Harry Potter and the Pepperoni of Doom!

Meanwhile, just as Harry was gazing at Draco's hypnotising nine-inch pepperoni, Albus Dumbledore was gazing at something much different. A battered doorway in one of London's back streets, much in need of painting, leading to what was rumoured to be "LONDON'S KINGDOM OF PLEASURE: THE BEST GIRLS IN TOWN", or so said the leaflet which Dumbledore was clutching in his hand.

How stupid of those Hogwarts fools to think that all of these 'business trips' had anything to do with the Ministry. Over the years Dumbledore had frequented most of the Muggle strip clubs in Soho and was now almost finished in his quest to pay a visit to every single one before Christmas. The dingy club in front of him promised the charms of Charlotte the 'bubbly, bouncy blond'. An excited shiver ran through his body at the very thought.

However, just as Dumbledore was about to duck through the doorway, a sudden flash of flames appeared eye level in front of him and a scarlet-coloured bird fell to the ground with a 'plop'.

"Fawkes?" Dumbledore muttered in surprise. "What's wrong boy?"

The phoenix stood on his left leg and flapped out both wings.

"Danger back at the school?" Dumbledore said aloud.

Fawkes scratched the top of his head with his claw.

"Evil forces in the school kitchens?"

Fawkes spun around twice on the spot before hitting the ground in front of him with his beak and sticking his right leg out at a 90 degrees angle to his body.

"Hormonal students in any bed but Harry Potter's?"

The phoenix did a double back flip and a headstand then pulled out one of his own wing feathers and let it fall slowly to the ground.

"My goodness, no it can not be!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Ginny Weasley in another detention with Filch..."

* * *

Ginny perched on the staircase leading to the Entrance Hall, thinking hard. She had forgotten someone... something.

The Ravenclaws were in the kitchens, sausages ready. The Slytherins were mostly there, but Millicent Bulstrode really wasn't up to this sort of work, anyway. Justin and Ernie had been told - hopefully they would have made it already - Filch was currently chained to a wall, a towel over his head and his clothes dumped in the lake, so he wouldn't be a problem for a while. At least, not until he found someone to...

Eww. No. She was not going to think about that. It had been disgusting enough the first few times, in her preparation for tonight - she was not going to dwell on it. Ginny needed someone young, robust and without wrinkles.

But whom was she forgetting?

* * *

"So, Potter," Draco said, spraying all those in front of him with a fine mist of saliva, "What were you mumbling about?"

"Firstly Malfoy," Hermione butted in, answering for him, "say it, don't spray it."

"That's so old, Hermione."

"Keep your mouth shut, Weasel," Draco barked. "She can abuse me in any way she wants."

"And secondly," she continued, while drawing a line from herself to Malfoy on the spider chart, just to get ahead, "Harry can mumble about anyone he wants. Just because he's not getting action doesn't mean you can-"

"What?" Cho cried in delight. "He's not getting any! Well, I'll bet you feel bad for not being nice to me now, don't you?" She grinned and stepped forward, but then suddenly sprawled across the floor. "Someone tripped me!" she whined.

"No," Marietta said slowly, bending over just enough to accentuate her rather low-cut blouse, something tripped you."

In her hands, she held up a rope of small pepperoni sticks, Italian spicy style.

* * *

"Give it to me, Severus! Give it to me now, and fast!" pleaded Madam Rosmerta, in an upstairs bedroom of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade.

"No," said Severus, coolly.

"Please, Severus, I'm begging you! Just give me another portion of that thick length of yours!"

"No. You can't have it. This spicy sausage is pure evil!"

"Just one more taste, please!"

"I SAID NO!" shouted Severus. "Now look what you've done woman. You've made me use the Caps Lock key! I haven't used that in years! Whatever you do, don't make me use italics or you'll really be sorry."

"I need that 9 inch meat in me now!"

"That's it! It's time for italics! Stupefy!!"

A red burst of energy escaped from Severus' wand and stunned Madam Rosmerta. She had left him no choice.

Severus sat on the bed for a moment, twiddling with the 9 inches he had in his hand. It felt good to hold, but he knew he'd better not have any of it himself. It was evil and needed to be destroyed. A thought came to his mind, and he stood up and pronounced to the world:

"I, Severus Maximus Meridius Snape, proclaim to the world that I will not rest till all these evil, spicy sausages are destroyed! Even if it costs me my life! But where do I begin? I know: Blaise Zabini! He knows where there is a secret stash of them! And who the hell am I talking to, exactly?"

Severus stormed out of the Three Broomsticks and headed back up towards the castle: a man on a mission, the 9 inches hanging from his waist.

