Harry Potter and the Joke that Killed: Chapter Twenty
A/N: WHOA! It's chapter twenty already, and I'm not even through Christmas yet! Hope the story's not getting tedious on y'all.
Ms. Prongs: WOWIE, I have no words for you review. Even though you had quite a few, lol. I am so happy, eee, I feel loved! I'm glad you liked the George/Nancy/Harry thing, a few readers didn't. COUGH *crawler* COUGH. Yah, and feel totally free to email me, alls I get is spam and forwards that I delete, so it'll be fun! WHEE! Thanks a lot!
Well, Christmas is here at last.. erm, at Hogwarts, anyhoo. Unfortunately, in my reality it's not even Thanksgiving yet, and I'm well ready for the holidays to come and take me away from Purgatory, AKA High School. Ugh, spare me.
*author puts 'owning Harry Potter' on the top of her Christmas wish list. Santa comes down the chimney with a "Ho Ho Ho" on December 24th, creeps into author's bedroom, and presents her with an. ANVIL, which he promptly whacks her over the head with.*
* * * * *
Somehow, Hogwarts seemed to outdo itself each year for Christmas. Hagrid's pine trees were even bigger and needly-er than ever before, and tiny Professor Flitwick had performed many tricky decorating charms to adorn the trees with bubbles and lifelike snowflakes and flickering candles.
Classes took on a beleaguered feel to them, desperate to just be finished already and get the holidays started. Of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were ready for classes to end for a different reason than just being able to lollygag around doing nothing all day. Harry wanted to track down Voldemort and defeat him.
This was not an easy task, needless to say, and wasn't going to be done single-handedly. After reading that top-secret document about the Dark Lord, Harry was ready to walk right out of the castle and tackle the sinister wizard all alone. But Hermione and Ron, with their clear-headed thinking, held him back and used everything save the Body-Bind Curse to keep him inside the castle walls.
"There's no way three teenage wizards can defeat the most powerful dark wizard ever to walk the earth, Harry, so just cool it." Ron chastised, grabbing Harry's elbow for the fiftieth time that night to prevent escape.
Harry struggled against his friend's grip. "We can't just sit here doing nothing while Voldemort just gets stronger and stronger. Right now, he's harmless. If we could just get him now, before it's too late.. You saw the note. After this incubation period, he'll be 'invincible.' INVINCIBLE!!"
"Shh!" Hermione shushed. "Number one, he's not just sitting out somewhere waiting for a bunch of snot-nosed Ministry Officials or whatnot to come and kill him, You-Know-Who's being guarded by a hoard of Death Eaters, hundreds, most likely. And Number Two, we're not just going to sit back and do nothing. But we're not going to go out and get ourselves killed either."
"What else is there to do? Send him bad thoughts telepathically?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"You and You-Know-Who are connected, Harry. Every time he's doing something particularly exerting, you feel it." Hermione stated.
"He's not gonna be doing anything that'll register with me until it's too late." grumbled Harry.
"You're right, he isn't. But the link you have is old magic, Harry, and there are ways to activate it beyond waiting for something from his end." explained Hermione.
"What?" Ron breathed.
"There are potions, incantations, spells. old and mostly forgotten, but I'm sure there'd be a book on it in the library." responded Hermione.
"Probably in the restricted section." Ron pointed out.
"Then we'll just have to get a pass from the headmaster." Hermione answered simply.
"Dumbledore'd never let us do something like that. He'd put a stop to us immediately." Harry griped.
Hermione turned and faced her morose friend. "Harry, every year we've done something behind Dumbledore's back. Every year we scheme and plan ways to defeat whatever evil is lurking about at that time. Well, don't you think that he knows everything that goes on in this school? Everything??"
"Of course he does, it's actually quite unnerving, in a way." Ron replied with a shudder.
"Well, I think it a bit narcissistic to assume that just because we aren't reprimanded that he doesn't know what we're up to." said Hermione.
"You think he knows everything?" Ron whispered with fear, looking around as if little cameras or bugs were hiding within the common room walls. Well, if he had known what cameras or bugs were. "Even about our little escapade in Snape's office?"
