Harry Potter and the Closet of Horrors

Today I need to do important real life things so here is a very old fan fiction. Now I’m probably going back to twitter when I should be reparo-ing my life.

It was Harry Potter’s 7th year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and he was once again lurking in the girl’s toilets. This was not just because he and his good friend Ron Weasely were perverts; as well as checking out Hermione and Moaning Myrtle they were concocting a Polyjuice potion (does this plotline seem oddly familiar?).

Considering Voldemort’s breathtaking return to power you might have thought they would have found a more useful way of spending their time. The answer to this is that in their own twisted reality they could not make a plan without somehow involving Polyjuice potion, or keep their noses out of things that were clearly none of their business. The purpose of this particular batch of Polyjuice potion was to infiltrate the ranks of Death Eaters disguised as a trio of rebel House Elves, quite how someone as intelligent as Hermione could overlook the obvious flaws in this plan is a moot point.

They were just putting the finishing touches to their potion when the former Professor Snape burst into the room

‘Mwahahahaha,’ the greasy Professor screamed maniacally

‘Bloody hell, what’s he doing here?’ exclaimed the ever astute Ron, ‘This is a girls toilet.’

‘I’m here to kill you Neville Lo…. I mean Harry Potter.’ at this point Hermione felled the blatantly drugged up Snape with a non-verbal hex ‘Bet you wish you hadn’t taught us that.’ smirked the bloodthirsty Hermione as red slashes appeared across Snape’s chest. Blood splattered the bathroom and, unfortunately the cauldron, ‘It’s ruined!’ exclaimed Harry examining his hair in the mirror ‘and our potion’s all essence of Snape,’ he added. As an afterthought.

‘Oh well, swig it down’ said Ron grabbing a glass ‘it tastes foul so it’s bound to be doing us good.’

‘Oh no,’ said Hermione, ‘I messed up the potion, it hasn’t changed your hair!’ and indeed the transformed Ron still had flaming orange hair, ‘He he I want to see Snape with my hair’ said the rash Harry downing a portion of the potion.

‘Arrgggggghhhhhhhhhh,’ he screamed examining his reflection. A second orange haired Snape had appeared, ‘Ohh, god what if it’s stuck like this!’ exclaimed the terrified and vain Harry.

‘Oy! What’s wrong with ginger hair?’ yelled the colour blind but insulted Ron Weasley. Ignoring the boys’ childish squabbling Hermione was disposing of the body with practised ease. ‘Open the Chamber of Secrets a minute Harry.’

‘But, but my hair.’ he stuttered in a state of shock, then opened the chamber frightened by the murderous gleam in Hermione’s eye. ‘Right that’s him sorted’ she said dumping the lifeless form into the dark tunnel ‘You two stay here till that potion wears off.’ she commanded ‘I’m going to analyse a sample’. She swept out of the room leaving the two ginger Snapes staring at one another in silent horror, ‘orange really isn’t his colour.’ muttered Ron weakly.

Thus ends the first part of this epic tale.

Is Snape dead?

Did Hermione make a mistake?

WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO HARRY’S HAIR???????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Snape as it happens was not dead, not well but not dead. Luckily for him, his old chum Lord Mouldywort had given him a dull, egocentric, guided tour of the Chamber of Secrets many years ago and he was fairly confident he could escape. He needed to get back to his closet before midnight or else…

No he wasn’t a werewolf, werewolves are, most of the time, almost real people.

Harry was sitting in the corner of the girls’ toilet crying like the ball-less wonder he undoubtedly was. Ron was poking his face with his wand, because, let’s face it Ron was basically a trained, partially shaved orang-utan. Probably as a result of his ‘Pure Blood’ status or –  to put it another way, centuries of inbreeding.

Hermione returned, her already overlarge head had swollen to several times its normal size and was now almost large enough to accommodate her front teeth, whose size and sharpness strongly argued for some rodent ancestry. She also bore an expression of unbearable smugness ‘I didn’t make a mistake.’

‘Well no,’ muttered Ron ‘if you had you’d be sobbing harder than Harry.’ Hermione stared at him in astonishment, ‘Well done Ron, that was almost an original thought.’

