Title: Alas, Poor Yorick!

Author: Sandra

Rating: PG

Author's Note: Totally fictional Year Six.

Mandatory Apology: Criminally silly.

Winky, the house elf, hated Halloween.

Thousands of live bats were moping about overhead, dipping into Honeyduke's barrels of sugar, experimental candy from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes littered the surrounding hallways, and on his way to the Deathday party, Sir Patrick Delany-Podmore, leader of the Headless Hunt, stuck up his chin and tripped over a depressed Winky.

It would be an understatement, then, to say that Winky, who most certainly hated Halloween and ghosts and stupid evil Hermione Granger, was in a foul mood.

Luckily, pumpkins as large as garden sheds towered nearby, and Winky eyed her carving spatula warily.

Perhaps, she thought with a sudden inebriated thrill, she could rid the world of one, if not all three!, wicked plagues.

Over at the Head Table, Albus Dumbledore was avoiding a particularly acidic batch of Hagrid's rock cakes.

A congregation of gloomy nuns, followed by a group of ghost huntsmen, made its way through the Main Hall, scowling at flaming orange streamers swimming across the enchanted ceiling.

As usual, Madame Pomfrey was nervously patrolling the parameter, the entertainment sponsored by the Leaky Cauldron had dozed off, and Sirius Black, disguised as the Muggle version of a devil, with little red horns and a pitchfork, sat atop a wobbly chair, nursing his fifth shot of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

"No."

Tiny Dennis Creevey, hopping from one little foot to another, fidgeted before the Head Table. "Please!"

Sirius, flanked on each side by an eager child, slumped over a platter of eggs and olives (enchanted to resemble human eyeballs), and groaned. "Dennis..."

"Oh, come on, Professor," cried Dennis adorably, "ask."

Remus Lupin grinned. "Certainly, Sirius, you can't refuse."

Sirius sighed. "Fine."

Dennis Creevey nudged his brother happily, then beamed up at Sirius. "Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" mumbled Sirius.

"Boo," chirped Dennis.

Sirius exchanged an exasperated glance with Lupin. "Boo who?"

Colin clapped his little hands. "No need to cry, Professor! It's only a joke!"

Sirius rubbed his right eyebrow, sighing.

Lupin grinned. "Well, then. That was—uh, excellent, Colin. Dennis."

"Thank you, Professor!" said Dennis happily. "Can I tell you one now?"

Somewhere in the distance, Albus Dumbledore died laughing.

Remus Lupin looked horrified.

Sirius Black, on the other hand, smirked. "Oh, by all means, Mr. Creevey, do tell."

"Alright!" twirled Dennis excitedly. "What medicine do skeletons take when they have a cold?"

A few chairs away, Severus Snape raised an eyebrow.

"I—er, I'm afraid I don't quite know," replied Lupin graciously.

Both Creevey brothers tittered. "Coffin drops!"

A fork clattered to the floor.

"Yes, er..."

Snape gave a mild shudder. "I have no other choice but to deduct five points from your house for such a horrid—"

"Oi, Snape," interrupted Sirius with a devious smirk. "When in Rome..." he grinned, craning his neck. "D'you know what's happened to the gay magician?"

Severus Snape raised his wand with menace.

"He's disappeared with a poof," finished Sirius earnestly, raising an overflowing goblet.

"Children," scolded Professor McGonagall, brandishing a shiny caramel apple. "Let us please maintain a reasonable amount of civility." Under her breath, she added, "At least until I've had more gillywater."

Chuckling merrily, Sirius Black bit into a huge cupcake, then looked up, and saw—

Red.

"It's only fair I warn you, Lavender," said Hermione Granger through gritted teeth, "I will have my revenge. I-I will be the—the lady of perpetual revenge!"

Lavender giggled nervously, tripping over a scrawny black cat. "Now, Hermione," she chided, parading down the carpeted aisle, headed for the staff table, "you promised."

"I did no such thing, you evil harpy!" cried Hermione miserably, trying desperately to claw her way out of the Main Hall, hands and feet only centimeters from attaching to a helpful wall or post. "I lost a bet."

