Chapter Text
It was the first day of magic. Harry and Hermione were staring into each other’s sleeves. Ron was lying facedown on the floor, refusing to get dressed. It wasn’t a very good mood.
“What the ruddy hell are we going to tell Dumbledore?” said Harry. Professor Dumbledore was looking for Harry; he did not know that Harry had thrown a long robe over his head. (Dumbledore was not a great danger.)
“I suppose we could just go straight down the stairs of magical maintenance,” Hermione said. She took her wand out of her mouth and belched happily. “I can speak to Professor McGonagall about it, and Dobby will kill whoever I want. He has the dark mark, you know.” Her fingers closed around Harry’s whole body and pulled off his legs.
Harry saw his feet hit the wall, and said, “I would like you to go back to sleep, I think.” His legs collapsed into a crumpled heap on the floor beside Ron, who still seemed afraid to get up. He had a large, ugly ring in one hand. “Not to be a dementor,” he told Ron, “but if you’d think of a way out of this, I would be delighted.”
Ron shook his head and stared wildly at the ceiling. He was still trying to ignore them, but it wasn’t because of Harry’s green eyes. He was a little pink Ron, and Harry was quite a large turkey to look at.
Hermione, meanwhile, said, “Harry, I’m sorry about this, but I’m going to have to put your scar on my head. It’s got to come to my head, if you’re going to kill Slughorn.” She raised her wand and pointed it directly at his scar.
Harry quickly hid in the doorway, however Dumbledore was standing beside him and flung a small cardboard box into his face.
“I’m the dark wizard who has the dark magic! I can speak parseltongue to you, Hagrid,” he told Harry. Harry swallowed hard and deliberately had a small laugh. It was so hard to concentrate on Professor Dumbledore and Hermione all the time, but Harry had to do it, or else Ron was a gorilla. Ron was still ogling Dumbledore calmly.
“Oh blimey Ron, I’m important!” Harry said. But Neville Longbottom looked over at Ron and looked at Harry, as if to say: well, well, well, I suppose I don’t have to do anything. Harry muttered, “You will never have a clue, but I suppose you’re Neville.” Hermione raised her hands and scuttled off into a corner. She was wearing his glasses and looked like him.
“I am trying to save you, Harry,” Hermione cried. Ron looked at her face and opened his mouth.
Snape fell out of his pocket and pulled off his robes.
He asked, “What are you doing here, Potter? Your mother died because you’re a little git.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat significantly. Snape fell over and began tearing his own wand in two.
“You are the first one who realized how much homework we’ve got,” Harry yelled. “But what about my arm?” His arms were all over the place. Ron made one hand into a chair and looked at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly and pulled open his robes. Billowing clouds of magic tried to escape, but Hermione seized her wand and turned his robes into a patch of moonlight. Ron demanded to have a chance to keep it, even though it was still burning, however Hagrid came striding in and pulled it into a large bag. Hermione looked scandalized.
“You can’t do that,” she said. “He can’t do that, Professor Dumbledore! It’s not allowed!” Dumbledore shook his head and walked away with tears in his eyes. He did not seem to care at all. He felt his fingers tightening over her mouth as she continued to stare.
“I’m going to kill you, Miss Granger, if it’s the last thing I do,” he whispered into her shoulder.
Harry felt sick, but Dumbledore knew what he was doing. Hermione had gotten out of hand, and she was wearing his glasses. She had to go. Ron gave her a squeeze and looked down at her feet. She kicked him in the face so hard it felt like a gunshot, and Harry wondered whether or not Hagrid was still under the invisibility cloak. Hermione was wrapped in thick brown paper and she swung the table at Dumbledore. It seemed perfectly plain that Dumbledore would collapse, as his mouth was full of blood, but at the very last second, he didn’t.
Hermione gasped, picking up her wand, and said breathlessly, “You must be Mr. Magical, if you think I’m going back to bed before you!” Dumbledore simply rolled his eyes and buried his head in her lap. She cried harder than ever, but Dumbledore had already slapped Hermione and went to bed. It was a relief. They could hear him moving around inside the common room for a moment, and then he was gone.
“I can get rid of him, if you like,” said Ron darkly. Dumbledore was dead weight, and they were climbing the ladder to a baked potato. There was nothing to stop him and the others, so they went to see Hagrid.
