Harry Potter and the Last Chance for Sanity

Chapter Three

Off to the Races

The Hogwarts Express pulled in to the school, puffing as if in relief that another long, smelly journey had been accomplished. Harry wasted no time in bolting out the door, smashing into students and trampling all the food he'd bought underfoot into mushy paste. Many of the students who didn't get knocked over by Harry slipped on the muck he'd left behind. Ron, Dean, and Neville skirted the puddle carefully and managed not to fall, but then they were more accustomed to Harry's ways than many of the students on the train.

Hermione and Ginny lingered behind, staring thoughtfully at Ron's new rat in its little wire cage. It stared innocently back at them and nibbled a RodentYummi.

"Scibbers?" asked Hermione, twitching her whiskers.

"Ron never was very imaginative," replied Ginny apologetically.

"But didn't you know?"

"About the rat? You think I go into Ron's room every day?"

Hermione was forced to concede the point. "But still, you must have heard something?"

"Well, there was some mention of getting Ron a new pet ever since Pig vanished. Never did find out what happened to him," Ginny added thoughtfully. (She didn't know that Harry had in fact eaten Ron's owl - nothing called 'Pig' was safe around Harry.) "But I thought it was going to be another owl. Guess Mum and Dad figured they couldn't afford it."

"I wouldn't think Ron would want another rat after what happened with the last one." Hermione stuck her face up against the bars. "If that was a different one, that is."

Ginny blew out her cheeks. "Would Pettigrew actually imagine he could sneak back into Hogwarts the same way as before and everyone would be too stupid to notice?"

Hermione just looked at Ginny. Eventually Ginny sighed. "Wizards can be such idiots sometimes."

"Stupid enough to pull the same trick twice, yes. And also stupid enough to overlook the fact that someone is pulling the same trick twice." Hermione jumped up on the arm on a seat and looked out the window. Outside, Harry was using his wands to burn small holes in the boats that were to take the first years across the lake. "Harry's worse than usual," she noted. "Good lord, I don't know if I can take a year of Harry at his worst."

"I'm not sure the school can take a year of Harry at his worst," replied Ginny. "And then there's this rat to consider."

"You're lucky. You'll still have a year of peace after Harry graduates this year." Hermione jumped down and skirted the pool of smashed food.

"Unless he flunks out of spite." Ginny followed her friend.

"Lupin will make sure he graduates. He doesn't want him around here any longer than is strictly necessary. Actually, I believe he thinks the seventh year was unnecessary."

"It is. It's not like Harry's actually going to study or anything." Ginny remembered the days when she'd harbored a crush on Harry and winced. Well, such things happened when you were thirteen. You grew up, got over them, and could use the memories as a measure of how much you'd matured.

The walls of the compartment shuddered as a faint crashing noise reverberated from somewhere in the train. "What was that?" asked Ginny.

"Probably someone's luggage fell off a rack," answered Hermione.

But as they left the compartment, they saw that the cause of the sound was Tonks, now lying in a heap on the floor looking somewhat dazed. "Did you slip on that mess Harry made on the floor?" asked Ginny, kneeling by her side.

Tonks blinked and then sat swiftly up, alarmed. "Harry messed on the floor?"

"Not like that," said Hermione. "Even Harry's not quite that obnoxious." She paused. "I hope."

Tonks tried to jump to her feet and fell on her rump again.

"There's squishy food all over the place," Ginny explained, grabbing her arm. "Harry bought everything on the trolley and then trod on it."

"Oh." Tonks slowly sat up. "Well, it's not the floor. I'm afraid I keep losing control of my roller-blades."

That was when they saw the bright green wheels on her shoes.

"Err, are you sure that's wise, Professor Tonks?" asked Ginny, the knowledge of Tonks's legendary clumsiness firmly in mind. "Skating on a train?"

"I have to do it when Lupin's not around," said Tonks, getting to her feet. They instantly began to slide out from under her again. "He doesn't approve."

Hermione could see why. It was also on the tip of her tongue to say that watching a professor fall on her ass didn't make a good impression in front of the students, especially the first years, the little snots. But a long-held habit of respecting teachers kept her mouth shut. "Perhaps you should take them off now, before we go into the Great Hall?" she suggested instead.

"I was just coming to see that everyone had got off the train all right." Tonks steadied herself against a wall and glanced around. "You'd be surprised at how often we find a student crammed into a suitcase or jammed up under a seat."

"No, we wouldn't," chorused Ginny and Hermione.

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't, at that. Anyway, why are you two so long in getting off? I can't imagine you're enjoying the smell."