Upon entering the castle through the great wooden doors, he went down the staircase that led towards the Slytherin common room and dormitories. He stopped halfway down a very dark and dank corridor in front of a portrait of a man brandishing a whip and wearing suspenders.

"Well hello, Professor. What's the password?"

"I haven't got time to give you a bloody password, you mother fucking bastard!"

"Correct. Go on through."

The portrait swung open, and Severus entered into the Slytherin common room. It was strangely deserted. Normally there was at least Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle here beating the crap out of some first year, but not tonight it would seem.

Severus marched down the corridor to where Blaise Zabini slept. He quickly opened the door to Blaise's dormitory to find him completely alone, apparently asleep.

Severus quickly cast a spell on the bed sheets, which shot off him, revealing a naked Blaise next to a naked Nott. They both got up with a start, frantically grabbing what ever they could find to cover their shame.

"Sir!" shouted Blaise. "What are you doing?"

"I need to know where this came from," said Snape, as he brandished the sausage in front of them.

"I...I...don't remember, sir!"

"You lie, Mr. Zabini," said Severus. "I'm sure you're aware of my abilities of Legilimency, so it would not be hard to find the answer from your very mind itself."

"Okay, Okay," pleaded Blaise. "If I tell you where you can find them, will you promise not to mention this event to anyone else?"

"Yeah, please sir," said Nott. "Malfoy will call us faggots for the rest of our lives."

"Very well," said Severus. "Tell me what I need to know, and your secret is safe with me."

"In the kitchens. You can find them in the kitchens."

"Thank you Mr. Zabini. I'll leave you two to it then."

Severus left the Slytherin dormitories and common room, but not before noticing a half eaten sausage on Mr. Zabini's bedside table. He then made his way as quickly as he could towards the kitchens, where he would hopefully get some clues to the origin of these sausages.

Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott sat in the Slytherin boys' dormitory, half naked, discussing the night's events.

"Do you think Professor Snape will tell everyone about us?" asked Theodore, with great worry.

"I'm not sure really," said Blaise anxiously. "I hope not."

"If Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle find out we've been in and out of each other's beds for the past couple of weeks under their very noses..."

"I know, I know. I can't bear thinking about their reactions."

"What was all that business with Snape and that sausage anyway?" asked Theodore.

"Oh that. It's nothing really."

"If it was nothing, he wouldn't have burst in here in the middle of the night without warning. Come on Blaise, just tell me. You know you can trust me."

"Ok, but what I tell you know stays between us, you understand?"

"Perfectly."

"Ok, here goes. The other night I was in the kitchens getting the house elves to make me some food, when I heard the door opening. Thinking it was a teacher I hid in a nearby cupboard. Peering out through a crack, I saw a load of Gryffindors come in - I'm pretty sure one of them was Ron Weasley- and they asked the house elves to give them some of the special pepperoni."

"The special pepperoni? You mean this thing?" asked Theodore as he picked up the half eaten remains from the bed side table.

"Yes, that's one of them. Anyway after they left, a group of Ravenclaws come in, so I hid of again, of course. They asked for some of the special pepperoni too."

"Just what is so special about this pepperoni?"

"I'm getting to it. After the Ravenclaws left I went and asked the house elves if I could have some of it, and being their usual selves, where all they want to do is please everyone, they got me a stick of it. I brought it back here and tried some just to see what all the fuss was about."

"And what does it do exactly, this pepperoni?"

"I'm not sure of all of its magical properties, but what I do know is that it seems to cause memory loss in some people, and in the case of women, radically enhances their sex drive."

"Does it do the same to men?"

"It lowers the inhibition of men slightly, making them more eager to try new things out."

"Wait a minute! Was you sleeping with me only down to that pepperoni?" exclaimed Theodore.

"Partly. But that's not the whole story. For ages now, I've always found males much more attractive than women," began Blaise. "Initially I thought it was because I'm gay, but lately I've been thinking: Am I actually a woman trapped in a man's body?"

* * *

Meanwhile, in Dumbledore's office, the paintings were getting suspicious...

Albus Dumbledore shot out of his fireplace in a whirlwind of green flames and soot, his eyes alight with twinkling. "Damn floo powder," he said as he gingerly got to his feet. All around the walls, the occupants inside the portraits were staring avidly at him.

"So, it appears that you have yet to reach your goal of going to every Gentlemen's Club in London before Christmas," drawled Phineas Nigellus. "That's right, we're on to you and your so-called meetings with the Wizengamot." He smiled slyly.

"Gentlemen's Club, indeed!" sniffed a portly woman in an oversized frock in a nearby portrait.

