Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Nine

You Are What You Eat

"So, how long do your teeth get when you're a werewolf, Headmaster?"

"Oh, they're false. See?" A wet popping sound.

Lupin turned his head and sighed in annoyance. "He's talking to me, not you, Dumbledore. I thought we established that with the first question."

"Oh." The picture of Dumbledore stuffed its teeth back into its mouth and stared cross-eyed off into the distance. "I don't remember the first question."

"The first question was 'What's it like being a werewolf?' To which you replied: 'Rather warm and fuzzy.' The second question was 'Would you stop being a werewolf if you could?' and you answered: 'No, because then I wouldn't have an excuse to eat dog biscuits,' and the third was 'Have you ever eaten anyone as a werewolf' -- "

"Oh, I remember that one," said Dumbledore, smiling cheerfully, "I said yes."

"So you did." Lupin shook his head and glanced at the reporter. "I'm sorry about him. He's only recently been painted and he's very excited. I hope you're not taking down anything he says?"

"Oh, no," said the reporter, far too quickly, a hand going to cover his notes.

Lupin raised a brow and mentally shook his head. The reporter was a scrawny, almost emaciated young man with lank blonde hair and dark circles under his eyes. He had all the raging charisma of a wet llama, and was going to have to learn to be a much better liar if he wanted to make a go of being a reporter.

"Right, where were we? Oh, yes, my teeth. I don't know how long they get. I've never bothered to look in a mirror."

"Too horrified. . . to look. . . in mirror," the reporter muttered, scribbling away. Lupin sighed mentally. The interview had lasted thirty tiresome minutes thus far, and every question had related to lycanthropy. The reporter looked up and Lupin braced himself. "At what age did you become a werewolf?"

"Oh, dear, don't ask any questions about my past. I'm senile, you know."

"Dumbledore." Lupin rubbed his temples. "He's not asking you. You are not, in fact, a werewolf." Lupin took his hands away from his head. "I was four when I was bitten, but that's all I care to say on the subject. It's not a pleasant memory."

"Got something to hide, have you?" smirked the reporter.

"Eh?" Lupin blinked. "Something to hide? At the age of four? What, you think I was a child criminal or something and deliberately got bitten?"

"You said it, not me." The reporter apparently imagined he'd discovered a clever interviewing technique.

Lupin shrugged. It was too stupid to make a fuss over. "Well, go on."

The reporter consulted his notes. "Do you hang around with a pack, or don't you know any other werewolves?"

"I know other werewolves, but we don't hang around in a pack." A small crease appeared between Lupin's brows. "We don't actually act like wolves."

"I once acted like a daisy," said Dumbledore. "In a school play. A dancing daisy. Mummy was so proud! She called me her little chickapoo. Mummy always liked me better than Aberforce."

"Quiet, Dumbledore." Lupin turned his attention back to the reporter. "We're human most of the month," he explained, "and one night out of thirty isn't enough to work out all the complex relationships that go on in a real wolf pack. Or so I've heard. I've never met another werewolf while I was changed. I always seclude myself for safety's sake."

"Where do you seclude yourself when you're a werewolf?" asked the reporter.

Dumbledore farted loudly. He probably just made the noise with his mouth to get attention, but both Lupin and the reporter grimaced anyway. Lupin wished, once again, that he'd had another room available for the interview, but all of the other appropriate chambers were being used to prepare for his other meetings. He also wished Dumbledore would go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the old man had spent the entire morning napping and was now perky and rested. When Lupin had tried covering him up, he'd shrieked so hideously that Phineas, in the portrait across from him, had gone scuttling for quieter territory, and Lupin had been forced to desist.

Dragging his mind back to the present, Lupin looked at the reporter, who was patiently staring back, quill poised above the surface of his parchment. "In my office. It's all reinforced, and a teacher keeps an ear out for unusual sounds." He hesitated. "Look, could we just ban the w-word for a while here? I mean, how exactly does the length of my teeth -- a single night a month, I may add -- impact my ability to run a school?"

The reporter quickly scribbled down a few words. "Do you believe that being a werewolf will impact your ability to run Hogwarts?"

"No," answered Lupin with a sigh, "and that question still contained the w-word."

"Well, you must admit that being a werewolf's the most interesting thing about you. You're kind of boring otherwise."

"How kind of you to say so."

"He's right, you know," said Dumbledore, anxious to get a word in. "Now me -- I was colorful! When I was a student, I used to pretend to have a heart attack during Potions class. I'd gasp and flail around and knock over everyone's cauldron. The floor eventually started to dissolve. It was hilarious. And during Herbology, I'd eat dirt."

