One Hell of a Pain in the Neck of the Boy Who Lived to Suffer

Chapter One: The Curse of the Turkey Leg Baster

Hogsmeade weekends were always joyous affairs when the students could leave the school grounds and visit the village across the lake. This time, however, was a special occasion, as the students found out one Saturday morning in late September.

After taking a quick sip of pumpkin juice to clear his throat, Dumbledore rose from his seat at the professors’ table and greeted his students.

“Good morning to you all!” he said, smiling and looking around the hall. “As you all know, this is a Hogsmeade weekend. I have just been informed that the Glady and Buttercup’s Traveling Circus-” Excited chattering began, and Dumbledore patiently waited for it to stop before he continued. “As I was saying, the Glady and Buttercup’s Traveling Circus has arrived for the weekend and has set up tents outside Hogsmeade. Those with permission may go, provided that you maintain your manners. I’ve heard rather interesting stories about the employees and I want to make sure you all come back in one piece.” He chuckled. “Have no fear. I am sure you all will prove yourselves to be fine examples of Hogwarts students. I also hear their world-famous caramel-basted turkey legs are quite delicious.” He returned to his seat.

“Did you hear that?” said Ron, brandishing a sausage at Harry and Hermione who sat across from him before stuffing it in his mouth. “Glady and Buttercup’s!”

Hermione glared at Ron for talking with his mouth full, and he swallowed before speaking again. “I’ve heard all about that circus,” he said. “The sideshow’s s’posed to be superb!”

Hermione plunked her utensils down loudly and frowned. “I don’t like it. I always thought circuses were vile sources of entertainment. And the sideshow?” She was halfway out of her seat by now, “Exploitation of those poor unfortunates who can’t make a living any other way. It’s disgusting, just like the house elf situation.”

Ron rolled his eyes and stole a tasty looking sausage from her plate. “Get over it. It’ll be fun! What do you think, Harry?”

Harry sat slumped over the table, idly picking at a bit of scrambled egg. “I dunno,” he said, dismally.

“You don’t know? What’s the matter with you?”

Harry shrugged. “I feel kinda bad for the freaks, too.”

Hermione elbowed him. “They’re not freaks, Harry.”

“Unfortunate souls. Whatever. They remind me of myself.”

Ron stared at Harry’s despondent face. “This is nonsense! You? I don’t see any freakish qualities about you. No sir, don’t see three breasts under your shirt.” Hermione kicked him under the table. “Ow! I mean… You’re not a freak, Harry! We’re all going and we’re all going to have fun. Don’t you even want one of those caramel-basted turkey legs?”

“That does sound delicious,” mused Harry.

Ron turned to Hermione. “I bet there’s a twice-endowed man there that would love your pity.”

“Ronald Weasley, if I ever hear you mouth something so foul to me again…” She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Her tightened lips and narrowed eyes were warning enough.

“Sorry, Hermione,” said Ron, hiding a grin. “Anyway, how about it, guys. Everyone else is going, and look how excited they are!”

“I suppose. Looks like you’re going to force us anyway,” said Harry. “As long as I get to try those world-famous turkey legs…”

“Hermione?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I’ll go.”

“Excellent!” shouted Ron, slapping his hands on the table, nearly upsetting his glass of pumpkin juice. “This’ll be fantastic!”

******

The students lined up outside of a small, shabby looking ticket booth placed in front of a group of large, multicolored tents. Once Harry, Hermione, and Ron paid the admission - six sickles apiece - they walked along a large red and yellow striped tent, looking for an entrance. Gaudy posters showcasing wondrous and bizarre attractions the circus offered for entertainment lined the sides of the tent.

“Hey, look! There really is a twice-endowed man,” said Ron in wonderment, staring at a poster half hidden by one of a seal balancing a rubber ball on its nose. Hermione shrieked and slapped Ron away from the offending poster while Harry laughed.

“Maybe I will enjoy myself if you two keep it up,” said Harry.

“Oh, shush,” grunted Hermione, and despite her harsh tone, the smile on her face gave away her amusement. She looked past Harry and saw the entrance. “Hey, look!”

The boys turned. “Hurry up!” shouted Ron, as he bolted toward the large parted opening to the tent. Harry and Hermione caught up and the three entered the large tent. Inside were three circus rings and cushioned stands set up around the circumference. The seats were beginning to fill. Harry could see Colin and Dennis Creevey taking seats, each holding massive blueberry cotton candy swabs in their hands.

