Dumbledore, Please Explain Your Twisted Logic!

Chapter Fourteen

A Lot of Naughty Words and Their Defense

The PTA called an emergency meeting that Sunday. In reality, it wasn't exactly an emergency, but there was nothing else to call it, since their regular meetings were only supposed to happen once a month. Ivana made sure Narcissa was ready for a 3:00 meeting, right in the middle of the day where nothing happened. It was too late to beg off for Sunday afternoon luncheon, and too early to beg off for Sunday evening dinner, and only a handful of parents were able to escape to work. This didn't mean that every other parent came to Narcissa Black's house for the meeting. The dads (other than Xenophilius Lovegood) turtled themselves away in little nooks and crannies--the golf course, the pool, the overdue yard work--and left the moms to fend for themselves. Even so, they managed their own excuses: Some were "sick," some had child who were "sick," one had a dog that was "sick," another had a Puffskein that was "sick" (what exactly constituted as sick, nobody bothered to figure out), and another few decided that the yard work was too much for their husbands to handle alone. The teachers, meanwhile, didn't even respond to the memo. However, Ivana's careful scheduling ensured that an additional ten mothers came to the meeting, bringing the total up the fifty.

"We met way too early last week," Ivana told Narcissa plainly as they stood by her regal fireplace. "12:00 noon is possibly the worst time. People were excusing themselves for lunch and early afternoon naps. Heck, some of them claimed they were still at church during the meeting."

"They go to church?" Narcissa said, mildly curious. "How do the Christian parents handle their kids going off to Hogwarts to become witches and wizards? I thought that was unbiblical. They even make a fuss when people write storybooks about magic."

"Not always," Kayla Creevey chirped, inserting herself into the conversation. "They're in love with Gandalf. Mention J.R.R. Tolkien, and you have to wipe the drool off the floor."

"That's revolting," Ivana said, her face adopting the expression of ultimate suffering.

"Did you know they're going to make a movie of The Lord of the Rings?" Kayla said excitedly. "A movie tells a story like a book, you know, but it does it with images and sound, not with words."

"We know what a movie is," Narcissa sighed.

"Oh," Kayla said. "I thought you wouldn't.... well, good. Anyhow, there's going to be a movie of The Lord of the Rings, and they haven't started making it yet, but there's this guy nobody knows about called Peter Jackson--you've never heard of him, I bet, 'cause he's only done schlock horror and this one arthouse film that I just watched and it was actually really good--but he wants to direct the movie. Isn't that exciting?"

Ivana turned a baleful eye towards Narcissa and said conspiratorially, "Fangirls." Then she mimed inserting her finger into her throat and vomiting.

A few minutes later the parents settled in their armchairs and listened as Ivana made her report. She strode around the golden ballroom, keeping constant eye contact with the parents before her as she outlined the atrocities that she had discovered.

"Narcissa's house-elves inserted themselves inside Hogwarts castle this past week to find out just what this play was all about. They have made their first report. From what they've seen of the practices, this play has an unprecedented amount of bad language." She waited as these words sunk in to her audience, and they did, arousing a disapproving rumble. "One of them also helped make the costumes, and it appears that some of the costumes are..." she paused dramatically-- "low-cut. Immodest." Another disapproving rumble, plus a few worried whispers.

"Dumbledore is raising our children to be dirty-mouthed tramps. We shall all Floo over to Hogwarts tomorrow during play practice and demand he put a stop to it."

She left no room for argument or counter-suggestion. The fifty mothers nodded in unison, their jaws set and their eyes cold. Xenophilius watched the proceedings with an amused grin on his face.

**********

Monday afternoon play practice arrived in a different mood from Friday's practice. For one thing, there was something magical about the first snowstorm of the winter, and the one on Friday had left the Hogwarts grounds a pearly white that impelled the students to rush outside and start snowball fights and snowmen construction. After such a weekend, it was hard to lose their good moods entirely, however much Potions or paperwork or play practice tried their patience. For another thing, however twisted Dumbledore had become, his idea of dividing the practice into small groups actually worked wonderfully. The set artists had finally finished all their backdrops, which were some of the best eye candy ever created by students, and they were now working with the props master to complete the illusion of reality onstage. Everyone with a singing part now knew the words and tunes to their songs, though Dumbledore still tisked a little at the off-key voices. "We'll get Flitwick in here to whip you all up to shape," he promised. "He's as good at singing as he is at dueling, and that's saying something."

