Harry and Ron had trouble sleeping that night. Every little noise scared them out of their wits. What if it was the Spatula of Doom, coming to beat them to a bloody pulp?
Incrediably bleary-eyed, the two boys stumbled out of bed and down to breakfast. Hermione was already sitting there, munching on toast, and looking quite refreshed.
"Top of the mornin' to ye," she chortled in a horrid Scottish accent. "Ah, but the wee laddies didnae sleep, did they?"
"Shuddup," Harry whined. "I didn't give you permission to talk to me did I?" He grabbed his solid gold spoon, fork and knife out of his pocket, and began carefully spooning oatmeal into a gilded bowl.
Ron's eyes were overbright, and unfocused as he blindly grasped for food. He began to stuff his face. About one-third of the foos actually made it to his mouth. The rest fell in his lap.
Hermione sniffled and began concentrating on her breakfast. She had thought her Scottish accent was funny. But NOOOO. The wonderful Potter didn't like it, so she couldn't speak like a Scot anymore. Or else Harry might throw another tantrum. Hermione shuddered as she remembered three weeks ago when Fred and George had offered Harry a Canary Cream. Harry had screamed, knocked over their tray of candies, and stomped on them until they were nothing more than gooey, gloopy, yucky, and totally smashed into the carpet. Then, Harry wrote to Mrs. Weasley, who sent a Howler telling the "STUPID IDIOTS TO LEAVE POOR HARRY ALONE! MY WORD, THAT BOY HAS GONE THROUGH SO MUCH! OOOH, YOU'RE LUCKY THERE ARE APPARATING LAWS UP THERE OR ELSE I'D APPARATE MYSELF RIGHT UP THERE AND THROTTLE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF YOU!" A tear fell onto Hermione's toast. She felt...Scottish-ish today, and Harry had ruined it.
Her musing was interrupted by a shriek. "OMIGOD RON!" Harry was pointing, horrified. Ron turned very pale, and a large glob of something fell out of his mouth.
"What?" he asked, eyes tearing up. What is Harry decided that Ron's freckles were annoying? Why, Ron would have to slice them off. Or what if Harry had come up with another "brilliant plan"? Something like, oh, let's say, 'Push Ron Off The Tallest Balcony And See How Far He Bounces.' Just last week, Harry had put his "Redheads Are Flammable' theory into play. Ron was still nursing burns.
"You're eating PANCAKES!" Harry yelped, overturning his gilded bowl, his gold utensils clattered to the ground.
"SO?" Ron and Hermione asked in unison.
"PANCAKES ARE MADE WITH A SPATULA! AN EVIL ONE!" Harry screamed. Everyone in the Great Hall was looking at him.
"Ah, Harry," Seamus said. "Don't worry. I ate a pancake, and I'm fine." Silly Seamus should have known better than to tempt fate. If he'd have said, 'Oh, I'm horrible! My eyes are twitchy, my abdomen is on fire, my arm is limp, and I've lost feeling in the left side of my body!" he probably would have been fine.
But Seamus hadn't said that. So then, with a loud *QUACK!* Seamus turned into a waffle.
"Quack?" Ron asked, failing to notice the immediate problem. Which was of course, that he, too, would most likely be turned into a waffle too. "I always thought waffles said 'SPLAT!'"
"No, stupid!" Hermione chided, not noticing the immmediate problem either. "You see, shovels go 'SPLAT!'. Waffles go 'Quack!' Duh!"
Harry looked on, disgusted, as Ron's face began to sort of squish, and then with a loud *QUACK!* Ron turned into a waffle.
"Save me Harry!" the Ron-Waffle called out. "Destroy the Spatula of Doom! AHHHHHH!"
Hermione had just picked Ron up, and was about to bite into him, but Harry smacked him out of her hands. "Jeezus, 'Mione! That's Ron!"
"Oh," Hermione smiled stupidly. "Guess we better save him, huh?"
Incrediably bleary-eyed, the two boys stumbled out of bed and down to breakfast. Hermione was already sitting there, munching on toast, and looking quite refreshed.
"Top of the mornin' to ye," she chortled in a horrid Scottish accent. "Ah, but the wee laddies didnae sleep, did they?"
"Shuddup," Harry whined. "I didn't give you permission to talk to me did I?" He grabbed his solid gold spoon, fork and knife out of his pocket, and began carefully spooning oatmeal into a gilded bowl.
Ron's eyes were overbright, and unfocused as he blindly grasped for food. He began to stuff his face. About one-third of the foos actually made it to his mouth. The rest fell in his lap.
Hermione sniffled and began concentrating on her breakfast. She had thought her Scottish accent was funny. But NOOOO. The wonderful Potter didn't like it, so she couldn't speak like a Scot anymore. Or else Harry might throw another tantrum. Hermione shuddered as she remembered three weeks ago when Fred and George had offered Harry a Canary Cream. Harry had screamed, knocked over their tray of candies, and stomped on them until they were nothing more than gooey, gloopy, yucky, and totally smashed into the carpet. Then, Harry wrote to Mrs. Weasley, who sent a Howler telling the "STUPID IDIOTS TO LEAVE POOR HARRY ALONE! MY WORD, THAT BOY HAS GONE THROUGH SO MUCH! OOOH, YOU'RE LUCKY THERE ARE APPARATING LAWS UP THERE OR ELSE I'D APPARATE MYSELF RIGHT UP THERE AND THROTTLE THE LIVING DAYLIGHTS OUT OF YOU!" A tear fell onto Hermione's toast. She felt...Scottish-ish today, and Harry had ruined it.
Her musing was interrupted by a shriek. "OMIGOD RON!" Harry was pointing, horrified. Ron turned very pale, and a large glob of something fell out of his mouth.
"What?" he asked, eyes tearing up. What is Harry decided that Ron's freckles were annoying? Why, Ron would have to slice them off. Or what if Harry had come up with another "brilliant plan"? Something like, oh, let's say, 'Push Ron Off The Tallest Balcony And See How Far He Bounces.' Just last week, Harry had put his "Redheads Are Flammable' theory into play. Ron was still nursing burns.
"You're eating PANCAKES!" Harry yelped, overturning his gilded bowl, his gold utensils clattered to the ground.
"SO?" Ron and Hermione asked in unison.
"PANCAKES ARE MADE WITH A SPATULA! AN EVIL ONE!" Harry screamed. Everyone in the Great Hall was looking at him.
"Ah, Harry," Seamus said. "Don't worry. I ate a pancake, and I'm fine." Silly Seamus should have known better than to tempt fate. If he'd have said, 'Oh, I'm horrible! My eyes are twitchy, my abdomen is on fire, my arm is limp, and I've lost feeling in the left side of my body!" he probably would have been fine.
But Seamus hadn't said that. So then, with a loud *QUACK!* Seamus turned into a waffle.
"Quack?" Ron asked, failing to notice the immediate problem. Which was of course, that he, too, would most likely be turned into a waffle too. "I always thought waffles said 'SPLAT!'"
"No, stupid!" Hermione chided, not noticing the immmediate problem either. "You see, shovels go 'SPLAT!'. Waffles go 'Quack!' Duh!"
Harry looked on, disgusted, as Ron's face began to sort of squish, and then with a loud *QUACK!* Ron turned into a waffle.
"Save me Harry!" the Ron-Waffle called out. "Destroy the Spatula of Doom! AHHHHHH!"
Hermione had just picked Ron up, and was about to bite into him, but Harry smacked him out of her hands. "Jeezus, 'Mione! That's Ron!"
"Oh," Hermione smiled stupidly. "Guess we better save him, huh?"