Dumbledore, Please Explain Your Twisted Logic!

Islander2

Story Summary:
Dumbledore is putting on a play about the four Hogwarts Founders. Does anyone get the parts they want? Of course not! Mayhem ensues, complete with comedy, romance, insanity, tragedy, Slut!Draco, Harry/Ginny spats, Macho!Ron with a twist, Smart!Goyle, and some very irate parents. Oh, and some nude wrestling, too. Cue the curtain! Slightly AU

Chapter 10 - In Which a Fight Escalates

Chapter Summary:
Can Lavender and Parvati make 105 costumes in one night? Can Hermione make her hair look better? And will Dumbledore even try to stop the three fights that break out on the set? The answer to at least one of these is: No.
Posted:
06/18/2008
Hits:
620


Disclaimer: See earlier chapters: the same disclaimer still stands.

Warning: There's a little bit of underage drinking in this chapter, though no wild drunkenness. That is, in addition to the R-rated language and sexual content. If you've gotten this far, though, you should be able to handle yourself. :D

Chapter Ten

In Which a Fight Escalates

The firmest hand is that of loving care,

The kind that, unconditioned, gives its best

Unto the love it loves. The truest pair

Finds loyalty the firmest proper test.

Like apples paired with apples, crimson bright,

Two lovers gloriously bond in one condition:

That only to themselves, in sensual flight,

Do faithfully give carnal recognition.

The alternative is neither bond nor glory,

But bondage of the most indomitable power,

Both needed and, in figurative heartbreak, gory,

The cauldron's sweetest potion transformed sour.

It may seem sweet, the love to you begotten,

But even the firmest apple may be rotten.

Cloistered away in her tower, Sybil lifted the parchment with a shaking hand and surveyed her spidery opus. Channeling Edna St. Vincent Millay, she had tried her hand at a sonnet, and out popped this little ode. It wasn't half-bad, even though Sybil had never been much of a poet (she much preferred Seeing), but when she reread it, she began to cry.

There was no doubt in her mind what inspired her to write this. Every hour--no, every minute--her brain guided her craftily towards Draco Malfoy, the man with whom she was truly in love. Whenever her day was getting too tough to bear--whenever the students had become particularly boisterous, whenever the curriculum had become too complex, whenever she curled in bed at night feeling much too lonely--she only had to think of Draco to feel better.

But at the same time, she felt unspeakably sad. Draco was not truly hers. He belonged to that Pansy brat, even though he claimed he never slept with her and that the only person on his mind was his favorite Divination professor in the entire wizarding world. It was Pansy who held his arm in public, it was Pansy who could kiss him in front of the entire school, and it was Pansy who got to go home on holidays and visit his parents.

Why couldn't it be her in Pansy's position? If Draco loved her so much, why couldn't she, Professor Sybil Trelawney, stroll down the halls wrapped around Draco's muscled form? Why couldn't she casually walk by him in the courtyard and drop a kiss on his cheek before fluttering off to class? Why couldn't she spend the upcoming Christmas at the Malfoy Manor getting to know his parents better? Why did society deem her too "old" for Draco--why did society have to be so crazy? There was nothing gross about her love for a student, nothing at all gross about her sagging, wrinkled flesh against his chiseled curves, nothing in the world gross about her graying mound enmeshing with his blond pubis. Her wrinkles were just wrinkles, his youth just youth, the gray just gray, and the blond just blond... what truly counted was the endless love they felt for one another. There was nothing gross about that--

Was there?

Ah, it took her entire will, some days, to keep from leaping up from her breakfast in the Great Hall, standing on the table, and yelling out to the entire hall: "I LOVE DRACO MALFOY! I WANT TO MARRY HIM AND BELONG TO HIM UNTIL I DIE!" About the only thing that held her back was the fact that she desperately needed to keep her job, and a student-teacher relationship wouldn't go over well with the Board of Governors. So she kept quiet and took what love she could get.

It wasn't enough. She wanted more.

It was unbearable to think about. To take her mind off her troubles, Sybil Trelawney lit all her incensed candles--another twenty had arrived by owl order today, bringing the total close to one hundred--and sniffed the fumes until she became sufficiently light-headed to forget her worries.

**********

"House-elves."

"House-elves?" Lavender and Parvati repeated in unison, gaping at the bath-robed redhead.

"Yeah, I know, it's only one word if you don't believe the dash sufficiently separates it, but I decided it counted as two words."

"But... house-elves?" Lavender said. "Ron, how the heck did you come up with a crazy idea like that?"

