Hey Readers, thanks to those of you that have reviewed us! (All ten of you…) twitch Well, guess what, since there have been only ten reviews you all get the SHOUTOUTS! you deserve: Thank you Jubechix, for our first review (I just wish I could speak Spanish!). Thank you Kohikari (slurpcrash To the Queen!). Thank you Candi Apl Sweet (luv it when friends review!). Thank you ambiance15 (I'm sorry you were offended.) Thank you nomuerta (for two loverly reviews! Yes, yes, I know Siriusly, I stole your word.) Thank you Cricket-Mac-Wocky (that is totally the most awesome name ever!), and thank you Evercare for a very complimentary review (blushes really you're…you're to kind). Anyway, thanx to all the reviewers. If you are upset because your name did not appear on this list, then you need to go review this story right now! Hurry, run fastly! Ha, spell check is telling me that "fastly" should be "fatly". Well, there you have it, run fatly ladies and gentlemen.
And, while you're running fatly, enjoy the chapter!
PS (If you have reviewed since I have written this thanks, then…uh…thanks and sorry I haven't seen it yet…will see it…will have seen it…whatever.)
That Loser
Chapter 10: The End of Mold
The owl plummeted in a lopsided spiral, like a football with feathers, straight into the gravy basin.
"Errol, ha, stupid bird." laughed Ron nervously, as he detached the scarlet envelope from the owl's leg.
As soon as he broke the seal, the letter exploded in the sound of Mrs. Weasley yelling into a thousand megaphones, "RONALD WEASLEY, WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING? STEALING YOUR FATHER'S CAR HAS LEAD TO AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT! Of course I don't blame you, Harry dear. RONALD WEASLEY, IF YOU PULL ONE MORE STUNT LIKE THIS I AM BRINGING YOU STRAIGHT HOME, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? Oh, and Harry, would you be a dear and say hello to Albus for me? AND DON'T THINK YOU'RE OFF THE HOOK RONALD, BECAUSE WHEN YOU GET HOME WE.WILL.BE.HAVING.WORDS! GOODBYE! I MEAN…GOODBYE. I MEAN, I'M SORRY DEAR, I'M DON'T WANT TO YELL AT YOU, IT'S JUST THAT…ARTHUR, HOW DO YOU SWITCH THIS THING OFF? I'M NOT SURE MOLLY, ANYWAY, THAT'S NOT IMORTANT, LOOK WHAT I..UH…BORROWED FROM THE OFFICE. A GENUINE MUGGLE TOILET! I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT ITS USE IS EXACTLY, BUT THE PLEASANT WHOOSHING SOUNDS IT MAKES LEADS ME TO GUESS THAT IT'S SOME FORM OF ENTERTAINMENT. ARTHUR, THE HOWLER IS STILL ON. WHAT? OH…UH...WOW, THIS IS AWKWARD. SORRY ABOUT THIS RON, UH, YOUR MOTHER AND I LOVE YOU…SO UH…BYE. MOLLY TURN THIS THING OFF RIGHT NOW! I'M TRYING BUT I CAN'T FIND THE…OH, THERE IT IS: MAGNIFICUS SILENCIO!"
The Great Hall was full of the echoing of the Howler, and a growing tide of laughter. Ron sunk down into his seat, his face as red as his hair. Harry patted his shoulder sympathetically. Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
Harry cleared his throat "Look, Ron-"
Ron raised a hand, "Just…just don't say anything, ok? I don't want to talk about it." Ron shuddered, "No amount of counseling will ever be able make this moment all right."
"I mean, really, I don't see why you like the Chudley Cannons, Ron." said Harry, as he Ron and Hermione we walking to their first class. "They never win, their Beaters think that the bats are some kind of fashion accessory, their Keeper thinks that the object of the game is to get the other team to get the ball through your goal, and their Seeker has a notoriously short attention span."