"We were looking at Ron's new rat," said Hermione. With significance.

Significance that was not lost on Tonks. She'd met Pettigrew last year, in an incident that continued to haunt her dreams. Suffice it to say that it involved encountering Pettigrew in a dark corridor wearing nothing but crumpled black socks and dingy underwear. The recollection made her shudder.

"I'll mention it to Remus," she said, picking up the cage and giving it a somewhat vigorous shake. RodentYummis flew out through the bars and Scibbers squealed. "A silver paw. Well, well. If this does wind up being Pettigrew -- " She gave the cage another meaningful shake.

"Don't let Ron see you doing that or he'll turn into a thug," warned Ginny.

"'Turn into'?" asked Hermione, wrinkling her nose.

"You know what I mean."

"Ron's probably halfway to the Great Hall whining about how hungry he is," said Tonks, dropping the cage rather carelessly onto the floor. "And you should get going too. Professor Dumbledore has a very special speech planned." Tonks wrinkled her nose. She'd heard the rehearsal of Dumbledore's great speech and could not say that it pleased her.

"Oh, right - he's alive again." Hermione shook her head as they disembarked. "I got so used to him being dead last year."

"Yes, well." Tonks hesitated. "Well, he's gone through a few changes."

"I heard he likes to hang himself on the wall."

"This is a slightly umm. . . more noticeable change than that."

"Really? What is it?"

Tonks sighed. She didn't have the energy to explain. "You'll see." She made a shooing gesture with her hands. "Now scoot, or the carriages will leave without you."

After they left, she searched the train. She found a small boy named Digbert Doodleright tucked under a cushion with his head cunningly stuffed into a plaid carpetbag. He thanked her kindly for his release and inquired if he might be allowed to take the carpetbag along with him to the school, as he had become rather attached to it.

* * * * *

Harry spent the carriage journey to Hogwarts carving graffiti on the walls and under the seats. He wanted to be sure his presence would be remembered, and he had only one school year left to leave an impression. He was a little sorry to miss the spectacle of all the first years slowly sinking into the Great Lake, but he realized that great leaders had to make great sacrifices. He teared up a little as he thought of himself as a great leader.

"What are you sniffling about, Harry?" asked Ron.

Harry paused, staring into Ron's long, pink, stupid face. A lie was on the tip of his tongue - something about it being the last year the carriages would take them to Hogwarts and how sad that made him - but suddenly, strangely, he opted for the truth instead. "I've figured out what I'm going to do with my life," he said.

"Oh," said Ron blankly.

Harry tried again. "It's really special."

"Well, you are Harry Potter."

Harry was pleased. The years of coaching Ron had evidently paid off. "You can join me," Harry offered magnanimously.

Ron dug in an ear and thought about it. "Will there be a lot of money in it?"

That was something Harry hadn't considered. Did he expect the Pig Eaters to work for free? Well, they should. He was Harry Potter, as Ron had said. But even Harry's ego was forced to concede that faithful followers needed to eat and change their underwear every once in a while and such activities required money.

"Money, yes," Harry told Ron. "But even better, power!"

"Power." Ron's brow furrowed as it always did when he attempted deep thought. Or any type of thought at all. "You mean I'll be able to make people do things?"

"Yep."

"Cool!" Ron's mouth spread in a grin as brain presented a somewhat confused picture of him lolling about on couches being fed grapes by scantily clad women. "How are we going to do that?"

"We're going to take over the world," answered Harry, putting a final flourish on a particularly obscene bit of graffiti involving a wand and a bare bum.

Ron's mouth fell open. "We can't do that, Harry! That's evil! That's. . . that's You-Know-Who stuff!"

"No, no, no," said Harry patiently. He knew he could explain this to Ron. And if that didn't work he could just scream at him in capitals until he capitulated. "Voldemort's trying to take over the world was evil because Voldemort was evil. I'm good, so my taking over the world will be an act of benevolence that will improve everything."

"An act of -- "

"Benevolence. That means it's a nice thing to do."

"It is?" asked the thoroughly confused Ron.

"Well, bah, yes! I mean, you know the Ministry is run by a bunch of incompetents, don't you?"

Ron nodded. Of course it was. It was run by wizards - enough said.

"So we'll take it over and do a much better job. See?"

"Oh." Ron considered. "Yes. I see. I guess." Somehow Ron managed to overlook the fact that he was actually less competent than the average Ministry official, or your run-of-the-mill duck-billed platypus for that matter. "And we'll make money?"

"Of course, yes. We'll get to vote raises on our paychecks. They do that in the government, you know."