"I hope not." Harry said with foreboding.
"It doesn't matter, we've done worse. For breaking into the off limits third floor corridor and cavorting around with dangerous spells and villains we earned three hundred some-odd points. Remember, in our first year? If we go about this right, we'll come out okay." Hermione indicated.
"In order to go about it right we'll have to do a lot of covering up." Ron recommended.
Hermione shook her head. "No. I think that Dumbledore would be happy to indulge us, actually. As long as we're frank with him about it, and tell him it's just to help out the ministry and not go chasing after You-Know- Who ourselves."
"D'you think he knows about the incubation thingy?" inquired Ron.
"There's no way to tell, and if he did it'd be top secret stuff. We're not supposed to know about it anyways." Harry answered.
After a long bout of staring into the fire and thinking deeply from all three of them, Ron sighed. "Well, if we're to do anything, we'll need our rest. C'mon, it's getting late."
Harry silently obliged, and walked up to his dormitory with a hunched posture like a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. "Poor guy." Hermione crooned.
"You know we're not gonna be able to stop him from chasing after You- Know-Who, right?" Ron asked, half amused, half somber.
"I know. I wish I could, though." she replied, watching Harry's retreating form that was too young to look like that, so slumped and worried.
Ron put a supporting hand around his friends shoulder. "Ditto, 'Mione. Only too ditto."
(^*^)
That Monday during breakfast, Dumbledore made an announcement that Professor Callahan was getting better. "Miss Callahan has been feeling a bit under the weather as of late, but just last Sunday she was well enough to sit up in bed on her own and eat something. I'm pleased to report that she will be back teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts classes today."
Excited whispers scurried throughout the crowd like the plague, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were too stunned to speak. Granted, they had known she was awake because of when Harry had gone to check on her and seen her sans clothing, but the fact that she would be back teaching everyone was startling. They knew now that she was a Death Eater. and now she had a whole class full of students to brainwash and turn into little versions of her and Snape.
Of course, Harry was the most scared of all. Surely she would want to have a talk with him about the little Peeping Tom incident, and that was going to be deathly embarrassing. Was she going to bring up the subject of her Dark Mark? Harry was prepared to pretend like he hadn't seen anything beyond a naked person, but it might not be that simple. God knows what sort of mind-reading dark devices she would have tucked under her belt courtesy of Voldemort himself.
That morning, as the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trudged out to the Diggory Greenhouse, Harry was quite sullen. Even more sullen than Hermione, who had just discovered from the last grade report that she had only made a ninety-five percent on the test over the biting breed of Cecilplants. "I cannot believe I forgot to pack the soil around the roots tightly with my gloves on! I could have caused serious damage to the Cecilplant!" Hermione griped.
"I think she should've given you extra points for that. I was wearing Charlie's super durability dragon-hide gloves and the little bastard still took off a bit of my index finger." replied Ron, nursing his still rather red and swollen finger.
Harry didn't hear any of them though, he was too busy thinking up excuses to miss Defense Against the Dark Arts class the following morning. Sickness wouldn't work, Madame Pomfrey could cure anything lickety-split with a potion.
He might be able to pull of breaking a bone, but since he'd already broken too many Madame Pomfrey might send him to therapy. Neville was already going through that, three times a week to strengthen his wrists which seemed to snap like twigs whenever he fell down.
Accidentally consuming a wronged potion would probably be Harry's best bet. but then again, you'd never know what you'd end up with if you added your bezoar too soon. A Ravenclaw third-year had grown an alligator claw out of his head when he put in thirty-two porcupine quills instead of thirty. Harry had seen him being escorted to the office by Professor Dorkin, and the sight wasn't a pretty one.
Finally, after deciding that sticking out whatever punishment Professor Callahan decided to dole out would be a lot less painful than afflicting himself with a surplus of appendages, Harry could focus on the task at hand: repotting hybrid Mandrakes.
