Harry Potter and the Over-Baked Plot Cookie

Harry Potter and the Over-Baked Plot Cookie
a deliberate parody

Chapter 1 -- And So It Begins

Harry Potter woke up one morning to find his scar hurting.

"Ow," he said blandly. "Great. What's Voldemort," he paused while all of his year-mates gasped in collective terror, "up to this time?"

"Scar hurting again?" Ron said, eyes wide. "Bloody hell, Harry -- what do you think is going to happen this time? Are we going to die?"

Neville squeaked and dove under the blankets, shivering. Dean and Seamus exchanged a Significant Look. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Ron. Look, I'll ask Hermione to look it up at breakfast or something."

"Harry! You know the Big Book of Nefarious Dark Wizard Plotting Devices is in the Restricted Section! You don't think Hermione's going to go looking there without permission!"

"Oh," said Harry dejectedly. "Well, we'll think of something." He got up and set about getting dressed; after rubbing his eyes, he put on his glasses and looked out the window. There, on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, was a great black dog. Suddenly, Harry had an idea!

"Look," he said to Ron in a hushed voice, pointing out the window after checking to make sure the others weren't watching (they weren't: Neville was still cowering under the blankets, and Dean and Seamus -- well, he didn't want to know what was going on over there). Ron's eyes grew even wider.

"Blimey! What's he doing back here?"

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he just shrugged. "Maybe he's here to see Professor Lupin. Or maybe Professor Dumbledore -- I don't know. C'mon, let's go to breakfast." They left their year-mates to their various ... activities ... and headed downstairs. Hermione was already there, nose buried in a large, musty-looking old book; she didn't so much as glance up as they came in.

"Hermione," said Harry, and then, when she didn't respond, "Hermione!"

Hermione dropped the book in surprise and glared up at them through a tangle of frizzy hair. "Couldn't you have said 'Good morning' like a normal person? I borrowed that book from Professor Snape -- what'll he think if I hand it back damaged?!" She seemed oblivious to Ron's flush of anger as she bent down and checked the book minutely for any harm.

"Why would you care what that greasy git thinks, Hermione?!" he said angrily, face as red as his hair. "I don't know where you get off spending all this time with him, talking about him like he's some genius or something. He's a rotter!"

"He is a genius!" Hermione protested indignantly. "He knows so much about potions -- just yesterday he was telling me all about how to brew up a Plot Contrivance Potion, and you know that's one of the hardest ones of all!"

Harry said nothing. He thought that was one of the easiest potions, but knew better than to get in the way when Ron and Hermione were ... fighting. Maybe it wasn't too late to sneak down to breakfast. He edged towards the door.

"He's a traitor!" Ron shouted.

"He is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

Harry continued sneaking. He was almost to the door ...

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is -- Harry!" Hermione rounded on him. "What do you think?"

"Er ..."

Both of his friends were looking at him, each expecting his agreement. Harry gulped nervously.

"Um ..."

"You can't really think he's a traitor," Hermione went on. "I mean, after all he's done for you in the last year ... he's been so nice, like he really wants to make up for being --"

"An utter prat the first four years? Hermione, you're crazy! He's just trying to use us!"

She turned her glare back on Ron. For a moment the two just stared at each other, and then Hermione whirled away, scooping up her books. She stomped off in a huff, leaving the two boys behind.

Ron rounded on Harry, "Well?! You can't agree with her!"

"Er ... she has a point ..." Harry sighed. "Look, Ron, I don't know. C'mon, I'm starved."

They entered the Great Hall and waved at Lupin, who was up at the teacher's table pointedly not looking at Snape. Snape was brooding over his tragic past morning coffee; he looked gaunt, as though he had not been sleeping well lately. Whatever the reason. This year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Phaedra Empusa, seated halfway between the two men, kept casting Significant Looks over in Snape's direction, which the Potions Master seemed to be ignoring -- deliberately or otherwise. Otherwise, the staff table was empty, unsurprising given the early hour.

Not so the Slytherin table. Harry privately suspected they got up early just to be around to mock the Gryffindors, who often stumbled to their own table sleepy and dishevelled. Draco Malfoy was already there, and his pale, pointed face lit up with malicious glee as he caught sight of them. He grinned wickedly at Harry over a large mug of coffee. "Look, everyone! It's Potty and the Weasel!"

Ron, who had nearly calmed down, once more turned flaming red. Harry caught his arm to keep him from lunging at Malfoy's throat. "Don't -- it's just what he wants you to do!" he hissed.

