Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Eleven

You Can't Always Get What You Want (But You Can Bloody Well Try)

Lupin passed his gaze down the row of delegates set up before him. "So let me see if I have this straight." He nodded to the first person in the line. "Mr. Malfoy here wants to close off the entire dungeon so the cleaning staff can -- how did you put it?"

"Really get into their job," Lucius replied. "Because it's a right mess down there, let me tell you. It's going to take hours if not days -- "

"Right, understood." Lupin moved to the next supplicant. "Professor McGonagall's bored and wants to get on with the meeting about Dumbledore's funeral arrangements -- "

Dumbledore's portrait began wailing again. "I wish you'd stop reminding me!" he sobbed.

Lupin ignored him and continued. "Professor Snape wants restraining orders served to several teachers and about half the student population. . . " Snape nodded fervently. "But Professor Sprout here is part of a delegation demanding I surrender Professor Snape to them or they'll burn down the school."

Professor Sprout giggled and tried to pinch Snape's rump.

"Peter Pettigrew -- " Lupin scowled, "wants five meals served a day instead of three. And finally, Mr. Potter here wants to become a god. Did I remember everything?"

Everyone nodded.

"I want to be alive again," sniffled Dumbledore.

"Very well." Lupin got up and paced a small circle. "Mr. Malfoy, the cleaning staff will be allowed to shut down the effected wing of the dungeon for twenty-four hours."

"The whole dungeon needs cleaning," said Lucius sniffily.

"One wing. Twenty-four hours." Lupin faced McGonagall. "We'll get on to the decision of what to do with you-know-who's service -- "

"Voldemort's?" asked several voices wildly.

"No! Dumbledore's!" said Lupin exasperatedly. "Dumbledore's service! We'll decide once we're finished here. Professor Snape? No restraining orders. Be a man, for god's sake."

Snape stiffened and glowered.

"Ah, you do look cute with your hair all wavy, Sevvie. Like something out of a Bronte novel. Professor Sprout, I'll ransom him to you for a million Galleons. Once you've got that much together, come and see me again."

"Not funny, werewolf."

"Oh, and by the way, Hogwarts is fire-proof. Pettigrew?"

"Yes, Moony?" asked Peter, beaming.

"Get bent. I want you out of here before nightfall. And don't bother wobbling your lip at me. I'd turn you over to the Ministry if they weren't all a bunch of incompetents."

Fudge looked up from where he was sucking on a lolly in the corner. "Incorpetenants? What does that mean?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," Sirius assured him.

"Now. . . Harry? I'm sorry, I don't know how to become a god. It was purely accidental. You'll have to do your own research, I'm afraid."

"Bah!" Harry kicked the floor, then looked up. "Will I get House points if I succeed?"

"Certainly," Lupin promised. "Why, you can be the God of House Points if you like."

Harry's eyes glowed as he mentally added that suggestion to his list.

"And finally, Dumbledore. Sorry, but dead is dead. You're going to have to deal with being a picture."

"Bah!" said Dumbledore, swatting at his frame. Everyone stared at him a moment. "Well, it works for Harry," he explained.

"So if everything's cleared up," said Lupin, deciding to ignore this too, "I suggest the teachers adjourn to the staff room. Oh, Lucius? See what you can do about my office. I'm not too pleased about the eau de Umbridge it's infested with."

"Can I shut it down for twenty-four hours too?"

"Not with me in here!" whined Dumbledore. "I don't want to be all alone."

Lupin made an exasperated noise. "Have Dumbledore and Phineas's frames taken down and put in the staff room, Lucius. Then you can shut my office and fumigate it for the whole bloody weekend if you like."

"Are we ready yet?" asked McGonagall impatiently.

"Yes, yes; let's get going. The rest of the staff might already be waiting. Come along, Severus."

They trooped over to the staff room. Professors Vector, Grubbly-Plank, and Sinistra were already there. So was Professor Flitwick, but no one noticed him until Sirius almost sat on him. "Sorry," said Sirius, moving. Snape hunched in a chair, attempting to re-slime his hair with a jar of Vaseline and copious amounts of saliva. Professor Sprout tried to perch coyly on the chair's arm, but it broke under her weight and she had to settle for a divan, where she sat shooting lustful glances at Snape. Firenze came clomping through the hall a bit later, followed by Percy Weasely, who was mooing softly and batting his big brown eyes. Love was definitely in the air tonight. It was rather sickening.

Lupin felt someone brush against him and glanced behind to see Harry following. "You should go back to the Gryffindor common room," he told the boy.

"But I want to come to the meeting," replied Harry pleadingly, looking up at him with big, tearful green eyes.