Ron's ears almost visibly perked up. "Wow! We'll be rich."

"And powerful," agreed Harry. "And we'll bring peace and love and pork to the world."

The carriage bumped a bit as Ron thought over the last statement. "Isn't pork in the world already?"

"More pork."

Ron decided not to pursue that line of thought. Harry could go on for hours about pigs given half a chance. "When are we going to get started?"

"Tonight. Spread the word to all our mates -- "

"We don't have any."

"Yes we do, Ron!"

"We do?"

"Yeah! Neville and Dean and Seamus and Colin and - you know! Everyone who thinks I'm faboo!"

Ron was vastly confused. As far as he knew, everyone thought Harry was a gobshite.

"Oh, just tell the sixth and seventh years that I'm going to be holding a meeting at ten this evening. Except the Slytherins, of course. No Slytherins allowed."

"Well, of course not!" said Ron, deeply offended. What, did Harry think he was stupid or something?

Fortunately, Harry couldn't read Ron's mind, so that question went peacefully unanswered. "And send an Owl to Fred and George. They'll want to come."

The carriage rattled to a halt. Harry paused long enough to fart deeply into the seat cushion, then sprang gazelle-like out the door. Ron quickly followed, already massaging his tummy. "I hope there aren't a lot of first years," he commented. "I'm hungry."

Harry repressed a snigger. If his hole-in-the-boats trick had worked, there wouldn't be too many first years to worry about at all.

* * * * *

Fortunately for the population of Hogwarts, the little boats had not sunk entirely on their journey across the Black Lake. The first years were somewhat waterlogged, however, as they squished their way into the Great Hall, led by Tonks. She'd taken off her roller-blades and looked damp and grouchy. The first years queued up in front of the Sorting Hat, which sat in its customary place of honor on a stool. Harry frowned at the hat. It received far too much respect and attention - he'd have to do something about that. At once, he began to scheme.

Lupin sat at the High Table, chin in hand, and all in all looking like he'd much rather be somewhere else. The reason for this became apparent when there was a clattering of hooves and Dumbledore came prancing onto the dais.

The old codger's wrinkled man-torso did not merge well with the sleek white horse body of the centaur. Fortunately, a voluminous purple robe covered with little golden stars hid most of it. The robe had been the insistence of Lupin - and Snape, McGonagall, Tonks, Vector, Grubbly-Plank, and pretty much every professor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had wanted to go bare-chested, like a natural centaur. If the students had been aware of the threatened horror that had proceeded their arrival in the Great Hall, they might just have gone down on their knees and thanked their professors for being spared the sight of Dumbledore's nipples.

As it was, there was a ripple of whispering at Dumbledore's appearance. None of the students had heard about this particular transformation. The wet and uncomfortable first years' eyes widened as they took in the appearance of their headmaster. They were impressed. The other students, more savvy, began snickering and speculating how this most recent change may have occurred. Fred and George, who had decided they may as well turn up early and join in the feast, unashamedly ducked their heads to peer between Dumbledore's hind legs. "Wow! Bet he can pee a lot with that thing!" exclaimed Fred. Hermione groaned with embarrassment.

Dumbledore was oblivious to the general mood. He strutted proudly, if a trifle clumsily, up to the podium and cleared his throat. Phlegm rumbled in his chest.

"Dear students," he began. His tail flicked around and whacked him on the rump and he jumped and squealed. "Oh, dear." He peered around for nearly a minute before locating the source of his problem. "Oh, yes. I keep forgetting about that thing." He giggled and Lupin covered his face with his hands. "Let's see. Where was I? Oh, yes. A few words before the ceremony commences. Nitwit! Ointment! Tweak!"

He waited. A couple of first years giggled tentatively.

"Yes, well. Now, welcome to Hogwarts, one and all. I see the friendly returning faces. I see -- Oh, dear, what's happening now?" He cast a glance over his shoulder. His long white tail was slowly lifting.

Lupin leapt to his feet. "Perhaps we should begin the Sorting Hat Ceremony, Professor McGonagall?" he suggested loudly enough to drown out the long, rude sound just beginning.

Heaving a martyred sigh, Professor McGonagall stood, tucking the dormouse she'd been surreptitiously tormenting into a pocket for later. She brought out the scroll with the list of the first years' names. "Abernathy Arsebiscuit," she announced. The Great Hall erupted into laughter. The first years looked befuddled. Lupin peered over her shoulder. He refused to believe that it was acceptable to be named 'Abernathy Arsebiscuit,' even among wizards. Yet the name was written there in plain black ink.