"Why?" asked Lupin.

"Umm. . . " Dumbledore looked sheepish and scratched his head. "Oh, dear, the senility kicked in again."

"Right." Lupin faced the reporter once more. "Well, to dispose of the lycanthropy question for once and all, I am quite accustomed to living with my condition by now. My staff is also very much aware of it, and will be prepared to take over any problems that may arise the night I am indisposed. As I see it, the real question is whether other people will be able to accept my condition."

"Your, er, condition of turning into a giant, blood-thirsty monster each month?"

Lupin's smile flickered, but he kept it in place. "Yes, that's the one."

"Aren't you worried that you'll eat one of your students as a werewolf?"

"I ate a student once!" Dumbledore smacked his lips loudly. "He was delicious!"

"Well, there you have it." Lupin waved a hand. "Eating students is a tradition among Hogwarts' headmasters, even the ones who aren't werewolves."

"Right, that's not funny, now!" The reporter pointed his quill at Lupin as if it were a wand. His hand was shaking. Lupin blinked as it occurred to him that the young man was nervous, perhaps downright scared.

"Relax, it was just a joke."

"No it wasn't!" shrieked Dumbledore, waving his arms about. "Student chops, yum yum! Student roast with lovely strips of bacon laid across it! Thick, meaty student stew!"

"You're not helping matters, Dumbledore. Behave or I'll cover you up again."

"No! No cover!" Dumbledore held his breath and prepared himself to throw the grandfather of all temper tantrums.

"Then be good." Lupin addressed the reporter: "I take the Wolfsbane Potion, which renders me harmless each month. I also have a safe room to transform in as an added precaution. There is no danger to the students. There is no need to be concerned."

"That's what they all say," muttered the reporter darkly. "Then people start disappearing. . . all that's ever found are a stack of well-chewed bones out back." He jabbed his quill at the parchment, tearing a gash across its surface with the sharp point. Lupin cocked his head.

"I say, have you ever tried a ballpoint?"

The reporter stared back suspiciously. "Eh?" he asked in a tone that would have been more appropriate if Lupin had just suggested sacrificing a firstborn. He was clearly not one of the Daily Prophet's brightest lights. Guess no one else wanted the job, Lupin thought to himself, vaguely amused. Probably afraid I'd take a bite out of whoever-it-was mid-interview. Maybe I should. Teach him a lesson about calling me boring.

But he kept smiling. "A ballpoint pen," he repeated, "And a paper tablet."

"A what?!" The reporter eyed the door as if he were fearing he might soon have to make a desperate escape from a madman.

"A tablet. That's several sheets of paper all glued together at the top, so you can just pull off the topmost sheet when you're done with it. It doesn't curl up on you all the time, like that blasted parchment does, and it takes the ink ever so much better."

"Oh. . . that's. . . interesting." The reporter was tight and rigid in his chair. It wouldn't have surprised Lupin in the least if he exploded from sheer tension.

"Here, let me show you -- I have a few extras," said Lupin. He stood and the reporter jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"Look, don't you try anything funny, mate!" he shouted, pointing his quill at Lupin again. "I can kill you with this, I can."

"Oooh!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Do it, do it, do it!"

Lupin stared down at the small twiggy man in the unfortunate yellowy-green robes that lent him the rosy complexion of a corpse. "I don't think it'll be necessary. I'm just going to my desk. I mean you no harm, Mr. -- " The reporter had never introduced himself.

"Colby. Gareth Colby. An' I'll be watching you, so don't try anything."

He was true to his word. His big, wet eyes followed Lupin every step of the way to his desk. They widened a bit when Lupin opened a drawer, then narrowed and he started breathing heavily. Dumbledore imitated him. Together, they sounded more than vaguely obscene, and Lupin hoped no one was walking past outside or he'd be questioned for days. He quickly shut the drawer and went back to his chair, glad that the ordeal was over.

"Here we are!" he said, forcing cheer into his voice. He held out a rectangular tablet of lined yellow paper and a green ballpoint pen. By the expression on the reporter's face, Lupin might as well have offered him a skrewt. "It's for writing. Give it a try," Lupin urged. He glanced at Dumbledore, waiting for him to say something that would make the situation worse, but the old man was still panting happily.

Colby gingerly reached out and took the pen and paper, every gesture clearly saying that he was only doing it to humor the lunatic. He set the tablet in his lap and made a few passes over it with the pen. "It isn't working," he said.