Ron shrugged and grinned at them. "You know me: Crazy ol' Ron. Just clap your hands and ask for Dobby--he's a house-elf, by the way--and he should come directly." The two girls raised their hands skeptically, ready to clap, but Ron held up his hand to stop them. "Just... wait until Hermione's out of the room, or she'll throw a fuss about it. You know," he leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "Spew."

Lavender and Parvati exchanged wry glances--they remembered S.P.E.W. all too well from their Fourth Year. "She's still going on about that?" Parvati asked, making sure to keep her voice down.

"Yeah," Ron said. "It's one of those quirks that makes her so interesting. Doesn't mean it's any less annoying, but there you go." He gave them a wink, and then ambled back to his dormitory.

"You know," Lavender said pensively, watching the redhead retreat to his dormitory, "Ron's been acting a lot differently lately. Better different, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Parvati agreed, "but I'm not thanking him unless the costumes are done on time." They sank back into their chairs and did no work. Instead, they waited for Hermione to go before they turned nervously to face each other.

"Should we try it?" Lavender said.

"Don't get your hopes up," Parvati replied, "but go ahead."

So Lavender clapped her hands and said, "Dobby!" It was a weak clap, and her voice was barely above a whisper, but it worked. A second later, a large-eared, over-eager house-elf appeared with an accompanying CRACK!

"Did you call me, miss?" the house-elf asked, the pile of knitted hats on his head wobbling furiously. Lavender and Parvati took a moment to digest the rest of his strange appearance. In addition to the eight or nine hats on his head (it was hard to count them, because Hermione' knitting was so lumpy), Dobby also wore a pinstriped sports jacket over a Hawaiian flower-printed shirt, a kilt that fell all the way to his ankles, two mismatched socks, and a strange combination of footwear made up of an orange flip flop on one foot and a shiny black stiletto high-heel on the other. Lavender opened her mouth to say something about this fashion disaster, but then she realized she couldn't sufficiently put her violent distaste in words.

Dobby took stock of his surroundings; his face lit up when he realized he was in Gryffindor Tower. "You is being Gryffindors!" he squealed excitedly. "Is you also being friends of the great Harry Potter?"

"Uh, yeah," Parvati said automatically. "Yeah, we know him, sort of... he's in class with us. But it was his friend Ron who told us to call you."

This only made Dobby happier. Bouncing excitedly on his feet, which was quite an accomplishment in the two-inch stiletto, he said breathlessly, "Oh, but Wheezy is being the one is giving me socks!" Here, he pointed at the foot inside the flip-flop, which was covered in a maroon sock. "If you is friends of Harry Potter and his Wheezy, I is doing anything you ask."

"Okay then," Lavender said, raising her eyebrows at Parvati. This was one strange house-elf Ron had sent them. "We need to make one hundred and five costumes by 3:00 tomorrow afternoon. We have the sketches, the measurements, and the material. We just need the manual labor."

"But nothing is being simpler!" Dobby said cheerily. "Hogwarts is having two hundred house-elves in the whole castle--I is thinking we can be sparing at least fifty. Take Dobby's hand, friends of Harry and Wheezy, and we is going to The Kitchens to get some help."

So Lavender and Parvati each took a hand, and with a loud CRACK! they disappeared and reappeared in Hogwarts' enormous kitchens. Even at this time of night there were dozens of house-elves still up cleaning the counters, putting away dishes, slicing up a fruit salad for tomorrow's breakfast, sweeping the floor, levitating huge packages of meat into the refrigerators at the far end of the room, stoking the fireplace to ward off the night chill, and so on and so forth.

"Wow, so this is what The Kitchens are like," Lavender murmured, rather interested in the routine proceedings around her. "Dobby, these house-elves seem pretty busy," she told the house-elf. "Are you sure they can be spared?"

"If they is proper house-elves, they should be having time to spare for needy Harry friends," Dobby said defiantly.

At that moment, two house-elves whizzed up to Lavender and Parvati bearing large trays covered in sweets and appetizers, beckoning silently for the two Gryffindor girls to help themselves. Parvati took a fistful of chocolate liqueurs, and Lavender treated herself to three lamb kebobs.

As the girls ate ravenously in order to build up their flagging energy, Dobby clapped his hands and beckoned the house-elves to gather around him. About twenty of them were able to leave their jobs, and they formed a curious ring around the free elf and the two witches. "These two ladies is being friends of the revered Harry Potter and his Wheezy, and they is desperate for the help of us," Dobby told the little crowd.

One old house-elf in a freshly-pressed tea cozy raised a wrinkled hand and said in a slow, gravelly squeak, "If they is friends of the Potta and the Wheeze, then is that also to mean they is friends of the Grange Lady?"

