Disclaimer: Shocking as it may appear from my smart-ass attitude and maleness, but I am not JK Rowling. Of course, she might be a smart-ass too. She does seem to like Monty Python, which is like the smart-ass Bible, or Torah, or something to that effect. Heh. Cockroach Clusters.

In other news, my innumerable… fan, I have indeed updated and finished this story which has been blocking my writer for almost a year.

Ron, as the three found out, did make the team. In fact, his exact words were, "Dude, I made the team, dude! It's like; it's like… I don't know what it's like, but it, like, kicks ass!" This caused many a raised eyebrow in the Gryffindor common room.

"Dude, this is creeping me out," Ron said of his new way of speech. "Ah! I did it again!"

"Did you hurt your head? Is your helmet too tight?" Harry asked, inspecting Ron's head.

"I don't think so, du—mate," Ron corrected himself.

Hermione suddenly interrupted. "Could you continue this conversation once you've taken a shower?" she said smartly. "You're covered in mud and sweat."

"You don't normally mind when I'm covered in—" Whatever innuendo Ron was going to make was stopped by Hermione's hand, which was about as red as a Weasley's hair. "I'll just go take a shower," said his muffled voice.

After Ron wandered off to shower, and Hermione wandered off to study, Harry and Ginny wandered to the sofa. "Now why do you think Ron was talking like that?" Harry asked.

Ginny shrugged. "Ron has never been the hardest Bludger on the pitch. Somebody probably tackled him too hard."

"Maybe…" Harry said. "But still… he sounded… American." He said this in the tone of voice one would use to say, "What, you like the Cannons?" Not any particular malice, just a general inquisitive feeling of "Why?"

"American? Hmm."


Ron's Yankee-ness, Harry learned, would get worse before it got better.

By the end of the week, he was using words like "gotten" and "sucks" on a regular basis, and had regular conversations about football with Imogen (Ron favoured the Cincinnati Bengals).

It wasn't just Ron, either. Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff was starting to show the same symptoms, as was Malfoy. Even Ginny had trouble catching herself.

Hermione, of course, took this opportunity to use a proper application of method. She made a list of all the people being affected by the Americanism, as she'd called it.

"Look Harry," she pointed out one day after French. "See anything odd?"

Harry checked the list. It had, apparently, a long list of Slytherins with a few other houses thrown in occasionally.






Ernie MacMillan

Draco Malfoy…

The list went on for quite a while.

"It's mostly Slytherins?" Harry guessed.

"No! Well, yes, but that's not the point," Hermione said. "Look. All purebloods. Not a Muggle-born or half-and-half in the mix."

"So? I'm pureblood, and I'm not affected."

"But your mother wasn't. See, I think this Americanism thing is only affecting the students with a high amount of magical ancestry for some reason."

"I see," Harry said, looking over her list again. "But at what point are you magically-bred enough to be affected?"

"I don't know. I suppose there must be a point. Maybe it's a disease or something, and there's a catalyst in the school," Hermione speculated.

"America is a disease. Wow, I'm not even American and I'm offended by that."


The next morning, Harry walked into the Great Hall and was greeted by a most disturbing sight. Snape and McGonagall were making out like… like… Ron and Hermione!

After about a minute of being soundly disgusted, he got up the courage to try to ask them what the hell they were doing. "Professor?" he said.

"Go away Potter. Ain't you got any sense in your head?" Snape snarled.

Harry shuddered and ran as fast as he could to find some Muggle-borns and sanity. He stumbled straight into Ron and Hermione, who were walking together into the Great Hall. "Don't go in there!" he warned. "It's… horrible!"

"Whatever, Harry, I'm freakin' hungry, dude," Ron replied, as he walked through the doors. Then, approximately two seconds later… "THAT IS SICK! OH MY GOD!" He rushed back through the doors and staggered against the wall. "Oh… I think I'm going to throw up. That was bloody disgusting. Someone point me to the loo, I'm going to be ill."

"Wait!" Hermione cried. "What did you say?"

