Ally woke up in the hospital wing some time later, sporting a bruised head and dislocated shoulder. Fortunately for her, by the time that she realized her injuries, Madam Pomfrey had already cured her of them. Which, in addition, was very fortunate, for as soon as Ally was able to sit up, she was being dragged off to Fun With Puns (201), to have class with the ultra-irritable Severus Snape.

Ally buried her face in her arms as soon as she was seated, exhausted yet wary of the plothole that had been following her around. Goodness, that had been painful. Someone must have written a fanfiction with a jumping storyline back in the real world, to create something that evil... and persistent.

“Sit down, brats,” said Professor Snape evilly as he swept into the room. Grandmomma Longlegs and Europa sighed longingly.

“I have had enough with this miserable school, and you miserable writers, and I am not going to be teaching about puns anymore. Today we deal with...” Snape paused for dramatic (and spooky) effect, which was completely ruined by the commotion which followed.

Fred and George Weasley sprinted into the room, pursued by Argus Filch. “I will kill you!” screamed Filch, waving a broom like it was a five-ton mace. “You stupid, wicked twins! Dyeing Mrs. Norris purple and painting her with daisies is inhumane! I will kill you, you—”

At that moment, Pandora stood up and started berating Fred and George as well, aiding her lust-object. Then of course Amber and Smego Baggins got to their feet and began yelling at Pandora on behalf of the Weasleys. Soon, the dungeon was full of screaming Weasley Twin–lusters, all starting to gang up on Pandora.

“Silence!” cried Professor Snape harshly. No one was paying attention. Ally decided that it would be best to hide under her desk until the whole thing blew over. Whatever was going to happen would happen, and Ally didn’t want to be a casualty.

Severus Snape hoarsely shouted a word that Ally didn’t recognize. Instantly, the dungeon seemed to turn green. Then blue. Everyone was suspended in motion, Nathonea Dewstan with her mouth wide open. Gaia Myles became petrified with a look of horror which in normal circumstances would have meant that the Basilisk was showing off its new contact lenses.

The Potions master took the five seconds of immobility to smirk at the group before waving his wand and restoring everything to normal. “As I was saying, today we will be dealing with—”

Snape was once again cut off by a loud outburst. Fred and George had set off a dungbomb, and reeking fumes were quickly filling the dungeon. Argus Filch screeched like a Ringwraith and ran flatfootedly out of the room after the two Weasleys.

“As I was saying,” began Professor Severus Snape for the third time, “today we will be dealing with insults.”

“Slimy-haired git!” cackled Eibbor Nakrus.

“Greasy moron!” added C-Chan.

Severus drew his wand and turned the two of them into sheep. Ally watched, horrified, as Eibbor Nakrus and C-Chan “baaa’d” loudly and ran out of the classroom, taking the right that would lead them to the hospital wing.

“Those were poorly constructed insults. They are clichéd and used too often. Today we have guest lecturers, Dudley Dursley and Peter Pettigrew,” said Snape softly, pocketing his wand. The Potions master then retreated to the back of the room as two overweight people entered.

Dudley Dursley was obese, there was no question about it. Ally could easily see why Harry disliked him: he had mean eyes and an air that suggested bullying about his person. Peter Pettigrew, though. There was something about him that made Ally want to hug him...

“No! No more Loveratus!” cried Agent AAA. San Carpenter the Insane seconded the Wantingmor’s exclamation with wails of her own.

Pettigrew sighed and waved his wand, dispelling the Fan-Created Spell’s effects. Love potions were not allowed at Hogwarts, let alone HFA. That particular FCS had been banned by Meir Brin in the staff section, but Pettigrew had found the loophole there. She hadn’t said anything about the rest of the school. “I never get any love...” sighed Peter in a melancholy manner.

The Sirius-lusters hissed at him.

Dudley Dursley opened his mouth, causing his several chins to wobble uncontrollably. “I would like to say that I am a self-righteous bully. I am also,” he paused, and swallowed, “fat. My fatness is secondary to me being a bully. I would appreciate it if you remembered that.”

A bunch of Slasherings giggled. Peter Pettigrew stepped up to the lectern.

“My name is Peter Pettigrew. I would like to say that, before I found my current Master, I was best friends with Sirius, James, and Remus.”

The Sirius- and Remus-lusters got to their feet angrily. A few of them had sharpened their useless wands into points and were advancing on Wormtail as if to rat-kebab him.

Ally leaned back and waited for Wormtail to do something amusing, such as making them dance the tango backwards, or giving them panda ears, something HFA-like in quality. It didn’t come. Instead, Pettigrew looked straight at her.

“I know what you are all thinking,” said Pettigrew coldly, still watching Ally. “He couldn’t stand up to You-Know-Who, and he’s really bad at magic. Well, I’m going to put that rumor to a rest. You, girl. Come here.”

