The Pink Button Conspiracy

'Stay back, fiend!' shouted Harry, brandishing his wand. A strange, fizzing liquid was dripping sluggishly from the wand's tip. Once the liquid hit the floor, it congealed into a thick olive-drab ooze. No one was willing to touch it. Even Harry was edging back from the slowly spreading puddle of slime at his feet.

'Just ignore him,' Hermione muttered to Ron. 'Perhaps if we don't pay any attention he'll settle down a bit.'

'What if he does a runner?' asked Ron quietly.

'The slime's got him backed into a corner,' pointed out Hermione. 'I don't think he's going anywhere.'

Ron and Hermione sat down in front of Dumbledore's desk.

'How long has Harry been acting like this?' the Headmaster enquired, glancing at Harry, who had curled up in foetal position in his corner and was murmuring to himself too softly for them to hear the words he said.

'He was fine last night, sir,' answered Hermione anxiously. 'Absolutely fine...'

'No, he wasn't,' disagreed Ron. 'He's not fine. He hasn't been fine since last year. The difference between now and last night is that then, he was sane.'

'Did anything out of the ordinary happen yesterday?' Dumbledore urged. 'Anything that could have triggered this?'

Hermione and Ron glanced at one another.

'Nothing too weird,' said Ron haltingly. 'But... well, we didn't think it was anything last night, but...' He paused, and cleared his throat. 'One of the first years-'

'Blaine Frith,' prompted Hermione.

'Yes, her,' agreed Ron. 'Blaine. She gave Harry a throat lozenge last night...'

'A throat lozenge?' repeated Dumbledore.

'He had a sore throat,' Hermione explained. 'We spent-'

'You spent,' interjected Ron.

'- half an hour trying to talk him into going to Madam Pomfrey. I even tried bribing him with a glass of pumpkin juice,' finished Hermione, ignoring him. 'Blaine said she felt sorry for him, and gave him the throat lozenge. Harry might have been allergic...'

She stopped, realising that a simple allergic reaction was unlikely to be the cause of Harry's erratic behaviour.

'Perhaps,' said Dumbledore gently, inclining his head.

Meanwhile, in his corner, Harry had stopped muttering to himself; he had fallen asleep. The green ooze beside him was busily forming itself into a cube and solidifying.

'Sir?' said Hermione quietly. 'Harry's asleep.'

Dumbledore nodded. With a wave of his wand, he levitated Harry, who curled himself into a tight ball in mid-air and mumbled something that almost sounded like 'buttons and socks and little purple hankies' (although, as it was muffled by his robes, it sounded closer to 'muddens 'nd ssukss 'md liffle ferfle 'nkies', which could be anything, really).

Lying on the straw in the Owlery, the pink button had cracked down the centre. Something creamy white, with long, tapered tentacles thrust out through the hole it made, and began clawing at the button. More cracks formed along the button.

Up in the rafters, the owls were awoken by the wet scrabbling sound the tentacles made as they pulled at the button.

'What's that sound?'

'It's Ethel's button.'

'Hey! Ethel! Go and shut your button up!'

'What the hell's it doing?'

'I... think it's... hatching.'

'Buttons don't hatch. Ethel will you shut that damn button up?'

'No? Look at it! It's got cracks!'

'S'probably just the heat.'

'It's freezing up here!'

'Then it's the cold.'

'But there's something trying to get out of it!'

'Now you're just pulling my - Sweet Mother of the Night!'

'I told you so.'

Something small, pale and covered in iridescent pink slime flopped out the broken halves of the button. It lay on the floor, gasping from the exertion, blinking its large, crystal blue eyes in the bright sunshine. It hiccoughed, and began to move. Ethel the owl swooped down from one of the rafters and landed next to the strange, pathetic little creature that had just hatched from the button. It made a gurgling noise and raised its head to peer at her, blinking slowly.

It would be nice to think that Ethel the owl had leant down and eaten the vile, squid-like creature on the floor before her. But Ethel the owl didn't eat the hatchling. Perhaps it was because the little thing was too revolting for even Ethel (who was probably the least picky eaters of all the owls) to consider eating. Perhaps it was because Ethel had always wanted a little chick of her own but had never found the right male owl. Or perhaps it was simply because Ethel was demented. It doesn't matter. Ethel didn't eat the repulsive little button-hatchling. Instead, she adopted it.

******

The following day, it was Saturday. Bright, cold morning light found Harry laying face down in a bed in the hospital wing. He raised his head slowly, a slight headache pounding away behind his eyes. He groaned, and buried his face deeper in the pillow, pulling the blankets up over his head.

A few minutes later, the door to the hospital wing opened, and someone walked the length of the room and stopped beside Harry's bed.

'He's still asleep,' said a voice.

'Do you think we should wake him?' asked another.

