Harry Potter and the Pepperoni of Doom!

Frantically grasping the veil covering the mysterious archway in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries, Ernie couldn't withstand the unerring pull. It was a vacuum cleaner set to 'extra suck' and was far too powerful for Ernie's scrawny arms. In an instant he was gone, into the portal.

Ernie had heard the tales of the veiled archway, mostly those involving people that entered it and never returned. It was said that whoever passed through it would die, and Ernie was expecting the same for himself. He hit something hard and blacked out for a moment. Managing to open his eyes, to whatever heaven or hell awaited him, Ernie was pleasantly surprised with what he found.

He was lying flat out on some sort of paved driveway; behind him it stretched out into the distance, and before him it meandered its way up a hill to a large, magnificent-looking building. The sun shone overhead, although not a piercing hot sun. There was a gentle breeze, and it felt like the nicest summer day Ernie had ever experienced.

Ernie picked himself up off the ground and slowly began to walk up the hill towards the building. It was only now that he realised the full extent of the landscape surrounding the building - there were exquisitely tended gardens, a massive and beautiful lake in the distance to his right, and the unmistakable sight of a theme park in the distance to his left. Ernie thought that for it to be this wonderful, he must be in heaven.

The building was even better looking close up. It was like a palace and certainly ten times grander than any that had existed on earth. He was greeted at the entrance by a fairly young, very smartly-dressed man with black hair and a neat beard.

"Welcome!" greeted the man, spreading his arms out wide in an inviting way. "Welcome to the nicest place in existence!"

Ernie, despite how much he liked the look of this place (wherever it was), was still a little unsure.

"What is this place exactly? Where is this place?"

"Like I said before," said the man, "this is the nicest place in existence, a utopia if you will. Just like you, every one of its 'guests' came here through the mystic portal in the Department of Mysteries. We have so few visitors to this place, and we were surprised when you turned up so suddenly. I was the person to come before you, about six months ago now, but before me there wasn't one for years. It is customary for the last arriving person to greet the newcomers, like I am doing now to you."

"So this place exists on some sort of parallel dimension then?" asked Ernie.

"In a way, yes," said the man. "The complete explanation, as the caretakers put it, is far too complicated for mortal minds."

"The caretakers?"

"Indeed. This place doesn't run itself you know. They are benevolent beings made of pure energy, although they take the form of humans to better serve us."

At that moment a man riding a powerful horse rode past Ernie at full speed, almost knocking him over.

"Who's that?" asked Ernie, pointing at the man on the horse riding off into the distance.

"Oh that's just Lord Lucan riding his favourite horse, Shergar," explained the man. "They both came here some time ago."

"I didn't realise he was a wizard!" exclaimed Ernie.

"You'd be surprised how many famous figures from the past were witches or wizards. Would you like me to give you the tour?"

Ernie thought about it for a brief moment. "Indeed I would."

"By the way," said the man, as he opened the main doors to the palace in order to give the tour, "my name is Sirius Black, but you can just call me Snuffles."

An insane-looking woman suddenly ran through the atrium of the palace shouting, "DEAD, DEAD, SIRIUS IS DEAD! YOU CAN'T BE HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD, SIRIUS! DEAD! YOU'RE DEAD! DEAD I TELL YOU! YOU HAVE CEASED TO BE! DEAD!!!!!!!"

"Just ignore Tina," said Sirius. "She's always coming up with stuff like that."

Sirius showed Ernie round the entire complex, which included the theme park he had seen earlier in the distance and a water park full of the most excellent slides. Almost everything Ernie could think of, recreational-wise, was there. It was simply marvellous.

On the way round the complex, Sirius pointed out many of the famous faces that inhabited the wonderland. "There's Merlin.... Godric Gryffindor.... Buddy Holly.... Amelia Earheart.... Glenn Miller.... Elvis..."

As Sirius explained, everyone here remained the same age as when then entered the portal, not aging a single day. If he was also to be believed, it was possible for any of them to return as they are now to any place and point in history, although everyone liked it here so much that no one ever did leave.