"You have to take the cap off first," Lupin smiled determinedly. His face was starting to hurt.

"The cap?" the reporter peered at it. "Oh." With some difficulty -- at first he tried to twist it -- he removed the cap and set it aside, where he'd undoubtedly lose it. Dubiously, he set the point to the paper and was so obviously astounded when he did indeed manage to make a mark that he almost dropped the pen. "Wow."

"Nice, aren't they?" Lupin agreed. "I'm making an amendment to the school rules that allows students to use them if they please."

". . . use them if they please. . . " repeated the reporter, scribbling away -- with the ballpoint, Lupin noted, satisfied.

"I don't want to make any major changes to the rules, as most people are perfectly satisfied with them as they stand, but -- " He was interrupted by a knock on his door. "Oh, dear, who is that?" He stood again, but this time Colby was too busy playing with his pen to care. Lupin opened the door a crack. Tonks was outside, looking apologetic, but worried. "The Ministry hasn't arrived yet, have they?" asked Lupin, checking his watch. According to it, he still had ten minutes to spare.

"No, and I'm sorry for interrupting, Remus, but there's a crisis of sorts," she said ruefully.

Lupin groaned. Couldn't the school go on without falling apart for just a few hours? He glanced at Colby. "Please excuse me a moment."

"Eh? Oh, right, whatever." The reporter went back to drawing a sketch of Dumbledore. It looked more like a misshapen potato, but the old man was flattered anyway. He simpered and posed. Lupin quietly shut the door and looked at Tonks.

"So what's going on?"

The young Auror ran a hand over her face. Her hair was pitch black and stringy and her cheeks chalk white and gaunt. Lupin hoped she hadn't picked her color scheme based on the news she had to deliver. "Peter Pettigrew was discovered in a disused bathroom in the basement," she said bluntly.

Lupin's ears pricked with interest. "Ah! So that's where he was hiding. Well, what? Did he get away again?"

"No." Tonks hesitated. There was something she was clearly reluctant to say.

"Did Sirius figure out how to kill him? Or -- " Lupin studied her. "Did he make you kill him?" That might account for her grim appearance.

"No." She shook her head. "He -- Pettigrew, I mean -- was in the bathroom with Gilderoy Lockhart. They were fighting over a, well. . . " She sighed. "Over a rubber duck. Sirius, Snape, Lucius, and myself were outside, debating what to do. I wanted to bring him in," she qualified. "Everyone else wanted to kill him."

"Mm-hm," said Remus, noncommittally. He'd have probably gone with the 'kill' option himself. "So, which did you decide?"

She sighed, deeper than before. "Neither. Before we could do anything, something occurred in the bathroom. Lockhart and Pettigrew attacked each other with two different spells at the same time, and -- "

"And?" Lupin prompted, puzzled. Tonks seemed to be struggling for an explanation.

"We don't know what happened, exactly," she said helplessly, spreading her hands. "Or, well, we don't know how it happened. Snape said it might have had something to do with all the mirrors in there -- they might have reflected or increased the magic, or changed the course of the spells. . . "

"Nymphadora. . . "

"Don't call me that, Remus."

"Yes, well, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about. What happened to Pettigrew and Lockhart?"

She drooped for a moment, then summoned up all her energy and looked him in the eye. "They've somehow managed to turn themselves into minor deities."

Lupin blinked. "Deities?"

"Umm, yes. Gods. Extremely titchy little ones, but -- "

"Gods."

"Gods."

Lupin sighed heavily. "Bastards. Right. What are we going to do about them now?"

* * * * *

If Lupin had any notion of keeping the matter quiet, he was out of luck. Long before Tonks called him out of his office, rumors were flying around the castle.

In fact, he might have been the last one to know.

It had happened like this: Draco Malfoy had gone wandering downstairs to find Professor Snape. Attracted by the hullabaloo around the disused lavatory, he'd caught a glimpse of Pettigrew and Lockhart, screamed like a girl, and went scampering back upstairs to bring back strong Slytherin reinforcements to keep him safe.

Naturally, the sight of a large flock of Slytherins heading towards the dungeons did not escape the notice of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws, so quite a few of them tagged after, leaving their homework and books and other unimportant stuff behind for the pleasures of gawking.

And of course several professors noted the students' exodus and followed, each secretly hoping to catch someone else's House in the middle of mischief, thereby giving them an excuse to dock a load of points.

