Is The Ghost of a Toad Still Lucky?

Note: If you like the slightly odd way this is written, I suggest you read Tom Robbins' work, which is what I am sort of parodying. He wrote "Jitterbug Perfume," "Still Life with Woodpecker," and "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues." Gina told me that it's "the bubbly of fanfiction." I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds cool and I'm assuming it's good ^_^ Obviously, this was written before GoF came out. Forget everything you learned in GoF.

 

-1-

-Of Summers -

 

Summers went by slowly for Harry Potter, inching their way lazily along like the ancient car that hasn't quite died yet. As the hot days of August tottered on their last legs, as kids readied themselves for school and as Dudley Dursley shoveled various confections into the

gaping maw of his gullet, summer went by even slower. It was reluctant to leave England.

 

"I don't know why," Harry was occasionally heard to say (or would have been heard, had anyone bothered to listen), "Voldemort chose my parents out of all the zillions of witches and wizards." But as the summer grew longer and longer, this sort of remark was heard less and less, for his Aunt Petunia grew angrier and angrier and assigned him more and more work.

 

Now, to defend Petunia, it was a difficult task to keep the refrigerator stocked with all that the 400-pound Dudley liked to eat. His summer activities were amazing: the movement of hand-to-mouth, hand-to-mouth, hand-to-mouth was almost hypnotizing -- but of course then he would throw in the occasional channel-change on the TV for good measure. Yet in her constant battle to keep at least some food in the house, Petunia still found time to set Harry to any number of tasks that her slovenly son was simply too fat to undertake.

 

So off to the cooking and cleaning and washing and waxing Uncle Vernon's new Mercedes-Benz went Harry, who was by the age of fifteen better at housework than most maids. He was also more adept at avoiding casual kicks from Dudley than anyone he knew - his cousin was so slow and fat that kicks would'nt have been a problem, except for the fact that Piers Polkiss was more than willing to hold Harry down so Dudley could kick away.

 

You see, now, that after a long day of avoiding Dudley-kicks and doing chores (it was useless to try to avoid them), Harry had not much to do but retreat to his room and remove his Hogwarts homework from its hidey-hole. As soon as the sun had dropped from the sky, the loose wall-board would come off and books with names like 'Your Guide to the Constellations' and 'The Advanced Guide to Transfigurations' would be removed. Balancing them in a huge stack and tiptoeing to work on the essays and such he had been assigned, Harry would ignore the noises coming from Dudley's room (those of food being consumed loudly and without manners) and put quill to paper, scratching illegible runes into the parchment with a vengeance.

 

Soon enough, August had finally kicked the bucket - it died in birthing September, whose arrival into the world was celebrated by at least Harry. Indeed, September was Harry's chance to get away from the ever-eating Dudley and the odious Dursleys, and August was not long mourned.

 

-interlude 1 -

-Of a Fine Color-

 

Removing her pencil from her parchment, then just as quickly returning it, the author contemplates the color red.

 

Red is a very tolerable color, hollyberries being bright and cheery at Christmas, red lipstick being parted by teeth in a smile. But of course, red also maintains an aura of danger: red cars are the most likely to be pulled over for speeding, for example, and red is the universal Hit-The-Brakes-On-Your-Goddamn-Car color. And we won't even go into blood and ketchup.

 

Yes, red is overall a fine color. the writer turns this thought over in her mind, then discards it on the mental dung heap where thoughts go to die.

 

Dudley Dursley, the color red. Two variables that have been defined in this equation. So where do we go from here?

 

-2-

-Of 9 3/4-

 

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was bustling with activity, as that sort of platform is apt to do. The cherry-red steam engine (cherry-red being the only red that has no inherent danger, and therefore a fine color for such things as steam engines and Volkswagon Beetles) puffed pollutants into the air at an alarming rate -- not so alarming to those upon the platform, however, for they had their minds on more important things. Like where Trevor the toad had gone.

 

Actually, at that very moment Trevor was swimming in a sea of hydrochloric acid -- HCl --- in Dudley Dursley's stomach on Platform Three. But nobody knew that except Dudley Dursley, who had wanted a snack. Actually, the scene was reminiscent of Harry's first day on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters; therefore, it was not surprising to find Hermione Granger helping Neville search for the missing amphibian. Her frizzy mane formed a kind of bad-hair-day halo around a pleasant but bossy face.

 

Of course, a shock of orange hair identified the six Weasleys close to the entrance to the train - Arthur, Molly, Fred, George, Ron and Ginny. Indeed, none of the Weasleys had quite red hair - except perhaps Charlie, but he was in Albania working with dragons. To some, this may have been proof positive of his hair color, for only a redhead would do something as dangerous as that.

