Harry Potter and the Year of Living Stupidly

Chapter Fifteen

Out of the Frying Pan

Voldemort belched. The deep and awesome sound reverberated like the smashing of waves upon the shore. The stench from his gullet was akin to the primordial ooze from which humanity had crawled back in the farthest recesses of time. It echoed off the walls, it rattled the windows, it shook the very foundations of Hogwarts itself. Those assembled listened and trembled.

Voldemort looked abashed. "'Scuse me," he apologized, opening the refrigerator door. A moment later he bent to scan the interior and his ass slipped out of his pajama bottoms to leer at the room. Voldemort's clothes never fit properly.

Pandemonium. Over half the guests stampeded for the open doors and fled screaming over the grounds. Professor Sprout grabbed Snape's hand for support; he shook her off disgustedly and folded his arms. A couple unfortunate reporters were foolish enough to attempt to take refuge in Hagrid's hut, which had not yet been completely dismantled. They locked themselves in, where the stench swiftly turned them into oozing globs of yellow fungus - let that be a lesson to all. On the other hand, Rita Skeeter treated the sudden appearance of Voldemort and a large white refrigerator with the same delight she'd greet an Avon lady offering a really good discount. She was really going to town with her Quick-Quotes quill.

As people fled for safer grounds all around her, Tonks sighed heavily, pulled the black satin drapery from one of the chairs, and sat down. "Well, this is going over well," she commented to no one in particular.

Lupin licked the opening of his hip flask, then upended it sadly. "Whiskey all gone," he said.

"Yeah." Tonks looked at Amelia Bones, who was perhaps the only sane person left in the room. "Well, what now?"

Amelia shrugged and polished her monocle on her sleeve. "We could try arresting Voldemort."

"He might burp at us."

"There is that." Amelia tossed black crepe onto the floor and sat down next to Tonks. They watched Aberforth and McGonagall grapple on the floor. Some muffled cries came from Dumbledore's portrait, awake again and half-stifled under Voldemort's weight. Snape stood a little distance away from the fawning Sprout, his still-clean hair flowing romantically about his shoulders, looking utterly disgusted. Lupin came and sat next to Amelia and tried to get a little too friendly. She pushed him away, not unkindly, and looked at Tonks. "Maybe we should just bury You-Know-Who with Dumbledore. It doesn't look like he'd notice."

"He'd probably eat the dirt and come back up again." Tonks rested her chin in her hands and swung her feet.

"Hmm, true. I suppose we could try killing him first?"

"Yeah, we could," Tonks agreed.

Neither of them moved. Voldemort finished the plate of bacon sandwiches and took an entire ham on the bone out of the refrigerator. He shook his head at it wonderingly, then set to work.

"Think he'll eat it all?"

"Yep."

"Man's stomach should explode."

"Yep."

They sighed in tandem. A few more minutes passed. Aberforth looked like he was really getting into his scuffle with McGonagall. Lupin gave up trying to make out with Amelia and put his head in Tonks's lap. She patted him absently. There was a creaking sound as the door swung open again. Surprised, Tonks looked around to see Arthur and Molly Weasley approaching. "Are we very late?" asked Molly worriedly. "I had to have speaks with the milkman again."

"Still drinking the milk before he delivers it?" asked Tonks without much interest.

"No, it's just that we don't require his services anymore with Percy producing two buckets a day," answered Molly fondly. Evidently she was proud of her son's achievement. Tonks eyed the floral arrangements in case she needed a discreet place to vomit.

Neither Weasley seemed to notice the refrigerator with the Dark Lord perched on top of Dumbledore's casket - but then that family had never been known for its powers of observation. Molly stepped right over Aberforth and McGonagall as she came towards Tonks and Lupin. Arthur was wearing the brown pointed hat that Lucius and Snape so detested. It was particularly sad and limp today, with an unnecessary black ribbon tied about the brim.

"Well, you're late enough to have missed the big event," Amelia told them.

"Big event?"

For reply, Amelia pointed to the coffin. They followed her finger laboriously until their eyes fell upon the gorging Voldemort. Comprehension slowly dawned.

"Voldemort!" gasped Arthur, fumbling for his wand.

"Why the poor man!" exclaimed Molly. "He's only got pajamas on in this drafty hall. He must be near to freezing!" She whipped out her own wand and a tangled assortment of colorful yarn. At a command from her, two knitting needles sprang to life and a jumper rapidly began taking shape. It looked like she'd chosen bright orange for the sleeves.

Arthur relaxed. "You always know what's best dear," he beamed. He glanced unhurriedly around the room, probably looking for a Muggle artifact to play with. As luck would have it, there was a coffee percolator on the side table, discreetly providing beverage for the mourners. It burbled enticingly. Mesmerized by the sound, Arthur sauntered over to it and lovingly stroked the surface. Too late he discovered how hot it was and stuck his hand into his mouth to cool it. A moment later he was reaching out to pet it again. It looked like the process could repeat itself for some time.