The dungeon corridor was warm and steamy and smelled strongly of soap. Big shiny bubbles wafted through the heavy air. Every once in a while, a curiously earsplitting squeaky noise would erupt, seemingly from nowhere. Lucius, Snape, and Sirius were in a huddled conference in front of the lavatory door, but at the tramp of approaching feet, they looked up and frowned. They were hoping for Tonks to arrive with Lupin, but this sounded more like an entire circus was approaching.

Draco's gang rounded the corner and they could see they were not far off. A few banners, some confetti, and a band, and it could easily pass as a parade.

"Oh, this we did not need," groaned Snape, clapping a hand to his forehead. He'd hoped to settle the problem discreetly. Maybe there was still time. . . he rushed to shut the lavatory door. It wasn't being cooperative, even with magic, and he struggled and cursed.

"Bloody snoops. Let's kill 'em all," growled Sirius, whose mood had taken a turn for the foul. "Everyone thinks I'm a murderer anyway -- "

"Oh, for goodness sake, Black, how often do we have to remind you that you're a dead murderer?" scowled Lucius. "You can't kill anyone. Besides, Kreckor's already seen."

"Draco!" yelled Snape and Sirius. Lucius's confusion over his son's name was just another bit of idiocy they didn't feel like dealing with. Snape finally managed to slam the door shut, and not a moment too soon. He leaned against it, gasping for breath.

"Hi, Pop!" called Draco as the gang came to a halt six feet away. Now that he'd assembled a small army to protect him, Draco was feeling cocky. "What's in the loo?"

"Soap. Water. Toilets." Lucius folded his arms across his chest. "Nothing that would interest you."

"I wouldn't think it would interest you either, Pop," cackled Draco. "You prefer to use chamberpots."

Sniggers erupted from the crowd. Lucius's cheeks turned red, but he tossed his hair back and looked dignified. "I don't like these filthy modern things," he said. "Unsanitary -- that's what they are."

"I think you just get a kick out of making the house elves carry your crap away," replied Draco. The snickers from the crowd redoubled.

"That's quite enough out of you," snapped Lucius, "unless you want to lose your allowance for a few weeks."

"Mum wouldn't cut off my allowance," gloated Draco, positively radiating smugness. Even Crabbe and Goyle were seized with a sudden desire to kick him.

"Nice kid you have there, Malfoy," muttered Sirius.

"Narcissa spoils him dreadfully." Lucius raised his voice. "On behalf of Hogwarts' cleaning staff, I ask you all to leave."

No one so much as twitched. A muscle jumped in Lucius's jaw. "There's a rather large mess in here that we'll be cleaning up shortly," he tried again.

A little bit of shuffling. A few coughs. Lucius was beginning to feel like the unsuccessful opening act before a major star comes on stage. Clearly everyone was waiting for him to give up and show them what was in the bathroom.

But he wasn't going to let them win so easily. "We have to bring some large pieces of equipment through this hall," he warned. "You could get -- "

"Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Lucius, Sirius, and Snape all winced as the familiar little goat-laugh rang out, echoing shrilly through the halls. The situation had just gotten worse. Harry Potter had appeared on the scene.

* * * * *

Harry, was, in fact, a trifle late. After all, it was a rather long distance from the third floor corridor to the disused lavatory in the dungeon. He might have missed the excitement altogether if Fred and George hadn't possessed excellent instincts when it came to sensing trouble. Harry and Rita had been right in the middle of cutting a deal with the twins when all of a sudden their heads lifted in unison. Their eyes focused as if they were seeing something no one else could, and Harry wouldn't have been at all surprised to see their ears swiveling around on their heads like antenna. Then, suddenly, without explanation they took off.

"Hey, stop!" Rita yelled, afraid they were running off to spill everything they'd overheard. She whipped out her wand, but Harry caught her arm.

"Wait a minute," he told her, staring after the twins thoughtfully. They were acting the exact same way he did when he sensed a far-off but extremely succulent bit of pig. "I think they're on to something," he said.

He'd said the magic words. Rita started to salivate. "On to something juicy?"

"Who knows?" Harry grinned. "You may have hit the jackpot."

"Well, don't let's stand here! After them!"

She had a point -- the twins were already almost out of sight. They'd raced down the stairs, Rita cursing her high-heeled shoes every step of the way. They lost ground. Skidding to a halt on the ground floor, they panicked for a moment, thinking they'd lost them, but then Harry caught a glimpse of Fred's arse disappearing into the dungeon. What had interrupted Lucius was Harry's cry of triumph at finally finding the source of the excitement.