 

The little clump of carrot-tops was not to stay together; either Fred or George lit a Filibuster Firework and conveniently forgot about it. The firecracker went off with a bang right behind Mrs. Weasley, causing her to hop as agilely as the late Trevor the toad ever had.

 

But after this had been sorted out (the guilty party - be it George or Fred - ran off with his twin to hide in the back compartment of the Hogwarts Express) and after Draco Malfoy took the customary pot-shots at Ron's family, the remaining Weasley children as well as Harry and Hermione boarded to many tears from Mrs. Weasley and many exhortations to not get expelled from Mr. Weasley. The cherry-red un-dangerous steam engine went on puffing chemicals into the air, and rolled out of the station rather ponderously - like Dudley Dursley getting up from a chair, only more so.

 

The train ride passed in a flurry of Chocolate Frogs trading cards, discarded (gross) Everyflavor Beans, loud snores from Harry and various and sundry pieces of junk that somehow found their way in the open window. But possibly the most important part of this incredibly normal trip was the cemetery they passed.

 

It was a rather plain cemetery, its only claim to fame being that it was as far from anywhere as anywhere could possibly be. Actually, there was one other interesting thing about it: there were no crosses at all in it, no gravestones engraved with crosses, no simple wooden ones to mark a pauper's burial. On reflection, this could be explained with the idea that it was a Jewish cemetery - but as it was, nobody was paying much attention. So Harry slept past the most important place he could possibly go about his family.

 

-interlude 2 -

-Of Mechanical Pencils-

 


 


 

But there aren't coffee shops on every corner in California, and the mochas are far inferior. That alone was worth the three hour wait when her flight was canceled.

 


 

-3-

-Of Christmas Vacation-

 

Schoolwork is Hell.

 

This is the mantra engraved on every student's brain - with the possible exception of Hermione Granger. And it was proving true at Hogwarts, where students floundered under mountains of paper, heaps of parchment, loads of homework, multitudes of tests, and hundreds of broken quills. The only people who seemed to be happy were Hagrid and Filch - Hagrid because he had gotten a new dog, and Filch because all the schoolwork was preventing even the Weasley twins from getting up to their usual hijinks.

 

So the Filibuster fireworks languished, the Dungbombs sighed apathetically, and the Biting Teacup they had planned to use on Professor Flitwick saw no reason to live. The only thing that was lively in all of Gryffindor tower was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Hildegard - and even he was finding it hard to stay happy, despite Cheering Charms, Stressaway Spells and Vivacity Draughts.

 

But the end was in sight. Christmas break was before them, and though that meant running the finals gauntlet, it also meant two whole weeks of relative freedom. Ron was going back to the Burrow, and Harry and Hermione were to go back with him (for two more made no difference at a Weasley Christmas, Harry had no Christmas to go home to, and Hermione had begged her ass off). So they all piled into the Hogwarts Express -- as red as ever, but it had had engine trouble and was tinted slightly orange -- for the return trip. The pollutants gushed, the wheels rolled, and the train (now bedecked with holly, and decorated with a wreath over the cow-catcher) chugged out of Hogwarts.

 

The chocolate frogs were good, the ride fast, and soon they were back at King's Cross Station, met by Molly Weasley. Her not-quite-red hair seemed to flare up and catch fire as she yelled -- for no apparent reason, but she was yelling at Fred and George -- yet she was laughing about the new car they had gotten when she faced Harry and Hermione again. It was not a Volkswagon Beetle, but rather a beat-up Rabbit, and it was as shabby as the Burrow itself. The magically enlarged back seat barely held them all - and even then, Ginny was sitting on Fred's lap. When they reached their destination, the tiny car fit in with the rest of the scene: the chickens were still pecking about unhampered in the yard (Rhode Island Reds, I'm sure), and the sign that named the house was even more crooked. It looked like home to Harry; Hermione, who had never seen it, made the mistake of asking what held it up.

 

"Magic, chewing gum -- principally chewing gum -- Spellotape, and a lot of luck." From Fred's tone he though this was enormously funny -- and it would have been, but Hermione was to share Ginny's bedroom on the top floor and was looking slightly green in the face.

 

Goblins are no problem, but ghouls bang on pipes altogether too much, Harry learned. Another thing he learned was that eleven people in one house causes a long wait for the bathroom. And one more thing he learned: firecrackers, when thrown into cooking fires which things are currently cooking on, make a jolly good show.