Ron opened his mouth in protest, "Hey, he does not!"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Remember Quidditch Regional Cup 1977 when Bullard Stump flew off the field in the last ten minutes of the deciding game for a corn dog? No Ron, not easily distracted at all."
"And," pointed out Hermione, "their Chasers' orange uniforms totally clashes with her red hair."
Ron, The Boy in the Orange Sweater-Vest, blushed as Harry, The Boy Who Lived, cleared his throat discreetly.
Hermione looked confused, "What? Oh. OH! Oh, I mean, uh, it…it looks good on you Ron!"
Ron shuddered, but it was not because of the angry tears he was holding inside, it was because Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had just passed through him. "Nick! You know I hate it when you do that!"
The ghost looked up from some sort of paper he was reading, "What? Oh dear, I'm dreadfully sorry. I'm afraid I'm a little bit distracted. I've just gotten this letter that I have been denied entry into The Headless Hunt once again. Those picky little…stuffy…thinks he's sooooo dashing…ooh ooh I'm scaaaaary my head's completely off…dangling by a thread…I'll show him…almost headless indeed!" Nick gave a ghostly snort, "And now, with my death day coming up-"
"WHAT!" shouted Harry.
"Hmmm? Oh, yes, I suppose that might seem a little strange to one of the Living." Nick sighed, "It's a sort of anti-Birthday celebration, remembering the day I died." Nick's dull eyes suddenly lit up, "Oh, Harry…and friends…you absolutely must come to my party and tell The Headless Hunt Committee how scary you think I am, and put in a good word for me. After all you're a celebrity!"
Ron's eyes lit up with little golden stars.
Nick waved his hand dismissively. "Not you."
The stars were extinguished.
"I meant Harry! Would you please come?"
Harry looked uncomfortable, "Um…sure Nick."
Nick jumped, or levitated actually, up and down in glee, "Thank you so much. The party is tonight at midnight. Don't be late!"
As Nick glided happily down the hall, Harry turned back to Ron and Hermione, "What have we just done?"
Later that day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting in Lockhart's class. Harry and Ron were drooling, as Lockhart recounted every excruciating detail of his first photo shoot. Hermione, sitting on the edge of her chair, was taking notes in a pink pen, and dotting her "i"s with little hearts.
"So, with a little background ambiance lighting, the wafting breeze of an electric fan, and a reasonably attractive face, you can look about half as fabulous as I do in a photo shoot! Any questions?"
Ron raised his hand, having recovered from the shock and humiliation of the Howler, "Uh, are we ever going to learn anything about defending ourselves against the dark arts in this class? I mean, so far we've covered, Chapter 1: Marvelous Manicures, Chapter 2: Finding the Fashion Forward in You, Chapter 3: Deliciously Dyed Hairstyles, Chapter 4: Why Split Ends are a Fashion Don't, and Chapter 5: Why People With Gross Knobby Knees and Hideous Facial Scars Should Never Be Famous."
Harry felt his face heat up. He had struggled a bit through that last chapter, although he couldn't really figure out why.
Ron continued, unabashed, "So when will we get to, you know, the spells and the dangerous creatures, and stuff?"
Lockhart smiled dazzlingly, sending a girl in the front row running out of the classroom toward the infirmary, screaming "MY EYES! MY EYES!"
"I'm glad you asked that question, Red headed kid with the bad complexion!" Lockhart handed Ron a copy of Facial Appearance and You by Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Hey!" objected Ron, shoving the book back into Lockhart's hands, "I have a name, you know!"
Lockhart smiled knowingly, "Right, right. The little people are people too. Yes, anyway, I am glad that you brought that up, as I have brought with me today, a little surprise for you."
The whole class sat up and wiped the excess drool off of their faces as Lockhart struggled to heave a heavy iron cage with a cloth cover onto his desk.
"There!" gasped Lockhart, as the cage landed on the desktop with a thunk and what sounded like an insect-like chattering from inside the cage. "Ladies and gentlemen…and people with bad complexions…-"
Ron silently fumed.
