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Le Scorp! by Toujours Padfoot
Chapter 3 : This is the chapter that comes after chapter two!
 
Rating: MatureChapter Reviews: 10


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Scorp would like to dedicate this chapter to awesome people I talk to on the internet. It is a box with a screen and when you poke buttons, words happen. Don’t ask me how I know this. I have known it always, since before my inception. Puffins ftw.







“You are a ninny!” I cry. People are stunned. This is not the spell, where it makes you eternally surprised-looking and very stiff like a wall that is stiff; it is a facial expression. I know quite a lot about the expressions of facialties. Do not overwhelm me with your tears of shock. I am a genius, you have been forward-warned.

“No one says ‘ninny’,” came my nemesis’s response. This is my nemesis – arch, to be exact. I am always exact. Exact rhymes with fact and I am a man of many factoids. Ask my mother and she will vouch.

“I just did.” We are now engaging in witty tête-à-tête (you may thank my mentor, Aphrodite Amelia Antigone Andromeda Alice Azalea Arianrhod "Izzy" Parker for bestowing this information of words into my head, which I am in turn installing into you. Please send your wisdom teeth, letters of admiration, and Queen Anne’s Lace to my secretary, Astoria Malfoy, as well as birdhouses with little paintings on them, as she is rather fond of those) and I am winning.

My hands are on my hips now. My hips are marvelous, like doubloons.

“Who do you think you are?” Her voice is loud. I wonder why she feels it necessary to shout. I am merely a large dog’s length away from her. The dog would probably be a mixed breed of Golden Retriever and Dosh-Hound. Do not despair. I will give him treats when he is finished being imaginary and measuring lengths between people. “What makes you feel so bloody entitled? Your father was a Death Eater, you self-sexual pighead!”

I have narrowed my eyeballs. They are menacing.

“My father has never eaten death in his life. He is diabetic. How dare you!”

People are whispering and laughing and snorting. They are doing all of those things at once. It is unanimous and incredible. I am amazed at the multitasking that is occurring in this corridor.

“You’re an idiot,” Rose says softly.

Disgrace! She is trying to seduce me! She is using foul language in attempts to ensnare me, so that I will look upon her face and say, ‘Yes! You have captivated me! You are fiery and even though you insult me endlessly for no reason, I want to be lord of your emotions! I want to build a manor in your heart and clean its windows fortnightly.’ But I shan’t do this. I will not acquiesce with your fantasies of moonlight and Christmas trees that sit in front of parlor-room fires. No! Neigh, I say! Also, I say this out loud!

“Neigh, I say! This time out loud!”

She is turning her back on me. This is inexcusable. “Show your face! Turn your frizzy head around and stare at me properly, you simpleton of the Netherlands!”

I have succeeded! She is turning around. Her eyebrows are raised with incredulousity, and her wand falls out of her pocket on accident. It is in her hand now. I am wondering what it is made out of. I am guessing elm. It is an underused brand of tree. I am now wondering what the center magical powers are construed from. “Is that dragon hear -”

“Terra Hexio!” Her mouth has opened. She is looking at me. She is also looking passionate. I have begun to consider whether or not I should wink, as she seems to be engaging in the kissing-of-the-lips with me, but I have found that she is suddenly ginormous.

“You!” I yell. “You are too tall to stand before me! You are throwing my luminous halo of golden hair strands into shadow! You must move three paces to your left.” However, my words were garbled. They sounded like this: “Meow! Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.” In kitty speak, that means what I said previously, with my hair and shadow and other things of which I do not remember because they were important then but this moment trumps that one, and is therefore less important than what I am currently speaking. Presently.

Gasp! Kitty speak! I do not remember taking such classes. I must have picked it up from Sir Pawsies, who is my dainty feline at home. My mother is currently brushing him, I can sense it with my prickling ears. He is enjoying the brushing sensations. I gasp once more and it gushes from my whiskers in shouts of, “Mew!”

Whiskers! I have whiskers! I turn around immediately. I am on the floor. This is a very abrupt moment happening right in the present tense, and I did not receive memos of any kind heretofore. There is a conveniently placed mirror behind me. I see myself and I am a luxurious kitty with ferocious stripes that do zigging and zagging. They are there for character, or otherwise I would be a plain kitty and that would not do.

A kitty!

This is madness! I am no longer blond!

I have horizontal stripes and it makes me look obese. I suck in my stomach. Now I look like a common alley cat, starved and never permitted to feast on dishes of tuna. The finest tuna, of course, purple in color and not from a can. Straight from the plate, which is its original source after it has seized to be a whole tuna.

This is unacceptable. I must find my middle ground immediately! My kitty eyes are moving as I strive to locate a decent pose that will complement my assets. I have many of them. This tail is sleek and not the least bit bushy. I swish it. It is the best tail in the bloody universe.

Now that I am a kitty, I shall require a kitty name.