"Now, these Mandrakes are nothing like the ones you dealt with in your second year," Professor Sprout told the class magically, allowing them to hear her even though their sound-proof earmuffs were on. Harry remembered that experience very well, procuring Mandrakes to de-Petrify his friends that had been frozen by the Basilisk. And Tom Riddle. and the Chamber of Secrets. and Ginny Weasley's limp form lying on the cold stone floor.
"These Mandrakes have been bred with Bubotuber Plants to fortify their healing qualities, making them more potent." Professor Sprout continued, interrupting Harry's horrifying nostalgia. With a quick jerk, the teacher ripped the ugly baby out of the earth while it silently screamed in protest. "You will note that they are slightly more greenish than pure Mandrakes, and ooze Bobotuber Pus out their pores." Indeed, the squealing rat clutched in Professor Sprout's hands was leaking a neon-yellowish liquid down its face and out its nose.
"Eeew! That's gross!" Harry saw Parvati squeal. Nobody else could hear her, of course, but he could clearly read her lips.
Professor Sprout then took out a small pinkish jar and held it under the Mandrake's chin, collecting a dollop of pus into the jar. "Your job today is to collect this Bobotuber Pus in specialized indestructible jars, careful not to spill any on yourselves, mind; and bring them up to me. Madame Pomfrey will me much obliged, even though it takes just a bit to heal someone her stock was running low. Now, you may begin."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione worked around the same plant. Their Mandrake seemed to be a bit more grown than it's surrounding brothers, it's pimples were leaking pus all down its front and it was putting up a specially spectacular fight in both coming out and going back into it's pot.
Of course, this excess fluid wasn't a hindrance at all; the group had filled a dozen jars in the time it took the other groups to do half that many. Professor Sprout beamed at them when they had to go up and ask for more jars, and awarded five points to Gryffindor for their excellent work.
With all that excitement, Harry had completely forgotten his worries about Professor Callahan. Of course, after vigorously washing his hands under the Crystal Cleanser spout (a special sink that it's water can wash away even the most stubborn of gunk on your person), it all came flooding back to him twofold. He was so nervous he could hardly stomach his lunch, let alone fall asleep in History of Magic. Even Professor Binns' floating through the chalkboard didn't hold its usual awe for the distraught boy.
In the common room that night, when he was supposed to be writing an essay on Bartholomew the Belligerent that was assigned that day, the only thing Harry could focus on was Professor Callahan.
No, it wasn't about the whole getting-griped-out-for-seeing-her-naked thing, Harry had long made his peace with that. It was just, something wasn't adding up. Callahan had been so adamant about what would've happened if only someone would've stood up to the Dark Lord when he wasn't as strong.
She could just be a good actress. You know, most Death Eaters are. that annoying little voice cooed.
But that fire in her eyes, that desire for us not to make the same mistakes, it was so truthful.
It only LOOKED truthful. She was probably just trying to get you to go out and get yourself killed.
Ah, the little voice made sense once again, but still something was nagging at the back of Harry's brain, begging for not only Callahan's innocence, but Snape's also.
Snape had long ago publicly dismissed his dark background and tried to begin a new life, but no one would let him. To great danger to himself, he had become a spy, leaking valuable information about Voldemort to the Ministry to try and prove himself. And still, he was shunned and misunderstood.
That's just what he WANTS you to think. the little voice put in, before being silenced with a sharp "SHUT UP!" by Harry. And for once, the bloody voice let him alone.
My, he was certainly getting good at shutting that snippet of his brain up, wasn't he?
* * * * *
A/N: Sorry so short, but I'm getting lazy. I've had quite a busy week. you know the drill, homework, evil History quizzes, oooo, and I went to see the school musical Les Miserables. It was amazing. I couldn't believe it. I bawled like a little girl. And it didn't hurt that my boyfriend was in it. welp, y'all prolly didn't want to know that, but I care not. NEH! *sticks out tongue*
OH wait, no, don't be mad at me, I love you, I love you all! Review, review, for me, for me! I still adore you, I swear.