“Oi! Ron! Harry!” Seamus and Dean were waving their arms wildly and beckoning for the trio to sit next to them in the nearby stand.

“Oh boy, wonder what the show’s gonna be.” Ron sat down next to Seamus and rubbed his hands together. “Great seats, mate.”

Harry and Hermione sat at the end of the row next to Ron. “This place isn’t as foul as I thought it would be,” observed Hermione.

Harry bounced on the cushion. “Yeah, and these seats are pretty comfortable. I remember when Uncle Vernon took us to the circus right outside London. I think he was hoping to sell me off as a freak, but anyway, the seats were terribly uncomfortable to sit on.” He frowned, remembering how his uncle had smacked him upside the head for squirming too much.

“No wonder you didn’t want to come. How awful!”

Harry shrugged.

“Hey, be quiet!” hissed Seamus as the lights dimmed. Bright spotlights flickered on over the rings and a drum roll began. Dean rocked back and forth in his seat, grinning from ear to ear.

Opposite the tent from where they were sitting, a dwarf tied back a patterned curtain to reveal a large dark entrance into the ring. The spotlights suddenly pointed to the entrance, and in pairs, elephants entered the first ring to the sound of the band. Ron whooped and beckoned to a roasted peanut seller walking near their stand.

“Awesome,” said Dean in awe. This was his first circus.

“Sad,” sniffed Hermione, eyeing the animals for signs of abuse.

Harry stared at the first pair of elephants and imagined the large creatures to be talking amongst themselves.

“Honestly, Florence darling, you should have put on the blue sequined hat. Purple makes you look so sallow. The entire herd thinks you’d be the most magnificent one here if you’d just put some effort into it.”

Florence sighed and waved her enormous ears. “I’m sorry, Francis, but frankly, I just don’t give a damn. I’m tired of being flaunted about as a form of entertainment. I’m so weary of the spotlight.”

Francis snorted and turned his head aside to gaze at the cheerful humans, batting his dark, woeful eyes. “That’s why I hate walking with you.”

“That poor, poor elephant,” muttered Harry, beginning to slump.

“What?” asked Hermione, looking at him strangely and popping one of Ron’s peanuts into her mouth.

“Huh? Oh… Florence - I mean - animal cruelty?”

“Oh, Harry, I knew you’d understand!”

Harry looked sickened and rubbed his forehead as he gazed around the crowded stands. A glitter caught his eye and Harry turned his head to watch a large group of latecomers arrive. He gasped and flew to his feet. The audience behind him grumbled as he blocked their view of the elephant procession.

“Harry?” Hermione tugged his shirt.

Harry whirled and stared at her wide-eyed. “I could have sworn I just saw… I…” He turned back and squinted at the crowd milling about the entrance. “Gone…”

Hermione blinked at him.

What did I just see? Harry asked himself. One moment I see a large, frightening figure of a man with… with two bald heads? And then he’s gone. What’s wrong with me? He rubbed the goose-bumps on his arms. The air feels so ominous.

“You look hungry. I think you need food,” piped in Ron.

“Maybe,” mumbled Harry, scratching his head. He kept glancing at the entrance, half-expecting to see the phantom man again.

“You look like you’ve seen a spook.” Ron held out his hand, a peanut between his fingers. “Nut?”

“No thanks,” said Harry. “I think I need that basted turkey leg soon, though.”

“Don’t worry, mate. After the elephants, we’ll leave and find the food tent, all right?”

“Yeah…” Harry let Hermione pull him back down into his seat.

The elephants were now marching past their stand and Hermione leaned forward, biting her lip. She looked vaguely disappointed when she failed to find any lash scars on their hindquarters. Harry fidgeted in his seat and dug his fingers into the cushion. His unease increased by the second. The elephants’ stamping pounded in his ears, and, for a split second, it seemed as if the tent shifted and every living being inside had multiple heads.

“I think I need to find a bathroom,” gasped Harry, rising quickly. His friends watched in astonishment as he rushed down the aisle stairs and out the entrance.

Once outside, Harry leaned back against the tent side and took a deep breath. “What’s wrong with me?” he asked himself. “It’s just a circus.” A group of children ran past waving turkey legs in the air. The delicious scent wafted to him and he turned his head toward the direction the children went. A piece of frayed paper tickled his cheek. He turned his head to see the poster behind him and found himself staring directly at the magically censored crotch of the twice-endowed man. He blinked as his eyes kept shifting to the side and distorting the figure’s midsection. He tilted his face up to read the bold letters on the top and his eyes returned to normal.