Lavender paused, scrunched up her nose, then cleared her throat, and threw the table ahead a surreptitious glance.

"Go on, Red," she cooed, shooing Hermione away with a patronizing leer. "Three more steps. Mind the carpet!"

Hermione stiffened, the heavy burgundy cape tied 'round her neck billowing in the breeze. "Let's give it a few more minutes, eh? Perhaps—perhaps Voldemort'll rise from the grave and—"

"Go!"

Sirius Black, dark eyes narrowed, was squirming in his seat.

"Professor?" asked Dennis worriedly, waving a blurry hand in front of his face.

"Ah. Just a minute," replied Sirius with a distracted frown, then sprang from his chair, hopped over the table with surprising agility, sprinted toward the two girls, and skidded to a halt once Lupin's outraged voice reached his ears.

"Oi, Padfoot, what are you doing?"

Undaunted, Sirius spun on his heel and offered the bewildered crowd a charming grin. "Getting in character," he said dramatically, tapping a finger to one pointy horn. "Shall we, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked, frozen to her spot.

"Splendid!" he grinned, slipped an arm around her waist, and quickly dragged her past the Hufflepuff table, through the webbed archway, and into the nearest dimmed hallway.

Ron Weasley, dressed as a pirate, watched them go.

"Harry," he said.

"Yes?"

With his hook hand, Ron fed a crumb to Pigwidgeon—who'd been dyed green in an attempt to resemble a parrot—and adjusted his eyepatch. "Should we follow 'er?"

Harry Potter squinted at the wonderful assortment of corpse fingers, oozing Jell-O, boogers on a stick (cheese and pretzels colored a puke green), and gingerbread cake, then yawned.

"Eh, wh'not?"

"Sirius—Mr. Black—"

"Hermione," murmured Sirius dangerously, brows drawn together, "I'd reconsider if I were you."

"Reconsider what?" asked Hermione incredulously, her left elbow catching on a protruding cobblestone.

"Whatever it was you were readying to do to Moony," he puffed nonchalantly, paused, then inspected a candleholder in the shape of a scarecrow three centimeters from his nose.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

Aggravated, Sirius let go of her, and gestured vaguely in her direction. "The costume?" he demanded, gaze skimming over two bushy braids curling over Hermione's corseted top.

Hermione gave a deep, suffering sigh and lowered her red hood, tossing the rose clip that'd been holding her hair up. "Clearly, Professor, I've lost a bet."

"Clearly," replied Sirius.

"And clearly, I ought to be rather grateful you... kidnapped me before Professor Lupin had a chance to be horribly offended."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

Hermione flushed. "And..."

"Yes?"

"Could we possibly go somewhere... private to discuss this?" asked Hermione uncomfortably, offering a handkerchief to a passing Wailing Widow from Kent.

A few bubbling cauldrons away, across the Ravenclaw table and a myriad of upright coffins with chattering skeletons nestled within, Winky, the house elf, perked up.

"Where'd she go?"

Ron pushed away an enormous slab of moldy cheese, and glanced at the spider webs cluttering the dungeons' entrance.

"Harry," he mumbled warily, unsheathing his wooden sword.

"Yes?"

"Cho went as the golden snitch."

Harry sighed. "Are there spiders ahead, Ron?"

"No," snapped Ron, offended. "I just thought you'd want to go, y'know, back to the Hall... see 'er... talk to her. And stuff."

"And this sudden bout of random generosity isn't in any way inspired by that gigantic tarantula behind you?"

Sitting peacefully in front of his very warm fireplace, Michael Johnson, the fastest man in the world, wondered briefly why he had the sudden, inexplicable feeling his record had been broken.

"I suppose we could go to my office," suggested Sirius, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Lovely idea," replied Hermione awkwardly, smoothing down her inappropriately short skirt.

"Tiny problem, though," grinned Sirius, scratching the back of his neck.

Hermione's lips curled. "You don't have an office."

"I see you're still the cleverest witch I've ever met," he winked.

Hermione wagged her finger. "Of my age."

"What?"

"Cleverest witch of my age," corrected Hermione piously.

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. "Ah. That was ages ago. You were practically a child then."

Hermione frowned.

