***

At first, there was nothing.

Nothing but a large mass of yellow, lemon-flavored jelly, a thin, soggy layer of bread, and a wispy white topping of fluff.

Nothing but a toasty warmth that permeated the air around it.

Nothing but a delightful fragrance that made taste buds tingle and mouths salivate.

And then, suddenly, as if there had never been anything different, there was something.

There was life.

The small, golden dots of sugary perspiration that had been scattered over the whipped layer of egg-white gathered together to form two larger circles which served as eyes. A long crack in the white cream now opened slightly, letting escape a rather delicious-smelling yawn.

The honey colored eyes looked upward (for, at the moment, that was the only direction they were able to look in). They took in a sort of orange glow and darkness - overwhelming amounts of darkness. It expanded in front of it in one great lump, and, after a bit of thought, the cooling lemon meringue pie decided that being alive wasn't much more exciting than not being alive.

While yes, this being alive business was rather new and intriguing, it was also quite confusing. Just a moment ago there had been nothing, and now there was everything. It could think without actually thinking about it and was also familiar with the English language. This in itself was odd, since the pie had never been taught anything in its life and now it could think and speak English fluently.

But this was not particularly troubling. The nascent pie had more pressing matters to attend to. The first thing the pie had noticed when it gained life was the noise. There was yelling and shouting and clanging and slamming. There was the unmistakable pitter-patter of tiny feet and the busy sound of baking - oven doors being opened and closed, cutlery being scraped together, and the sound of water running and dishes being scrubbed.

But the pie still couldn't see anything, and it was getting quite miffed. Living didn't seem any more exciting or eventful than not living, and it was all rather disappointing to it. Of course, it didn't remember what it was like to be inanimate, but at the moment it seemed to be a better option than this.

Suddenly, a small reddish-orange shape appeared in its line of sight and said loudly, "Mornin', Mister Meringue!" If the pie could have jumped it would have, but all that ended up happening was a half-hearted sort of jiggle. After the initial shock wore off, it responded garbledly.

"Good morning, Mishter Radish." This was all very strange. The words seemed to pop out of its mouth of their own accord without it knowing what they meant. But it did know what they meant, and it was as if it didn't know the words until it said them. Then the pie decided that it just wouldn't worry about it anymore because really, none of it made any sense and there was no sense in pursuing the matter any further.

"The name's Roderick Radish, but you can call me Roddy fer short. Ev'ryone else does." Roddy swung himself up on the side of the pan, balancing with his roots. A few stray ones grazed the pie's fluffy white topping, and the whole pie wiggled - it tickled. "So Mister Meringue-" Roddy stopped short. "Say, what's yer name? Yer whole name, like."

"Lemon Meringue," said the pie. It had never had any other name. At least, it didn't think so.

"And, ah, are you a 'he' or a 'she'?" The radish seemed to turn a slighter darker shade of red but no - it must have just been a trick of the light. The pie thought about this for a moment.
"A 'he', I shupposhe." Following this sentence was a barrage of yellow flecks of jelly that stuck to Roddy's face. He wiped them away good-naturedly and tactfully didn't comment on the matter.

"Great!" exclaimed Roddy. "So Lemmy - mind if I call you tha'? - so Lemmy, wha's it like so far?" Lemmy wasn't quite sure quite what the loud radish meant.

"What ish what like?" Roddy wiped his face again while patiently explaining.

"Well, Lemmy, it's like this - yer 'live now, right? Where's you wasn't before. You was just a pie then, but now yer an alive pie. So wha's it like being 'live, eh?"

"Well," Lemmy burbled, "it'sh quite boring. I can't shee a thing. It'sh poshitively dreadful, in fact. I feel ash though I haven't sheen anything for shuch a long time, but I can't remember what it wash like, or - I shay," said Lemmy. "You're ashking me what it'sh like to be alive, but how ish it for you? You couldn't have been alive much longer then me." Roddy clapped a root to his forehead, making the yellow jelly that had accumulated there splatter all around.

"Blimey!" said the small radish. "Them ovens mus' do a number on you." Roddy scratched the plume of green leaves that sprouted out of his head with a shorter root. "Well," he began, "you wasn't always a pie. You know tha' much, right?" Roddy gave Lemmy a worried look, which Lemmy returned with a quizzical look of his own. The white layers of cream bunched up just above his eyes several times, giving him a confused expression.

"Cor," Roddy exclaimed in amazement. "Lemmy, you don't remember nothin'?" Lemmy made his eyes slide to each side several times, making the equivalent of a head shake. Roddy shook his own head in pity. Then he paused and looked around, obviously pondering how to phrase what he wanted to say. After a moment or two he looked back at Lemmy.