"You will be facing some of your worst fears in this room. I must ask you not to scream, as it may-" Lockhart ripped the cover off, "-PROVOKE THEM!"
The class sat in silence and shock for a few seconds before the laughter started. Seamus Finnegan, snickering audibly, raised his hand, "Cornish muffins? We're supposed to be afraid of Cornish Muffins!"
The cage contained about ten golden-brown, steaming hot, nut covered Cornish muffins. They weren't moving, growing large teeth, or doing anything that could be described in the least way as threatening.
Lockhart pumped his arm as if he had won a victory, "I'm glad you asked, Seamus! Although they may seem harmless at first, I assure you that these muffins are the worst wreckers of the Atkins Diet in the world!" He paused to hold up the chair behind his desk like a lion tamer, "Back, you destroyers of the Ultimate Trim Figure, back!"
The class collectively blinked in astonishment.
"Oh yes," said Lockhart, "these are devilishly tricky little blighters. They tempt you with their delicious scents, and packaging that boasts 50 less fat, but it's all a lie!" Lockhart paused to point to Harry, who had his hand raised. "Yes, Harry?"
"Uh, Professor, I still don't see why they're so dangerous. Or how they are related to the Dark Arts in any way." The class muttered their agreement.
Lockhart was starting to look flustered, "Oh yeah? Well…let's see how you like them…NOW!" He swung open the cage door with a dramatic flourish.
The seemingly innocent muffins suddenly sprouted large fangs and shiny beetle-like wings, and jumped out of the cage at the startled students. A muffin swooped down on Lavender Brown, who shrieked with genuine terror as the muffin forced itself into her mouth. Her eyes widened, as she suddenly blew up like a balloon, groaning about her low carb diet.
"Now how will I fit into my prom dress!" she whined.
Two muffins cornered Neville Longbottom in-between a bookcase and a table of autographed Gilderoy Lockhart pictures.
"W-what do you want!" stammered Neville through terrified tears.
One muffin opened its mouth and rasped in a low grating voice, "Do you know the Muffin Man?"
The other muffin looked at the first in confusion, "The Muffin Man?"
Harry, Hermione, and Ron chimed in unison, "The Muffin Man!" Harry suddenly blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Ok, this never leaves the classroom." Ron reddened and Hermione gave a feeble nod.
The first muffin continued, unabashed, grabbing Neville by the front of his shirt in true gangster style, "I said, do you know the Muffin Man!"
A look of comprehension passed over the face of the second muffin, "Oh, oh, who lives on Drury-"
"We don't have time for this!" screamed Lockhart, "I have a class to teach, and besides, you guys are seriously stealing my spotlight." He waved his wand eloquently and chanted "Merry Muffin Metronomes!" Not surprisingly, nothing happened.
The class panicked and ran, with the exception of Lavender who waddled, out of the classroom at full speed.
"Ah…I'll just ask you three to nip these muffins back into their cages!" said Lockhart, as his pulled open a trapdoor under his desk marked Secret Bomb Shelter and jumped inside.
Harry and Ron turned to stare at Hermione expectantly. She rolled her eyes, "Oh honestly! What would you two do without me?"
Ron raised his hand, "Uh, die…or fail. Or both."
Hermione sighed and flicked her wand. An oven appeared floating in midair. It flew around, chasing the muffins inside. When they were all safely enclosed, Hermione turned the dial to HIGH and smiled with satisfaction.
"Honestly, if you two would just do a bit of light reading! I mean, I don't know how could possibly couldn't have read How to Stop A Cornish Muffin Attack by 'Slightly Strange' McPherson and 'Oven Obsessed' Polarus. I mean, it's practically required reading in Home Economancy. We have to take it next year, you know."
Harry and Ron blinked, "Right."
