Head Fight





Early in seventh year the plaid plague came to Hogwarts and laid up a quarter of the school in the infirmary (which was not too bad considering it was sexually transmitted). My Advanced Potions class was diminished by half and Snape took that opportunity to teach us some especially difficult potions that needed more hands-on instruction than he could give to a full class.

The first potion we attempted was the Anthropomorphier, which has some of the ingredients of Veritaserum, some of the technique of of Polyjuice, and was supposed to give the power of speech to inanimate objects (but it really only worked well on things that were at least a little bit alive already).

Our test subject (sitting upon Snape's desk) was a bonsai tree that, when roused with this potion, supposedly had some nasty things to say about shinto.

All of my minions had succumbed to plaid, as had the bush-headed one and so I was temporarily partnered with the hideous Longbottom. We did not explode our cauldron, but only because I rode Longbottom like the ass he was. Actually he was a toad. A large, bulbous, moronic toad.

Nervertheless our potion was perfect: the colour, the texture, the roiling green streamers coming off it; it was perfect. The toad, in its excitement at co-creating a perfect potion, quickly ladled up some potion and poured it into my funnel.



"Oi, toadbrain. You're supposed to let me attach the bottle to it first," I said.

The potion had passed right through the funnel and splashed all over my pants.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," gibbered the Longbottomed toad and grabbed a towel. It swiped uselessly at my crotch, inadvertently pressing the potion in and soaking me to the skin.

My skin woke up.

"Just for that we're going gag you with this funnel, throw you over the table and take you without lube," said my penis to the toad.

I shrieked. "Ohmygod! Shut up!"

The Longbottomed toad fell backwards onto the floor and stared up at my crotch with big googley toad eyes. I looked around the room. Everyone was staring at my crotch.

"Who are you to tell ME what to do?" said my penis, "I tell YOU what to do. And I want the toad arse up over the table. The Weasel can lick him clean first. And then I'll have the Potty one stripped naked, lightly painted with olive oil and tied spreadeagled to Snape's desk. And I know you want that, too. Get them for me. Now."

"Aaiiiii! Be quiet at once!" I brandished my fist-encased iron funnel.



"Oh, as if," said my penis. "I'm FAR too pretty to mark up. Give it a rest, bruiser; I know you wouldn't dare."

I lowered my fist. My penis had called my bluff. How humiliating.

"And after that I want to do some of the girls. That Patil girl there looks pretty with her mouth hanging open like that; she'll do nicely."

The Patil girl snapped her mouth shut, but the rest of the class gaped as my own penis outed me. Noooooooo! If word gets out that I like girls too, my parents will make me marry that Parkinson dog the second I leave school. Noooooooo!

This will not do. Absolutely not. No.

I pointed my wand at my navel and cast a Cone of Silence. Then I walked up to front of the room and turned to face the class. Every eye was upon me. I waved my wand and Obliviated them all. They rocked back on their heels, stunned.

Behind me Professor Snape gasped. He's a Slytherin for Merlin's sake; I don't know why he's surprised to find I can turn a spell far better than my stupid test scores say I can. When I wheeled around to look at him, he had his wand pointed at my throat. Ah well, I knew I'd find the limit of his favoritism eventually and replacing it with a healthy respect isn't necessarily a bad thing. I put my wand, hilt first, in his hand. He sighed and looked around the room at my glassy-eyed classmates. "Detention, Malfoy. And speak with the Headmaster after class. Go back to your cauldron."



Potter shook his pet Weasel's shoulder. Weasel blinked, still too stunned to speak. "What did you do?" cried Potter.



Oh, of course. Potter's head is made of stone, rock hard, and completely impervious to Imperius. He would be resistant to Obliviate as well. Not that it mattered now. Potter looked from me to Professor Snape; Professor Snape shrugged.

"He's going to let you get away with it?" said Potter, indignant, frightened, utterly hypocritical.

"Let me get away with what? You imagined it. It's all in your head," I told him as I firmly attached my funnel to the bottle. I gave it to Longbottom then and turned to watch as Potter slowly ran through the possibilities in his mind and imagined what a sad, lovesick idiot he would sound if he tried to tell his friends the truth of what had happened today. Oh, yes, DO try it, Potter.

Potter glared. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and rearranged his robes. The class stirred, woke up and bent over their cauldrons. The Weasel prodded Potter and asked for the crucible. Potter absently handed it over, still staring angrily at me. I blew him a kiss.



Now that's more like it.