Disclaimer: Harry Potter still belongs to J.K. Rowling. And ONLY J.K. Rowling. Sorry! Oh, if anyone knows for certain anything about when the 5th book is coming out, can they tell me?

A/N: Hello again! Pleeeeeeeeease review! I'd really love to get 100 reviews, cos the most I've got for any other story is 15 (I think). Well, actually, I think I'd probably like 101 reviews cos one of them was a evil, nasssssssssssssty one, my precious. He he he. Have you all seen HP2? It was really funny! BROWN-haired actors with Colgate ® smiles trying to die heroically really REALLY make me laugh! (



Chapter 7: I just wish I felt the same way, Harry . . . but

It was morning in the Burrow once more, and if anyone was mad enough to want to find him, Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, could be found happily gazing at his boiled egg waiting for Mrs. Weasley to notice his dilemma. It's hard, you know, it's very harsh, to expect a fifteen-year-old boy to be able to take the top off his own boiled egg. Maybe it had something to do with having no parents from age one. You'd have thought that would make you *more* independent. But I suppose if you have a negative IQ to begin with, you just never work these things out.

So that would explain why Mrs. Weasley turned round to see Harry smiling vacantly at an egg that was rapidly getting colder, and in fact, on closer inspection, wasn't actually boiled at all.

'Harry dear, you have to BOIL the egg before you eat it. Otherwise you get nasty bugs. Like salmonella,' said Mrs. Weasley wisely.

Harry started giggling. Mrs. Weasley looked at him strangely. 'It's a funny word!' said Harry, by way of explanation. 'Salmonella!' he shouted again, falling off his chair in a fit of mirth.

Mrs. Weasley stood over him, looking pained. 'And Lily always wanted you to be a doctor,' she said, shaking her head. Harry didn't notice. He was still wriggling happily and chortling to himself, the occasional 'SALMONELLA!' being heard, although changing slightly every time he said it.

Hermione gazed over her 'Pocahontas' cup to look worriedly at Ron. 'I'm sure he wasn't saying 'Sally's mother' to begin with,' she said. 'I've heard goldfish have a three-second memory. Maybe Harry's a bit like that.'

'What?' shouted Mrs. Weasley, indignantly. 'Are you comparing HARRY POTTER to a goldfish?'

Harry sat up, interested. 'To a what?' he asked, puzzled.

'To a goldfish, Harry dear,' began Mrs. Weasley. 'And I must say . . .'

But the Boy Who Lived interrupted her mid-sentence. 'Why?' he asked.

'Goldfish have a three second memory,' said Hermione, bossily.

'What do?' asked Harry, confused.

'Goldfish.'

'What do they have?'

'A three second memory.'

'What do?'

'Goldfish.'

'What do they have?'

'A three second memory.'

'What do?'

'Goldfish.'

'What do they have?'

'A three second memory.'

'What do?'

'Do you get the feeling I'm repeating myself?' asked Hermione, looking pointedly at Ron.

'What? What do?' asked Harry, frustrated. 'I want to KNOW. Not knowing ANNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYS me!'

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!' screamed Hermione, running.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!' shouted Ron, running.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!' shrieked Mrs. Weasley, running.

So Harry Potter was left all alone in the kitchen, staring placidly at his un-boiled egg. There was a moment's pause. Then, 'Hello,' said Harry, quietly to the egg. Unsurprisingly, the egg didn't reply. 'Oh,' said Harry. Then, 'Are you shy?' he asked it. No response. 'Oh. I'm a bit shy too when I'm talking to strangers. I'm Harry.' Our hero held out his hand to shake hands with the egg. Unfortunately it didn't seem to have a hand. Not easily put off, Harry just picked it up and shook the whole thing instead. In for a penny, in for a pound. The egg remained unresponsive. Harry was just about to start crying at this rude behaviour, when Pig flapped in, carrying something that smelt suspiciously as if it was burning.

Something suspiciously red. Something suspiciously smoking. (Have you guessed it yet?!). Harry stared at the letter, wondering what it was. When it started to shout.

'OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!' (Comprehension was dawning at last). 'It's a HOOOOOOOOWLER!'

This letter, however, started off surprisingly quietly.

