Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Two

In Which Discoveries Are Made

The Great Hall was ringing with the usual morning volley of flatulence occasioned by a diet high in saturated fats and low in leafy green vegetables when the news arrived. Harry himself was chowing down on a plate piled eight inches high with bacon, ham, sausage, and - just to prove that everything he ate didn't necessarily come off a pig - greasy fried tomatoes. His farts were some of the longest and richest, but Ron could beat him in terms of volume any day of the week. Just as Harry was about to lift another juicy pink morsel to his mouth, the doors burst open and Argus Filch came rushing in, Mrs. Norris tagging at his heels. The students all paused in their eating and gassing, their forks frozen halfway to their mouths. They had never seen the cantankerous old caretaker so delighted before.

"Rubeus Hagrid is dead, Headmaster!" Filch cried. "Cut to pieces by his own monstrosity!" He savored the moment, a true, wide smile stretching his lips from ear to ear - and then he expired, simply too happy to live an instant longer. The students yelped as his body toppled, a blissful grin still pinned to its face.

Mrs. Norris suddenly transformed into a dumpy middle-aged woman with wild gray-streaked brown hair. "Twenty-seven years living as a cat, and this is my reward!" she hollered, giving Filch's body a few good kicks with the toe of her boot. "I always knew you was never going to leave your wife for me!" And, having said her cryptic piece, she turned on her heel and marched straight out of the Great Hall - and for that matter, out of the story.

The students gawked and whispered. A few panicked and began running around in circles screaming and waving their arms over their heads. This was pretty much what they had been trained to do in case of a crisis. Harry, who was made of sterner stuff, took advantage of the bedlam to shovel down the rest of his breakfast. Never let good pork grow cold, was his motto.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, surreptitiously waving away a whiff of flatulence the motion had expelled. "Quiet!" he roared, and the students obediently halted in whatever inane course of action they had chosen, as well-trained as Pavlov's dogs. Unfortunately, they had to wait a couple minutes for the rest of it, for, as usual, Dumbledore had inhaled a piece of his beard and was choking on it.

While they were waiting, Sirius (who was not officially a teacher, but to keep up appearances instructed those who were interested in 'How to Dress Really Bad-Ass - Muggle Style!') whispered in Lupin's ear: "Do you think Hagrid's unfortunate demise has anything to do with Harry?"

Lupin located Harry at the Gryffindor table, sucking in a piece of bacon. "It's possible. Certainly he doesn't seem particularly upset - "

"But then, who would be?" Sirius finished. "Yeah. Except Harry always defended the big idiot before. Liked seeing Hagrid's beasties bite the hands off other students, if you ask me."

"I just don't know." Lupin ate another piece of his chocolate chip pancakes and set his fork down. "It seems just as likely to me that Hagrid decided to try his lawnmower on a meat diet, as the grass was getting rather thin."

"That's possible too," Sirius acknowledged. "Well, Hagrid and Filch. Two Hogwarts legends gone in a day. And I say hooray."

"I'll join you in that," agreed Lupin sweetly. "So long as they don't follow your example and decide to hang around indefinitely."

Sirius looked at him resentfully.

Dumbledore had finally cleared the wisps of his beard from his trachea and was ready to speak. Unfortunately, his weak old-man's bladder was also straining to hold back the dribbles, so he knew he would have to make it short. "Students to your respective houses," he announced, carefully uncrossing his eyes. "All classes are cancelled for this morning."

Most of the students were just barely bright enough to restrain themselves from cheering, but Harry's little goat-like bah-ha-ha-ha-ha! rang out clearly over the rows of tables.

"Professor McGonagall, please see to Algus Filch's remains. Professor Lupin and Professor Snape, please come with me."

Snape leaned forward to flash Lupin an expression of utmost dislike. Lupin responded with a courteous nod and his most exasperating gentle smile - the one he knew just grated on Snape's nerves. Snape gave him the finger under the table.

"Everyone dismissed," concluded Dumbledore, and raced off to the privy as fast as dignity and his wobbly, arthritic knees would allow. Lupin cast a regretful glance at his pancakes before he rose while Snape hastily drank the last of his vinegar-and-water. Professor McGonagall kept eating steadily. She was damned if she was going to hurry. Filch's body wasn't going anywhere - and if it did, well, that much less work for her.