"It's not going to be very exciting, Harry. We're just going to decide when we're going to hold Dumbledore's funeral, and who's going to be invited, and stuff like that."

"Will I be invited?" asked Harry, still not mollified.

"Of course. You can even give a speech if you like. Would you like that?"

Harry thought it over. "No," he decided, "but thanks for asking." Harry skipped off down the hall. Lupin shook his head. That kid is nuttier than a jar of Planter's, he decided. Who'd have thought James and Lily could combine so badly?

After turning Percy out of the room, Lupin shut the door behind him and chose a big, comfortable, overstuffed easy chair for himself. He sighed, thinking how nice it was just to sit for a moment, especially since his body still ached from his transformation on Wednesday.

"So, what are the ideas?" he asked after a quiet moment of enjoyment.

"Chuck him in a hole, shovel some dirt over him, and be done with it," was McGonagall's opinion.

"I'm afraid we need a little more ceremony than that," replied Lupin.

"Sounded good to me," muttered Snape. He shifted a little further away from Professor Sprout.

"I think he should be returned to the forest," intoned Firenze distantly. They could hear Percy scratching at the door, trying to get to the centaur.

"Well since he didn't come from the forest in the first place, he can hardly be returned to it, now can he?" said Sirius impatiently. He shook back his hair. "Look, just do something simple. I don't see why a bunch of ceremonies are necessary." He pouted. "Especially since you couldn't be bothered to do a damn thing for me."

"We didn't have a body for you, Sirius. Plus, you're still an escaped convict wanted for murder."

"So I'm not as important as Dumbledore; is that what you're saying?" Sirius folded his arms and prepared a fine sulk.

"I'm saying that there was no point in burying you, as there was nothing to bury," sighed Lupin. "Look, this isn't about you, Sirius. Can't we have a few nice, sensible suggestions for once?"

Flitwick cleared his throat. "Why don't we hold the service a week from tomorrow?" he squeaked. "We can have it right here. Dumbledore's going to be buried at the Hogwarts cemetery, isn't he?"

"Actually he requested in his will that he be dry-frozen and kept in cold storage until such time as cloning is perfected and we can make a copy of him," replied Lupin. "But we're going to assume that was just the senility kicking in. So to answer your question. . . yes, he's going to be buried at Hogwarts."

"So we can set him up somewhere for the viewing, then bury him, and then hold the. . . what do you call it. . . ?" Tonks frowned at the ceiling. "Reception?"

"That's for a wedding."

"Well, the funeral dinner or whatever afterwards in the great Hall."

"Any objections?" asked Lupin.

"Sounds like a lot of bother for the old fart," grumbled McGonagall, "But if we must."

"We must," said Lupin. "I suppose we should decorate everything in black, tell the students to wear mourning."

"I could get my chorus together to sing a dirge for him," said Flitwick eagerly.

"Your chorus?" frowned Snape. "Oh! You mean those castrati with the huge toads?"

"Yes, I think he meant them," said Lupin as Flitwick looked hurt. "That would be fine. Only leave the toads out this time. I don't think they would set the proper atmosphere at all."

"But they add such a lovely base note!"

"No toads," repeated Lupin. He glanced around the room. "Anyone else have any brilliant ideas?"

"How about a conjurer and a mariarchi band?" suggested Snape grouchily.

Only if one of them looks like Antonio Banderas -- Lupin didn't say it aloud. "No, I don't think that would set the proper tone either. Maybe we could quote lines from his favorite song, if it isn't too embarrassing?"

"It is," McGonagall assured him. "It's 'I'm Called Little Buttercup.' Always said it reminded him of performing for his mummy."

"It would be. Excellent. Excellent." Lupin chewed on his lip and thought. "Well, how about we chose a more dignified song and claim it was his favorite? If we can keep that wretched portrait quiet, that is."

There were murmurs of assent.

"And I suppose there'll be the usual speeches and suchlike," Lupin mused. "I suggest we form a committee to arrange everything. Any volunteers?"

There was a painfully long pause, during which time Lucius and Lockhart entered, dragging with them the portrait of Dumbledore and Phineas's empty frame. Lucius rested the pictures against the wall then shot an inquisitive glance around the room. "Why is it so quiet?"

"I just asked for volunteers to arrange the service," Lupin replied.

"Ah." Lucius tucked his hands into his pockets.

Lupin sighed. "I'll add in a small bonus."

Everyone's hands shot up at once, including both of Lucius's. Lupin stared at him. "You're not exactly strapped for cash, are you?" he asked.

"It's the principle of the matter," Lucius replied primly. "I feel genetically compelled to suck up every coin there is to spare."