The next name was Bertha Bottombright. And the following one was quite a good deal worse, something Lupin didn't expect any reasonable person to say aloud in polite society. Suspecting some sort of prank, Lupin nudged the scowling McGonagall. "Perhaps the sorting Hat would like to address the students first?"

They both looked at the hat expectantly. Meanwhile, on the dais, the aromatic consequences of Dumbledore's tail-lift became apparent. Professor Sprout-Snape, who was closest to him, clapped her hands to her nose. More student giggling. Still the Hat sat silent.

Lupin sighed. This was his first beginning-of-the-year ceremony as co-Headmaster, and it was turning into a fiasco. "What's wrong with the Hat?" he asked.

Professor McGonagall frowned. She leaned forward and plucked the Hat up by its tip. The conical part came up. The brim remained on the chair. Ragged seams jutted out all around the hem at the base of the cone. "It's broken," said McGonagall, tossing it unceremoniously onto the High Table.

At his seat, Harry sniggered. He'd developed that seam-splitting spell over the summer to put runs in all Dudley's tights just before he left for school. He'd never expected to put it to such a wonderful use, but that was just all part of his brilliance.

Lupin brightened, however. He'd never liked the Sorting Hat, especially when he'd become observant enough to notice that many of the students' heads were lacking in hygiene. "Fair enough," he said cheerfully. "How many students are there this year?"

"Thirty-five," said McGonagall, checking a new and not-obscene list that Tonks had handed her. Well, not entirely un-obscene. One student did turn out to be named Corkie Cockabout, but that was wizards for you.

"So that's nine students per house, less one. Right. How many of you first years know which House you'd like to be in?"

A dozen hands went up. Four became Ravenclaws, three Gryffindors, three Slytherins, and two Hufflepuffs. Lupin then quickly interviewed the remaining first years and got them placed in a few minutes. "Fine then," he said cheerfully, making a note. From now on, he decided, they'd send someone to interview students before coming to Hogwarts and sort them into the proper house before they even arrived at the school.

"But that's not the way it's done!" protested Dumbledore tearfully.

"Times change," replied Lupin. It was too late now anyway; Professor Firenze had dropped a horse muffin on the remains of the Sorting Hat.

In his seat, Harry scowled. He'd hoped they'd make more of a fuss over the demise of the Sorting Hat, but only Dumbledore was willing to oblige. The old centaur had scraped off the horse patty, scooped up the sad shreds of fabric, and begun bawling. All the teachers ignored him. Lupin faced the students and cheerfully addressed them.

"Now that you've taken your seats, welcome to Hogwarts. I am Remus Lupin, co-Headmaster of the school. Headmaster Dumbledore is to my left," he added blandly. "If you encounter any difficulties during your school year, please pass word to the Head Students of your House."

Harry stopped listening at this point. Ron was moaning and carrying on about being hungry anyway, which would have made it difficult to pay attention even if he had any desire to do so. He thought about all the swell things the Pig Eaters were going to do to rule the world, although truth be told, he still hadn't come up with anything practical, so what it all basically boiled down to was a revenge fantasy against anyone who had ever slighted him. Which was pretty much everyone, in Harry's estimation.

He only came back to reality when the food appeared on the golden plates. Ron immediately grabbed five chicken drumsticks and began cramming them into his mouth, groaning with contentment as he did so. Harry ate a bit more leisurely, selecting only the finest cuts of pork for himself. There seemed to be more plates of vegetables and fewer of meat this year; probably his father's doing. Well, at least the best ham and spare ribs seemed to have been reserved for Gryffindor, so Harry was prepared to let it slide for now. As long as no one expected him to eat carrots - or worse yet, a salad! He shuddered at the thought and quickly took a bite of pork chop. "Have you told everyone about the meeting, Ron?" he asked, cheeks bulging.

"Yeh." Ron spoke indistinctly through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, peas, and steak. "On th' pla'fo'm." A couple peas sprayed out between vowels.

Harry nodded and slurped pork gravy. "Everyone coming?" he asked, trickling pig juice down his chin. A wide space was forming around the pair.

"Think so." Ron shoved steak-and-kidney pie into his mouth.

"Good." Satisfied, Harry went back to eating. Neither he nor Ron noticed the fishy glances being shot in their direction.

"What do you think they're up to?" asked Hermione.

"I'd like to think they aren't up to anything." Ginny picked at her chips. With Voldemort dead, she'd been looking forward to a peaceful, threat-free year at school. Anywhere was better than home, what with her parents having to get up so early to milk Percy every morning. That was bad enough. But then they expected her to drink the milk as well. Ginny shuddered; she'd recently been turned off dairy products for life. She averted her eyes as Hermione lapped out of a saucer. "But still, I bet they are. So what should we do? Speak to Professor Lupin?"