Harry's small brain was whirling busily as he followed the crowd of Gryffindors back to the common room. True to form, the entire student population was already gossiping and speculating. It was only a matter of time before the name 'Voldemort' - or at least 'You-Know-Who' - cropped up. And then Harry would once again be the focus of everybody's attention. They would whisper behind their hands as he walked past and shun him in classes for fear he'd curse them. Yes, this was the way things ought to be, Harry decided, basking in the glow of a job well done. But was it enough? How many weeks of attention could he gouge out of Hagrid's demise before he'd have to come up with something else? Would it perhaps behoove him to sneak into the loo and write threatening messages on the mirror just to make sure everyone got the point? Harry's shoulders ached with the intangible weight of possibilities.

Lavender's voice suddenly came drifting back to him. "Ah, who cares anyway?" she asked her friend Parvati. "Hagrid was a horrible teacher. And that lawnmower thing of his was giving me a headache!"

"That's a terrible thing to say," said another girl, one that Harry had never, over the course of five years, bothered learning the name of.

"She's got a point, though," said Seamus. "Do you know what this means? No more Blast-ended Skrewts! Ever!"

"Or flobberworms," added Dean. "Do you remember the year when it was nothing but flobberworms?"

"No more catching sight of Hagrid taking a dump in the bushes!" giggled Lavender.

"Oh, Lavender! He didn't!"

"Oh, yes he did!" said Lavender positively. "Parvati and I saw him emerging from the bushes holding up his pants one day and there was this terrible stink in the air."

"It's true," agreed Parvati. They'd reached the Fat Lady's portrait. The painting nodded her plump head in agreement.

"Well, didn't you ever notice?" she asked. "There's no privy by Hagrid's hut. Where else was he supposed to do it?"

The entire house burst into laughter as Dean gave her the password. Still chattering, they made themselves comfortable in the common room. Harry skulked about the edges of the group, not entirely happy with what he was overhearing.

"Still, it's kind of scary, don't you think?" asked Neville. "I mean, getting chewed up by his own lawnmower. . . "

"He probably just did something really stupid," said Parvati. "Like stick his hand inside it."

"Hagrid was always doing something stupid," agreed Ginny. "Hey! I guess they'll get rid of that lawnmower for good!"

There were a few hurrahs at this suggestion. Hermione was purring. "And they'll hire someone else to take care of the grounds," said Dean excitedly. "Someone with a brain, this time I hope."

"At least someone who doesn't pick his nose openly!" Laughter.

Harry nudged Ron in the back. "This isn't going well," he hissed. "Say something!"

Ron blinked stupidly for a moment before seizing the nearest bottle of butterbeer and raising it in the air. "Here's to whoever killed Hagrid!" he yelled.

Harry clapped a hand to his forehead as everyone seconded Ron with cheers.

Snape and Lupin (and Sirius) had hung around outside Dumbledore's bathroom for twenty minutes, but apparently the old codger had decided that while he was in there, he might as well give his bowels another go. The trio had finally gotten bored of waiting and gone ahead to the site of carnage on their own.

"Well, what's your opinion, Severus?" Lupin inquired after a few minutes. Sirius was standing off to one side and trying very hard not to see what was left of Hagrid. It wasn't pretty. Buzzards circled overhead, looking like they were trying to work up an appetite.

Snape shrugged and tossed down the forearm he'd been examining. "He got caught in his own lawnmower and it cut him to shreds," said the Potions Master without much interest. "With all his body hair, it's not surprising he became entangled." He picked up Hagrid's head, whose final expression was one of deep confusion. "I suppose we could try enchanting this to speak, but that would really be - "

"A disgusting thing to do," muttered Sirius, still facing away. Snape shot him a look.

"I was going to say it would really be more Professor Flitwick's field than mine." Snape set down the head again and mused that it was a pity that it hadn't been a full moon last night. This sort of carnage could easily be blamed on a werewolf.

"You know, I find I'm really not that curious," said Lupin, a look of distaste on his face. "I mean, what if Hagrid's head kept on talking? What would we do then? Mount it on a wall?"

"Oh, that would be a nice addition to Hogwarts' decor," muttered Sirius.

"Dumbledore might like it for his office," said Snape coolly.

"Just forget it, Severus. So should we gather up all his various bits in a bag for disposal or should we wait for Dumbledore?" Lupin rubbed his chin and considered.

"Dumbledore could be on the pot all day," scoffed Snape. "I say we just toss him into the Forbidden Forest and let the centaurs eat him. Or the giant spiders, or - " with a significant look, " - the werewolves."

Lupin raised an eyebrow, wondering if was time to sing another insulting song about Snape, but decided to save it for later. "Whatever happened to the lawnmower?" he asked instead.

Sirius cleared his throat and pointed to a deep, obvious track eaten into the grass.

"Do you mean it's still running around loose?" cried Lupin in mild horror. "We'd better do something about that!"