They walked into his room and said, “What’s the way to put a hex on Dumbledore’s three broomsticks?” Hagrid happily shook their wands onto the stove.
“Don’t you know about Fluffy the dark wizard that wanted to be stupid?” Hagrid said. Hermione jumped off the ground with a jolt of magical theory. The house rose vertically a few inches into the air and landed on Professor Dumbledore. Harry and Ron exchanged looks; this plan had not been a death sentence, but Hermione continued to burn furiously. She took advantage of their company and was sitting on Ron’s wand. She pulled it out and burst out laughing. The tea was still there, so Harry quickly gave it to Hagrid.
“Harry, you’re a Death Eater,” Hagrid said proudly. Tonks helped them out of their skins quietly, while Hermione gave Harry a venomous charm.
“It’s there to protect you, Harry dear,” she smiled bitterly. Harry looked sideways at her locket, transfixed in disbelief over her eyebrows. Hermione’s the prime minister, he thought, but she broke the table with her enormous hands.
“What are you doing in my house?” Hagrid said, beaming fondly at them. When Harry got his way, his scar pulsed like a small child. He turned around in a whirl, but Dumbledore got back up and crossed into the kitchen.
“Phoenix feather,” he told them, snatching three hundred points from Harry.
Uncle Vernon ripped open the door and said, “You can tell Dumbledore, I don’t know where Sirius Black is!” Seriously alarmed, Harry found a second cauldron with the quaffle and pulled Crookshanks back out of the kitchen. The tea was trying desperately to keep walking, but Hermione seized its horny little feet and slammed it back into the jar. Hagrid leaned over and sat on her face.
“Know anything about horcruxes?” Hagrid said to Ron. Ron hurled a few stray doxies his way, and said nothing.
“Well then, let’s think about weapons to kill Slughorn,” Hermione said impatiently. She was still watching Snape silkily be a giant scorpion. But as Harry climbed onto her shoulder, she crouched down behind Ron and looked more like a toad.
“I know you’re joking,” Harry quickly said, “but if Voldemort has the chamber pots we shall have to keep playing quidditch. There’s dementors in my house, the Department of International Magical Creatures is going to kill me, Draco looks like a pig and you don’t know why the Death Eaters are allowed to visit my aunt!”
Sirius let himself into the kitchen, however his head was a lime, and he turned and set fire to the window. Malfoy shouted at them to share the joke, but Dumbledore merely glanced at him and began shoveling his mouth full of dust.
Eventually Professor Slughorn absentmindedly reached into their midst and said, “Harry Potter is a former colleague, and we never let him kill Dursleys! Shouldn’t you have studied the dark arts?”
Hagrid came into Hermione’s hair and pointed at her.
“I want to do that again,” he whispered. Hermione screamed over and over and began hacking at his throat. The tea gave her a large bag of rats as a personal insult. Harry did a back flip in surprise.
He asked, “What about the dragons? I thought we were communicating better than that.” Ron mumbled apologetically. Everyone had heard him squeak to Harry like a drowning vegetable. He knew immediately where Draco Malfoy was curled up with a huge wooden club.
“Draco Malfoy got a letter from Professor Slughorn,” said Ron shakily. The tea seemed frightened. Ron gave Harry a goblet for his drinks. Harry stared into it, ready to attack. The tea brutally attempted to get into it, but the Slytherins all sat on top. Ron was watching Dobby drink the rest of it, which made him freeze in disbelief.
“I can’t stomach the death of a nasty ungrateful swine! You have to kill him, Harry,” Ron protested. Harry looked unconvinced. He had barely connected his arms and legs, and there was relish in his ears! Lots of people began pulling Harry aside and looking up his sleeves. He told them to leave, but they walked all over his sausages and pulled off his shoes.
“Magic let them hurt me,” Harry yelled at Hermione. They were all supposed to be dead. Ron said nothing; he waved at Harry through a haze of pipe smoke issuing from his nose. Hermione began to feed the chickens Hagrid had. She took off her head to get seriously annoyed.
“Hermione, you can’t just go and take your head off,” Harry said. But Hermione continued briskly raising a massive purple raven up in front of him.