Dumbledore, hardly paying any attention to the accusations, was rushing around, gathering various objects and shoving them into his magnificent purple robes.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself, Albus?" questioned another woman in a portrait who had abandoned her knitting.

"I am rather busy at the moment and have no time to discuss these escapades, so I would appreciate if you all would kindly - oh, what do the children say these days - stuff it!" With that, he twinkled his eyes some more and stuck a long golden stick that had a fluffy pink feather attached at the end into his belt, and headed for the door.

Phineas ran a couple of frames over, while the other portraits protested about Dumbledore's last comment in outrage. "But wait! Where are you off to now? Trelawney's cosy loft in the North Tower? Oh yes, Sir Cadogan has told us all about that too..."

"No Phineas," said Dumbledore abruptly, his eyes twinkling, "I am off to the Forbidden Forest."

"What's going on there? Is Hagrid's poorly hidden secret giant-that-everybody-knows-about-anyway running amok again?"

"Undoubtedly, but no, it's not that. Something is happening around here, and everybody in the castle knows that if something's going on, the Forbidden Forest probably has something to do with it."

With that, Dumbledore slammed the door and twinkled all the way down the spiral staircase with the gargoyle, through the castle and over the school lawns.

Taking long strides, Dumbledore stepped into the Forbidden Forest, wand out and eyes STILL a-twinkle. He hiked for some time, getting deeper and deeper into the forest. The further he got into the forest, the darker it became, so that sight was nearly useless (even with the illuminating twinkle). He had to rely on sound and smell to find his way, as he didn't want to attract any unwanted attention with wand light. Soon the use of his lesser senses paid off. He began to smell a delightful, yet enticing aroma of spices and peppers and ground pig. He couldn't help but follow the intoxicating redolence and was led to a familiar tree that stood on the edge of a clearing.

The tree was a gigantic oak with broad limbs that stretched to innumerable heights. Dumbledore stared with his twinkling, blue eyes, completely flabbergasted. "How could it be? I haven't used this in years... How could anyone know about mine and Minerva's abandoned love-nest?" He pondered on this. "Damn that Lockhart for stealing her away!" he added as an afterthought.

Dumbledore approached the tree, which positively reeked off long, thick, juicy deli-meats. He held up his wand and commanded, "Shake what yo' momma gave ya'!"

A clear picture formed on the tree, as clearly as if it were being magically projected from some unknown source. It appeared to be a snapshot of McGonagall posing in a small, fuzzy, pink bikini. Written under her figure were curly pink letters that spelled out 'All for you, xoxo, Kitty Mac'. Dumbledore's eyes really started twinkling, and he was forced to reminisce about the pet-name days when free love was abundant. A twig snapped loudly from somewhere behind, bringing him back to full attention.

"Thank goodness I brought this - I knew it'd come in handy," he said to himself, as he whipped the pink featherstick out of his belt and ran it down McGonagall's silky thighs. The picture shivered and disappeared, revealing a door-shaped hole in the tree with earthen stairs leading down. Dumbledore stooped down into the hole and took a few steps down the oh-so-familiar stairs. Abruptly, he stopped and gasped a mouthful of spicy-meatiness, utterly shocked by what he saw...

* * *

Back in the kitchens, Harry, Ron, and Hermione just stood there mesmerized by Draco playing with his 9 inch length of meat, wondering what the hell he was going to do with something that large.

"You just going to stand there gawping all day?" asked Draco. "I thought we were going to have a meeting over some pizza."

"I'm only sitting down with you on one condition," said Hermione. "You put that thing away. It's making Harry feel inadequate."

"How the hell would you know, Hermione!" exclaimed Harry.

"Yeah, just how would you know?" asked Ron curiously.

"Oh come on, guys," said Hermione, haughtily. "Every girl in the school knows that Harry is smaller in the trouser department than a gnat."

"Where the hell did they get that from exactly?" said Harry, his rage building.

"Cho Chang," said Hermione simply.

"WHAT? CHO BLOODY CHANG TOLD YOU THAT!" screamed Harry.

"Oh, no, here he goes again," said Ron, covering his ears.

"THAT BITCH CHO CHANG TOLD EVERYONE IN THE SCHOOL THAT I'VE GOT TINY MEAT AND TWO VEG? HOW THE HELL WOULD SHE KNOW - WE'VE NEVER SLEPT TOGETHER! IS THIS RUMOUR THE REASON WHY EVERY GIRL IN THE SCHOOL HAS BEEN AVOIDING ME?"

"I guess so," said Ron.

