Ally managed to get out of the hospital wing at midnight. She ambled down the stairway, passed by the Mary Sue Shrine, and abruptly ran into Grandmomma Longlegs, who was feeding the Mini-Aragog dungeon guards, Shape and Gilderloy, from a bucket of bouillabaisse.

“What are you doing here?” Ally exclaimed, rubbing her hands together briskly. The contents of the bouillabaisse looked too much like the potion she had just concocted.

“Feeding the spiders.”

“Oh.” Ally paused. “Snape is upstairs, in the hospital wing, I think.”

Grandmomma Longlegs looked unhappy. “I’ve been feeding them for hours, just to get into the dungeons! Why—!”

Shape had grabbed the hem of her school robes with his pincers. “Wants more fishies!” he rasped in a rather Gollum-like fashion.

Grandmomma Longlegs showed the Mini-Aragog her empty bucket. “I don’t have any more.”

Karakoff had arrived. “Wants fishies, too! Fishies for Mini-Aragogses!”

Suddenly, the hall was swarming with Mini-Aragogs. They crawled out of the shadows, pincers clacking menacingly. “WANTS MORE FISHIES! WANTS MORE FISHIES NOW!”

Lisiouse, Dippit, Maulkin, and Godirc grabbed Grandmomma Longlegs and carried her off in the direction of the kitchens. “I’ll get you more bouillabaisse! Really! Put me down! Heee-lp!” called Grandmomma Longlegs. “Save meeeeeeeeeee...”

It took Ally two seconds to realize who the ideal person for the job would be. When the thought struck her, as thoughts are wont to do, she barreled off up the stairs. She knew what group would be able to deal with this predicament...

“Oh, no. Not this time. We learned well enough last time; I am not going back there.” Onyx was perched on the corner of her bed with her arms crossed over her chest. “Never in a million years. And she’s not even from our House.”

“So she’s a Wantingmor. Grandmomma Longlegs is still a student, we have to help each other out!” Seeing Onyx’ impassive expression, Ally changed tactics. She lowered her voice. “I’ve got chocolate.”

Onyx was torn. Chocolate, or the Jelly, chocolate, or the Jelly... She sighed. “She is a student, so... fine. I’ll go get Hermione8meg.”

Eleven minutes later, Ally, Onyx, Hermione8meg, Chelsea, Catrin Pritchard, The Shroom, and Chibigreen had gathered in the designated classroom known as Rockabye Fortress. (The HFA group seemed to be very fond of obscure code words.)

The second meeting of Lusters United had been called to order, though there were several notable changes in leadership. Marina the Huntress had ducked out of the society, claiming that she would never risk death by jam when there were easier ways of catching Oliver’s attention. In addition, Chibigreen had rejoined the force, with Onyx’s reassurance that they would not go anywhere near the To-Roga plant.

“I hereby call the second meeting of the Lusters United to order.” Flying popcorn greeted this statement. “Okay, okay. No formalities. We’re here to save a fellow student. Ally, tell us what happened.”

Onyx took a seat while Ally stood up shakily. “The Mini-Aragogs got Grandmomma Longlegs.” Now that was a phrase Ally never thought she would say.

And then debate was opened on the subject.

*********

Meanwhile, in her quarters near the Aerobics Lair, Meir Brin was under strict quarantine. Being confined to bed was not a problem. It was the thought of what the students were doing to her school during her absence that was the problem.

A knock at the door. “Come in if you’ve been inoculated!” called Meir Brin.

It was Lord Voldemort and Tom Riddle. “We have both been, ‘injected’, if that is what you mean.” Meir Brin sighed. It was bad enough having a school full of angsty teenagers. It did not help that Tom Riddle himself was also an angsty teenager.

“What’s your dilemma?” asked Meir Brin, preparing for the onslaught.

“He won’t listen to me—”

“He treats me like a child—”

“I’m fifty years older than him—”

“He’s pathetic—”

“He doesn’t respect me—”

“He mistreats Nagini—”

“I do not! Nagini likes when we play dress-up—”

“She does not! She told me you make her wear lipstick—”

“Nagini likes make-up—”

“You are so immature—”

“I wish I had killed you—”

“You couldn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t exist—”

“Don’t tell me what to do—”

“Make me!”

“Fine!”

“Lords Voldemort collectively! Put—aaahhhaaackkhaackkkup—away the wands!” Meir Brin roared. It would have been impressive had she not sneeze-cough-hiccupped in the middle of the phrase. Vambiolaria had interesting side effects, such as the ability to be quite embarrassing when one is doing something of importance.

Voldemort giggled, and Tom Riddle sulkily put his wand away.

“Now, what is the real problem?”

“I wanted to start the Commitment of Evilness course with a display of magical Evilness, such as a demonstration of the Crucio curse, but He wants to do the Unthinkable Evil.”

Meir Brin raised an eyebrow. “The Unthinkable Evil?”

Tom Riddle smiled with practiced evilness. “Twenty-four hour Barney the Obnoxious Purple Dinosaur Marathon. With Britney Spears soundtrack.”

Meir Brin cringed and tried to erase the image of Barney singing “Slave 4 U” from her mind. That was one to place wagers on at OFUM’s Ultimate Evil lottery guessing game.

“That is a perfect display of evil to show to the fanwriters. It will make them fear us properly.” Tom Riddle leaned against the wall, having finished making his point.

Meir Brin shook her head slightly, still trying to shake the image. “Okay... Well, first of all, you cannot Crucio the students, as mental torment is preferred in our Mission Statement over physical crippling.” Lord Voldemort looked downcast. “Second, I had hoped you would choose a more ehem, Potterverse-ish approach to your curriculum. We want them taught, not just driven insane.”

Tom Riddle furrowed his brow. “But that’s not fair—”

“Ha ha!” Lord Voldemort was doing his Happy Dance once again. “We can’t use your idea, either!”

“Might I suggest you collaborate with Lucius on this matter? Peter Pettigrew might also have some thoughts on the subject, if you asked him.”

“NOT THAT PETTIGREW WORM!” Tom Riddle had backed away, looking scandalized. “He,” said Riddle, indicating Lord Voldemort Senior, “transfigured me into the form of a toddler and put me in that nutcase’s custody for DAYCARE! I am SEVENTEEN! I do not need a half-wit with the intelligence quotient of a turnip teaching me that ‘ABCs are fun’!”

Lord Voldemort chuckled. “It was quite interesting when Wormtail tried to spoon-feed you mashed carrots.”

A howl of rage, and Tom Riddle dive-tackled his elder self.

Meir Brin frowned. They would fall into Elessor’s Mini-Abyss if they kept it up. “Kindly take it outside, Lords Voldemort collectively.”

Still growling at each other, Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort stalked out of the room. Meir Brin opened one of her “How to Dictate the Masses (And Look Good Doing It!)” magazines (lent to her by Professor Karkaroff) when there was a loud explosion in the corridor.

“Someone else better get that!” the HFA coordinator called, settling down into her blankets for an evening of high quality literature.