 

Of course, there was one thing that happened. One eensy little party-pooping thing. One little thing that weighed over 400 pounds. One thing named Dudley Dursley. Dudley had gotten lost somewhere in London, lost his head (if he ever had one, which is highly debatable) and forgot which town Privet Drive was in. Possibly the most utterly dumb thing anyone in the history of mankind has ever done. So he hitchhiked to the Burrow, his massive stomach grumbling, and prayed to God or anyone who would listen that that 'weird family Harry's staying with' would feed him. Now, Dudley wouldn't've even considered getting near any friends of Harry's, but his stomach was calling. He couldn't imagine begging, so - the Burrow it was.

 

Now, there is almost as much danger in hitchhiking as there is in the color red. The person who picks you up could be a baby snatcher, an ax murderer, almost anyone under the sun - so of course, hitchhiking is governed by chance. Fate. Karma. A roll of the cosmic dice; a spin of the eternal roulette wheel. The stakes are high - well, not in Dudley's case, because who would care besides the Dursleys if Dudley was chopped up by an ax murderer? - but mostly, yes, they are high.

 

So now we have two themes - danger, and chance - one color - red - and a whole bunch of characters nobody knows quite what to do with.

 

It sounds like a job for Trevor the toad.

 

-*-

 

The door was answered by Harry, who just barely resisted the primal urge to slam it in Dudley's fat face. Trevor - or Trevor's spirit, for Trevor's body had long since passed down the river and into the sea - sat calmly under one of the many scraggly bushes, half-hidden in a gnomehole. "Erm, Harry?" Dudley said, rather faintly, as he was practically starved after missing two meals. "D'you think you can get me back to - back to Mum and Dad?" Missing a meal was the only thing that might possibly cow Dudley.

 

Harry had a good mind just to go away and leave Dudley on his own (well, not completely on his own; there was always Trevor), but for some bizarre reason he didn't. Whether he was just trying to make Dudley owe him a favor or just being nice, we'll never know - in the end, "Dudders" was given dinner. Mrs. Weasley, for once, stopped trying to make people eat and limited him to two servings. She later mentioned that he was like a vacuum cleaner. Everyone agreed. Afterwards, the magical people had a good time watching Dudley go into hysterics over the wizarding photographs that hung on the walls.

 

The next day, the sun rose like a gigantic beach ball in the ocean of the sky. It hung low, as red as the apple that tempted Eve, and one would not have been surprised to see a tree branch of the gods extend itself from Mount Olympus and attach its leafy end to the crimson top. Beneath this dangerous sky, three carrottops, two brunettes and a blonde piled into the Weasleys' Volkswagon Rabbit, which Charlie had christened 'Hop.' Leery of getting into a magical car (though there were very few enchantments on that particular specimen), Dudley hesitated so long that Ron finally tried to push his flabby bulk into the seat. It was a marvelous sight, one that probably has a moral - the moral being, you're going to get into the damn car whether you like it or not.

 

Now, one must consider the problem of danger in which non-redheads are involved. Of course, redheads have their affinity to danger - it's in their genes, in the very bubbling primordial glop from whence they came - they will naturally risk their lives more often than the gentler-haired people. However, in this story brunettes will get into hot water, too (figuratively or literally, you decide), so we must determine the effects of danger on them (the author has nothing against blondes, being one herself, but the fact remains that the only blonde in this story is more likely to die of overeating than anything else).

 

Harry Potter's mother had hair redder than Charlie Weasley's, redder than the inside of your lip, redder than the beach-ball sun. Hermione, on the other hand, lacked a single drop of Irish blood in her veins - explaining why she tends to lose her head in a crisis, and why she tends to stick to the rules. Brunettes descended from redheads are able to deal with danger. Unfortunately, Hermione was not of that vein.

 

Danger was to come, both to Harry and Hermione as well as the true-blue redhead Weasleys. But first, Trevor the toad's ghostly form was seen squatting by the Burrow's sign, wondering if anybody remembered.

 

Toads are good luck!

 

-interlude 3 -

- Of Canada -

 


 

It's really exceedingly like the good ol' U.S. of A., only with liscence plates that say 'Beautiful British Columbia' instead of 'California' or 'Oregon' or 'Washington' or things like that. And nobody here has bumper stickers - at least, not the typical West Coast kind advertising animal rights and Christianity and paganism and such. In Vancouver, indeed, there's almost no difference - except that $15 American dollars gets you $21 Canadian dollars. And they call speed bumps 'traffic calmers,' which I personally think is sort of cute.

 

Furthermore, the national color is red. Red maple leaves; red hair; red taillights on cars. Red paint on traffic calmers. Everything seems to come down to the color red, the first color of the spectrum. Indeed, even Dudley Dursley had a bit of red in him. That much Trevor had left behind. Somewhere, the essence of toadly glory was in him - an aquatic quality, something from a bygone day when mammals had not yet overshadowed amphibious minds. And it was red - perhaps it brought some color to the blood that feebly pumped through his cholesterol-clogged heart. The red of blood will naturally show up in young people (and by this we are not speaking of the color, per se, but of the feeling that red evokes), but not in Dudley Dursley. It did not come through his family (at least not his mother's side; Petunia was a strange sort of genetic throwback - or something, because that very quality which she and her son lacked was Harry's in spades), but the point is that Trevor's demise changed Dudley. It was unnoticeable, but perhaps -

 


 

She'd like her gravestone to be painted red.