Best of all, however, the individual actors were finally beginning to get along with one another. Hermione Granger and Gregory Goyle went through their scenes only once before Dumbledore pronounced them pitch-perfect. Loser got through his Act III, scene i monologue without stuttering, despite the dozens of profanities that filled the passage. And Ginny was thriving under Ron's tutelage as his new makeup apprentice, so much so that she forgot to be mad at the insignificance of her bit role in Act III.

"I'm glad someone's helping me with makeup," Ron told her as he applied some onto Loser's face. "Because I'm playing Helga Hufflepuff as well, and I really can't direct the makeup application process while I'm onstage."

"You'll make a great team," Loser piped up, grinning as Ron built a wound on his face with derma wax and fake blood. "Gee, Ron, that gash looks really cool."

"You're getting three more," Ron said, "including one all the way down your arm. For the sixth scene of this act, you know. Right after the battle.

"Yeah, I know."

"How did your practice with Eloise Midgen go, by the way?" Ginny asked Loser. "On Friday."

"Oh, that," Loser said as he grinned again. "Pretty good. I apologized for the accident on Wednesday--without even stuttering, can you believe it! And she said it was okay, that is was just an accident, and then... We practiced."

"That's all?" Ginny asked, a little bit disappointed at the lack of gossip the incident incited. "No special bond, nothing?"

"I don't think so," Loser said, a bit nervous at Ginny's questioning. "I mean, it was just a...a normal practice."

"Leave the guy alone," Ron scolded his sister, giving her a gentle punch in the shoulder.

"Abuse!" Ginny squawked, even though the punch wouldn't have hurt a house-elf. She flicked him in the side of the head in retaliation. So he pulled out his wand and gave her a pig nose. She countered by sending an Aguamenti charm into his crotch so it looked like he wet his pants.

"Uh, guys, my makeup," Loser reminded them as they cast jinxes at each other. They looked up guiltily and quickly canceled the spells before getting back to work.

"Sorry 'bout that," Ron said. "It's Ginny's fault she started--" he stopped short when he saw the reproving glare on her face. "Um, yeah... maybe she didn't. Yeah, she didn't. It was me." She nodded contently, and Loser pulled a wry grin.