Still nervous about being surrounded by a bunch of strange creatures (with whom they had little experience in dealing) in a new place, Parvati and Lavender stammered a bit as they answered, "Uh, yeah... we know Hermione Granger." "Yeah... she, uh, shares our dormitory."

Inexplicably, the house-elves shrank back as if the two girls were infected with dragon pox, murmuring worriedly to one another. This only made Parvati and Lavender feel even more nervous. Trying to placate the jittery elves, Lavender said quickly, "Please, we don't mean you any harm, do we, Dobby?"

"What is it you want?" the old elf asked, frowning at the pair of them.

"Just..." Lavender ventured, "are any of you good with... clothes?"

Immediately Lavender realized this was the wrong thing to say, though she didn't know why. The house-elves gasped in shock and retreated to the fireplace, acting as if Lavender had purposely tried to offend them. At a loss for what to do, the Gryffindor girl turned to Dobby and said, "What the heck is wrong with them? All I asked was for help in clothes, and they go all weird on me."

"Please to let Dobby deal with the silly house-elves," Dobby said, rolling his eyes. "They is thinking you is like Harry's Hermy." He turned to the house-elves and yelled, "Please, I is wanting us to be calm! These two misses is only wanting help with the making of costumes for Dumblydore's play. They is not wanting to insult you with the giving of clothes like the Grangey Lady. Be reasonable and help!"

But the damage had been done. Despite the coaxing of Dobby, then of Lavender and Parvati, only eight house-elves agreed to accompany them back to the Gryffindor Common Room. Dobby even disappeared for an hour to search around the castle for more elves, but came back with a mere three.

"Anything else we can get the friends of Harry while we is in The Kitchens?" Dobby said glumly after gathering all the house-elves that were willing to help them.

"Alcohol," Parvati said immediately. "The strongest Firewhiskey you have."

Dobby frowned and flapped his ears a little. "But you is being students," he said doubtfully. "The Whiskey of Fire is being possible to make you drunker than the spirits in Butterbeer."

"We hold our spirits better than house-elves," Parvati insisted. "And we're of age. And this week has been fucking hell. So Firewhiskey, please."

Dobby relented. In five minutes, the two seamstresses were back in the Gryffindor Common Room with a six-pack case of Firewhiskey, a pile of sweets to keep them awake, and a dozen elves to help them with the costumes. The two girls sagged into armchairs by the fire, swigged their Firewhiskey, and waited for the house-elves to get to work.

"Uh..." this came from Dobby, who had wandered over to the two girls and was now tugging at their sleeves. "Misses... friends of Harry... we is not being trained in clothing-making, only in cleaning the castle and cooking and doing laundry."

Swearing a little, Parvati and Lavender had to heave themselves out of the armchairs in order to spend the next hour teaching the house-elves how to use the sewing machines, then how to make the costumes by looking at the measurements and the sketches. By the time the house-elves actually got started, it was 1:00 in the morning.

The whole costume-making deal, Parvati and Lavender reflected, was the worst school project they ever had to do. It was one of those things that seemed like it wouldn't take too long, but in reality swallowed vast ages of their lives, causing them many long, sleepless nights. Whenever things seemed to fall into a pattern, something else came along to grind the whole production to a halt. Even with the house-elves, things didn't get much better. Lavender admitted to Parvati that she had anticipated catching a bit of shut-eye as the creatures did everything for them, but such was not the case. The house-elves constantly had to have the sketches interpreted for them, for fear of ruining the design, allowing no sleep for the two costume makers.

"It's not... it's not like I'm not grateful for the house-elves," Parvati told Lavender in an undertone as she drank her fifth bottle of Firewhiskey (they had to send Dobby back to The Kitchens for more). "But if we had, uh..." she nearly dropped off, but managed just in time to spill a little of the burning whiskey down her throat. Coughing a little, she shook her head and continued, "If we had given up, we'd be asleep right now."

"Fuckin' don't tell me," Lavender managed to slur through her sleep-bleared consciousness. She had only taken two bottles of the whiskey, but was instead inhaling platefuls of chocolate in hopes that the sugar would buoy her energy long enough to get her through this ordeal.

"Misses!" one young house-elf called, "What is the word 'crotch' meaning?"

Lavender heaved out a long, low sigh and pushed herself up from her chair with both arms. "Right now, death is the best thing for that insane headmaster of ours," she muttered to Parvati before she stumbled over to help the house-elf.