After the full tour, Ernie was shown to his room. It was almost as big as a football pitch, complete with a massive four-poster bed, and a hot tub big enough to swim in. In his room were also a number of personal touches, including pictures of his family, a few of his favourite mementoes from home, and a large stash of porn in one of the cupboards. The big window and balcony overlooked the splendid grounds. Simply put, it was how Ernie imagined his perfect bedroom to be.

Placing the Kebab of Storge (which he still held) onto the bedside table, Ernie collapsed on the immensely comfortable bed and fell asleep in the lap of luxury, unaware of the immense secret this place held...

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle had been discussing the etiquette for properly ravishing the dead for only a few moments, when a sentence, eerie in its simplicity, interrupted them from the technical aspects of rigormortis.

"I'm not dead yet," came the feeble voice from below.

Gregory Goyle leaned his ear out, straining to hear where the voice was coming from. Crabbe stupidly checked the insides of his robes and the pockets of his trousers.

"What was that?" they asked simultaneously.

"I'm not dead yet," said Hermione.

Crabbe and Goyle looked down at Hermione's curvaceous form in astonishment. She had not been breathing when they found her in the castle and had not stirred when they roughly dumped her onto the ground in a heap.

"ARRRGH! The Dead fucking live!" cried Crabbe. It was clearly becoming too much for him to handle.

"She's not dead yet," Goyle stated. This proclamation, again, shut Crabbe up very quickly.

"She's a zombie, then," whimpered Crabbe.

"Don't be silly! There's no such thing."

"ISN'T THERE? Then how do you explain The Dark Lord? How do you explain the Rolling Stones? And how do you explain that?" shouted Crabbe, violently gesturing towards Hermione who was trying to get her legs underneath her.

"She's not dead yet," Goyle stated as if it would end the matter. And in fact -

"Oh," mumbled Crabbe.

- It did.

"So why aren't you dead yet?" Goyle asked, bending down to examine the very-much-alive-if-not-quite-smelling-unlike-the-dead Granger.

"I'm not sure what happened," she began, trying to get her parched mouth to form words. "I seem to vaguely remember going to the castle with Cho. Or was it Ron? It's all jumbled right now. I do remember seeing Viktor. Viktor Krum! It's all coming back to me now. Viktor was going on about how I was the greatest creation since Woman and that he would do anything to - erm, for me and that he loved me madly and wanted to me to have his children on a tropical island paradise and would I like to sample some of his fine Bulgarian chocolates." Hermione paused for a moment, watching Crabbe and Goyle's reactions as she gathered her thoughts. "I think I was poisoned. But I've taken an elixir that makes me immune to most poisons. You know, Voldemort being back and all."

"Aha!" Crabbe exclaimed in triumph.

"What is it?" Goyle inquired, curious that his friend had mustered enough brain-power to have any sort of revelation.

"She's not dead," said Crabbe pompously.

"Well of course she isn't, you ass!"

"So."

"So what?"

"So we can kill her now!" Crabbe answered impatiently.

"Oh. Well. We need a pillow then." Goyle said thoughtfully.

"A pillow?"

"Yes, a 'pillow'. You can't kill a woman properly without a pillow."

"Then we can ravish her?"

"I should say so."

"But if we kill her now, we can go back up to the castle and get some food and some blankets. It's getting chilly out now. Besides, I would prefer her to be a little stiff and cool when we get back."

"No, no. We go up, we get the blankets and food, we get the pillow, kill her and then we ravish her."

"Fine," Crabbe mumbled in defeat as they started up the castle leaving Hermione to stare aghast after them. "We always get to do what you want. What about what I want sometimes?"

"Don't sulk! You'll see I'm right in the end. She'll be nice and lukewarm if we do it properly."

"I hate 'lukewarm'. It's no fun. And who the hell is this Luke person that he should have a measurement of temperature named after him?"

They had become a not-so-tiny speck in the distance when Hermione was able to stand up without falling on her face. It had taken her several tries, as the poison, while not killing her, had weakened her body terribly. She gingerly put one foot in front of the other, her arms out to steady herself. She knew she had to get out of the forest and find help. Where was Harry? Where was Ron? Why did Viktor try to poison her? And why was she dumb enough to think that Bulgarian chocolate might taste good? She knew she had given it far too much consideration when she lost her balance, stumbled a few feet off the path she was on and grabbed onto the nearest tree for support.