It read:
‘The Amazing… the Magnificent… MASTER TWO-PIECE! Twice the power. Twice the pleasure! It will change your life forever!’

“Drooling over Master Two-Piece, eh, Potter?” sneered a voice behind him.

Harry stiffened, but didn’t turn. “Malfoy.” He waited for the expected insult, but it didn’t come. He turned, curious.

Neville stood there looking quite perplexed. “D-did you just call me Malfoy?”

Harry’s jaw dropped, and he whipped his head to the right and left, looking for the vanished blonde.

“I j-just said hello and asked what you were looking at.” Neville stepped forward and peered at him with concern. “Harry, are you okay? You look really pale.”

Harry roughly rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I’m sorry, this day has just been really, really weird. I’m seeing things and now…”

“Maybe you need some food. Hey! I hear the caramel-basted turkey legs are to die for!” Neville grinned nervously.

“You’re right. Thanks, Neville. Why don’t you check out the elephants? They’re probably dancing by now.” Harry started walking in the direction the children came from.

“Maybe you should buy two!” called Neville, behind him. “You look like you might need ‘em! Ooh, a twice-endowed man…”

******

Harry slipped through the throngs of people puttering about the carnival games while searching for the food tent. The air was thick with clouds of dirt and the scent of turkey legs. Harry felt suffocated. Everyone seemed to have a turkey leg, but he couldn’t find the blasted tent. Don’t they have anything else to eat around here? I’m in no mood to wait in a queue. A loud pop went off to his right and he jumped. He’d just passed a shooting booth where children hit stuffed miniature trolls with cork bullets. He turned and stared.

“Oi!” called the scraggly carnie working at the booth. He motioned for Harry to come over.

Harry approached the booth. “Er… yes?”

“Yer Harry Potter, aren’t ter? Here!” he said, thrusting the fake rifle into Harry’s hands. “Have a go! Fer free!”

“Um, thanks,” said Harry. He felt the weight of the rifle in his hands. The children next to him at the booth ogled him. Squinting his eyes at the top left troll, he aimed and fired, hitting it square in the forehead and knocking it back. He heard clapping behind him and turned to see a dozen or so people had stopped to watch him play. The spotlight again. He groaned, then felt a tap on his shoulder and turned back to the carnie man.

“Here’s yer prize!” exclaimed the man, holding out his hand. “Two backstage passes ter the freak show!” His eyes glimmered as he waited for Harry to take the yellow tickets.

Harry stared at him, mouth agape.

“What’s wrong, Potter? Don’t you belong there?” asked the mysterious, aggravating Malfoy voice.

Harry spun around with a roar. “Malfoy, what is- Eh?” Red Hair?

Ginny looked absolutely flabbergasted and sputtered, “I was just l-looking for Ron!”

Harry looked past Ginny and… That glimmer! It was the strange man he’d seen earlier in the circus tent. For a brief moment, he saw him strutting through the crowds before disappearing again.

“Did you just see that?” he asked quickly, almost to himself.

“What?” asked Ginny, turning to look. Harry pushed past her and began running in the direction of the sighting.

“Your backstage passes, Mr. Harry Potter!” cried the carnie at the shooting booth, waving the fist holding the tickets.

Much pushing, shoving, and many muffled curses later, Harry found himself swaying in front of a black and purple polka-dotted tent with a sign reading ‘Grotto of the Grotesque’ hanging from the entrance. And the next tent over, where the smell of caramel-basted turkey legs was stronger than ever, had a sign that read ‘The Chuck Tent.’

Food or freaks? thought Harry. Solve the mystery of that… that man, or get my turkey and get out of here already?

A dwarf solved the problem for him. She stood in the entrance with a sly smile, dressed in a Baroque style gown. She seemed straight out of a Velasquez portrait of the Spanish royal family, and, from the looks of it, the gown was probably that old too. “Hallo, Mr. Potter.”

Harry glanced down at her, back up, and down again, his face contorted into a look of disbelief, a result of all the absurdities of the day.

“Mr. Potter, right? You’ve got the scar. Hello?” She sauntered forward and eyed his face. Harry noticed a large black beauty mark under her eye.

“Y-yes, I’m Harry.”

“Oh, good!” she squealed before grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the entrance to the foreboding sounding ‘Grotto of the Grotesque.’

“H-hey, wait. I don’t want to go in here!” Harry whined. He tried to retrieve his arm, but the dwarf had a firm grip.

