Harry Potter and the Pepperoni of Doom!

CHAPTER THREE

"Where are we?"

"I don't know? Who are you?"

"What do you mean who am I? You know who I am, you silly sod."

"Mummy, I'm scared. Give me your hand."

"Bugger off. I'm a real man. I don't get scare-AAAAAGGGHHHH! WHAT'S THAT RUNNING UP MY LEG? GERROFF ME."

The person did what could be described as a very bad Irish Jig, the like of which had last been seen by a rather simple Hufflepuff girl, going by the name of Sinead, the previous Christmas, after a sweet sherry got mixed up in her mince pie.

"Why is it dark in here?" he screamed, shaking his leg and praying that whatever it was didn't get anywhere near the family jewels.

His friend shoved him away, lest whatever was on his companion leapt over to him. Not a mean feat when you're trapped in a tiny broom cupboard.

"We're in a sodding broom cupboard. We went looking for that Muggle meat thingy."

"Finch-Fletchley? Why?"

"No you prat, pepperonoli, or whatever it's called. We got lost on the way to the kitchen, don't you remember?"

"Oh God, Crabbe, what are we going to do? How did we get lost? How did we end up in this cupboard? What's this thing - OH? MY GOD. OH. MY. GOD."

* * *

Meanwhile, in a dark corner of the school, an evil force was rising.

"Did you bring the final ingredient?" a voice whispered.

"Y-Y-Yes," its companion squeaked. "Fe-fennel, two pounds, top grade. I chopped it too, m'lord."

"Good. Good. And the pig intestines?"

"I have our poultry expert working on it."

"And the leg warmers?" The owner of the voice rubbed its hands together.

"Right here, m'lord, but I was - I was wondering... why?"

"Because, you imbecile! I plan on having a rendezvous with the Boy Who Lived Chastely tonight, and I cannot do that without hiding these atrocious ankles!

* * *
Ron reached out and grabbed Hermione's shoulders, turning her away from walking straight into a wall.

"Watch where you're going," he instructed. Again.

"But I don't understand it," she said, waving around her chart. "There simply wasn't enough time! There wasn't! Why, even I appear to be in two places at once, with both Neville and you, but that's impossible, because we all know that Luna was failing to seduce you during those same ten minutes!"

"And speaking of seduction," Ron said, now breathing rather heavily, "how much time do we have before we have to meet Malfoy?"

Hermione smiled. "Enough."

And so, when Harry came around the corner, he was faced with the sight of his best friends on the floor, frantically trying to undo the zipper on Hermione's skirt.

He was furious. Everyone was leaving him out! Why didn't Hermione want to have random meaningless sex with him? He was the Boy Who Lived, for goodness sake! The Boy Who Lived! Hello!

"KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" he screamed.

* * *

Downstairs in the kitchen, a mini revolt was taking place.

"She Who Must Not Be Named is wanting her feeding now," whispered one of the house elves, LeeLee.

"We is not keeping her waiting. We isn't," hiccoughed a rather strange house elf. She was new in the service, having been given clothes by the powerful American Wizarding Family, the M's of Arizona for being, well, crap. "She is wanting the perper-per-"

"SAY NOT THE NAME. SAY NOT THE NAME," screamed LeeLee, and emptied the washing up bowl over her head. LeeLee ran under the kitchen table, where Winky and Wizzy (another simple house-elf) were challenging each other to a 'duel to the death' over the last Butterbeer.

The kitchen door slammed open.

"WHERE IS IT?" screamed the ginger-haired harpy. "I WANT IT. I NEED IT NOW."

The elves all shook with fright as they bowed low. She Who Must Not Be Named had come to their work place. And she was in a baaaad mood.

Molly Weasley advanced towards the cowering house elves.

"If I don't get my 8 inch spicy length THIS instant, I shall have to perform my special 'Nagguseveryoneintooblivion Curse' until you won't know the time of day, you good-for-nothing specimens of wretched life!" fumed the chubby witch, her plump cheeks aquiver.

