"She's had a long day," Xander explained. Quinn came back in. "I thought you were getting the thinger fixed?"

He shrugged. "That girl talked over every suggestion I tried to make, so I figured I might as well come back."

Xander grunted. He looked around. "Is there a couch or something we can put her on?" There was an immediate chorus of every male student, touting the overstuffed furnishings of their respective common rooms. "Yeah, right--like I'm gonna give her over into the clutches of you horny adolescents. I know how your minds work," he spread a hand on his chest, "having been one of you up until..." Quinn cleared his throat. "Oh, all right. I still am one of you. You ain't getting her."

Snape pulled out his wand. He considered the author. "Let me think--levitation, or weight reduction?"

"Don't let her hear you suggest weight reduction," Xander advised. "I tried to tell her once that she should let me have the last Pop Tart because it would be good for her figure." He rubbed the back of his head. "First time I saw stars in broad daylight."

Snape was tapping his chin. "Reduce weight, I think."

Ron Weasley piped up, "Redactum acervus should work."

Snape gave him a withering look. "Perhaps if you're a Hobbit. I don't want to shrink her--just make her lighter." He pointed his wand at Scribe. "Redactum pondus."

Xander put his hands on his hips. "Well?"

"Well what?" Snape tucked his wand back into his robes.

"You didn't do anything."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Muggles. I suppose you think that it isn't magic unless there are sparklies and the sound of tinkling bells."

Xander looked defensive. "Um, well, creepy music works, too. It's just that you didn't do anything."

"Really?"

Snape reached down, tweezed Scribe's collar between thumb and forefinger, and tugged lightly. She came up with as little resistance as a balloon, and he caught her easily in his arms. "I'll just take her somewhere quiet where she can recover in peace."

"Infirmary?" asked Quinn.

Draco groaned. "She'll be wasted on old Pomfrey."

"Don't be too sure about that," said Goyle. "Remember, she's the one who insisted on breast exams for all the upper level girls."

"So?"

"Draco," sighed Harry. "Even -I- know that witches don't GET breast cancer."

"Oh." Draco looked interested.

"No, not the Infirmary," said Snape. "But somewhere safe and serene."

"Where?" insisted Xander.

Snape started out of the room, Scribe carried easily under one arm. "The Dungeon."

"Hey!" Xander protested, starting after him.

"Draco," said Snape, "Why don't you and the other Slytherins show the Muggles the boys' lavatory? Perhaps the showers?"

There were whoops as the junior and senior Slytherin boys grabbed up Xander and Quinn and started to hustle them out of the room. Fred and George exchanged looks, then started off. Neville clasped his hands in near hero worship. "They're going to rescue them."

"Like fun they are," said Percy wearily. "They're going for their camcorder."

Harry said, "I suppose we ought to go rescue them."

Ron said, "But what about Scribe? She needs rescuing, too."

"Well, who do we face down?" asked Harry. "A large group of Slytherins, or Snape?" There was silence, then all the Gryffndors started off for the boys' lavatory.

From somewhere in the distance (which an echoing effect that suggested that the speaker was surrounded by tile), Xander could be heard yelling, "Yeah? Well, hang on and I'll show you MY magic wand!"

Quinn could be heard groaning, "Well, it could be worse. I suppose that if we were in the Star Wars universe I'd have to listen to lines about light sabers and 'The Force'."

"On the Internet, my dear? Surely you jest."

Scribe was tied to a comfy sofa (which she was fairly sure wasn't part of the Potions Laboratory's original furnishings). From this vantage point she could see rows of tables, all of them marred with highly suspicious stains and burn marks. The ones that were pulsing worried her a bit. She craned her neck and noted the banks of shelves that covered every wall. They were crammed with bottles, boxes, jars, and instruments that she knew she'd never understand unless she either took a course in alchemy, or possibly shelled out most of a month's income on an annotated set of J.K. Rowlings.