She caught sight of Ron angrily twirling his goatee and said grimly, “Harry ought to kill you, Ron. Please poison the Death Eater.” The Death Eater blundered out the back door and pushed Ron into an armchair beside Hagrid’s brightly illuminated lunch rolls.
“And that’s the end of him,” said Hermione. She did a split, and Harry saw Hermione’s blood everywhere. It looked slightly pink, he thought.
“Good gracious, you are a pureblood,” he said, punching Hermione in the chest. She shrieked at him solicitously and there was resentment in her eyes.
She turned blonde and said, “Potter, you rotter, I’m the Dark Lord! Come on my head!”
Hagrid seemed glad to do it, but Hermione nudged him hard on his lips. He flushed with pleasure, and when she gave him an envelope he knew what was wrong with her. She had short spiky hair and a copy of the Quibbler. It was full of golden buttons and the jar of panic. He was shaking uncontrollably as she strode toward him and began rubbing his stomach. They were trapped in their own interlocked vision of panic.
Harry was struggling to regain the flow of the story. He saw Ron slowly revolving around him with clothes over his snout.
“I’m the only one who can help you think about my sister,” Ron explained. “Ginny took her bed out of your dormitory, Harry. She’s not stupid enough to be here in Diagon Alley.” And then Harry heard hooves behind them. It was Hermione, looking down at them from the shoulders of a snake that had flown up to her.
“I sold the curse-blocking hippogriffs to the hospital! No more detective work for us,” she added. It shattered into a hundred thousand witches heading straight for Malfoy. The drunkest witch called out that she was wiping her mouth on Goyle’s clipboard. Ron gave her crocodile his eyes. She took off her cloak and stuffed it into Ron’s handbag. Then they climbed back onto platform nine and three prisoners, and they were soaring weightlessly through the window into the night.
“Slughorn is going home for Christmas because you’ve forgot you can produce magic wishes,” said Hagrid solemnly, jerking his meat. “Blast it, Hermione told you that sword of Godric Gryffindor’s going to be married to you if you aren’t back here in a moment!”
Harry felt overwhelmed, and Ginny was lying on top of him with enormous gray eggs between her fingers; she whispered something to him as she went down on Professor Dumbledore. Harry could not understand what she was saying. It sounded furious, however.
Harry asked her, “What are you saying? I thought we were supposed to get rid of those muggles or something. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrggggghhhhh my wand chooses you, Hagrid!” Hagrid was putting on his waistcoat and examining his silk gloves. The elf gleefully followed him out the door, and they never found their homework. Badges stretched into Hermione’s hair and beard, but Dumbledore went slightly mad.
He whispered, “Harry Potter must understand what happened after the elder wand caught him. Percy’s patrol will collect information from Gryffindor house and I’ll… have to kill myself.” Already bulging and looking stern, he took out his copy of Advanced Rune Translation and hit his face with the tip. “Good fight,” said Dumbledore pleasantly, and died.
Bones were trembling ominously on Ron’s feet. Voldemort had entered the room and landed twenty feet in the air, clutching his own stupidity. He panted, massaging his pale cheeks.
“Harry Potter, the boy who used stupid spell damage,” he said robustly to the Gryffindor team, “I’m here to teach you occlumency!” Ron told him to keep talking. Voldemort stood on tiptoe and kissed him, oblivious to Hermione creeping up. She caught him around his ribs while Ron stared incredulously at her face.
“Voldemort’s sister was a muggle,” said Ron enthusiastically, and stabbed broomsticks into Voldemort’s eyelids.
Voldemort decided to be a lot more terrible to Ron and said, “You are a little scab that doesn’t have a job!”
Ron gave another loud cackle, and flooded the floor with ginger newts. “Let’s see you get out of Azkaban in your sleep,” Ron muttered furiously. It was all over. Voldemort was flying off into the distance. Hermione had managed to vanish casually. Harry didn’t need a large slice of birthday cake.
“I’m Hump Harry,” said Harry firmly. “There might be danger all the time, because of Albus Dumbledore, but I think I’ll stay at Hogwarts for years and years. At least until we’ve run out of magical accidents!” He turned on his heel and began painting his face on the wall. Several onlookers nearly broke his teeth.