The Fourth Unforgivable

Chapter 1:

The Fourth Unforgivable

"Bad news this year, kids," said Dumbledore, lounging in his chair with his booted foot propped up on the teacher's table. "It seems that Voldemort has finally pulled out the big guns."

Every student turned expectantly to the Headmaster. He smiled cheekily at them and rummaged around in his bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans.

"I got an owl from the Ministry yesterday. Seems the old boy has decided to use the fourth Unforgivable Curse."

Surprised gasps sounded from all four house tables. Ginny Weasley put up her hand.

"But sir, I thought there were only three."

Popping a bogie-flavored bean into his mouth, Dumbledore rolled his eyes skyward and chewed for a moment. "Nope, Weasley-mini. The fourth one is so unforgivable that we don't even mention it in the wizarding world. But now he's gone and used it, and so I have to tell you all about it."

He rose with an exaggerated sigh... and promptly dropped his bag of beans. He got down on his knees and crawled around under the table until he found it. His voice echoed from beneath the mahogany.

"Okay, so this curse is called... eh... Freudius Slippiticus and it's a pretty nasty one." There was a Dumbledore-sized snort and a giggle from under the table. The students all exchanged looks.

"Whoever the curse is cast upon cannot think about anything nasty in the slightest. No sex references, no gutter-mindedness, nothing. Because, if he or she does, he turns into something absolutely horrific to behold. Ha, found it!"

Dumbledore crawled from beneath the table and stood up, clutching the bag in his fist. He dusted himself off. "I think we will have a demonstration. Creevey! Yeah, you, older one, get up here."

Colin skipped moronically up to stand beside the Headmaster. "Yes, Headmaster? What can I do for you?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Bejeezus, this is too damned easy. Sit down, Creevey, I'll use Snape."

Snape glared beadily from his chair. "Is this really necessary? Oh, come now, Headmaster-"

"If you insist," Dumbledore said, smiling.

There was a moment's silence, then Snape's mouth dropped open. "Oh my good Lor-"

Fwip.

Suddenly, there was no Snape. But there was a-

"Bratwurst," Dumbledore said, tossing three beans into his mouth. "That's what's going to happen to anyone with a lewd thought. Unfortunately, Voldemort aimed this curse at the entire school of Hogwarts, which is full of adolescent teenagers, so basically, we're all screwed."

Fwip fwip fwip!

Dumbledore looked around at the thirty-seven bratwurst-occupied seats scattered about the house tables. "Oh, bugger."

Then he shrugged and dusted off his hands. "So. Rules. Until we figure out where the old Dark Lord has got to, there will be some non-negotiable guidelines to follow. All wands will be confiscated immediately. Boys and girls will kindly keep a tight hold on all of their clothing. Group Quidditch showers are not allowed. Potter and Malfoy!"

The two boys looked up at the Headmaster questioningly. Dumbledore glared sternly at them.

"From now on, you two will wear triple layers of clothing twenty-four hours a day. We certainly cannot have you parading athletically up and down the halls, turning students into bratwurst left and right."

Malfoy grimaced. "Aw, Professor, wait a minute..."

Dumbledore harrumphed importantly. "And no Quidditch for either of you! Wipe out the entire school in one go..."

Harry jumped up. "But I have to play Quidditch! It's all I'm good at!"

"Oh," Dumbledore said in the sing-song voice, "I'm sure that's not all you are good at, Mr. Potter."

There was a gasp and a shriek from the Ravenclaw table, and four girls including Cho Chang fwipped simultaneously. Dumbledore gave a snort and keeled over. "Ah, I really shouldn't do that..."

The entire school shifted nervously in their seats.

"Okay! So, back up to your dormitories, and no socializing! I don't want any howlers from your folks. Oh, and one more thing. No one is allowed to say Finnegan's first name. Not all of you can pronounce it safely."

* * *

By the end of the week, it was clear that Hogwarts was in trouble. Professor Flitwick was confined to his room Monday evening after his approaching shadow on the wall demolished half of Hufflepuff. The following morning, Divination was canceled when an hour of looking at crystal balls turned into a sausage dinner for Mrs. Norris, and then, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, a concerted effort to rid the school of a boggart went terribly wrong when the cabinet it was hiding in flipped open in front of Neville Longbottom. No one else actually saw the boggart, but Neville's fwip was accompanied by what sounded suspiciously like a Sonicare vibrating toothbrush. Dean Thomas took one look at Neville-the-slightly-misshapen-sausage and began to giggle, and the only one who made it out of the classroom was Hermione, who had her head self-defensively buried in a book.

Wednesday began with a heated argument in the Great Hall between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter over what it was like to nearly swallow the Golden Snitch, an argument which took out exactly forty-two house-elves and the remainder of Hufflepuff. Hagrid turned into the biggest bratwurst anyone had ever seen after telling the two boys to shut their holes. Madam Hooch went to give Flitwick his supper and made it out into the hall in time to tell twelve curious students and Professor Sprout about the "adorable little bratwurst sitting in front of the mirror" before turning into a rather limpid gray sausage herself. And later that evening, Colin Creevey was peering hard at someone else's old photo of Harry coughing up the Snitch in the Gryffindor Common Room when his eyes went wide and he gleefully shrieked, "I get it!", wursting himself, both Weasleys, and his own brother in the process.