"Goodness, that could have been disastrous," she chided herself.

She took a deep breath and exhaled in relief. She turned to face the path and leaned against the tree to rest. She did not realise in time that her shoulder had pressed against a knob in the tree, causing the trunk to open wide and send her cascading down a set of stairs towards terrifying, high-pitched laughter and blood-curdling screams.

* * *

"Gracious!" said Draco, turning to see not Hermione singing the Cream song, but Kirk Cobaine, a grungy deceased singer who was obviously very musically informed, as well as experienced in piloting starships.

"NOW DEN" said Lenny Hemroid, the mummified head who magically steered the Knight Bus, which was now careering its way through limbo, "who knows any odder songs?"

"Oh, me, me, me!" said Blaise with his hand in the air.

"Hoh, I, DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SUEE-CIDE..."

"Well, I've bloody well had enough of this!" said the Kebab of Storge, which had unknown powers of speech. This had never been revealed for two reasons: Nobody had ever asked it a direct question, and it was painfully shy. But now it had decided to be decisive. "Bloody useless Hufflepuffs! Well, I'm bloody important to this story! I'm going to wrap this up even if it kills me!"

And with that, it teleported back to the dimension of the living, leaving the intrepid Hufflepuffs stranded in the Netherworld. Serves them right.

You can imagine Seamus Finnigan's surprise when the Kebab landed in his lap and teleported him into the forest, where the finale was about to be played out...

After his sudden appearance in the Forbidden Forest, Seamus Finnigan looked from the bottle of triple-strength Firewhiskey he had in his right hand, to the large joint of 'special tobacco' he had lit in his left hand. Unsure which (if not both) was responsible for this latest hallucination, Seamus stood up from the chair he had been sitting on and took in his surroundings.

As he stood up, Seamus became aware that something had just fallen off his lap and onto the floor. His blurry, narcotic-hampered double vision, however, could not identify what it was.

"What the fuck is that?" asked Seamus, taking a swig of the Firewhiskey and a toke of the smoking pleasure stick.

"If you must know," said an indistinct voice coming from the blurry thing on the floor, "I am the Kebab of Storge."

"The Kebab of whaaa?" asked Seamus, completely confused. He was fairly sure that kebabs couldn't talk, with the possible exception of one he ate back home in Ireland after an extended drinking binge for the celebration of his mother finding a Knut that she didn't know she had. Where Seamus came from, almost anything was an excuse for going on a bender, and he had become an alcoholic as a result.

"The Kebab of Storge," repeated the Kebab. "You are to take me to the secret grove here in the forest. There you will enter the mysterious and beautiful tree that will lead to Voldemort's hideout, where the Pepperoni of Doom is."

Seamus' delicate mind tried to decipher what the Kebab had said, but he was almost one hundred percent sure it had something to do with finding a hidden pub here in the forest, where drinks were free, and wacky-backy grew wildly abundant around it.

"Sounds like fun," slurred Seamus, just before hiccupping. "Lead the way, mighty Kebab."

After downing his Firewhiskey and finishing his joint, Seamus picked up the Kebab and followed its directions, deeper and deeper into the forest. After about ten minutes or so, they finally arrived at a small clearing that had a massive tree in the centre of it.

"Where now?" asked Seamus. "Where's all the free booze?"

The Kebab shot out a bolt of bright blue energy at the tree, revealing a doorway in the main trunk of the tree.

"In there," said the Kebab of Storge. "Everything you want is in there."

Seamus didn't waste any time. He ran through the doorway, unaware that there was a descending staircase almost immediately on the other side. He fell and toppled down the stairs at an incredible speed. The Kebab, using its mystical powers, managed to avoid any sort of injury; Seamus was not so lucky, but all the sedatives he had been ingesting dulled the pain.

"Hurry up!" demanded the Kebab. "Through there."

Seamus picked himself up and went through the door. He then passed though a large room to a smaller room.

Ignoring everyone else, Seamus got a glimpse of Harry, Hermione and Ginny, and asked, "So where's all this free booze, guys?"

* * *

"Fuck!" Cho Chang spat in frustration. She began to feel the vein in her forehead pound in a rhythm not unlike Ringo on crack. "Damned redheads! Damned Gryffindor boys!"