Hermione sat on her haunches and brushed milk from her whiskers. "Hmm, well, Tonks said she'd speak to him, so perhaps we should just be patient for now."

Ginny nodded, relieved. The less she had to do with regulating Harry's behavior, the happier she'd be. She was therefore most disturbed when, as she rose to go to Gryffindor Tower, Harry hastily clambered to his feet as well, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his horrid polo shirt. She wanted to pretend it was mere coincidence, so she feigned not to see him and began walking - a little faster than she would otherwise have done.

"Yo, Ginny! Oi, Ginny!"

Ginny turned slowly, repressing a sigh. This was not the sort of romantic salutation she had dreamed about back when she'd harbored a crush on Harry. "Yes?" she asked, hoping the coolness of her tone would force him to keep his distance. The smell of the pig meat he'd had for supper was far too prevalent.

Harry didn't notice. He ambled up quite close indeed - much closer than was comfortable. Close enough that she could see the bits of earwig legs that littered his clothing. "I need to talk to you in secret," he whispered loudly. "It's very important."

She tried to imagine what kind of important information Harry could have just for her and her brain tried to shut down in protest. "Umm." Excuses. There had to be an excuse not to talk to him.

"It could be the most important thing you'll ever hear," said Harry slyly, upping the ante.

Best to get it over with, she decided. "What do you want to say, Harry?"

He grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her into a dark corridor. She nearly panicked then, but managed to keep her head only by reminding herself that, after all, she'd been through worse. She'd been taken into the school's stinky sewers by a giant snake in her very first year, after all.

Maybe she should have had the sense to leave Hogwarts then.

Harry began talking. She felt dizzy. The stench of his pork breath enveloped her, made her head reel, and only a few words penetrated the daze. Until she heard the phrase 'Pig Eaters.' Then she came back to herself.

She blinked. "Pig Eaters?"

"Yeah." Harry was evidently quite proud. "We're going to take over the world."

"The Pig Eaters are?" Ginny shook her head. "I should think people would laugh themselves silly at the thought. Is this a story you're writing?"

Harry looked indignant. "I made the name up myself."

"Oh. It doesn't have quite the same ring as Death Eaters."

"What?"

"Death Eaters. You remember? Voldemort's followers?"

No, Harry didn't remember, so he let out a small burp and shrugged. "Whatever. Are you saying we can't be called the Pig Eaters?" It just wouldn't be as good if they couldn't, Harry felt.

"I don't care what you call your group," Ginny replied. She cast a longing look at the Great Hall, which was slowly emptying. She thought forlornly of the girls' tower at Gryffindor, which no boy could ever, ever enter. The safety it promised.

"I mean, is that you professional opinion?"

"What?" Now thoroughly confused, Ginny had time to repent the fact that she hadn't been listening.

"You're my strategist, okay?" said Harry, as if she hadn't much choice in the matter.

"What? No! Harry, I'm a sixth year now! I have a lot of tough classes to concentrate on -- "

But she let it drop as soon as she saw he wasn't paying attention. The idea of actually working for grades didn't wash with Harry. Not when there were so many less important people around he could cheat off. "So there's a meeting tonight at ten o'clock," he told her. "You come. We have to figure out how we're going to start taking over the world."

"I don't want to take over the world."

"You don't have to. We'll do the actual taking." Harry was more pleased than not. Her resistance to the idea could be used as an excuse not to pay her or give her any credit later on. "So you'll be there, right?"

"I -- "

But he was already walking away, itching his bum in a satisfied sort of manner. Ginny sighed in frustration.

What had she ever seen in the boy? Honesty, it was a lucky thing she had never dated him in real life.

Sighing, Ginny stood for some minutes in the corridor, wondering exactly what she should do about the meeting tonight. She didn't want to go. But if she didn't turn up, Harry might get angry at her and she'd heard stories -

She shuddered. Oh, yes. She'd heard stories about what had happened to some people who had incurred Harry's wrath.

But she really, really didn't want to go. And she absolutely, truly, and in all ways did not want to be the Pig Eaters' strategist. But she seemed trapped. What could she do?

And then Ginny remembered her friend. Her very special, secret friend that she never told anyone about. Perhaps he would have some advice for her. He always did.

Filled with a new purpose, Ginny directed her footsteps towards Gryffindor Tower.

* * * * *

"Wow, the twins were right. This is really impressive."

"I don't want to hear it."