Lupin shook his head. He also wondered vaguely why Firenze cared about a bonus, but decided he wasn't curious enough to ask. He didn't want to hear any answer that might encompass building a love nest for Percy Weasley.

"Very well. Professors McGonagall, Sinistra and Snape will arrange everything. Professor Flitwick will set up the musical aspects. I expect everyone to help out any way they can."

"No money, no help-y," stated Lucius, and stalked out the door.

Professor Sinistra raised a hand. "Who should we invite?"

"Oh, anyone you think would want to come," replied Lupin carelessly. "No one too embarrassing, although I suppose we must have Aberforce -- "

There was a chorus of groans.

"I know, I know, but he is Dumbledore's brother. Just lock up the livestock before he arrives."

"I don't want him to come!" protested Dumbledore's portrait. "He'll make fun of me being dead. He's jealous, you know, because Mummy liked me best."

"He won't do it at a funeral," Tonks consoled him.

"Oh yes he will!"

"And invite all the Ministry people," continued Lupin. "Perhaps the heads of other schools -- "

"They all hated him."

"Well, ask them anyway. They don't have to come if they don't want to." Lupin yawned. "That sounds pretty good for a beginning, anyway. Send out the notices by Tuesday, at least."

"Is that it, then?" demanded Snape.

"Well, run your suggestions by me before you implement them --but otherwise, yeah, that's it." Lupin shrugged. "We're just burying Dumbledore, not negotiating world peace."

"If I'm not happy with everything, I'm going to scream so loud," warned Dumbledore's picture. "Maybe I should be on the committee too."

"Absolutely not!" said Snape.

Dumbledore's face puckered up and began trembling.

"And if you start crying, I'll get Lucius Malfoy to shove you back in the office by your lonesome," Snape threatened.

Dumbledore sulked and abused his stuffed bunny.

"Meeting adjourned then," announced Lupin, standing. He checked his watch. "Ooh, and early too. Wonder if I have time for a cup of chocolate? Or a shag? Whoops, you didn't hear me say that," he added, feeling the sudden pressure of several pairs of scandalized eyes upon him.

"It was the mention of the mariarchi band, wasn't it, Remus?" Sirius murmured.

* * * * *

"We're not going to take this!"

"No, absolutely not."

"We're absolutely not going to accept it."

"Never, never, never."

"It won't stand."

"No, it won't."

Harry lay on his belly, lazily chewing his way through a pile of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, and watched the twins pontificate.

"We shall not let them throw us out."

"No. We shall stay!"

It was an amusing sight, if you looked at it objectively. Fred and George strutted around the common room, stopping every once in a while to stand with their feet wide apart and rip off some pompous declamation or threat. Their chests were pushed out so far that one might have thought their nipples were attached to air balloons. Ron, who had already had his toes stepped on twice, kept well out of their way and watched them warily.

"It is a crime and an outrage!"

"And illegal too!"

"And we won't stand for it!"

"No we won't!"

Harry swallowed his latest bean. "So what exactly are you going to do about it?" he inquired.

"Uh. . . "

"Errr. . . "

"Well, we're not going to stand for it. . . "

"No, definitely not."

"Well, that's going to make an impression on the headmaster." Harry pushed himself to a sitting position and pointed a finger at the twins. "You go marching in there and say 'We're not gonna stand for it, mate,' and he'll reply, 'Oh, and what about this signed paper I have here?' And you'll be out on your ears."

Fred and George winced.

"I bet he could get the law on you if you don't clear off," added Harry sadistically.

Fred and George flinched, but then Fred remembered something. "What about all that stuff we overheard?" he asked. "You know -- between you and Rita Skeeter?"

"You were talking to Rita Skeeter, Harry?" asked Ron suspiciously.

"Er, well, she wanted to talk to me," said Harry, feeling his brain tie itself into a knot as it tried to wrap around the many lies he'd told over the past few weeks.

"About what?"

"Well, about Dumbledore's death and stuff like that." Harry lifted a shoulder. "You know how she is, Ron."

"No I don't, because she never bothers to talk to me." Ron sulked. "God, I hate being poor!"

Harry blinked at him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She'd talk to me if I wasn't poor."

Harry relaxed slightly as it became clear it was just Ron's old jealousy speaking, and not any deep suspicion of Harry's motives. "I think she doesn't interview you because you're not special, actually."

Ron threw himself onto the sofa and began beating it with his fists. What did I say wrong? wondered Harry, annoyed.

Ah, well, it was more important to deal with the twins right now anyway. He gave them each a handful of beans and gestured for them to sit. "Look, mates, you've been thrown out of the school. It's official now. Nothing you can do about it."