"Well, I'm a radish," he began slowly, pronouncing each syllable clearly. "I was 'live before, 'cause I was growin' in the ground. I could feel an' think, but I couldn' see or talk, right? Then I was taken outta the ground and I wasn't nothin', jus' like you a few minutes ago. I was... wha's the word?"

"Inanimate?" Lemmy ventured. Roddy slapped his knee - or, as it was, root.

"Tha's it! Inani-whatchit. So when you came 'live just now, I did too, but I remember what it was like bein' 'live. But they cooked you, so you can't remember nothin' before then, right? Lemmy, you used to be lots of diff'rent things." Lemmy watched Roddy in amazement.

"I ushed to be shomething elsh?" he gurgled. Roddy nodded sadly.

"Sure you was. You used to be wheat an' eggs an' lemons - lots o' lemons. You was 'live when you was a lemon, jus' like I was before. But then them creatures," (Roddy intended to nod his head over his shoulder to indicate the people behind him, but since he didn't have a neck his whole body jerked backward. He fell off of the rim of the pan with a muffled 'oofph'. Lemmy saw him clamber back up a moment later, panting heavily.) "over behind me, they cut you up and made you into a pie. It's disgustin'," he added with a heated glare behind him. Then he turned back and finished, "An' now you can't remember nothin'. D'you understand?" Lemmy nodded (by making his eyes move up and down several times) and then Roddy beamed at him. Then Lemmy's face crinkled again.

"But," he began dubiously, "how did we get to be alive again in the firsht plashe?" Roddy winked one indented eye at him.

"Just a minute, Lemmy. It's time you saw the whole kitchen." Lemmy began to burble in protest, but Roddy simply brought one root up to his head as a salute and with that, the brazen radish leapt off of the rim of the pan and landed with a quiet thud on the table top.

Lemmy strained to hear what was going on around him. At first all he could hear was the usual clatter of dishes and high pitched voices, but then there came more voices; quieter but more raucous ones. They shouted at one another and then Lemmy felt hundreds of tiny things brushing along the back of his pan. He squirmed and jiggled at the light touches. He decided that he must be quite ticklish.

"All right boys - heave!" he heard Roddy yell, and suddenly he felt himself leaving the table. The darkness was giving way to a sort of orange glow that invaded all of his senses. He closed his eyes against the bright light and then -

He could see.

He could see everything. There were hundreds of house elves running around preparing different foods and beverages. There were dishes flying through the air and washing themselves. There were knives and forks cutting apart steaks and turkeys, and spoons were scooping out mounds of jam and different puddings. Drinks were mixing and pouring themselves and napkins were floating over toward the four tables at the other end of the room.

"Pretty impressive, eh?" said Roddy, who was now standing in front of him. Lemmy nodded, and then felt himself began to slip. He cried out in alarm and then Roddy pulled the pan down a bit. He stopped sliding, but he could feel himself slowly going steadily downward nonetheless.

"Careful there," said Roddy. "We've got you propped up with a bowl o' cereal. Can't have you jus' fallin' out onto the table now, can we?" Roddy winked at him. Lemmy wrinkled his fluffy white brow in thought.

"We?" he said, and then his mouth dropped open. A few drops of lemon filling dribbled out.

Covering the table were hundreds - no - thousands of different foods. But that wasn't the reason Lemmy's mouth had dropped open. No, the reason his mouth had dropped open was the fact that almost all of them were alive. A group of radishes had accumulated around him and were waving cheerfully at him. Lemmy couldn't bring himself to wave back at them, and it wasn't just because he didn't have arms.

"Oh my," he mumbled. Roddy nodded.

"It's quite the sight, ain't it?" he said. Lemmy nodded distractedly and continued to look around. His eyes stopped on a student, who looked out of place in the busy environment. He was sitting on a stool by another table, his blonde hair glittering in the firelight. He seemed slightly inebriated.

"Who'sh that?" asked Lemmy. Roddy followed his line of sight and then grinned back at him.

"That," he pointed, "is the reason we're 'live, my friend." Lemmy continued to stare at the boy. His eyes were lidded and his head was resting in his hand. His wand was propped up in the same hand while his other hand was holding a large bottle of something orange and red. Lemmy blinked - was the liquid burning?

Suddenly, the boy let out a loud sound - a hiccough, Lemmy decided - and a jet of blue-green light shot out from the end of the wand. It struck an oyster on a plate five feet away. After a few moments the oyster got up and stretched.

This was most certainly the oddest day of Lemmy's life. The fact that it was his only day of life so far made it even more unusual.

