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WWWP: NC, Chapter 8
Chapter 8: Dumbledore and McGonagall (Alternately; The Day the Headmaster went Insane)
Silence, then a gentle rustling came from the back of the room. It was around mid-day on Christmas Eve, and the light hit the pile of discarded covers for the dramatic openings of assignments in the far left corner. Suddenly, a bright, shining blue eye opened, squinting in the light. It was then that the day began for Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Unfortunately for Professor Remus J. Lupin, however, not everyone knew that. The said professor, his lightly scripted forehead showing the signs of a night with much fighting of sleep, pattered down the stairs from his office in ratty slippers and a robe, scratching his head blearily and clutching his cup of coffee like a lifeline to the world. Yawning as he reached the end of the stairs, Lupin then reached for a pile of papers, only to be met with empty space. This did not deter him in the slightest, as he went on snatching at the same space until he frustratedly began to swat disjointedly at his desk, but to no avail. His powers of materialization-by-thought had not been completely mastered yet, and to add the the let-down, his attempts had yeilded nothing but the dreaded state known as mess.
Now Lupin was not afraid of mess in the slightest, as he had been subjected to it many times before in his life, but, as he now observed, it was more inconvenient when you actually had to clean it up. This he could not endure.
"I really hate Mondays," Lupin muttered to his cup. He was then hit by the sudden need for lasanga, but he ignored it stubbornly and went on with his procrastination.
Little did he know that the headmaster was hovering above him in a large hamster ball of his own creation. Lupin then walked obliviously to another filing cabinet and began to helplessy shuffle things about for the illusion of productivity, in case a fellow teacher should appear. The headmaser followed, floating with all his might.
On and on this went until Dumbledore stared out the window too long at a passing squirrel and Lupin happened to look up.
"Agahagaaah!" Lupin screamed, dropping papers and his beloved coffee cup onto the floor in his haste to adopt a standing fetal position, which is only attempted by the bravest practitioners of the original. Dumbledore turned to him, the gazed at him unblinkingly. He then floated slightly closer while leaning towards his subject. Lupin glanced at his superior, then cringed back into his arms as to better protect his head from whatever was to come next.
"Life," Dumbledore mused, "is like a barrel of monkeys."
Lupin opened a quizzical eye.
"It's fun to take out, play with, and arrange its parts into small monkey-chains until the monkeys settle on world domination and proceed to swarm you. Then it's not fun," he finished wisely, petting his beard. Lupin dropped all pretenses and stared openly at the headmaster in shock.
"Time for afternoon tea!" chirped the headmaster as he rolled his hamster ball out the door, not hindered by Lupin's reaction.
Lupin shook his head and began to clean. At least that was a mildly sane activity.
Minerva McGonagall strode down the hallway proudly, having just learned that her thesis on a certain element of Transfiguration had been accepted and published by the Board of Transfiguration. Her lips twitched into a smile as she thought about the look on her competitor's face. Albus had not been pleased. Suddenly, she paused in her leisurely stoll (that just happened to be very brisk), having heard a noise that was rather odd coming from around the corner. She shrugged and moved on.
Meanwhile, two very cramped twins looked out fromt heir hiding place.
"Well that really buggers the plan, doesn't it?" asked Fred, his hand sliding up his cheek, making him look vaguely like a chipmunk. Of course, vaguely in the vaguest sense of the word, as dictated.
"But...we can't just give up!" cried George, hopping up in stern determination, only to bump his head against the ceiling of the small broom closet. Fred glanced at him in a supremely sardonic way and snorted.
"Yes, Georgie, because you really can trap Dumbledore under the mistletoe when he's in a supremely large hamster ball. It makes such wonderful sense," he drawled, letting his head fall back onto the brick wall, then wincing. After a few seconds he spoke again.
"Besides, how could we get him out of the bloody ball, anyways?"
"We could vansih it," George said comfinently, "Yes...perfect...then we'd just need to...yes..."
Fred said nothing as he watched his twin pade in the darkness. George? Planning? Never.
"Yum, de, dum, yum, de, dum. Hoppity, hoppity, skippity, yum. Hop-de-skip-de-merrily-jump," Dumbledore muttered, padding around in his hamster ball, propelling it down a hallway. There was no stopping his plans now, for everything was going wonderfully. Wondefully, that is, until he saw his victim in the wrong place. Bad. Very, bad. He his behind a suit of armor that he had dubbed Sir Cumference. You might know his cousins, Sir Tainly, Sir Cumstance, and Sir Lee (the last one was rather rude).
Interrupting Dumbledore's maniacal ponderings, none other than Minerva McGonagall walk past his hiding place, only sparing a glance at the large, round orb hovering behind Sir Cumference's head. Then she paused, and looked back, blinking in shock.
"Albus?" she asked incredulously, then noticed that his gaze was drawn elsewhere. She looked up.
Consequently, a very ginger someone cackled evilly from inside a nearby broom closet, his twin looking on in apparent horror.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let the games...begin!" George muttered to himself, causing his twin to back away slowly. That day had gotten too weird.
It was nothing compared to the next five minutes, however, as Fred would continue to remind himself for the remainder of his days. For George had really made his plan well, and it was then that it came to fruition.
"Whaza," George whispered after he vanished Dumbledore's hamster ball, causing the headmaster to fall on his posterior. In a most dignified way, of course.
"So..." Dumbledore trailed off, standing up, "How have you been, lately, Minerva. I myself have been as happy and content as a promiscuous elephant."
Apparently, McGonagal liked promiscuous elephants.
...That was sudden. Almost like that time in Azerbaijan...mmm...nevermind.
Merlin, I just get so turned on by flippant elephants. Mmm...
No One's P.O.V.
George chuckled, taking the camera out of Fred's limp hands and taking the most priceless picture ever.
Fred desperately tried to close his mouth, roughly resembling a goldfish of some sort, as the two professors detatched.
"Run?" George asked cheerfully as McGonagall began to draw her wand, vengefully drawing it out of her sleeve. Dumbledore smiled and forgot all about the plan to give mandrakes wedgies with their own roots.
Fred considered George's suggestion for only a second before replying in the affirmative.
"Genius, aren't you?"
"Glad you noticed."