Unfortunate Incidents at Hogwarts
Prelude: Introduction and Disclaimer
The incidents recorded herein take place within the Harry Potter universe, brought to us by J. K. Rowling and those she sold her soul – sorry, I meant to say her rights, of course – to. Sadly, the only things this author can claim are, therefore, a sense of humour and some truly ridiculous ideas, the rest belonging to the previously mentioned parties. Said parties are also the only ones who might, in some twisted way, make some money from this.
Sadly, the author cannot even truthfully claim that all ideas are his. Should you, therefore, recognize parts of your own work, feel flattered: Your ideas impressed somebody enough to be remembered.
As per my usual policy, this disclaimer is valid for every chapter of this story. If anybody cannot accept this, please go and find a book in which every chapter begins with the words "the words in this chapter are part of the English language and do not belong to the author", or something like that.
Beware that some of the incidents might not strictly adhere to any logic – neither yours, nor that of Terra Arcana (see other works by this author), nor even the dodgy logic of the original Harry Potter universe.
This is a cage full of plot bunnies. Light blue and pink plot bunnies, with unicorn horns piercing halos and flying on bat wings. Approach with caution – thou hast been warned.
Oh, and please correct me if that last sentence was wrong.
First incident: Of Dark Lords and Snowball fights
Strange things happen all the time. Those who do not usually get their fill of unexplainable occurrences need only look at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located somewhere in Scotland.
The list of unanswered questions to be asked in that place varies and expands daily, beginning with the very name of the prestigious institution itself: What, exactly, is the difference between witchcraft and wizardry? Is there any difference at all? Even the most detailed, extensive and boring tomes of magical theories do not offer an answer.
Actually, none of them even mention the question, but that is another problem to be discussed at another, more appropriate time.
Not to be found on said list at all are any questions related to snowballs. One might try to find any unanswerable question regarding those fascinating, explicitly non-magical artefacts, but sadly, snowballs are fun. What this means is that even magical people, who are notoriously lazy, have spent years, centuries even, contemplating these items, answering any questions they could come up with in as detailed a way as possible.
In fact, there are several of the aforementioned tomes which include only topics related to snowballs, beginning with Arithmetical Properties of Spherical Accumulations of Frozen Water and ranging all the way to Weirdly Ineffective: 1473 Spells which do not affect snowballs at all.
Though it is definitely more interesting to read, for some strange reason, fewer copies of the second book have been bought than of the first.
One strange event, which happened just before Christmas of 1991, was triggered by such simple items, though. Admittedly, they were not quite as simple: they were enchanted.
You might now ask the obvious question: What could one enchant a snowball to do? For answers to this question, please refer to the other books written by the author of Weirdly Ineffective. They contain several most detailed lists.
The snowballs in question, though, were simply enchanted to follow (and continuously hit) the headgear of the current professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts, one Quirinus Quirrel. No never-melt enchantment, nor even a simple colour change.
What this resulted in was one thoroughly soaked turban.
What this resulted in was the (un-) fortunate choking of the parasitical entity located in the back of his head.
Why mention this at all? After all, this professor's predecessors had a fifty percent mortality rate, the rest invariably finding (or being presented with) an undeniable reason not to teach for a second year.
The reason this should be mentioned is the sheer lack of attention the parasitical presence paid to its own existence. After all, it was a soul fragment of a Dark Lord, so it really should have known better.
The author hereby informs any future replacement of this Dark Lord of several facts.
Firstly, drinking unicorn blood results in a generally cursed existence. It works by activating the extended version of Murphy's Law (yes, this needs to be capitalized): Whenever anything can go wrong, it will do so at the most inopportune moment possible for the drinker. If it can't go wrong, circumstances will change so it goes wrong anyway.
Secondly, physical manifestations of possessions need access to the same body functions as they would in a full body. For a face, for example – which it was in this case – both mouth and nose need to be connected to the lungs, arteries and veins to the heart, etc. To be fair though, the Dark Lord in question did get this part right.
Thirdly, during a possession the possessor is counted as incarnated and, therefore, for all intents and purposes mortal. To avoid certain death, the possessor needs to separate from the host before the host dies.
Lastly, breathing in vast quantities of icy water using a face connected to the host's lungs might just kill the host.
The destruction of the main soul piece of Tom Marvolo Riddle, alias Lord Voldemort, was counted as a suicide and murder of his host, one Quirinus Quirrel. The twins Fred and George Weasley, who had enchanted the snowballs, were found not guilty in this case.