Lemmy looked back at the boy, who was now glaring darkly at the specks of dust floating through the air. Unless, of course, the boy could see something that Lemmy couldn't, which was a definite possibility since he couldn't turn around and look for himself. But the way the boy's eyes were crossed made him doubtful.

"It's a sad sight, innit?" said Roddy.

"What ish he doing here?" asked Lemmy. Roddy shrugged, which was quite a feat considering the radish didn't have any shoulders.

"Don't know," he said. "No one's had the guts to go over an' see. 'E's got a mean look in his eye, see it?" Lemmy didn't - the boy's eyes were still slightly crossed, which didn't seem all that threatening to him.

"Oh yesh," he lied, "very mean." The boy swallowed another hiccough with some difficulty. He seemed rather pitiful, if anything.

"'Ey! Budge up there, you!" Lemmy looked back at Roddy, who was glaring angrily down at the oyster that had so recently been brought to life. The oyster had pushed its way over, leaving a trail of water glistening on the tabletop behind it, and had knocked right into Roddy. It swivelled itself around to face him with what looked like a large, pink tongue. Roddy was red with rage. Maybe.

"Why don't you watch where yer goin', eh?" he told the small oyster. A small jet of water that shot out from between the closed shells met this outburst, hitting Roddy squarely in the face and knocking him backward onto the table. The oyster quickly darted away. Roddy sat up and blinked the water out of his eyes. He caught sight of the retreating appetizer and shouted, "'Ey! You get back here!" He ran after it, leaving Lemmy to his thoughts. There weren't any of interest, so the lemon pie decided to continue watching the boy.

The liquid in the bottle did indeed seem to be burning but it must have just been another trick of the light, because the boy was drinking it without any problems. Lemmy watched as the contents slowly but surely lowered. The boy leaned back, ready to down the rest of it when -

"Where is he?!" Lemmy felt the table he had been set on shake. He began to slip down again, but his cries for help went unheard in the din. Over by the entrance a short redhead had run in, looking furious. She strode over to one of the house elves that was holding a treacle (which had not yet been hit with a spell). She picked it up by the arms and shook it violently. "You know where he is, I know you do!" she yelled. She dropped the struggling elf and the treacle landed with a soft plop on the floor. The house elf ran screaming out the portrait entrance and into the corridors of the castle. A few ran after it, looking scared out of their minds.

Cooking house elves running loose in Hogwarts - what was the world coming to? Who knew what damage they would do, unintentionally boiling any water they came across and causing puddings to appear out of thin air.

The food on the tables were all shrieking quietly. Fish lying on plates were trying to swim away (without much luck), strawberries were rolling as fast as they possibly could, rashers of bacon were slinking like caterpillars across the varnished tabletop, and a (roasted) turkey was now standing and trying to fly away. Lemmy watched as a small raspberry that had been running along and zigzagging through the crowd in a frightened rush fell into a bowl of vegetable dip.

"It's the end of the world, it's the end, it's the - !" it screamed in its fruity voice as it sank slowly into the dip. The last thing visible was its stem, and then that went under with a short 'shmup'ing sound. The surface of the dip was placid once more.

Lemmy felt uneasiness settle in his lemon-flavored gut - havoc was soon to be wreaked on the castle, if it wasn't already. And if not by the house elves, then by this red-haired demon.

Said demon's eyes were narrowed, and Lemmy decided that being a pie that was about to slide onto the table was much better than being the boy who had just fallen off of his stool.

For one thing, who would strangle a lemon meringue pie? It would simply be much too messy, not to mention completely ineffective.

***

Draco Malfoy, currently lying in a crumpled heap on the floor of the Hogwarts kitchen, was more than slightly tipsy. He was thoroughly pissed. But it didn't matter how pissed he was - he still knew that voice, and he instinctively crawled under the nearest table to hide from it. He looked around for the bottle of firewhiskey that he had recently made friends with, but it was lying in a puddle of glass shards just an arms length away. He resisted the urge to go and lick up the reddish liquid.

It wasn't that he valued his pride too much to do so. He was shameless when sloshed.

But one factor was the redhead out for blood just a few room-lengths away.

The other was the way the liquid was steadily burning a hole into the floor.

He heard a few echoing footsteps for a moment, and then nothing. Silence. He struggled to keep the sound of his breathing to a minimum and succeeded for the most part, save a few muffled hiccoughs. There was nought to be done about that, though. Hiccoughs were a natural side effect from drinking firewhiskey. Like various brands of wizard wine, small bubbles would float up after each one. The only difference was that bubbles from firewhiskey tended to emit a dark smoke once they popped. Draco wisely kept his mouth shut, although smoke would occasionally drift out of his nostrils.