"Oh dear, Madam," apologised Wizzy, the most intelligent of the house elves. "I'm afraid your daughter, Ginny, has used up most of the sacred supply. It has also been the source of interest for a lot of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students, and they keep stealing from us when we is cleaning up the mess Professor Dumbledore leaves when he washes his instruments in his study. The pork swords are almost g-g-g-g-gone!"

"Wwwwwhhhaaattt?!" shouted the unpleasantly porcine woman now pulsating with frustration and fury.

"That harlot of a daughter of mine. How could she do this to her own mother? I knew she was getting a reputation for being wanton, but being the veritable yellow jersey of the Tour de Hogwarts in the wizarding world of sleaze makes me want to disown her! To rob her mother of the one source of pleasure is tantamount to being in cahoots with You Know Who! Not only this, it seems most of the other students are getting a taste for it too. I suppose I will have to make do with Arthur and his fumblings now! "

She turned on her heel and Disapparated.

"How did she do that? I thought you couldn't Disapparate in Hogwarts," said a particularly backward house-elf called Tina.

"Oh for goodness sake," snapped Winky. "You've been listening to that twerp, Hermione Granger, too much."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the broom cupboard:

"Shut up, Goyle!" said Crabbe, quickly slapping his friend about his face. "Pull yourself together, man!"

"Pull myself together? It's dark, there's something on my leg thrusting itself into my kneecap and I think it grazed me just now, and I'M HUNGRY!"

They fumbled about the cupboard, knocking mops against the door and stepping into cheap wooden pails, smashing several. More than once they conked heads trying to pry whatever the hell it was off Goyle's leg.

"I can't reach my wand," said Crabbe through clenched teeth. "You're too fat! You're too fecking fat!"

"I've got mine!" squealed a relieved Goyle. He swished it with a flick of his wrist, popping Crabbe on his pug-nose.

"You stupid ass, Goyle!"

"LEMONS!"

Nothing happened. A deep growling and spitting sound began, emanating from Goyle's knee.

"It's 'Lumos', you twat!" fumed Crabbe, snatching the wand out of his friend's chubby hand. "Lumos! Lumos, Lumos, Lumos! Goddammit!"

A dim glow revealed the two boys' faces too close for comfort. It was then that they noticed they had been breathing on each other's faces, panting their hot, humid, meaty breath, tickling the other's nose. They quickly pulled back and slammed their skulls on opposite walls of the tiny broom cupboard.

"Right," blushed Crabbe. "So, something on your leg, yes?"

"Yes, please. I mean, yes, there's something on my leg moving further up my thigh."

"Very well. You need a new wand, Goyle - this light is about as worthless as if it came from those damned Lucifer Sticks those Muggles use."

Crabbe slid the wand down Goyle's obese body to his leg, where a hissing, foaming-at-the-mouth Mrs. Norris could be seen biting Goyle's thick thigh and rubbing herself against his kneecap.

Goyle looked down. "Completely mixed-up, that one! The Mudblood's mangy cat, sure, but Mrs. Norris?"

"She must be in heat, poor thing," mumbled an astounded Crabbe.

The two fat Slytherins' heads snapped up suddenly, their faces pale in the poorly lit cupboard. The realisation quickly setting in that if Mrs. Norris was humping one of their legs there in the cupboard, not too far behind her would be-

The cupboard door creaked open.

"FILCH!" screamed Goyle.

"FUCK!" yelled Crabbe.

"Meow," went Mrs. Norris.

Crabbe and Goyle fidgeted nervously in Mr. Filch's mouldy office. Filch was scrambling around the room excitedly, looking for something. As soon as he found what he was looking for, he came back to the desk and sat in his moth-eaten chair, smiling malevolently at the porky boys in front of him.

"Forms," he said, holding up two identical pieces of parchment. "Forms to get you two boys punished. I told Dumbledore that there were students taking things from my broom cupboard! And I find you two, with the help of Mrs. Norris, lurking in there in the dark." Filch looked fondly down to Mrs. Norris, who was feverishly humping his left leg.

"S-sir," began Goyle shakily, "Wh-what's our punishment going to be?"