Tonks looked at Amelia. Amelia looked at Tonks. Both shrugged. They seemed to be doing a lot of that recently. Snape sneered and brushed off Sprout yet again. "Damn Weasleys," he growled. "If they'd been born with a lick of sense they'd be dangerous."

* * * * *

"We represent the Lollipop Guild, the Lollipop Guild. . . "

Fleur really wished it would shut up. Lucius Malfoy's Munchkin was one of the most hateful things she'd seen in her entire life. It might have been a side result of the fact that he'd used water from the same puddle Harry had dunked his tongue in to resuscitate it, but still, she couldn't imagine that it had started out its life as anything you'd actually want to spend time with. It kicked its little legs sullenly, out of time with the lines it sang. The huge lollipop it bore over one shoulder looked as if it had been dredged out of a rubbish bin. Its hair was exactly the color of artificial processed cheese-like food, oiled to a vicious-looking spike. And it screwed up its face like it had a wad of chewing tobacco in its cheek it was loath to spit out.

And to top it all off, it had informed them its name was Phremphie. Honestly, Phremphie. What kind of sick mind could think up a name like that?

Lucius Malfoy rocked back and forth and howled with laughter. Tears of pure mirth poured down his face. "Aren't they pathetic when they try to do anything?" he managed to gasp.

Harry, Ron, and the twins - who had been rescued from the vacuum jar with a loud pop -- watched Phremphie's antics with wide, scared eyes. They were frankly terrified. Magical Morton beamed, as if he believed he'd helped bring something good into the world. Viktor grunted in disgust.

"Can ve help Herm-oh-ninny now?" he demanded crossly, pushing Phremphie out of the way. The Munchkin glowered cross-eyed up at him and muttered something foul under its breath.

"Herm-oh-ninny?" Magical Morton blinked. "I've never heard of a Herm-oh-ninny. Say, you're Viktor Krum!"

"I know that," replied Viktor, scowling. "I vant a cure for Herm-oh-ninny, not a memory charm."

"Oh, sorry. It's just not every day a famous Quidditch player visits my little store. Say, why did you catch the Snitch at the World Cup when your team was behind?"

"Because I vanted to."

"Because you knew that you'd never catch up to the Irish?" asked Magical Morton sympathetically.

"No, because all the other Vrasta Vultures vere paid better than I vas," explained Viktor with evident satisfaction. "I vasn't going to give our manager the pleasure of backing the vinning team."

Magical Morton sighed. "That kind of takes the top off the game."

Viktor shrugged. "Too bad. You should have bet on the Irish. I did. Now vhat about Herm-oh-ninny?"

"Oh, yes, Herm-oh-ninny. What do you mean by - bless me, it's a cat!" he exclaimed as Viktor pointed to Hermione.

"She used to be a girl," Viktor explained. "A beautiful girl."

"Well, a girl at any rate," muttered Fleur. Both Viktor and the cat glared at her.

"Oh I see." Magical Morton produced a pair of thick-lensed glasses from somewhere about his person. "Well, bang her on the counter."

"I vill not!" exclaimed Viktor indignantly.

"Not while she's a cat at least," whispered Fred to George. The twins giggled coarsely.

"Oh, for goodness sake, I didn't mean it like that!" cried Magical Morton. "Just put her on the counter so I can have a look at her."

Mollified, Viktor did so. Magical Morton stooped to peer closely at her. "Dear me, this is an interesting bit of magic!" he remarked at length.

Harry and Ron studied the ceiling and attempted to whistle.

"Did the young lady once take a Polyjuice Potion, substituting animal hair for human?" asked Morton, removing the glasses. Viktor looked to Harry for confirmation.

"Yes," admitted Harry, since that particular episode wasn't his fault. "A bit of cat hair. She was in the infirmary for weeks." Harry sniggered, recalling the Polyjuice lark and how much fun it had been to impersonate Goyle and screw with Malfoy's mind. He'd almost managed to convince Draco that his parents had secretly betrothed him to Neville Longbottom before the effects of the potion began to wear off. It was hilarious -- Draco hadn't been able to look at Neville for weeks thereafter without picturing him in a lacy white dress.

"Ah, well, that's part of it. Still. . . " Morton took another moment's scrutiny. "That doesn't explain everything."

Harry and Ron went back to looking innocent.

"Can you change her back?" asked Viktor, not really interested in the details.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm. . . Well, to be honest, I'm not sure. If I'm correct about the spell that caused her transformation, it has been banned for some years because it's virtually impossible to reverse. That plus the lingering Polyjuice effects. . . "

"So there's no hope?" asked Viktor, utterly forlorn. It took everyone a moment to recognize him without his surly expression.

"No, no, I can try something. I have a potion - a very expensive potion, mind you, that might restore her."

Viktor glanced around the room. "Does anyvone have a better idea?"

Harry shook his head, wide-eyed. Ron was still attempting to figure out what was happening. A Venusian Mantrap plant was trying to masticate the twins. Fleur was filing her nails. "Morton here is the best in Knockturn Alley," said Lucius languidly, half-exhausted with laughter. "If he can't manage it, no one can."