"I'M THE BOY-WHO-LIVED FOR GOD'S SAKE! IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK TO JUST GET A LITTLE BIT OF ACTION FOR ONCE?"

The door opened and Colin Creevey popped his head in the kitchen. "You called, Harry?"

"FOR THE TEN MILLIONTH-TIME COLIN, JUST PISS OFF! I DON'T SWING THAT WAY!"

"That's not what you said last night," said Colin.

Hermione gasped and frantically pulled the spider diagram out from her robes, adding Colin's name to it and connecting the appropriate lines. Draco curiously examined the diagram and was unsurprised to see Ginny having connections to almost everyone in the school.

"JUST GET OUT OF HERE, COLIN! GET OUT NOW BEFORE I HAVE TO KILL SOMEONE!"

Colin left the kitchens in a hurry, sobbing like mad. His footsteps and cries could be heard echoing down the corridor.

"THANK GOD THAT LITTLE BASTARD HAS GONE!"

"Harry, I think that you better keep your voice down," said Hermione. "You'll wake the whole school up at this rate."

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HERMIONE? I AM TALKING NORMALLY!"

"Oh, no," said Ron, with dread. "I thought this might happen one of these days."

"What?" asked Hermione.

"Harry's stuck speaking in caps lock."

* * *

Colin ran from the kitchens, tears streaming from his eyes. How could Harry say that to him? His beloved Harry! Who had promised, only two nights ago as they ran off to the broom closet, to make their love public soon!

Nobody loved him! Nobody! Colin sniffled as he pushed open the door and made his way across the lawn. He was fat and his eyes were too close together and nobody loved him!

Fine. He knew what he would do. He would march straight into the Forbidden Forest, and then Harry would be sorry. Harry would be very sorry when he disappeared, and all he had left of their torrid affair was a few snapshots and a five-minute home-movie. It wasn't a good movie, either. It had been very dark in the broom closet, the sound was rather poor, and halfway through Harry had kicked the leg of the stand, and it had tipped on its side and kept rolling. That's when Harry would be sorry.

Colin marched past Hagrid's hut and straight towards the trees. Colin hated trees. Colin hated everything. Nobody loved him.

He stumbled over a rock and landed in a bush. Just as he was about to get up, wiping snot and tears from his face, he saw Hagrid lumber by, Professor McGonagall in tow.

They stopped at a big old tree, and Professor McGonagall whispered something. Suddenly - there was a picture of Dumbledore! It was a much younger Dumbledore, to be sure, and wearing a metallic silver thong and a fake fur little tank top and stilettos modelled in the image of the Ruby Slippers from the Wizard of Oz, a costume somewhat reminiscent of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, a film Colin had loved and aspired for his life to be like since the age of six, but it was certainly Dumbledore - and at this point, Colin was forced to stop and breathe after the irrationally long run-on sentence his mind had just composed.

As he watched, the tree opened, and they slipped inside.

Pulling out his camera, his tabloid-esque instincts taking over, Colin darted forward and managed to make it through just before the tree closed.

Shit.

The back of his shirt was stuck in the door, leaving a bit of the pale pink material showing on the outside, most likely. Sighing indignantly, Colin stripped off the shirt and continued down the stairs, following the low moans he could hear drifting up.

* * *

On the seventh floor of the castle, a group of Gryffindors were casually making their way over to the Astronomy Tower for what promised to be the Duel of the Century. As they walked, Seamus Finnegan was busy stuffing his face with a packet of Cheesy Doodles, greasy orange stains all over his once clean robes.

"Don't you ever stop eating those things?" asked Dean. "You must go through about twenty packets a day."

"Me? Stop eating my beloved Doodles?" said Seamus, stuffing a large handful of them in his already full mouth. "You must be mad."

"Why don't you try something else for a change?" asked Dean. "A branch of McDonalds has just opened in Hogsmeade and they've got these really nice quarter-pounder cheeseburgers."

"Really?" asked Seamus. "Do they do Cheesy Doodle flavoured burgers?"

"I don't think so," said Dean. "Anyway, during my trip to France in the summer holidays, I went into a local McDonald's and tried to find one of those cheese quarter-pounders, but guess what?"

"What?" asked Seamus, stuffing his face with yet more Cheesy Doodles.

"In France they call it the 'Royale with Cheese'," said Dean.

"The 'Royale with Cheese'?" said Seamus. "What the hell for?"

"It's something to do with metric system or something," explained Dean.

"What do they call the Big Mac?"

"They still call it the Big Mac, but it's 'Le Big Mac'."

"'Le Big Man'. These French come up with some weird shit. What do they call the Whopper?"