None of this was very loud, but to Harry, it seemed like someone was shouting into his ears with a megaphone. This made him feel quite irate.

'He's already awake,' he snapped, voice muffled by his pillow and blanket. 'And he'd appreciate it if you'd stop shouting.'

There was a brief pause from beside the bed.

'Harry?' asked a quiet voice beside his bed. It sounded like Hermione.

Heaving a sigh, Harry rolled over and flung back the blanket. He winced as the bright light hit his eyes.

'Mmph,' he grunted, shielding his eyes with his hands.

'Are you all right?' Ron asked tentatively.

'Yeah,' Harry squinted at him curiously and felt on the table beside the bed for his glasses. 'Why shouldn't I be?'

He looked around and, for the first time, noticed where he was.

'Why am I in the hospital wing?'

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other.

'Why?' prompted Harry.

'Don't, don't you remember any of yesterday morning?' asked Hermione.

'What about yesterday morning?' asked Harry, brow furrowing. 'What happened?'

'You don't remember,' said Ron flatly.

'No, I don't,' said Harry peevishly. 'Tell me what happened.'

'The whole school's talking about it,' said Ron. 'You went... crazy. Absolutely bonkers. You kept conjuring random things. Like this-'

He showed Harry the large olive-drab cube that had formed itself out of the ooze. It looked as if it was made of eggshell.

'What is that?' asked Harry, taking it from him and running his hands over it curiously.

'We don't know,' said Hermione. 'We were hoping you might, since you conjured it.'

'No idea,' Harry informed her, putting the cube down on the table beside the bed. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

'Hold on,' Hermione said. 'Madam Pomfrey said to tell you to stay when you wake up.'

'Why?' Harry sighed. He was hungry; he wanted some breakfast.

Ron shrugged. 'Maybe she's figured out what sent you crazy yesterday.'

Hours later, Harry was sitting alone in the Gryffindor common room. Madam Pomfrey had worked out what had caused his sudden bout of insanity; it was an intriguing chemical reaction between the chemicals in the throat lozenge Blaine Frith had given him and the carotin in his pumpkin juice. As far as Madam Pomfrey had been able to ascertain, there were few adverse side effects to the chemical reaction, other than the head ache and light sensitivity that Harry had experienced upon waking. However, to be on the safe side, she had ordered him to stay indoors for the remainder of the weekend and to see her again on Saturday night to ensure there would be no repeats of Friday morning.

The common room was almost empty; it was a pleasant day, and most of the students were outside enjoying it. Hermione was sitting in an armchair opposite Harry's, quietly reading a book (Ron had Quidditch practice. Harry had to admit that he was slightly jealous that Ron was out enjoying the sunshine and he wasn't). Harry was trying to do his homework, but he felt, inexplicably, slightly uneasy and wasn't able to concentrate.

Finally, after half an hour of sitting still, Harry threw down his quill and stared broodingly into the fire.

'Would you like to go for a walk, Harry?' asked Hermione, noticing his restlessness.

'Where to?' demanded Harry. 'I'm not allowed outside, remember?' The last question was accompanied by a somewhat bitter tone.

'To the Owlery?' suggested Hermione. 'You frightened Hedwig yesterday morning, I think. You could go and show her that you're sane again.'

Since Harry couldn't think of anything better, he agreed and, moments later, he and Hermione were making their way toward the Owlery.

****

Ethel nipped the figure lying asleep on the floor gently. It moaned softly and rolled over. Ethel nipped it again and this time, it sat up and opened its eyes.

The repulsive, embryonic being that had hatched from the button the day before had grown up at an unnatural rate. What had the day before been a new born, was now a tall and lithe sixteen-year-old girl. She got to her feet, stretching her long, lily-white legs as she did, and pushing back her thick blonde hair.

She had been... hatched... with a mission. The knowledge of it was bred into her. It was her sole purpose in life.

Ethel hooted softly and landed on her shoulder. The girl smiled benignly, and began to examine herself. Yes, she thought contentedly, she was perfect. Absolutely perfect in absolutely every way. She waved her hands and conjured herself an ethereal white dress and, of all things, an un-talkative midget. She named him Fidel.

Just as she was about to exit the Owlery, the door opened and in stepped none other than Harry and Hermione. They stopped abruptly at the sight of her.

'Who're you?' asked Harry suspiciously. The girl looked him up and down briefly. In her mind, she classified him as prey.

The girl smiled and replied in a sweet, melodic voice, 'I am Culurewen Wolfcry.'

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other scornfully.

'What are you doing here?' asked Hermione, as Harry went off to find Hedwig.

Culurewen, who had been staring at Harry, snapped her head around to face Hermione. In the few seconds before she answered, she looked Hermione up and down and narrowed her eyes. In her mind, Culurewen classified Hermione as one thing: competition.

'Silly!' she trilled. Hermione winced. That voice was painful. 'I'm a student here!'