"Pussy whipped," he said smugly. Ginny found this really funny--not only because of Ron's indignation, but also because it was Loser who had said "pussy whipped," and it was enough to send her into a fit of giggles for the rest of practice.

~~~~~

At around 3:45 an old lady strolled into the Great Hall and draped herself around Dumbledore's shoulder. The students kept giving her strange looks, so Dumbledore decided to introduce her. "Attention, everyone, this is--" he turned to the lady and whispered, "Hey, Connie, are you going by your married name or your maiden name right now?"

"It's Connie, everyone," the old lady told the crowd. "Call me Connie." Nobody said anything. Once they knew who she was, they decided she was old news (literally), and they returned to their duties. Connie turned to Dumbledore and frowned, saying, "They don't seem very eager to get to know me."

"It's because you're a friend of Professor Dumbledore," Draco answered. They had been practicing the fifth scene of the act, though without the nude wrestling, right before Connie had interrupted them. "We're all weirded by Dumbledore, and we figure that any of his close friends are bad news."

"I disagree," Luna said, sauntering over from a conversation with Hermione. "Dumbledore is neat. And I'll bet you are too, Ms. Connie."

"Ah, now here's a polite youngster!" Connie said, grinning gleefully. She patted Luna on the head and gave her a compliment on her gorgeous hair.

"Are you as perverted as Dumbledore?" Draco asked, not bothering with manners. Dumbledore's standards of decency were so low these days he could get away with saying practically anything.

"Almost as perverted," Dumbledore answered for her. "But I think you take the cake. I never even thought about marrying, having kids, then getting someone to place the Imperius Curse on me so that I had to rape and torture them to death. That's one shade of kinky I have never considered before." Draco blushed a beet red as he realized what Dumbledore was saying. Dumbledore laughed gaily and said, "Well, you did instruct the portraits to tell me about it, and they obeyed. You shouldn't be complaining."

"Aren't you going to deduct points from him, Dumbledore?" Connie said indignantly. "That's rather inappropriate, especially to be joking about the Imperius Curse. It's an Unforgivable Curse, isn't it?"

"Have no fear, Connie," Dumbledore crooned, stroking her cheek. "I've taken my revenge on him already." He winked saucily at Draco, then at the nearby Neville. "How'd it go?" he said in a stage whisper. Neville turned from white to red in an instant, and Draco scowled at the headmaster.

"Get your crooked nose out of this," Draco hissed at him.

In truth, Neville had been acting a bit strange during this practice. After the nude wrestling they kissed--passionately. Then they fucked. Draco happened to be carrying around a bottle of lubricant in his discarded robes (which wasn't all that random, as he wanted always to be prepared for a sexual encounter of any type), and they had put it to good use. Very good use. Phineas Nigellus squinched his eyes tight shut, but the Fat Lady and Lockhart were glued to the spectacle. Lockhart ejaculated onto Phineas' shoes, and the former headmaster made a huge fuss, swearing never again to get involved in one of Dumbledore's ideas. After this, they had finished practicing the play. The spells on the door came undone, and Phineas Nigellus left promptly. But Draco and Neville lagged behind and waited for the other portraits to leave. Then they got naked and fucked again. Then they laid in each other's arms and fucked once more an hour later. They parted ways late that night, and Neville went back to his dormitory and lay awake until early in the morning. He got up at 5:30 and masturbated into the bathroom sink. Then he went back to bed, naked, and fell asleep until 3:00 in the afternoon.

He and Draco hadn't seen each other until now. And suddenly Neville felt terrified. As he wandered around the school on Saturday afternoon and all of Sunday, he had wondered what he was going to tell the blond-haired Slytherin the next time they met. What did you say to someone who you hated all your life, and then suddenly had sex with? That Draco was another boy made it even worse, because that now gave Neville the dreaded label: homosexual.

I'm not, am I? Neville wondered, sweating at the very thought. I went out with Luna. We kissed, and then we had sex. And I liked it--I thought it was pretty good, and I'm sure she did, too. I mean, it wasn't as perfect as everyone talks about, but that's because we were inexperienced, right? Or... or was that because I was gay, and my perfect sex wouldn't happen until it happened with a boy?

Maybe I'm bisexual. Yes, that sounds better. Maybe I roll both ways, and I happen to be turned on by both girls and boys. I like breasts, after all. And I like the thought of my penis inside a vaginal cavity. But damn, when Draco gave it to me from behind...! It hurt like hell, but fuck, it hurt so good! The second time was definitely better, because I wasn't an arse virgin. I'm still sore, though--Draco has a huge penis!

