Saiyuki/Harry Potter x-over. Yep. Serious crack, right here. Some language. No sex at all.
The temporary Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher surveyed his class coldly.
He had a wicked fucking headache coming on - every time he'd tried to fall asleep on the seemingly-interminable train-ride, another clot of noisy brats would drift past, pretending not to stare, or a random ball of fire would sizzle down the corridor, and once what appeared to be a chocolate frog had hopped across his lap and attached itself in a particularly disgusting way to his window... there were still sticky smears on his harisen...
And pumpkin-juice was exactly as tasty as it sounded and mixed REALLY badly with beer.
Two dozen assorted monkeys in matching monkey-suits. They should have given this job to Hakkai. Hakkai liked kids. They liked /him/. One stupid monkey at a time was about all Sanzo was prepared to handle on a daily basis, and even that was more than he could take now and then...maybe if he just shut his eyes, they'd all go away. That worked with Goku sometimes...he tried it. Blink. The Universe was apparently as merciless as he's always suspected - they were still there, shiny-eyed and waiting. Damn. He'd kill for a smoke right now.
The room smelled disturbingly of magic and the teenage hormones were so thick that it made bunking up with the kappa seem like a monastic retreat in comparison. They squirmed; the undercurrent of whispering was starting to grate seriously on his nerves, and there was a snotty overbred blond in the front row with a familiar-looking sneer just begging to have it slapped off his face -
An arm waved in the air. It was attached to a girl whose hair looked like she'd recently encountered a couple of youkai in the shrubbery.
"There's a blank place on the schedule where your name ought to be. Actually, this happens quite a lot with our Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, but...what are we supposed to call you?" She had an inky quill out and looked prepared to take notes.
He gave her his special glare. The one he saved for demons, idiots, and Gojyo. "You don't need to know what to call me because you're not going to be speaking to me. Ever."
The pompous little snip looked outraged, and for a minute he had to admire her nerve. "But you're supposed to be teaching us how to defend ourselves..."
"Defending yourselves against evil. Right. Two words for you brats. Smith. And /Wesson./" The gun clattered on to the desk and lay there, giving off a dull shine. "Any more questions?"
There weren't. And that was the whole point, really. Sanzo lit a cigarette and waited for the bell to ring.