Draco sat, waiting. His stomach was churning from the anxiety and suspense - or maybe that was just the whiskey. No, he decided, it was definitely the prospect of coming face-to-face with an angry redhead.

Then, the stomping started again. Draco heard it from behind him and scooted as fast as he could forward. The table went on for a few more meters and then stopped abruptly. Draco listened to make sure the stomping was going on a ways away from where he was, took a deep breath, stifled a hiccough, and dashed from under the table.

He hadn't really had a plan. He had figured that once he got out into the open he would think of something, like run for the next nearest table and eventually make his way to the door without being found. In fact, this was exactly what he had been about to do.

Except he never did. He simply stayed there on his hands and knees, looking down at two stocking-clad, shoeless feet.

In a distant part of his mind - one that was currently up and running - he remembered that he had come to loathe those feet. Not that they were big or ugly. Quite the contrary, actually. They were cute and petite. But he couldn't count how many times he had been manipulated and tricked into massaging them for hours on end. He felt the sores on his hands inflate just thinking about it.

His eyes slowly snaked their way upward (and normally he would never pass the chance up to look up that tantalizingly too-short skirt, although everything was blurry anyway so there was really no point). When he reached her face, he was shocked at how clearly he could make out her features. The most prominent were her (normally big) brown eyes, which were now narrowed slits.

It didn't happen often, but when Ginny Weasley was towering over you she made quite the intimidating figure.

Draco made a mad scramble to get away, but in his drunken state he wasn't getting anywhere fast. His arms didn't seem to want to go in the right direction in his frenzied panic. He felt Ginny land on top of him in an all-out tackle, forcing him into the hard floor. As he 'oofph'ed a puff of smoke came out of his mouth and swirled its way upward. He looked around at the rest of the room.

Everything was silent again, and all the house elves were looking at him with their wide, round eyes. Many of them were fearful, looking as though they might drop from fright at any moment. Glancing a little further to the left Draco spotted Dobby, his old house elf, who was grinning ear to ear. He was wearing Ginny's shoes, along with two pairs of mismatched socks.

Draco felt Ginny shift on top of him to straddle his waist. In another situation this would probably have been a very pleasing development. In any other situation.

He tucked his head in his arms and waited for the end to come. Hopefully she would be merciful and swift.

After a few tense moments in which nothing happened, Draco meekly peeked an eye out. He looked behind his shoulder up at Ginny and decided not to say anything. Draco might have been drunk out of his mind, but he wasn't stupid. Physical harm usually accompanied that look.

Ginny crossed her arms and Draco felt a little relief uncoil his knotted intestines. It seemed that she didn't intend to smack him at the moment, but he wasn't going to test his luck - she was still sitting on his spinal cord.

"Well?" Ginny snapped. Draco felt a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his forehead. He felt that asking what it was that she was talking about would be dangerous, so he improvised.

"Yes, I am, thank you," he said courteously. Ginny glared at him and Draco gulped audibly.

"You know what I'm talking about," she growled. Draco felt the bead of sweat travel down to his chin and drip off, landing on his robes. Normally he would never stand for being treated in such a way, but the way Ginny was growling made him reconsider saying something about it. Again, growling would have probably been another pleasing development had this been any other situation.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice strangely calm, "I don't know, but perhaps if you explained-"

"Draco Augustus Malfoy, yes you do!" she yelled. Draco put his hands over his ears so his head wouldn't explode. He groaned pitifully while Ginny raged on. "Draco, how could you do this to me?! They're my friends! One of them is my family, my brother! What were you thinking?!"

At this Draco felt his rational senses leave him (this was definitely caused by the whiskey). He looked up indignantly at the girl perched on his back and said defensively, "Well what was I supposed to do? I couldn't let Potter and his little gang of werpishers gloat and-" Draco paused. That hadn't sounded exactly right.

Ginny looked down at him blankly. "You're drunk," she said. Draco shook his head fervently in protest, leaving his mouth closed lest another jumbled word escaped and confirm her suspicions about his intoxicated state. Just then, his body jumped with the impact of another hiccough and, since Draco kept his mouth resolutely shut, smoke began to leak out of his nose.

"Bugger," he said with a feeling, and a large bubble emerged from his mouth. It drifted up silently and then popped, filling the air with a noxious smoke. For a moment all Draco could see was a dark grey cloud. Then those two narrowed slits of brown eyes were glaring heatedly at him again.

"Why, exactly, are you drunk?" she asked. Draco pondered this. He could remember that he had had a very good reason. He just couldn't remember it.