Once inside, she sat him down in a black fold-out chair and stood smiling at him.

“What’s going on here? You’re not kidnapping me to be… be… part of the sh-show are you?” His eyes, wide with fear, flicked around the dark interior of the tent, picking out all the small gilded showcases, empty of their personages, who were having a break. He could just see the article in the Daily Prophet now: The famous Boy Who Lived takes his place among the ranks of such notable sideshow freaks as Master Two-Piece, Frogman, and other such bizarre ‘others.’ “No!” cried Harry, in agony.

The dwarf snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to tell you your fortune.”

“My fortune? A fortune-telling dwarf,” he said in wonderment. “Erm… I mean… little person? Er, what’s your name?”

“Madame,” she sniffed, taking Harry’s hand.

“Madame. Madame…?”

“Just Madame.”

Harry watched as Madame pored over his palm in concentration, making little clucking noises, and every now and then making an “Ooh!” noise as if she’d found something very amusing.

“What do you see?” he asked quietly.

“Shush, I’ve just gotten to the good part.” She moved her head closer to examine. “Blast this lighting.”

Harry began to worry.

A moment later, Madame looked up at him, a mysterious smile on her lips. Harry noticed she had a slight mustache and his anxiety increased tenfold. “Oh, my dear boy,” she murmured.

Harry gulped.

“Having a strange day, I take it?”

“There was a man!” he blurted. A drop of sweat slid down his temple and cheek.

Madame cackled. “Perhaps you should talk to Master Two-Piece. He might be able to teach you something about having two-”

“Oh Merlin, Oh God,” mumbled Harry, rising to his feet. “This is not what I need.”

“Well, if you’re not going to listen to me…,” she started as she took his hand. She lead him to the exit, and when Harry stumbled and continued to mumble, said, “Kid, just be a good boy and nothing will happen.”

“B-but… the man! Two… pieces. I’m going to be even more of a freak,” gasped Harry.

They were back outside the entrance to the Grotto and Harry’s stomach grumbled. Madame let go of his hand and patted him once on the rump. “Go get yourself a turkey leg or two. You look like you need one.” And as he stiffly walked away, she giggled and said, “Say hello to Buttercup for me!”

As Harry approached ‘The Chuck Tent,’ the entrance seemed to loom above him and swell like the mouth of a cave in a creepy horror movie. The scent of caramel suddenly smelled awfully sickly sweet and menacing, but he was determined to go in. He didn’t spend a hellish day at the carnival for nothing! Upon entering, the sense of horror he’d felt the entire day vanished as laughing and munching greeted his ears.

“Strange,” he said to himself, but shrugged. The tent was nearly as large as the elephant one, with booths upon booths of food of all types and cultures. A barrage of sounds and smells attacked his senses, and he staggered forward into the swarm of wizards.

“Watch it!” growled someone carrying two platefuls of what looked like purple octopus tentacles.

Harry grimaced, apologized, and continued on his way, marveling at the booths. A long queue stood in front of a funnel cake stand to his far right, a recent muggle food discovery to the wizarding world. To his left, merman delicacies. And far, far ahead of him, at the very end of the tent, the caramel-basted turkey leg stand with a charming sign that read, ‘Get Your Turkeys Here!’ He rushed forward, stomach rolling in anticipation.

Harry was pleasantly surprised, as the queue was smaller than he expected, and he caught sight of a flash of red hair in the middle.

“Ron!” he yelled, and Ron turned and waved. Harry ran to meet him.

Ron punched his shoulder. “Harry, you sod, where the hell have you been!”

“Oww,” grumbled Harry, frowning. “I wasn’t gone that long, was I?”

Ron gawked. “It’s been five hours! And you missed a great elephant dance number.”

“What! Five.. Five hours? No way…”

“You really freaked out Ginny, too. What’s wrong with you today, mate?”

“Well, there was this dwarf and- where’s Hermione?”

Ron shrugged. “Off with Ginny somewhere. I think they went to get drinks. What’s this about a dwarf?”

But again, Harry’s attention was elsewhere. Near the very front of the line stood a familiar blonde form in black.

“Malfoy.”

Harry started forward, but Ron grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt. “Off again? What is this?”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” said Harry, dislodging Ron’s fingers, “I’ve got a question for him.” And he went.

