Chapter 7: Harry Says Some Stupid Things

LEGAL THANG: You know the drill. I am not affiliated with J. K. Rowling or anything to do with her, and I do not own the characters in this story.

SHOUT-OUT: Another warm thanks to anyone who read my story (even warmer if you liked it) and a special Love Bunny hug to those of you who reviewed. Don't get too excited, though. These are internet-only hugs. Can only be used in cyberspace - not in real life. Glad we got that straightened out.

SPOILERS: Something is revealed about the end of book 4.

INSIDE INFO: In true Rowling fashion, I have written the last few chapters already. And for those of you who are interested, the last word of the last chapter is "Buffoon". Exciting stuff, eh?!

RECAP: Harry is being cursed. He did some stuff. Draco made fun of him. Harry did more stuff. Then he went to see Dumbledore, who was a raving lunatic. So Harry ran away. And here we are.

QUICK NOTE: In chapter 5 (I think) I stated that the first class the Potter 3 had was Care of Magical Creatures. Pretend I said Transfiguration class instead, okay? That's a good reader. You'll get a cookie later!

Harry ran all the way to the dining hall, pumping his little legs as hard as he could. Once in the dining hall, he threw himself at his chair, missed, and promptly collapsed.

"Harry, get off the floor," Hermione scolded. "It's time for class."

"Cant - *pant* - go to *pant* class," Harry managed to say.

"Oh come on Harry, If you battled Voldemort three times you can manage to pick yourself up and go to class," Ron reasoned, as he pulled Harry off the floor.

"So what did Professor Dumbledore have to say?" Hermione asked, as Potter's Angels walked to Transfiguration. Actually, Ron and Hermione walked, Harry sort of limped behind, falling on Ron's shoulder for support.

"Nothing important," Harry panted. "He was nuttier than a pecan tart. I think he's losing his touch."

"Yeah, and he's like, what, 49072 years old?" Ron asked.

"Harry, after class we'll stay behind and talk to Professor McGonagall about that permission slip," Hermione announced, keeping her mind on their important task.

"How does my hair look?" Harry asked apprehensively.

Ron and Hermione stopped walking. They glanced at each other. Ron nodded. "Go on," he urged.

"Well...err...it looks...not too dreadful," Hermione lied.

"Yeah...I've seen worse...sort of," Ron added.

Harry grinned. "Thanks guys," he said.

In reality, Harry's hair looked like a giant, messy sombrero. It swirled all over the place, stuck up where it pleased, and growled at passersby. It terrorized the first-years.

"Think I should do it?" Ron whispered to Hermione.

"Definitely," she whispered back. Ron nodded.

"Really, Harry, it's going to be okay," Ron assured, and patted him on the back.

"Thanks!" Harry said, beaming. Feeling energetic, he skipped off to class.

Hermione and Ron stared guiltily at the sign Ron taped on Harry's back. It read "MAKE FUN OF MY HAIR AND I'LL PERFORM THE IMPERIOUS CURSE ON YOU"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Hermione assured Ron.

"I know, I know," he sighed. "Poor little bugger."

Transfiguration class came and went - it came as a burden to the students who couldn't do anything right, and went well for Hermione who successfully managed to turn her doorknob into a turtle.

"Professor, Neville needs your help, quick!" yelled Seamus, who was staring in horror at the crazed doorknob-turtle that was slapping Neville in the face.

Finally, class ended, and the students filed out. All except for the Potter Palsies. They approached Professor McGonagall who was scribbling at her desk. Ron cleared his throat to alert her attention.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, without lifting her head.

"Professor, you're not speaking in a Scottish accent!" Ron observed.

"Of course not, Mr. Weasley. Why would I?"

"Exactly," everyone chorused. They smiled, gave thumbs up, and returned to the scene.

"Is there something you three need?" McGonagall asked, eyeing the Potterific Trio.

"Professor, I don't know if you've noticed the terrible state my hair is in," Harry began.

"Yes, I have Mr. Potter, I just didn't want to alarm you. Do you think I'm blind?"

"No, Professor. Well, my hair has never been this bad. It has become clear to us now that I am under the Pelligrosa Curse. And we were informed of a book in the library that could help me treat this curse. The book we desire, however, is in the restricted section, and we were hoping you could write us a permission slip to obtain this book."

"Mr. Potter, if you are indeed under the Pelligrosa Curse, which you very well might be, you'll need more than a book to defeat it. You'll need cunning, bravery, skill, at least one encounter with the Dark Lord himself, and several ingredients to concoct a potion to help you cure it."

"Yes, Professor. But perhaps the ingredients to this potion are in that book?"

McGonagall studied young, hopeful Potter's face. Her gaze went upward, and she saw just how truly terrible young Potter's hair was, and what a dire situation young Potter was in.

"Well young Potter, I suppose drastic situations call for drastic actions. I will write you a slip for this book, but I insist you not brew the potion yourself."