* * * * *

"Bah-ha-ha-ha-ha," repeated Harry, just for good measure. The crowd parted for him. He sauntered through, nodding casually at familiar faces. "What's going on here?" he demanded, coming to a halt in front of Lucius Malfoy.

"Nothing," said Lucius between clenched teeth. "Absolutely nothing. A spill in the lavatory. Go away."

"I saw inside the lavatory, Pop," chirped Draco, "an' there were people in there and it was all glowing and weird."

Everyone's eyes went to Lucius to hear his explanation. He tried to pass the responsibility onto Snape or Sirius, but the ceiling had suddenly become utterly fascinating and they were both studying it intently. "You saw wrong, son," Lucius replied. "It was just a case of umm, Doctor Finiwick's Ultra High-Gloss Cleaning Solution that tipped over. Makes everything extremely shiny."

"It wasn't shiny, Pop. It was glowy!"

As if on cue, golden light came spilling through the crack around the door. The audience dutifully murmured: "Oooohhhh!"

"That was just a beam of light reflecting off some swamp gas," explained Lucius sheepishly. Snape hid his face in his hands.

"Open the door!" called someone in the crowd. The cry was immediately taken up.

"Yeah!"

"We want to see what's inside!"

"What are you hiding?"

Harry was using the tip of his wand to prod the contents of his ear. "You're going to be awfully unpopular around here if you don't deliver soon, Lucius," he remarked casually.

Lucius sent Sirius and Snape a piteous look. Snape sighed and stepped up. "Nothing will be done until the headmaster arrives," he said.

"Well, where's the headmaster?"

"Lazy beast." (This was, quite clearly, Professor McGonagall.)

"Fetch the headmaster!"

"We want to see!"

Snape held up his hands for silence, which he was given very reluctantly, and only because he looked crankier than usual. The Potion Master's usually greasy hair was damp with steam and flattened against his head. Strands dripped across his face. He glowered at the crowd. "The headmaster has been summoned, but he is in the middle of a conference. He may not be able to come for a while."

"He's in the middle of an interview," corrected Harry smugly. He was even more kickable than Draco.

"That's right," agreed Rita. She'd pushed her way to the front of the crowd with the demeanor of a shark scenting blood in the water. Her green quill was moving furiously across a sheet of parchment that was suspended in mid-air. "They gave Gareth Colby the job because everyone hoped Lupin would eat the git." She checked her watch. "They should be done now, one way or the other."

"Then hopefully he should arrive soon." Snape folded his arms, looking like a particularly large and evil bat. "Until then, I am not opening the door."

There was a gush of soap-scented steam from the lavatory. Loud squeaks rang out. The crowd wriggled with impatience. Scenting a potential market, Fred stepped forward, flourishing a paper bag. "To pass the time," he offered. "Weasly's Wizarding Wheezes! Who wants a go?"

George stepped to his side with a similar bag, which he rattled enticingly. "We have Methane Mints -- "

"Lollipop Leeches -- "

"B.O. Bon-bons -- "

"Dum Drops -- "

"Cattle Creams -- "

"And how many of those utilize Fluffy poop?" asked Rita, cutting through their spiel. Fred and George regarded her with all the dignity they could muster -- which was not a lot, but more than should have been possible.

"We do not divulge the ingredients of our wondrous concoctions," Fred informed her haughtily.

Sirius took advantage of their distraction to snatch both bags. "We do not need farting and stinking right now," he growled over the twins' objections. "This corridor is packed and smelly enough as it is." It was, too. The house elves had gone overboard with the sprouts at lunch and several students were not-so-quietly erupting.

"Thank you," Rita told Sirius, "and don't give those sweets to anyone you like. I wasn't kidding about the Fluffy poo."

"I didn't think you were."

"I'm bored!" The headmaster should've been here by now!" Professor McGonagall complained.

"I agree with you, Professor McGonagall," said Harry preciously, his green eyes sickeningly large and sincere. He pulled an apple out of his pocket, spat on it, and then shined it on his pants for her.

Lucius clapped a hand to his face. "Wait! Wasn't Lupin going to meet with the Ministry right after his interview?"

Overhearing this, the crowd began to stamp and hiss.

"That's right," said Snape over the noise. "But Tonks did say she'd bring him."

"What's the Ministry going to think if they show up and no one's here?" Lucius asked. "Someone better go meet them and explain."

"I'll do it," said Sirius crossly. "I'll be no use keeping back the crowd if there's a riot anyway." He stalked off through a wall, which entertained the crowd for another tenth of a second.

