Harry Potter and the Cookie of 1942
Author note: This story tries to follow canon. I may have taken a few liberties with character ages, but it's all for a good cause. Neville may seem a little out of character, but this is how I think he will act in the future. Humor/Adventure/Romance (just a little). I started this before HBP came out, but I've now revised it to include some of the HBP information.
Disclaimer: All hail J.K. Rowling, who is not me.
Chapter 1: the Cookie
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Ron Weasley looked suspiciously at the innocent-looking chocolate chip cookie on the table in front of him. He surreptitiously eyed his friends, trying to decide which one of them would benefit the most from eating what he suspected was one of Fred and George's newest inventions. It looked delicious, but could not be trusted since it had been delivered in an unlabeled brown package by an unmarked brown Eeylops post owl. For a moment he considered throwing it away, but he couldn't just let a piece of the twins' genius go to waste.
Finally, Ron made up his mind and broke the cookie in half, turning to the black-haired boy on his right.
"Here, Harry, have some of this cookie. It's really good!" He hid the other half and made munching motions as if he were eating it. Harry, who looked preoccupied (as usual), took it without a second thought. Inwardly snickering, Ron passed the other half across the table to Hermione, whose bushy head was buried in Standard Spells, level 6, as if she hadn't already read the whole thing twice.
"Hermione, this is a special cookie, just for you." She absently took it, but vaguely passed it to Neville, who was sitting on her left.
"I've finished eating already. Here, Neville, you can have it." She returned her nose to the spell book. Neville shrugged and nibbled the cookie, and Ron waited eagerly to see what would happen.
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Neville Longbottom looked up from his plate, and was surprised to see that the Great Hall was empty except for himself, Harry Potter, and a short ginger-haired boy at the end of the Gryffindor table, who was stuffing his face with pudding.
"Hey, where did everyone go?" he asked. Harry looked equally surprised.
"I don't get it," he replied, looking around in confusion. "Ron and Hermione were just here. Did they leave without us? Did we fall asleep?"
"Maybe they stunned us for fun and ran off," grumbled Neville. Harry stood up and walked over to the ginger-haired boy. Neville recognized him, but couldn't place his name.
"Er, whatever your name is," said Harry impatiently, "Do you know what time it is? Where is everyone? Is breakfast over?" The boy looked up with his mouth full of pudding.
"I'm Alshie Fwetsher, yesh it's over." He swallowed enormously. "It's ten pas' nine, everyone's in class. Exshept for us, and we're late!" he proclaimed cheerfully. Neville groaned.
"We have Potions first today, and Snape's not going to be happy." They both grabbed their bags and ran out of the hall, leaving the ginger-haired boy looking curiously after them.
As they charged down the hallway, Harry said thoughtfully, "You know, that kid must be related to Mundungus Fletcher."
"How ... do you know ... Dung, Harry?" panted Neville.
"Oh, er, the Weasleys know him. I sort of met him when I was with them. Do you know him?" They reached the stairs that led to the dungeon.
"He's ... my dad's ... cousin! And the only way ... that kid ... could be related to him is if ... he's Dung's ... son ... But Dung ... doesn't have a son!"
"Maybe he's keeping you in the dark." Gasping, they paused for air and Harry jerked open Professor Snape's classroom door. But the dungeon was empty. No cauldrons simmered over controlled fires. No overgrown bats shot cutting remarks at cringing Gryffindors. No smirking Slytherins tried to sabotage each other's potions. The room was completely empty, devoid of life, devoid of teenage agony, devoid of...
"Where's Snape?" Harry was staring blankly at the empty dungeon, which looked as if it hadn't been used in many years. "Something's wrong, Neville. Something's happened, and I want to know what it is! Where is everyone?" Harry had his wand out and was snapping his head from side to side like a nervous hare.
"You're starting to act like Mad-Eye Moody, Harry. Maybe class was cancelled. Maybe Snape got sick. Or died!" Neville was surprisingly cheered by this idea.
"It's too good to be true,"replied the Boy Who Lived grimly. "Look at this classroom. There are no desks, no potion ingredients, nothing."
"Maybe Snape decided he doesn't like dungeons anymore and moved to a new classroom," suggested Neville hopefully.
"Without telling us?" Harry smiled wryly and bent over, touching the ground with his finger. "It's all dusty as if it hasn't been used in years!"
"So what do we do?" Neville was feeling the old nervousness come back. Since he'd gotten a new wand, which had chosen him, not his father, his schoolwork and confidence had improved greatly. But he still had bouts of uncertainty, especially in the dungeon or around Snape.
"Well, I guess we go see McGonagall," replied Harry decisively. They walked back along the dark hallway, and Neville jumped nervously as a shuffling noise came from behind one of the side doors they passed.
"What was that?" he squeaked. Harry narrowed his eyes at the door, fingering his wand.
"Something large ... and not human ... is alive in there, moving about," he murmured. "But let's leave it alone for now."
They were walking up the stairs when a voice ahead of them called, "Hey, who are you two?" The voice belonged to a small girl with short black hair, a large red velvet bow, and a mean look on her face. She could only be a second or third year, but she acted as if she owned the place. "You're Gryffindors, aren't you?" she sneered. "I'm going to report you to Slughorn. You shouldn't be down here."
"Well, you're obviously a Slytherin," said Harry in annoyance. "So perhaps you can tell us what's going on. What happened to the Potions classroom? And why wouldSlughorn care if we're down here? And while you're at it, who are you?" The girl tossed her short hair and looked down hersmall nose at them.
"I'm Olive Hornby. Professor Slughorn's my head of house, and the Potions classroom is where it has always been, by the library. I think you'd both better visit the hospital wing, if you're that disoriented. Not that I care. Excuse me." She pushed past them and walked downward. Harry and Neville looked at each other. Harry slammed his fist against his leg.
"I wish I could figure out what's going on! That girl looks familiar, and I've heard the name Olive Hornby somewhere before. But it doesn't fit! Maybe this is all a dream, or one of Voldemort's stupid visions. Let's go find McGonagall." Neville looked concernedly at Harry, but nodded and led the way toward the Transfiguration department.
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Author note: This story is going to be fun! More coming soon.