Darling, Zy... what's with the singing?

"We're doing what?" Ron asked.

"Where?" Harry asked.

"How long?" Hermione asked.

The author sighed. "We're going camping. In the woods. For a week," she repeated for the fourth time. "It's a reward for all of you because of the whole pumpkin juice incident." The trio opened their mouths to ask the questions again, and the author held up her hand. "Tents. S'mores. Bug repellent. It'll be fun." And she walked away.

The students grudgingly packed their bags, and the author felt like maybe they didn't appreciate her kind gesture and pouted for a bit. Finally, it was time to go, and Flitwick jump roped into the Great Hall.

"Everyone grab a hold of the jump rope," Dumbledore ordered. Once the entire school was holding the rope, they all felt a pull at their navels and the world became all swirly. The entire student body fell to the ground as they landed in the middle of a large clearing.

"That," Flitwick grinned, "is the world's largest portkey. Made it myself," and he grabbed a towel and went off for a swim. Everyone else was left to pitch non-magical tents, collect wood, build fires, and otherwise hurt themselves in the numerous ways available when in the woods.

Snape hovered over a group of first years who had decided the best way to build a fire would be by rubbing two sticks together. The sticks were wet, green twigs, but their enthusiasm was quite pleasing. First years aren't that smart, unfortunately. "Will you twits hurry up with that fire!" Snape snapped, and the author was forced to leave to restrain Zymurgy from going to comfort her angry beloved.

"We're working as fast as we can," a little Hufflepuff whined while her friend snapped the twigs accidentally. Snape muttered a profanity that made the author throw a stuffed olive at him and brought out his wand. The first years cowered, until they realized he was magically lighting the fire.

"What's the rush?" Flitwick said as he approached, toweling dry, using a hula hoop, and drinking a cup of coffee. "Are you cold?"

"I'm not cold. I'm... what are you doing? Have you gone mad?" Stealthily, Snape opened a bag of marshmallows.

"What? Oh, no... I was pogoing the other day, and I fell on a bar of soap. I hit my head and ingested the soap at the same time. Since then, I've been feeling quite hyperactive. Plus, I can do this," and Flitwick blew soap bubbles from between his tiny lips. "Cool, huh? Hey, are those marshmallows?"

Snape sadly handed Flitwick a marshmallow and then clutched the bag tightly to his chest, watching with despair as Flitwick burned the marshmallow to a crisp with a gleeful shrug. Then the small man raced away to where he spotted several Muggle-borns tossing about a Frisbee.

Snape, who had a secret addiction to marshmallows, was quite depressed, and Zymurgy desperately wanted to go and comfort him. "Look at his little sad face," she sighed. "It's so little and sad."

"No... I don't have any socks to spare, so you can't go and be all mushy. We have mush rules... somewhere in the by-laws. No?" Cass said at Zy's look. "Somewhere in my personal by-laws then."

"Well, DO SOMETHING! He's sad!" Zy screeched, and Lotus gave Cass a begging look to keep Zy from ever screeching again. Cass grabbed Lotus's arm and dragged her over to Snape.

"Oy, Snape. I want to show you something." She cast about in her mind for a way to distract Snape. "My, Snape, I've never noticed before what lovely, strong hands you have." Someone threw a smelly sock at Cassirin. "Not like that! I've never felt sufficiently challenged in thumb wrestling, but looking at those hands... would you like to learn the noble and ancient art of thumb wrestling?"

Snape looked flattered and agreed. Lotus looked disgusted but stayed to watch. After a few moments of instruction, Snape easily beat Cass, who is quite bad at thumb wrestling and quite good at lying.

"Explain to me, again, why we are doing this?" Lotus mumbled out of the corner of her mouth. Cass gestured to Zy, who looked very happy. "Right."