 

-4-

-Of an Infamous Graveyard -

 

Slowly and with great pomp, Hop died. It was fitting, then, that as the putting engine coughed and finally when where good engines go when they have quit this world, that Charlie Weasley pulled into a graveyard's parking lot. "To Hop," Ginny (who had been allowed to come, after much begging) said. "May his ancient self rest in peace." Ron was much less philosophical and much more redheaded about it: he kicked the tire hard as he could and cursed as he missed and hit the hubcap.

 

As the great hunk of useless metal sat placidly on the concrete, a monument to how stupid things - and people - can be, one gravestone jumped out at Ginny - rather like Trevor might have done, were he still with them. Strangely enough, it was actually two gravestones, one in front of the other so closely they seemed one. And they were painted red. Rather interesting. After approximately three minutes and forty-three seconds of staring at this gravestone boredly, something happened, as things are apt to do when you aren't quite paying attention.

 

Something happened that rocked Ginny's world.

 

She had a Thought: wouldn't it be nice if everything was red?

 

And then Dudley Dursley sat on her.

 

Now, it's dangerous just being around people the size of Dudley. He was enormous; not only was he fat, he was also pudgy, obese, chubby, big-boned and porky - all lumped into one huge mass of what seemed to be unbaked dough. Actually, if there was ever someone large enough to squeeze him, he would have squeaked just like one of those little Pillsbury Doughboy dolls.

 

But back on the subject.

 

Fortunately, Ginny was not long in suffering, for Dudley really only sat on her foot. She punched him hard and he moved - rather ashamed of getting hit by a girl - but not before her foot had fallen fast asleep and gotten more than a little squashed. It was beet-red by the time Dudley got off of it, and Ginny was hopping mad. That Weasley temper kicked in, and down Dudley went under a whirl of fists and red hair. Ginny was completely ignoring her wand, impervious to Harry's cries of "Hit him with a Jellylegs hex! Hit him with a Jellylegs hex!"

 

Dudley tried to roll out of Ginny's way, but only succeeded in rolling entirely over her and wedging her wand between her and him - he rolled the other way -

 

SNAP!

 

And that was when Dudley Dursley learned the foolishness of fooling with wands. For the second the unicorn hair fell out of one end of the dowelish stick, floating to the ground as gracefully as a trapeze artist that has taken their final jump, Dudley began to swell.

 

Now, don't get me wrong - he didn't swell the way Aunt Marge swelled. He didn't fill with air and slowly, slowly expand into a blimp-sized thing that floated away in the morning breeze. No, Dudley swelled in the worst way possible: he grew. I don't know what you know about Engorgement Charms, but this is the honest truth: they are irreversible. Once hit with one, you stay that way forever - because it's not that you are any fatter than you once were, only that you are bigger. So Dudley grew, what little muscle he had ballooning as much as the great deal of fat he had. He grew about a hundred pounds every thirty seconds: noticeable, but not uncontrollable. The problem was not this - one can stop an Engorgement Charm rather easily - but the fact that Harry, Ron, Hermione, Charlie and Ginny were all laughing as hard as the human body can withstand laughing.

 

Soon, the only thing that prevented Dudley from rolling bodily down the slight slope the graveyard was on and straight down across the traintracks was those two red gravestones Ginny had been staring at. And they were slipping. Slowly, ever so slowly, Dudley began bending them over... just a little farther, and he would shoot down the incline like a banana that has been unceremoniously squeezed from its peel...

 

...and suddenly he was off, the gravestones bending all the way over and going flying as Dudley rolled. And rolled. And rolled. And continued growing. The gravestones fell to earth at an alarming rate, landing right at Harry's feet.

 

Engraved upon them, the only part of the stones lacking red paint, were the words (respectively):

 

Lily Potter James Potter

Died 1981 Died 1981

 

Harry looked at them for a second. Finally he spoke -

 

"Red," he said, "is a fitting color."

 

And with that, he ran down the hill after Dudley. It would not be good if the Ministry of Magic got called out during his holiday.

 

-epilogue-

 


 

She puts down the evil Bad Badtz Maru mechanical pencil.

 

She sighs.

 

And she decides that there is nothing more to say - except this:

 

If summer was reluctant to leave England, winter was even slower...

 

-finis-