‘I went and checked my potion and it turned out to be just fine’ grinned Hermione, ‘When I was coming back I went past Snape’s office, and he was in his closet and…’ Her voice faltered, ‘oh it was horrible!’ Hermione buried her face in her hands. ‘What was it?’ questioned Harry, making a surprising effort to seem interested in the affairs of others. ‘Well he was in the shower.’

‘So?’ interrupted Harry (who had always relied on looks as opposed to good manners) ‘I actually find the thought of a naked Snape quite arousing.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Ron ‘it appeals to the masochist in me.’

‘No not that.’ said Hermione, ‘It was his hair it was.. It was ginger!’

The three shuddered at the thought, ‘Well that’s put me right off.’ said Harry.

‘I think looking at all the evidence, there can only be one possible conclusion. Snape is a natural ginger and so are all other Death Eaters. Also Mr Weasely is probably Snape’s father, or possibly brother.’ concluded Hermione.

‘Why all death eaters?’ questioned Ron, who was probably just repeating random parts of Hermione’s sentence. ‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ smirked Hermione in a way that just made you want to stab her, ‘as you know all Death Eaters are pure bloods and all purebloods are related, genetically speaking they share many characteristics. They are all cruel, arrogant, elitist wizards with a penchant for stupid rituals and wearing black. It’s only natural to assume that if one of them is ginger they all are. Besides Gingerism is recessive.’

Harry looked thoughtful ‘it would explain why old Mouldywort shaved his head. Anyway your argument is convincing enough to involve me in a potentially dangerous situation that could significantly raise my public profile.’

‘So,’ said Hermione brightly, ‘do you want to go and examine Snape’s closet thereby involving ourselves in what is clearly none of our business?’

‘No,’ said Harry flatly, ‘I’m not leaving ’till my hair’s gone back, someone might take a picture.’

‘Oh come on it’s not like there are photographers lurking round every corner.’

‘Well maybe not for you, you look like an oversized guinea pig and Ron’s …well…’ Harry glanced at Ron who had put his wand up his own nose causing it to swell and turn a strange shade of pink that managed to clash with both his hair and his acne.

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Hermione dragging him out of the bathroom.

A photographer jumped out from behind a statue of Hildeprand the Useless and snapped Harry’s sullen face before disappearing, ‘Photographers,’ grunted Harry, ‘they’ll leave me alone when house elves have rights.’

Hermione was tempted at this point, as she had been at many points in their past adventures, to hex her companions into oblivion, she fought the urge and headed off in the direction of Snape’s office. She managed to open the door to the now locked closet with a simple ‘Alohomora’ which for some reason nearly every wizard fails to guard against, even when attempting to protect, say, the Philosopher’s Stone. They walked in cautiously, ‘Erm I hate to ask but by rushing in blindly what exactly do we hope to achieve?’ queried Ron, who then came down with a blinding headache as a result of this unexpected bust of intelligence. There was an awkward silence broken only by Ron’s faint whimpers.

‘So let’s have a look round,’ said Harry brightly. By peering closely into the faintly reflective surface of the highly polished door he had contrived to ascertain that his hair had returned to its usual midnight hue, effecting a lift in his mood. The room contained a shower and a bottle of black liquid on the front of which was a small label reading, ‘Warning: may cause extreme greasiness,’ and conveniently Snape’s diary detailing many of his nefarious schemes and also the details of his affair with Lucius Malfoy. ‘How convenient!’ exclaimed Hermione (being a mudblood she used exclamation marks even when not strictly necessary) ‘Look it says there will be a meeting of all Death Eaters tonight in the Chamber of Secrets to discuss their economic policy when they eventually gain power. Let’s tell Professor Dumbledore!’

‘No.’

‘No.’

‘We never tell professor Dumbledore, it’s like our thing. We always should but we never do.’

‘Let’s go ourselves and try to tackle some of the most dangerous wizards of our era single handed.’

‘Well yeah duh – what did you think we were going to do?’

Deep in the chamber of secrets Voldemort was attempting to bring his Death Eaters to order;

‘Look we don’t have shortbread, it’s custard creams take it or leave it.’

‘I had a bad experience with a custard cream,’ Dolohov interrupted conversationally ‘it turned me into a canary.’

‘What are you blathering about man?’

‘Well you see it was from that funny shop…’

‘SHUT UP. WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP! Ok, the next person to speak gets turned into a frog.’