STOP! Don't go on like this. It's just... it's just a fancy. Maybe I am straight, and this is just a phase I'm going through. I read that most straight people have homosexual fantasies and even homosexual experiences at least once in their lifetimes. I should be allotted at least three or four more times with Draco before I lose my straight label, right? I really don't want to have to become gay, because that means I wouldn't be able to marry a woman and have children.

All the same, though, I want to be happy. I want to be sexually satisfied, and I want to love who I am. How can I do that if I don't know who I am?

"Something the matter?" Luna pattered up from behind and rubbed Neville at the back of his head, near the neck. "You seem down in spirits."

"Oh, uh..." Neville quickly racked his brain for an excuse--any excuse other than the real reason--as to why he looked so glum. "Uh... just thinking about Transfiguration. About, uh, how I probably failed the quiz today." Fuck it! Why did I say that? Now I have to think about both my homosexuality AND my horrid Transfiguration skills!

"You should've taken Divination," Luna said idly. "Just predict your death and you get an automatic O."

"M'eh." Neville shrugged listlessly.

"Anyhow, I'll bet that's not all that's bothering you. Don't worry, I won't make you spill the beans. But my Heebripple and I will be thinking about you and wishing you the best." And with these words, Luna skipped away, leaving a very confused Neville in her wake.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Connie had discovered Loser, all dressed up in his battle regalia and lounging near the back of the stage. She bullied him mercilessly.

"So what do people call you?" she asked him with a crooked-toothed leer. "Let me guess... Loser!"

"Uh..." Loser tried not to stammer out his surprise at her making such an accurate guess. He wasn't that obvious, was he? "Actually, my name..." he paused, then started over again. "Actually, my name is Clifford."

"Oh. Clifford." Connie wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Is it just me, or is Clifford a really puny name? For some reason, it creates this mental image of a cripple who can't get it up for his woman. No idea why."

"My great-grandfather's name was Clifford," Loser said softly, "and he was crippled. His first wife divorced him, but then he married one of his servants, and he managed, despite his condition, to father a kid with her. Haha, I guess his first wife just didn't turn him on enough!"

"Or maybe," Connie retorted, "his first wife left him for someone who could actually give her a proper orgasm. You ever thought about that?"

"Uh..." Loser paused for a moment and worked out his answer before he replied. "Um, no, I never, eh, thought about that. He died before I was born, anyhow."

"A Muggle, I expect," Connie said shrewdly.

"My mum was the first bit of magic in the family," Loser said. "Anyhow, why're you asking me all of this?"

"Morbid curiosity, I suppose," Connie said.

"Well, stop it, er, I mean, I wish you wouldn't. I think Dumbledore wants me to be practicing my lines, not chatting with strangers."

Connie huffed indignantly and acted as if she'd been hurt. "I'm no stranger, my dear. I'm a friend of Al's. Dumbledore," she clarified, when Loser looked confused. "Anyhow, I haven't the time to waste talking to dim-witted little boys. I must get going."

Get going, it seemed, consisted of Connie skipping lightly over to Dumbledore and wrapping her arm around his waist. Loser was sorry to see that she wasn't going to leave the Great Hall entirely. Even from a distance of a dozen yards he heard her saying to the headmaster, "I dunno, he doesn't seem any better than his great-grandfather."

"I'm working on him, Connie," Dumbledore assured her. "Just give me time. Give him time. There's really quite an amazing man underneath all the ers and ums."

At that moment, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and fifty adults marched right into the middle of play practice. There were forty-nine women and one man, and none of them looked at all happy (except the man, who was grinning almost as madly as Dumbledore). A few of them were even carrying signs with captions such as: "SAVE OUR KIDS" and "DUMBLEDORE IS THE DEVIL." For a second the entire practice ground to a halt as everyone stared in dumb silence at the sign-waving parents.

Luna was the first to break this silence with: "Daddy!" She scampered over to the man, who was indeed Xenophilius Lovegood, and gave him a hug. He lifted her off the ground and squeezed her tight, saying, "How's my Snookypook? Seen any nargles yet?" To which she replied, "A whole infestation on Friday! But the Heebripple chased them away." He gave her another hug and said, "That's my girl!"

