really. I gave Draco one for his birthday."

"Why do you insist in ruining the only promising future Death Eater I have?"

Lucius Malfoy bit his lip. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but don't blame me. My wife is really to blame--Narcissa puts the funniest ideas into his head....You know, My Lord, now he's obsessed with rabbits?"

"Go away, Malfoy."

Lucius obliged.

"Bulstrode--anything to report?"

"No, master. Just that something is going wrong with my plans."

"Oh, no."

"I knocked out Granger and took her place, like you said. I hid her in a safe spot...very safe...with Petrificus Totalus. Then of course I was reported missing. Since then, Dumbledore has stated that I am being held hostage by Bacon Man, author of the Snuggly Bunny books, because I have information about some "UK Goo Squad" that he wants. I'm confused...and then I went back to check on Granger and she's disappeared."

"Get out. Come back when something interesting happens." Voldemort tried to return to dreams of Harry on fire, but Harry gradually seeped out and soon it was all fire...all fire, destroying, eating at everything, hungry and powerful and FIRE!!! He sighed happily and thought about matches, some Muggle firestarter Lucius had mentioned. "I wonder where I can get some...."

Ron was feeling very lonely. Hermione was helping the troll student study, and Harry had run off again. That left him sitting alone in Snape's cell, surrounded by Slytherins. He didn't even have Harry's plushie Snuggly Bunny to console him, as Dean and Seamus had hidden it again. He was also confused. What had Harry meant by Gryffindor? He'd been trying to beat them at Quidditch for years now, hadn't he? And why did Harry keep plunging Hufflepuff's point level into negative numbers?

In short, Ron was not having a pleasant Potions class. The Dominga Draught was proving very difficult, and without his two best friends to do it for him or something to squeeze in despair, he was lost.

"I can't do it, Professor, I just can't!" he burst out. "Hermione's flirting with a troll, and Harry's lost his mind, and Dean and Seamus don't play fair, and neither do you, giving all those points to Slytherin and all that! And Millicent Bulstrode is missing!"

Hermione looked up quickly, and then hurriedly pretended she hadn't.

"Fifty points from Hufflepuff for criticising my methods, Weasley," Snape said silkily. "And next time it will be double the amount."

"That's not fair!" cried Ron, stamping his foot down on Snape's toe.

"Why, you little..." Snape lunged, and caught Ron by the hair. Ron retaliated by kicking Snape in a very painful spot. All hell ensued.

Ten minutes later, with a black eye, a bloody nose, and a partially shredded ear, Ron marched toward the headmaster's office to report for sentencing. Suspension stronly recommended. He didn't like to think about what his Mum would say (he wasn't so worried about Fred and George's reactions), so he tried singing to lighten his spirits.

"Hi ho, hi ho, I bit my teacher's toe; that dirty rat, he bit me back, hi ho, hi ho hi ho hi ho...."

This caterwaul struck fear into the hearts of all those who were lined up in front of Dumbledore's office trying to get in. For some reason, the guardian gargoyle was jammed. At first they thought it was only Peeves, but he was in line with Filch, who was muttering gleefully about "Petroleum, oh, Peeves, I have you now!"

You see, Ron's warbling was as loud as it was off-key, and could be heard from three floors down and several corridors away. As it got closer and closer, the Hogwarts staff, students, and extras were unable to explain it. And even in the wizarding world--especially in the wizarding world--inexplicable noises aren't a good sign.

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared. "All right, everyone!" she announced. "The most likely explanation for this disturbance is, I'm sure you all know, a plot by the devious and deceitful Bacon Man."

Draco Malfoy, who was going to lodge a complaint with the Headmaster that students were not allowed to hold seminars on Squib-baiting (always divert suspicion), jumped. "That's not true!" he protested. "It's Potter's fault!"

"Don't talk nonsense, Malfoy," Professor McGonagall said shortly. "Now, teachers, it is our duty to protect our charges until death. Wands at the ready, please, and stand with me here in front of the students. Students, if this...thing is not a diversionary tactic and does succeed in disabling us, your only hope is to run. I hope you've been training. Now, teachers, be prepared for anything!"