‘I thought it was canaries’

Our three young heroes (In the sense that they were thick as two short planks [whatever that expression is exactly supposed to mean has been puzzling the author for some time] and contrived to steal the credit for any fortuitous events that happened in their general vicinity.)

As I’ve probably lost you somewhere in that hopelessly extended bracket I will begin the paragraph anew. Our three young heroes were crouched behind a rather tasteless serpent statue.

‘Erm I hate to ask but by rushing in blindly what exactly do we hope to achieve?’ queried Ron.

‘I really wish you’d stop asking that.’

‘Be grateful, that was a grammatically complete sentence from someone whose brain cell gets lonely.’

‘Well the way I see it, I rush in and confront Mouldywort about the whole gingerism issue and threaten to blackmail him if he doesn’t stop being mean and murderous immediately.’

‘Harry?’ said Hermione thoughtfully ‘That ‘Mouldywort’ thing, is that an insult or do you actually think that’s his name? Oh, and also what’s to stop him simply killing you?’ Alas she spoke to Harry’s purposefully moving back.

‘Oy! Mouldywort! I know your secret I do’

‘And yet a grasp of basic grammar eludes you retorted Voldemort with excusable sarcasm. ‘You’re a ginger you are.’ Voldemort gave him a stare composed of four parts blank incomprehension and six parts irritation (the recipe for this stare is available on our website http://www.you’reacredulousgit.com). ‘No’ he replied acidly ‘as you can see I am bald. It is you, I believe, who are ginger.

‘What, no it isn’t true, HOW DO YOU KNOW!’ Harry stammered with his usual eloquence.

‘You forget I saw you as a child. In fact I made a truly hilarious joke about it, concerning a postman, shortly before I killed your mother’

The Death Eaters exchanged shocked looks. ‘However,’ Voldemort continued, ‘I am interested in what caused you to jump to this strange and massively erroneous conclusion.’

‘Well, Snape’s a ginger and we just assumed you all would be.’

Snape’s eyes widened, his face took on a strange pallid hue and he made a sound rather like someone squashing a duck. ‘This is most interesting. There is something I must tell you Harry.’

‘You’re not my father are you?’

‘Why do you ask that?’

‘It would just be a fairly obvious plot twist’

‘Well no, I’m not. Arthur Weasley is.’

‘Damn, that’s much worse. I mean for a start I had a crush on Ginny. I mean for god’s sake it’s not like I live in Holsworthy. In Little Whinging sleeping with your sister is very much frowned upon.’

‘Hmm in that case you might want to marry a muggle.’

‘Why would I do that? Muggle girls can’t magically enhance their breasts.’

‘Well yes, but due to his muggle obsession and a hellish combination of IVF and magic Arthur is the single male ancestor for most of the last two generations. You know the main purpose of the Death Eaters is to destroy him and his brood?’

‘Oh. Goodness, well that’s more of a shock than Draco turning out to be straight. Him being a slim blond boy with a tendency to hang around with large muscled men and deliberately picking on the better looking boys in encounters filled to the perimeters of good taste with sexual tension. Anyway I thought you were against Muggles?’

‘No, Ministry of Magic propaganda my dear boy. Anyway if as you say, Snape is a ginger he’s probably a traitor after all. Let’s kill the greasy git.’

‘Yes, then join together, educate the public about your real intentions and take over the world.’

‘Alright, it’d be better than spending half my time concocting plans to destroy you’

‘YARRRGHHHH I’ll save you Harry!’

A Hagrid tumbled unexpectedly from the ceiling in a plot hole so large you could bury John Prescott in it; unfortunately squashing Lord Voldemort and destroying the bright dawning future of wizardry.

Harry woke up in the hospital wing a week later (In line with the customary ending to all his little adventures) with no memory of the incident. For some reason Hermione couldn’t remember a thing either. So they had to rely on Ron’s version of events which most emphatically did not include him casting a memory charm on Hermione in a flourish of plot similar to that in ‘The Chamber of Secrets’. This would have been a surprisingly astute display of familial loyalty if it had happened. which it didn’t.

Arthur Weasley has used the time you spent reading this story to impregnate you with his ginger children and storm the Ministry of Magic. Harry and Ginny’s children were born with an average of two hands and one and a half feet each.

The End

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