**********

At 6:15 on Friday morning, when Dobby was finishing the fortieth costume, Hermione was climbing out of the tub in the Prefects' Bathroom. She wrapped a towel around her dripping torso and went to the mirror above the expansive, basin-like sink in order to observe herself.

Hmm, my hair actually looks pretty decent when it's wet, Hermione thought as she primped in front of the cold glass. I can't go around with wet hair all day, though. If only it didn't frizz out when it dried!

Hermione enjoyed waking up a little earlier than everyone else. That way, she got the Prefects' Bathroom before the others, and she could take her time to dry her hair and put on her makeup. At about 6:45 a line started forming outside, at which point she had to start rushing herself.

Pulling out her wand, Hermione cast a hair drying charm and began brushing her brown locks as the hot air blasted over her head. She tried different strokes of the brush every day, combined with different angles of the wand, but it never worked. By the time she was done, her hair was as monstrously furry as Aragog's. Harry kept on assuring her she looked beautiful, but she doubted he said it out of anything more than a friendly consideration for her feelings.

Sighing sadly, she canceled the charm and pulled out her makeup. She turned over to the bathtub and called, "You can come out, Myrtle!"

A fifteen-year-old ghost floated, transparent, from the mouth of a skinny faucet and drifted to Hermione's side. "How did you know I was there?" she asked glumly.

"I heard your gurgles," Hermione said calmly. "Were you watching me take my bath?"

If a ghost could blush, then Moaning Myrtle did just that. Floating backwards a few inches, she said shyly, "Maybe... maybe not..."

"It's okay," Hermione said as she applied her mascara. "I understand that some people are turned on by voyeurism. Just realize that not everyone is as understanding as me."

Moaning Myrtle burst into violent tears and fled up to the ceiling. "So you're going to call me names, are you?" she wailed. "You're going to say I'm the most perverted ghost you've ever met, and that I'm a sick sex freak!"

"No, no, not at all!" Hermione insisted frantically, gazing upward at the ceiling with eyes that implored Moaning Myrtle to believe her. "No, I was just saying..."

"Spare me your excuses!" Moaning Myrtle sniffed dramatically. She drifted lazily down to the tub, sniffling all the while.

Hermione's gaze followed the touchy ghost. With a sigh, she tried to think up some way to compliment Myrtle. "Uh... you know, Myrtle, I've always loved your hair. I wish mine were as smooth. How did you get it to stay like that?"

Moaning Myrtle whipped her tearstained head out of her hands and glared at Hermione. "Did?" she squawked. "DID? How DID I get it done? Thanks once again for reminding me that I'm DEAD!" And with another wail she disappeared up the faucet from whence she came, leaving an exasperated Gryffindor behind.

"I don't suppose I'll ever find out how to fix my hideous hair!" Hermione moaned in a fit of hopelessness. She kicked at the tiled floor with her bare feet and let out a long sigh. She then applied the rest of her makeup, though she was acutely aware of the fact that beautifying the rest of her face would do no good when she had a hairdo like the abominable snowman's.

**********

The bell rang at 8:00 that morning, signaling the start of classes. Last-minute stragglers dodged through doors and into their desks, throwing open their bags and pulling out their books just as the teachers began roll call.

However, up in the oppressive North Tower there were only four students present out of the normal six. Professor Trelawney revolved tipsily on her feet as she counted her students. She exuded a strong odor of cooking sherry. "One... two... three... four... five," she slurred. "There's only five-ah you."

Ernie raised his hand and said uncomfortably, "Actually, there's only four of us. There's me, Luna, Colin, and Los--er, Clifford."

"No, there's five-ah," Trelawney insisted, her voice becoming sing-songy. "'Cause there's two-ah Losah. Losah-Losah, Double-Losah. Oh, my sweet Dracah!" She slumped into the nearest armchair and began sobbing.

"Maybe Parvati and Lavender died," Luna suggested helpfully. "I had a dream last night that Professor Snape sneaked into their dormitory, captured them, raped them, and then slowly dissolved them in acid. They were alive and in incredible pain all the way until the acid reached their hearts, which took a good few hours."

Trelawney started at Luna's words, her eyes dilating in and out as they bugged from her head. "Oh, death!" she cried when Luna finished. "How glorious! Death, death, death! My dear, you are truly blessed with the Sight!" She flailed about in her armchair a bit before her head suddenly fell back and issued a series of slightly drunken snores.

Loser turned nervously to Luna and said:

"Oh Luna, are you truly blessed with Sight?

Were L and P murdered and raped last night?"