Next was Herbology, in which Professor Sprout was still forcing her students to make a love potion to make the totally uninterested Professor Flitwick notice her. Hermione was chopping some sort of fluorescent pink bean, and has sent Harry to pick some polyweed and Ron to wrestle some seeds from the African Thorned Strangler Plant. Harry looked over at her questioningly as she giggled, reading from a book called Romantic Tensions: How to Control a Relationship. Harry looked back at Ron, whose entire head had disappeared into the plant's gaping mouth.
"Uh, Hermione?" Harry tapped her on the shoulder.
Hermione quickly hid the book behind her back, "What? What do you want?"
"Look, I know you're loads smarter than me, but aren't gangly red headed geeks (Loserus Maximous) the African Thorned Strangler's natural prey?"
Hermione started to sweat, "Uh, no. NO!" She cleared her throat, "um, no. Harry, you barely pay attention in class, so just trust me ok?" She looked over at Ron, although all you could see of him now was one solitary boot, sticking out of the plant's needle toothed mouth, and compulsively twitching. She smiled secretively, "I know what I'm doing."
"What is this!" screamed Professor Sprout, looking up from, "Misplaced Affections: The Sprout Story, the Romantic Tragedy she was writing. She pulled Ron out from the plant by his ankles; he emerged slimy, and a little blue in the face.
"Hey Ron! The mold on your face is gone!" commented Harry. It was true, the mold had been completely digested.
Ron turned red, "Seriously WHAT MOLD! I swear, if I hear ONE MORE mold crack, I'm going to-"
While this exchange was going on, Hermione secretly smiled, and turned to the next page of Romantic Tensions: How to Control A Relationship, entitled, 'Got his Attention, or is he Still Clueless? Ten more Tips on How to Control a Relationship.' Hermione laughed evilly; Let the relationship control continue!
"Come on Hermione, we've got to get to that party!" Harry and Ron waited impatiently outside of the Girls' dormitories at 12:15 p.m.
"Just a second!" Hermione yelled from somewhere down an echoey hall. "Here!" she said, stepping carefully down the stairs in three inch black heels, "Do you think I'm overdressed?" Hermione was covered from head to toe in black, complete with large black hat and black umbrella.
"Uh, Hermione…it looks a little…" Harry searched for words.
"It looks like you're going to a funeral." said Ron, ever the sensitive one.
"Well, isn't that what it really is? And besides, you aren't exactly looking like Mr. Brightside yourself." Both Harry and Ron were wearing undertaker-worthy black suits.
Harry shrugged, "Well, what were we supposed to do?"
Hermione sighed, "Well, this is going to have to do. Let's go."
The three friends shuffled down the deserted night hallways, their footsteps clacking eerily in the crypt-like silence.
"Well, this is it." said Harry as they reached the lower level of Hogwarts, where dry ice stage smoke was being pumped into a candle illuminated dungeon. They stepped inside, where they were immediately greeted by Nearly Headless Nick who was looking a little flustered. "Harry! And friends…I'm so glad you've finally arrived, The Headless Hunt is wrecking my party!"
Harry peered inside, to see a group of rowdy men, all completely beheaded. The one that looked like the leader was carrying a head with a lampshade on it under his arm. "Nick! So who is this?" Some of the huntsmen stopped playing Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey.
"THAT'S IT, YOU'RE CHEATING!" shouted one of the huntsmen's head's from across the room. One of the ghosts playing Twister was using his head to reach a yellow circle. "No using Decapitation as an advantage!"
Harry turned back to the lead Huntsman, "I'm Harry Potter, and…um…I just wanted to tell you how…uh…scabby…scary! How scary Nick is and how he really deserves to be part of the chicken" Harry smiled, then quickly looked down in confusion at some writing on his hand, "…hunt! I meant hunt!"
The head ghost laughed raucously, "Ha! I bet he told you to say that!"
Harry quickly put his hand in his pocket. He had taken dictation of what Nick had told him to say on that hand. Unfortunately, Harry was sweating like a waterfall, and the message was totally blurred.
"Head Hockey, anyone?" shouted the ghost. "Oh wait," he slapped his ghostly head with a ghostly hand, "I forgot, this is Britain-"
"To the Queen!" Thousands of ghostly teacups and one head crashed to the ground. A pair of hands quickly grabbed the head.