Ron followed nervously behind him. “Harrryyyy…”

As they drew near Draco and his cronies, Crabbe jerked his head in their direction, and Malfoy turned with a smirk that lit his fine features. “Well, well, well, Potter. What brings you to the front of this queue. Certainly not intending to cut, are you?” With that, Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward next to Draco and glared.

Harry crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed behind his glasses, and he hoped this confrontation would explain the day’s confusion. “Why’ve you been following me?”

“What in…” Ron peered over Harry’s shoulder.

“Following you? What gave you that preposterous idea?”

Harry frowned. Draco looked genuinely bewildered. “Well… you… Two-Piece and the shooting booth.”

Draco snorted and exchanged ‘looks’ with Crabbe and Goyle. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, but speaking of Two-Piece, my comrades and I have just been discussing the freak at the booth.”

“The what?” asked Harry, still staring at Draco.

“The turkey leg baster.” Draco laughed. “We were comparing you to him, and I believe we nearly decided that he was, astonishingly, more of an aberration to this world than you. Didn’t we decide that, Crabbe, Goyle?”

Crabbe and Goyle shrugged.

“Um, I dunno if we did, actually,” rumbled Goyle, scratching his bristly head.

“Well, let’s decide now, shall we?” Draco turned forward to survey the large mass of man behind the booth counter.

Curious, Harry turned to see as well, blanched to a deathly white, and nearly toppled over. Ron grabbed his arms. “Harry?”

Harry croaked.

The man behind the counter stepped forward into the light, holding a freshly basted turkey leg. Harry could hardly contain his absolute horror. It was the man. The mysterious man he’d seen twice. The two-headed beastlike man. He was nearly as massive as Hagrid. His eyes were dark, beady and piercing, and he seemed to be only clothed in a bloody, caramel splattered apron. Besides the man’s monstrous appearance, there was something about him that Harry couldn’t quite place, and it was that which caused him to be such an alarming and loathsome figure.

The man grunted twice. “Whart carn oi get’cher?” asked the left. “Whart yer starndin’ aroun’ gawpin’ fer?” growled the right.

Draco and his cronies were guffawing hysterically. “I think we’ve decided!” Draco announced, after catching his breath. “I’ve changed my mind, Potter, you’re worse than this freak!” Of course, to Draco, Harry could never be better than anyone, not even something so abominable as the waste of flesh behind the counter.

Harry shook his head violently, and suddenly anger replaced his fear and shock. The man not only brought out intense dread, but a far more darker side as well. “Are you bloody serious? Look at him!” He pointed his finger without thinking once how uncharacteristic of him the action was.

An eye bulged on each face as the thing observed Harry’s pointing figure.

“H-Harry, I really think you should p-put your hand down,” squeaked Ron. “I mean, look at his nametag…”

But Harry didn’t notice, his shock at being compared to the beast was so great. “He’s got two fucking heads!”

“And you’ve got four eyes?” blubbered Goyle, stupidly.

“Oh, brilliant, that was so lame,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t know, Potter, your resemblance is uncanny with Mr… Buttercup, isn’t it?” asked Draco, with a mere shift of his head to acknowledge the man behind the counter.

One of the heads grunted, the other was gnashing its teeth.

Harry scoffed, and scoffed again, and scoffed a third time, before bursting with laughter. Meanwhile, Ron was looking quite fearfully at the man. “Harry, why are you…?”

Draco jerked his thumb toward Mr. Buttercup. “You two should commiserate together.”

“Thurmb,” snarled the head capable of coherent speech. “Ar thurmb an ar finger.”

Crabbe’s chubby face lit up as he had a rare epiphany. “Buttercups in Pots! Buttercup and Potter! Get it?”

“Shut up, Crabbe,” huffed Draco, though he was grinning.

“I cannot believe this. I cannot fucking believe this,” stated Harry. They were now attracting a crowd, though they didn’t notice. “After the day I’ve had… You must be daft! This freak’s got two heads and a bloody apron, whereas I’m perfectly normal for the most part.”

“For the most part!” howled Draco, once again in a bout of cackling.

Ron had given up trying to get Harry’s attention, and now dismally sat on the dusty ground, waiting for Buttercup to take action.

All laughter and amusement ceased as a great roar resounded from the throats of both of Buttercup’s heads. “Yer two think arm an idiort,” growled Right.

Harry assumed the blanched, shocked face again.

“Ar’m not an idiort. Yer two pointerd art me!” barked Left.

Hermione was pushing her way through the audience. “Harry, what on earth is going on here?” She gasped as both Draco and Harry collapsed to the floor, writhing. “Mr. Buttercup!”

