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Chapter 3
Neville shrank nervously away from the Fat Lady, Ginny beside him. "Neville, it's just a painting," she said patiently, trying to tug him towards the portrait hole. But the Fat Lady turned to grin malevolently at him, and he stumbled even further back.
"But… but… look what she did to Sir Cadogan!"
Ginny had accompanied Neville to the library to take out a book on Snapping Griswolds, a particularly nasty plant that both the fourth and fifth years were working with in Herbology. Neither Ginny or Neville had realized they had an assignment on it due tomorrow, and in panic, they had snuck out of the common room to rush to the library. And they had come back to find… this.
"Those rumors they were spreading about Snape being a Fairy Godmother must be true, then!" Neville gasped, clamping a hand over his mouth. Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently.
"Neville," she said long-sufferingly, "I know. But it's late. And we still have homework, and we have to get into the Tower before someone sees us. Especially before Snape sees us!! So come on!" She dragged his staggering self over to the painting and said, a little more snappishly than she had intended, "Contra Posto."
Nothing happened.
Ginny blinked.
The Fat Lady grinned.
"Uhh… Contra… contra posto? Open Sesame?? Please open now??" Ginny tried nervously, taking an involuntary step backwards into a shaking Neville as the Fat Lady's smirk grew.
"The last people who opened me were very, very rude," she crooned. "And imagine my luck! Snapey dearest happened to fly straight past during my impassioned lament of disrespectful youngsters, and had compassion on this poor old woman, and allowed me to accept and reject who I please. And you," she screeched with relish, evidently having the time of her life, "you impertinent hussy, are REJECTED!!!"
Neville gave an undignified squeak as she barked the last words echoingly into the silence of the halls, and stumbled backwards, immediately turning to shoot gracelessly down the hall. "Neville!" Ginny hissed, turning sharply and darting after him, feeling rather peeved as she raced through the passage, but secretly rather glad that she had an excuse to get away from the Fat Lady. She was just plain unnerving.
Neville's hastily retreating figure bobbed before her in the semi-darkness, and with an exasperated sigh, she put up an extra spurt of speed, tearing after him, feet padding echoingly on the icy stone floor. It really was chilly tonight, she thought with a shiver, impatiently brushing a clump of ginger hair from her face as it blew into her eyes. This was one of the first times she had been out of the common room this late at night, and she wasn't sure she liked it. Harsh, flickering torches cast pools of uneasy orange light that only accentuated the lurking gloom beyond, and she felt as if countless eyes were staring at her from the shadows…
She shook her head violently. No. She had gotten rid of her fear of the dark years ago… she wasn't going to let it come back now… Drawing a deep, bracing breath, she sped off down the hall, hoping that Snape wouldn't descend on her from the shadows.
She skidded to a halt, hair flying in her face, when she reached Hogwarts' enormous foyer, the front doors looming over her in the darkness. Neville stood, frozen, several feet away from her, staring at something with wide eyes. Confused, and not a little apprehensive, Ginny followed his gaze and gaped.
Mrs. Norris.
Or, to put it more correctly, Mrs. Norris-in-Boots.
She stood on her hind legs, tiny leather boots molded smoothly to her paws, clasped shut by rigid brass buckles. A bag was slung over her shoulder, grasped firmly in her forepaws, and her lamp-like amber eyes peered inquisitively at them through the darkness. After contemplating them for several seconds, she waved cheerily, and then trotted past them down the hall, melting into the shadows.
They stared after her for several seconds, disbelieving.
"Oh, my God," whispered Ginny, and they both dissolved into a fit of hysterical laughter, the ringing mirth echoing merrily through the towering expanse of the hall.
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Harry, (a.k.a. Potterella) stared glumly at the dish he held in his hands. Covered in the chunky, solidified mass of baked beans that he recognized as last night's dinner, it sat defiantly in his hands, practically screeching, Clean me!!