"Oh... I've got lots in store for you boys... First, I think we'll start by stripping you down to your pants. Then, I'll strap your hands into these leather cuffs on the wall..." He gestured to a spot on the cold, stony wall where a couple of pairs of leather loops hung. "Then I'll get the chains out." Filch looked at both of them in turn, ears pricked for signs of fearful gasping. He couldn't have been more disappointed.

Goyle was clenching the arms of his dusty chair eagerly, while Crabbe was licking his lips with a distant expression on his face.

This could only mean one thing...

* * *

Hermione pushed through the entrance into the kitchen, followed rather too closely by Harry. She stopped abruptly, causing Harry to bump into her and inadvertently touch her behind.

"Watch where you're going Harry!" snapped Hermione, squinting at him suspiciously.

Harry took a deep, calming breath. "SO YOU HAVE BEEN IN EVERY BED IN THE BOYS' DORMITORY BUT MINE, HAVEN'T YOU? BUT WHEN I ACCIDENTLY BUMP INTO YOU, YOU FEEL INTRUDED UPON?"

Ron rushed up behind them. "What's wrong? Is it Malfoy? Why is Harry yelling?"

Harry rounded on Ron as the rest of the others gathered around the scene. "I'VE BEEN STUCK GIRL-LESS FOR MONTHS! AND I'VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO'VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT - WHO SAVED THE SORCEROR'S -"

"Wait a second, what does Dumbledore have to do with any-"

"--BUT WHY SHOULD I HAVE A PIECE OF THE PIE? WHY SHOULD ANYONE BOTHER TO TELL ME WHAT'S BEEN..." Harry coughed for a moment, shook his head, and continued angrily. "BOTHER TO VISIT my bed... VISIt mY... VIsit... visit..." Harry coughed and spluttered, clutching his throat. "m-my caps--my shoUTIng... it's gOne!" Harry continued coughing, as everybody else tried to conceal the relieved looks on their faces.

From a dark corner of the kitchen, a voice rang out. "So, this is what you Gryffindors do for fun, eh? Shout about who's getting who for the night?"

It was Malfoy and his Slytherin group (minus Crabbe and Goyle), but he wasn't alone. From another corner, Cho and some other Ravenclaws stepped out. Everybody pulled out their wands, each of them looking around warily.

Suddenly, the unmistakeable aroma of spicy pepperoni filled the air. Harry's eyes began to droop, as a drunken drowsiness washed over him...

* * *

Harry awoke to a pair of lips sucking his face. At last! I'm finally getting some action! he thought joyously. That was until his vision came back into focus, and he discovered Dobby giving him the kiss of life.

"AARRGHH!! GERROFF ME YOU PERV!" he yelled throwing the overly enthusiastic house elf across the kitchen.

Harry spat and spluttered, as he grabbed a pan scrubber from the sink, and proceeded to scour his tongue feverishly. "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU LETTING DOBBY KISS ME FOR?" he yelled to no one in particular.

"Sorry mate," said Dean "but he was the only one who was willing."

"THE ONLY -"

"Silencio!" muttered Hermione wearily.

Harry was shouting his head off, but now he could not be heard. He scowled menacingly at Hermione, but she just rolled her eyes, and put her wand away.

Suddenly a strange look crossed over Harry's face, as he saw Draco enter the kitchen. He looked Draco up and down and batted his eyelashes enticingly.

* * *

"This is not entirely how I thought my evening would be spent, right about now," said Crabbe. He and Goyle were serving their time in the caretaker's office. They had been given away by a randy Mrs Norris in a broom cupboard and caught ankle deep in fragments of wooden mop buckets. That Dumbledore was away on official business for the Wizengamot was indeed a boon for Argus Filch in his quest for creative detentions.

"No one speaks unless spoken to!" croaked Filch. He had bound Crabbe and dangled him from the office wall immediately after filling out the 'appropriate' forms, and had stripped him down to reveal remarkably familiar grey underpants.

According to Filch, Crabbe was insufficiently sweaty for him perform his detention so he was left to hang by the wrists to ponder the many questions that life repeatedly asks, most of which rarely go answered. Why is the sky blue? What do women really want? What was John Travolta thinking, starring in a film directed by Sylvester Stallone? It was in the midst of such reveries that Crabbe decided to give voice to the question his mind kept settling upon.

