Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stomach Ache

Chapter 6

What if Nearly Headless Nick got a Different Reaction from the Children?

And what Professor Quirrell needed Help with His classes?

By

Jason Richard

As Harry and the others enjoyed their first feast at Hogwarts, suddenly ghosts started appearing out of the walls to join the festivities. There were friendly looking ghosts and scary ones too. Each Hogwarts House also had an official ghost presiding over it. The one for the Gryffindor Table was named Sir Nicholas, and as he introduced himself to the new students, his silvery transparent form floating above them, one student brought up a rather sore spot for the gallant spirit.

"I know you," said the young wizard. "You're nearly headless nick."

"Nearly headless?" asked Hermione. "How can you be nearly headless."

Sir Nicholas, tired of getting asked this question over and over, said, "Like this." and pulled his head off, so that only a small flap of skin connected him to his neck.

And Children screamed hysterically.

"Oh dear," said Sir Nick, putting his head back as many eleven-year-olds fled the halls in terror and those that stayed still cried in terror.

"I'm scared," said One.

"There's nothing...," said a very flustered Sir Nick.

"I wanna go home!" said another.

Sir Nick, "There's really no need to…"

"I want my mommy!" said another.

Sir Nick sighed, and as children continue to cry in fear, Harry wondered something.

"Sir Nick," asked Harry. "You're a ghost, and probably hundreds of years old by now."

"Yes," said Sir Nick nervously.

"So this can't be the first time someone has asked you why you're called Nearly Headless Nick," said Harry. "Or for that matter the first time you've answered their question like this. With all the students that come in, someone is bound to ask you that question at least once every year."

Sir Nick didn't answer.

"Sir Nick," said Harry. "Do you...forget what happens and show new students your partially severed neck every year?"

Sir Nick hesitated, and then, "Oh Look a ghost dog bye!"

And he zoomed off.

…

Quirrell paced back and forth in his office, waiting for the moment when the class would start. It was his first class after all. Well...his class officially. The dark spirit inhabiting the back of his head, hiding beneath his turban, would argue differently.

"Alright Quirrell," said Voldemort. "We may be waiting to get the Philosopher's stone, but that doesn't mean I can't take advantage of this chance. I will be teaching defense against the dark arts, as I wanted to do all those years ago. I'll whisper what to say and you say it."

"Can't you use telepathy?" asked Quirrell.

"Quirrell," said Voldemort. "I've learned I can't keep diving into that pathetic mind of yours. I'm afraid the incompetence is going to rub off on me. That last vision alone was…" he shuddered. "The most horrifying piece of stupidity I've ever seen."

"But my lord," asked Quirrell. "Santa Claus really is real!"

"SILENCE!" Voldemort bellowed.

It took a moment for Quirrell to calm back down, but then he got nervous again.

"This is stupid," said Quirrell. "Someone's going to notice."

"Not if we are careful," said Voldemort. "So long as you do everything I tell you we'll be fine. Are you with me or not?"

Quirrell, "Do I have a choice?"

Voldemort, "Depends. I have no body of my own, my magic is shattered, and I cannot harm you without harming myself. What are you going to do against such a helpless creature?"

Quirrel, "Do everything it says like a simpering coward?"

Voldemort, proudly, "That's my henchman!"

Quirrell just sighed and walked towards the classroom.

"Remember," said Voldemort, "Say everything I say.

Now faced with a classroom full of students Quirrell stood at the teacher's podium and swallowed nervously. He took a deep breath and waited for instructions.

"Welcome," whispered Voldemort under the turban. "To the defense against the…"

"What?" asked Quirrell Nervously.

"We didn't say anything," said one of the students.

More Nervous than ever, Quirrell waited again.

"Just a little louder then," said Voldemort Irritably. "Welcome Students, to the defense against the…"

"Master I cannot hear you," said Quirrell under his breath, getting more and more nervous as the students looked at him funny. "You keep...um…"

"Keep what, Quirrell?" asked Voldemort, an angry edge in his voice.

"Um…" said Quirrell. "Mumbling."

"Quirrell," said Voldemort with an angry hiss. "The dark lord does not mumble."

"I'm sorry master," said Quirrell.

"Alright we're probably getting looks," said Voldemort, and it was the understatement of the year. "Alright, I'll just have to use telepathy. At least this spell still works."

And Voldemort thought, Legilimens.

Inside Quirrell's mind:

"Ho ho ho!" said Santa. "For being just a good little boy, for Christmas, you get to be the new Minister of Magic.

Quirrell, "Hooray!"

Back in the real world:

Voldemort, "And telepathy is out...forever. Alright, Quirrell, just...do whatever lesson you want."

"Alright," said Quirrell agreeably. He cleared his throat, then said, "Welcome students, to the defense against the dark arts class."

Voldemort grumbled under the turban.

"Today," said Quirrell, "We will be talking about a fearsome group of creatures, pack beasts that will rip the flesh of your bones in seconds."

Children either grew a little scared or got really excited. What creature could he possibly be talking about?

"The creature I'm talking about," said Quirrell, pausing for dramatic effect. "Is the deadly...dangerous...and surprisingly adorable piranha puppies!"

Voldemort, "THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS PIRANHA PUPPIES!"

The silence that followed was chilling.

"Professor?" said one student. "Did your turban just talk?"

"Yes," said Quirrell. "Yes. It's a...a...a magic turban! I use it to remind me of things I might have forgotten."

"Yes," said the Turban. "And you've forgotten that piranha puppies are a delusion of yours. Now you will remember to bash your head against the wall...hard...to knock that stupid thought from your head like you always do when you say something delusional. Isn't that correct...Quirrell?"

Quirrell sighed and said, "Yes."

A depressed Quirrell went to the wall so he could do just that.

Voldemort, meanwhile, was fuming. Why could this man do one simple thing right? Oh well, at least he punished himself properly

Wait, though Voldemort, does Quirrell have me facing the wall?

Voldemort, "NO WAIT! I DIDN'T MEAN THE BACK OF YOUR HEA…"

WHAM!