"Lupin better get here soon," McGonagall grumbled, "or I'll start having second thoughts about his appointment." A student near her -- unfortunately not Harry -- suddenly belched, and she hit him over the head with her wand. He turned unexpectedly into a white rat, and McGonagall's eyes brightened with new interest. "That reminds me of a spell I've been aching to try out," she murmured thoughtfully, raising her wand again. The crowd gathered around her for a better look.

Snape and Lucius exchanged a glance and shook their heads. "If we can just keep them quiet and entertained until Lupin gets here," Lucius said over the rat's desperate squeals and Harry's 'bah!' of delight.

"Yes, then we can hand the trouble over to Lupin." From the tone of his voice, Snape clearly relished that idea. "We just have to survive until then." He glanced out over the throng. The rodent's cries were dying down. "Unfortunately, I don't think one rat will hold McGonagall for very long."

Lucius smiled and drew his wand. "Well, we can always make more, can't we?"

* * * * *

Dolores Umbridge was standing before a suit of armor in the entrance hall. It was exactly the place that she shouldn't have wanted to stand, for her entire squat, toad-like, unappealing little self was clearly reflected in the breastplate; a sight to unnerve the strongest soul, although it didn't seem to disturb Umbridge in the slightest. In fact, she took the opportunity to straighten the little velvet bow that was tucked amongst her curls. She even smiled at the effect.

Pacing back and forth behind her, sweating nervously and doing his best not to glance in her direction was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself. Trotting in Fudge's footsteps, so close that his nose would have broken if Fudge had turned a corner too sharply, was Percy Weasly, notepad and quill in hand.

Step, step, step. Turn. Pause. Fudge peered up and down the room as if expecting to see someone who hadn't been there a moment ago. He cleared his throat experimentally. Percy hastily wrote it down, spelling it 'Arhrumhrummum.'

Fudge looked around again, but the throat-clearing hadn't sent anyone running to greet them. Not so much as a ghost in sight. "I say," he said. Percy wrote it down and looked at him expectantly for the rest. Unfortunately, Fudge was at a loss exactly what to say.

So he paced some more, wondering with each step if the werewolf headmaster was having some sort of joke on him, or if he'd just eaten everyone in the school and was planning on having them for dessert once he got his appetite back. Fudge was about to wipe his sweaty palms off on his robes when Percy hastily offered his in their place.

"Thank you, Weasly," said Fudge absently. He looked at his watch. "I say -- "

"Hem, hem." Umbridge turned around and whatever Fudge had or had not been about to say died in his throat. "The meeting should have begun three minutes ago," she remarked in her breathy little voice. "Someone should at least have been here to greet us. This is highly improper. It reflects poorly on the new. . . " She shuddered in what she probably fancied was a dainty way. ". . . headmaster."

"Yes, yes," agreed Fudge weakly, "that was exactly. . . or at least similar to. . . well, it was quite like what I -- "

"I think we can take it as an indication that Mr. Lupin is not prepared for the task at hand." Umbridge tapped her wand against the suit of armor she'd been admiring herself in. It was a recent purchase, a replacement for the one the centaur had broken. It was lumpy, even shorter and thicker than her old wand, and made of a peculiar, dull green wood. Fudge's gaze went to it.

"I say, that's an odd sort of wand."

Umbridge paused in her tapping. "Odd?" she inquired.

"Well, yes." Fudge took a closer look at it. Now that he thought about it, it was kind of shaped like. . . Well. . . like something it wasn't polite to mention in mixed company. "Yes, it is a bit, um. . . "

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "Is it?" It was astonishing how much threat her wispy little voice could convey. Clearly she knew exactly what he was thinking and didn't want to talk about it. Fudge paled.

"I didn't mean to suggest, or rather, that is to imply. . . "

"What beautiful robes you're wearing, Ms. Umbridge!" cooed Percy, hoping to ease the situation via a good arse-kiss.

Umbridge softened. "They are, aren't they?" She ran a loving hand over the frothy mauve material and the matter of the wand was forgotten. Fudge heaved a silent sigh of relief and reminded himself to give Percy a raise. Eventually. When he remembered to.

"Headmaster Lupin is awfully late," Fudge remarked, checking his watch again. "Dear me, no one here to greet us, halls empty. . . "

"A most disgraceful state of affairs," agreed Umbridge. But it seemed to please her. The corners of her wide mouth turned up, as if she were savoring the taste of a particularly delicious insect. She fondled her wand, and Fudge restrained himself from commenting on it again. "I believe we can set this down as a particularly bad beginning. If this is the standard Hogwarts has fallen to. . . " She let the sentence trail off, rich with unspoken meaning.