With a significant effort, Ron backed down. As they headed for the Gryffindor table, Harry looked back over his shoulder and caught Malfoy's eyes. They glared at each other for a long moment, until Harry felt his shins bump against the Hufflepuff benches. He had forgotten they were there. Moment over, he turned away from Malfoy and focussed instead on completing the hazardous journey across the Hall -- this time without further incident, as he remembered where Ravenclaw was. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione was determinedly ignoring them, half-eaten piece of toast in one hand while the other followed her place in a book. With nothing else to do, Harry and Ron set about breakfast.

Harry was more nervous than usual this morning, feeling as though he was being watched -- and small wonder. Down the table a way, Ginny Weasley was gazing raptly at him; when she noticed his attention turned her way, she blushed and suddenly became very interested in her diary. In her haste to resume writing, she planted her elbow squarely in the butter dish. Behind him, Harry heard a little giggle; he turned to find Colin Creevy there, though whether the younger boy was watching Ginny or Harry himself was difficult to tell.

As he turned back to his eggs and spam, Harry realised something very odd. Most of the Gryffindor table seemed to be staring in Hermione's general direction. He glanced back at Draco Malfoy, only to find his nemesis with the same glazed, worshipful expression on his face. A quick look at the staff table told him Snape was doing the same (now that was more than a little disturbing -- he was a teacher, after all!).

"Harry!" Ron's voice cracked; it could still not decide whether to be baritone or treble. The other boy was prodding Harry's arm. "What happened to Hermione?"

Shaking off the growing disquiet, Harry turned his attention towards Hermione. He felt his own eyes start to glaze over, and only through great effort of will (a necessary Heroic Trait) managed to keep his wits intact. There was something different ... but what?

And then it hit him. "Her hair!"

Ron was too busy staring at Hermione to be paying much attention. He did manage to get out, "What about it? It's gorgeous."

"It's straight."

"She's gorgeous ..."

'She's straight,' Harry thought, then boggled and managed to keep himself from saying that aloud. Why was he suddenly thinking about Hermione -- his friend Hermione, his sidekick Hermione -- like that? He liked Cho, didn't he? Well ... he'd thought he liked Cho, but that was before Cedric had died and she'd started avoiding him. He felt his throat choke up as he remembered Cedric Diggory.

But the Boy Who'd Died wasn't important right now. It was the Boy Who Lived who mattered -- and to the Boy Who Lived, what mattered right now was trying to figure out just what he felt for his formerly bushy-haired friend.

"What are you looking at?"

Her voice cut through his perplexity. His head jerked up -- along with those of dozens of drooling boys -- as Hermione looked up from her book. Her eyes were sharp and a little angry, while a flush stained her cheeks. Harry guiltily averted his eyes.

In doing so, his gaze turned to the Slytherin table, where he realised something else strange had occurred. Like Hermione's, Draco's hair had changed: it was no longer slicked back with pounds of magic (no messy Muggle styling products for Mister I'm-So-Pureblood Malfoy, thank you very much!), but framed his face in sleek silvery locks. A few of the fine strands fell into one eye as he turned to snap at Crabbe and Goyle; he pushed them back as he looked back at Harry, and the Boy Who Lived suddenly found his mouth dry. He swallowed nervously and wondered if the rumours that Malfoy had Veela blood were true. Right now, he could believe it.

Wait a minute! He was staring at Malfoy -- Draco Malfoy, Darling of Slytherin, son of a Death Eater -- his nemesis! Had Snape, unnoticed, slipped some strange potion into everyone's pumpkin juice that morning?

Harry tore his eyes away from Draco's, frantically looking anywhere else. He found Pansy Parkinson, somewhere down the Slytherin table, still gazing rapturously at Draco -- and next to her Blaise Zabini, running a hand through his -- her? -- short hair while watching Draco with dewy eyes. It was all terribly disturbing.

In fact, he'd about had enough.

Pushing back his plate of now-cold eggs and spam (mostly uneaten), Harry got to his feet. He still had a good half-hour before his first class, and with luck he could find Sirius. Any excuse at all to get out of the Great Hall before a third shock killed him. If he stayed around much longer, Ron might start looking attractive, and that didn't bear thinking about.

---

Author Notes: Well, that's the first bit -- and I now give up trying to write in that style, before I die of poor simplistic grammar (or something).

Translation Notes: Phaedra Empusa - the Empusae of Greek mythology were somewhat akin to vampires. Phaedra comes from the play Hippolytos, by Euripides (or so Ilana thinks).

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