Severus Snape was at the head table, the long one facing the *Hell, guess I'll have to call it classroom, for lack of a better term*. He was mixing something suspicious. "Let me go."

He was pouring yellowish liquid and pinkish liquid in a tall metal beaker. "Let Y'SELF go, woman--your hands aren't tied down." Scribe looked, and found that it was true. She was actually only tied down by a silken rope passed over her waist. "Though I must warn you, that rope is there for a reason." He poured amber liquid into the mixture.

"Oh, I BET there is!" She started to unknot the rope.

"I'd suggest holding on to one end of that once you get it free." He added dark gold liquid. Scribe was beginning to hope that she could get out before whatever it was exploded.

"Sure, sure." She got the ends separated, and immediately her butt left the cushions. She was so startled that she did hang on to one end of the rope. Her body rose in the air till the end of the rope was reached, then lifted till her arm was stretched out. Then, since her upper body wasn't going any farther, her feet started to rise. Scribe squeaked as she scrabbled with the other hand to keep her robe from sliding up *or is that down?* around her waist as her legs tried to go up over her head. "What the hell is going on?"

"It's the physical weight reduction spell I used. I'm afraid I miscalculated, and made it a bit stronger than was strictly necessary."

"Oh, yeah, I believe that!" He shrugged. "Take it off me. I want to get down."

"Quite impossible, I'm afraid. It's going to have to wear off."

"You can't tell me there isn't a way to reverse this!"

"There is, of course, but the spell requires three compassionate tears cried by a corporate lawyer, and you know how difficult it is to get those."

Scribe had wrapped the rope around her wrist to anchor herself. Now she strained, pulled herself back down to the sofa, and managed to retie the rope. She heaved a sigh of relief. "What are you making?"

"I'm fixing you a drink. I think you could use one." He took out his wand and tapped the beaker. "Frigidus." Frost crept up the side of the container. He poured some out into a tall glass.

"Hah! What is it? Mickey Finn? Passion potion?"

Snape snapped his fingers and said, "Cerise." He was suddenly holding a tiny red, round thing.

Scribe eyed it suspiciously as he dropped it in the liquid. "What is that? An albino fire lizard's eyeball? A skinned weasel testicle?"

Snape's upper lip curled. "My God, woman, you have a foul imagination." Pause. "Are you sure you don't belong in Slytherin?"

"Positive."

"Too bad. I'm poaching you for our side, anyway." He snapped his fingers again, saying, "Bumpershoot." A teeny, tiny paper umbrella appeared in his fingers, and he plopped it in the liquid, too, then offered it to Scribe again. "It's a Hurricane. I thought you could probably use a good, stiff drink right about now."

Scribe couldn't have grabbed it faster if it had been a Pop Tart, or the buns of a young Jean-Claude Van Damme. She plucked out the umbrella, tucked it behind her ear, and took a healthy (oh, all right, all you teetotalers--an un-healthy) gulp. In fact, she managed the entire drink in about three drafts, only avoiding a cold headache because the author is currently suffering from a toothache herself, and isn't about to inflict pain on her avatar.

She tapped the side of the glass. "Ya know, in my home dimension, we're usually allowed two of these before they start reading their alcohol regulations pamphlets."

He flicked a nail against the glass. "Encore."

It was instantly full again. Scribe downed the second Hurricane almost as quickly as she had the first. She sighed happily as Snape took the empty glass away and set it on the table. "You know, you're a very handy fella to have around."

"You have no idea." He sat back beside her.

Scribe felt something on her thigh, and looked down to find that it was a hand. The hand was attached to Severus Snape. *A good thing,* she thought, *because considering where I am, it's entirely likely that I could get groped by something disembodied, and that would be just too icky for words.* "You seem to have your hand on my leg."

He did the thing with the eyebrows. "Yes? Your point is?"

"That there are other, much more interesting places it could be."

Snape smirked. "I do like the way your mind works." The hand slid. "How about here?"