Love from,
Saranimal
HaloGal5@aol.com
A/N: WHOA! It's chapter twenty already, and I'm not even through Christmas yet! Hope the story's not getting tedious on y'all.
Ms. Prongs: WOWIE, I have no words for you review. Even though you had quite a few, lol. I am so happy, eee, I feel loved! I'm glad you liked the George/Nancy/Harry thing, a few readers didn't. COUGH *crawler* COUGH. Yah, and feel totally free to email me, alls I get is spam and forwards that I delete, so it'll be fun! WHEE! Thanks a lot!
Well, Christmas is here at last.. erm, at Hogwarts, anyhoo. Unfortunately, in my reality it's not even Thanksgiving yet, and I'm well ready for the holidays to come and take me away from Purgatory, AKA High School. Ugh, spare me.
*author puts 'owning Harry Potter' on the top of her Christmas wish list. Santa comes down the chimney with a "Ho Ho Ho" on December 24th, creeps into author's bedroom, and presents her with an. ANVIL, which he promptly whacks her over the head with.*
* * * * *
Somehow, Hogwarts seemed to outdo itself each year for Christmas. Hagrid's pine trees were even bigger and needly-er than ever before, and tiny Professor Flitwick had performed many tricky decorating charms to adorn the trees with bubbles and lifelike snowflakes and flickering candles.
Classes took on a beleaguered feel to them, desperate to just be finished already and get the holidays started. Of course, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were ready for classes to end for a different reason than just being able to lollygag around doing nothing all day. Harry wanted to track down Voldemort and defeat him.
This was not an easy task, needless to say, and wasn't going to be done single-handedly. After reading that top-secret document about the Dark Lord, Harry was ready to walk right out of the castle and tackle the sinister wizard all alone. But Hermione and Ron, with their clear-headed thinking, held him back and used everything save the Body-Bind Curse to keep him inside the castle walls.
"There's no way three teenage wizards can defeat the most powerful dark wizard ever to walk the earth, Harry, so just cool it." Ron chastised, grabbing Harry's elbow for the fiftieth time that night to prevent escape.
Harry struggled against his friend's grip. "We can't just sit here doing nothing while Voldemort just gets stronger and stronger. Right now, he's harmless. If we could just get him now, before it's too late.. You saw the note. After this incubation period, he'll be 'invincible.' INVINCIBLE!!"
"Shh!" Hermione shushed. "Number one, he's not just sitting out somewhere waiting for a bunch of snot-nosed Ministry Officials or whatnot to come and kill him, You-Know-Who's being guarded by a hoard of Death Eaters, hundreds, most likely. And Number Two, we're not just going to sit back and do nothing. But we're not going to go out and get ourselves killed either."
"What else is there to do? Send him bad thoughts telepathically?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"You and You-Know-Who are connected, Harry. Every time he's doing something particularly exerting, you feel it." Hermione stated.
"He's not gonna be doing anything that'll register with me until it's too late." grumbled Harry.
"You're right, he isn't. But the link you have is old magic, Harry, and there are ways to activate it beyond waiting for something from his end." explained Hermione.
"What?" Ron breathed.
"There are potions, incantations, spells. old and mostly forgotten, but I'm sure there'd be a book on it in the library." responded Hermione.
"Probably in the restricted section." Ron pointed out.
"Then we'll just have to get a pass from the headmaster." Hermione answered simply.
"Dumbledore'd never let us do something like that. He'd put a stop to us immediately." Harry griped.
Hermione turned and faced her morose friend. "Harry, every year we've done something behind Dumbledore's back. Every year we scheme and plan ways to defeat whatever evil is lurking about at that time. Well, don't you think that he knows everything that goes on in this school? Everything??"
"Of course he does, it's actually quite unnerving, in a way." Ron replied with a shudder.
"Well, I think it a bit narcissistic to assume that just because we aren't reprimanded that he doesn't know what we're up to." said Hermione.
"You think he knows everything?" Ron whispered with fear, looking around as if little cameras or bugs were hiding within the common room walls. Well, if he had known what cameras or bugs were. "Even about our little escapade in Snape's office?"