"Sorry. It's not quite screwed on properly, y' know."
The head huntsman continued as if there had been no disruption, "-so let's play some Headless Cricket!"
An overexcited crowd of headless cricket players pushed Harry, Ron, and Hermione roughly out of the door.
They could just hear Nick as they staggered into the hall, "Oh well. Thank you for coming, I'm sure I'll-" His voice was cut off by a scream of GOOOOOOOAL!
"Whassamatter?" said Harry blearily, blinking to bring the swimming face of Oliver Wood into focus. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" He blinked sleepily, trying to rid himself of a dream about two chickens in cricket jerseys tossing his head back and forth.
Oliver shrugged, "Yes, yes, I know, it's three thirty." His face suddenly turned sour, "And it would have been two thirty if Dumbledore hadn't said 'No no, Wood, let the team sleep a little. Lemon drop?'" Wood shuddered with either rage, or the memory of a particularly sour lemon drop offered by Dumbledore. "Anyway, let's get going. NO time to lose!"
Fifteen minutes later, Harry and the rest of the Quidditch team were dressed in their scarlet Quidditch robes and listlessly staring at Wood as he enthusiastically explained a few diagrams full of Xs, Os, and lots of little lines. "So, that's the new tactic. Any questions?"
George gave a loud snore, as sank to Angelina Johnson's shoulder in his sleep. Angelina gently tried to nudge him awake with a prod from her wand, but he snored on. Suddenly, one of his eyes opened and he winked at Harry as he rested even more weight on Angelina's shoulder, drooling steadily. She sighed. Harry smirked.
"Well," said Wood, "Let's get going!"
They had just walked out onto the Quidditch pitch when another team entered from the other end, dressed in emerald green.
"Slytherin? But I booked the field weeks ago!" cried Wood angrily.
The large, bucktoothed Slytherin team captain lead the group as they strolled up to Wood and the rest of the Gryffindor team. "Get off the field Wood, it's ours today."
Wood scowled back at him, "Not a chance. Why do you want it so badly anyway?"
The large boy snorted, "So we can train our new Seeker." He stepped aside to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy, wearing the green Slytherin robes and looking very pleased with himself. "His father also generously donated these Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones to the team. They're the very latest model, and I've heard that they outstripe the old Nimbus Two Thousands by a considerable amount. Not that we need it to beat you."
Draco smirked, "Hey look, here comes your little friends Potter."
Ron and Hermione were running onto the field. They arrived breathless and panting. "Seriously," said Ron, "did they really have to made the field so darn HUGE! Anyway, what's happening? And why is Malfoy here?"
Draco smiled nastily, "I'm the new Slytherin Seeker."
Hermione rolled her eyes at him, "Well at least everyone on the Gryffindor team got in on pure talent, whereas you had to buy your way on with some fancy brooms."
Draco glared at her, "Stay out of this, you little Mudblood!"
Both teams drew back from Draco and gasped.
"Oh no he DIDN'T!" said Katie Bell with attitude.
A mountainous Slytherin three times Draco's size burst into tears and ran away towards the castle, covering his face with his robes.
A longhaired skater kid on the Slytherin team shook his head at Draco, "Dude, what are you thinkin man? That's harsh!"
Hermione simply blinked at him, "Mudblood. Oh please, is that all you've got? I'm supposed to feel insulted when you say I've got mud in my blood? So what, I mean, that is SOO lame."
Draco stammered in shock, "But…but…you're not supposed to be this tough!"
Hermione snorted, "Oh, whatever. I don't even know what it means and it already sounds idiotic. I mean really, how is mud offending? Does mud offend YOU?"
Draco stared at her, "Well…I…I don't really kn-"
"You don't know. How can you not know the answer to such a simple question!" Hermione rolled her eyes.
