Chapter Thirty-Eight
Solving a Riddle

Meanwhile, while Harry adjusted to being a Slytherin and Blaise continued to search for his and/or her missing gender, Hermione was gaining back some of the intelligence she had lost over the summer. Strange things had been happening since Harry got sorted into Slytherin. The red roots of Ginny's hair were showing through her blonde dye job, growing more obvious by the hour. Her freckles, previously hidden, had mysteriously multiplied. Neville had tripped over Professor McGonagall's shoes and managed to rip her robes as he fell, exposing her silk tartan panties. Everyone (except for Colin Creevey, who was currently selling the photographs down in Hogsmeade), was still recovering from the nightmare.

But most obvious of all was the change in Hermione. Instead of sitting perched in front of her mirror several hours a day, she actually spent time in the library. And her fashion magazines had been replaced with actual textbooks. Even more shocking was the fact that Ronald Weasley, of all people, often sat with her at meals and carried some of her books for her.

"Jaysus, Mary, an' Joseph!" Seamus exclaimed Irishly while trying on a shamrock-covered wizard's hat. He jabbed Ron in the chest with his pint of Guinness. "What the feck is goin' on 'round here, boyo? What's all this blarney?"

Ron stared blankly back at him. "Seamus, when did you forget to speak English?"

"I believe there's a chapter all about it in this book!" Hermione announced, flipping through her copy of Topsy-Turvy Reality and How to Fight It. "Aha! Listen to this: When something in the universe has gone awry, familiar personalities and facts are distorted. Depending on the severity of the event, life as you know it will turn upside-down until you have traveled a great distance to solve the Riddle."

"You're not speaking English either," moaned Ron.

"What the book is trying to say," Hermione patiently explained, "is that Harry's re-sorting has knocked everything out of place. Life as we currently know it is completely different from how it was a week ago!" She frowned and studied her book again. "But I don't understand the part about traveling a great distance to solve a riddle. What riddle could possibly fix this?"

"I could use a wee fixer-upper for me hangover," Seamus announced, clutching his shamrock-covered head.

"Riddle…" Hermione repeated. "Riddle…" She suddenly sat bolt upright, knocking her book to the floor.

Neville immediately tripped on it and spilled Seamus' pint of Guinness all over Dean Thomas' freshly laundered boxer briefs.

"I've got it!" cried Hermione. "Until you have traveled a great distance to solve the Riddle. I have to go back in time and stop Tom Riddle from becoming Lord Voldemort!"

"Ahem!" said a disgruntled boy from the 80's who had rolled up out of nowhere on his skateboard.

"Relax, Marty," said Hermione. "I'm doing time travel my way, not yours. All I need is a broken time turner! And I've got just the solution. Hey, Neville! I think I see Trevor at the other end of the Hall!"

"Trevor!" cried Neville, running through the Great Hall like a klutz on caffeine. Predictably, he tripped right over the time turner Hermione had placed on the floor and cracked it right down the middle.

"Perfect!" cried Hermione, scooping up the splintered remains of her device.

"But why does it have to be broken?" Ron wondered.

"Because that's the way it works, Ron," was Hermione's matter-of-fact response. "In order to send me years into the past, the time turner has to be broken! That's the way it always happens. Now stand back, everyone. I've got a Riddle to solve!"

And with a mighty whoosh!, Hermione was surrounded by a tornado of swirling purple light. It spun around her a hundred times, engulfing her in its magic, and when the tornado finally died away there was no Hermione to be found. She was traveling that very moment, journeying the long distance between past and present, until she was dropped off in a chamber of Hogwarts she had never seen before.

"Where am I?" asked Hermione, tucking the broken time turner into her pocket. "Am I still in the castle?"

Hermione was still in the castle, though it was no castle chamber she was familiar with. The floor and walls were made of stone, which wasn't so unusual, but she was certain that black leather couches and ebony beds draped in silk sheets did not belong to the academic world she was used to. A matching ebony table stood front and center, draped with a lacy black tablecloth. A bottle of dark wine and two black goblets sat upon the table, waiting to be consumed.

Mysterious black candles flickered in every corner.

Somewhere in the distance, a sad tune was plucked upon a tragic piano.

"Ahh, you are here at last, my darling," an accented voice announced from the shadows. The sound of a cloak sweeping against the floor met Hermione's ears. "I have vaited an eternity for zis. Come, dearest, let us try ze vine."

"The—the what?" cried Hermione.

"Ze vine, darling. Ze VINE!" said the voice from the shadows. "I have vaited centuries for zis moment. Vhat are you hesitating for, my dear? Take a seat and drink!"

Hermione, unsure of what else to do, sat down at the ebony table. The wine bottle, activated by a nonverbal spell, rose from the table and poured a deep dark liquid into the two goblets.

The shadows stirred, then became a man who slowly stepped forward. He wore a high black collar and his cloak was shaped like bat wings. His black hair had been slicked back and he opened his mouth, revealing pointed fangs that gleamed in the candlelight.