I pause for a brief licking of the paws before finalizing on a kitty name. I taste magnificent. I have many stripey-stripes. Perhaps a dozen of them, to be precise. Let me count them. I have no time for counting. Get back, you heathen commander! I shall not take orders directly from your hindsight. I am a man of my own intuition, and also ignition if I was born with one of those (which I was not. Only cars are, and they are born specifically for Muggle people. This is another one of my factoids, which are in abundance. I use them mainly as pleasantries during lulz in conversations).

Do not ask me such questions or it will drive me to extremes. I mean this figuratively and not literally, 97 percent of the time.

I have decided that my new name is Esmerelda. It is a spew of the moment decision. If your name is Esmerelda, you must pay me fifty Knuts because that is my patent. Do not disobey my law, you fiend!

I see Mrs. Norris walk by. She is my competiton. You are old, Mrs. Norris! Let it go!

We are now commencing meow-speak.

“Meow!” she says. But really it does not sound that way to me because I am a child of the meow language, very fluent of course. A love child. And Mrs. Norris is saying: “Yo. Wassup?”

I flee. It is in my nature.

I will not converse with you, Mrs. Norris! Your meows are vulgar and unfit for my finely-shaped ears with cottony hair sprouting from them. I have resolved to be a kitty for all of my days. I am enjoying my whiskers. The only question running through my kitty mind is how I will achieve an ‘O’ in Potions. I check my paws. Still dexterous. I am imagining stirring a cauldron with my kitty paws. I see the liver of a trout being dropped into the cauldron. It is an ingredient, but I am tempted. The trout liver calls to me! I am leaping gracefully into the cauldron.

I am now a potion. It is the best-tasting potion ever invented. It is marmalade, except it is also me and not marmalade at all. It is Scorpolade instead.

Pain! Agony! Desire!

I must resist this future travesty. I must run with my flouncing whiskers and kitty paws to the Transfiguration professor and meow at him until he relents his mercy. I will color a picture for him with all of the colors inside the lines previously drawn, just for his prize. He will admire my abilities and try to turn other cats into princes as well, so that he might reap more thank-you gifts. Alas! The cats will turn into shoes without laces because they were never hidden people to begin with. They were not human beans, they were cats forever and always. Except not anymore, because they are shoes without laces. And no one wants them.

Little do they know that I have the laces! I am a kitty and I am playing with them all!

Except not anymore, because I am a man and not a feline! This is quite a pair-a-docks. I do not have time for explanations.

Meow!

Mrs. Norris would look fetching in denim. I am imagining her prancing about in denim jeans tailored specifically for the cat species.

“Terra Halvsio!” someone calls in Mermish!

Gasp!

“Gasp!” I say. It does not come out as meow-speak, but rather people-speak. I am entranced. This is not a good time for me. I was just about to partake in a cat nap, to see if it was better than a people nap. They are quite famed, you know. There are monikers and everything.

“Mr. Malfoy,” says Professor Sinistra. “Why were you a cat?”

I am befuzzled. “How did you know that I became one with the cat species, partaking in their kitty customs and general fluffy shenaniganry?”

She bit her lip. Vampire! I knew it! “Mr. Malfoy, you were walking on two legs. You made the strangest cat I’ve ever seen.”

“It was that nymph of temptation!” I explored! That would not be the correct verb at all. I am now backtracking.

“It was that nymph of temptation!” I shouted. There. Much more fitting.

Professor Sinistra is staring at me.

“Rose Weasley,” I said for further proof. There. She will be shunned by all society. You can forget about friends in high places, Rose Weasley. You are done for, because I am going to mentally smite you with my undying wrath. I have smited you. There. You are smitten! This has just taken place, very recently. In fact, it is still happening. That is how current this news flash is.

It is still flashing. There are neon lights.

My new name is suddenly Mojito. You may call me Jito, strictly speaking. The ‘j’ is silent. I am like a shadow, silent wherever I go. Stealthy. My espionage knows no bounds.

I am gazing upward. There are blue bunnies on my socks and I lift up a trouser leg so that Professor Sinistra may be privy to witness it. She does not comment. I am disgruntled.

“Go to class, Scorpius.”

I am wounded! “Shan’t you escort me? I thought we were having a connection. I need a new mentor. The oracle tells me things that shouldn’t ever be spoken, in a Pensieve. It is also a turtle shell.”

Sinistra is gone. Mrs. Norris is back. “Meow,” she says. It sounds like ‘meow’.

I fly through the halls (except I am running instead, because I do not have wings like those boar statues do). I am after you, Rose Weasley! I am preparing myself to show you who is boss! I do not even need preparation! That is how prepared I am for this battle of the epic word racing.

I am goddess of destiny.

P.S. I must remember to knit Mrs. Norris a pair of denim trousers. Preferably bell-bottoms to show off her slim ankles.
 


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