Harry Potter and the Love Heart-Spotted Underpants
The Great Hall was half-filled when Harry, Ron and Hermione came in for breakfast, and white clouds danced across the ceiling, suggesting rain. When they reached their seats at the Griffindor Table, Ron immediately began spading large amounts of cornflakes into his bowl with his spoon. Hermione stared at him for a moment, but chose to say nothing and picked a single slice of toast for herself.
Harry wasn't eating. His brain was marred with a thousand thoughts, all connected in one way or another to his inevitable battle with Voldemort. What if Dumbledore had been wrong, he wondered, and Horcruxes did not comprise his nemesis? He expressed this thought aloud but quietly to Hermione and Ron, expecting words of counsel. However, Hermione did the very last thing he had been expecting, a thing that frightened him beyond belief.
'Well, let's find out,' she said and, raising her wand, whirled it in the direction of the doors to the Great Hall, and screamed, 'Accio Voldemort!'
It was obvious everyone had heard her. An awful, sickening silence filled the place, and Harry suddenly wished the floor would swallow him up. All eyes in the room had swivelled in their direction. Ron's expression was of wordless surprise. Harry looked past him at the faces of those at the High Table.
Hagrid was not visible, and Harry realised that the crashing sound he had heard barely a second after Hermione had said the incantation was the sound of the half-giant collapsing in a dead faint. Professor Flitwick, perched on his usual pile of books, looked as though he had sat on a pin. Professor McGonagall, who had seated herself as the new headmistress in the High Chair, looked nothing short of livid. It was Snape, though, in whom Harry was most interested; he wore a peculiar expression that was part surprise, part delight. Harry did not like it at all. But then, Harry reminded himself, he did not like the fact that Snape was still at Hogwarts, what with his murdering the headmaster.
The pregnant silence ensued, and Harry's gaze tailed the room until it fell upon the Slytherin table. Annoyingly, Malfoy looked placid, his arms folded casually on the table in front of him. He actually appeared to be trying to stop himself from laughing. Harry felt a nauseating swoop of anger in his stomach, but could not say or do anything; the room suddenly shook.
Everyone felt it. Forks and cutlery skittered across the wooden tabletops. Goblets toppled, their contents spewing everywhere. Panicked shouts erupted and students got up and attempted to dash to the doors. But it was too late.
The doors thundered angrily. Harry's heartbeat seemed to double its pace. Something big, something powerful was about to burst through those doors. Harry raised an eyebrow; surely, he thought, a simple Summoning Charm could not have…?
BANG. Before he could finish this thought, the doors exploded open, and a dark object swooped into the Hall. Students rushed back to their seats as the object came closer, before stopping to hover a foot or so above the Griffindor Table.
A disgruntled Voldemort irritably yanked his hood back; it had blown over his head in the force of the flight, and everyone gasped. That white, snake-like face with the glaring red eyes leered down at the students from mid-air, like some terrifying puppet.
'Nice going, Hermione,' breathed Ron sarcastically in her ear.
Hermione gulped.
Voldemort's terrible eyes fell on Harry, and Harry felt every muscle in his body turn to marshmallows, even though he did not like marshmallows.
'Potter,' said the cold, high-pitched voice, its owner hovering a foot over the table. 'Did you invite me here to kill you, now? How quaint!'
'Er, it was me, my lord,' whispered a petrified Hermione, raising her hand.
'How quaint,' Voldemort repeated, turning his red eyes to her. 'I had forgotten that Mudbloods can also do magic…'
'Hey!' Ron had leapt to his feet. Startled, Harry seized him by the elbow to pull him back down, but Ron resolutely held his stance. 'You're making her miserable! I'm the only person who's allowed to do that!'
The Dark Lord was speechless. Taking advantage of this, Ron pointed his wand at him and shouted 'Wingardium Leviosa!' With a great whoosh of air, and a look of utter bewilderment, Voldemort was sent soaring upwards into the rafters of the Hall. Ron's grip on his wand went limp, and being suddenly held up by nothing as opposed to magic, Voldemort squealed in terror and seized one of the wooden beams to stop himself plummeting to his… well, this is Voldemort, so can I really say death?
People were standing up now, with rather a lot of confidence. There was pointing and laughter all around the room, as people jeered at the wizard dangling eighty feet or so above their heads. Professor McGonagall, looking stern, marched towards the Griffindor table at which Harry, Ron and Hermione stood.
'Fifty points from Griffindor, Miss Granger!' she barked. 'How dare you Summon He Who Must Not Be Named to Hogwarts!'