"We could steal the paper," said Fred stubbornly.

"Then they could never prove it."

"There were loads of witnesses in the room," Harry pointed out. "Besides, Headmaster Lupin doesn't want you to stay. He's probably stashed that paper somewhere you'll never find it." Harry selected a pinkish bean and nibbled delicately. As he'd suspected, it tasted deliciously like ham. "I suggest you submit gracefully and go back to your joke shop. I'm sorry things didn't work out and all -- "

"We don't know how to submit gracefully."

Well, that much was true, Harry had to admit. "Submit crassly then. Tear off all your clothes and dance slobbering down the halls; what the hell. Might as well make an exit worth remembering."

"Hey, that doesn't sound bad," said George, but Fred shook his head.

"I want to stay and instruct you and Ron in the art of merry rollicking pranks," he insisted stubbornly. "It's like passing the torch. Like leaving second selves behind." Fred's eyes grew misty. "I imagine it's what having a child would be like --"

"Don't make me chuck up my beans," gagged Harry. Ron had pounded all the sofa cushions completely flat and lumpy by now. He paused for a moment, looked about to see if there was a more suitable target to vent his wrath upon, then began tearing strips of the fabric off with his teeth. A more unpromising child one would be hard pressed to find.

"But how are we going to do it?" George asked Fred. "Harry's right -- that bitch signed the form."

"Harry will keep us hidden," replied Fred, the gleam of a fanatic lighting his eyes. "Or we'll tell everyone what he said to Rita Skeeter."

Harry scowled. The prospect of being blackmailed was not at all appealing. "I doubt you remember what I said to Ms. Skeeter."

"Something about planting the blame for something on Flitwick," answered Fred promptly.

"The blame for what?" Harry sneered. "What good is that going to do you? Nothing's happened yet."

"But something is going to happen?" asked Fred cannily.

"Yeah." Harry leaned back and gloated. "I'm going to have pork chops for dinner and you're going to be thrown out of Hogwarts."

Fred scowled. Ron abandoned the sofa to rip up the carpet. George thought. It looked like hard work.

"All right; maybe we can't threaten you," George said at last. "But perhaps we could. . . bribe you?"

Harry paused with a bean halfway to his mouth. The idea hadn't occurred to him, and yet. . . "Bribe me with what?" he asked cautiously.

"There must be something you want."

There were a lot of things he wanted. Harry nestled back against the overstuffed cushions of his chair and contemplated them all.

Ownership of a pig farm. His own personal pork chef. Draco Malfoy's head on a platter. A custom-made broomstick with his name emblazoned on it in solid gold letters and a laser gun attached so he could shoot down any rivals. To be elected Captain of a high-ranked international Quidditch team. Perhaps the title deed to Honeyduke's -- or all of Hogsmeade; what the hell. His face put on the back of the Galleon -- and the Sickle and Knut too, while they were at it. To be crowned king of all wizards -- hadn't he heard something about a half-blood prince recently? To be immortalized in song and art and history.

And of course his most recent ambition. To become a god.

But how in the world could Fred and George help him with any of that? Well, maybe if they paid him enough money, he could buy a pig farm. But that wasn't good enough. Harry had no intention of doing all the hard work himself, so he'd have to have enough money to hire servants as well.

"I just don't see it," he said, coming out of his daydream. "I don't think you have anything I want."

"A lifetime supply of trick candy?" nudged Fred.

"Joke wands?"

"Funny hats?"

"Prank underwear?"

That last did sound rather good, but Harry continued to shake his head. While prank panties might be amusing every once in a while, he felt no need to acquire a lifetime supply of them. "Sorry guys."

"Our dragonhide jackets?" asked George in desperation. "They'd go well with your eyes."

"I'm not going to wear your old cast-off clothing," said Harry indignantly. "I know it stinks. Besides, I have money of my own. I could buy an entire dragonhide wardrobe if I wanted."

"I couldn't!" screamed Ron, smashing a window with his fist. Harry rolled his eyes. Good thing everyone in Gryffindor knew the Reparo spell by now.

George tried again. "How about a portable swamp? Our special fireworks? Seventeen pounds of Fluffy poo?"

"No, no, and most certainly no!"

"Well, why don't you tell us what you want, then?" Fred demanded, frustrated.

So Harry did. It took some time.

* * * * *

"Blasted werewolf," grumbled Snape as he took a seat in the Room of Requirement. "Joking about selling me to Professor Sprout." He scowled. If it was a joke. He tried to distract himself by gazing around the room. It had transformed itself into a long council chamber with an elegant table of polished black marble surrounded by comfortable yet official-looking chairs. There were plenty of quills, pens, and tablets of paper lying about, and one pot of tea and another of coffee steamed on a sideboard, alongside a tray of biscuits.