They followed the path cut deep into the earth by sharp, revolving blades. The wake of destruction left behind by the lawnmower was awe-inspiring; at one point it had apparently chewed clean through a stone wall. It was also a remarkably straight path - almost as if the lawnmower had had a destination in mind. The track abruptly terminated at --

"I knew it," said Lupin, putting his hands on his hips. "I knew that machine had a grudge against that tree."

The Whomping Willow twitched weakly before slumping again. It was not the same proud, vicious tree Lupin remembered from his childhood. Great chunks of bark had been chewed off and a few of its slimmer branches had been mown clear through. Leaves were scattered on the ground like dandruff.

But all that was left of the lawnmower was a crumpled bit of metal, smashed into a depression in the ground. Apparently the Whomping Willow had, in desperation, thrown its entire weight onto the machine. Amazing no one at Hogwarts had felt the impact.

Snape bent to poke at the lawnmower's remains with one of the tree's own twigs. The Willow, although dreadfully offended, was too tired to take more than a cursory swipe at him. "Well, that takes care of that," said Snape with satisfaction when he couldn't raise so much as a trace of a buzzing sound. "Honestly, if I could figure out who sent this thing to Hagrid. . . "

Lupin noticed that Sirius had his hands behind his back, was gazing at the sky and whistling. But since Lupin had suspected Sirius for some time now, he decided not to say anything at present. "Poor tree," he said instead, tucking his hands into his pockets and gazing at it affectionately. "Should get the Order of Merlin Second Class for defeating that thing."

It might have been a mere joke, an idle comment - if Lupin hadn't known for a fact that Snape's life ambition was to get the Order of Merlin award. The thought that a tree could get in ahead of him made the Potion Master's teeth grind audibly.

"If it survives," he muttered, glaring at the Whomping Willow with hatred. Behind his back, Lupin and Sirius exchanged smirks.

"Well, we'll get Madame Sprout over here to fix it up," said Lupin turning away. "As for Hagrid's remains - Hang on, what's that noise?" All three men cocked their heads as a very familiar buzzing sound approached. Lupin's brow furrowed a moment before he clapped a hand to his forehead. "Don't tell me!"

"I won't," said Sirius, equally disgusted.

"It appears," said Snape snottily, "that the big oaf is either too stupid or too persistent to realize that he's dead."

"Thank you, Severus," Lupin muttered as Hagrid's ghost rounded the corner. Hagrid's limbs looked as if they'd been hastily re-attached, but he pushed the lawnmower with as much vigor as he had done in life.

"Yer on me lawn!" the apparition cried. "Get off!"

Lupin stood his ground. When the ghost was about a foot in front of him, he cleared his throat loudly and spat on it. Hagrid vanished with a yelp. Spitting on ghosts to temporarily exorcize them was a technique Lupin had learned the year he had been mistakenly abducted to Peking (don't ask). It didn't work on Sirius.

"Good work, Remus," Sirius congratulated him. Snape took notes.

Lupin shook his head. "He'll probably be back in a few minutes. Damn. I'd hoped we were rid of that machine forever."

"I'm sure a good exorcist could get rid of him," said Snape, perilously close to smiling. "And perhaps a few other nuisances as well, such as Peeves or. . . hmmm. . . " He pretended to consider the matter.

"I know what you're thinking, Snivellus," growled Sirius, "and don't bet on it. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Lupin chewed on his lip a moment before shrugging. "Ah, well, what's one more ghost? At least he can't actually chew up the lawn anymore."

"I'd say it's for Dumbledore to decide, but I'm already quite sure that he'll be delighted by Hagrid's apparition. Nostalgia and all," grumbled Snape. "All right; let's drag the body into the Forbidden Forest."

"There is a graveyard nearby, Severus," Lupin reminded him, but Sirius shook his head.

"For the first time in my life - existence, I mean - I agree with Snivvy-poo. We are talking about Hagrid here. I'm sure he'd be delighted to be fed to the spiders and whatever else is lurking in there."

"You have a point," Lupin acknowledged. "All right; let's get to it."

It was a disgusting task, but they grimly set to it, using their wands to float the remains of Hagrid through the air. Snape experimentally re-arranged the limbs like pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle until Lupin threatened to tell everyone about the tattoo magazines he kept hidden under his bed. Snape desisted and sulked all the way to the Forbidden Forest.

In the shadow of the trees, they found Grawp's body, twisted on its side and riddled with arrows.

And there was much rejoicing.