"Very vell. Use the potion. I vill pay for it."

"Just a minute then," nodded Morton. He went to putter around the back room again. Phremphie watered the Venusian Mantrap plant and it died.

"Bad Munchkin!" scolded Lucius as the Fred and George fell out onto the floor, slightly chewed but really none the worse for wear. Phremphie picked his nose sourly.

"I like this place," said Harry, playing with something wormy and half-decayed looking. "You can buy just about anything here, can't you?"

"Yes," nodded Lucius. "Including, possibly, something to cause your testicles to descend at last."

Harry blinked in confusion, but before he could ask an unfortunate question, Morton returned from the back. He was holding aloft a small vial of a gently glowing green liquid. "Here you go," he announced. "The Proteus Potion! Worth its weight in gold. Literally - this is six hundred Galleons, if you please."

Viktor shrugged. "There goes my vinnings from the Vorld Cup," he said disinterestedly, tucking a hand into a pocket and tossing a pouch onto the counter next to Hermione. Lucius eyed it greedily.

"Six hundred Galleons just like that? My, that's flash." He cuddled up to Viktor. "I think I like you."

Viktor stepped aside. "The feeling is not mutual." He looked at Morton expectantly. "Vell?"

The plump little man shrugged. "Put about five drops in a cup of water, add a human hair, and have her drink it," he said, handing the vial over.

"Any human hair?" asked Viktor.

"Well. . . " Morton eyed the twins, Ron, and Harry. "You might want to use a little discretion. But basically the Proteus Potion will turn the drinker into whatever creature you've put into it. Even a dragon!" he said, growing enthusiastic with his subject. "Just think of that! Drop a dragon scale in this potion and you can turn your friend into a dragon!"

"Or a Munchkin?" asked Lucius with alacrity. Phremphie started on his other nostril.

"Or a Munchkin," agreed Morton. "Fantastic stuff."

"It better vork on Herm-oh-ninny," grunted Viktor. "Got any clean vater?"

"For six hundred Galleons, certainly." Morton brought out a jug and a cup. Viktor poured the cup about half full and then uncorked the flask. He let fall five thick drops. They turned the water a pale jade green.

"Not a lot in the vial," noted Viktor, judging what was left. It was about one third empty now.

"I'll buy what's left off you," said Lucius eagerly, perhaps thinking of making himself an entire flock of Munchkins.

"Ve'll see," replied Viktor. He found a saucer and poured the liquid into it, adding one of his own hairs. At once the potion turned milky white. "Here, Herm-oh-ninny," he said, setting it before her. "It'll change you back. I hope," he added, with a significant stare at Morton.

Hermione looked into his face, then sniffed the potion dubiously, narrowing her yellow eyes.

"Maybe she prefers being a cat," said Fleur, bored. She added under her breath: "Goodness knows she looks better that way."

Hermione scowled as well as a cat can and began drinking. Her little pink tongue flickered in and out. Twice she stopped, grimacing and flicking her whiskers, but she licked the saucer clean.

They waited. Harry checked to be certain of the exits, just in case Hermione was mad at him for some reason. Ron prepared to work himself up into a big fit of jealousy if the potion were successful.

"Vell?" demanded Viktor, when there was no sign of a change.

"Give it a moment," pleaded Morton. "After all, it has to work against that old Polyjuice Potion and the other spell that was put on her. I'm still not entire sure -- "

"Ack!" Hermione made a strangled sound, instantly drawing everyone's attention. She drew herself up and convulsed.

"She's dying!" exclaimed Harry, sounding more interested than horrified.

"Ack-kak-ahh. . . no. . . no I'm not!" snapped the cat. Although tinier and higher than before, it was still recognizably Hermione's bossy voice.

"Herm-oh-ninny!" exclaimed Viktor.

"It's Her-MY-oh-nee Viktor, as you very well know," corrected the cat. She stood on her hind legs and put her front paws on her hips - or somewhere around that vicinity. "Well, just look what you've done to me, Harry!" she said, glaring and lashing her tail.

"Whot?" asked Harry, gnawing on a finger. "The Polyjuice Potion thing was your idea!"

"But stealing Eldobar Mackerelwit's Horrorscope of Horrendous Hexes out of the library and fooling around with it was not." She stalked over to Harry - on her hind legs - and pointed a claw at him. "I know what you did last autumn. And I'm going to get you in such trouble for it!"

"Bah!" shrieked Harry, kicking the closest object, which was some kind of brown column decorated with little hearts. It toppled and shattered.

"You're going to have to pay for that," warned Magical Morton.

"Don't be ridiculous," snapped Hermione. "It was just a Pillar of Storge. Utterly worthless." Morton sulked and swept up the shards. She turned her attention back to the Boy Who Lived. "You know what this means, Harry? It means house points!"

"That isn't fair!" screamed Harry in agony.

"Don't talk to me about fair," snarled Hermione. "I'm the one who's furry!"