Lupin hadn't been entirely happy about inviting Death Eaters into the Room of Requirement, but as Lucius Malfoy pointed out, he already knew about the room and could tell his comrades of its existence at any moment. Therefore, there was no point in pretending it was a big secret.

Lucius merely grunted in reply to Snape's comment. Snape took a better look at him. The blonde man was sitting rigidly in his chair, his fingers clasped around the arms as if he were about to be tossed out of an airplane and his life depended on staying seated. "What's up with you?" Snape demanded.

"Narcissa's due to arrive any second," replied Lucius through tight lips. "And Bellatrix."

"Oh, right." It made sense now. In fact, Snape was tempted to assume a similar position himself. He forbore with an effort. "Who else is coming?"

"Goyle. Crabbe. Macnair. Karkaroff -- "

"Karkaroff?" Snape was astounded. "That wormy little traitor?"

"We're Death Eaters. Treachery is expected. Anyway, he's good for kissing an arse or two. Not that anyone will speak up with Narcissa and Bellatrix in the room." Lucius shuddered and his fingers tightened their grip on the chair.

"Well, do calm down. Have a little pride. The Order of the Phoenix will be here, and we don't want them to think we're afraid of our own members."

"I am afraid of Bellatrix and Narcissa, and I don't care who knows it." Lucius did not relax one iota. "If they have any sense, they're afraid of the bitches too."

The door creaked open and Lucius tensed -- or whatever you call it when an already tense man becomes even more agitated. The chair was going to bear the marks of his fingers for the rest of its existence. But it was only Lupin, Tonks, and Sirius. Lucius relaxed marginally. Snape sniffed.

"Surely there's going to be more of you than that?" he commented as the threesome came in, chatting amiably.

"Arthur Weasley's coming," said Lupin, helping himself to some tea and biscuits.

"Oh, joy," muttered Lucius. "Hope he doesn't wear that stupid brown pointed hat. Hate that thing. Looks like an unsuccessful erection."

Sirius grimaced. "Great. Now that description's going to go gallivanting through my head every time I look at Arthur."

"Well, brace up, because he probably will wear it. Kingsley Shacklebolt is coming too. And Moody, of course."

Snape groaned. Alastor Moody and his Spinning Eye of Creepy Funkiness. Just what the meeting needed.

"But that should be all. We didn't want to pull everyone into this." Lupin sat down, munching vigorously. "Who's coming from your side?"

"Bellatrix and Narcissa. Macnair -- "

"Did you tell him to leave his ax behind?"

"Yes, but I doubt he'll listen. Crabbe, Goyle, Karkaroff."

"That wormy little traitor?" asked Sirius, astonished, looking up from his cup of coffee.

Lucius closed his eyes gently. "Yes, that wormy little traitor."

"He's coming to lick the boots," explained Snape sardonically.

"So that's how you keep 'em so shiny," commented Tonks, eyeing Lucius's highly-polished footwear. "And here I thought it was the house elves."

"Ha, ha. No, actually, we find it's useful to have a few foreign wizards on our side instead of being boring, insular Englishmen all the time. It's a big world out there, you know." Lucius managed a superior expression, as if he'd just scored a great moral point.

Sirius looked offended. "We have foreign wizards on our side."

"Oh yeah? Name one."

"No! I'm not giving out the names of our people!"

"You can't because there aren't any!" Lucius looked smug.

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are not!"

Lupin looked up from his second chocolate biscuit. "You do realize you're bragging about Igor Karkaroff, don't you, Lucius?" he asked.

"I am not. I'm pointing out the lack of foreign wizards on your side."

"Allowing Karkaroff to cringe around your feet hardly counts as having foreign wizards in your group. Besides, we have Fleur Delacour."

"You probably just want to shag her," sniffed Lucius.

"Who wouldn't?"

Lucius had to acknowledge Lupin had a point there.

"And we probably have Krum as well."

"You probably want to shag him too."

"Do we really have the surly Slav?" asked Sirius, interested.

"Well, if they have Karkaroff, we can probably get Krum," shrugged Lupin. "As he dislikes Karkaroff more than he dislikes everyone else. If he comes to Dumbledore's funeral, I'll ask him."

"It's still not what I'd call an international coalition," sneered Lucius.

"Neither is Igor bloody Karkaroff!"

"This is a really stupid conversation."

"Of course it is." Somehow the door had opened silently to allow two more people to enter. "My husband's involved in it."

Lucius resumed his grip on the chair. "Good evening, dear."