"Thank you Professor!" Harry cheered, Ron and Hermione whooping it up.

McGonagall began transcribing a note of permission for the Potter lad. "Mr. Potter, if the book contains the ingredients you desire and you obtain them, I order that you ask Professor Snape for his help in brewing the potion."

Ron and Hermione stopped whooping. Harry's face fell.

"But...but Professor!" Harry began to object.

"Professor Snape is an excellent potions instructor, and there is no doubt that an ailment for the Pelligrosa Curse will be very difficult to brew indeed. You will need his help."

"But Professor!"

Professor McGonagall held up her hand. "Enough, Mr. Potter. If you want this slip, you will do as I say. You've already had fifteen brushes with death, at least. Let's not make it sixteen."

Harry silently groaned. Professor McGonagall handed him the finished slip. "Thank you Professor," the trio chorused, sullen as a group of Death Eaters.

"You're welcome. Now off with you!"

Harry stomped grumpily to Gryffindor tower. "Harry!" Ron and Hermione called behind him. "Wait!" But there was no waiting for young, angry, hairy Potter. "Stupid...sonofa...Snape...lousy crud...stupid hair...stupid Voldemort...stupid Professors ...stupid Michael Jackson for selling Beatles songs to stupid corporations for their stupid commercials ..." Harry incoherently muttered and rambled, as he stomped away. He was so intent on stomping and rambling that he slammed right into someone.

"Ack! Harry! Ya better watch where you're going!"

"Oh, Hullo Oliver. You seem awfully Scottish today."

"Yes...well...it's supposed to be some sort of comedic thing. So Harry, what ya been up to?"

"Oh, j - wait a minute Oliver."

"Yes, wee Harry?"

"...you graduated."

"I - what?"

"You graduated. Your last year was in book three. You're on the Puddlemere quidditch reserve team or something."

"Ah...no I'm not."

Harry furrowed his brow (which, by the way, was tweezed in a really bizarre way. Just something you notice after seeing the movie too often, as I did.) "Oliver, I'm positive you graduated."

"Well...then I guess I'm stuck here. But I suppose it's all right. I mean, nothing really makes sense anymore."

"GO SPEED DRACO! GO SPEED DRACO! GO SPEED DRACO GOOOOO!"

Harry and Oliver turned their heads in the direction of the noise, which was coming from down the hall. Crabbe and Goyle were sprinting down the hall, Draco hoisted up in their arms, yelling.

"Ack! Harry! Get out of the way, lad!"

Time seemed to pass in slow motion, as Harry and Oliver darted out of harm's way. They heard Crabbe and Goyle pant heavily as they ran past with Draco. As Draco sped away, he turned his stunningly blond head around and snickered,

"Ha ha, Potter! Looks like you'll always have to make way for me!"

In utter confusion, Harry and Oliver picked themselves off the ground and gave each other a quizzical look.

"What in the bloody hell of Loch Ness was that?" Oliver asked.

"I don't know," Harry said, befuddled.

"I believe I can shed some light on that," said a snooty voice from above.

"AGH! Myrtle! You scared me."

Myrtle pouted. "Oh, of course Myrtle scares everyone. Myrtle's dead, of course she's scary."

"Myrtle, I didn't mean it like that..."

"Ach Harry, you must introduce me to your transparent friend," Oliver said suavely, smoothing down his collar.

"Oh...er...Myrtle, this is Oliver Wood. Oliver, this is Myrtle."

Myrtle blushed a pearly shade. "I've seen you before. I used to waft around in the quidditch locker room."

"Myrtle!" Harry exclaimed, horrified.

"Didja like what ya saw, my wee lass?"

Myrtle giggled.

Harry decided to ignore what just happened. "So Myrtle, you said you could shed some light on what Malfoy was doing."

"Yes, I can. He's practicing for quidditch."

"He was practicing for quidditch? How so?"

"This year, school funds are particularly shoddy, so instead of brooms on the quidditch field, everyone has to play on each other's shoulders."

"WHAT?!" Harry and Oliver screamed.

Myrtle grinned at their misery. "It's true."

"Well how come I didn't hear about it?!" Harry demanded.

"MAYBE if you weren't always trying to solve a mystery or defeat the dark side, you would have paid more attention to school events."

"Keep your nose out of my business!"

"Oh! I get it! Myrtle's nose is so big, it can't help but get into peoples' way! `Hey, look out everyone, for Myrtle's giant schnozzle!'"

"Relax, m'lady. Harry didn't mean that."

Harry scowled at Oliver. "Yes I did!"

Myrtle burst into tears.

"Now ya got her blubberin like a whale!"

Myrtle sobbed harder. "So now Myrtle is compared to a whale?! Because she's so fat and slimy?"

"And bumpy," Harry added softly.

"Myrtle, no, I didn't mean it like that, lass. I just meant you were crying hard."

"Oh, so Myrtle cries hard because she's a baby, is that it?"

"No Myrtle, you're not a baby!"