He was still talking in rhyme, mostly because Ron had never told him stop, though also partly because he didn't want to speak normally for fear of stuttering again. He was now a master of thinking up couplets on the spot, so much so that it was almost like regular talking. Almost, that is, because people kept giving him funny stares over it.

Luna, as always, was the exception to the rule. She acted as though Loser was talking as normally as everyone else (though in a Divination class it was hard to gauge anyone as "normal"), and answered him accordingly. "Of course I didn't dream it, Cliffy," she said sweetly. "But Trelawney thinks I did, and she's going to give me an O for the day. You should try it sometime. In fact, try it when she wakes up."

Loser nodded his head so that he didn't have to think up an entire couplet just to convey the word "Yes." Luna laughed a tiny, lilting laugh and asked, "Why do you take Divination anyway, Cliffy?"

Loser shrugged his shoulders glumly and replied:

"Because I suck in every other class,

And this one is the easiest to pass."

Luna stroked his shoulder comfortingly and said, "Now, now. You should come talk to my Heebripple sometime, and he'll tell you just how smart you really are." Loser was touched by her consideration, but all the same, he thought to himself that he might skip the visit with the supposed Heebripple.

At that moment, Trelawney awoke with a snort. She sat up, her eyes blinking wildly, and she insisted: "I was awake, my dears! Just a spot of the Sight coming onto me. I saw Death again, with its scythe, and it walked around and touched everyone who was to die in the next month. And it touched some souls here at Hogwarts, I swear upon the grave of my first love, it did! Before this month is out, one of us in this very room will fall under Death's swooping blow, leaving behind only memories, which is the chaff that sifts through the minds of our friends and family! Be forewarned, the Sight is among us!"

Ernie exchanged a long glance with Colin. Luna grinned widely and made some purposefully inane comment like: "The Sight is indeed among us, professor, how right you are." Professor Trelawney nodded spasmodically and returned the affirmation twice or thrice ("Yes indeed, the Sight is among us, the Sight, my dear! Yes, the Sight is strong today!") until she sounded like a broken record.

Loser quietly raised his hand and spoke, his voice incredibly calm, though tinged for the first time in his life with an undercurrent of mischief:

"Professor, it was me that Death did pick,

It's me his scythe shall cut down to the quick.

For Snape shall also murder my poor self

And rest my sad remains upon his shelf.

He'll rape me hard inside the mouth and ass;

My death's performance shall take hours to pass.

But Snape's inflicted with a mind disorder,

For he won't commit these evils in that order."

After this recitation the class forgot Lavender and Parvati's absences, and Loser, for the first time in his life, got top marks for the day.

**********

A young house-elf by the name of Clockles finished the 125th costume at 2:57 that afternoon. In the three minutes before the bell rang, the twelve house-elves and the two collapsing Gryffindor girls transported all the costumes to the Great Hall. They created a huge pile on the stage behind the curtain (which Dumbledore had just set up, although he was not currently in the room as he had stepped out for a moment to use the lavatory). Afterwards, the house-elves disappeared, leaving the girls to sag against one another as sleep assaulted their brains and demanded to control them.

Right before they could go to sleep, however, Dumbledore swept back into the room. Seeing them on the stage next to their pile of clothes, he grinned widely and said, "Ah, all one hundred twenty-five costumes, just as I asked. Didn't I tell you that it was possible? Now you can help me match each outfit to its performer, after which we'll transport this whole pile to the appropriate dressing rooms."