"I hope not." Harry said with foreboding.
"It doesn't matter, we've done worse. For breaking into the off limits third floor corridor and cavorting around with dangerous spells and villains we earned three hundred some-odd points. Remember, in our first year? If we go about this right, we'll come out okay." Hermione indicated.
"In order to go about it right we'll have to do a lot of covering up." Ron recommended.
Hermione shook her head. "No. I think that Dumbledore would be happy to indulge us, actually. As long as we're frank with him about it, and tell him it's just to help out the ministry and not go chasing after You-Know- Who ourselves."
"D'you think he knows about the incubation thingy?" inquired Ron.
"There's no way to tell, and if he did it'd be top secret stuff. We're not supposed to know about it anyways." Harry answered.
After a long bout of staring into the fire and thinking deeply from all three of them, Ron sighed. "Well, if we're to do anything, we'll need our rest. C'mon, it's getting late."
Harry silently obliged, and walked up to his dormitory with a hunched posture like a great weight had been placed on his shoulders. "Poor guy." Hermione crooned.
"You know we're not gonna be able to stop him from chasing after You- Know-Who, right?" Ron asked, half amused, half somber.
"I know. I wish I could, though." she replied, watching Harry's retreating form that was too young to look like that, so slumped and worried.
Ron put a supporting hand around his friends shoulder. "Ditto, 'Mione. Only too ditto."
(^*^)
That Monday during breakfast, Dumbledore made an announcement that Professor Callahan was getting better. "Miss Callahan has been feeling a bit under the weather as of late, but just last Sunday she was well enough to sit up in bed on her own and eat something. I'm pleased to report that she will be back teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts classes today."
Excited whispers scurried throughout the crowd like the plague, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were too stunned to speak. Granted, they had known she was awake because of when Harry had gone to check on her and seen her sans clothing, but the fact that she would be back teaching everyone was startling. They knew now that she was a Death Eater. and now she had a whole class full of students to brainwash and turn into little versions of her and Snape.
Of course, Harry was the most scared of all. Surely she would want to have a talk with him about the little Peeping Tom incident, and that was going to be deathly embarrassing. Was she going to bring up the subject of her Dark Mark? Harry was prepared to pretend like he hadn't seen anything beyond a naked person, but it might not be that simple. God knows what sort of mind-reading dark devices she would have tucked under her belt courtesy of Voldemort himself.
That morning, as the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs trudged out to the Diggory Greenhouse, Harry was quite sullen. Even more sullen than Hermione, who had just discovered from the last grade report that she had only made a ninety-five percent on the test over the biting breed of Cecilplants. "I cannot believe I forgot to pack the soil around the roots tightly with my gloves on! I could have caused serious damage to the Cecilplant!" Hermione griped.
"I think she should've given you extra points for that. I was wearing Charlie's super durability dragon-hide gloves and the little bastard still took off a bit of my index finger." replied Ron, nursing his still rather red and swollen finger.
Harry didn't hear any of them though, he was too busy thinking up excuses to miss Defense Against the Dark Arts class the following morning. Sickness wouldn't work, Madame Pomfrey could cure anything lickety-split with a potion.
He might be able to pull of breaking a bone, but since he'd already broken too many Madame Pomfrey might send him to therapy. Neville was already going through that, three times a week to strengthen his wrists which seemed to snap like twigs whenever he fell down.
Accidentally consuming a wronged potion would probably be Harry's best bet. but then again, you'd never know what you'd end up with if you added your bezoar too soon. A Ravenclaw third-year had grown an alligator claw out of his head when he put in thirty-two porcupine quills instead of thirty. Harry had seen him being escorted to the office by Professor Dorkin, and the sight wasn't a pretty one.
Finally, after deciding that sticking out whatever punishment Professor Callahan decided to dole out would be a lot less painful than afflicting himself with a surplus of appendages, Harry could focus on the task at hand: repotting hybrid Mandrakes.