"I don't know - I didn't go into Burger King."

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle never had delusions of grandeur. They had long suspected they weren't the smartest two students in their year, and they always thought Draco was being ironic whenever he called them 'dunderheads' or would mutter under his breath, 'I can't believe the levels of stupidity you fatheads sink to on a daily basis. It's a wonder you can breathe without assistance'. They were always of the opinion that Draco had a sublime sense of humour. But it seemed like hours ("It hasn't been even five minutes!" Goyle had stated incredulously. "You broke your watch last week, remember?" Crabbe had replied) since Ginny had rescued them from Filch's office and they set out on their quest for the kitchens.

They had passed through every conceivable hidden corridor, caught up and been through every travelling door and asked every portrait. ("Look at the size of both you. Don't tell me you can't find the kitchens!"). To no avail.

They believed themselves quite the geniuses when they had met Colin Creevey walking up a staircase. Crabbe had winked at Goyle, and they knew the game was afoot.

"Hello, Creevey," Crabbe said.

Colin was immediately wary of both boys. He glanced behind him to make certain Malfoy was not trying to sneak a grip on his underwear. They had torn through five pairs, each time with him still in them.

"What do you two want?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing." Crabbe had put his big meaty arm around Colin's shoulders and pulled him close. "Where are you headed off to?"

Goyle smirked. They both knew damned well enough where Colin would be off to, if he were not there already, and they didn't need a crystal ball or have to drink some crappy tea to find out.

"Just looking for Harry," Colin struggled to remain casual.

"Oh, really?" Crabbe sing-songed. "You know, Goyle an' me just ran into Potter about five minutes ago, wouldn't you say, Goyle?"

Goyle nodded, checking his watch.

"...And I think Potter mentioned something about grabbing a late-night snack from the kitchens."

Crabbe and Goyle knew they had him. Colin's eyes lit up like a moth, ignoring every instinct that told it 'Dude, fire sucks!' and fluttering antennae-first into the proverbial flame.

"I think I'm feeling a little hungry just now," Colin monotoned, as if under the Imperius Curse.

Crabbe and Goyle had never felt better about their place in the food chain at Hogwarts than they did at that moment. It had been all too easy, and they fell over themselves laughing as Colin scampered off to the kitchens.

All they had to do was follow.

When they had stopped congratulating themselves, patting each other on the back and generally kissing each other's asses, they were left with the silence of the empty corridor. Colin was nowhere in sight.

"I think we were supposed to follow him, Crabbe."

"Shut up, you! I know that! So why didn't you follow him?"

"Well, you were telling me how pretty you thought my eyes were and-"

"Shut up, Goyle. I think I'm going to hate you, now."

"No you're not! We're two birds in a pod, peas of a feather, we're joined at the hip, you and me! Like Vietnamese twins."

Crabbe could only roll his eyes. "'Siamese', you idiot. Like Siamese cats. Don't you ever read?"

That had been hours ago. They had received numerous bits of advice from the suits of armour ('just follow your nose' and 'wherever you go, there you are') each one as worthless as the last. They had even managed to backtrack to Filch's office and tried another route, only to end up at Gryffindor Tower and be shooed away by the Fat Lady. They were cranky, hungry, and had no idea why they were even doing what a red-haired succubus told them to.

"Because it's in the kitchens and I'm hungry and you think Ginny Mudblood-Lover Weasley is cute even though she is skinny and-"

"Shut up, Goyle!"

They were about to give up hope. They couldn't even remember their way back to the Slytherin dungeons. It was as if their minds were swimming in gravy. Or, at the very least, a tasty meat sauce with just the right amount of oregano.

They had got their wands out to open a locked classroom, so they could sleep on the floor, when they spied a fuming Severus Snape exit one tapestry and stalk his way through another.

The two hungry Slytherins looked at each other, both thinking the same thing. Snape was pissed off about something or someone. And if it were 'someone' then it had to be Harry Potter. And if by chance Snape ran into Colin Creevey, then perhaps he too thinks that Potter is in the kitchens. They smiled knowingly to each other. It was the food chain all over again for them. It was like clockwork. Like the last piece of the puzzle being set into place, like David Lee Roth getting back together with Van Halen, only for real this time. It was like a ray of light shining in the deep darkness of despair that-

"Oh shit!" exclaimed Crabbe.

"What, follow him?" asked Goyle.

"Right!"

They hurtled down a flight of stairs and ploughed straight through the tapestry hoping to keep pace with their Potions Master, determined not to take the title of 'Thickest Sixth Year' away from Cho Chang.

* * *