*squeak!*

"Yes, I thought so. Hold that thought for a moment. It's an absolute bitch baring anything when you're wearing these robes." *rustlerustlesnapzip* "But it is possible." He started untying the rope.

"Wait a minute! If I want zero gravity sex, I'll get Quinn to take me to the Mission to Mars universe--he has an alter ego there anyway. I don't want to go floating up around the ceiling--I've seen Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and I know about the kind of spiders y'all have around here."

"You won't be floating."

"The spell has worn off?"

"No." He rolled on top of her. "But I make a very effective Scribe-weight."

"I'm tryin', man, but it ain't easy with my pants still around my knees. Hold on." They paused while Xander hauled his pants the rest of the way up the flagpole, with Quinn nervously peering back down the hallway. "Wow, if that Granger chick hadn't shown up when she did with the slider thingy, we would have been toast!"

Quinn nodded vigorously. "I was having a good time till that gargoyle named Crabbe showed up. Then it sort of went in the crapper."

"You? I was dodging something..." he paused and thought. "Someone? No, something. Anyway, its name was Goyle, and I'da helluvalot rather gotten cozy with Oz during his monthly than let that troll touch me."

"Who's Oz?"

"Nice guy--very cool, but he gets a real body hair problem every full moon, and he sometimes bites. Come to think of it, I ought to see if I can figure out a way to get him over here to meet this Remus Lupin guy. His luck in other werewolves hasn't been too swift, and I hear that Lupin is pretty cool, and cute, too."

"Wonderful. Look, Yenta, we're here to find Scribe. Have you got the barn door closed?"

"One sec." *zip* "Trigger is safely in his stall. And hey, I wanted to ask you--you haven't been able to slide your ass home--how the hell did you manage to set the damn thing to just take us to the lower levels of Hogwarts?" Quinn stared at him. "Gotcha. Don't ask--don't tell."

*squeak!*

"That's a Scribe-squeak!" said Xander alertly.

"It came from this direction," said Quinn. They made a fast turn, and hurried halfway down another corridor.

As they approached, they heard a rapturous female voice floating on the air. "That' ol' black magic got me in its spell! That ol' black magic that you weave so well! Icy fingers up an' down my spine..." *squeak!* "Okay, not so icy..."

They came to a door, and Xander caught Quinn's hand as he reached for the knob. "Hang on, man. Give her a few minutes."

"Why? She might be in trouble."

"She doesn't sing when she's in trouble. Well, not any trouble that she can't handle herself, anyway. Besides, weren't you listening?" Quinn shook his head. "She just sang 'Down and down I go...', and her voice got muffled." He gave Quinn a significant look.

Quinn blushed. "Oh. Um, okay." They leaned against the wall beside the door. "So, Harris, you're, like, with her, right?"

"Pretty much."

"Lucky bastard."

"Ain't I, though? But I gotta tell ya, man, she's exhausting. I mean, not just sexually--I wouldn't bitch about that. But all this flying around different universes... If it weren't for the Pop Tarts, I never would have survived."

Quinn looked interested. "You have Pop Tarts?" Xander made a shushing motion, looking around. He sneakily pulled a box (Chocolate Fudge) out of nowhere. Quinn gaped. "Shit, this place is rubbing off on you! It's magic!"

Xander shrugged. "Of a very basic kind. It's just 'Hammer space'--all fanfiction characters run into it eventually. It's that place that we carry all the unlikely things that most normal people would never think to carry. Weapons or tools are the most common." Xander carefully opened the box, whispering, "And I could use a pick-me-up right about now." He started to open the pouch.

*crinkle*

*thud* "Hey! Come back here--I'm not through yet."

"Oh, yes you are! You already had one--that's all you're entitled to unless I'm in a real generous mood. Now, let go of my foot--someone has Pop Tarts." *sniff* "Ooo, chocolate..."

Quinn blinked. "How the hell does she do that?"

Xander rolled his eyes, sighing. "I think it's all that time she spends with Ellison and Sandburg."