"Now, these Mandrakes are nothing like the ones you dealt with in your second year," Professor Sprout told the class magically, allowing them to hear her even though their sound-proof earmuffs were on. Harry remembered that experience very well, procuring Mandrakes to de-Petrify his friends that had been frozen by the Basilisk. And Tom Riddle. and the Chamber of Secrets. and Ginny Weasley's limp form lying on the cold stone floor.
"These Mandrakes have been bred with Bubotuber Plants to fortify their healing qualities, making them more potent." Professor Sprout continued, interrupting Harry's horrifying nostalgia. With a quick jerk, the teacher ripped the ugly baby out of the earth while it silently screamed in protest. "You will note that they are slightly more greenish than pure Mandrakes, and ooze Bobotuber Pus out their pores." Indeed, the squealing rat clutched in Professor Sprout's hands was leaking a neon-yellowish liquid down its face and out its nose.
"Eeew! That's gross!" Harry saw Parvati squeal. Nobody else could hear her, of course, but he could clearly read her lips.
Professor Sprout then took out a small pinkish jar and held it under the Mandrake's chin, collecting a dollop of pus into the jar. "Your job today is to collect this Bobotuber Pus in specialized indestructible jars, careful not to spill any on yourselves, mind; and bring them up to me. Madame Pomfrey will me much obliged, even though it takes just a bit to heal someone her stock was running low. Now, you may begin."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione worked around the same plant. Their Mandrake seemed to be a bit more grown than it's surrounding brothers, it's pimples were leaking pus all down its front and it was putting up a specially spectacular fight in both coming out and going back into it's pot.
Of course, this excess fluid wasn't a hindrance at all; the group had filled a dozen jars in the time it took the other groups to do half that many. Professor Sprout beamed at them when they had to go up and ask for more jars, and awarded five points to Gryffindor for their excellent work.
With all that excitement, Harry had completely forgotten his worries about Professor Callahan. Of course, after vigorously washing his hands under the Crystal Cleanser spout (a special sink that it's water can wash away even the most stubborn of gunk on your person), it all came flooding back to him twofold. He was so nervous he could hardly stomach his lunch, let alone fall asleep in History of Magic. Even Professor Binns' floating through the chalkboard didn't hold its usual awe for the distraught boy.
In the common room that night, when he was supposed to be writing an essay on Bartholomew the Belligerent that was assigned that day, the only thing Harry could focus on was Professor Callahan.
No, it wasn't about the whole getting-griped-out-for-seeing-her-naked thing, Harry had long made his peace with that. It was just, something wasn't adding up. Callahan had been so adamant about what would've happened if only someone would've stood up to the Dark Lord when he wasn't as strong.
She could just be a good actress. You know, most Death Eaters are. that annoying little voice cooed.
But that fire in her eyes, that desire for us not to make the same mistakes, it was so truthful.
It only LOOKED truthful. She was probably just trying to get you to go out and get yourself killed.
Ah, the little voice made sense once again, but still something was nagging at the back of Harry's brain, begging for not only Callahan's innocence, but Snape's also.
Snape had long ago publicly dismissed his dark background and tried to begin a new life, but no one would let him. To great danger to himself, he had become a spy, leaking valuable information about Voldemort to the Ministry to try and prove himself. And still, he was shunned and misunderstood.
That's just what he WANTS you to think. the little voice put in, before being silenced with a sharp "SHUT UP!" by Harry. And for once, the bloody voice let him alone.
My, he was certainly getting good at shutting that snippet of his brain up, wasn't he?
* * * * *
A/N: Sorry so short, but I'm getting lazy. I've had quite a busy week. you know the drill, homework, evil History quizzes, oooo, and I went to see the school musical Les Miserables. It was amazing. I couldn't believe it. I bawled like a little girl. And it didn't hurt that my boyfriend was in it. welp, y'all prolly didn't want to know that, but I care not. NEH! *sticks out tongue*
OH wait, no, don't be mad at me, I love you, I love you all! Review, review, for me, for me! I still adore you, I swear.
Love from,
Saranimal
HaloGal5@aol.com