"I said I had to go to the bloody loo before I deck the halls. Oi, wait. Got, bloody, tea and crumpets… I'm properly British again!"

"That's it, Harry!" Hermione said. "It was the shock, it sent him back to his natural instincts!"

Harry nodded and opened the door to the Great Hall just long enough to put a Silencing Charm on McGonagall and Snape. Then he pointed his wand at his own throat. "Sonorus," he muttered, then, "Would all students affected by the Americanism problem please report to the Great Hall? The cure is in there. Thank you."

Within minutes, most of the students were outside the doors to the Great Hall. "Now, are you ready?" Harry asked. Everyone winced and he fixed his voice to its normal level. "Ready?"

He opened the doors and, after a few seconds, there was a collective scream. A few students fainted. But when Harry heard the first "BLOODY HELL!" he knew it had worked.

"Harry… how did you do that?" Ginny asked.

"It wasn't me. It was Ron, thinking with his stomach," Harry replied.

"Which is the problem," said Ron. "How are we going to get in there to eat?"

"We just need something more disgusting and… what's the word… impossible than McGonagall and Snape." Harry looked to Ginny, who looked to Ron, who looked to Hermione, who looked back to Harry.

"I think I may have it," said Ginny.


Greater good, greater good, greater good… thought Harry. "Professor?"

"What is it now, Potter?" snapped McGonagall.

"I just thought you'd like to know…" he couldn't finish.

"Harry and I have something to show you," said Harry's companion.

"Then do it quick."

Closing his eyes, and thinking about Ginny, Harry brought his lips quickly to those of his companion. Her eyes were shut just as tightly.

"Oh…" said McGonagall and Snape in unison.

"That is bloody sick!" yelled Snape.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, explain yourselves!" said McGonagall.

"We needed to shock you," Hermione explained. "And this is the only thing we could think of short of bringing You-Know-Who in here in a pink dress."

"That being done, let's get out of here, Hermione," said Harry, dragging his friend by the arm before McGonagall and Snape could untangle themselves enough to kill him.

They rushed out of their teachers' presence and into the arms of their respective Weasley.

"That was worse than I could have imagined," Ron said, holding Hermione close. "Never do it again."

"NOOOOO!" yelled a voice suddenly.

"I whole-heartedly agree," said Harry.

"You've ruined it! My beautiful Americanisms! You've destroyed them!" said the owner of the voice. It was Professor Anne D. Sox, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

"You? Why?" said Hermione.

"Because the Americans know how to speak. Everything can double as 'thing' or 'stuff', and it's perfectly acceptable to make up words where no other can fit." She was beginning to look a bit mad as she spoke. "It wasn't hard. Just a little airborne potion when you came into the classroom. It affected the purebloods first, but it would work its way down."

"Well, that does explain it all," said a somewhat amused voice from behind the professor. "I must admit, I am quite glad you did it, it saves me the trouble. It does get so tiring."

"Dumbledore! I… um… uh… gotta go!" With that, Professor Anne D. Sox dashed out the window and ran for the Forbidden Forest to Disapparate.

"Well, that is inconvenient. I suppose I'll teach the class until I find an adequate substitute," Dumbledore said, still amused. "Well done again, Harry. Everyone. Twenty points for each of you."


"I told you there was something off about her," said Ron. He and Harry were playing chess in the common room after the first Quidditch game of the season. They'd won by a substantial amount.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, moving his castle to check Ron's king. "Check."

"Still, I wish you could have saved the school without kissing my girlfriend," Ron went on. "Checkmate."

"So do I," Harry agreed. "No offence to Hermione, of course. But it was a bit too much like kissing a sister."

"You kiss my sister all the time."

Harry and Ron went on like that for some time, with Harry almost winning a game of chess, and Ron almost cursing in a very British way.

Meanwhile, Ginny and Hermione were discussing the fact that kissing Harry was an activity to be left exclusively to Ginny. Ginny was more than up to the task.

We'll play a game. Here we go: not the beginning or the middle. Can you get it? Come on, it's not hard. Sounds like "flea bend".