Chapter 3

Malfoy followed Potter the Perfect and Princess Pompadour (he had never seen so much hair on a human being in his entire life) up to the tower room (apparently, this was where the court wizards resided and where the Great Book of Spells was kept). Unfortunately, Bacon, Ham and Sausage decided to come along for the ride. I don't bloody believe this…this damn ploy of Potter's better work. I'm sick and tired of getting stalked by pigs, attacked by poorly dressed wolves and shirty dwarves, not to mention being on the run from bloodthirsty playing cards.

"Nice dress, Homewrecker," one of the Darryls scoffed from behind Malfoy as they entered the tower room.

The other two pigs snorted uproariously and Malfoy turned on the insolent swine, ready to tell him that he'd be of more use as a Quidditch quaffle but was interrupted by, "Mr. Wolf, you made it!" Before he knew what was happening, Red had rushed up to him and enveloped him in a hug. Well, at least there's something decent about this blasted place.

He wrapped an arm around Red's waist and smirked at her. "So when did you get here, babe?"

Red blushed at his familiarity. "The sentries found me and escorted me up here, along with the prince," she nodded over at Prince Popinjay, who was dressed in a horrid purplish-colored tunic with a ruffled lace collar. The prince was addressing his court wizards and gesticulating animatedly to Potter, who looked like he wished he were somewhere else.

You and me both, Scarhead. Malfoy shook his head and turned back to Red. Might as well make the most of my time here, he thought as he leaned over to plant a kiss on her ear.

"Malfoy! Stop fooling around and get over here and help me out!"

Buggeration. Malfoy froze in place, contemplating the merit of shoving that stupid Book of Spells down The Boy Who Was a Pain in the Arse's throat.

"Go on, this is important," Red admonished Malfoy as she moved away from him.

"Yeah, Loverboy, take a hike," one of the pigs put in, as the other two broke out into snorts once again.

Why you rotten little rump roasts… Before he could do anything, Red stepped in and gave him a gentle push in the direction of Potter, the prince and the befuddled court wizards.

He moved over to the other side of Potter, who had been positioned by the prince in front of the immense book on a podium for the wizards' display. "We just can't seem to make sense of some of the language that's being used in this book, Great Wizard," one of the court wizards was addressing Potter.

"Great Wizard?" Malfoy sneered in disbelief. Potter opened the book and managed to kick Malfoy at the same time. "Merlin's pruny pric—"

The Scarhead raised his voice over Malfoy's invective. "I think my assistant and I need a moment alone to look over this book before we decide anything…right, Assistant Wizard?" Potter added pointedly to Malfoy.

Malfoy gave a resentful nod and flipped through a few pages of the book with an exasperated sigh. "All right, what in the bloody hell are we looking for, Potter?" he grumbled.

"Something. Anything that might look like a clue," Potter muttered back.

"That is the vaguest load of doxy droppings—"

"Shut up and read."

The two Seekers stared down at the pages of the Great Book as the prince, the court wizards, the princess, Red, and Larry, Darryl and Darryl waited at a respectful distance. After reading for a moment or two, Malfoy uttered in disbelief, "Scarhead? This…book…is…about…Quidditch."

Potter was silent for a moment, then said in an equally shaken voice, "Not just Quidditch, Malfoy—this is about a game that we've already played."

"What?"

"Look here, this is back from our Second Year." The Scarhead pointed to a paragraph and Malfoy read:

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at Malfoy in hatred, he saw it—the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy's left ear—and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't seen it.

"I saw it, I was just trying to fake you out," Malfoy mumbled defensively.

"Codswallop. Now how does this book know what happened in that Quidditch match?" Potter wondered. "It's the same book, but why is it about us now? Before it was about…"

Slowly, both boys looked over the top of the massive tome and stared at Prince Philip, Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs and the court wizards, who were all watching them with bated breath. Then, just as slowly, the boys turned to each other, blinking in consternation.

"Do…do you suppose that we switched places with them, Potter? I mean, are we stuck in this bloody book for good?" Malfoy's voice has risen a bit in pitch at the end; he hoped that the Scarhead wasn't able to tell that he was beginning to panic.

"We can't be," Potter muttered back in an unconvincing tone. "Let's backtrack for a moment…we need to retrace our steps as to exactly what we were doing before we ended up here."

"We were arguing over this blasted book!" Malfoy burst out, slamming his hand down on the open page. The podium supporting the book swayed precariously.

"Watch it!" Potter cried, steadying the ancient tome. "Yeah, well, we're arguing over it now, so maybe that's a step in the right direction."

"Young sirs? Might I ask if you are making any progress over there?" the Prince called out. He was peering at them over a bejeweled hand mirror that he had been admiring himself in, while Red and the Princess glanced over at him and rolled their eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, it's coming along, Sir Fop a Lot, keep your shirt on!" Malfoy shot back. Surprisingly, Potter didn't follow that comment up with a kick; it was probably due to the fact that the Scarhead was so focused on the book in front of him.

"Look at this," Potter broke in, still engrossed in reading. "This section back here is talking about something that hasn't even happened yet…it says we get into a duel in the bathroom?"

"Let me see that," Malfoy made a grab for the book.

"Quit it, you git!" Potter complained. "I'm trying to read."

"Mr. Wolf?" Red had started to approach them. "Do you two need any help over there?" Her face was creased with concern.

Malfoy gave her a Patented Malfoy Smirk as he simultaneously stomped on The Boy Who Bitched's foot. Potter grunted in pain as Malfoy slid the book over to his side of the podium. "Everything's just fine, Red. Now why don't you bring your cute little self over here, and—whoof!"