'I'm sorry, Harry, I wish I felt the same way, I really do, but YOU DISGUST ME!!!!!!! KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!! KEEP YOUR SICK LITTLE FANTASIES TO YOURSELF! NEVER SEND ME ANY MORE PINK CORRESPONDENCE!!! I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WERE THINKING OF! (Or, in the words of harrypotter.com, which has NO INFORMATION WHATSOEVER on the fifth book, 'WHAT *WERE* YOU THINKING OF?') STAY AWAY FROM ME! NEVER COME NEAR ME AGAIN! I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY HOPE THAT WAS A MISTAKE HARRY. IF NOT, SORRY TO DISAPPOINT YOU AND ALL THAT, BUT YOU HAVE *NO CHANCE WHATSOEVER*! I'M A DARK LORD! WATCH A FEW FILMS! ALL THE MOST ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS ON THE DARK SIDE ANYWAY! AND EVEN IF THEY WEREN'T, I'M SORRY BUT I WOULDN'T WANT A STUNTED ACNE-COVERED *FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD* BOY, WHO ALSO HAPPENS TO BE MY ARCH-ENEMY!'

Harry turned to look in a mirror. 'I DO NOT have acne!' he shouted. The mirror cracked. Harry toddled off into Fred and George's bedroom. 'What's acne?' he asked, bemusedly. The twins had unfortunately already evacuated the Burrow, so he didn't get an answer. He mentally put it down on his list of things to ask Hermione next time he saw her. Though for a brain with clearly so little else in it to clutter it up, it was surprising how many important things got lost this way. Someone had once kindly given him a load of Post-it notes to combat this problem. Which would have been really good. If Harry had been able to write. Still they weren't without their uses, Harry had spent many a happy day covering himself in fluorescent Post- its. Anyway, when he got back to his bedroom, the Howler was still going strong.

'I KNOW I TOOK A BLOOD SAMPLE AND ALL THAT IN THE SUMMER TERM AT THAT STUPID TOURNAMENT, BUT THAT WAS SO I COULD BE REBORN. *REBORN* YOU FOOL! NOT BECAUSE I WANTED ANYTHING OF YOURS! AND ALL THAT STROKING YOUR SCAR WHILE YOU WERE TIED TO A GRAVESTONE WAS *EVIL TRIUMPHANT BEHAVIOUR*! I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT I IN NO WAY WANTED TO TOUCH YOU! BELIEVE ME! I DON'T WANT YOU HARRY! I NEVER WANTED YOU! I WANTED YOU *DEAD*. I STILL WANT YOU DEAD! I WANT YOU OUT OF THE WAY, AND I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN! AND I NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER WANT ANOTHER SINGING LOVE LETTER! EVER!'

And for a grand finale, there was a loud rendition of 'BOB THE BUILDER!', 'ROSIE AND JIM', and, just for variety, 'TINKY-WINKY, DIPSY, LA-LA, PO!' before, with a final scream and evil cackle, the letter burst into flame and crumbled away.

Ron and Hermione, who had bravely entered the room a few seconds earlier, looked worriedly at Harry. After a rather long pause, Ron, after being repeatedly nudged by Hermione, walked towards Harry.

'I'm sorry, mate,' he said in what he considered to be quite a macho yet companionable voice. Harry looked up at him, bewildered. Hermione kicked Ron. 'OW! I mean . . . I'm sorry they didn't feel the same way, Harry. Bad luck.' Ron retreated hastily.

Harry looked at him, completely nonplussed. 'What?' he asked. 'Who doesn't feel the same way?'

Ron looked deeply embarrassed. 'Um, whoever that was . . . who sent the Howler.'

'What, Voldemort?'

Ron winced. Then screamed. 'YOU SENT A PINK LETTER TO *VOLDEMORT*? Why, Harry? Why? Whatever possessed you?'

'No, a Howler,' said our hero, his innocent little emerald green eyes looking endearingly (if you like the helpless, brain-dead kind) into Ron's.

Hermione started laughing madly. Harry and Ron both looked at her. The giggling eventually subsided. 'You sent him a PINK LETTER! Instead of a Howler! A PINK LETTER!'

'Don't laugh at me like that!' shouted Harry, hurt. 'It really really ANNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOYS me.'

