Molluscan Intelligence

A pale morning twilight descended unto the lake on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All the little insects stirred beneath the old, dry leaves that covered the forest floor, creating a soft, perpetual rustling that rose simultaneously with the first rays of the sun. Other creatures, the larger and the more intelligent, also stirred. A bullfrog hopping along the bank decided, in its little amphibian brain, to descend for a swim, and as it disturbed the placid water, a bubble rose to the surface and popped when it reached the radiating ripples. The giant squid that makes its residence deep in the lake's murky waters, amongst the undulating tendrils of translucent algae, the grindylows, and the merpeople, surreptitiously extended one long gray tentacle. Making no noise, the squid snatched up the unsuspecting frog, and ate it.

Several moments later, a mighty voice rumbled beneath the water, cursing with a tone of the utmost disgust.

"Eugh! What is that? That most certainly is not a chocolate frog!"

And the poor frog, disgruntled but otherwise uninjured, emerged to the surface and dazedly swam away.

But then another figure rose from the lake. It was an ancient man, tall and thin and silver-haired. He was dressed in a hat that was long and pointy, purple velvet robes that reached his slippered feet, and upon his crooked nose rested a pair of silver half-moon spectacles. He wore his snowy beard tucked into his golden belt, from which dangled many tiny gold and silver instruments, including a clock with no numbers but twelve hands and a tiny glittering spyglass. The man mounted the bank, and, pulling out his magic wand, he quickly dried his clothes.

There was no other living human soul in the forest so early in the morning: no professor or student had yet left the castle. However, had anyone been there to see this man with glittering blue eyes, he would have informed you, without hesitation, that this was Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore, trailing robes now dry and billowing behind him, walked up toward the dark mass of towers and turrets that was Hogwarts Castle. Lights had flickered on within a few gothic windows, and their glow was reflected in the headmaster's fathomless eyes: his expression was grim, and yet there was a shimmer in those eyes like that on the surface of a soap bubble. This bubble was an Idea, and Dumbledore was wise and thus familiar with the way of Ideas: he kept it close at hand, but dared not approach it until the opportune moment, lest it pop.

The first pale rays of sunlight had surmounted the treetops by the time Dumbledore reached the castle. As he stepped through the great oak doors, he saw that another professor was waiting for him.

"What business took you outside at such an early hour, Professor?" asked deputy headmistress Minerva McGonnagall with a hint of suspicion in her stern voice. "I have been waiting here for nearly two hours; I demand to know what you were doing!"

"I was eating fish," replied the headmaster, and before Professor McGonnagall could fashion a reply, with a swish of his long robes he disappeared.

He appeared in his office, where more glittering instruments covered every imaginable surface--bookshelves, chairs, and tables of various sizes, all polished and glowing slightly in the pale light. The subjects of the portraits on the walls were snoring softly within their frames, but when Dumbledore lighted a lamp with a wave of his wand, the dead professors and headmasters awoke immediately.

"What did you find out, Headmaster?" asked a squat old man wearing a funny square hat. "The centaurs' rumors--are they true?"

"I'm afraid so," replied the headmaster wearily.

"So then..." The old men and women, dressed in their House colors, stirred uneasily in their frames, making a web of shifty glances across the room.

"Yes," continued Dumbledore. "Voldemort has returned. He is here, in the Forbidden Forest, and he is possessing small animals."

"Ah, speak not the name!" exclaimed the portraits simultaneously, but Dumbledore ignored them.

"Fortunately, I have an idea," said the headmaster. "It's a wonder I hadn't thought of it before, really. Dobby!"

In an instant, and with a loud pop, the tiny house elf appeared at Dumbledore's side.

"You called, sir? Dobby is here at Headmaster's service, sir!"

"I have a job for you, Dobby."

"Oh, yes, sir! Dobby is always ready to help his master, sir!"

"Dobby, I would like you to ask Harry Potter to go fishing," said Dumbledore seriously.

The house elf's chest swelled and his enormous round eyes widened and moistened with gratitude. "Dobby would love nothing more than to help his master and to entertain Harry Potter, sir! How can Dobby ever thank you, sir? Dobby has always wanted to try fishing! Does that mean that Dobby gets a day off, sir?"

"Yes, Dobby, and you shall still receive your pay, as this is a very important job."

"Oh, yes, sir! Dobby will make sure that Harry is fishing soon, sir! But may Dobby ask, sir, what is so important?"

"Events will play themselves out in due time, Dobby, and then you shall see. But for now, only know that the fate of all life, Magic and Muggle, human and animal, might rest in your two hands."

Dobby seemed to inflate with pride, and when a loud pop echoed from the office walls, shaking slightly the silver instruments so that a faint tinkling filled the room, one might have thought that Dobby himself had popped like an oversized balloon. However, it soon became apparent that Dobby had simply disappeared to go find Harry.

The next day, Voldemort was dead.

How, you ask?

Well, when Dumbledore is a giant squid, he loves fish. When Dobby and Harry went fishing, Voldemort--er, I mean, You-Know-Who--decided, since he was possessing small animals, to possess a fish so that he might frighten Harry, his worst enemy. Unfortunately for Voldemort, but not for the rest of wizardkind, he did not know of Dumbledore's Animagus form. Thus Dumbledore ate Voldemort's fish, and Voldemort was dead. Dumbledore's squid enzymes digested the flesh, and the force of the love that Dumbedore the Squid had for the taste of fish was too strong for Voldemort's soul; Voldemort, who had never loved himself, and who had thus always underestimated love's power, died once and for all, body and soul. It was as simple as that.

Now, everyone is happy, and Dumbledore still marvels at his own cleverness.

FIN