She had been waiting patiently in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory for Ron's return. They had been kissing and groping about each other's bodies when Ron seemed to come down with a sudden case of responsibility. According to Ron there were condoms to be had in the common room, and he would just quickly scamper off and grab 'one or five'.

It seemed to Cho hours ago that Ron had left her high and not exactly dry. Hours ago that she began to get chilly and decided to get dressed, if not for practicality, then for what remained of her dignity. Hours ago that she realised she couldn't remember where the Ravenaclaw dormitories were. Hours ago! Or at the very least thirty-six minutes. She could not be certain. She was never good at keeping track of time.

"That is the last time I consider having sex with a Weasley," she muttered. She had made her way out the portrait hole and begun descending the stairs towards the confines of her eight-poster bed when she caught herself. "That is the last time I consider having sex with Ron Weasley. Ever. Tonight."

She had been mumbling to herself when the sounds of pleading, and what she thought was someone banging some tin cans against a wall, reached her ears.

"Please! You have to help us! It's been hours -"

"Days!"

"- Days since we've last had a meal. The house elves won't let us into the kitchens anymore! They're not sending anything up to Great Hall!"

"Not a thing!"

"You have to help us! You have to tell us where we can find some food! We'll give you whatever you want!"

Cho smiled as she descended onto the landing where Crabbe and Goyle were prostrating themselves at the feet of a dingy suit of armour. The suit of armour remained stoic, as it droned its all-too-familiar and useless instructions.

"Just follow your nose. Wherever you go, there you are. Use two to four inches of cushioning on all sides when shipping an item."

Goyle rolled onto his back, a loud groan escaping his mouth, as if he were a man stranded in a desert desperate for water.

"What are you two lumps up to this time?" Cho enquired, an amused grin forming at the corner of her lips.

Crabbe and Goyle sprang to their feet wide-eyed and blushing. Their eyes avoided Cho's penetrating gaze when she cleared her throat.

"Let me try this a different way. What are you two doing here this close to the Gryffindor dormitory?"

"ONION RINGS!" Goyle blurted out before he could stop himself.

"What?" asked Cho.

"What?" Crabbe repeated.

An icy silence fell betwixt them, as Cho put her fingers to her lips, tapping them softly in thought. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged meaningful glances as they gestured towards Cho. They quickly broke off their silent communication when they noticed Cho's attention had returned to them, Crabbe feigning disinterest and Goyle flattening out his robes.

"Banned from the kitchens again, are we?" Cho smiled at them. "Professor Snape won't be happy to hear about this. I heard that free-elf Dobby threatened to withhold dessert from the Slytherin table if you two caused trouble for the house elves again."

"What? No. I don't know what you're babbling on about," Crabbe said slightly offended.

"Onion rings," Goyle whimpered.

"What?" Cho cocked her head towards Goyle. No answer came. She looked down her nose at the chubby Slytherins and was about to leave when an idea popped into her mind. "Say, I've just come from a nice little feast in the Gryffindor common room. Loads of food. I don't think we even finished a third of what was brought up. Pies, steaks, puddings -"

"Chicken?" Crabbe asked, swallowing visibly.

"Hmm... There may have been a few pieces. I can't remember if there was any left. I only bothered with the barbequed pieces and not the ones that were fried. My girlish figure, you know." Cho added this last comment, answering Crabbe and Goyle's looks of disbelief. "There's plenty if you hurry."

"We don't know the password to get in," Crabbe whined. Goyle raised his eyebrows in surprise as Crabbe ignored him. Cho eyed them both suspiciously.

"I'm sure you two can figure it out. I did," Cho lied. "Rather simple to figure out, as a matter of fact. And I wouldn't bother wasting time with the suits of armor about it, if I were you. Besides, as Ravenclaw Prefect I'm going to have to report this matter to Professor Snape."

"You're a prefect, onion rings?" Goyle asked.

"What? Yes, of course. That Patil girl couldn't handle the additional workload so it fell to me. In any case, I reckon this may very well be your last meal. You know how Snape gets when he doesn't have his strawberry shortcake."