"OY! When are you going to let me down from here, you mean old bastard?"

"What did I just finish telling you, about you speaking out of turn? You are not quite ready yet, Mr. Crabbe." Filch was sitting in a chair with a bare-bottomed Goyle draped over his lap. He reached back and rubbed a finger down Crabbe's chest. "There. You see? Not ready. Almost." This last bit said as if it would cheer up Crabbe.

"Please, Mr. Filch," a voice whimpered.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Goyle. Where were we?"

"You were saying how we were finished here and that we would be let go now," Goyle closed his eyes wishing it to be true.

"Right you are, Mr. Goyle," said Filch. "The switch."

He selected a thin, wooden rod from the clutter of instruments that were on his desk. It had a fancy leather flap at its end. Filch rubbed about Goyle's rear for what he determined would be a 'sweet spot' and proceeded to spank the spunk out of Gregory Goyle.

"You're going to pay for this, Filch," muttered Crabbe. "One night, when everything is going your way and all is right in your world, I am going to make you pay."

The caretaker was oblivious to Crabbe's threats. Up and down, over and over, the switch fell upon Goyle's bottom. Crabbe could only look down at his friend as he cried on Filch's lap. Several times Goyle would cry out and look up pleadingly, helplessly at what he'd always considered to be his powerful best friend. Only now did Gregory realise that Vincent could not save him in every crisis. This time help would have to come from someone else.

A knock on the office door stopped the switch in the middle of its descent. Filch stared at the door in the silence for what seemed like days. Muffled sobs brought his attention back to current events and he raised the rod over his head. The knock returned, more insistently. He shoved Goyle onto the floor and stood up. He crossed his desk and reached for the doorknob. The knob had already begun to turn, and the door pushed open.

"I had a feeling you'd have company."

"You're- you're not scheduled until- you're early," Filch managed to splutter.

"On the contrary. I'm right on time. These boys are cutting into our detention, Argus. I simply won't have it."

Crabbe watched intently, trying to see past Filch in order to find out whose familiar voice was at the door. He tried craning his neck when Filch, mouthing wordlessly and shuffling about hurriedly, unbound his wrists. Crabbe dropped like stone.

"I'm sorry gentleman, we will have to finish this another time. Take your things and get out." Filch tossed Crabbe his clothes and stood aside.

Crabbe put on his robes and, with his shirt and trousers wadded up under one arm, helped Goyle to his feet. Goyle pulled up his drawers gingerly and leaned on his friend for support. They made their way across the desk and were relieved, though not entirely surprised, to discover who was standing by the door.

"Thanks," muttered Goyle, "we really owe you one."

"I'm sure I'll be able to think of something," whispered Ginny Weasley, winking at Crabbe. "Run along now, boys. You may want to stop by kitchens for a bite to eat before heading off to bed."

"It's a little late for a snack, don't you think?" asked Crabbe slightly perplexed.

Ginny only smiled knowingly.

Crabbe considered her for a moment and nodded. He helped his friend shuffle down the corridor, trying to find the familiar path to the kitchens.

"Now then, Argus," said Ginny, pulling a long, slender object from beneath her robes and hefting it in her hands. She shut the door to the office and turned to Filch still standing by his desk. "I think we need to have a little discussion regarding tonight's activities."

* * *

In the Hufflepuff Common Room things were going awry.

"Why didn't you tell me that Teletubbies was on the TV?" demanded Ernie Macmillan.

"Well, I didn't like to disturb you, Erns, seeing as you were having such a topping time in the ball pool, and I was busy playing 'hunt the thimble' with Albert Munchkin, so I forgot, dear diddums. Forgive me, Tweety Pie?" entreated Eloise Midgeon, who had just reapplied a thick film of Oxytet for the tenth time that day.

Ernie stuck out his not inconsiderable tongue, which made him popular at the Hufflepuff parties.

"I was really looking forward to them today. It was the episode where Tinky Winky made his escape from the Teletubby garden and managed to make a living as a novelty gigolo at an Elton John concert, before Lala found him and took him home to gorge on Tubby Toast."

He flopped onto one of the bunny-embroidered beanbags that were scattered around the room.