It was too much. After slaving away for the past 36 hours without sleep (not to mention the other hundred hours in the past week), Lavender and Parvati couldn't do any more. Lavender ignored the headmaster entirely, but Parvati dredged up her last vestiges of energy to raise her middle finger at the professor and say, "Fuck you, Dumbledore." At which point she conked out with her head on a pile of whorehouse costumes.

~~~~~

When everyone came into practice a few minutes later, they were astounded to discover that Lavender and Parvati had managed to complete all 125 costumes just as Dumbledore had requested. Everyone except for Ron, that is. With a knowing smile, he pulled the portfolio of sketches from under Parvati's arm and found his own costumes. Then he went into boys' dressing room to change into his fat suit and Act II outfit.

The final scene of Act II involved a musical duet between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. So, while Ron and Neville went onstage to practice with Dumbledore, Luna volunteered herself and Harry to tag and arrange all the costumes in Lavender and Parvati's stead.

"I'm helping, too!" Ginny insisted ferociously when Dumbledore gave them the go ahead. She latched herself firmly to Harry's arm as they ambled over to the pile of costumes. He went rigid beneath her touch.

Luna riffled through the portfolio until she found a sketch of the costume nearest to her. It was a tube dress that looked short enough to be a tube shirt, and it trailed strings of gaudy beads from the hems. "Outfit for Whore #2, Act I, scene iv," Luna read aloud. "Girls' dressing room." She magically tacked a label to the dress and carried it off to its destination.

The costume sorting ran in this vein for about five minutes. Then Luna stirred things up a bit by pulling a blank sheet of paper from the portfolio and writing on it: "Outfit for Stable Boy, played by Harry Potter, Act IV, scene iii." Then she showed it to Ginny. "Isn't that funny?" she said lightly.

Ginny snarled and grabbed a handful of Harry's flesh in an attempt to pull him to her side. "Back the fuck away, Loony!" she snapped at her onetime friend, ignoring Harry's pained squeals. "You think you're special because you get to go onstage naked with him. Well, you're not! You haven't slept with him; I have."

"I'm sure you've slept with him," Luna replied, her face the picture of perfect sweetness, "just not for the past month."

Harry had never truly understood the metaphor of the shadow passing over someone's face, but as he watched his girlfriend he discovered its meaning. Ginny's gaze smoldered angrily, and the depressions in her cheeks and eyes deepened as her jaw developed a rapidly pulsing tic. She let go of Harry as suddenly as she grabbed onto him, and she took a few quick strides until she was inches away from Luna's half-tilted face.

"The Heebripple smells sexual energy," Luna whispered softly to the redhead. "And he says there's none left between you and Harry."

For a second there was nothing. No accompanying grin from Luna. No build of tension in Ginny's arms. No shifting from an extremely uncomfortable Harry. Then, without warning, Ginny's fist snapped out of nowhere and slammed into Luna's jaw.

~~~~~

Right as Ron was changing in the boys' dressing room, and right as Luna was asking Dumbledore for permission to sort out the currently unused costumes, Hermione was picking up her own costume, along with Goyle's. "Here," she said roughly when the thickset Slytherin wandered near the pile. "Take this, put it on."

"You found it for me?" Goyle asked, grinning amiably.

"Only because you can't find anything without a map and three analysts," Hermione muttered under her breath before she strode off to the girls' dressing room. "Stupid Goyle," she added to herself. "Why Dumbledore cast him as the librarian, I have no idea."

Gregory Goyle's grin faded. As he went to the dressing room to change into his costume, he wished once again that Draco didn't make him act so bloody stupid all the time. What was wrong with being smart--what's more, what was wrong with letting it show? Hermione did it, so why couldn't he? Sure, people made fun of smart people, but they also made fun of dumb people. The operative difference was that people still went to the smart people for help but passed over the dumb people for being too stupid to do anything other than stand around. A smart wizard could do all sorts of things: invent new spells, capture criminals, write spellbooks, teach students, and change the world. A dumb wizard was pretty much limited to modeling, gang fighting, or becoming Minister of Magic. Why couldn't Malfoy see that smart was better than stupid, then let his friend and faithful lackey adjust accordingly?

Two minutes later, he and Hermione were in their costumes, waiting for Dumbledore to finish the musical number before he began rehearsing another scene with them, as he had promised at the end of last practice.

For a few silent minutes Hermione stewed in her own frustration. She pulled unconsciously at a strand of her hair and tapped her foot against the ground. All the meanwhile, she shot sidelong glances at Goyle, who returned his own when she didn't seem to be looking.

Goyle couldn't stand it--he had to know what she was thinking. So he said quietly, "Uh, Granger...?"

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, unable to contain herself any longer. "All I'm saying is that you'd better say your lines properly! I'm way too busy as it is, and I don't have time to pick up the slack for a stupid Malfoy flunky who can't act!" She said this in one breath and glared sternly at him to accentuate her point.

So that's what was bothering her! But of course, he already knew that. Hermione thought that he, Goyle, was as stupid as Crabbe. Who didn't, after all, other than Draco, Crabbe, and Pansy? "Look, Granger," he began, "despite what you think--"

At that moment, Malfoy whizzed up to him and elbowed him in the side. "Goyle! Get back here!" Of course. Draco was always there to keep him from proving his brainpower to anyone who didn't already know about it. Sighing a long, loud sigh, Goyle plodded away from Hermione.

"Don't talk to her at all," Draco told Gregory severely. "I know brains like that are a big temptation for you, but you better resist them, especially since they belong to a Gryffindor brat who just happens to be best friends with bloody Potter."

But, as it turned out, Hermione was not done talking to them. Just as Draco finished hissing his instructions at Goyle, she ran up to both of them and continued dispelling her temper. "Malfoy, you better make sure he's practicing his lines every night, or I'll tell Dumbledore! I hate that I always have to clean up after other peoples' incompetence!"