By the next day already, many Hogwarts students were sporting buttons which read: 'Hagrid's Dead - And I'm Glad!' in big glowing yellow letters. If you pressed them, the lettering would change to green and read: 'Obidias Bittlecomb for President,' which made no sense whatsoever. Presumably the manufacturers were working on it.

A few of the faculty were sporting them as well. McGonagall had a couple on her plaid cap. Lupin had declined, the better to keep up the pretense of being the nicest person at Hogwarts, but Sirius made up for it by pinning six or seven to his bomber jacket.

Harry was not wearing one. If anyone asked him why, he self-righteously declared that Hagrid had been his friend and he didn't think it was proper to celebrate his death. Inwardly, however, The Boy Who Lived was seething. This was not at all working out according to plan. Instead of blaming the murder on You-Know-Who and panicking, the students were relaxed and almost offensively happy. With the constant droning buzz of the lawnmower gone - or at least muted; the ghostly Hagrid not having quite the oomph of the live one - headaches had vanished, tempers had softened, and old enemies could be seen talking together almost civilly. Even Draco Malfoy had given over insulting Harry and trying to curse him, which really infuriated Harry because it left him with absolutely nothing to feel sorry for himself about.

Professor Grubbly-Plank, that rare witch who was both competent and not sadistic, had taken over Care of Magical Creatures for good and everyone's knowledge of the subject improved dramatically virtually overnight. For some reason, Nymphadora Tonks was hired as the new groundskeeper - it was on Lupin's suggestion. Although her gardening skills were dubious, everyone liked her, including the giant spiders and the centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. She managed to hand-tame the Weasly family's old Ford Anglia which had been running feral for so many years, and now it gave rides to the students it liked between classes. And in any case, the grounds really needed time to recover from the lawnmower's depredations before anyone had to worry about trimming them.

As for the position of caretaker - well, St. Mungo's had declared Gilderoy Lockhart capable of handling a duster and a scrub brush and leant him to Hogwarts free of charge. The poor old thing was hopeless at remembering names or rules - leaving the students free to do as they pleased - but he adored shining up the armor and the floor and the mirrors until he could see his reflection in them. Soon Hogwarts was sparkling like it never had under Filch, and there was no more talk of hanging students upside down or beating their backs raw. As an added bonus, Moaning Myrtle developed a crush on Lockhart and left her bathroom to follow him around the halls, looking almost cheerful. The female students were grateful for the emancipation of their bathroom; with six new stalls to spare, they no longer had to stand in long lines with their legs crossed.

Yes, it was a good time. More than one student could be overheard saying that it was the best year they'd ever spent at Hogwarts.

"Ron, we have to do something!" Harry cried.

Ron predictably looked stupid and checked his syllabus. "Classes are over for the day, Harry," he said.

Harry threw a fit. "Not the bloody classes, you berk! About Lord Voldemort! He could attack at any second and no one's prepared for it!"

Ron shrugged. "People can't stay on guard twenty-four hours a day, Harry. Especially when there doesn't seem to be any reason for it."

Harry wondered if he'd just heard Ron utter his statistically inevitable intelligent statement, but quickly cast the thought aside. "Yes they can, Ron!"

"Oh." Ron was back to being stupid. "How do they do that?"

"You know - constant vigilance, like Mad-Eye Moody says." Of course Moody was another deeply sadistic wizard who prided himself on how many people he could make wet their pants per day. His record was thirty-seven, and the proudest moment of his life was the time he had scared some poor fool into cardiac arrest.

"Oh." Ron paused. "Do they teach constant vigilance here?"

"If they did, maybe poor Hagrid would still be alive," replied Harry melodramatically. Ron just stared at him, visibly struggling to keep back the words: 'In that case, I'm glad that they don't.'

Instead he said: "I don't see how constant vigilance could have saved him from a charmed lawnmower."

"Yes, Voldemort's curses are strong," said Harry sadly. "But maybe he could at least have defended himself with a few spells."

"But. . . you charmed the lawnmower, Harry. Not You-Know-Who."

Harry erupted. "I DID NOT KILL HAGRID, RON! YOU MUST HAVE DREAMED IT! IT WAS LORD VOLDEMORT THAT SET THE LAWNMOWER ON HAGRID, AND DON'T YOU DARE SUGGEST OTHERWISE!"

Ron shrank back against the safety of the wall and tried to hide in the tapestries. "Okay, Harry," he agreed weakly.

"Bah!" Harry still wasn't entirely mollified, but he let it slide, pacing back and forth in silence.

"Harry, it's time for supper," Ron offered feebly after a few moments had passed. "Maybe some pork will help you think better."

