TITLE: Harry Shakes His Booty
AUTHOR: AbstractConcept (aka theconcept)
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling, etc
WARNINGS: This fic is even crackier than the Snape/Filch or the Kreacher/Mrs. Black, and it's a Snarry. I have outdone myself.
SUMMARY: Harry's true nature reveals itself at an inopportune moment. In which I parody supermagicalbeing!Harry.

Harry Shakes His Booty

"Why should I trust you?"

"You shouldn't, fool. However, at this point you don't have very many options."

Harry sighed. It was true. He'd been captured by the Death Eaters and was about to be dragged before Voldemort to meet his final doom. Harry was furious with the situation, but ultimately helpless. If only he'd realized Voldemort would have booby-trapped the last Horcrux!

"Fine. So you give me my wand, and if I win, I convince the Ministry you were on our side all along. If I lose…"

"Then I've lost nothing."

"I don't see how that could be. Voldemort will know I got the wand from you."

"I think not. I'm a very skilled Occlumens, and I have a very convincing memory of Lucius Malfoy returning your wand."

"Why Malfoy?"

Snape shrugged. "He's a condescending ponce, and I don't like him very much. So if you lose, he'll take the brunt of the Dark Lord's displeasure, and it will be highly amusing."

"So lucky you—you win no matter what."

Snape gave the boy a thin smile. "Welcome to how the world works, Mr. Potter."

Harry scowled. "Fine. Hand it over, and let's get on with the show, all right?"

"Very good, Mr. Potter."


Snape led Harry outside, and Harry discovered they were in a clearing deep within the Forbidden Forest. Harry hadn't been this frightened since—well, since the last time he'd been this frightened. He couldn't remember exactly when that was, but it was probably the last time he'd had to face Voldemort. He was surrounded by Death Eaters, all masked and hooded. They had their wands drawn and were murmuring excitedly, looking forward to the carnage.

Harry glared round at them, waiting for Voldemort to make his move. God, even if he did manage to kill or even injure the man, how would he escape the rest of the Death Eaters? He could see no way out of this predicament.

"What will you do to him, Master?" one Death Eater asked, his voice respectful, but infused with anticipation.

"What shall I do to him?" Voldemort responded, looking Harry over. "Shall I disembowel him? But that's so messy. Shall I behead him? That would be rather entertaining. They say the head is animated for some time afterward, still apparently aware. Should we try that, Harry?"

"Shut up," Harry grated, his palms sweating. Too soon. It was too soon to draw his wand. The man wasn't near enough—if Harry missed, it would all be over.

"Shall I turn you over to my followers and let them taste your flesh? Shall I each let them tear a piece from your body, with you still living, able to watch yourself eaten alive? Hmm?" The Death Eaters laughed breathlessly.

"I'm not afraid of you," Harry lied. He could feel the sweat trickling down the middle of his back. His heart was speeding up as Voldemort approached. Could he do it? Could he really? He was only almost seventeen—would be seventeen in less than an hour—could he really kill a man in cold blood?

"Or shall I do it myself, simply, swiftly? Shall I grant you the relief of the Killing Curse? Tell me, Harry; that is what you'd prefer, isn't it?"

Harry was shaking now, his entire body beginning to quiver. But Merlin—he wasn't that frightened, was he? What the devil was going on? Harry could hear his heart beating loudly in his ears, the rhythm overshadowing Voldemort's grandiose speech until—

Harry's hips began to jerk. To his horror, he found he couldn't draw his wand. His body was no longer under his control. A hush fell over the Death Eaters as Harry's frame began to contort, and then unbend, until he was twisting, swaying, undulating. Faster and faster he moved, his eyes falling shut.

"What the hell is he doing?" one Death Eater whispered.

"I think it's the cha-cha."

Voldemort was mesmerised by Harry's graceful dance. He drew closer, head tilted to the side. "My god, the beauty…the passion," he hissed. "It renders me helpless!"

"He must be part veela!" someone exclaimed.

"Of course! Veelas always reveal their powers right at the hour of their birth on their seventeenth year! What fools we were not to have expected it!"

"The short, scruffy hair threw us off, not to mention the heretofore total, utter, and complete lack of grace the boy showed when not on his broom," another commiserated.

The Dark Lord stumbled toward Harry as though drawn by an invisible string. When he stood no more than a metre away, Harry drew his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!" he cried.

The Dark Lord fell dead at his feet.