The door opened. A hand reached down from above their heads and snatched the Pop Tart away from Xander. "You've been holding out on me, Pookie." *munchmunchmunch* "That's not nice--or safe." He handed up the other Pop Tart. *munchsnarfgulp* The hand reached down and caught his collar. Scribe hauled herself down. *smooch* "You're forgiven--this time."

"What happened to you?" said Quinn, curiously. Xander and Scribe looked at each other, then looked at Quinn. They both raised their eyebrows. "I mean besides that."

"Weight reduction spell. Right now I'm carrying about as much weight as, say, a 'just say no' public service ad by Sid Vicious. We need to get out of here, quick. I managed to convince Snape to try the softer side of bondage, and I don't know how long those robes are gonna keep him tied down." She made a face. "I don't know what the hell it was I used to gag him, and I don't want to know. He ought to label all those damn jars."

"But we can't take you out like this," protested Xander. "If you got loose, you'd just keep on going."

"Well, Snape said it has to wear off, and I don't know if that means minutes, hours, days, or more, and I don't know about you, but the idea that Hagrid might decide he's horny..."

"Help me haul her legs down, Quinn," said Xander. "Then gimme your belt. Scribe, you wear my belt, and we'll attach Quinn's belt to it, and..."

"And I do my Macy's Thanksgiving impression. Gotcha. All I can say is that I hope Fred and George run out of tape before they can try to run under me with the damn camcorder," Scribe grumbled.

The belt-leash system worked pretty well. Xander was able to tow Scribe along at a reasonable height--he learned to take a loop in the belt after she bumped her head on a low hanging chandelier, and promptly retaliated with a boot to the head.

After several incidents of having to hide behind tapestries or in secret passages, a stairway they were trying to go down suddenly decided to reverse itself and send them UP, just as a group of Slytherins came around a corner. There was no time to look for another way down, as the group was quickly howling after them in hot pursuit.

They found themselves on the roof. Xander panted. "I think they're obsessed with this 'house' business here. I mean, c'mon--sex toys in the house colors? What do we do now?"

"Oo, er. Xander and Quinn, grab hold of each other, and don't let go, no matter what you do."

"Sounds good to me," said Quinn. They did. "And now?"

"And now we hope for one of those damn illogical MarySueisms. Since this is my universe, I should be brilliant enough that, even though I'm a Muggle, and have never done anything more magic than fix a pan of Jiffy-Pop, I can do magic after only having seen it done once." She pointed at the boys. "Redactum pondus!"

The trio floated upward just as the Slytherins burst through the door. There was a considerable amount of creative swearing, proving that public schools (No, that is right--in England what we'd call a private school is called a public school < /lesson >) did indeed offer a liberal education.

As they soared higher, over the magic forest, Xander said, "That was brilliant, Scribe. Now, how do we get down?"

She scowled. "Do I have to think of everything? Stop groaning. Some plot device will come along, and..."

*Swoop* *nab*

"Yeek!" Something large, and tan, and white streaked toward them, and Scribe found herself once again clutched in strong arms, held against a very interesting body that didn't seem to be wearing too much clothing. As she and her trailing companions were bourn away, she managed to look up.

Cupid smiled at her. "Hi, Scribe."

"Hi, Cupe. Look, I know that your dad is probably kinda pissed with me, but there's a reason for everything."

He nodded. "Yep. And there's a reason why I'm taking you to the Temple of Love instead of the Temple of War."

"And that would be?"

"Because that's where Strife is, and he's been driving me nuts pouting because it's been one full series, plus, and he hasn't gotten in the sack with you."

"Look," she protested. "I'm with friends."

Cupid never missed a flap as he peered down at the two young men, both clutching frantically to Scribe, looking back at him with wide eyes. "Oh, goody! Five is enough for a small orgy."

Xander was shaking his head. "What?" asked Quinn.

"All those Ds I got in mythology. If they'd just told me..."