"I'm not sure," he said, "but I'm almost certain that it involved blood-thirsty flobberworms and a herd of angry centaurs. Or maybe it was just to forget the utter humiliation I had to suffer earlier today." Wait. It didn't work then. Draco pouted.

Ginny brought her hand up to her temple and rubbed it gingerly. She got up off of him and leaned on a table. Draco took a few deep breaths of fresh air - the redhead was heavier than her tiny frame suggested.

Draco stood and looked tentatively at the small Gryffindor. She was currently muttering things to herself, and he sidled away from her just a bit. After a few more moments Draco became indignant again. "You can't be angry at me just because of what I did before," he mumbled sullenly. "It's what I do, you've didn't get angry about it before." Ginny didn't say anything, so Draco went on. He sounded much like a little boy who had been scolded for pushing another boy down after he had been pushed down first. "I mean, I couldn't just let Potter get away with it, and they were all in on - in. In on. In on it - you know that. You can't be angry at me. I had to get revenge somehow-"

"Draco." He stopped talking and swallowed. He didn't like that tone. "You sent Harry a cactus." Draco looked down at his feet sheepishly.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," he mumbled. Ginny walked over to him and smacked him upside the head.

"There it is," he said resignedly. Ginny wasn't paying attention and now seemed to be trying very hard to restrain herself from hitting him again.

"Draco, I wanted you to get revenge, you prat," she said slowly. Draco, who had been rubbing the sore spot on his head, now goggled at her.

"What?" he said, dumbfounded. This was not quite what he had been expecting. Of course, he couldn't remember what he had been expecting, but he doubted it was similar to this.

"They were testing you, Draco!" she said , exasperated. "To see what you would do, to see if you could get them back or if you would even try! And if you don't get them back," she growled and grabbed him by the front of his robes, "they will never let me forget that my boyfriend couldn't defend himself or his girlfriend."

And with that Ginny kissed him fiercely on the lips and said, "So get sober, because we have work to do."

***

"Oy! Lemmy, what 'appened to you?" Lemmy's eyes slid over to the side where he predicted Roddy's voice to be coming from. Roddy was looking at him in horror, and the dribbling pie noticed that he was soaking wet.

"I shlid off the pan," he said. The little flecks of yellow jelly that spouted from his mouth went straight up in the air and landed back on him. He coughed, and part of his pie crust fell off.

"But, Lemmy," cried Roddy, "we gotta help you! You can't jus' stay like that forever, someone'll step in you!" Roddy began to try pushing Lemmy back into the pan, but his arms simply slid into the fluff. He pulled them back out - they were all covered in yellow and white goo. He put his hands over his eyes, not caring about the mess. "Oh Lemmy, I can't do nothin'! I tried, but I can't, I'm sorry, Lemmy, I'm sorry!"

Things seemed bleak for Lemmy. As he continued to spread over the table he could hear the 'plop, plop, plop' of himself landing on the floor. Uneasiness, coupled with Roddy's hysterics, turned to fear, and Lemmy began to burble and sob. It was quite a mess, with jelly and crust and fluff flying everywhere.

Suddenly there was a swish, a thunk, and then a long, jelly-curdling-scream.

A knife, which had somehow managed to veer off of its original course to the dinner tables, had landed on Roddy.

"Roddy!" Lemmy blubbered.

"Oh God! Me roots! It's chopped 'em off!" Roddy continued to yell and scream, and Lemmy found to his dismay that he couldn't see him. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't swivel his eyes just right to see his friend. Perhaps it was the end of the world.

A pity that it was his first day of living.

After about five more minutes Roddy had stopped screaming and was lying where he had been struck down. Lemmy's intestines were clumping up around him since he was unable to move. The roots that had been cut off had long since run away. They ended up falling off the edge of the table and into Lemmy's growing pile of self since they had no eyes or sense of direction. Roddy sighed.

"Yer right. This is boring," he said. Lemmy nodded feebly.

"Doesh it shtill hurt?" he asked gently.

"No. It never really hurt in the first place - jus' a lil twinge, more like."

"Then why were you shcreaming?"

"Seemed like a good idea."

"Ah."

Numerous foods were milling around them, and a few of the smaller fruits were slipping in Lemmy. He was too tired to squirm although it tickled terribly.

"You know, Lemmy," said Roddy despairingly, "I think you may have to call me Rodita now." Lemmy scrunched up his remaining egg white fluff, resulting in a semi-quizzical, mostly silly-looking expression.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Roddy - or Rodita - sighed again.

"Well, that knife that flew in before. The one tha's right 'ere. It chopped off all my roots. All of them. Gone." Lemmy still didn't understand, but he kept quiet. "I feel like a worthless nothin', Lemmy. A worthless, gutless, she-radish," he spat, as if the word combination tasted like boiled carrots (which, as you know, is practically the same as cannibalism).