"Stop blathering, you Gryffindor clown," Malfoy sneered at her.

"I'll blather all I want, Malfoy!" she replied, much too excited to be calmed. "I'm sick and tired of working overtime on this play when I should be in Professor Vector's room getting help on my Arithmancy project!"

~~~~~

Loser went into the dressing room the same time as Ron. In five minutes, he managed to slip into his costume, which was a dashing affair most suited for an army commander. The tunic and trousers were a bold mix of red and black, topped with grieves and a breastplate made of a faux metal that looked and felt real, but was far lighter than real metal. This gave Loser the impression of actual armor while still allowing him a good deal of freedom for his more dramatic flourishes. He even had a helmet with a feathered top, but he only put it on when he wasn't delivering one of his many lines. He also wore a belt equipped with a sword and sheath.

When Loser had decked himself fully in his battle regalia, he realized something of utmost interest to himself: He now felt much more courageous than he had ever felt in his whole life. Dumbledore was right--the costumes did help him get into his role, and his role was Olivier the battle hero, one of the bravest men in Wizarding literature.

"Thank Merlin for Patil and Brown, I say!

This costume wakes my nerves in bold display."

Loser uttered this out loud, his face filled with awe as he gazed at himself in the full-length mirror. Ron looked up from his own outfit, which he hadn't yet managed to get over the bosom of his fatsuit.

"You haven't been speaking in rhyme for the past two days, have you?" Ron said in surprise. "Didn't I say that an hour or two would be sufficient? I supposed I didn't, did I?" Loser shook his head in agreement. "Well, speak normally now: I think you're ready."

So, willing himself not to searching for a rhyme or a meter, Loser said, "What should I say?"

"Say: 'Clifford is the shit, and the rest of you motherfuckers better start running,' " Ron suggested.

"Clifford is the shit," Loser said, "and the rest of you motherfuckers better start running. Okay. What did that prove?"

"Besides the fact you can actually swear now?" Ron said. "Just keep talking normally, and report back to me next practice." He finally managed to get his costume in place, and so he walked out of the dressing room and into the makeup room to apply his makeup.

"Hmm," Loser said. "Just talk normally, he said? Okay, whatever." He tested a few words on his tongue, just to see what would happen. "Loser. Clifford. Susan. Edmund. Fuck Edmund. Fuck him and let the spirit of Lord Voldemort go all Dark on his arse. I'm worth twelve of him!" He paused. The dressing room was now empty except for him. "Fuck." He giggled. "Fuck." He giggled again. What fun it was to try out these new swearwords on a tongue that no longer stumbled over them! "Cock. Pussy. Shit."

At that moment Harry burst through the door carrying some dress robes. Loser decided it was time to leave the room and actually get out onto the stage. Unsheathing his sword, he gave it a few practice swings, relishing the whistles that rode on the still air of the Great Hall.

Quite on accident, Loser happened to pass within a foot of Susan, who was sitting on the steps at the side of the stage. He came to a halt and nearly said, Hello, Susan, but stopped himself just in time to amend it to: "Hey, Susan." His nerves were jangling, but his lips moved without stuttering.

"Get lost, Loser," came the reply.

That was not the answer he wanted to hear. He stood there in a moment's hesitation, but didn't yet allow himself to speak. I mustn't let myself stutter! Loser told himself sternly. And so he waited a few moments before taking a deep breath and replying, "Where's your boyfriend? Edwin, was that his name?"

"Edmund," came the caustic reply. "Get it right, fuckwit."

Loser actually smiled. He had known Edmund's name for the past year now--how could he not, when he thought about Susan every single day, and about the fact that Edmund was corrupting her against him? "Sorry," he said easily after another few seconds of silence. "People like him just sort of slip the mind, you know?"

"Do they, now?" Susan replied, peeved.

"Yeah. Not like you, though," Loser pressed on. "When I heard your name for the first time, I remembered it instantly. How could I not, when it matched such an amazing person?" His stomach was so filled with nerves that it hurt. But at the same time some cloud nine filled his chest and made it seem lighter than air. He had never managed to carry on a conversation with Susan that was more than a sentence (or stutter) long.

With a suddenness that nearly sent Loser off the edge of the stage, Edmund appeared out of nowhere, bawling, "GET AWAY FROM MY GIRLFRIEND, YOU LOSER!" He whipped out his wand and cried, "Diffindo!"

~~~~~

HUFF: [singing]

...And when I think of Hogwarts,

I think of joy and love.