"I am so good," Snape purred. "Never bet on the wrong horse yet."

Harry fell still, then looked around in a panic. "Oh, bloody hell. Snape! Snape! Now what do I do?"

"What?" All of the Death Eaters turned to glare daggers at the traitor in their midst. "I don't know! You're the Lord of the Dance; do something!"

Harry wiggled his hips experimentally, pleased when they immediately began to thrust and roll with a life of their own. "Say, I'm pretty good!" He concentrated, trying to will his movements into a pattern that would have an effect on all of the Death Eaters. His arms rose, crossing, hands touching his shoulders, then sliding up to the back of his head, then reaching down to tap his hips.

Snape, who had a pretty good instinct for these sorts of things, was already covering his eyes.

"Woooo-hooo!" Harry hollered. "This is fun!"

"What—what is he—"

"Oh, no! Oh, god, no!"

"Run! Flee for your lives!" Lucius Malfoy screamed.

"What is it? What magic has he wrought?" another Death Eater cried out in consternation.


Screams of terror and pain echoed off the trees as the Death Eaters tried to escape. A few were trampled in the madness, and a couple succumbed to the horror of Harry's dance, drooling vapidly for several moments before collapsing and dying with a great shudder.

When the forest seemed empty, Harry turned to Snape. "Hey, I can't stop! Help!"

"I don't know what you expect me to do! I'm powerless against such evil!"

Harry wiggled and swayed over to the man. "Please, Snape; help me! I'll dance myself to death! I've got overly happy feet, here! Don't you know some sort of cure?"

"No," Snape told him, shaking his head with his eyes still tightly shut. "And stay away from me!"

"Why?" Harry whinged. "You've got your eyes shut, so I can't hurt you or anything. Snape, it feels…weird. Come on, you've got to have some idea of how to make it stop!" He grabbed hold of the man, whose eyes slammed open wide. He went very, very still. "Er. Snape? Are you okay?"

"Oh, fuck," the man whispered. "You little imbecile! Look what you've done!" Snape's hips started to gyrate as well, and Harry held tightly to the man's shoulders in order to keep from falling over.

"What happened? Is it contagious?"

"No, you fool! Do you know nothing of veela? Didn't that great leviathan teach you anything in your Care of Magical Creatures class?"

"Um. I can't remember," Harry admitted. He refused to acknowledge the fact that it was really hard to concentrate, as the way Snape's pelvis was rocking was incredibly distracting.

"You've come into your powers! Your veela hormones are being secreted full force! You were under pressure, so your body responded by compelling you to dance defensively. Once you began, there was no turning back the transformation. First, you feel the urge to cavort. Once the threat is eliminated, your body desires other things. Then—then—"

"Then what? Oh, my god, Snape—then what?"

"Then you need to mate!"

"You've got to be joking! And—and why you?"

"I'm a perfectly attractive and acceptable potential companion! And I'm a damn good dancer, I'll have you know!"

Harry knew. They were flying across the clearing now, bodies perfectly in synch. "Yeah. Damn. Er, what are we doing now, by the way?"

Snape glanced at their feet and groaned slightly. "It's called the tango." He gave Harry a dark look. "The forbidden dance."


"Well, one of them, at any rate. Not as forbidden as the lambada, but still pretty taboo."

"As forbidden as the Time Warp?"

"Not quite, but it has a much better tempo."

Harry smiled slowly. "I kinda like it."

"You would."

Harry clung to Snape as the man dipped him, then twirled him and yanked him back into Snape's arms. Harry was dizzy and not a little aroused. "This is really insane," he muttered. "I mean, I just boogied Voldemort to death, and now you and I are life partners, as well as dance partners. The only thing weirder would be if I, like, turned into a bird or something."

"Never say never," Snape replied with a sigh.

"Well…I mean, it isn't that bad, is it? This is kind of…you're awfully…you really know how to get down, you know? And I've always heard that means a bloke is really good in bed," he added pensively.

"Yes. And the nose. As for the dancing, you're not half bad yourself, although I realize it's got to mostly be genetic. Still, colour me impressed."

"Really? So…uh…" Harry licked his lips a little, noticing the way Snape's eyes followed his tongue. "My feet are getting rather sore," he pointed out. "What are we supposed to do next?"

Snape danced him deeper into the privacy of the dark woods. He offered Harry a suggestive smile. "Now? Why, I teach you the horizontal mambo, of course."