"Good evening." Narcissa glided across the floor to the chair next to him, pulled it out, and sat. And waited. "Aren't you going to fetch me a cup of coffee?"

"Oh, yes," Lucius grumbled, "I can see how you were too busy and tired to do that yourself before you sat down, dear. You just relax. I'll be you step-and-fetch-it boy."

"Thank you, darling," replied Narcissa, relaxed and utterly composed.

Lucius grumbled some more, but stood. And, in doing so, found himself nose-to-nose with none other than Arthur Weasley. Who was indeed wearing his offensive pointy hat. Lucius tried desperately not to think of limp genitalia, but failed. "Why, hello, Lucius!" Arthur chuckled. "Fancy us meeting like this!"

"Well, as this is a meeting for Death Eaters and members of the Order, it's not entirely surprising, is it?" replied Lucius, regarding Arthur's hammy pink complexion with distaste. "Is Molly not coming?"

"She had to stay home and discuss something with the milkman," Arthur answered, glancing around the room to see if there were any interesting Muggle artifacts in sight. "She spends a lot of time talking to him. Has more problems with that man. . . "

"Trust a Weasley to do something low-class like have an affair with their milkman," snorted Lucius, pouring coffee.

Arthur blinked. "An affair? Er, no, I don't think so. The milkman's half troll. Molly's problem is that he keeps drinking half the milk before he delivers it."

"Then trust the Weasleys to have a milkman who's half troll," Lucius sniffed as he handed his wife a cup of coffee and sat down with one of his own. "I would never allow such riffraff near Malfoy Manor."

"Of course not, dear," agreed Narcissa. "Our milkman's six foot two with curly golden hair, blue eyes, a tight little bum, and shoulders like Atlas." She took a sip of coffee.

Lucius sputtered his own sip out all over the tabletop. Fortunately, there was a convenient box of wipes nearby.

"Always thought he should take up modeling," Narcissa mused as her husband mopped up coffee. "But he says he likes getting up early in the morning. Or was that getting it up early in the morning?"

Lucius Malfoy was temporarily incoherent. Which was probably just as well.

* * * * *

"And I'd like my parents brought back to life too," Harry concluded, "although I suppose if I become all-powerful, I'll be able to do it myself." Having said his piece, he sat back in his chair and awaited the verdict.

Fred and George were flabbergasted. They were astonished and aghast. They were bewildered, beguiled, and bemused. Plus Fred had to go to the bathroom.

Ron had abandoned his round of destruction to stare, open-mouthed, at The Boy Who Lived. He was the first to regain his voice. "That's. . . rather a lot of desires, Harry," he said.

Harry lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. As far as he was concerned, they were all well-deserved.

"We can do you a song," offered George, recovering. He cleared his throat:

"Oh, Harry Potter was a very fine boy,

And a very fine boy was he.

And one fine day, he slew the Dark Lord,

Whilst eating ham at tea."

"That sucked," said Harry. "Although I liked the ham bit."

"It's not going to go down in history, however." Ron shook his head.

"Well. . . well. . . we might be able to kill Draco Malfoy for you," said Fred feebly. But Harry shook his head.

"No, no, I want permission to kill him myself. If someone else killed him, it would just take all the fun out of it."

"Well. . . " George looked at Fred, who sighed. The pig farm option seemed likely to bankrupt them. "Maybe we could start a campaign to get you elected king."

"You don't elect kings!" snorted Ron.

"Oh, shut up, little brother," Fred told him. "You just don't want Harry to become king because you'll be jealous of him."

Ron reddened to his ears, but for once, held his ground. "I don't see why everything cool has to happen to Harry," he whined. "Why couldn't I become king? Why couldn't I be a god?"

"You? A god? Bah-hah-hah-hah-hah!" chortled Harry.

Fred's expression turned wistful. "Mind you, the god thing does sound like fun," he admitted.

"Yeah," agreed George. "The Gods of Pranks -- just think of that!"

The foursome sat and that about it. All heaved great deep sighs of longing.

"If a pair of idiots like Pettigrew and Lockhart can become gods, surely we can too," said Ron after a while. "We're smarter than them."

It was a close race, but his statement was just barely true. "From what Da -- Headmaster Lupin told me, no one knows how they did it," said Harry. "It was an accident."

"Well we could ask them -- "

Harry shook his head. "Rita Skeeter already tried. Lockhart doesn't remember anything, and Pettigrew was more worried about getting fed."

"So maybe if we track him down and stuff him full of food he'll tell us!" Ron began to slide off the sofa, but Harry stopped him again.

"He's been kicked out of Hogwarts," said Harry sadly. "I don't know where he's gone."