Viktor stared at her, his thick eyebrows drawing together. "Is that it?" he asked. "Isn't she going to become human?"

Morton coughed into his hand. "I told you I wasn't sure it would work," he said apologetically.

Lucius shrugged. "It's still a great improvement."

"You call this an improvement?" demanded Hermione, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

"At least you can talk now," shrugged the blonde man. He went back to watching Phremphie, who was now doing something unsightly with his lollipop.

"Maybe you'll change all the way back over night," suggested Fleur disinterestedly, more interested in the polish on her nails.

"Of course I won't change the rest of the way back over night!" exclaimed Hermione impatiently. "Honestly, don't any of you know anything about the Proteus Potion? It requires all sorts of rare ingredients, such as werewolf fur, centaur tail hair, unicorn hoof, griffin beak, blue elderberries, and the hind legs off a ten-legged spider. It takes two full decades to make, you know, and once it takes effect, it's irreversible. Which is why it's illegal," she added, glaring significantly at Magical Morton.

"For the potion being illegal, you sure know a lot about how to make it," commented the proprietor.

"I study," sniffed Hermione haughtily.

"Isn't she smart?" admired Viktor.

"Annoying is what I'd call it," muttered Fleur under her breath. Hermione picked up on the words with her keen cat hearing and hissed.

"At least my boyfriend wasn't stolen from me by a middle-aged werewolf!" she spat.

Fleur stiffened. "Bill was not stolen. He -- "

"Simply has a better time with Lupin than with you," finished Hermione snidely. Fleur reddened.

The twins chortled loudly and gathered round.

"Cat fight! Cat fight!" crowed George.

"Well of course it's a cat fight," said Ron stupidly. Lucius thwapped him on the ear.

Fleur's hands had curled into fists, but she evidently realized how ridiculous she'd look launching herself into a fistfight with a talking kitty. "It's not like your boyfriend is going to be 'aving much fun with you," she snarled instead. "Look at you! Under two feet tall with whiskers and a tail! 'Ardly alluring!"

"Yeah, but at least she's nude," said Fred, leering at Hermione.

"You can see her bunghole," added George, smirking. Viktor knocked their heads together.

"Of course I'm nude," said Hermione, sounding just a touch embarrassed regardless. "I'm a cat. I'd look silly with clothes on."

"Exactly," said Fleur. "You're a cat. You don't need a man." She took hold of Viktor's arm and cooed up at him. "Does she, you Bulgarian love-pie?"

Viktor was caught off guard and without his usual protective coating of surliness. He blinked at her as if he'd never quite seen her before. Hermione swelled with rage until she could have been held by the tail and called a balloon.

"You impudent French hussy!" she squalled, and launched herself off the counter. Unlike Fleur, Hermione had no qualms about fighting dirty. She sank her teeth into the French girl's arm and clung, looking for an opportunity to rake her with her back claws.

Fleur shrieked. Instinctively, half the men in the store ran to her aid. Only Harry, Phremphie, and the still-bemused Viktor hung back. Phremphie seated himself in the elephant head chair and beamed - apparently violence was much to his taste.

Hermione was pried loose of Fleur's arm, and Fleur's wounds were doctored with an aromatic green paste, courtesy of Magical Morton. She also accepted a cup of coffee and a box of chocolates that were offered by way of condolence. "That animal is mad," she said, glaring at Hermione. "It ought to be put down."

The cat sniffed and washed her face. "Serves you right for pawing Viktor, you French tart."

Fleur sniffed right back. "And what is it Viktor is supposed to do with you?" she inquired. "Tie a bell around your neck and keep you as a pet?"

"He doesn't need to do anything," protested Hermione, keeping her voice brave with an effort. "I'll get used to being a cat. At least I can read and study again. I can probably use a wand. I'll be fine."

"Certainly you will, Miss Tibbles," agreed Fleur, smirking behind her cup of coffee. "Maybe you can stay with Ron. The Weasleys keep a lot of animals around."

"Huh? Oh, maybe," said Ron, who wasn't all that keen on the idea now that Hermione was a talking cat. He could see very little benefit in it for him. All it would mean was Hermione bossing him around night and day without even the vaguest possibility of a snog on the horizon. Unless he wanted to snog a cat, and he was sure the whiskers and the fishy breath would turn him right off.

"Thanks, but I'll be fine," repeated Hermione, although the reality of her situation was beginning to sink in. What would her parents think? Oh, wait a minute - they'd both been eaten by a pack of hyenas on that last jungle safari. They'd been trying to examine the animals' teeth and gotten a little too close. Hermione shrugged. Ah, well, at least she didn't have to worry how to break the news to them that their only daughter was a cat. Still - "I'm all alone in the world," she mewed sadly in a moment of weakness.

"No you're not," corrected Viktor with sudden decisiveness.

"Don't be silly, Viktor," she chided him. "You can't have a relationship with a talking cat. The papers would have a field day."

"He doesn't care," Harry informed her. He was playing patty-cake with Phremphie, much to Lucius's vast amusement.