"Not to say that you're old now," he added hastily.

Hermione's frown deepened.

"Legal, certainly..." he mused absentmindedly.

Hermione straightened, coughing.

Sirius gave himself a lazy smile.

"Er, yes, so... about that private conversation in which I explain the circumstances surrounding this predicament..."

Intrigued, Sirius glanced at her pleated basket. "Dumbledore's office?"

"Winky has a better suggestion!"

Hermione jumped a foot in the air, clutching her basket to her heart. "Where—how—WINKY—"

Winky ignored her, turning big watery eyes on Sirius and scuffing her dirty toe on the ground. "Winky knows the perfect place for Master and..." here, she spared Hermione a cold glance, "...friend to talk. Alone. All alone."

Hermione followed her line of vision, then shrieked.

"Potty. Weasel. 'Evening."

Ron heaved a heavy sigh. "Sod off, Malfoy."

Crabbe, sporting bloodied warts and pus Ron wasn't entirely convinced were fake, tipped his ratty hat in Harry's direction. "What're you s'pposed to be, a fairy?"

"Bloody—I'm a bloody Auror," grumbled Harry viciously, then pointed a shaky finger at Draco Malfoy. " 'Sides, I'm not the one wearing leather, Mistress Malfoy!"

Malfoy puffed his bangs away. "If you insist, Potter," he drawled, one hand resting on his skinny hip, "I've decided to go as myself this year."

"And wha's that?" sniggered Ron. "Goyle's girlfriend?"

"No," bristled Draco. "A sex god!"

Harry and Ron doubled over, giggling.

"Ma-maybe on Showtime," breathed Harry, holding his stomach.

Ron laughed boisterously, then leaned in closer and asked, embarrassed, "Er... what?"

"I'll explain later," cackled Harry, wiping away a tear. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

Malfoy pursed his lips, raising a disdainful eyebrow. "As Head Boy, it's my responsibility to keep scum like you off Slytherin premises. So. What the hell are you doing here and why is there a giant pumpkin blocking my way?"

Looking bored, Harry rapped his knuckles on one side of the giant pumpkin he was currently sitting against, then explained, in an annoyed, impatient manner. "Hermione."

"We're trapped inside a pumpkin."

"Yes."

"And there's no way out."

"Yes."

"And you're not at all bothered?"

"Yes."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "Sirius. Mr. Black. Professor." Pacing the length of the soggy insides, she spread her arms wide. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

"Yes."

Hermione slumped against a small mound of squishy seeds, burying her face in her hands. "What can you possibly be thinking about right now?"

Sirius Black looked up from the little pumpkin-man he'd made with nothing but his bare hands and a rusty pocketknife.

"Actually," he began pleasantly, "I was thinking about dividing the circumference of this pumpkin by its diameter. Do you know what you get when you divide the circumference of a pumpkin by its diameter, Hermione?"

Hermione looked ridiculously hopeful. "What? What?"

"Pumpkin Pi," replied Sirius casually, then busied himself with a heap of pulp.

A string of fleshy pumpkin meat detached from the ceiling and plopped to the spongy floor.

"You... you horrid, vile man!" sputtered Hermione finally, balling up her fists. "When Winky's... spell... wears off and we're out of here, I'm going to Dumbledore!"

Sirius continued building a small village out of the pulp. "Whatever for, Hermione?"

Breathing deeply, Hermione flexed her fingers. "You're right," she conceded abruptly. "I should just murder you right now. After all, anyone could teach your class."

Sirius frowned, a shadow of a pout dancing across his lips. "Quirrell couldn't. Nor could Umbridge."

"Professor Lupin could," sniffed Hermione curtly, crossing her arms.

Sirius' features darkened. "I should think you'd know better, Hermione."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"It's the man's first year back," he scolded with an upset scowl. "I'd sooner expect Harry to adopt Scabbers than see you stoop to this."

Hermione gaped at him, eyes wide and uncomprehending.

Sirius stuck the knife into the mucky planking, then padded over to Hermione, sprawling next to her. "What was it going to be? 'Oh my! You have such big... eyes, Professor' or," he pitched his voice higher, " 'Oh! Someone save me from the big bad wolf, please!...'?"