"Suppose I'll just have to play Hopscotch instead with Justin," he whined. "Anyway, where is he? I've not seen him and Hannah Abbott since they went off to get some extra tucker for us for our Midnight Feasts."

Meanwhile Justin and Hannah had come across something they had not bargained for on their forage for some fodder. They had met a certain ginger-haired personage on a corridor near Filch's office who, on seeing them, smiled craftily to herself, whilst beckoning the gullible Puffers towards her.

"Psst, anyone want to go to Salami Heaven tonight?" the titian-haired siren whispered.

"Um, is that anywhere near Surrey?" asked the rather dense Justin.

Ginny rolled her eyes and snapped, "No, you great plonker! It's a certain way to satisfy anyone's taste buds." Her voice switched to a purr at the end of the sentence.

Justin gave a great gulp and turned to Hannah.

"Wouldn't mind a piece of that, would you Hannah?"

Hannah nodded wordlessly, her eyes glistening, licking her lips at the same time.

"Rightyho then. If you're very quick, then run to the kitchens before those greedy Slytherins, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws get it - they're all heading that way too," said Ginny.

* * *

Severus Snape was having a really lousy day, so he left the castle and headed for the one place where he would find refuge - The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. As soon as he went through the door into the pub he saw what he was looking for: Madam Rosmerta was behind the bar, rubbing the counter vigorously, causing her bosoms to wobble. Severus stood transfixed and was thankful that she never wore a high cut top.

Strolling over casually to the bar, he sat down on one of the high stools.

"Severus," said Madam Rosmerta. "What can I get you?"

"FireWhiskey," said Severus with desperation. "And lots of it."

"Which brand?"

"I'd really like to see your Melons," said Snape.

"My Melons?"

"Yes, Melons brand FireWhiskey. And make it fast."

Madam Rosmerta went away and came back with a large bottle of FireWhiskey. She poured Severus a glass which he downed in one.

"More," Severus ordered. "I want more."

She poured him another glass of FireWhiskey, but this time he took his time over it.

"You going to pay for this in cash, or are you going to pay me back the usual way?"

"The usual way. What time do you close?"

"Eleven sharp."

"I'll be there at eleven thirty."

Eleven thirty came too slowly for Severus' liking, but wait he did. He knocked on the Madam Rosmerta's bedroom door. She opened the door wearing a very skimpy nightgown, which left little to the imagination. Just the way Severus liked it.

He was just getting dressed again, when Madam Rosmerta noticed something long and thick sticking out of Severus' trousers.

"What's that you got for me, sweetie?" she asked.

Snape took it out of his trousers. "What this thing? I confiscated it from Mr Zabini, a student in my house. He reckons he found a secret stash of them somewhere in the castle."

Madam Rosmerta snatched it from Severus' grasp.

"It's some kind of spicy meat. Do you think we should try some?"

"Sure, why not?"

* * *

Draco sashayed into the room in slow motion, his blond hair bouncing coquettishly around his pale face. He flicked his slightly damp locks ever so subtly and strode straight over to Harry. He held out his hand to him, and Harry took it and stood up, face to face with the boy - no, the man - before him, his sworn enemy, and the one he now realised was the subject of his burning loins. He blinked flirtatiously and Draco winked back, a dreamy look of invited passion on his face. Draco thrust his -

Harry felt a sharp punch to his face and immediately rubbed his stinging cheek.

"Ow! Who the Harry hell was that?" he yelled, or tried to. It came out as a kind of hiss.

"Me you moron," Hermione huffed. "I was trying to revive you."

"What? Why?" he said, flinching at her rather mannish boxing ability.

"You passed out when Malfoy waved his pepperoni at you."

"Why would I do that?" he asked, turning to face Malfoy, who was indeed stroking a 9 inch salami.

"I don't know, but you were moaning about something when you passed out. You must have been in pain."

Harry laughed slightly. "Er, yeah, yeah. Lots of pain. Right. Hey, I'm used to it." He looked down, as he blushed a bit, the recollection of his newly discovered desires flushing his memory.

Before Harry could change the subject, the door to the kitchen burst open.