"Well, maybe," agreed Harry grudgingly. His body was beginning to suffer the first symptoms of pig deprivation. The two of them left the Gryffindor common room, Ron trailing behind, trying to pop open his ears - they had closed up during Harry's last screaming fit.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Why did You-Know-Who attack Hagrid?"

Harry glared a warning at Ron, but the other boy looked meek. "Oh, I'm sure it was intended for me," said Harry darkly. "Lord Voldemort probably thought I'd be out there visiting Hagrid and - "

"You were," said Ron before he could help it, and cringed again. But Harry merely shook his head and sighed theatrically.

"Poor Ron, you have such vivid dreams." He pushed open the door to the great hall and was transported to Paradise as his nostrils basked in the fragrance of fresh-cooked spare ribs.

"Me?" said Ron, "I'm not the one who dreams of dark corridors and giant snakes." They sat down and began helping themselves to food. Harry scowled when he saw that there were no pork chops tonight.

"Yes, but that's because you don't have a connection to Lord Voldemort like I have," he said impatiently, dumping the entire dish of spare ribs onto his own plate.

"So I guess your scar was hurting the night Hagrid was killed?" asked Ron.

Harry nodded, pleased that his friend was finally falling into line. "Hurt something dreadful. I just didn't tell anyone about it because I'm so tired of being stared at and no one ever believes me anyway."

Seamus happened to overhear him and gave a great snort of mirth. He whispered something to Dean, who nearly choked on his potatoes. They both shot glances at Harry and sniggered. Harry's green eyes narrowed dangerously behind his glasses.

"Is something funny?" he asked.

"You think You-Know-Who killed Hagrid?" asked Seamus in a tone of disbelief.

"I know it," said Harry, picking at a rib.

"Why?" asked Dean bluntly. "Hagrid was an imbecile. Why would the Dark Lord waste time and effort on him?"

Ron hummed a little tune and carefully avoided looking at Harry, but one could tell he felt vindicated. Dean and Neville were also staring expectantly at Harry. Fortunately, The Boy Who Lived had been caught in compromising situations so often that his brain actually functioned better under accusation.

Harry leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Because he wanted to plant his spy among us!" he announced.

"But earlier you said - " Ron began.

"I CHANGED MY MIND!" Harry screamed.

Dean and Seamus drew back and looked at one another. Neville blinked. "Tonks?" he asked. "But she's nice!"

"She's only pretending to be nice," Harry asserted darkly, and without a shred of remorse at fingering Tonks, who had always been kind to him. "I'd watch her very closely if I were you."

Seamus shook his head. "Tonks? I don't believe it. She's too clumsy. Besides, if You-Know-Who wanted to plant a spy, wouldn't he have one in the castle? A teacher or something?"

A janitor with sleek blonde hair wandered past, but they were so wrapped up in their conversation that they paid no attention to him.

"No," said Harry, his evil mind working faster than ever. "He'd want a groundskeeper to be the spy so he could find secret passageways into the castle." Sometimes Harry was so clever he amazed himself - well, truthfully, he amazed himself simply by waking up and passing his first fart of the day -- but he felt he was really being exceptionally brilliant tonight. He ate a piece of pork by way of self-reward.

Seamus and Dean were slowly, reluctantly, beginning to entertain the idea. "I still don't believe it," muttered Dean, but his words didn't carry the conviction of earlier. Neville's mouth had fallen open. Ron poked at the food on his plate and didn't meet anyone's eyes.

"Should we tell Dumbledore?" asked Seamus after a pause.

"I don't have any proof," said Harry.

Dean's suspicions returned. "You said you were sure."

"Well, yes, I'm sure, goodness, yes," said Harry hastily. "But that's not going to satisfy everyone, is it? Especially since everyone likes Tonks." She was sitting at the high table with Lupin and Sirius, chatting animatedly and knocking over the pumpkin juice.

"Maybe you should talk to Professor Lupin then," suggested Dean.

"Er, yes. Good idea!" Harry tried to sound enthusiastic, but he inwardly he hunted for an excuse, knowing Lupin would see through his scheme in an instant. "After the next Quidditch match, that is. I need to get in training."

It was a good ploy, because like most wizards, Dean and Seamus were so fruit-loopy about Quidditch that as soon as it was mentioned, all rational thoughts flew out of their heads.

"When is the next game?" asked Neville, earning scandalized glances from the others for his ignorance.

"This weekend, actually." Harry contemplated whether he should arrange for something dramatic and seemingly Voldemort-related to happen at the game. Harry, unlike most of his peers, had realized what a butt-stupid sport Quidditch was and would be happy to see the game disrupted. Of course he had a perspective the others lacked; being Seeker was somewhat akin to taking part in an Easter egg hunt in which you were allowed to bludgeon your opponents. The only reasons he still played were to win further glory for himself and to get the best view of bludgers smashing other people's heads in.