Students began to take measures in self-preservation. Hermione holed up in the library for the rest of the week, but ended up turning into a bratwurst when she pulled Kama Sutra for Non-Muggles off the restricted shelf. Her last screams were so loud, the owls all took off from the Owlery and flew headlong into the Whomping Willow. Lavender Brown hid in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but that fizzled when she caught Pansy Parkinson trying to shove her entire collection of Saucy Slytherin dominatrix gear down one of the toilets. Even Myrtle ended up as a slightly see-through sausage. Finnegan took to hiding behind statues whenever he came across someone in the halls, which is why no one found his little transformed self for three days, behind the statue of a one-eyed serpent just outside the Slytherin Dungeons.

Millicent Bulstrode found a tiger-striped, slightly furry bratwurst just outside Filch's office. She denied that she had anything to do with it, but no one believed her, least of all Filch, who had to be restrained with metal handcuffs but transformed soon after anyway. The crowning moment came when Parvati Patil fwipped after nearly tripping over Dobby, who happened to be hefting a rather formidable plate of fish heads, a transformation with implications that sent several first-year Gryffindors into seizures. Nobody really wanted to think about that particular event. Dumbledore pointed out gleefully that it was just as well since Parvati's adventure could have taken down what was left of Hogwarts' shriveled student body, and after that comment, there was no Ravenclaw House left to speak of.

By the time Saturday rolled around, said student body consisted of a gaggle of prissy Slytherin girls, Crabbe, Goyle, Lee Jordan, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter. McGonagall was all that was left of the teaching staff, unless one counted Professor Sinistra, who had locked herself in the Astronomy Tower. No one really knew what had happened to her, but it was assumed that she had eventually taken a gander at the massive phallic telescopes up there and succumbed. Dumbledore decided that a celebration was in order for the survivors and invited everyone down to the Great Hall for a victory lunch. As they took their seats, Dumbledore plunked himself down in his seat and took a shish-kabob from the plate in front of him. They were all burned because there were no more house-elves and no one knew how to cook without wands.

"Well. Looks like we've weeded out the best of the best here." The Headmaster chomped a charred piece of mutton and glanced around the table. "Or maybe just the complete virgin idiots."

"Professor," Harry said, "there's one thing I don't get. I understand why Hufflepuff House would be gone so fast. And I guess Ravenclaw is explainable if you really think about it. But Gryffindor? There are only two of us left and we are the purest-minded house. We set examples for everyone else. Why did we all get turned? And with all the horrible kinky stuff they think about, shouldn't Slytherin have been gone by mid-week?"

"That's two things, Potter," Dumbledore muttered, picking onion from his teeth with a shish-kabob stick. "And I should think it was quite simple, really. Look who we've got left."

He flung his arm out and pointed with the stick, narrowly missing McGonagall's eye. "Let's face it, Crabbe and Goyle are complete nincompoops. They are probably still trying to figure out why Snape skipped out at the beginning. And Jordan here is so mad we cancelled Quidditch he hasn't been able to consider anything else but the fact that he is not regularly shouting at the top of his lungs across the pitch. And you, Mr. Potter, well, you are just a mama's boy."

Harry bristled. "Well, excuse me, but I don't see what that has to do with anything. Besides, that doesn't cover Malfoy or those girls."

Dumbledore grinned. "I was coming to that. You see, there is a counter-curse for the Fourth Unforgivable. Anyone who is naturally a pervert is immune."

He pointed cheerfully at the girls. "All they think about is how to seduce the voluptuous Mr. Malfoy here. Day-in and day-out, bondage and prophylactics and black leath-"

"Please, Headmaster!" McGonagall's voice had taken on a slightly panicked edge.

Dumbledore smiled serenely and touched his nose. "And Malfoy... well, let's just say he didn't get into the house of the long, muscled serpent on his academic merits!"

Malfoy nodded self-assuredly. "Damn straight."

Harry frowned. "Okay... okay, I get all that. But what about you? Surely you know how to defeat this curse."

Dumbledore grinned in a way that Harry did not entirely like. "Like I said, anyone who is naturally a pervert is immune. As for me, I have been saved by my constant meditations on what Professor McGonagall's favorite night-time activity is."

Professor McGonagall shot to her feet and glared furiously at the Headmaster. "Why, you gutter-minded, slick-tongued, Viagra-popping-"

Fwip.

Professor McGonagall disappeared in a swirl of bratwurst-scented air. Her bratwurst disappeared in a swirl of bratwurst-scented air. Crabbe, Goyle, Jordan, and the entire gang of Slytherin girls took one look, blinked twice, and all turned into bratwurst.

Dumbledore sat back, clutching his stomach and laughing heartily. "Well! That must have been some image!"

He dried his eyes on the corner of his robes and looked at the remaining two boys. "Okay, kids! Guess that's it then. We've lost the war."

Harry frowned. "No, we haven't! There are three of us left, and we are all immune. That self-assured, pompous perv hasn't won!"

Dumbledore wagged a long finger at Harry. "Don't you talk about Voldemort like that. He's due here any minute. If he hears you, he'll be cranky, and then he won't be in the mood for our game of nude Transfiguration."

The Headmaster kicked back with a longing sigh, his eyes dreamy. "Oh, it's been too long!"

Harry had never pictured anything more horrific in his life. His only consolation as he turned into a bratwurst was that Malfoy was transforming along with him.