"I mean, wow! Are they always like this, or is this one exceptional?"

"Stop talking about it right now, Dumbledore, or I'm calling in a veterinarian with an extra-large ax to rid you of it, all right?"

Dumbledore considered. He sniveled in self-pity and then shuffled into a corner of the office, presumably to continue his inspections in private. "I'm headmaster too," he muttered, but so softly Lupin could pretend to have not heard him. Lupin focused his attention on paperwork.

"Busy, Remus?" asked Sirius, popping out of nowhere.

Lupin grunted and kept on reading the angry letter in his hand. Not a day into the semester, and already the Weasley twins had replaced one of the first year's ears with leeks. The student's mother wanted him to do something about it. The nerve of some people. She shouldn't have allowed her son to come to Hogwarts if she didn't expect that sort of thing happening.

"I take that as a yes."

"Correctly, as it happens, Sirius. You don't think Dumbledore is actually of any use, do you?"

"The idea never crossed my mind, actually, Remus. Not even when I was eleven."

"Yes, well, you wouldn't have gotten away with so much if Dumbledore had actually done his job properly."

Thud!

Grunt. Scuffle. Thump.

Thud!

Sirius and Lupin glanced over in annoyance. "Dumbledore, will you stop trying to hang yourself on the wall?" asked Lupin. "You're too heavy."

"Oh, was I trying to hang myself on the wall again?" He blinked down at himself, bemused. "Sorry. I just can't seem to get used to having all these limbs. I didn't use to have four legs, did I?"

Lupin sighed. "No. You didn't use to be a centaur."

"Really?" The old ninny began attempting to haul himself to his feet. "How fascinating. That would explain the growth."

Lupin looked wary. "The growth?"

"Yes." Dumbledore tried to peer between his legs. "I swear it wasn't this big before -- "

"Yes, shut up about it." There was a soft, wooden click. Lupin's head snapped around. Sirius had both hands behind his back and an innocent expression on his face. "What are you up to?"

"Up to? Nothing, Remus."

"Really."

"Really, really." They stared at each other for a while. Eventually Lupin shook his head and went back to the papers. Silenced reigned for a while.

Blurrchhh. "Oh, dear, I feel a mite queasy. Do you think I should have eaten all that grass at supper?"

"No."

"But I'm part horsey now!"

"Centaurs aren't made for grazing."

"What are they made for, Remus?" asked Sirius, interested. "Mince pies and butterbeer?"

"Damned if I know, Sirius. They're some of the most ill-put-together creatures I've ever encountered."

"Ah, so you've never shagged one."

Lupin gave him a Look.

"Hey, with you, Remus, one never can be certain."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Okay."

"And stop whistling. Honestly, why are you whistling all the time anymore?"

"Oh, sorry Remus. Didn't realize I was doing it." Sirius tried very, very hard not to look at Lupin's desk. Especially not the upper drawer where he kept his chocolate.

Blecch. Dumbledore regurgitated a pile of steaming green pulp. "Oh, for -- !" Lupin took out his wand.

"What an attractive addition to the office décor," drawled Phineas Nigellus from his picture frame.

"What, Dumbledore or the vomit?" asked Sirius.

"Take your pick."

Lupin finished cleaning up the pile of moist grass. "Don't do that again," he admonished the sheepish centaur. "Your tummy can't handle it. Look, it's made your teeth all green!"

"But I'm hungry!" whined Dumbledore. "I've got a big horsey body now with a big horsey -- "

"Don't say it," Lupin warned.

" - tummy!" finished Dumbledore, oblivious. Lupin sighed with relief that he hadn't mentioned the other thing.

"I'm sure the House Elves will cook up a snack for you if you like. Or I might have something here," Lupin opened the drawer of his desk. The top drawer. Sirius tensed.

"Umm. . . "

Lupin glanced at him. "What?"

"You're not going to give Dumbledore your chocolate, are you?"

"Certainly not. I think I have some raisins in here -- "

But Dumbledore had already spotted the chocolate and come galloping across the room, a terrifying spectacle indeed, as he was huge and extremely clumsy in his centaur body. He snatched the entire drawer out of the desk, and, giggling like a naughty child, bolted out the door.

"Well, I wasn't intending to give it to him," said Lupin, disgruntled. "Damn it all, I had some of my favorite dark chocolate -- "

"Caramel toffee bars in there," muttered Sirius glumly.

"I suppose he'll scarf the lot and get a stomach ache," Lupin concluded. He blew out his cheeks in exasperation. "Well, I'll just have to go down to Honeyduke's tomorrow, I suppose."