The teachers in question were Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey, and Filch. Mrs. Norris was nowhere in sight. They stood grimly, a last stand ready to give their all for the motley crew of fledgling wizards behind them. The eerie noises grew ever louder, ever closer. In time, they began to distinguish words.

"Hi ho, hi ho, I had a ten-foot 'fro; he pulled it out, that dirty trout, hi ho, hi ho hi ho hi ho."

"Wo's that?" whispered Filch.

"Obviously some incantation full of Dark magic," McGonagall responded, lips thinning. "Now, students, be ready to run. Teachers, be ready to fire. We shall all try to hex it at once, whatever it is."

"I'll use Impedimenta," Madam Pomfrey declared.

"I suppose Disarming it wouldn't be a bad idea...." Professor Sprout said thoughtfully.

"I'll use a Bat-Bogey Hex," Professor McGonagall mused. "They certainly seem to work well for little Miss Weasley."

Filch shifted uncomfortably as all eyes turned on him. "'Ere, now, I've got this, 'aven't I?" he pointed out, grasping Peeves by the ear. "I'll send 'im at 'em, now."

"Brace yourselves," Professor McGonagall said, gritting her teeth. "It's getting closer."

The strange and sinusitic singing grew ever nearer. "Pomfrey, you've been a good friend," said Professor McGonagall shortly. "And the same for you, Sprout, Filch, Peeves, students. Remember that."

The singing was now upon them...any moment, it would turn the corridor...the moment came, and they stood face-to-face with--

"Weasley!" exclaimed Professor McGonagall. "What are you doing here? That's a detention! And fifty points from Hufflepuff!"

Ernie McMillan glared daggers at Ron.

"But, Professor, Professor Snape told me to!" Ron protested.

"That's fifty more points, Weasley, for listening to Severus Snape instead of your teacher!" (Ernie McMillan's veins were on the verge of popping.)

"He is my teacher!"

"When's the last time he ever taught you anything? Care to answer that one, Weasley?"

Ron considered. It had been an awfully long time.

"And that's fifty more points for arguing with me," she finished.

Ernie MacMillan launched himself at Ron.

"Five more points for fighting, Weasley, and if you don't stop this instant it'll be fifty." Ernie reluctantly released Ron.

"Now, Weasley, what do you think you are doing?"

"Snape sent me to the Headmaster's office, Professor."

"Why didn't you go to the hospital wing, Weasley? You look an absolute disgrace."

"That was Snape, too, Professor. He said, 'Go to Dumbledore. Do not pass the hospital wing. Do not collect 200 Galleons.'"

"Hm, a literary allusion," mused Filch.

"That's from Monopoly!" Malfoy exclaimed.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow. "I didn't know you took Muggle Studies, Malfoy."

"I--I--um, Obliviate!" Draco yelled. The whole corridor collapsed, burying the tecahers and Ron under the rubble. "What are you looking at?" he asked Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"You, of course," Justin replied, openmouthed. "You just destroyed the bank robbers. You must be Superman!"

He then launched into singing at least as off-key as Ron's. "Superman, Superman, does whatever a Super can!"

"You mean Spiderman," said Malfoy.

"I didn't know you were Muggle born, Malfoy," Justin said, the mist clearing from his eyes a little.

"I--I--um, Obliviate!" The remainder of the corridor collapsed, burying Malfoy along with the rest of the students. This left Harry Potter, who was fast losing consciousness as the gargoyle crushed him, the best off of all the people in the corridor. Mrs. Norris was still nowhere to be seen.

Dumbledore paced his study, frowning. What to do about Severus Snape? He wondered. He's really more trouble than he's worth, what with Moldy Wart being after him and all. A sudden crash broke through his reverie.

"Well, that's that," he said out loud. "I really have no choice but to fire him. I hate to let him go, though, after all these years. And he's risked his life an awful lot. Not that that's of any consequence. Still, I suppose I could let him be the caretaker. Apprenticed to Filch, of course. Now I wonder what all that noise was?"