The rest of the Great Hall watched awkwardly, nobody making a move until Dumbledore hopped off the stage, strode gaily over to the parents, and said, "What may I do for you today?"

"We're here to protest the play," Mrs. Bones said, stepping forward and waving her "DUMBLEDORE IS THE DEVIL" sign.

"How utterly charming," Dumbledore said, grinning toothily. He turned back to the cast and crew and said, "Scene Six coming up! Master Thomas, have you figured out how to fly the backdrops on and off the stage?"

"You bet," Dean replied. "It's pretty cool, and we don't even have to use magic!"

"I said," Mrs. Bones repeated, "that we're here to protest the play!"

"Actors in place!" Dumbledore cried. "Harry Potter, Luna Lovegood, enter onstage left."

Luna sprung out of her father's arms and up onto the stage, where she met Harry in the wings. At Dumbledore's sign, the scene began.

[RAVENCLAW and JAMES enter the stables.]

RAVEN:

Oh dear, oh what a state this world is in!

JAMES:

Too true, Rowena, how fucked up is man

To start a battle in the village square!

I may not care for either side or stance,

But Olivier is a fine young man, and he

Must've surely fought a vicious fight today.

[OLIVIER enters through the stable doors in a fevered state]

OLI:

Ah, fuck all goddamned motherfucking cunts!

The fucking shitting battle--

"I SAID," Mrs. Bones shrieked, "WE'RE HERE TO PROTEST THIS FILTHY PLAY!"

Loser stopped short in the middle of his dramatic diatribe and turned to Dumbledore, unsure if he should continue.

"You said that twice already, sweetie pie," Dumbledore told Mrs. Bones. "Now keep protesting, but try not to disturb us--we're practicing." He waved at Loser to continue.

(OLI:)

The fucking shitting battle turned tits up

And my men beat a cowardly retreat

Back towards the forest. How now could they call

Themselves brave men when all they are is pussies?

"The language in this play is appalling!" Mrs. Abbot said, joining an irate Mrs. Bones. "I count nine profanities just now!"

"There's over five hundred in the entire play," Dumbledore told her as a matter of trivia. "Including one hundred sixty-eight uses of the word fuck and twenty-seven uses of the word cunt."

Mrs. Abbot's eyes ballooned in horror. "You use the C-word??" She gasped, her horror so great that she was in danger of hyperventilating. "That's the worst word ever created! You're sexist Dumbledore--a sexist, perverted pig!"

"I find nothing at all sexist about the word cunt," Connie said, wrapping her arms around Dumbledore's chest and giving his nipples a surreptitious squeeze. "My second husband used it all the time--in a voice seeping with love and reverence--and far from offending me, it turned me on."

Mrs. Brown stalked to the forefront and glared at the ancient lady. "Your second husband! So, Dumbledore, not only have you written a filthy play, but now you're frolicking around with a scarlet woman. What a horrid example for the kids!"

"I resent that!" Connie cried. "Let's do a show of hands: How many of you are still in your first marriage?" The women backed away fearfully and shamefully, muttering to themselves. Only a few raised their hands, and even then not all of them were being truthful.

"Just as I thought. Now be quiet and let Dumbledore continue the practice."

No one could say Connie didn't have a good point. However, few people enjoy being reprimanded, and the parents were no exception. They seemed to forget that Connie had the monopoly on age and experience, but you couldn't really blame them for this oversight, as dealing with Dumbledore had put them off of old people forever. Anyhow, they marched up to the stage, each of them fuming, and purposely blocked the set, effectively stopping the practice.

"I must ask you to leave the stage," Dumbledore said calmly as he trailed behind them. "I know you're upset about the language, but this is just being ridiculous."

The parents ignored him. Mrs. Bones marched straight up to Loser and said, her voice oozing with way too much sympathy, "I'm so sorry Dumbledore has put you through this, young man. You know it's wrong to swear like he's made you."

She was barely a foot away from his face, so Loser took an uncomfortable step backward. "Actually," he said slowly, weighing each word, "the language is... part of the character. It's, um, supposed to... er, be like that."

"I know he made you say that," Mrs. Bones cooed softly. "You don't have to pretend around me."

"I'm not pretending, though!" Loser said quickly. "I really like this play! I like being a battle hero and... and saying all the lines, swear words and all."

"I understand," Mrs. Bones whispered, just loudly enough that everyone heard her. "Dumbledore's going to make sure you fail all your classes if you say any differently."

"He's not like that!" Loser protested. "Dumbledore's a good man. A little, uh, weird sometimes, but he's got us working hard on the play, and we're learning a lot. I swear, we want to be doing this!" Behind him, Harry coughed surreptitiously, making it known that he didn't want any part in the play. The parents turned about to find the source of this noise.