Hermione had difficulty closing her mouth.

Confused, Sirius frowned. "Listen, I was young once. I know how these things go."

Hermione's shoulders shook slightly.

Sirius scooted away. "Hermione?"

"I should write a paper on you."

Sirius blinked.

"I can't decide whether to be impressed by how sweet it is that you're protecting Professor Lupin, or sickened with how utterly repulsive your bloody mind is!"

Staring blankly, Sirius stretched his legs, tapping his fingers to his knees. "That's no way to speak to someone twice your age, Hermione."

"I saved your life, you pillock!" she shouted furiously. "I'll speak to you however bloody well I please!" Blushing wildly, she exhaled. "I... I mean... no. No. I apologize. I think."

An awkward silence filled the pumpkin.

Sirius squirmed.

Still mildly outraged, Hermione bit her lip and folded her hands in her lap. "Have I mentioned I've lost a bet?"

Sirius nodded, resisting the urge to comb his hair. "Have I mentioned I've had four shots of Old Ogden's?"

"Five."

"Know-it-all."

"Pervert."

"Nettle tea?"

"Please."

With a swish and flick of his wand, Sirius conjured up two cups of piping hot tea, grinning amiably. "You know, you'd have made a dreadful Marauder, Hermione."

Humbly, Hermione took a dainty sip of tea. "And you'll make a dreadful professor, Professor."

"Ah. The universe's regained its balance once again," concluded Sirius with an innocent grin.

Hermione smiled into her cup, jabbing an elbow into his ribs. "Think it wore off?"

Sirius glanced at the glassy sheet of pumpkin paste concealing the carved gateway, poking it with his wand. "Ladies first."

Hermione scowled nastily, but tested the area anyway.

"Eleven and seven make twenty-one!" growled Goyle, shoving his cards away. "Learn how to count, you stupid cow of a man!"

Ron twitched.

"Let it go," grunted Harry, chewing around his treacle fudge. "Deal, Crabbe, we don't have all night."

Crabbe cursed under his breath, spinning the handsome silver platter they'd placed in the center of their makeshift circle and chugging his cherry syrup. " 'Ere we go, double or nothin'."

Draco sighed, propping his head on one knee and staring at a shriveled gherkin. "She's probably dead, you know."

Harry and Ron shot him twin glares of loathing.

"She's inside a pumpkin," mumbled Draco apathetically.

Crabbe tossed him three cards.

Yawning, Draco licked the icing off his cupcake, his tongue neon green. "She's inside the pumpkin with Black," he amended. "She's probably been dead for hours."

"Or," came an annoyed mutter, "she's probably going to deduct fifty points from Slytherin for gambling after midnight."

"Hermione!"

Hermione sloshed off a few wet tassels of pumpkinseeds, then fixed her murderous gaze on Harry and Ron.

"Harry," she gritted out. "Have you never heard of a chainsaw?"

Harry grinned sheepishly, wiping the tar-like icing off his chin. "You didn't have fun, then?"

Sitting peacefully in front of his very warm fireplace, Michael Myers, the cruelest man in the world, wondered briefly why he had the sudden, inexplicable feeling his record had been broken.

"How'd it go?" squealed Lavender Brown.

Despondent, Hermione trudged through the dormitory, flung herself on her bed, recited a cleansing spell, then slowly turned her head toward Lavender.

"Oh," said Lavender, deflating instantly.

"Indeed," replied Hermione tiredly, stretching across her pillow.

"Well..." sulked Lavender, tapping her toes on a bedpost, "...at least the first part of the plan worked?"

Hermione pursed her lips, frowning into her pillowcase. "The fool thought I was after Professor Lupin!"

Lavender died laughing. "Men!" Quickly composing herself under Hermione's death glare, she added, "Well! Look on the bright side, Hermione."

"Winky's going to be dead by 2038?"

"No," tsked Lavender grumpily. "Perhaps you could have them both! Lupin and Black, I mean. Not Black and... Winky. Ew."

Deeply insulted, Hermione rolled her eyes and burrowed under the covers, unable to suppress the tiny grin playing about her lips.