"You cannot tell Professor Snape!" Crabbe commanded.

Cho brandished her wand in a blink and twirled it between her fingers before pointing it at Crabbe, chuckling, "And what do you propose to do about it, genius?"

Goyle looked at the wand pointed at his friend's chin. Crabbe cast a sideways glance at him and looked back in the direction of the suit of armour. Goyle furrowed his brow in confusion. Crabbe's eyes repeated their pattern.

"Hello, you ass," Crabbe mumbled between gritted teeth.

Goyle spied the hollow knight and followed Crabbe's meaningful glances to Cho Chang. It was as if someone had finally lit a candle in Goyle's head after repeatedly rubbing two wet sticks together.

Goyle smiled mischievously at his partner-in-crime. "Onion rings," he nodded.

Minutes later they were rushing up the stairs towards the Fat Lady and what promised to be an edible heaven, leaving behind the sounds of pleading and what they would much later describe to Draco as someone banging some tin cans against a wall.

"I would've told that hag that we already knew the password and that we've been in Gryffindor Tower loads of times." Goyle huffed, trying to keep pace with Crabbe.

"So she can let Snape in on that little secret, too? Besides, we haven't been in there 'loads', just when we need to nick that Mudblood's notes for Final Exams. I'm not giving Cho anything to use against us. Certainly not with Snape."

"I reckon that was close one." Goyle exhaled sharply as they came to halt in front of the Fat Lady.

"Damn right it was! Draco always says that Cho has an abnormally large mouth. And I am not getting into a spot with the Master of Potions again!" Crabbe said.

Goyle shivered at the thought.

"You know how it is, Goyle. Someone tells on us for no reason, Snape takes us into his office, and we deny everything so he gets his little 'truth potion' out for our 'own good' and the next thing we know we're waking up in an empty Slytherin common room with our assholes hurting and no recollection of that entire day."

"And our mums wonder why our grades are so poor."

"Damn right they do," Crabbe snapped. "And I'm not going to say shit to my dad about my memory being faulty due to a pain in my ass, are you?"

Goyle opened his mouth as if to say something more on this point, but thought better on it.

"So what is the password? Someone's bound to see us when we sneak in. And how do we know Cho wasn't lying about food being in there? There wasn't any when we made off with the Mudblood and her notes."

"Greg, Greg, Greg," Crabbe began with a touch of disappointment in his voice. "I'll try to solve your conundrum like this."

"Con- what?"

"When we come here we always yell at the Fat Lady, beg, curse, offer our services, threaten to burn her, you begin to take off your clothes and she always lets us in. I know that somewhere in there is the password, but since we're not sure, we have to go through that entire routine. Do you follow, Goyle?"

"What a-drum?"

"Now as for your other ponderings, in short, there is buckets of food to be had and everyone is either asleep in the common room or in their rooms having eaten their fill and orgied themselves out."

"Connun- Wait. Orgied themselves out?"

"Why do you think everyone wants to be in Gryffindor?" Crabbe waited was his friend thought this one through. "And why do you think Slytherins hate Gryffindors?"

"Because Gryffindors get laid and our asses hurt?"

"Precisely. Now stop interrupting. Where was I?"

"Orgies?"

"Right. Wait- No..."

"Food, then."

"Yes. Listen. We sneak in hours or minute's ago- no matter, we don't own watches- and the Mudblood is there deep in thought. Or we think so because she's awfully quiet. We try to be suave and sophisticated so we can steal her notes, right? But we didn't know she was dead -"

"She wasn't dead yet," Goyle corrected.

"That's right, Greg. Now shut up! So no food, but Granger and her notes have got to be worth something to those two Mudblood lovers so we leave a nice little note with a simple request right? Now then, upon finding Granger missing and reading our note, they have a huge celebration because nobody likes that fucking wench anyway. So they get those mangy elves to bring up tons of food, fuck themselves on con.. un con.. unconch... They fuck themselves asleep and if we get in there in the next few minutes or so it's Happy Boxing Day for us, right?"

"Or maybe they're awake," Goyle offered sheepishly.

"Come again?"

"Well think about it," Goyle began, "that's exactly how we would react. But these are Gryffindors we're talking about. They love that Mudblood. So why would they celebrate if we have her? Perhaps they're not celebrating."