Ron, who has been pretty much ignored so far, suddenly looses his temper. "Well, she may not care, but I do! EAT SLUGS MALFOY!" Ron waved his wand at Malfoy, and nothing happened, except one small spider crawled out of the end. Ron dropped the wand in a panic and ran across the Quidditch pitch, screaming hysterically. "SPIDERS! SPIDERS!"
Harry raised his eyebrow at Ron, then crushed the spider underneath his shoe.
Ron stopped running, panting with his hands resting on his knees, "Oh, thanks mate. You have no idea how much I hate spiders. Anyway…where was I…hmmm. Oh yeah, EAT SLUGS MALFOY!" Ron's wand suddenly shot out a green light that wound away from Malfoy and back at Ron like a boomerang, hitting him full in the stomach. Nothing happened for a second, then Ron's face became greener as he barfed up a live slug. It dropped from his mouth, leaving a trail of slime hanging from his lower lip.
The large Slytherin, which had just gotten over the shock of the whole Mudblood incident, took one look at Ron and fainted straight away, landing with a thud like a small earthquake.
As Ron continued to throw up slugs, Harry and Hermione wordlessly each grabbed an arm and started to drag him across the grounds to Hagrid's hut. If anyone would know how to cure someone with a case of the slugs, it was Hagrid.
"Sorry, there's nothin I can do." Said Hagrid a few minutes later, passing out cups of tar-like hot cocoa. "He'll jus haveta get em all out o' his system. Poor little blighter. How'd it happen?"
"Well, Malfoy called called Hermione a…well actually I don't know what it means." Said Harry.
Hermione shrugged, "Me either. He called me…what was it? A Mudbrain, or a Mudblood or something."
Hagrid gasped, "He didn't call you a Mudblood!"
"Yeah, he did. I mean, so what? What's the big deal, it's not even very good material, although it's pretty witty for Malfoy. His usual insult is, 'Well…you're ugly.'" Hermione smiled, remembering Millicent Bulstrode burying her fist in Draco's face. She sighed; Good times…good times.
Ron pulled his head out of the bucket Hagrid had lent him to catch the slugs in, "It means dirty blood, you know, Muggle-born. He's so dead when I-" Ron suddenly paled and quickly ducked his head back into the bucket. The plops of slug-hitting-slug echoed through the room.
Hagrid didn't seem to notice, as his face still wore an expression of righteous anger, "Some wizards, like your old buddy Draco, are what is called 'Pure Blood', or have never married and had children with a muggle. Mudblood is one of the foulest things one wizard can say to another."
Ron raised his head again, "Speaking of foul, the bucket's overflowing." Slugs sloshed onto the floor, and Hagrid giant dog Fang was sniffing at particularly large slug.
"Ok, that's just disgusting." said Harry.
"So, wizards have their own set of curse words?" said Hermione, undeterred. "Then what else do they have their own of?"
Hagrid sigh, "Oh, lots o' things. Money, o' course, and time zones. There's Eastern Witching time, Central Witching time, and Western Witching Time. An' there's the grading scales grading scales. Can yer believe that wizard's are the only ones that give T grades? Besides, I jus don't understand those Muggle grading scales. Though I think I've got em nailed down now, I read a book about it!" Hagrid held up a book called Muggle Grading Scales: From A to G. "A's for Awful, B's for Bagel, C's for Crispy, D's for Delightful, F's for Foghorn, and G's for Gargle. Dun't know exactly why though."
Hagrid scratched his head, and Harry was very tempted to tell Hagrid how badly he had messed up the grading scale. But, by the time he had gathered up the nerve, Hagrid was talking again.
" -and rules of grammar. O' course I'm the only one in this here school that uses proper grammar! You'd think tha', this bein a school an' all, it'd be more enforced!"
Hermione blinked, "Right."
"Well Ron, if yer allrigh', then I've got sommat to show yer." Hagrid lumbered out of the hut, as Hermione, Harry, and Ron followed him outside toward the vegetable patch. Hagrid smiled and gestured proudly to five of the largest pumpkins Harry had ever seen.