"Why look, it's Harry Potter!" Mrs. Patil squealed gleefully. The other parents perked up in interest and looked around for the boy hero. When they saw him, they, too, made noises of glee.

"So you're part of the play, too, Harry?" Mrs. Bones said eagerly. "How do you like it? Or do you not like it?"

Harry turned several shades of red and tried to back away from the forty-nine mothers who had just turned into overage fan girls.

"Is he making you do things you don't want to do?" Mrs. Abercrombie asked him.

"My son Colin's told me so much about you!" Mrs. Creevey said in earnest. "He's a good friend of yours, isn't he? Could I please have your autograph? Here, I have a pen and some Post-it notes."

The double doors to the Great Hall banged open once more, and one lone woman entered the room. It was Loser's mother--Ivana the Tampon Lady. Her entrance had obviously been carefully planned, but it made it no less effective. Dumbledore went unnaturally still, and Loser's eyes widened with horror. Connie wrinkled her nose in distaste, and the other students just stood around uncomfortably. The parents, however, seemed invigorated by the sight of their leader, and they stood a little straighter.

"Forget Harry Potter," Ivana said coldly. "He is negligible." Her strides were long and quick, and her heels clicked madly against the floor. In a minute she had ascended the stage and stood barely an arm's length away from her son. Loser cowered under her fierce gaze, his lip trembling.

"I was listening to every word you said," she told him, her voice hard and unforgiving, "and I must admit that I have never been more ashamed in my entire life. How could you defend that horrid man you call your headmaster? How could you ever say that you like to swear? There is no excuse for what Dumbledore has done, and there is no excuse for what you have done just now."

"M-M-M-Mum..." Loser whimpered, his eyes swimming with tears.

"You have betrayed me, Clifford," she said coldly. "You have become corrupt and failed me as a son."

"B-bu-b-bu-b-but--" Loser stammered.

"Dumbledore may have bullied you into this, but there is no excuse to play along with him. I would rather have a son that fails all his classes than a son that swears even once."

"I-I-I-I'm s-s-sorry..."

"Say: It was wrong of me to swear."

"I-it w-w-w-was wrong of m-me t-t-t-t-t-to sw-w-w-w-wear."

"Say: Dumbledore is evil, and he must be stopped."

"M-m-mum!" Loser's eyes swirled frantically in desperation, first looking at the crowd of students and parents (all of who were too thoroughly engrossed in this melodrama), then at Dumbledore (who for once looked somber), then finally and briefly at his mother.

"Say: Dumbledore is evil, and he must be stopped."

"I-I can't!"

"Say it!" She advanced on her son, and he let out a yelp.

"D-D-Dumbledore is e-e-e-evil!" Loser shrieked, stuttering at a rapid-fire pace. "A-a-a-a-and he m-m-m-must be st-st-stopped!"

"I know, son," Ivana said softly. "He must."

The silence that followed was deafening. The mothers nodded in agreement with Ivana, sympathetic in that a mother would have to deal with such a wayward child. The students gaped wordlessly at Loser and his mum, fervently thanking God that they never had a parent like Ivana. Dumbledore kept his face impassively blank and didn't react at all.

It was too much for Loser. He burst into tears and fled the Great Hall.

Ivana watched him go, her face twisted slightly in aversion. Then she turned to Dumbledore and said, "We will be taking this matter to the school board, you mark my words!"

And with that, she motioned for the parents to follow her, and they all left the hall.

**********

Ron recruited Ginny, borrowed Harry's Marauders' Map, and found Loser holed up in some broom closet near the top of the Astronomy Tower, curled amongst the mops and brooms with his knees drawn up to his chest. The two Weasleys knelt down beside the despondent boy, not speaking but still giving him their silent sympathy.

"H-h--" Loser hiccuped. "How can I go back now?" he whispered hoarsely. "Dumbledore must hate me."

"He's forgiven much worse," Ginny promised him. "Besides, he knows you didn't really mean it. Your mum was just making you say it."

"That's another thing!" Loser cried. "I thought I was getting better, but I'm not!"

"For every few steps you take forward, there's always the step back," Ron told Loser bracingly. "With time, your steps forward will far surpass your steps backward, and you'll be a better person."

"No, I won't!" Loser insisted frantically. "Not when my mum is still around. She's someone that I can never change for, and I know even if I tried that she'd do everything to stop me. So I still stutter around her. I still can't form my own opinion when she's in the room. I'm still a complete and utter pussy around her!

"I thought I was changing, but I'm not. I'm still the Loser I've always been."