“Arm teachin’ therm ar lessern!” The man slammed the turkey leg he’d been holding down on the counter. Caramel and turkey juice splattered around him, some flecks even flying so far as to hit the watching audience.

“W-what’s g-g-going on?” stammered Harry, who was now clutching his left shoulder in agony, dimly aware that Draco was having the same problem.

Ron was wringing his hands in fear and disbelief. “Oh man, oh man…”

Hermione knelt by Harry and touched his forehead. “God, Harry, Buttercup is half the management of the circus. He’s Buttercup in Glady and Buttercup’s Traveling Circus! What were you thinking?”

“The t-turkey leg baste… baster? Oh Merlin, my shoulder, my neck!” Harry screamed.

Crabbe and Goyle shuffled awkwardly around Draco’s similar form, unsure what to do.

“Bring him over here,” ordered Hermione. “It’s between the two of them.” She looked up at the counter. “Mr. Buttercup, sir?” But he was gone.

And then, to everyone’s complete and utter horror, a strange transformation began to take place. Harry’s upper torso and shoulders widened considerably in one direction, his shirt tore at the neck, and he howled once more before falling unconscious, his body still violently twitching. A small mole appeared on Harry’s widened left shoulder and began to grow in the most grotesque fashion. And Draco’s own little head…

Hermione shrieked, and Ron fainted into her lap.

******

The first thing Harry felt when he became aware of himself was a great tension in the air around him, as if some silent audience was watching him expectantly… and anxiously? He was too frightened to open his eyes, for his last memory was one of animalistic terror and pain, then bumping his head really hard against something. The second thing Harry felt was a strange constriction in his lungs, like he was breathing but suffocating at the same time. He would breathe in deeply and only get half the air he would normally get. He gasped, and the third thing Harry felt, and heard, much to his surprise, was a similar gasp to his left.

“Harry,” said a concerned voice above him. It warbled like it was speaking underwater.

Harry groaned, and the fourth thing he noticed was a dull throb in his left shoulder. His curiosity overwhelmed his unease and he decided to open his eyes. They slowly opened. He recognized the entire staff of Hogwarts staring intently at him. Then his head lolled to the left, and he found himself staring at a similarly lolling head belonging to none other than Draco Malfoy.

They stared unblinking for a few moments, noticing their matching intakes of breath, until they realized how close in proximity they were to each other, and flung their heads in opposite directions.

“Oh, shit!” hissed Harry, as he realized he wasn’t moving an inch, and instead a searing pain went through the base of his neck. Draco gagged and rolled his head around.

They turned to stare at each other again, opened their mouths, and screamed.

“Harry. Draco,” said Dumbledore sternly, somewhere to their right.

They didn’t hear him, but continued to shriek as loudly as they could. Harry’s hands abruptly went up to claw at his face and attempt to push Draco away. And then he noticed something strange about his body. They stopped yelling, and Harry panted as he slowly fingered his chest and brought his hand toward his face. Draco hiccupped and sounded near to hyperventilation. Harry’s hand had reached his neck. He hesitated, then slid his fingers across his collar bone to the left and hit… another neck base. He repeated the same action and felt it again. Draco whimpered.

“This is quite an awful predicament,” whispered what sounded like Professor McGonagall somewhere to their left.

Harry turned his head to the left again to see if his hand appeared on Draco’s chin when he brought it up the mysterious second neck base. His fingers touched Draco’s chin and bottom lip before Draco’s eyes widened in panic and his teeth bit down hard on Harry’s finger. They started screaming again. Harry flung his head to the left and smacked his forehead against Draco’s temple, and so began five minutes of brutal head bashing and thrashing of arms. Draco appeared to have some mysterious power over Harry’s left arm and whipped it toward Harry’s face. Harry caught his hand in his mouth, bit down, and they both roared with rage. Their teachers made no move to stop the fight; they were held in place with fascination and suspense.

Finally, one broken nose and two boys hyperventilating to the point of unconsciousness later, Professor Snape stepped forward and grabbed Harry’s thrashing arms, his lips curling in sheer disgust at having to touch him. “This has gone on long enough. Is there nothing to be done?”

“Sharing one pair of lungs, too, the poor things,” muttered Madame Pomfrey, shaking her head and gazing at the two gasping boys whose eyes soon rolled up into their heads before they fell limp. “What do you think, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore mused a moment before answering. “Well, you know what they sometimes say; two heads can be better than one.”