"And clean more regurgitation off the rug tonight," said Phineas.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that so much," mumbled Sirius. Attempt number two down the drain, just like that. How many times was Dumbledore going to get in the way of killing Remus? Surely the old fart couldn't keep coming back to life indefinitely?

Poison was evidently not going to work. Not with all the greedyguts around Hogwarts waiting to wrap their mouths around the first sweet they spotted. He needed something subtler.

Unfortunately, Sirius had never been good at subtle.

* * * * *

Ten o'clock in the Room of Requirement. The Room, as obliging as ever, had shaped itself into a sort of auditorium with perfect acoustics, rows of seats, and a podium at the front complete with gavel, chalkboard, a table, and spotlight. As the sixth and seventh years filed in, Harry took his place at the front. Five minutes after ten, the first meeting of the Pig Eaters began.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" Harry banged the gavel against the podium. Wow, that felt pretty good! He went on for a few more beats than was strictly necessary, stopping only when he noticed his audience was getting restless (and Fred and George were giggling and making wanking gestures). "The honorable Harry Mangoat Potter now calls to order - yes, what is it?" For Ernie MacMillan had raised his hand.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that middle bit," said Ernie.

"I've only gotten started!" screeched Harry. "There hardly was a middle bit!"

"I mean your name. Harry Something Potter. Sounded a bit like 'Mangoat'."

"It was," said Harry impatiently.

The audience stirred. "But I thought your middle name was 'James'," called Ron.

"I changed it. Now - what?" Fred had jumped to his feet and was dancing indignantly.

"No fair!" he howled. "No one told me we were allowed to change our names!"

"Yeah!" agreed George. "I want to be Bulk Manlove! Call me Bulk Manlove!"

"No, I won't," said Harry, now thoroughly put out. "It's a stupid name,"

"Oh, like 'Mangoat' is such a world-beater!" jeered Dennis Creevey. His older brother, Colin, swatted him across the head.

"Look, it doesn't matter," Harry told his congregation. "Can we get on with -- "

"I want to be Gypsy Starchild!"

"Call me Jack Brightblade!"

"Thorn Darkshadows!"

"And I'll be Buff Winkie!"

Harry's head shot up. His eyes narrowed. "All right," he said coldly, "who wants to be Buff Winkie?"

Silence.

"Come on, fess up!" Harry glared at the audience. After another brief silence, Neville Longbottom's hand timidly rose. "All right - go to the back! Scat!" Neville scuttled to a rear seat. Harry shook his head. There was always one. "Now -- "

"I'm Rock Slabchest!"

Harry glared at Ron. "No, you're not. Look, can we stop this silly name-business?"

"You're the one who started it!"

"Did not. I just made a passing reference to my middle name -- "

"Did not. Your middle name is James."

"I changed it to Mangoat!" Harry could feel his control of the situation slipping away. Several members of the audience looked mutinous.

"Well, that's not fair," said Ernie. "You came in here with your new name all prepared and didn't tell us we could pick new ones as well."

"That's because you can't," Harry informed his audience. Howls of indignation broke out. "It's only my middle name!" Harry cried over the din. "And I'm the Boy-Who-Lived! I formed the Pig Eaters!"

"Well, I'm not joining the Pig Eaters if I'm not allowed to be Rock Slabchest!" cried Ron.

"Oh, yes you will Ron," Harry told him. "You're an obsessive follower with the spine of a tube worm. You'll do what I tell you."

"Oh, right." Ron subsided. The twins did not. "I'm Bulk Manlove or I'm walking out now," said George.

"And I'm Faboo Bignuts," said Fred. They folded their arms.

The audience held its breath. The twins were popular - well, not exactly popular, but it was fun watching them have a go at someone else. If Harry lost their support, other people were bound to leave as well, for fear of getting on the wrong side of a Weasley twin. Harry thought fast.

"You are only allowed to change your name after you've sworn an oath of loyalty to the Pig Eaters," he said.

The twins relaxed into idiot grins of satisfaction. "Oh, that's all right then."

"Fine. Can we get on with the meeting?"

"Shouldn't we be sworn in first? Like, just in case you intend to tell us secret stuff that no one else is allowed to know?" Murmurs of agreement from the audience, most of whom were dying to adopt their new names.

"Oh, all right," said Harry crossly. "Let's get this over with. Who's first?"

Fred and George gallumphed up the aisle.

"One at a time," said Harry. "Who's first?"

Fred farted, so it got to be him. Harry brought out a bag of pork rinds. "Now put your left hand on the bag - no, no, your left!"