Fudge nodded and got ready to resume his pacing when someone came walking out of a nearby wall. He shrieked and jumped backwards, forgetting that Percy was right behind him. They fell in an ignominious heap.

"Stop being ridiculous," said Umbridge crossly, "it's only a ghost."

"Oh, you're here already," noted Sirius unenthusiastically. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Minister Fudge. Is it Minister Fudge? I'd heard you were going to be fired."

"Well, you see I -- "

"He was, but he wept and sniveled so pitifully that they didn't have the heart to sack him," sniffed Umbridge.

Sirius shrugged. "Ah, well. Guess you'll have to wait a bit longer to get your warty hands on his job, then."

Umbridge's eyes narrowed. "I'd be very careful what you say in front of the Minister, young man."

"Huh? That was an insult to you, not him. Anyway, I'm already dead. What's he going to do to me?"

"Dead?" Fudge blinked.

"Yeah. As in 'shuffled off this mortal coil.'"

"But. . . but aren't ghosts sort of silvery and transparent?"

"Yes," said Sirius patiently. "But you see, ghosts are what happen when you refuse to leave in the first place. I left, got bored and came back. So it's different."

"How. . . " Fudge was having trouble with the conversation. "How did you. . . er, leave?"

"Just walked out the door." Sirius grinned wickedly. "I think they were glad to see the back of me by then, actually. You wouldn't believe how many Celestial Cycles I ran through their parlor."

"Celestial Cycles?" asked Fudge weakly.

"Yeah, they're great. Those babies can go up to two thousand miles per hour. Actually, I tinkered with one and got it up to two thousand, seven hundred. But they revoked my license soon after that," he said, scowling at the memory. "That's when I decided I couldn't stand it anymore. Besides, I felt I deserved special consideration, due to the circumstances of my death. And my crappy life as well, come to that."

"Oh, er. . . that is to say, er. . . " Fudge had by now not only lost his grip on the conversation, but on his vocal cords as well.

Umbridge, however, was staring fishily at Sirius. "I know you," she rasped, "you're that murderer, Sirius Black."

"Wrong. I'm the unjustly imprisoned escaped dead convict Sirius Black." Sirius bowed.

"Sirius Black?!" Suddenly recognizing the name, Fudge choked. Percy dropped everything to pound him on the back. "The. . . the man who killed thirteen Muggles and Peter Pettigrew? Here?"

"At least he's dead," said Umbridge, looking at Sirius and smiling widely, as if she had just said: "What a nice boy you are!"

"Yep, dead." agreed Sirius unenthusiastically. He felt it was rude of her to keep pointing it out.

"Although it would have been preferable to have had the Kiss performed on him," she added, even more sweetly.

Sirius's eyes narrowed. That was even more impolite.

"Yes, indeed," gasped Fudge. "Dear me, this is most irregular!"

"So. . . you're actually sorry that I'm dead?"

"Well, only in that it. . . well, it should have been worse," said Fudge, almost apologetically.

Percy, who was bending down to retrieve his parchment and quill, nodded self-righteously. "I think the Kiss would have taught him a good, firm lesson!"

"Yes." Umbridge was smiling now. "And we wouldn't have had this poor. . . residue remaining."

Sirius tapped a toe to the rhythm of 'We're Not Going to Take It', which neither Umbridge nor Fudge nor Percy recognized. They also didn't know it for a danger sign -- more the pity for them. "Well, gee, shucks, I sure am sorry my demise didn't meet with your approval," said Sirius. His mind whirled with fiendish plots.

"Nothing personal," Fudge told him. "Er, how did it happen?"

"Fell through a curtain."

"A curtain?"

"Yeah. Dirty, tattered, mucky old curtain. Fell into it, and suddenly I'm on the Other Side. Kind of bit, really."

"For you, I suppose." Umbridge looked as pleased as one of her horrible kittens with a new ball of technicolor yarn to play with.

"Yeah, but not for the rest of you. I get it." Sirius's hands tightened. Paper crinkled, and he looked down in surprise. All at once his expression cleared and he smiled graciously -- which really, really, should have warned them. "I'm so sorry Headmaster Lupin isn't here to greet you himself," he apologized sweetly, "A complication arose with one of the lavatories, and he went to deal with it himself."

Umbridge tittered. "Oh, yes, a headmaster of his caliber would want to be personally involved with the lavatories." Fudge and Percy echoed her giggles.