Hermione's eyes widened, "Wow Hagrid, nice job with those pumpkins. That must have been a very well cast Engorgement Charm."
Hagrid blushed fiercely, "Uh, Engorgement Charm? I dun't know what yer talking about!" He quickly hid a fluffy pink umbrella behind his back.
Harry, feeling sorry for Hagrid, tried to draw attention away from Hagrid's unauthorized use of magic, "So, did you grow them for the Halloween feast?" While he was saying this, he secretly wondered why Hagrid had been expelled. All he had told Harry was that he had been expelled and wasn't allowed to use magic. But why? What are you hiding Hagrid…
Hagrid looked relieved for the change of subject, "Yes, I did. And I would have more if they didn't keep getting stolen!"
"Stolen?" asked Ron, "By who?"
Hermione tapped him on the shoulder, "Actually the correct term is 'Whom'."
Ron snorted, "Whom? Who says whom? Oh, I'm sorry, 'WHOM' says whom?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, "All right, now you're just being stupid."
"Act'lly," said Hagrid, "The correct wizardin grammar term is 'o."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest.
"Anyway," said Harry glaring at the tense couple-to-be…and the clueless Hagrid, "who do you think is stealing them?"
Hagrid leaned forward and hissed in a conspiratal whisper, "I don't think I know! It's them fairy godmothers again! The forest's been absolutely plagued with 'em. Always flittin around, singin nonsense, and turning my pumpkins into carriages. Annoying, that's wha' it is! The animals are scared of em, afraid they're gonna get turned inta footmen, and doormen, and henchmen and such." At this point, Hagrid started to mumble to himself. "Stupid little…If I was allowed to do magic…give em a piece of my mind…show them a fing for two…what did she mean exactly by 'Your no prince charming'…stealin pumpkins…good sledgehammer'll take care of them…nosy little busybodies…chatty little…good fer nothin…" Hagrid was turning scarlet with rage and strangling Ron's bucket.
Suddenly, one of the pumpkins tore itself from its roots and sprouted golden handles, doors, and wheels.
"And there goes another one! This is getting ridiculous!" roared Hagrid.
A sour-faced old woman in a lightly glowing blue cloak waved a silver wand, and stuck her tongue out at Hagrid. The pumpkin, glowing orange, sped away into the sunset and the fairy godmother disappeared in a flash of pink glitter.
Ron wore a confused look on his face, "So, wait, there are fairy godmothers in the Forbidden For-"
Hagrid slapped his hand over Ron's mouth and looked around wildly, "Der spirits!"
Ron pried Hagrid's hand off of his mouth, "Er right. The spirits. Got it."
"DER SPIRITS!"
"Uh huh."
From the Forbidden Forest came the sound of an elderly voice singing what Harry could have sworn was 'Bippity Boppity Boo! Put it together any whadda you got? Bippity Boppity, Bippity Boppity, Bippity Boppity Boo!'
From his position in Ron's pocket, Scabbers squeaked in fear. They would never make a footman out of him, NEVER! He was, after all, a servant of the Dark L-I mean…squeak!
"Well, thanks fer stoppin by!" said Hagrid, waving.
Ron suddenly pointed at one of the pumpkins, his lip quivering, "Spi…spi..spi…SPIDERS!" screamed Ron, running away as fast as he could, his arms flailing.
"Wha?" said Hagrid, looking closer at the pumpkin, "Oh, scrawny little devil, isn't he? But he's still a cute little spoider, yes he is, yes he is!" Hagrid's voice started to rise in pitch as he tickled the spider under its chin. Hagrid chuckled, "Ah yes. Hey, what's the matter with Ron?
"SPIDERS!"
Harry shrugged, "I dunno, he's just kind of weird like that."
"SPIDERS!"
"Well, see yer soon Harry. Goodbye Hermione, and say goodbye to Ron fer me!"