"Well, even so. I'd care."

"It's okay, Herm-oh-ninny."

"No, it really, really isn't, Viktor."

"I still love you."

"Viktor. . . this is going to get really disturbing in a minute."

"You mean it wasn't already?" asked Lucius. He shook his head and put a fatherly arm around Viktor's shoulders. "I'm sorry, my lad, but the kitty does have a point. You'd be better off finding yourself another girl to obsess over."

"There's only vone Herm-oh-ninny -- "

"And thank goodness for that," muttered Fleur, sotto voce.

" - and I could never forget her. And I von't." He pushed free of Lucius's arm, snatched up the pitcher of water, and poured a glass half-full. Utterly confused, the group watched as he hulked over it a moment, wondering what he was up to. When he turned around, the glass was in his hand, filled with that telltale jade green liquid.

"Wait! No!" exclaimed Morton, suddenly understanding.

But it was too late. Viktor pinched a bit of fur from along Hermione's back and dropped it into the glass. The liquid turned gold. "To us!" he cried and downed the lot before anyone could stop him - not that anyone other than Morton made much of an attempt. Viktor's body began to shift and writhe.

"That is one nutty Bulgarian," commented Harry lazily. Phremphie chortled in agreement.

* * * * *

"No one," said Sirius, looking around the dank and malodorous room that qualified as the Weasley twins' store. Whoopee cushions, trick candy, and prank hats were piled haphazardly up on shelves, vaguely menacing in the dim light. Something chattered warningly at him and Kingsley from a corner, and objects on the floor had a tendency to creep up on you if you didn't watch them carefully. The air smelled of old farts, moldy take-out, and dust. Clearly no one had been here for a long while.

"You absolutely sure they're not here?" asked Kingsley, taking out a small machine gun and blasting one of the fouler piles of rubbish. It let out an agonized squawk and went limp. He smiled and put the gun back in his pockets, although he kept his brass knuckles on. One couldn't be too careful in a place like this.

"Fred and George can't keep quiet long enough to hide. We'd have heard them giggling and whispering by now." Sirius gingerly turned over a few papers that were lying around near the cash register. Most of them were pleas for money, complaints, overdue bills, and eviction notices. "With any luck, they'll be turned out of here before they burn down the entire block," Sirius muttered under his breath. He poked around the store a few minutes longer, than gave it up. "They're not here. Better start thinking fast. Where else could they have gone around Diagon Alley?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Only 'bout a hundred stores," he replied. "We could be lookin' for hours."

"That's exactly what we don't want to do," said Sirius tersely. God, he had to get out of this place. He could just feel the multitude of germs that populated the store trying to ooze their way into his pores. His skin twitched at the thought and he pulled his coat closer. Damn, he could shower for a solid hour and still not feel clean. "We have to get Harry to that funeral before Voldemort gobbles everything up and leaves. Damn!" He kicked out at a decaying old chest stacked with joke trinkets, but it scuttled out of the way.

"I have an idea."

Sirius swung round. "You do?" he asked hopefully.

"But you're not going to like it."

Sirius hesitated. "King, this isn't something like 'Let's machine-gun everyone in Diagon Alley until we drive Harry out of hiding' is it?"

"No, you'll like it less than that."

"Will I?"

"Absolutely."

Sirius drew a deep breath. "What is it then?"

Kingsley held up one of the Weasley twins' dragonhide jackets. It was already beginning to look worn and smell manky. Especially around the armpits. "Turn into a dog, take a whiff of this, and track 'em," he suggested.

There was a long pause. "Let's machine-gun everyone in Diagon Alley instead."

Kingsley smiled and began pulling out the weaponry.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it," said Sirius hastily.

"Make up yo' mind and stop wasting time, fool."

"I'll turn into a dog," said Sirius resignedly. "I just want it put on record," he added, holding up a finger, "that everyone's going to owe me a big favor if all this works out."

"I'll buy you a box of liver-flavored yummies," Kingsley replied, smiling and fingering yet another something in his pocket.

It was a leash. Sirius was really not going to like that, but Kingsley decided to save that little surprise for him until after he shifted.

* * * * *

"What are the Vrasta Vultures going to think?" lamented Magical Morton.

"Who cares?" answered the black cat in a Bulgarian accent, standing on his hind legs and swishing his tail rather dashingly. "They can't fire me. I have a contract."

"Besides, he can still do that Wonky Faint thing, I bet," said Hermione, purring slightly and casting her eyes at her companion. One had to admit that Viktor was rather improved by becoming a cat. His long nose had translated into a Siamese-type face, his thick eyebrows into an exceptionally fine set of whiskers, and all traces of the slouch were gone.

"Wronski Feint," corrected Harry indignantly. He still took that mistake very personally.

"Whatever," replied Hermione dismissively. She turned her attention back to Viktor.

"Done is done," shrugged Lucius. "Personally, I think it's all for the best. He's less likely to. . . ahem. . . 'injure' himself riding a broom as a cat."