~~~~~

"Thinking about Ginny?"

Luna appeared behind Harry and followed his gaze, which was fixed on the double doors of the Great Hall. Ron and Ginny had just ran through them a minute earlier in search of Loser. "Yes," Harry said simply.

"And just what are you thinking?"

"That she's not a bad person," Harry said slowly. "She fights for what she believes in, and she does a darn good job of it, too. She helps those who desperately need it, and she knows just the way to get them back on their feet. She's smart. She's a good sister. And a heck of a lot of other things as well. It'd take too long to name all her positive traits."

"I agree," Luna said. "Ginny is a good person."

"And it's wrong of me to do this," Harry pressed onward.

"To do what?" Luna said, though she knew what he was talking about.

"To start a romance with you when I'm still her boyfriend. We'll never work as a couple, her and I, but that doesn't mean I can disrespect her by starting an affair behind her back."

"Do you regret kissing me?" Luna asked his calmly.

"No. But I can't kiss you again. Not yet, at least."

"I'll wait," Luna promised. "That's what you want, I presume."

"I'm sorry about putting your through all this," Harry said earnestly. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"Don't be sorry," Luna told him. "I'm not." She placed her finger to her lips and touched his cheek. Then she skipped off to the backstage, humming softly to herself.

**********

That night, McGonagall and Snape were in Dumbledore's office, both under the pretense of getting advice on their curriculum, but in reality they wanted to ask the headmaster about a matter that didn't involve their coursework at all. They entered the office within two minutes of each other, around 7:00. But Dumbledore was busy entertaining Connie in his private quarters, and they didn't come out for over another hour. When they finally did come out, he was dressed in a ridiculous military costume that made both McGonagall and Snape blink twice before opening their mouths to speak.

Dumbledore beat them to the punch. Before they could get a word in edgewise, he grinned at Connie and said, "You know, military time is the niftiest thing ever. Instead of the stopped clock being right twice a day, it's only right once a day, and whenever you ask for the time, you never have to ask whether it's A.M. or P.M."

"Albus, what did the parents want?" McGonagall and Snape both asked at the same time.

"Oh, them," Dumbledore wrinkled his nose. "They were just being meanies, weren't they, Connie?"

"You bet," Connie agreed. "They were pitching a hissy fit over a few fucks and cunts."

McGonagall and Snape blinked twice more as they tried to figure out what Connie just said. "Sorry?" the Transfiguration teacher whispered, unable to stop herself from sounding a little offended.

"Fucks and cunts," Connie repeated. "You know, the language. They thought the play had too much of it."

Snape frowned intensely. "Albus, you've got to be more careful than this. If you offend those parents badly enough, they could get you suspended from your position as headmaster."

"Ah, they're just being a bunch of smelly old buttcheeks," Dumbledore insisted. "I'll get them around to my way of thinking by the time this play opens."

"How do you propose to do that?" McGonagall asked grumpily. "There's more than just the language that's at issue. Next they'll be complaining about the sexual content."

"I'm sure," Dumbledore sniffed. "What prudes they all are."

"Why do you feel the need to pack your play so full of graphic sexual content, anyway?" Snape wondered aloud. "Are you merely a sex maniac, or are you trying to compensate for the fact that you haven't done it in years? When was the last time you had sex, anyway?"

This was an entirely rhetorical question, but Snape was immediately sorry for having asked it, because Dumbledore wasted no time in answering. "1959," he said.

"Oh." Snape said shortly, surprised at the bluntness. He did some counting on his fingers, then raised his eyebrows. "Wow, that's farther back than I expected."

"Mmm, I don't know," Dumbledore said glancing up at the clock on his wall as he plucked at the badge on his military uniform. "It's only 2025 right now."