Which dish was this?? His twentieth? Fiftieth? Hundredth seemed more accurate… with a scowl and a disgruntled grunt he grabbed his brush and attacked the plate with it, scraping violently at the grit. Sudsy water splashed up and drenched his arms and the tattered rags he now wore, but he didn't care any more. After what seemed to be hours of washing dishes, he was beginning to get rather ticked off. His hands, chaffed and red from all of the scrubbing and boiling water they had been subjected to (and from some rather merciless treatment from the Biting Pan, which was now sulking in the corner after he had dented it several times), were beginning to sting and throb, and he stared at them remorsefully, still scrubbing away at the plate.
Sighing, he stared blankly at the sandstone walls, allowing his mind to drift. He wondered worriedly where Hermione and Ron were, and what they were doing… he let out a silent prayer that they weren't stuck in a Grimm Brother's version of a fairytale…
He looked down at his plate, dark bangs falling messily over his face. Still bean-covered. Jeez, what kind of slob was this person?! He scowled in frustration. There was still a mountain of plates waiting to be cleaned…
He sighed and stared at the mound upon mound of dishes towering leering over him. Evil plates. He would never look at one the same way again after this. The warm glow of the torches flaring cheerfully on the walls beside him did nothing to alleviate his mood. Once this spell was over with, Snape was going to die…
His happy fantasies of Snape-torture were suddenly shattered as the still life of the pear exploded outwards, revealing two dark, hulking silhouettes framed by the flaring torchlight behind them. Harry blanched, setting down his baked-bean encrusted plate with a sharp clack.
Uh-oh.
The evil stepsisters.
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"That was a good idea, Neville," Ginny remarked, pleased with her friend. "Hagrid will know what we should do…"
The pair trekked their way through the damp, ruffling grass, the bright, slender curve of the moon bathing everything in a pale, silvery glow, giving them just enough light to see by. Neville smiled, running a hand through his tousled hair, evidently pleased by the compliment. "Thanks. And… I-I'm sorry I ran out on you like that… she was just…"
Ginny laughed. "Terrifying?? I agree," she said cheerfully, smiling at him. "If you had waited a little longer, it would have been me shooting down the hall with you chasing after me!"
Neville smiled again, and they approached Hagrid's hut in companionable silence. It huddled against the dark backdrop of the Forbidden Forest, the golden light streaming from the window a quiet beacon of peace in the sea of cold, ethereal semi-darkness.
Neville blinked suddenly. Wait… there was something… different… about the window, and come to think of it, the rest of the house as well…
Neville gaped. "Ginny, look. Hagrid's house…!"
Ginny squeaked in shocked delight. "Ooh… look! It's made of candy!"
And indeed it was. The doorframes and window lattices were peppermint, icing dotted with chunks of rich chocolate and Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans glistened temptingly on the roof, and the faint, mouth-watering, spicy-sweet aroma of gingerbread wafted from the walls.
She immediately darted towards it but Neville quickly grabbed her wrist, holding her back. "Wait," he whispered nervously, "do you know anything about Muggle fairytales?" She stared at him, realization slowly dawning in widened brown eyes.
"No, I don't," she said slowly, turning to stare at the hut. "But not all of them end happily, do they?"
"I don't think so," Neville said, shaking his head. "But maybe we should look through the window, to see if Hagrid's… well…"
Ginny nodded, and cautiously, they crept up to the nearest window (only briefly distracted by the fact that it was spun of sugar) and peered through.
And their mouths dropped open in shock.
In the center of the room stooped Fang, resplendent in a black cape and hood, a knobby walking stick clenched in one paw. He hobbled on his hind legs through the room, woofing to himself in a way that sounded eerily like bursts of cackling, and tossed logs of wood into the roaring fire that crackled and sparked in the enormous fireplace, casting the room in a deep reddish glow. At one end of the room was a roughly constructed wooden cage that hadn't been there before, and three little pigs squatted inside, looking as peeved as pigs can look. The one with the bushy black beard grumbled sorrowfully to himself and stared up at Fang with tearful black eyes, looking betrayed.