"It'sh okay," said Lemmy, trying to cheer the poor vegetable up, "thingsh can only get better. You'll shee." Roddy didn't say anything, so Lemmy was quiet from then on. The two friends sat in silence as the world went on around them, with foods running about in a panic, and two students sitting at a table, talking quietly.

***

Draco took another sip of his coffee and spluttered slightly. He only coughed this time - the first time he had taken a drink he had showered one of the house elves in the black liquid. It was a mixture of coffee and a special sobering potion (on the house), and it tasted absolutely awful. It reminded Draco of the time he had eaten a mud pie when he was only five (which is a remarkable story in itself. His mother had baked a delicious-smelling chocolate pie and no matter how Draco pleaded with her she would not let him have any. Only when he had had his dinner would he be able to have any of the special treat. So Draco, not wanting to eat his strained beans, went outside and made himself a mud pie. To his dismay, he realized that they did not taste quite the same).

Granted there was no worm wriggling around in his coffee, but that only made things slightly more tolerable.

He made to put the drink down and was reprimanded soundly.

"Oh no you don't," said Ginny. She was staring at him menacingly, and without changing expression Draco continued to hold the cup aloft. "You got yourself drunk and you're not going to put that coffee down until you're sober again."

This whole day was turning out to be a disaster. First he had been humiliated in front of his House - by Potter, no less, - then he had been laughed at, mocked, and now he was dealing with what would no doubt turn out to be a massive headache. The world would pay for making Draco Malfoy suffer like this. It was simply unheard of.

"So tell me exactly what happened," Ginny demanded. Draco, taking another small sip of sobering coffee, sneered at her through the cup. Now that his senses were coming back his dignity and pride was too.

"Didn't Potty tell you?" he asked scathingly. Ginny shook her head. "You knew that I sent him a cact- oh hell," he groaned. "I sent him a bloody cactus."

"Not only that," Ginny added unhelpingly while he rammed his fist into his forehead a few times, "you had a little poem attached to it too. Harry got it at lunchtime, that's how I knew about it." Draco continued to force his head into his palm, so Ginny went on. "I believe it went something like this -

To Hairy Potty that wanker,
Who makes my life much danker,
I'd like to bring you
On a ship with a crew
And throw you over as the anchor."

"Harry didn't appreciate it as much as you apparently thought he would - when he went to read the card he got stuck with one of the needles on the cactus. I don't believe I've ever heard anything as creative as his offer for you, Draco," she said reflectively. "I think it had something to do with a large tub of bubotuber pus, a Hungarian Horntail, and your broom. And come to think of it, seemed very complex. Lots of knots." Draco stopped beating himself long enough to take another sip of coffee and then smacked himself once more for good measure.

"I am never drinking again," he declared. Ginny nodded in appreciation while he slurped at the rest of his drink. They were both silent for a moment, and then Ginny spoke up again.

"Well?" she said. Draco panicked again, although instead of being intimidated he went back to being his normal self.

"Well what?" he snapped. Ginny frowned at him and put her hands on her hips.

"What did happen?!" she said loudly. Draco moaned quietly and put a hand to his throbbing head. That last five minutes of abusing himself had not helped matters any. Ginny waited impatiently for the pounding in Draco's head to subside a bit and he began to talk quietly.

"I was in Potions," he muttered darkly, and immediately after he uttered the words hush fell over the entire kitchen, as if the very walls were listening. "And we were making the simplified form of the Polyjuice Potion and then... it happened."

Draco felt himself fall into a memory as he told Ginny the story.

"Potter you imbecilic bastard! I just had these robes cleaned!" Potter was hurriedly mopping up the spilled bit of potion that was spreading over the tabletop.

"I'm sorry, it just, just slipped, and I couldn't catch it - well, no, actually I'm not sorry. You deserved it you arrogant arse." Draco glared at the bespeckled boy and began to wipe off his robes. The glop wasn't coming off, and it was making him angrier by the second.

"You will pay for this, Potter," he snarled. The boy paid no attention as he finished cleaning.

"Urgh," he heard Weasley say. Draco noted to himself that it was one of the more intelligent things that he'd said that day. "Harry, mind if I borrow one of your hairs?" he asked. "I don't want to take Crabbe's. I've had enough of his voice in my vocal cords for a lifetime," he whispered. Draco wondered vaguely what he could be talking about, but he simply chalked it up to another one of the stupid things that the Weasley said.

"Yeah, sure," said Potter. He picked up a black hair that had fallen onto his robes. "Here," he said, and handed it to the whining redhead.