"We'll win, of course," said Seamus cheerfully.

"Of course," replied Harry absently. What a stupid statement. Who did they think this was all about? If he didn't catch the Snitch, it would just cut into the entire lack of anticipation about who was going to win the game.

"We're playing Slytherin," Ron told Neville.

Yes, Slytherin, Harry mused. Gryffindor's rival house. Plenty of chances for angst and drama and attention. Trouble was, everyone got so involved in watching the match that they probably wouldn't notice if Snape danced nude on the green with a lampshade on his head.

Harry shuddered and threw that image away as quickly as it appeared. So perhaps he shouldn't try anything during the game, then. But maybe afterwards, when everyone was celebrating. . .

Yes, that would work. And he could always blame it on Draco Malfoy if he failed. Dumbledore would always take his word over Draco's.

Curiously enough, over at the Slytherin table, Draco's thoughts were running almost parallel to Harry's. Draco had his own problems. He was spoiled and a bully. He was immature and he was selfish. And, of course, he had Lucius Malfoy for a father. But still he was one of the few that had quickly divined the truth: that Harry Potter was no poor, misunderstood, noble little hero, but rather an attention-seeking monster of epic proportions.

"I don't care how much you want to win the Quidditch game, Draco, you can't stick a skrewt down Potter's pants," Pansy told him. "He'll be sure to report you to Dumbledore and we'll lose a lot of house points."

"Who cares about house points?" Draco demanded. "We're three million, five hundred and seventy-six thousand points behind Gryffindor as things stand now! Just last week Dumbledore gave Harry Potter two thousand points for mooning Professor Flitwick in the west corridor."

There was a brief silence as the whole table acknowledged the truth of Draco's words. Professor Flitwick had had a bad case of the hiccoughs, but the abrupt sight of Harry's bare ass leering at him out of the darkness - practically on his eye-level, Flitwick being so short - had cured him. Not that that had been Harry's intent, but Dumbledore had been touched by his protege's seeming concern for his teacher.

"Still," said Marcus Flint, who was serving yet another year at Hogwarts just for the heck of it, "I don't think the skrewt thing is a good idea. Potter will still win. The skrewt would probably go off at just the right time to give him a little extra speed."

"Nuts!" Draco pounded the table with his fist in frustration. "Just once, just once I'd like to beat him in something. Is that asking for too much? I mean, I've tried getting better brooms than his, tried pulling on his Firebolt's tail, fouled his teammates. . . I soaked his uniform in dragon pee and he didn't even notice! What do I have to do? Why does that arrogant little berk have to win every time?"

The Slytherins all shrugged. By now they were pretty much resigned to playing second fiddle to the Gryffindors. Didn't mean they liked it. "Maybe if you just play an honest game, Potter will be so shocked he'll lose," suggested Pansy.

"We're Slytherins. We don't know how to play fair. We're here to be sneaky and backhanded - oh, and kind of stupid as well. Go figure. Pop, do you have to wear that ridiculous outfit?" he demanded as the blonde janitor came slowly mopping past.

Lucius Malfoy looked up from his scrubbing with all the dignity he could muster. "It's a disguise. I'm on an important assignment for the Dark Lord."

Draco snorted. He'd met Lord Voldemort. "Ha. Mum threw you out of the house again, didn't she?"

"Mind your manners, Kreckor!"

"Draco!" Draco all but shouted. "For the hundredth time, it's Draco! What is it with this Kreckor thing? What a stupid name."

"Don't insult your brother, Draco."

Draco banged his head on the table, attracting many curious looks and sending baskets of bread and bowls of crisps flying. His life had taken a turn for the worse when his father showed up as Hogwarts' newest custodian. "I don't have a brother, Pop," he said, sitting up and speaking rationally, having temporarily pounded the frustration out of his skull. "I don't have any siblings. Mum said reproducing with you once was quite enough."

Lucius's cheeks flamed. "I wouldn't take what your mother says too literally," he said hastily. "Has quite a sense of humor, your mother."

"At least she's not wandering around dressed like a particularly tasteless jester," observed Draco icily. "Why don't you go back home?"

"I told you, I'm on assignment."

Draco groaned. His father clung to the story with such tenacity that there might be a drop of truth in it. "Well, can't you be on assignment when I'm not around?" he begged. "You're ruining my image."

Lucius leaned on his mop and gazed sternly at his son. "I'm getting the impression you're embarrassed of me."