"Bloody hell!" Ron kicked at the floor and then sank his chin into his hands. "Maybe if we go to the lavatory and look around for clues?"

"Lucius Malfoy has it all sealed off. Magically. By tomorrow, there probably won't be any clues left."

It sure seemed hopeless. Ron looked at Hermione, who was sitting in a patch of sunlight and washing her whiskered face. "I sure wish you could help us," he told her. She looked up and mewed.

If they'd only spoken cat, they would have known that that mew meant: "Help you? After all you've done to me? Especially help you become gods? Ha! I can't believe I was so desperate for friends I hung around with you two."

But they couldn't speak cat, so Ron took it for friendliness and ruffled up her fur, which annoyed her. Giving him a huffy look, she stalked off to find Crookshanks and complain.

"Looks like we're at a dead end," sighed Fred gloomily. "Unless we can figure out how to sneak down to the dungeon and break through Malfoy's barrier."

"Even if we did, there's no proof we'd find anything in the lavatory," Harry sighed. "We'd really need to get our hands on Pettigrew and Lockhart's wands, so we could see what spells they cast."

"Hey!"

"Yeah!"

Fred and George started grinning. "A little bit of petty larceny -- now that we can do!"

"Hmm. . . " Harry was surprised at himself. He hadn't really been thinking about what he'd been saying, and yet he'd come out with a viable plan of action. He'd have to be sure to reward himself with some fabulously crispy bacon that night. "All right. Steal Lockhart and Pettigrew's wands, and I'll shelter you at Hogwarts."

"Consider it done," said Fred grinning. He stood and gave a kind of a salute. George followed suit.

"And don't try to fool me with someone else's wand -- or one of your joke wands either," Harry warned.

The twins managed to look wounded. "Would we try a cheap trick like that?"

"Yes!" answered Ron and Harry in unison.

* * * * *

Crabbe and Goyle slunk into the room looking sheepish and out of place. They skulked around at the back, trying to avoid the highly-polished table, which seemed to unnerve them. Perhaps they were afraid they might catch a glimpse of their reflections. Kingsley Shacklebolt came in with Macnair and his ax, Mickey. Macnair promptly set Mickey down in a chair and fetched him some tea and biscuits.

"It's things like that that make me think I'm on the saner side after all," Kingsley commented as Macnair held a piece of shortbread to the ax's blade.

"I feel the same way when I watch Arthur Weasley dismantle a telephone," said Snape acidly.

"Eh?" asked Arthur, looking up from where he was molesting a fax machine.

"Now, now. We called a truce for the evening, remember?" Lupin reminded everyone. He took another gulp of tea and reached for the biscuits again.

"How many have you had, Remus?" asked Kingsley.

Lupin shrugged, unashamed. "Seven or eight, I think. It's all right. I'll just burn it all off, next full moon. Actually, I've not finished replacing what I burned off last full moon."

"Hmm. . . you know, you might actually be able to sell lycanthropy that way." Narcissa folded her hands on the table as she regarded Lupin with mild interest. "For ladies who've had no success losing weight any other way."

"If they don't mind the exhaustion and the prematurely gray hair," said Sirius.

"And turning into a rampaging monster every month," added Tonks.

"Some women might like that," replied Narcissa. "It would be a wonderful threat to make your children behave -- something like 'be good or Mommy will eat you next full moon.' And it would provide a terrific excuse for doing away with your husband. God knows I could have used one these many years."

Lucius scowled as titters sounded around the table.

"Well, it's a nice idea," said Lupin, "but until lycanthropy comes packaged with a masseuse, a psychologist, and a whole lot of chocolate, I for one can't recommend it. I can deal with the pain, the transformation, and the sprouting fur all over my body. What I can't stand is that once a month Snape looks tasty."

Snape scowled as people laughed again, this time at his expense. "It's getting late. Shouldn't we start the meeting?"

The Death Eaters snorted. "Only so long as you tell Bellatrix that it was your idea to start the meeting without her," said Macnair, patting Mickey.

Lupin grimaced at the mention of Bellatrix. He was privately hoping that she wouldn't bother showing up. Especially since Sirius's expression darkened at the mere sound of her name -- well, he had cause. The woman had killed him, after all.

"Well, I suppose Moody wouldn't be happy if we started without him either," he said diplomatically. He dropped another lump of sugar into his tea and stirred it as he glanced around the room. "So we're only missing Moody and Bellatrix, right? And Igor bloody Karkaroff. Or is Bellatrix's husband coming too?"

"No, she ate him last month," answered Narcissa.

"Oh. My condolences."

"No need. She said he was delicious."