The next ten minutes of class went uneventfully, unless Goyle picking his nose would be called an event. Draco didn't like to think so. Then, as they all took a drink of the potion, numerous groans and gagging noises filled the room. Draco drank the potion without a sound, of course, but Potter across from him was moaning and holding his stomach. He sneered at him.

"Too much for you to handle, Potter?" he said maliciously - his voice came out as Blaise's. Then Potter started tipping over and his arm lashed out to grab at the tabletop. He knocked over the vial that held the rest of the potion in it. It spilled on Draco's robes. Again.

"What are you, mentally deranged? You're worse than Longbottom!" he yelled. The purple liquid was rolling off of his robes and onto the floor, leaving a long trail of mush behind it. He began to wipe off his robes again while muttering to himself. "This is never going to come out, I'll kill you, you bloody wanker, I will, I swear it - never coming out -"

Numerous voices began to laugh - he heard his own. His neck snapped up so fast he knew it would hurt for the next week. Staring right at him from a meter away was Granger, and she was tittering away in his voice. How dare she!

"Shut your mouth, Granger!" he shouted, and he felt his cheeks get warm. This only seemed to make her laugh harder. That was his voice coming out of her mouth, and it was coming out as a high-pitched giggle. It was a disgrace! It was absolutely disgusting! It was humiliating!

"Nice one, Harry," said Weasley. Except it wasn't Weasley's voice - nor was it Potter's. It was Snape's. He clamped a hand over his mouth with a disgusted look on his face. "Bloody hell," he said, his - Snape's - voice muffled. Potter was looking at him in a sort of sympathetic way.

"Sorry, Ron - thought it was mine." His voice came out as Weasley's. Weasley looked thoughtful for a moment - it looked like it hurt.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," he muttered quietly. The Gryffindors in the class were all laughing uproarously now, and Draco stood. He yelled out that Weasley was an incompetent weasel and was cheating, but Snape couldn't hear him. He was too busy trying to clean up the mess that Longbottom had made - it seemed that he had spilled his potion all over the floor - again. It began to seep into the woodwork, and the entire class was out of control, and then -

"That's it?" Draco, coming back to reality, saw that Ginny's face was one of disbelief. "That's why you wanted revenge? Because Harry spilled something on you? On accident?"

"Were you listening just now?" he said incredulously. "The bastard spilled something on my robes! Look, the stain is right here! Everyone can see it! Then that weasel brother of yours praised him for it! With professor Snape's voice! And added ten points to their house for doing it! And your friend Granger," he raged on, "she laughed at me using my own voice! I will never be able to live this down!" Ginny was silent for a moment.

"And sending Harry a cactus is a fitting revenge for all that?" Draco pounded his fist on the table.

"Damn it, woman, I was drunk! You can't expect me to know what I'm doing when I'm sloshed!" He buried his head in his hands and all was quiet for a moment.

"So," Ginny said slowly, her finger idly tracing patterns on the table. "I suppose you want to get revenge on Hermione and Ron too?" she asked casually. Draco looked sharply at her.

"What do you take me for, some sort of pansy? Of course I'm getting revenge on them," he said, scandalized. Ginny opened her mouth to suggest something, but Draco cut her off suddenly. "I've got it! Granger," he began gleefully. "I'll make her go to class in her knickers. And I'll cast a charm on her so she's the only one who thinks she's wearing anything! It's perfect!" he cried and made a sweeping gesture with his hand. He knocked his coffee off of the table, and it landed and shattered on the floor. He stared at it, trying to look mournful and failing.

"Oh, that's original," Ginny muttered. Draco looked up at her quickly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.

"Only that you can't think of new and terrible things to do to people!" she snapped back. "Honestly, Draco, as if I don't remember what you did to me first year-"

"What did I do?" he asked, curiosity and irritation evident in his voice. "I didn't do anything to you." Ginny huffed.

"Right," she said sardonically, "like you don't remember charming me when I went up to get Sorted. God, that was so embarrassing." Ginny buried her face in her hands at the memory. "You did the exact same thing then - I had no idea I was going up there in only my knickers. And then the Sorting Hat Sorted me into Slytherin, because it thought I was ambitious."

"That's right," said Draco reminiscently. "That's when you still fancied Potter." Ginny moaned.

"And he wasn't even there to see it. Well," she sighed, "he wouldn't have remembered it anyway. Once the entire school was laughing and pointing Dumbledore cast a memory charm on everyone except for me. Oh," she said then, bringing her hand up to her mouth, "you wouldn't remember doing it then, would you?"

"No," Draco said dryly. "I wouldn't."