"Oh, no, Pop, I'm thrilled that you're wandering around Hogwarts mopping floors, taking orders from Gilderoy Lockhart. Phew! You stink of floor polish."

"It's lemon-scented," said Lucius defensively. "Nothing wrong with that."

"I can think of plenty wrong with it."

"Look, son, being a janitor is a perfectly honorable occupation - "

Draco covered his ears and pretended he hadn't heard his father defending the sanitation profession. At home Lucius Malfoy was a right slob, wandering around in slippers that smelled so bad they could set off the fire alarm and sometimes not shaving for days. "I'm not listening," he said loudly, to cover whatever his father was saying. Something about the quiet dignity of feather dusters. "I'm not listening, I'm not listening, I'm not. . . What?" For someone was tapping him on the shoulder.

It was Pansy. "Your owl's coming," she said, pointing.

That was odd, thought Draco, watching as Fluffy Lucifer came gliding down. (The owl's name was just another clue to the colorful variety of neuroses swirling around inside Draco's head) Draco removed the letter from the owl's leg, slightly disappointed that it was nothing more exciting than a piece of paper. Usually his mother sent sweets as well. He absently petted F.L. as he read the missive's brief contents:

Blimpy says Potter did it. Be careful.

"What does it say? Is it for me?" Lucius reached for the paper, but Draco snatched it out of reach.

"Of course it's not for you, Pop!" snapped Draco. "It's from Mum, and she knows your name. She would have put it on the envelope if she meant it for you." Draco sat back and pondered as Lucius sulked and splattered soapy water around with more force than was necessary.

Blimpy was one of their oldest and fattest house elves. His loyalty was unquestionable - first, he belonged more to Narcissa than to Lucius, and second, Lucius never dared strike him as he had Dobby for fear of being splattered with the semi-digested remains of the elf's last three meals. Anyway, if Blimpy gave a warning, it was certainly in the best interests of his family - and Blimpy had an old flame at Hogwarts whom he snuck off to see every time Narcissa gave him permission.

Draco nodded to himself as he added up the evidence. Blimpy must have been at Hogwarts just a couple days ago - that would explain the pack of Chocolate Frogs he'd found on his pillow yesterday morning. Blimpy's girlfriend must have told him all the Hogwarts gossip, including who the real culprit was.

Not Hagrid's own stupidity, then. Harry Potter. But why would Potter murder his own pet oaf? And why hadn't any of the house elves come forward to tell Dumbledore? These were questions Draco didn't know the answers to.

He looked up. The Great Hall was mostly deserted by now, students having eaten their fill and gone back to their respective houses. Lucius was still nearby, mopping the floor with great hostility and shooting glances at his son. Draco gnawed his lip a moment before making up his mind.

"All right, Pop," he said heavily. "Come here."

"Oh, may I?" asked Lucius sarcastically, his nose still out of joint.

"Do you want to know what's in the letter or not?"

Lucius sniffed, but came sauntering over. Draco handed him the note and he quickly scanned it. "'Did it'?" he frowned. "Does she mean - killed Hagrid?"

"Well, let's see, what else could she mean? Hmm. . . . Potter farted in class? Nah, he does that all the time. Potter shoved an entire pork roast into his mouth? Wouldn't be the first time. Potter won an unimaginably huge amount of house points? Heard it. Potter - "

"All, right, all right! But why would Harry Potter kill Hagrid?"

"I was hoping you could tell me." Draco snatched the letter back and stood. "Should have known better. I'll go ask Professor Snape. Least I know he has a brain."

"I'm not sure it's safe for you to discuss certain matters with Snape," said Lucius hastily, trailing along after. Draco noticed he was still carrying his mop.

"You mean because he's a spy and all?" Draco scoffed. "What, are you worried he might tell Dumbledore what kind of Pop-Tart You-Know-Who had for breakfast? Come on, Pop! The war's stalled, and you know it."

"Yes." Lucius scowled and pushed open the door that led to the dungeons. "Unfortunately, your mother knows it as well."

"Aha! So she did kick you out of the house!" crowed Draco.

"It's not like that!" Lucius protested. "She wants to get the war back on track, you see. After all the effort I've put into it - she sees it as a waste of time otherwise, and you know how your mother is about saving things. What's that sound?"

Draco had been about to ask the same question. "'Pineapple Princess'?" he guessed, after a moment's pause to listen.

"Yes, but who's playing the ukulele? Surely not Snape."

"Surely not!" agreed Draco, horrified by the very thought. But his assertion was somewhat countered by the fact that when they knocked on the door, the music stopped at once.