Ally “meeped.” What did she do? She hadn’t done anything to provoke the wrath of Wormtail, had she? But then again, Pettigrew was the weakest Marauder. She could probably outrun him, couldn’t she? At least she wasn’t facing someone like Sirius Black. He was worth being afraid of. Slowly, her knees shaking, Ally stood up and walked to the front of the room.

“Do y-you fear me?” he asked, a bit of his old stutter coming through his (unusually) even voice.

“Y-y-yes,” said Ally, stuttering worse than Pettigrew and Quirrell combined. Though she could possibly outrun him, she didn’t want to push the odds.

The traitor looked slightly disappointed, but then composed himself. With a small pop he transformed into a rat and latched onto her ankle with sharp little fangs.

Ally went mad. “That hurts!” she screamed, shaking her leg wildly, trying to dislodge the rat. As that seemed to be Pettigrew’s intent (though that was a cheesy way to accomplish it, Ally would admit in later days. Why hadn’t he used one of those bad curses?), he was loath to let go. Ally reached down and grabbed his tiny little furry body and pried his teeth out of her flesh. Before she knew what she was doing (it was a teacher, after all), Ally was banging the rat’s head on the board, screaming as blood flowed from her leg.

“Stupid—stupid—stupid—rat—I—hate—you—” said Ally, punctuating each word with a bang of Pettigrew on the chalkboard.

Suddenly there was a pop, and Peter Pettigrew, in human form, was lying on the ground, clutching at a bruised skull. And then he went totally still.

Severus Snape swooped over from his position by the wall. He bent down and checked the man over, giving him a kick for good measure. “That was one of Pettigrew’s more stupid ideas. Congratulations, Miss White. You appear to have concussed him.”

*********

“But what is it?” asked Meir Brin for the third time, walking around the glittering bronze contraption.

Lord Voldemort jumped up and down excitedly. “It’s a siege engine, of course. I made it myself out of Selaria and fangirl-glue.”

“Fangirl-glue?” asked Meir Brin skeptically, running a hand over the bright mechanisms.

“LVJ invented it. You take some grease, glue, and a bucket of drool”—Meir Brin pulled her hand away from the machine as if she had been burned. Voldemort continued as if nothing had happened. “You mix it all together, heat it over some green flames, and then you have super-sticky fangirl-glue!”

Tom Riddle rolled his eyes from his position on the floor next to the catapult. “Will you ever grow up? ‘Super-sticky’? How immature can you get?” asked Tom Riddle.

“Pipe down, you. I came up with the idea, and you can sit there and sulk, just do not ruin my lovely machine,” said Lord Voldemort.

“You’re not my father!” shouted Tom Riddle angrily.

“I’m better than our father! I am Lord Voldemort!” shrieked the Dark Lord.

From his seat on the ground, Tom Riddle bit his lip. “I am, too.” He turned his back on his older self and pulled out a small black book. “Dear Diary,” he said aloud, producing a quill out of nowhere and beginning to write. “Today Big Vold. is being really stupid. I think that he must have sat on his wand, because he sure does have something up his—”

“Give me that, you filthy little boy!” shrieked Lord Voldemort before his younger self could finish. “I’ll kill you, dumb little Mudblood!”

LVJ cackled from his stroller and blew some spit-bubbles. “He is rubber, you are glue. What you say to him applies to you!” babbled Lord Voldemort Junior.

Tom Riddle stopped writing to look at the nasty-looking baby. “It applies to you as well, if you wish to be technical.”

Meir Brin sighed and turned her attention back to the siege engine. “What do you intend to do with this, anyway?”

Lord Voldemort stopped and shrugged. “I don’t know. I just like saying that I have one. Hey, you!” he said, getting the attention of Professor Vector. “I have a siege engine!”

Vector hurried away, clutching a heavy book to her chest.

“See? It scares people!” exclaimed the Dark Lord.

Meir Brin scratched her chin thoughtfully. “Did you ever consider the fact that most of the people at HFA are scared of you? It could be just your... imposing presence, and not the siege engine.” Meir Brin raised an eyebrow, taking in his “imposing presence.” Lord Voldemort was wearing his favorite Snoopy sweatshirt, and had yellow wind-pants on as well. Over top of this were his customary black robes, but somehow the Snoopy effect just generally diminished the whole ensemble.

“What should we test this on, then?” asked Tom Riddle, eyeing his older self as if the Senior Voldemort was merely a rambunctious child.

“We might fling some things into the lake,” babbled LVJ happily.

Suddenly, Meir Brin had an idea. Placing a hand on the two somewhat normal-sized Voldemorts’ backs, she drew them into a half-huddle. “Have you ever considered demolishing Gryffindor Tower? I’m sure that the Wantingmors would enjoy it...”

The three Voldemorts conspired together late into the night, enjoying the thoughts of victory, revenge, and how much they all liked Girl Scout Cookies. They would have a big surprise for the Wantingmors in the morning, especially those who liked to call him “mildly depressed with controlling tendencies” instead of “Y-you-know-y-you.”

The maniacal laughter lasted long into the night.