"Why are we using a bag of pork rinds?" asked George, who was bending over and trying to read the label.

"Because we're the Pig Eaters! Besides, it's special!"

"How?"

"Umm, I haven't opened it yet. Right." Harry turned his attention back to Fred. "Now rub your belly with your right hand."

Fred attempted it, but it caused him no small amount of physical difficulties. "Why does it have to be so hard?" he complained.

"What's the point of an oath if it isn't tricky to fulfil?" Harry replied logically. "Now touch your tongue to your nose six times."

This was easier for Fred. In fact, once he actually put his tongue up his nose. Harry was impressed. "Okay, now repeat after me: I, Fred Weasley -- "

"But you're Harry Potter!" said Fred somewhat indistinctly. He'd forgotten to put his tongue back in his mouth.

"Yes, but you're the one taking the oath!"

"But I'm Faboo Bignuts!"

"You can't call yourself Faboo Bignuts until after you've taken the oath, right? And for the oath's purpose, you're Fred Weasley! Now say it."

"Oh, okay." Fred cleared his throat and nearly bit off his tongue. The audience watched in silent fascination. "I Fred Weasley,"

"Do solemnly promise."

"Do solemnly promise."

"To eat as much pig meat as possible."

"To eat as much pig meat as possible."

"Saving the best possible bits for my noble leader Harry Mangoat Potter, of course," added Harry hastily, suddenly seeing a potential flaw in his master plan.

"Saving the best possible bits for - uh, Harry Potter," fumbled Fred. Harry's eyes narrowed, but he decided to let it pass.

"While wreaking destruction and havoc upon the wizarding world."

Fred grinned. "While wrecking destruction and havoc upon the wizarding world."

"And keeping the faith with my siblings in Pig Eating."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you won't betray us, bah!"

"Oh. And, uh, keeping my faith with my siblings in Pig Eating, bah."

"And if I break my word, may my bottom get all swollen and red and stinky and may no ointment in the world be able to stop the itching."

Fred had no trouble with this part. In fact, after he said it in English, he said it in Latin, just to show off. Harry gave him a little kick.

"This I swear, so help me Porkajemiah."

Fred blinked. So did many members of the audience. "Porkajemiah?"

"Yes, he's the god of pork. We might have to sacrifice to him. Go on."

Fred shrugged. "This I swear, so help me Porkajemiah."

"Excellent!" Harry rubbed his hands together, thinking he'd gotten through the whole oath thing rather well for making it up on the spot. "You're in."

"So I can be Fabbo Bignuts now?"

Harry sighed. "Put your hand back on the bag." Fred did. "Now, newly instated brother of the Eaters of Pork, by what title would you be called?"

"Eh. . . "

"Just say 'Faboo Bignuts,'" said Harry.

"Oh. Faboo Bignuts."

"Very well. From henceforth among the Pig Eaters, ye shall be known by the name Faboo Bignuts!" Harry raised his arms as if expecting a clap of thunder to mark the pronouncement. But the Room of Requirement had gotten disgusted and decided to ignore him. He let his arms flop to the side. Oh, well, it was stupid anyway. But at least Fred was happy.

"Now me, now me!" cried George. He put his hand on the bag of pork rinds. "I, Fred Weasley -- "

"You're George Weasley!"

"Oh, the oath changed, did it?" George scratched his head. "Man, it is tricky. But I guess that helps keep down the spies."

"Yes, that's right," said Harry, who was fed up with the whole business. "Now get on with it."

It took nearly two hours to swear in all the Pig Eaters and have them decide on their new names. Neville had a particularly tough time after Harry vetoed Buff Winkie, but he finally settled on Wink Bufflebits. At last everyone was settled back in their seats. Harry took up his place at the podium once more and indulged himself by banging the gavel some more. "All right, all right, the Honorable Harry Twinkleboy Mangoat Potter - whot is it now?" he demanded as Fred's - Faboo Bignut's - hand flashed into the air.

"What's with this 'Twinkleboy' stuff?" Faboo Bignuts demanded. "It was just 'Mangoat' a moment ago."

"I added Twinkleboy," said Harry.

"When?" several voices demanded.

"When the rest of you were taking your oaths! I got bored!"

"That's not fair!" Other howls of protest arose.

"But I'm the chairman!" Harry cried above it all. "I'm special!"

"I want a middle name too!" cried Bulk Manlove, a.k.a. George Weasley. "Or I'm out!"

"All right, all right, just a minute and we can get this all sorted." Harry brought out the pork rind bag again. "Who's first?"

So nothing really was accomplished that first meeting after all.