Hermione gasped. "Who—who are you?"

The man in the black cloak smiled. "I am… Ridula!"

Hermione blinked. "You're who?"

"Ridula!" the man repeated.

"Rid… ula?"

"Yes, yes. Ridula! I have slept for centuries under ze ground, vaiting for ze night I vould gain back my powers! Tonight, my dear, ve drink to victory!"

"I don't think so, Tom."

The man in the black cloak seemed to wilt at her words. His pointed fangs retreated and his silly accent disappeared. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess, " said Hermione.

Tom Riddle sighed and picked up one of the wine goblets. "It was just a bit of fun between classes. I always thought it would be cool to be Dracula, you know? The man has got style. He's hip, daddy-o."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hip?"

"He's cool, daddy-o. He's cool. Black cloak, white fangs. So far underground, you know?"

"I don't quite follow you."

"Girl, you are in the past. I'm sorry I'm not hip to your lingo!"

"No, it's just…" Hermione glanced up at him shyly. "I never expected you to be this way."

"Does it please you?" purred Tom, running a hand over his jet-black hair.

Hermione blushed. None of the textbooks she had ever read had prepared her for this. "Maybe a little," she admitted.

"Well we shouldn't let this wine go to waste. Care to join me for dinner? And perhaps some extra-curricular activities afterward?"

"My parents did always tell me I should be involved in more school activities…"

Tom smirked at her. "Well come along, then, my dear, and kiss your innocence goodbye. I mean your boredom goodbye." He chuckled as he joined Hermione at the ebony table. "There's always something exciting happening when you're with me!"

"There's something I came here to do…" Hermione murmured thoughtfully. "But I've completely forgotten what is is. Oh well!"

Meanwhile, back in the present time, strange things were happening as usual. Sirius had successfully gotten Snape to try his so-called "grease antidote" and nearly died of laughter when Snape ended up with a rainbow-colored afro as a result. Remus, thanks to his new job as Dumbledore's personal cheese grater, had developed a severe cheese addiction that completely eclipsed his former chocolate addiction. He could often be found lurking in shadowy corners and on dark stairwells, clutching at random students and muttering, "Got any cheese?"

But strangest of all was the parchment Harry had discovered deep in the depths of Slytherin Dungeon. "Say, fellas, take a look at this!" he announced, motioning for Draco and Blaise to come closer.

"Gee whiz!" said Draco.

"Golly!" said Blaise.

"Isn't it swell?" exclaimed Harry. "Let's gather the whole gang around and read it!"

"Okey-dokey!" said Blaise. "But first of all, can we quit talking like the Little Rascals already?"

"And how!" Draco agreed. "I mean, yes, let's quit talking like this, please."

So the three Slytherins resumed their normal speech and gathered in the Slytherin common room, which was strangely empty. A few crickets chirped in the distance. "I used to have a lot more friends when I was in Gryffindor," Harry remarked. "Oh, well. Let's get started on that parchment!"

The parchment he had discovered was surprisingly fresh-looking, as if it had been written yesterday instead of left to rot in the deep depths of Slytherin Dungeon for untold years. The title at the top of the page said HARRY POTHEAD AND THE HALF-BAKED PRINCE.

"But that's your name!" said Blaise. "Sort of. I wonder what secrets it contains!"

Harry eagerly began to read…

Harry Pothead and the Half-Baked Prince

Once upon a time there was a stoner kid named Harry Pothead who went to a magical school called Hashwarts. His favorite class was herbology. Mmm… weed… One day Harry Pothead was getting ready to start his sixth year at Hashwarts. He was technically still a first year, but he had flunked several times and was coming back for his sixth try. His two best friends, Ron Wheezeleaf and Hermione Grassjoint, came rolling up to his bachelor pad and admired the scar of a pot leaf he had on his forehead. Harry got the scar years ago, when he was getting babysat by a man named Lord Voldypot. Lord Voldypot thought it would be a great idea to give baby Harry a tattoo, but he botched the whole thing and left a scar on the poor kid's head. But it was a pot leaf scar, so it was actually pretty sweet.

"Time to go shopping for school supplies, man," Harry announced. He put on his favorite tie-dye shirt and got into his magical Volkswagen hippie van that turned psychedelic colors as it flew through the air. Far out!

The three magical friends landed their hippie van in Diabong Alley, where they could get plenty of "school supplies" just in time for April 20th, which was always the first day of school. Luckily for them, Ron's brothers Fred and George had opened up their very own shop, Wheezeleaf's Wizard Wheezes, that was disguised as a joke shop in case the police came snooping around. Harry, Hermione, and Ron ignored all the various joke products that littered the front of the shop and headed down into the basement, where the "good stuff" was kept.

Fred and George was both lounging on a couch in the smoky basement, staring at a lava lamp. "How's it goin', man?" said Fred. "Headin' back to Hashwarts?"

