Trafficking with Triffids
A/n: Special thanks to madame-knight for reviewing; I hope you like this third chapter as much as I'm enjoying your fic "The Art of Ego Deflation".
Chapter 3: A Partiality for Pumpkins
Hagrid hastened along the corridor, walking straight through Nearly Headless Nick in his preoccupation. Pausing only to wave his hand in a vague apology, he hurried on.
"Beetle juice!" The staircase to the headmaster's office opened before him, and in a trice he was bursting into the room. "Professor Dumbledore, sir!" he shouted, "Half me pumpkins is gone!"
Albus looked up from his book and raised one eyebrow (only one; he reserved the other for really important occasions). "When was this?" he asked calmly.
"Last night, professor." said Hagrid. "When me and Fang went out this morning, they was gone. And we never heard nothing in the night, and nor did Grawp..." He tailed off in confusion, since Grawp's continued presence in the Forbidden Forest was strictly unofficial.
"I never heard the last part, Hagrid," said Dumbledore quietly. "But tell me more about the pumpkins."
"Well, sir, the funny thing is, half of them had gone rotten with all the rain we've had, but the thieves only took the rotten ones, and left all the healthy ones. Now why would anyone want to do a thing like that?"
"The question," said Dumbledore slowly to himself, "is not why but where... Hagrid, send an owl to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and say I suggest a little excursion to Ottery St Catchpole might prove enlightening..."
In the village of Ottery St Frideswide, life continued its even tenor, although the residents would have been disturbed to learn of two new occupants of number thirteen, only one of them human, and neither particularly sane.
And in a windowless room of that same cottage, Gilderoy was in difficulties. The triffid hunched in the corner was it seemed neither biddable nor bribable. "Siderius!" he shouted.
Lovegood nervously inched open the door. "Do you really believe this is a good idea, Gilderoy?" he began.
"Listen, Siderius. Once I have perfected the ingredients of my new hair care lotion, your paper will have a world exclusive on the news! A moment of fame for the Scribbler!"
"Quibbler, actually," said Lovegood huffily, retreating rapidly as the triffid launched itself forward from its corner, shuffling on its small root-like feet.
"Back, you fiend!" screamed Lockhart, brandishing his wand. "Immobilis!" But the spell only seemed to give the triffid renewed energy as it surged forward. It balled one of its tentacles into something remarkably like a human fist, and lashing out struck him on the face. "No!" he shouted, "You'll ruin my foundation cream!" He retreated towards the door. "Listen!" he called desperately. "Just let me take an itsy-bitsy little bit of your sap in this syringe, and you can have a lovely rotten pumpkin, all for your very own..."