Harry's heart plummeted at this, but was elevated at what she next had to say.
'And fifty points to Griffindor, Mr. Weasley, for your swift reflex.' She smiled briefly, then returned to the High Table.
'So in other words… we stay exactly the same?' said Harry bemusedly to his best friends. They nodded, and shrugged in reply. 'That's useful!' he said, rolling his eyes at McGonagall's back.
Suddenly, the Dark Lord let out another squeal as one of his boots slipped from his foot and fell with a bang onto the table. This gave Harry an idea. He raised his wand.
'Accio Voldemort's clothes (except for his underwear)!'
What with the Hall being so cavernous, everyone heard at least an echo of the tearing sound as Voldemort's violet cloak was ripped from him by magic, then swooped down at Harry, who caught it, and sniffed it.
'Ugh, he uses far too much detergent.'
Nobody had heard him, though; the jeering and the laughter had risen considerably in volume. He looked up again, and saw why.
Voldemort's underpants were white and spotted in pink love hearts. They stood out vividly against his shock of pale skin. He also looked rather thin, and helpless, hanging there whilst the students taunted him. Harry thought: were he not the most evil and most powerful Dark sorcerer for a hundred years nor responsible for hundreds if not thousands of deaths, not to mention the murder of my parents, I would feel sorry for him.
Madam Pomfrey appeared at McGonagall's elbow. 'I'll take that,' she said reprovingly, snatching the cloak out of Harry's hands.
'Er, what do we do now, professor?' Harry asked.
'We should get rid of him,' began Hermione. 'I think -,'
'No,' McGonagall interrupted, her strict eyes narrowing on the form of Voldemort dangling way above their heads, 'that's just what he'd be expecting us to do…'
Harry and Ron exchanged looks.
'Where's Dumbledore?' their teacher demanded suddenly. Harry felt his stomach tighten.
'Dumbledore's six feet under, professor, remember?' said Ron conversationally, indicating the floor briefly with a jerk of his thumb.
'Oh, yes,' said Professor McGonagall. 'I had forgotten.'
They exchanged another look.
Suddenly, a hair-raising scream rent the air from above. They looked up; Voldemort's humiliation had erupted into rage, and he pointed his wand at Harry and thundered, 'Avada Kedavra!' However, Harry, who because of Quidditch had developed very well-timed reflexes, darted behind Hermione in less than half a second. There was a sound like a gust of wind, and a blinding flash of green light, and then a dead Hermione fell, completely unmarked, to the floor.
Harry stared at Ron, who appeared as though he might faint. 'Desperate measures, Ron!' he said defensively. He then raised his wand, directed it at Voldemort, and bellowed 'Expelliarmus!'
The Dark Lord's wand was blasted from his hand and, as he foolishly flung out both his arms to catch it, Voldemort fell, and crashed into the Griffindor Table. Everyone hurried round. Voldemort was standing up – they could actually see the stars dancing about his head – but Harry performed the spell again, and Voldemort skidded on his bottom along the table and toppled off the end.
A few more disarming spells, and a few Summoning charms by those best positioned, led a moment later to Voldemort rocketing nakedly out of the oak front doors and onto the lawn, where he rolled to a halt.
Muddy, bare-chested, bare-legged and furious, Voldemort got to his shaky feet. Harry was ready. Voldemort raised a wand – Hermione's – Harry realised he must have snatched it earlier when he crashed onto the table – and yelled 'Crucio!'
Harry screwed up his eyes, expecting pain to rip apart every muscle in his body, but it never came. Instead, a high-pitched shriek rent the air, and Harry saw to his fortune that Voldemort had been holding the wand the wrong way round, so it was himself who was sent into agonised convulsions.
A dreamy voice suddenly said: 'Hello, Harry! Would you like to help me solve this puzzle in The Quibbler?'
'Sorry, Luna, I'm a bit preoccupied at the moment; maybe later,' said a distracted Harry. Luna glided away again, like a ghost.
He let his wand drop by his side. Voldemort stopped squirming, and lay still. A cold, pregnant silence had suddenly descended upon the school (all of whom had followed the "duelling" wizards outside), as everyone stared at the form of the Dark Lord.
Harry stepped forwards.
The school held its breath.
Harry looked down at Voldemort, and muttered threateningly, 'This isn't over.'
'Wait, Harry,' said Ron nervously, detaching himself from the crowd. 'Look; he isn't breathing.'
Harry looked, and saw that it was indeed so. 'Oh, OK – then it is over,' he corrected himself, somewhat bewilderedly.
THE END