"That's all very fascinating and shit, Goyle, but Cho Chang told us on what looked to be a full stomach that they had loads of food in there, and that the Gryffindor common room was where she had just come from. And since when do Ravenclaws lie?"

"This is true. I've heard that about Ravenclaws. Cho told me."

"So we're wasting time, you ass. We've got the Mudblood and the answers and every possible question for the finals. The Gryffindors can have poor grades for a change."

"But why then the food?"

"FUCK, GOYLE! Because they were hungry? Because Gryffindors eat when someone dies? Because they're mean, horny little bastards?"

"Because they lost Granger, but still have her notes."

Crabbe stared at his friend for a moment, his mouth moving wordlessly as he considered everything that was just said. It couldn't be possible. The Mudblood clearly was studying. Wasn't she always? So being the same unresponsive bitch she always was to them, he and Goyle had scooped her up, looked around for some parchment and left their demands. Gryffindor should thank them for taking that swine off their hands, right?

To be certain they did not search her clothes in the forest for her notes, but they assumed it would be there. She always kept them near her person when she was preparing for exams. And she wasn't writing anything down when they came upon her. They got the whole package deal in one swoop. They didn't have to pilfer through any of the books lying about. They just grabbed her, left the note, and prepared to ravish her in the forest, until they discovered that the suddenly dead Granger had suddenly become not dead. Yet. Clearly Goyle had no idea what he was talking about. They had it all. A soon to be dead and ravished Mudblood and her-

"Oh, fuck." Crabbe managed to mumble. "We don't have the notes do we?"

"Of course not. You wrote the ransom on that blank piece of parchment, remember?"

"Jesus Christ, Goyle!"

"Who? No. Invisible ink."

"Fuck! So the Gryffindors know everything! The kidnapping, the ransom, the orgies, the invisible ink... Whoever decided to throw that little soiree has our notes, Goyle. So how the fuck do we figure that one out?

"It's a co-nun-drum," Goyle smiled.

"Fuck it! We have to go in there now!"

"About goddamned time!" The Fat Lady said exasperatedly.

"Hey! Fuck you you fat old silly bitch! Now open the fucking door before I burn you down or worse; before Crabbe goes starkers and humps your frame!"

The portrait began to swing open.

"Was it 'fat old silly bitch' or 'humps your frame' this time?" Goyle asked.

Crabbe never answered his question, as a smartly dressed figure clad in a sensible yet chic uniform crawled out of the portrait hole.

"Who are you supposed to be?" snickered Crabbe. "'Weasley' Crusher?"

Ron had stepped out to face them, followed by Neville Longbottom and Parvati Patil.

"Where's Trevor?" Neville demanded before Ron could get a word out.

Ron pulled Neville back by the neck of his robes and passed him back towards Parvati.

"What the hell's the meaning of this?" Ron demanded shaking his fist in front of Crabbe's face.

Goyle noticed that clenched in Ron's tight, yet supple, milk-white freckled hand was a familiar piece of parchment that he knew he must have.

"MY PRECIOUSSSS!" Goyle hissed as he raised his hands to Ron.

Ron rolled up the parchment and smacked Goyle on his nose. "No! Down! Bad Slytherin! Get!"

"Sorry," Goyle whimpered, rubbing his nose.

Ron turned his attention back to Crabbe. "Well?"

Crabbe said nothing. He glanced at his friend who was wiping tears away from his eyes and rubbing snot on the sleeve of his robes.

"Do I have to see Snape about this?"

Goyle stopped his whimpering and stared open-mouthed at Crabbe who gave him a barely perceptible nod.

"Follow me," Crabbe beckoned.

"Onion rings," Goyle whispered.

"What?" asked Ron. He eyed them both for a minute before turning back to the others. Neville was sulking. "Let's go. I have a feeling we'll find Trevor when we find Hermione, Neville."

Ron tapped the left side of his chest. "Weasley to Enterprise. Three to beam down to the Forbidden Forest."

The five students stood in silence and exchanged expectant glances. The Fat Lady rolled her eyes.

"Oh, very well," Ron surrendered. "Lead on, Slytherin dogs."

* * *