A school will teach,

Our kids will reach,

Them searching each,

For knowledge from above.

Our loyal hearts will bring us through

To peace and knowledge born anew

From all the good a man can do.

SLTYH: [singing sadly]

These attributes shall bind us fast,

But how come peace can never--

At that moment three things happened at once. Ginny punched Luna in the jaw. Hermione began screaming at Malfoy. And Edmund's Diffindo grazed Loser's shoulder, try as he might to dodge it. Immediately three fights began simultaneously throughout the Great Hall, causing quite a commotion.

"You're a crazy Mudblood!"

"I'll teach you to even look at my boyfriend!"

"Bludgeon maxima! Ha, you couldn't dodge that, Edmund!"

"Ginny, what'd you do that for... Luna, why're you--?"

"Get away from him, filthy little Loser!"

"Better a Mudblood than a Malfoy! Infestae Gangrenus Arse!"

Ginny and Luna were involved in an epic catfight that involved a lot of fingernail clawing and hair pulling. Luna somehow managed to seem calm as she jabbed her wand into Ginny's nose and cooed, "I get to be naked with Harry!" Ginny yowled in response and tried to bite Luna's neck.

Meanwhile, Malfoy was clutching at his bottom with a pained expression; Hermione's curse had caused gangrene to infest his backside, and it let out the most terrific smell as it rotted on his frame. Hermione smiled a wry, vindictive smile.

At the same time, Loser had managed to hit Edmund with a Bludgeoning Hex, a Leg-Breaking Hex, and a few punches, while Edmund hadn't gotten in any more than the Cutting Curse he had fired off at the get go.

Dumbledore giggled happily as he watched the three fights play out. Ron glared at him and said, "Well, aren't you going to stop them? I think Ginny and Luna are about to kill each other."

"No, they need to get it out," Dumbledore said happily. "The conflict must always reaching a battle pitch before a resolution can be reached."

"That's bullshit," Ron said, not bothering to curb his tongue. Dumbledore no longer seemed to take points off for swearing--the most he ever did was frown reprovingly, if he wasn't actively encouraging it--so Ron didn't see the point in restraining himself. He pulled out his wand and sent off three pink firecrackers in a row. They exploded with much energy and noise, causing all the fighting to grind to a halt.

"Okay, now," Ron yelled so that they could all hear him. "Be reasonable. Let's not fight anymore, sound good?"

"But she's ogling my boyfriend!" Ginny shrieked.

"And Malfoy's antagonizing me!" Hermione cried.

"And he cursed my boyfriend!" Susan screeched.

"Uh, okay," Ron said. "That sucks and all, but fighting won't solve it." When the nine people involved the in the altercations glared at him, he turned to Dumbledore for support. "Back me up, old man. It's your job, not mine."

So Dumbledore beckoned the three groups forward. None of them moved. "I have just the idea," he said. "Just for today, we're going to divide the practice into small groups, just to give us more focus. Miss Granger and Master Goyle, you two will go to the library to first discuss your characters and then rehearse your scenes. Master Potter, Miss Lovegood, go outside and do the same thing. And my faithful battle hero," he inclined his head towards Loser, "will pair up with Xaxis's unfaithful wife," he also inclined his head towards Eloise, "and practice at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Master Malfoy, you will go with Master Longbottom to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where you both will go through the entire play and rehearse your mutual scenes properly, as you have been unable to do for the past two weeks."

Dumbledore continued dividing the cast and crew into small groups. Dean took his four set artists out to the grounds to paint landscapes. Ginny was declared Ron's assistant in makeup, and they went into the makeup room to practice. The whores went to the Charms classroom to practice singing. And two house-elves (once again, suspiciously lacking any Hogwarts crest on their uniforms) transported Lavender and Parvati back to their dormitories, where they would sleep until the next afternoon.

And as Dumbledore divided up his cast and crew, he afforded himself a gleeful grin. There was still so much wrong with all these students--so much to fix, and so much that seemed almost unfixable! But his meddling had always worked in the past, and with a little patience it would work again. Creating and casting this play had been the first step. This move was the second step.

He now only had to sit back and see what this afternoon's worth of meddling would bring.

A/N: Next chapter is called "So Why is Goyle So Smart?" It's him and Hermione in the library, where Dumbledore sent them. I'll warn you ahead of time that it's a short chapter (not even half the length of this one), so that way I won't have to apologize when I post it. As if I'd apologize anyway--some chapters are long, and some are short, and apologizing for the short ones won't make them any longer.

Thanks to my beta, Lisa725. Now go review: I answer all my reviews!