Ron and Hermione screamed and fell down on the floor, covering their ears.

'Anyway, what does a pink letter DO?' asked Harry.

'Erm . . .' began Hermione, going very red.

'Erm . . .' began Ron, turning tomato-coloured.

'Erm . . .' said two twin voices through the keyhole.

'FRED! GEORGE!' bellowed Ron, sounding rather squashed. 'Stop spying on us!!!'

'Sorry,' said Fred. 'But we'd miss a lot if we didn't.'

'Like we didn't know that Harry fancied You-Know-Who, for example.' Completed George, helpfully.

'But I don't . . .' began Harry, very bewildered.

'And anyway,' cut in Fred. 'We like hanging around Harry cos if we do he might give us more money.'

Hermione looked at the twins sternly over the top of Ron, on whom she had fallen. 'You've already conned the poor kid into giving you a thousand galleons. Isn't that enough?'

Fred opened his mouth to argue, but Harry cut in, 'I wasn't conned. And I'm not a poor kid!'

'So young,' said George, shaking his head. 'So very young.'

'Anyway, what ARE pink letters for?' asked Harry again.

'Erm . . . they kind of . . . show affection . . .' began Hermione.

'Ohhhhhhhhh,' said Harry. 'They're NAUGHTY letters! But anyway, I sent a red letter, not a pink one.'

There was a momentary pause. Then Hermione, taking a fluffy pink biro out of her pocket, said, 'What colour is this, Harry?'

'Erm . . .' began Harry, eloquently. Then, after a few seconds pause, the decisive, 'Red.'

'No, Harry,' said Hermione, kindly. 'Actually it's pink.' Beside her the twins were cracking up.

'Oh,' said Harry, crestfallen. 'It's just that the colours are quite difficult aren't they? And pink's not one of the *main* colours. Pink's a *girly* colour anyway.'

Ron interrupted by making a loud spluttering noise from underneath Hermione. She clambered off him, looking at him concernedly. 'What's wrong, Ron?' she asked.

'Nothing!' said Ron, a bit too quickly.

Fred sighed heavily. 'Ron's a bit squashed.'

'Squashed?' said Hermione, running a hand through her very bushy hair. It got stuck halfway through. 'What by?' she completed, one hand still stuck in her hair.

'You,' said Harry, perceptively (for once), his glasses once again thrust up his nostrils.

There was a moment's pause. Then, 'Doesn't that hurt?' asked George, looking pointedly at Hermione's hand, which was still stuck. Hermione had been trying to pull it out inconspicuously and failing miserably.

'OUCH!!!' shrieked Hermione, before adding an extremely unconvincing, 'No. It doesn't hurt.'

'Looks like a job for the Weasleymeister!' shouted Fred, gleefully.

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' shouted Hermione. 'I don't want you anywhere near my hair!'

'That isn't what we meant . . .' began George, whilst Ron began to say simultaneously, 'Not even ME?' in a very pointed voice. However they were both interrupted by a very large and very fast-moving red-haired woman shooting through the door.

'Did I hear my name?' she called.

'YES!' shouted Fred and George.

'I can't hear you!' shouted the Weasleymeister herself. 'I said DID I HEAR MY NAME?'

'YES!' shouted Fred and George and Ron.

'*DID I HEAR MY NAME*?' she bellowed once more. There was a momentary silence. In Africa, a few elephants were deafened. Across the world, a few bats died of shock. Inside the Burrow, the humans were beginning to recover. Then . . .

'YEEEEEEEEEEEES!' bellowed Fred and George and Ron, and, five minutes later, Harry.

'What's the problem?' asked Mrs. Weasley, briskly.

'Hermione needs a haircut.' Shouted George.

'So I see,' said Mrs. Weasley, advancing slowly.

'NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' screamed Hermione, writhing on the floor. 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!'

But in spite of all the screaming, Mrs. Weasley advanced, relentless, and a pair of garden shears appeared in her hand. Hermione collapsed, unconscious.

And when she woke up, five minutes later, she was bald.



A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease review! I hope the chapters will improve after this one, it was quite hard to write cos I've been thinking too hard recently. I'll probably update in the Christmas holidays if anyone is interested. But in the meantime, pleeeeeeease review! Please! (