Two seconds later, McGonagall and Snape understood what Dumbledore was saying. With a lot of squawking and shrieking, they left the office in a huff and refused to speak to either him or Connie the next day.

**********

Meanwhile, down in the Slytherin Common Room, Pansy sat next to Gregory Goyle. They sat alone together, as Draco and Crabbe were doing homework in the dormitories, while Gregory and Pansy had finished long ago.

"So," Pansy said, "you're smart, Gregory. You keep it well hidden, but you know a lot."

"Yes," Gregory said. "What do you want?"

"A sexual position," Pansy replied. "I want something to keep my relationship with Draco fresh."

Gregory didn't bother to tell her how pointless her efforts were. He tried once in the past, but she had gone mysteriously deaf and refused to talk to him for a week. So he merely sighed and said, "Let him cum in your hair."

"What?" Pansy said, startled at the idea. "That's sick!"

"Not as sick as you pooping in his mouth," Gregory said. "Look, I've given you guys all the regular positions and all the irregular ones, too. All that's left are the fetishes. If you want to keep your relationship going, it'll have to run on perversion. I pray to Merlin that it'll keep you going up until you realize."

"Until I realize what?" Pansy said quickly.

"Nothing," Gregory sighed loudly. "I'm going to bed." And he did.

Pansy remained in the Common Room, her face smiling but her eyes empty of any happiness. She knew what Gregory was talking about, and he was wrong about one thing: She already did realize it. There was no way to keep her relationship with Malfoy "fresh." He wasn't in love with her, and now that she actually thought about it, she wasn't in love with him, either. It was hard to say when exactly their relationship had become official--it was a gradual thing throughout Third Year and Fourth Year. They had meaningful conversations that led way to meaningful touches, and before Pansy could talk stock of where things stood, they were boyfriend and girlfriend. But it wasn't hard to say when things started going wrong. Sometime after Draco started having sex with Pansy, he began to distance himself from her. They walked to classes together and spent more than a few nights together in his four-poster bed, but he had stopped their conversations, and he never smiled around her any more. He had long since grown tired of her, but for some reason he kept her around. They tried new things in bed all the time, but the moment Draco seemed to perfect a certain technique he never used it again.

At least, not on her.

Days earlier, the doubt had formed in her mind. Now it wasn't doubt that flourished, but a plan. She wasn't going to lie to herself any longer: She would find out exactly what was going on in the daily life of Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Finally, for once I've taken into account that this story takes place in 1997! Yes, it was with that reference to Peter Jackson making The Lord of the Rings into a film. And no, I do not own the films or the books. While I'm busy disclaiming, let me also add that I saw the 1959 joke in the Reader's Digest a few years back. And the idea of cumming into someone's hair belongs to Marquis de Sade; I ran across it (plus many other perversions) in his novel The 120 Days of Sodom, which I do not recommend most of you read. Most of the truly gross fetish ideas in this fic probably come from that book... And I don't know whether that's a disclaimer or merely an excuse. :D

Rather on the spur of the moment, I managed to sneak in the idea of the battle between religion and Harry Potter, which I find quite an insipid affair. Having gone to a Christian school in the past, and having gone to church, I am all too familiar with this whine-fest, fueled mostly by a bunch of overprotective parents who have never read the books and lack something else on which to blame their kids' misbehavior. It's really very sad. I have only seen one other Harry Potter fanfiction that actively addresses the idea of religion (beyond merely mentioning it), and that is Bobman and Alyx's Sunrise Over Britain (a sequel to Sunset Over Britain, so don't read them out of order). It is really quite an odd idea to think about : What if a devoutly Christian family got a letter from Hogwarts saying that their kid was a witch or wizard? Anyone looking for fanfiction ideas? Please take that one, turn it into a novel-length fic, and make sure to tell me about it!

Remember the itty-bitty crossover I mentioned in my author's notes in Chapter 7? Well, I've given more hints as to what that crossover might be. So keep on guessing, and it'll all be revealed in the end!

Tata for now! Thank my wonderful beta, Lisa725, and look forward to Chapter 15, entitled "Draco Cheater."