"Who is it?" called Snape's voice, somewhat muffled.

"It's Draco Malfoy, sir," answered Draco respectfully, "and Pop too."

There was a groan which sounded suspiciously like: 'Oh god, no, not Lucius Malfoy', but a moment later there was a click and the door opened. Snape stood towering in the doorway like a pillar of black oil. "What is it, Malfoy? I'm rather busy right now."

"I didn't know you played the ukulele, Snape," Lucius purred. "What a fascinating choice of instruments."

Snape stared coldly down his nose at Lucius, which was a very long way to look indeed. "I am working on an Entertainment Potion to be used at parties," he replied. "Thus far, the only instrument I've been successful with is the ukulele."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "You don't strike me as the partying sort, Severus."

"It's for commercial uses," snapped Snape. "I could use a few extra Galleons to stretch out the pittance Dumbledore pays us professors." Harry Potter was not the only accomplished liar around Hogwarts.

"I dare say you get paid better than the janitors, sir," said Draco with happy malice, and he and Snape shared a smirk at Lucius's expense.

"Never mind that, just now, Kreckor - " ("Draco!" Draco muttered, exasperated) " - I'm here on a mission, as you know. Now the thing of it is, Severus, is that Kraco here received a letter from his mother this evening."

"Ah." Snape began to pay attention. "And how is charming Narcissa?"

"She didn't say." Lucius scowled.

"Here's the letter," said Draco, handing it over. Snape gazed up and down the corridor then scanned the message.

"You'd better come inside," he said when he was done. They followed him in and watched as he shut and bolted the door behind them. "Who is this Blimpy?" he asked. "I'm guessing a house elf, by the sheer imbecility of the name."

"That's right," nodded Lucius, "One of Narcissa's. He has a girlfriend here at Hogwarts and comes to visit her often. I say, Snape, it's a little musty in here. Why don't you call in the cleaning staff?"

Snape ignored this as he paced a small circle, his eyes still on the letter in his hand. "Harry Potter killed Hagrid," he mused. "Harry Potter. . . yes; I suppose he could have easily put a charm on the lawnmower to make it run Hagrid down."

"Certainly," agreed Lucius, who had taken out a cloth and was dusting Snape's collection of slimy things in jars. "Even the Accio spell would work, properly managed."

"And Hagrid would be too stupid to get out of the way," Draco finished. "The question is, why would Potter kill him?" He spotted a pile of exams on Snape's desk and began pawing through them. "Hey, is one of these mine? Did I get an O?"

"Not if you annoy me," answered Snape, still pacing. "Why would Harry Potter kill Hagrid. . . why. . . There's nothing going on. . . Hagrid's a member of his own team. . . " Suddenly Snape stopped in his tracks. "That's it! Of course that's it!"

"What is?" chorused Draco and Lucius, both looking at him with keen interest.

"There's been nothing going on," Snape spat, his dark eyes flashing. "No chance for poor little Harry Potter to seize all the glory and attention he feels he so richly deserves. So he kills Hagrid to gain sympathy for himself."

Draco's mouth fell open. "But. . . but. . . but. . . no one cares!" he spluttered, "Everyone's glad Hagrid's dead!"

Snape flourished Narcissa's letter. "And that's exactly why your mother warned you to be careful. Potter failed once. He's going to be angry and vengeful. He's going to be seeking a new target for his frustrations, and you're a likely candidate."

Draco swallowed hard. "You think. . . you think he'd kill me?"

"Not if he has any sense," said Snape. "He'd bring your mother's wrath down upon his head and I'd almost pity him for that. But wait! Potter's never met Narcissa, has he?"

"No," answered Draco, looking pale.

"Then you could be in danger," said Snape grimly. "We all could be in danger. Dumbledore's let the boy get away with everything under the sun for five years now. Potter's arrogance knows no bounds. Who knows what he may attempt?"

"What are we going to do?" Draco whimpered, "Tell Dumbledore? He'll never believe us!"

"No," agreed Snape, "and Potter has friends among the house elves too. That's why none of them have come forward. We're on our own. It's up to us to keep Hogwarts safe." Snape smacked his lips disgustedly. His mouth felt dirty for allowing such noble words to escape it.

"But. . . Narcissa wants the war to continue!" Lucius protested, clutching his mop.

"It's going to, Lucius. Only with a slight twist. Harry Potter is the enemy now."

Lucius goggled. "But. . . but that means. . . " He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yes. It means we're the good guys!"

There was a moment of horrified silence. Then:

"Me, a good guy? Nooooooooooo!!!!!!"