Once in a while, Fang would hobble up to the cage, bark, and the pig with spectacles would hold out a twig. The dog would paw it with his claws before letting out a snuffling huff of disappointment and padding away.
Ginny and Neville, horrified, slowly backed away from the window, staring dazedly at each other. "O…k," whispered Ginny, eyes wide, "Not going in there."
"What should we do, then?" Neville whispered in return as they quickly stumbled away from the sugar-bedecked hut, "Maybe we should just sleep out here. If we sleep in the hallways, Snape will probably find us…"
Ginny shuddered. "And Merlin only knows what he'll do to us. Look, there's a tree by the lake… if we climb up there, he won't be able to see us, and it won't be as damp as sleeping on the ground. Come on, let's go!"
With that, they took off, rushing across the lawn. And behind them, from the shadows, a pair of pink wings fluttered softly, dark eyes contemplating their retreating forms. He had an idea…
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Who were they?? Harry squinted at their silhouettes, trying to make out who they were. He had given some thought to this, and he figured it would probably be Parvati and Padma. But these two were much too bulky to be either of them.
They flounced into the room, skirts swirling around their stocky forms as they pranced.
"POTTERELLA!" the one on the right bellowed in a very un-feminine voice, "Where are those frocks you were ironing for me? I need them, like, now!"
Harry stared. Harry goggled. Harry was sure he was going to be sick.
There before him stood, drowning in a sea of ruffles and lace, makeup plastered inexpertly all over their faces, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Vincent giggled girlishly and took out a compact, his huge, meaty hand liberally applying large amounts of powder to his square face. Gregory merely scowled in a manner that clearly said, 'Give me my frocks before I shove your mug in that blender there.'
But Harry couldn't move. Even if he had known where the frocks were, he wouldn't have been able to move, because he was presently occupied with catapulting headfirst into an advanced state of shock.
Crabbe and Goyle. His stepsisters were CRABBE and GOYLE. Crabbe and Goyle were his STEPSISTERS. A bubble of hysteria rose in his throat, and his sides began to shake, but remembering the stepsisters from the story, he didn't dare let his laughter out. Even though the heavy mascara lining Goyle's eyes and the pink bow perched on his buzz cut did detract a little from the intimidation factor…
He was turning nearly purple with restrained laughter, and Goyle was becoming increasingly peeved. Oh, god, he was going to get pummeled... and then, suddenly, a pile of ruffled dresses popped out of nowhere and scurried in front of him, hurrying towards the large bo… girl. Harry breathed a shaking sigh of giggling relief as Trevor croaked by his side, watching as the house elf hurried towards Goyle.
Thank you, Dobby.
Pleased, Gregory snatched the dresses from the house elf and hugged them too him, giggling. "Ahh… here they are… Potterella! There's a STAIN on my FAVORITE FROCK!"
Harry stared as a froth of pink lace swung in his face, a meaty claw poking at a tiny brown smudge on the very edge of the skirt. "REWASH ALL OF THEM!!!!" he bellowed, furious with rage, throwing the entire pile of dresses into Harry's face, who quickly scrambled to accommodate the sudden rain of ribbon and chiffon. Still roaring his grievances at the top of his lungs, he lobbed Harry painfully over the head and grabbed Crabbe's wrist, dragging him out of this kitchen, flinging squealing house elves out of his path as he stormed away.
Head throbbing, Harry reeled backwards, attempting in vain to regain his balance before falling with a heavy thump to the floor. Dazedly, he stared after their retreating forms, flouncing furiously from the room. The portrait slammed behind them with a resounding bang, leaving the room shrouded in stunned silence.
Harry sat, frozen, for several seconds, mouth ajar. And then, slowly, the trembling hysteria he'd fiercely clamped down before bubbled to the surface, and rushed to his throat in a sudden burst of uncontrollable laughter. He buried his face in the mound of frocks before him, shaking wildly, howling at the top of his lungs.
THAT was one image that was going to stay with him forever…
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Fairytale Count:
*Puss in boots
*Hansel and Gretel
DON'T WORRY!! Draco's in the next chapter!!
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