"He should be with you shortly. Until then, he wants you to have these, as an apology." Sirius held out the bags he'd confiscated from Fred and George. "Sorry, there isn't one for you, Percy, but after all, you're only an underling," Sirius couldn't help but add. Percy flushed the same color as his hair and busied himself with his parchment.

"Well, that's thoughtful at least." Umbridge took the bag from Sirius's hands and peered inside. "Sweets? Oh, but my figure!" She eyed a bon-bon lasciviously. It did look rich and good.

"One won't harm it," Sirius told her disingenuously -- and truthfully. It would have taken a great many bon-bons to make Umbridge's figure worse that it was.

"I just had my tea," protested Fudge.

"Oh, go on," said Sirius, ever so innocently. "Don't want to hurt the headmaster's feelings, do you?"

"Oh, perhaps just a gumdrop. Would you like a piece, Weasly?"

"Thank you, Minister." Percy, who of all of them really, really should have known better, selected a cream.

They popped their sweets into their mouths at almost exactly the same time. Sirius fought back a grin. "Good?" he asked.

"Very tasty," said Fudge.

"Not bad," answered Umbridge.

"Moo," replied Percy agreeably.

"Moo?" Fudge frowned. "I don't think that's a proper er. . . a proper, er. . . thingy." A moment of confusion crawled over his face, to be replaced by a look of blissful stupidity.

"Thingy?" Umbridge scowled at the word. Perhaps she feared Fudge was referring to her wand again. "Really, Minister, I must say. . . " She trailed off as she took a closer look at her companions. Fudge was happily playing with his fingers and Percy. . . well, Percy was a cow. A small red-and-white cow. Quite pretty, actually. He was trying to graze the floor.

Umbridge caught on. "You tricked us!" she screamed. Whiffs of odor began to rise from her armpits. She threw the bag of treacherous sweets at Sirius, but he chose to have it go straight through him. It hit the opposite wall and burst. Pieces of candy rolled across the polished floor.

"That's right," laughed Sirius. "What are you going to do -- kiss me?" Laughing maniacally, he faded slowly from view, leaving his mocking grin hanging in the air a second after the rest of him had disappeared. They should have been flattered. Sirius had worked hard on that trick and had been waiting for the proper moment to display it.

* * * * *

"I say -- " Squeak, squeak, squeak.

"Eh? Wot do you say?"

"Oh, I'm just rather bored with hanging around in the loo."

"You've got a point there, you does. Ain't nuttin' to eat in here." A great rumbling sound. "Cor, there's me stummick goin' off right on the dot!"

"There are people outside, aren't there?"

They listened.

"Sounds like a ruddy great 'erd o' people."

"Well, why don't they come in?"

"Per'aps they're shy?"

They considered this for a while. Bubbles glided lazily through the air.

"What were we thinking about?"

"We was wonderin' if the blokes outside was shy."

"Oh. What did we decide?"

"We didn't." There was another rumble. "Cor, I'm 'ungry. Me bowels will go off if I don'ts get somethin' to eat soon."

"Well, we don't have to stay in here. Do we?"

"Now that you mentions it, I don't think we does."

"So let's go then." He put a hand on the doorknob.

"Oi, Mr. Lockhart?"

"Is that me?"

"Yeah. An' I'm sorry I took your li'l squeaker duck. It was just so cute."

"Yes, Mr. Quackles is cute, isn't he?" Squeak, squeak, squeak. "Or is it Mr. Quackie?"

"It's Doodles. An' let's go get somethin' to eat."

"But the door won't open."

"It won't?" He tried it himself. "Think the blokes outside 'ad somethin' to do with that?"

"You mean. . . they don't want to come out?" His lower lip wobbled.

"Could be, could be. . . 'Ere now, I can't wait! It ain't 'ealthy for me to skip meals!"

"So, what are we going to do?"

"Can't take 'no' for an answer, can we? Let's knock it down!"

* * * * *

The door shuddered at repeated assaults. Steam and bubbles filled the corridor so thickly it was difficult to breathe. Snape and Lucius were sweating as they braced the door with their backs to prevent it from opening.

"Can't hold it!" wheezed Lucius. "They're getting through!" A jet of glittering light flashed past his cheek, leaving it squeaky clean and smelling of soap.

"We have to try," gasped Snape. The door buckled again. A squeak sounded in his ear, practically deafening him.

The crowd watched, alert and intent. Their eyes glittered like the eyes of prey animals who knew their victim was about to make a fatal misstep.

"We. . . have to. . . hold fast. . . "