"SPIDERS! SPID-"
Harry grabbed Ron as he ran past. "Come on Ron, it's time to go."
"SPID-oh, I mean, sure. Sorry about that mate. I can't help it, when there's a spider around, I just go crazy." Ron shook his head in puzzlement.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, "Spiders?"
Ron's eyes grew huge. "Where!"
"No, I meant, you're afraid of spiders?"
Ron trembled.
Hermione smiled secretly. Oh Romantic Tensions: How to Control a Relationship, you never let me down. Time for the fun to begin.
As Hagrid shuffled back into his hut wearing a bemused smile, a dry wind rustled the leaves of the vegetables in his garden. Standing alone in the middle of the plot was one lone red flower, waving in the wind like a bloody banner. "Edmund…"
Professor McGonagall glared at Harry and Ron. "So you thought you'd gotten away with that flying car incident? Ha! I was just recently informed, and have contemplated your punishments. Ron, you will be polishing trophies in the Trophy Room with Argus Filch." Ron started to protest, but was silenced by Professor McGonagall, "Harry, you will be serving detention with Professor Lockhart, helping his answer his fanmail."
"What!" cried Harry, "But I thought they outlawed cruel and unusual punishments in the modern world!"
Professor McGonagall ignored his protests, "Please report to your detention rooms immediately." She turned on her heel, and then she was gone.
"Ah, Harry, you should have been there when I was banishing that banshee, you could really take some pointers from me with your Seeker technique, I think that your left armed swipe is a little slow. And let's not even discuss your-" Lockhart babbled on and on.
Harry, head in hands, nodded weakly at appropriate times, and muttered "uh huh", "sure", and occasionally "you're a total idiot, you do know that right?" but Lockhart was too engrossed in his spiel about banshees to care. Harry was just about to drift off to sleep when he heard a strange, cold voice that sent shivers down his spine.
Kill…kill…let me kill
Harry, scared out of his wits, leaned closer, as it to hear the voice better.
Put the left leg in…
You take the left leg out…
Harry quivered in fear in his seat. What kind of horrible, dark potion was being created that included putting legs in and taking them out. Where they HUMAN legs! "I've got to get out of here!" thought Harry, blinded by panic. He heard the voice again, even louder this time.
You put the left leg in…
And you shake it all about.
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around. That's what it's all about,
oh yeah!
You put your right leg in, you put your right leg out-
Harry blinked in surprise. The hokey pokey? Should he ignore this voice, or should he do what it says? Although, at this point, some ridiculous polka music was playing, and the sinister voice was scatting like Ella Fitzgerald, this was not a voice you wanted to disobey. Something gave Harry the impression that he had better find out where it was coming from. He didn't know why, as this was pretty much the stupidest thing he could do at this point, but he didn't care. After all, he was A Hero!
So Harry tied on his red cape and followed the voice out of Lockhart's classroom. Lockhart himself was still blabbing on about banshees and didn't even notice Harry getting up.
I smell blood…I SMELL BLOOD…I smell muffins!
Harry quickly gasped and withdrew the copy of How to Stop a Cornish Muffin Attack that Hermione had lent him. Darn it, it was muffin-scented! Harry quickly disposed of the muffin book and continued to follow the voice. It was much louder now.
Let me rip you…let me tear you…let me recite the fifty states to you in a coherent fashion!
"Harry! What are you doing here!" said Hermione, almost running into Harry as she rounded a corner with Ron in tow.
"Shhhh!" said Harry, straining to hear the voice, "Don't you hear that voice?"
Ron looked puzzled, "What voice? I don't hear anything!"
The voice suddenly stopped, and Harry froze in his tracks. It wasn't the chill of the forgotten hallway he had found himself in, or the clamminess of the water puddle he was standing in that made him do this. It was what he saw, written on the wall. Hermione gripped his arm, and Ron stood with his mouth agape.
"W-what is it?"
"I don't know Ron, but it can't be good." Said Harry. The three friends stared at the wall, and wondered what this could mean…
Oddly