Malfoy's breath came out in a huff as Potter managed to elbow him in the stomach while pulling the book back over to his side of the podium. As Malfoy doubled over in pain, vigorously cursing the Gryffindork, Larry, Darryl and Darryl cheered in approval. "Nice one, Four Eyes!"

"Barmy bunches of bologna…" Malfoy managed in a threatening wheeze.

"Look here, Malfoy, concentrate!"

"It's hard to concentrate when you can't breathe, Scarhead!"

"Your highness, I'm not so sure that these new wizards know any more about The Great Book of Spells than we do!" one of the court wizards was saying to the prince as they approached the squabbling Seekers.

"I think you may be right, Schmendrick. See here, lads, I think that perhaps I might have made a mistake in bringing you here—"

"WHAT?" both boys exclaimed together.

"No! Philip, I really do think that they're on to something," the princess broke in.

"Throw the upstarts out, Princey!" the pigs goaded with glee.

"Wait! Can't you at least give them a chance?" Red wailed.

"Thanks, baby…now c'mere and—ow! Dammit, Potter, that hurt!"

"Keep your mind on our problem here, Malfoy!"

"Young wizards, I think it's time you left…oh, where are the guards? I don't have time for this; I'm due for a manicure!"

"Oh, Philip, really…"

"Get that white-haired wrecking-ball!"

"Oi, porky, my hair is NOT white!"

Potter had tilted the book to stand upright and he squatted behind it, pulling Malfoy down with him. "Malfoy, think! You were the last one to speak before this book lit up and we ended up in this crazy place! What in the name of Merlin was it that you said?" he demanded.

"How should I know?" Malfoy shot back as he grabbed on to the other end of the book. Each boy was supporting an end of the huge volume, using it as a shield against the mutinous characters. Just then, a brick flew past the outer corner of Malfoy's side of the leather-bound cover. "Something about…" Malfoy managed as he ducked his head, "wanting to get out of there! You know, detention!"

"Why would that make a…wait a minute, I remember!" A stick flew past Potter's head. "You said, 'anything to get out of here quicker'!"

At that moment, the book began to glow once more with an unearthly light. "That's it!" Potter cried in excitement. "Hold on, Malfoy!"

The light coming from the book filled the room as both boys held on to the book for dear life. "Scarhead, you had better know what you're doing!"

"Trust meeeeeeeeeeee…"

Harry regained consciousness with a cough—he had just inhaled a bunch of dust. What in the name of Merlin? he thought as he sat up, causing his head to swim. Putting his hands to his head, he groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for his head to stop spinning.

"What…who…Potter, is that you?"

Harry coughed again and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah…you okay, Malfoy?"

He was answered by a fit of coughing. What's with all of the dust? Finally, Harry's head stopped whirling so that he could open his eyes the tiniest bit.

All he could see were dusty books.

"Malfoy! We did it! We're back in the library storage room!" He grabbed a handful of Malfoy's Quidditch robes and yanked him upright into a seated position.

"Dammit, Potter, my head feels like it's going to explode—did you say we're back?" Malfoy's eyes shot open and he looked about. "We are! We're back—thank Salazar!"

The large book was lying on the floor in front of them, opened to the last page. Harry reached out and slammed the book shut and pushed it away with his foot. "We don't ever want that happening again…I never want to see another fairy tale book as long as I live."

Malfoy was lounging on the floor with his forearms resting on his knees. "I dunno," he said in a remote voice, "I wouldn't mind reading a bit more about that Little Red Driving Wood…"

"Are you kidding me, Malfoy? We almost got run down by a bunch of—"

"Hello? Oh, Harry, I thought I heard voices back here!" Hermione Granger was standing in the doorway between the back of the library and the storage room with a puzzled expression on her face. "And Malfoy? What are you two doing here?"

"Granger in the library…big surprise there," Malfoy smirked in a mocking drawl.

"Hi, Hermione. McGonagall gave us detention duty after the Quidditch game…we have to dust off and stack all of these books by hand." Harry replied, ignoring Malfoy.

"Merlin's pants, it seems like you have your hands full!" She put a hand to her head as she looked about the room and the red lining on the sleeve of her Gryffindor school robe framed the back of her head.

"Bloody hell," Malfoy muttered softly.

Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was looking at Hermione with a painful grimace on his face. Apparently, Malfoy had just made the Hermione-Red connection. Pushing himself up with a resigned sigh, he said, "So Granger, why don't you tell me about some of these blasted books?"

Hermione looked at Malfoy and blinked in astonishment. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Granger. And why don't you put the hood up on your school robe for a sec…I want to see how it looks."

"What in the world are you talking about, Malfoy?"

Harry looked away from the exchange and shook his head. Turning back to the large book on the floor, he could see that it now had a title etched in gold across the front cover, but it was quickly fading. Recognizing his name, he spied the words, Harry Potter and the … just before they faded away.

MY NAME on the cover? Not being able to help himself, Harry flipped open the book began to leaf through the pages, but they were all blank. He looked up to see if anyone else had noticed what he had seen, but Malfoy and Hermione were oblivious—they were embroiled in some sort of banter or squabble in the corner. Great Gryffindor, I sure hope THAT doesn't last, he thought, once again turning away from the unsettling scene.

Finally, Harry closed the book with a sigh. It's just as well, I suppose, he mused as he reached for a feather duster. Who in their right mind would read a book about ME, anyway? And with a cough, he got back to work.

THE END