"Injure himself?" asked Harry in a high and squeaky tone of voice.

"Like that," said Lucius, jerking his thumb at the Boy-Who-Lived. "Now, if we could just get on with out business -- "

"Yes," said Fleur, taking a step forward.

Harry shoved her from behind. "No! Me first, me!"

"'Ow rude!" exclaimed Fleur, rubbing her back and scowling.

"You should really allow the lady to go first," Morton reproved Harry gently.

"Sod that! I wanna go next!"

"Me too!" yelled Ron, jumping around and waving his hand about. "I want something wicked cool!" Ron had evidently forgotten that he had no money to pay for such a thing. Harry scowled at his sidekick, perhaps preparing to work himself into a tantrum. But before he could hit the mental capslock, Morton nodded wisely.

"I have just the thing for a fine pair of scamps like you." He dipped a hand behind the counter.

"Whot?" asked Harry, his interest pricked.

"These!" Morton flourished two small objects proudly. They weren't much to look at. They were small - about palm-sized - and flat and colorful and covered with little numbered buttons. Harry took one, his brow wrinkling.

"Whot is it?" he asked, attempting to take a bite out of it.

"No, don't do that," said Morton quickly. "Here, I'll give you a demonstration. Go to the front of the store, lad, and when you hear music, hit that button there."

"Uh. . . okay." Harry wandered to the front of the store, brow furrowed and trousers sagging around his scrawny hips. Morton turned to Ron. "Now you dial - that is, press - the numbers 23740."

Ron did, albeit not without a great deal of effort and a frown of concentration. An instant later the opening strains of "The Stripper" chimed merrily from the front of the store. "Did you hit the button, Harry?" called Morton.

"Yeah," came the reply.

"Now hold it up to you ear and talk into it." He nodded to Ron. "You do the same."

Ron tentatively held the whatsit up to his ear. His eyes widened. "Hey! I can hear Harry!"

"Yes, yes!" laughed Morton. "Isn't that splendid? You can use these babies to talk over any distance."

"Cool!" Then Ron addressed the object: "Hi, Harry!" He listened. "Yeah, it's cool, isn't it?" Ron was undergoing a transformation before their eyes. His voice took on suave, almost sophisticated tones as he chatted casually into the little object. He laughed easily at Harry's supposed jokes, showing nothing of that bug-eyed, about-to-poop-himself nervousness he usually displayed.

"Yeah," he said. "oh, yeah, I heard about it, man. Wasn't it awful? I don't know what she was thinking, letting him up into the girls' dormitory like that. . . The pink ones, you say? I heard they were yellow with little bows. Maybe he just helped himself, eh?" Ron laughed richly.

Fleur watched him uneasily. "I don't think those things are safe. Better take them away from them."

"Cell phones," snorted Hermione. "Not remotely magical."

Morton looked wounded. "It takes magic to hook them up for wizards," he protested. "Please don't insult my talents, miss. Now, young lady -- " he located Fleur. "Now that those two are occupied -- "

Ron's voice trailed off as he wandered the store, full of confidence, picking up objects off the shelves and admiring them briefly before setting them aside. Harry, on the other hand, was coming into earshot. And unlike Ron, he didn't sound the least bit debonair. He sounded as if he'd dropped at least twenty intelligence points - and he didn't have too many to spare to begin with.

"Ha, ha, ha, that's good," he chortled in a thick, heavy, meathead voice. "Yeh. Yeh. Yeh, I heard that. What do you think? Oh really? Ha, ha, ha, that's good."

"Young lady?" Morton repeated.

With an effort, Fleur wrenched her attention away from Harry the Neanderthal. "Yes?" she asked weakly.

"What are you looking for?" Morton asked.

"Oh!" She gathered her wits. "Well, my boyfriend's cheating on me, and I want to, well. . . " She shrugged. "Make 'im sorry for it. And the one 'e's cheating with."

"Oh, well." Morton sounded disappointed, but started hauling up boxes and bottles galore. "Curses are nine a Knut. Here's the Withered Willy Hex, always a favorite for faithless men." He held up a bottle. Fleur hesitated, then shook her head.

"Not good enough. I want to do something special. Something they'll remember."

"Turn them into Munchkins," suggested Lucius, eyeing the last dose of Proteus Potion greedily. Viktor tucked it into his now too-large Three Musketeers hat and went back to nuzzling Hermione.

"Well, they'd remember that," acknowledged Fleur. The trouble was, she hated Phremphie so much that she had no desire to bring more of his kind into the world. "No, it's got to be something truly unique."

"Well, now," said Morton, sounding much more interested. "That's the spirit." He pondered, jiggling absently up and down on one pudgy leg. "If I may know, who are the parties in question?"

"My boyfriend - soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend - is Bill Weasley. He's nothing like Ron," she added hastily, as Ron once more came into view. Perhaps she was mistaken. Ron seemed an inch or two taller, his shoulders broad and muscular. His voice had deepened, and his complexion was a light, healthy tan rather than its usual pasty pink. He was still chatting into the cell phone. Once again Fleur lost her chain of thought.