"We've got this great new product, man," said George. "It's a pipe that will magically disguise itself as a wand whenever a teacher walks into the room!"

"Groovy," said Harry. "I'll buy twenty of them."

Fred and George lazily high-fived each other and loaded the three students up on all the "supplies" they would need for school.

As everyone was heading back upstairs, Ron glanced at the window and said, "Hey, man, is that Druggo Malfoy out in the street?"

It was. Druggo Malfoy, Harry's nemesis at school, was standing suspiciously outside the shop. His eyes darted around like a ferret, then he took off at a nervous walk. Harry thought it would be a groovy idea to follow him, so he ditched Ron and Hermione and followed Druggo to a bad part of town called Crackturn Alley. Druggo disappeared into a shifty looking shop called Crackin and Coke's. Harry suddenly remembered that he had an invisibility cloak ("Duh!") and chuckled to himself as he put it on. Now nobody could see him. It was outta sight, man!

While he was invisible, he watched Druggo do some shady dealings with Mr. Crackin and Mr. Coke. It sounded like Druggo wanted to buy some storage for his secret stash. He purchased the stash cabinet, or whatever it was, and also tucked a parcel under his robes and headed for the nearest bathroom. Harry wandered back to Diabong Alley and caught up with Ron and Hermione.

"Hey, bros, you'll never guess what happened."

"A ghost!" shrieked Ron, running into Hermione's arms like a little girl.

Harry chuckled and removed his cloak. He had forgotten he was still invisible. "Guys, I think Druggo's up to something dangerous. I think he might actually be working for Lord Voldypot!"

"Maybe you're just being paranoid, man," said Hermione. "I think you took too many hits back in the joke shop."

Harry shrugged it off and decided to get back into his hippie van. So they all piled back into the psychedelic hippie van and flew it to the train station so they could catch a ride on the Hashwarts Express. Their friends Neville Bongbottom and Loony Puffgood had already saved them a compartment on the train, so they all sat together in a circle around the compartment and shared some of the goods from Diabong Alley.

But suddenly their fun times were interrupted when Harry and Ginny Wheezeleaf both received invitations to join something called the "Blunt Club," which was a special "recreational" club headed by their new teacher, Professor Blunthorn. Another kid named Blaze Zabini was also invited. They all piled into a compartment stuffed with tie-dyed beanbag chairs, lava lamps, and peace signs. There was a psychedelic man wearing a colorful bandana around his head and a giant peace sign necklace. He was softly strumming a guitar and smiled when the students arrived.

"Peace, man," said Professor Blunthorn. "Welcome to the Blunt Club."

"Far out," said Harry, admiring the groovy beanbag chairs. He noticed Blaze Zabini and rubbed at his glasses so he could see better. "At first I thought you were a boy, man, but I think I'm too high to tell."

"Trippy, man," said Ginny. "I could have sworn that was a girl."

"This is blowing my mind," Professor Blunthorn said in a lazy voice.

Blaze Zabini, in order to live up to his and/or her name, took out a joint and blazed up—

"That's it, I've had enough of this!" said the real Blaise, snatching the parchment out of Harry's hands.

"But it was just getting to the good part!" Draco protested.

"Shut up, Druggo," said Blaise. "I'm sick and tired of getting teased about my mysterious gender. Every time I think I'm about to discover the truth, it turns out to be another joke!"

"This whole thing appears to be a joke," said Harry, taking back Harry Pothead and the Half-Baked Prince. "What exactly is this, anyway?"

"I believe it's something called a parody," Blaise explained. "It's intended to be a mockery of the original source material, often swapping out the character's names for humorous versions. Like Harry Pothead."

"But who on earth would write such a thing?" asked Draco.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Who?" Suddenly the answer dawned on him and he bellowed out, "SIRIUS!"

Sirius popped up out of nowhere. "Hiya, Harry. I got this great idea a moment ago. I bet I could whip up a potion that could magically make your hair lie flat!"

"It's called hair gel," Draco coolly informed him. "And believe me, I've been trying to get Harry to use it for ages! You'll thank me when you finally see the light, Harry."

"I don't want magically flattened hair," grumbled Harry. "I want to know the meaning of THIS, Sirius!" And he thrust the parchment into Sirius's face.

Sirius took one look at the parchment and collapsed on the floor in laughter.

"Oh, boy, this is good," said Sirius, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Who's the genius who wrote this?"

"You mean you didn't write it?"

"I wish I had," said Sirius. "It's a comedic masterpiece!"

"But if you didn't write it," wailed Harry, "then how will we ever know who the author is?"

"It's probably on this parchment somewhere, Harry," said Sirius. "You just didn't look carefully enough." He read through the whole thing and finally got to the very end. "Aha! Here it is!"

And at the very end of the story, it said: by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

"Weird," said Draco. "I didn't know they could write!"

Note: Well this might be the dumbest chapter I've done so far. Hugs, not drugs, everyone!