Author's Note: This is the product of working night shift, sometimes your brain heads on tangents that really don't make any logical sense. In this case, it was a random thought about pickles that apparently wanted to be a story. Or you could say I'm procrastinating on what I am actually supposed to be doing, thought I'm really not sure what that is at the moment.
Disclaimer: I write for fun, I'm not making any money doing this and I certainly do not take the credit for the creation of these characters or the locations. That credit belongs solely with J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
A Pickle
Harry was in a pickle. He rather liked pickles, preferably the new ones, of the dill variety. After all, the old pickles tasted and smelled like unwashed people. Gross. Right, tangent, not that type of pickle; Harry was in a tight situation and he wasn't quite sure how to escape.
It started with a late-night wandering. He couldn't sleep and decided to give into his hunger pangs; he was a teenage boy and the toad's detentions kept depriving him of properly enjoying his meals. His hand smarted, distracting him slightly from his mission. In that moment of indecision, he paused to survey his surroundings. Shrugging, he concluded he must have just heard his own stomach growl. Movement caught his eye, causing him to freeze mid-step before sidling quickly into a nearby alcove. Luckily the alcove was partially shielded from the hallway by a large suit of horse armor. How did those horses even move? Between their armor and the knights they carried, the whole ensemble had to weigh a ton. Right, not important.
The noise revealed itself to be Mrs. Norris, meowing at the top of her lungs, in a muted sort of way, as she carried a squirming mouse. The mouse squeaked, frantically trying to free itself to no avail. Harry exhaled, rather more loudly than he intended which caused Mrs. Norris to pause and pivot her ears towards the sound. She went silent, still holding the mouse but now with her nose working frantically to locate the invader. These were her halls during the nighttime hours. Harry tried not to make a sound.
Moments later, he sensed more movement in the hall. Crookshanks appeared around the corner at a dead run, seemingly being chased by an invisible monster only he could see. He slid to a stop not far from Mrs. Norris, snagged her mouse, and took off again. Mrs. Norris howled in anger, forgetting the potential wayward student and sprinting after the half-kneazle mouse-thief. As the howls grew distant, Harry let out a whooshing sigh and slowly continued his trek down to the kitchens.
Tickling the pear opened the kitchens to him. The appearance of his floating head scared several elves witless before they recovered and produced a sandwich, sectioned orange, and glass of milk for him. Harry sat at a small side table and devoured his snack, or was it first breakfast? Second dinner? Fourth meal? Perhaps the Americans were on to something. His hunger now satisfied, Harry accepted the packet of biscuits to go, and quietly stepped through the portrait. Lifting the cloak to cover his head, he began the trek back to the tower.
Just his luck, Mrs. Norris turned the corner just ahead of him. As they were headed the same direction with her leading, he decided to follow her as quietly as possible. A cricked tail informed him he'd been noticed. Stifling a groan, he dove for the same horse alcove and flattened himself against the wall. Mrs. Norris sat staring intently at the horse. Cats really were ridiculous, he was invisible, huh, perhaps he could be one of those invisible beings cats seem to see and run from, now that could be fun, wonder if it would work on Professor McGonagall? No way, the human brain probably made her immune.
Two hours later saw him contemplating whether his bum was still attached for it was numb from sitting on a cold, stone, floor. Mrs. Norris calmly washed her face but hadn't otherwise moved. The sandwich, a Georgia Rueben, was definitely worth the discomfort but now he was in a pickle yet still wanted a pickle.
The hall slowly lightened as the sun rose. His current position afforded him a great view of sunrise, a rare morning without fog. Harry knew he really needed so get back to his dorm. Ron would be waking soon and Neville would definitely notice his absence.
A hacking sound interrupted his contemplation of the intricate stone design on the ceiling. The ceilings in this place really were amazing. Could magic create such fine artwork or were people still essential for some tasks? Why did Hogwarts offer Muggle Studies but not Wizard Studies? Why weren't female muggles called something different from males? Why were goblins in charge of money but scorned by wizards?
Anyway, with a last hack, Mrs. Norris completed her hairball-producing madness and deposited a slimy mass of hair about a meter from the horse. With a last withering glare, the cat stood with cricked tail, and flounced away.
Harry glared at the gray glob of cat hair before carefully sidestepping the mess, accidentally revealing his feet in the process. A hand closing on his collar was his only warning he was busted.
"Mr. Potter…"
"Sir?"
"Where have you been for the last six hours? Do. Not. Lie."
"I…uh…you see…"
"Eloquent as usual. Where. Have. You. Been? Professor McGonagall contacted me hours ago to report a student out of bed yet this is my first sighting of you."
"I could not sleep so I went to the kitchens for Fourth Meal…"
"What is this Fourth Meal nonsense?"
"The Americans coined the term, for the meal between tea or their dinner, and breakfast. Anyway, Mrs. Norris was very focused on me tonight though more so the second time since she trapped me behind the horse armor for hours."
"The second time?"
"Yes sir. The first time Crookshanks stole her mouse and she forgot about me so I continued to the kitchens."
"You're telling me you've been trapped behind this suit of armor for hours by a cat who only left once she hacked up a hairball which conveniently covered the minimal sound of my approach?"
"Yes sir."
"Get back to your tower and do not be late to class."
"Yes sir."
"Oh, and Mr. Potter?"
"Sir?"
"Twenty points to Gryffindor for remaining undetected in the hall that contains the toad's living quarters."
"Thank you sir!"
"Detention, my office, dinner hour."
"Yes sir."