"And the other one?" prompted Morton.

"The other - oh! Remus Lupin. He's -- "

"Figures," shrugged Morton.

"Does everyone date Lupin?" asked Fleur, exasperated.

"Sooner or later. But it does pose a most interesting revenge." Morton smiled wickedly.

"Oh yes?"

"Oh yes indeed! Just listen." He beckoned her over with a crooked finger. Long minutes passed as he whispered in her ear. Her eyes widened. Lucius tried fruitlessly to eavesdrop.

"Are you sure?" she asked when Morton had finished. "I mean, can it be proved?"

"Certainly!" He handed her something that looked like a white wand with a series of colored lights on one end. "Just take this and. . . " He whispered to her again. Strain his ears as he might, Lucius could not catch a word of what was being said.

"Damn," he muttered. Fortunately, Phremphie was beating up the twins with his lollipop. It was really impossible for Lucius to be in a bad mood with such an amusing spectacle to watch.

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Morton!" cried Fleur, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. The plump little man flushed a rosy red.

"Not at all!" he managed to stammer.

"But. . . but what about Bill?" Fleur asked.

Morton shrugged. "There's always the Withered Willy Hex. Or you could start dating one of his brothers. Or a woman. That usually has the same effect."

"But what did he tell you?" demanded Lucius, frustrated.

Fleur put a finger to her lips and smiled mysteriously. "Patience, Mr. Malfoy," she said sweetly. "All will be revealed at the proper time."

* * * * *

Voldemort's new jumper was nearly finished. The sleeves were indeed orange, with mint green cuffs. The body of the jumper was striped pink and yellow. Perhaps Molly felt all the bright colors would cheer Voldemort up so much that he'd give over his scheme of world domination.

Not that that was going too swimmingly just now. Voldemort tossed another empty platter over his shoulder. "Ooohhh," he groaned, massaging his belly. Everyone watched, wondering if he were actually going to stop for a while. But no. He merely forced out another large belch and, satisfied, went back to his meal.

"He's almost through the lot," noted Amelia, impressed despite herself. She cast a considering gaze at Tonks, Snape, and the slightly-more-sober Lupin. "You seem awfully cool about the whole situation. You wouldn't have anything to do with this, would you?"

"Voldemort eat pork chops. Harry like pork chops. Harry get mad, they fight, bye-bye," explained Lupin, only slurring his words a little.

"Yes, we set it up," translated Snape, more coherently. He shook Professor Sprout off his foot; she'd been attempting to lick his boot. "We were hoping to instigate the final battle between Potter and the Dark Lord, but the boy took it into his head to go wandering off this morning."

"I see." Amelia grimaced. "Miserable little squid. I remember his hearing the summer before last. He picked his nose through the entire thing. I so wanted to convict him."

"Why didn't you?" asked Snape.

"Well, because that idiot Umbridge actually had set dementors on him, hadn't she?" replied Amelia logically. "As strong as the temptation occasionally is, I don't use my office to further my own ends."

"Whatever happened to Ms. Umbridge anyway?" asked Tonks, suddenly struck by the thought. "I'd have imagined she have wanted to come to Dumbledore's memorial service."

"Oh, it was rather odd." Amelia frowned. "She turned into a house elf."

"Really?" Lupin began giggling and Tonks pinched his ear. "A house elf?"

"Yes, it was quite sudden. She'd been taking medication for that smell of hers, and then one day - poof! Right in the middle of a conference with the United Federation of Wizards. Highly embarrassing, really. She started offering to shine everyone's boots. Then she became downright insistent and had to be restrained. In the end, she had to be dragged out of the room screeching and still clinging to Elke Skiellenbollenschullencluf's wooden clog."

"Elke Skiellenbollenschullencluf?"

"Yes. Don't say it again. She's the ambassador from Finland or Norway or something."

"Is there a cure?"

"I suppose she could change her name and move to Belgium or something -- "

"I meant Umbridge. For becoming a house elf."

"Let's hope not."

"All finished!" sang out Molly, holding up the completed jumper. It was a miracle of tackiness, especially the little fringes around the cuffs.

"Very nice, dear," said Arthur while the rest of them were still searching for words. He even sounded sincere.

"Who's going to put it on him?" inquired Molly, smiling kindly.

Astonishingly enough, there were no immediate volunteers. An awkward silence arose, broken only by a few grunts from Aberforth and McGonagall.

"Oh do allow me the honor," shrilled a new voice. All heads turned as Bellatrix Lestrange came walking up the aisle, her familiar malicious smile twisting her lips. Narcissa Malfoy followed her sister, wringing her hands.

"I'm sorry," cried Narcissa, clearly exasperated with herself. "I tried to hold him back longer, but he bolted the rest before I could fill the small fridge again."