"Our children were delicious too," reminisced Lucius. "The ones we ate, I mean."

"We didn't eat any children," Narcissa reminded him tersely. "As if I'd go through all that just to provide you with a meal."

Lucius's brow furrowed. "How come I remember having a roasted child with chestnut stuffing for Christmas then?"

"Because you're a delusional idiot."

"Could we possibly have a conversation that isn't stupid or disgusting?" begged Tonks.

They all thought about it. "Probably not," said Snape.

"All right," Tonks sighed. "How about I amuse you with funny noses until Bellatrix and Moody show up then?"

Everyone agreed with this, so she ran through her repertoire. . . Dudley Dursley, and elephant, a turnip-shaped snout, a long, beak-like proboscis, Snape -- that one got a round of applause. She had just worked up to Umbridge when the door creaked open and Mad-Eye Moody came stumping in, his blue eye swiveling and swirling like a thing possessed. Which it most likely was -- Moody had never told anyone exactly where he'd gotten his magical eye, although rumors of grave-robbing in Bangladesh had hounded him for years. "Sorry I'm late," he growled, "but some idiot in a mackintosh started following me the instant I entered Hogwarts. Had to wrap 'em up and leave 'em by the dustbin."

Narcissa did some mental calculations and lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure the idiot wasn't Igor Karkaroff?"

Moody paused to look thoughtful. "Hmm. There was something familiar about him, now that you mention it."

Narcissa sighed. "Crabbe, Goyle, go rescue Igor," she commanded. "He'll be traumatized, so take some biscuits along."

Crabbe and Goyle obediently trooped out, each clutching a handful of treats that they would in all probability eat long before they ever located Karkaroff. Narcissa sighed heavily. "Sometimes I think we'd be well advised to replace half the Death Eaters with house elves."

"They're not evil enough," said Tonks.

"That could be debated," muttered Lucius.

"Do you know Fred and George invented a sweet that turns you into a house elf?" Lupin mentioned conversationally.

"No, really?" asked Narcissa with interest, and the resulting anecdote kept them occupied until Crabbe and Goyle returned. Without Karkaroff. Narcissa fixed them with a severe stare.

"Did you forget what you were about?" she asked.

"Couldn't find him," grunted Goyle.

"Do you remember where he was?"

". . . by the dustbin," they muttered.

"And he wasn't there?"

They looked sullen. "No."

"Was anyone there?"

At this question, both the huge, stupid men looked uneasy and began shifting from foot to foot. Narcissa tapped her finger against the tabletop. "Well?"

More shifting and uneasy glances. They looked rather like children who had to pee. Big hairy children.

"Well?" repeated Narcissa.

"It wasn't Karkaroff!" blurted Crabbe.

"It was, wasn't it?"

"No!"

Narcissa sighed impatiently. "Lucius darling, go and check."

With much grumbling -- under his breath so Narcissa could ignore it -- Lucius stood and stalked out of the room. He returned five minutes later escorting a battered and extremely frightened-looking Igor Karkaroff, who immediately dove under the table and refused to be coaxed out.

"It was him, wasn't it?" asked Narcissa.

"Yes," replied Lucius. "They didn't recognize him because he was wearing these." He held up a pair of nose glasses with a bristly black mustache attached.

"That disguise wouldn't fool a parrot!"

Narcissa glared severely at Lupin. "Don't start it, or I'll remind you of the time Arthur tried to sneak into Parliament wearing lederhosen, suspenders, and a yellow plastic raincoat. You still haven't lived down the shame."

"They were proper Muggle clothes," protested Arthur.

"Pathetic," muttered Snape, shaking his head. "Just pathetic. Is it just me, or are most wizards pathetic? I mean, how many brains do you need to realize that Muggles don't wear suspenders over a bare chest?"

"Or not to recognize an old companion in nose glasses?" snapped Sirius.

"More brains than are gathered together in this room!" a commanding voice rang out. Everyone froze. Lucius made a mad grab for the arms of his chair. Several other people took note of the nearest exits. Sirius's expression twisted into a mask of rage.

"My, my," the voice continued, "what a happy gathering. I haven't seen so many layabouts and wastrels since the last time I visited my in-laws. My dear, departed in-laws. Such a shame that enraged Hungarian Horntail went on a rampage through their home. And so strange too! No one could ever explain how a Hungarian Horntail came to be marauding in the south of England, but it left behind nothing but bloody fragments of their dreadfully mangled bodies. Hmm, I feel a trifle peckish. Are those biscuits I spy?"

Sirius snarled. Lucius shuddered. Narcissa rose smiling.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood framed in the door, and her cold, mocking smile cast a chill over all those assembled.