They were both silent for a few moments; Ginny thinking of a way to get Draco to get decent revenge on her friends, Draco thinking of a young Ginny Weasley in her knickers in front of the whole school.

Draco absentmindedly went to reach for his coffee but remembered that it was spreading over the floor at an alarming rate. He pouted when Ginny wasn't looking and turned around to look behind him.

"Huh," he said. His voice was as calm as one discussing the weather. "The food is alive."

"Yes," said Ginny while rubbing her temples, "fascinating." Draco stood up slowly so his head wouldn't pound quite so hard and walked over to one of the tables.

"Ginny, darling," he said charmingly while scooping something up with a spoon, "would you fancy a bit of lemon meringue pie?"

***

At first, there was something.

Something alive and full of life.

Something that knew how to speak and how to think, that saw things from a strange and unique perspective.

And then, there was nothing.

But it didn't really matter to Lemmy because really, life was just filled with disappointments and crushed dreams, not to mention the risk of spoiling or molding. It was far better this way for him, and he was much happier now that he was inanimate again. The large reddish opening had been a bit intimidating at first but once he went in it everything went black, and he slid down something wet. It wasn’t so horrible. In fact, he had enjoyed it.

He probably would still be enjoying it if he was still animate, but he was not, and he was all the happier for it. Of course, he couldn’t exactly be happy while inanimate either, but he would be if he knew he was inanimate again.

That was for sure.

***

Once the two students had left the kitchens, the house elves had gone about their business and cleaned up the room. The food was returned to its original (and slightly less bothersome) state. The coffee and shattered cup had been mopped magically up, and the pie on the floor had vanished. The hole in the ground where the firewhiskey had burnt straight through it was repaired, but the bottle fragments were left alone. Everything was as it once was.

And it stayed that way for the rest of that night and the beginning of the next day.

But then the rumors started to come.

It is a well known fact that magic is magical, and does many strange things. When something has potential, it may be given life. Gossip is so very lively and moves so very fast that every once in a while it would simply come alive and float around, spreading its news to the world.

That is exactly what happened.

High-pitched voices began to whisper excitedly in the large room, echoing eerily off the walls. The house elves all stopped their work to listen and they heard thus:

“Did you hear? Oh Parvati, it was dreadful! Someone came into class with some sort of mask on, with a fake beard and glasses, you know? Well, they came in and hexed Hermione, though we didn’t know what it did at first. How very embarrassing.”

“Yes, I told you Lavendar! Ron walked into class and then just burst out laughing for no reason! And he was laughing at everyone, even me! The nerve of the boy! Hit him one across the face, and he right deserved it, too.”

“That’s right, I heard that Granger girl walked into class with only her knickers on! She claimed she had no idea what had happened, but I think she’s a bint. Always walking around with that Weasley - who would want to speak to a Weasley? Oh, except you Draco darling, of course.”

“Mud? No, it wasn’t mud. I heard it was some sort of potion.”

“I couldn’t believe it, just standing there! In the middle of class! In just her knickers! I’m telling you Dean, it was bloody amazing. I can’t understand why the girl wears such baggy jumpers all the time.”

“Did you see? Just when the masked boy turned around I saw blonde hair! Yes, it was, I’m sure of it! So very pale…”

“Weasley was laughing so hard he fell over, right into his pot. Professor Sprout was so mad she sent him up to McGonagall. I’ve never seen the like, Zach. I laughed so hard my side's been hurting ever since.”

“That’s right, polyjuice potion! That’s what it was. Harry just came into the common room drenched in the stuff. It was disgusting, dripping glops of potion everywhere. And it was purple, I remember. The poor boy had to go into the showers to get it off, since it had been charmed to stay on if you tried scourgifying it. At least that’s what the professors think.”

“Blonde hair - but it couldn’t have been Draco! He was in the common room all last night! But come to think of it, he had been acting a bit odd. Kept referring to Potter and Weasley as “Harry” and “my bro-Ron”. Strange, isn’t it.”

“Harry, have you seen Ginny? I haven’t talked to her all day and I didn’t get to see her last night either. I bet she was with Malfoy again, the bugger. I’m going to breakfast, maybe she’ll be there, eh?”

With that last voice all the house elves began to bustle about hurriedly. It was time to get the food up onto the tables, and they hadn’t yet filled two of them! As much as they would have liked to find out what happened, they had their jobs to do. They quickly forgot about the voices as well, for they liked their work so much that they were not distracted or unhappy.

What did happen that night?

No one knows.

No one but a boy, a girl, and the food that came alive (because the food was bustling about in their stomachs, that is. They weren't alive anymore by that time, but they were still with them, so if they had been alive they would have known. Understood?)

***