"So Myrtle's an old woman then? Myrtle looks like she's all old and wrinkly? Because SHE'S DEAD?!"

"Ach! Lassie, I didn't mean that either!"

"So what you're saying is Myrtle doesn't know what people mean!"

"No, I-

"Oh, so suddenly it's all `I, I, I?' So no one cares about Myrtle anymore? Of course no one cares about Myrtle anymore - SHE'S DEAD!"

"No-

"No? Oh, so now everyone says `no' to Myrtle? No Myrtle, I don't want to hang out with you - BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD!

"N-

"N? N?! Yes, everyone just say `N' around Myrtle, because she's not really worth talking to, BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!" And with that final exclamatory response, Myrtle sobbed herself away to her toilet.

Oliver glanced at Harry and shrugged. "Women."

Suddenly, Harry gasped in alarm. His crush, Cho "Kimono Dragon" Chang, was rounding the corner, heading straight towards Harry. Cho was like Harry's veela. Just the sight of her made him forget how to form words.

"Oliver! Cho is coming this way!"

"Ah, Cho. A fair lass."

"Oliver, you have to help me! Every time I'm around her, I freeze and don't know what to say!"

"Ah, ya get the ole `cat got the tongue', eh?"

"Yes!"

"So you get a case of the `weebie geebies', eh?"

"Yes!"

"Gotcha. When you see her, you get all `buggy and mouth-brussled, and ya can't make heads or tails out of the strumpet hum-dinger', eh?

"Yes!"

"You're saying you get all `where am I, Father Christmas, and where-

"YES OLIVER, YES! And she is getting even closer! Please! Help me be suave. I've won you three quidditch games at least! You owe me!"

"All right lad, don't get your kilt in a twist. Here's what we'll do. I know this spell that will put my voice in your head. All ya do is repeat what I say and you'll be hotter than a flapjack on a cold winter's morn."

"Thanks! This has been done countless times in American sitcoms and has always gone awry, but I'm British and the Dursley's don't allow me to watch the television, so let's do it! And Oliver...you're getting kind of weird."

"True, m'lad. But I'm still devilishly hot." Oliver struck a grin, and reached for his wand. He muttered an incantation and swirled his wand above his head, and then Harry's. "We're all set!" He confirmed. "I'll just hide behind that pillar." Oliver darted behind the pillar just in time.

"Hello, Harry," Cho greeted.

"Ah...er...ab...dah...dab dab," said Harry. And then he heard Oliver's voice echo inside his brain. "Ach, hullo Cho. Ya look mighty beautiful today."

"Ach, hullo Cho. Ya look mighty beautiful today."

Cho eyed Harry strangely. "Er...thanks. Um...what is with your hair."

Harry paused for Oliver's response. Then-

"It's a wee bit temperamental ever since I tried to tame it for my quidditch photo last year. So what brings you, such a fair lass, down this very hall?"

"Well Harry, I just wanted to thank you. For last year. For bringing...him back. I never properly thanked you."

"Ach Cho, tis nothing at all. Cedric was a good lad."

"Yes..."

Oliver was suddenly startled by a spider that crawled across his hand.

"ACH! SWEET CRAP ON A CRACKER!"

"What?!?!"

Harry's eyes grew wide as he realized what he just said. Then Oliver spoke in his brain.

"Ach...I was just thinking about ya know, all of the terror that went on last year. Nasty business. Brings back quite the tear to my eye, foggy as the Scotland mist."

Cho stared at Harry for quite some time. A tumbleweed passed by.

"Well...okay. It was...er, `nice' talking to you, Harry."

"And you, Cho, my little sweet blossom."

"Later Harry," she said quickly, and ran off.

Harry waited until she was a safe distance away and then screamed

"OLIVER! HOW COULD YOU LET ME SAY THAT RUBBISH?!"

"Ach, relax my messy haired lad. She likes ya."

Harry fumed. "Just get out of my sight."

Oliver shrugged. "Later, Harry. And if ya can, get me the number for that sullen, ghostly lassie, eh?" Oliver grinned and jogged off. Harry sighed dejectedly.

"HARRY!"

Harry turned around and saw Hermione speeding towards him. "I GOT THE BOOK!" She hollered triumphantly. "CATCH!"

Hermione hurled the fourteen-inch book at Harry. He caught it and tipped backwards because of its weight. "UGH...this is HEAVY..." Harry grunted from underneath the book.

"HARRY!"

"Yeah?" Harry said, struggling to get the book off him.

"IT'S ME, RON! I GOT YA SOMETHING!"

Harry shoved the book off him and stood up. "Hullo Ron."

"CATCH!" Ron threw the twelve-inch "Curses for Dummies Cliffs Notes" at Harry, who caught it and fell back again.

"You sure are lucky to have friends like us, Harry," Hermione observed, staring at the struggling boy.

"Yeah Harry, we're real helpful. But we do it because we're your friends and we care."

"Thanks Ron," Harry said weakly, about ready to pass out.