The Hogwarts Poets' Society

"Dumbledore!" shouted Minerva, storming up the staircase. It created an odd sort of echoing that can only occur when storming up a stone, spiral staircase. She barged into the room with an impressive BANG! "DUMBLEDORE!" she shouted again.

"He's not here," said Phineas from his picture frame.

"Where the hell is he?" demanded McGonagall. "I have a class to teach in an hour and I want this ridiculous scheme to end now!"

McGonagall is blessed with many talents. She can turn into a cat. She can silence a classroom with only a single glance. She can also awaken several centuries of portraits with her shouting. However, she can't make Dumbledore appear on the spot by shouting, no matter how much she wants to.

"Well, that's unfortunate for you. He's not here. And judging by the twinkle in his eye, this scheme is only just beginning," said Phineas.

McGonagall blanched. Then she got a wonderful idea. There was nobody here. The portraits wouldn't say anything, not if she threatened them enough...

"Dumbledore always writes down his schemes," said McGonagall very quietly, thinking out loud to herself.

It wouldn't really be wrong, she reasoned. Not really. She was trying to help her students, right? That's what teachers were supposed to do. If she were to just happen to go looking through his desk drawers for a spare quill, and if she just happened to stumble upon his Plan of Imminent Doom, and if she happened to read it...

"It's not wrong," she said. "I'm not really snooping. I need a spare quill."

"Yeah, who're you trying to convince?" grumbled one of the female portraits from behind her.

"Would you mind turning around?" McGonagall asked. "Please?"

Several of the portraits obeyed, only too happy to help McGonagall thwart another Plan of Imminent Doom so that Dumbledore could concentrate, once again, on the sorts of things Headmasters are supposed to concentrate on. Some of them gave her looks of doubt.

"If you don't turn around, I'll just have to jinx you," clarified McGonagall. All of them except Phineas turned a nice shade of pink and turned around. "Phineas?" prompted Minerva.

"I'm not going to snitch to him anyway," said Phineas. "Besides, I have the best view of his desk, and I know where he puts his stuff. You might need my help."

"Oh, fine!" conceded McGonagall unhappily. "But if you tell him, I'll make sure you have to take up permanent residence in Grimmauld Place."

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure," said Phineas, bored once again. The threats had no affect whatsoever on the stubborn, pessimistic portrait. Personally, he thought that being at the beck and call of the recent Headmaster was a bit annoying, especially since Dumbledore was a Muggle-loving Gryffindor hero.

McGonagall looked deliberately away from the desk and flicked her wand haphazardly. It had to be accidental. It wasn't prudent to just go snooping through a Headmaster's desk, even if that Headmaster was a certifiable loon. To her delight, several drawers opened.

She glanced at the first drawer. It was filled with all sorts of multi-colored rubber chickens.

"Phineas, why does Dumbledore have a collection of multi-colored rubber chickens?" McGonagall asked, feeling a little faint.

"They're cursed," said Phineas in a bored, isn't-it-obvious voice. "He's keeping them to study. Voldemort has been distributing them among unsuspecting children of Death Eaters."

"Oh," said McGonagall quietly.

"I had nothing to do with hit," said Phineas defensively. McGonagall shut the door quietly. Looney as he may be, Dumbledore still had a good idea of what occurred at the school. Anyway, he did a good job keeping the Order of the Phoenix in order and keeping Harry relatively safe. She felt a little shame at the fact that she had been thinking of him as careless and incompetent lately. That wasn't her right, and appear as it may, he was still brilliant.

"Next drawer," commanded Phineas. "He'll be coming back soon." McGonagall, in a show of morality that had been building since she had seen the multi-colored rubber chickens, refused to open it.

"I won't," she said. "He obviously knows what he's doing. If he has a plan involving Draco and Harry, then I am just going to have to assume that there is a reason for it. Now, whether or not I find that reason to be justifiable, we'll have to see, but as of right now it is my duty as Deputy Headmistress to assist him in any way possible!" She drew herself up to her full height and puffed out her chest. Her speech may not have impressed many of the portraits (only a few of them clapped), but it had certainly motivated her to do her duty as a teacher of young witches and wizards. As though she were motivated by the patron saint of motivation, she stormed out of the Headmaster's office full of new idea's for very complicated lesson plans and torturous homework assignments.

"Well, that certainly was interesting," said Dumbledore, after he had untransformed himself from the vase he was pretending to be. "Phineas, nice job with McGonagall. Thank you very much!"

"Dumbledore, you promised me this plan had a purpose," said Dippet from his portrait. "I hope you were correct."

"Oh, don't worry," said Dumbledore happily. "This Plan is going to turn this school upside down and eventually lead to the demise of Voldemort!"

"If you say so," said Phineas lazily.

Dumbledore laughed a happy, maniacal laugh that gave the impression of being in the same room as a mentally disturbed genius.