"You failed." Bellatrix took the jumper from Molly's suddenly nerveless fingers and approached the coffin. "You failed, and next time we'll do it my way." She jammed the jumper over Voldemort's head and roughly pulled his arms through the sleeves. He didn't lose so much as a beat in his gobbling. Bellatrix turned to face the assembly, folded her arms and smiled. "And you won't like my way, I assure you. It's painful and bloody." She walked over to Lupin and patted his cheek. "Many of you will die screaming in agony. But that's all right, isn't it?" She showed her teeth in a wide, feral grin. "After all, it'll be in a good cause."

"We haven't failed yet," replied Lupin, abruptly sober and regretting it deeply. "The fridge isn't empty yet. Harry could still show up."

Bellatrix walked back to the refrigerator and quickly scanned the contents. Her smile returned. "Oh, yes, there's still time," she laughed. "About ten minutes, I'd say, before the last of this muck vanishes down Voldemort's throat." She took out her wand and ran it slowly between her fingers. Somehow she made the gesture both obscene and threatening. "And then you die, werewolf!" The wand whipped round to point at Lupin's heart.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Lupin mildly. Tonks let out a little shriek.

"I hear Harry Potter's become very fond of you recently, Headmaster Lupin," crooned Bellatrix. "Maybe if he won't fight over his favorite meal, he'll fight to revenge his favorite mentor, eh? Don't anyone leave this room!" she commanded, seeing Tonks make a move as if to bolt. "Or he dies all the sooner!" She sneered. "After all, he still has ten - no, nine minutes left to live. Don't want to waste them, do you? Might even have time for a shag!"

She cackled as Tonks sank slowly back into her seat. "This is going to be the best-selling issue of all time!" gloated Rita softly. Her quill was beginning to smoke.

"What are we going to do?" moaned Tonks, burying her face in her hands.

Lupin shrugged. "Anyone care for a shag?"

* * * * *

"Voldemort had to have arrived by now," said Lucius, checking his watch. "We really must get going or we'll miss him entirely."

"We have to let Harry have a go or we'll never hear the end of it," said Hermione bossily.

"True," agreed Lucius, rolling up his sleeves. "Right; let's get to it."

The first step was mud-wrestling the cell phone away from Harry. Morton, on Hermione's advice, tried to bribe it away from him with a slice of genuine Virginia ham, but Harry was still pretty full from the thirteen-and-a-half bacon sandwiches he'd devoured earlier, and did no more than stick out a tongue to lick the offering. Next they tried physical force, but the little nerd clung to the phone with surprising strength. He opened his mouth to bite Lucius, and the blonde man backed away, overcome by the awesome stench of pig meat that emerged.

"I'm still a prefect, Harry," Hermione reminded him snottily. "I can and will dock points from you if I must."

Harry abruptly let go. He stuck out his lower lip and pouted mightily, muttering "Bah!"

"Phew!" exclaimed Morton, wiping his forehead with a pink polka-dotted hankie. "Now, what can I do for you, young man?"

Harry clasped his hands behind his back, gnawed his lower lip, and scuffed at the floor with the toe of his trainer. "I want to become a god," he muttered in a barely audible wee little voice.

"Dear me, a god!" Morton blinked a moment before becoming thoughtful. "Yes, I remember reading something of the sort in the Daily Prophet. Of course it was a Rita Skeeter article, and one never knows how seriously to take those."

"It was all true, every word," assured Harry, who in fact had never read the published article. "I was practically there when it happened." He clasped his hands together before his chest and tried to make his big green eyes soulful and sincere. "Please Mr. Magical Morton, sir, please tell me how I may become a god."

Morton coughed. "Well, dear me, the details in the article were rather sketchy -- "

"Well, Mr. Pettigrew and Mr. Lockhart were dueling in a bathroom," said Harry eagerly. "And - and I got one of their wands!" He brought out the wand and laid it on the counter. "The room was full of water and soap. They were fighting over a rubber duck."

"Hmm, lots of soapy water, eh?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the duck?"

"Errr. . . no. Should I have gotten it?"

"Well, it probably isn't necessary, but it would be interesting to see what sort of divine attributes it might have received over the course of the struggle." Morton picked up Lockhart's wand and turned it over in his hands a few times. "Were there many mirrors in the room?"

"Just one big one over the sink," answered Lucius. "But it was very highly polished."

"Hmm." Morton took a pinch of powder out of one of his pockets and sprinkled it over the wand. It glowed lilac for a moment. "Interesting," he murmured, absorbed.

Fleur, once again rather bored, let her gaze wander to the street. There she saw one of the most terrifying sights a witch could behold - an enormous black dog, every hair on its body bristling, its teeth bared, its pale eyes flashing, was staring in the window.

She screamed. "The Grim! The Grim!" and fainted away in a ladylike swoon, draping herself elegantly across the zebra chair.

"A Grim?" said Harry, puzzled. Then realization hit him. He stared out into the street. The black dog was still there, snarling, its ears pulled back along its head. It was wearing a leash. A hot pink leash with rhinestones. It could only be Sirius Black.

"Uh-oh!" cried Harry. "Busted!"