Harry Makes an Announcement

Harry announced at breakfast that he was through.

“I’m changing my name to Clive and retiring to the country to grow parsnips as soon as I leave Hogwarts. And Voldemort be damned.”

There was a silence as the Gryffindors absorbed this.

“But, Harry,” said Ron in his most reasonable voice, “you’re the only one who can go up against Voldemort and not get turned into a mince pie. You can’t just say ‘you-know-who be damned!’”

“You’re just tired, Harry,” Hermione interjected. “You don’t mean it.”

Harry paused, fork in the air. “I do so mean it. And, by Merlin, I’m going to do it. Also, as soon I finish eating, I’m going to go off and have a sulk. It will be lovely. Then I’m going to go ask Malfoy if he’d like to shag. That will be even lovelier.”

“How is that any different from what he does now?” Neville whispered to Dean, and was promptly shushed.

“Harry.” Ron was starting to really worry. “You’re having a psychotic episode. You don’t know what you’re saying. You know very well that without you, Voldemort will have nothing more to fear except Dumbledore, and who would fear someone with a name like that?”

“Yes,” said Harry with satisfaction, “we’re all doomed. Pass the sausage, please.”

“Listen, Harry,” said Hermione, “you’re upset. We understand. This is about Sirius, isn’t it? You are not alone. There are people you can talk to. There’s medication. Talk to us, Harry. Express, not repress.”

“I wonder if Malfoy likes sausage?” Harry said unhelpfully.

“Forget Malfoy for a minute, Harry,” said Hermione, annoyed, “and think about Voldemort. He is capable of smooshing us like small and insignificant aphids, and furthermore--”

“I don’t want to think about Voldemort. He’s unpleasant.”

“No kidding,” muttered Ron. “If you think he’s unpleasant now, wait until he’s taken over the world. Which he will if you don’t snap out of it, Harry! Get a grip!” He leapt out of his seat, apparently overcome, and dove at Harry.

At this point there was a scuffle, and Ron tried to bang Harry’s head against the table while Harry tried to remove a portion of Ron’s arm with his teeth.

McGonagall swooped down and took away an outrageous number of house points, and everyone at the table, slightly worse for wear, settled back down to eating and trying to talk sense into Harry. It was all lost on him, however, as soon as Malfoy waggled his eyebrows at him from the Slytherin table.

“If you will excuse me,” Harry said regally, “the sulking has been postponed in favor of the shagging.”

And he and Malfoy went off together, leaving the Gryffindors to panic.

“There is only one thing to be done.” Hermione stated. “We must go to Dumbledore.”

It took Hermione and Ron twenty minutes of trying out the names of various sweets before they got the right password (Lethal Atomic Sour Fire Bombs in Five Delicious Flavours).

Dumbledore was reclining at his desk, working on a half-completed jigsaw puzzle of a christmas pudding. It seemed to be a futile task, because former headmasters were abandoning their portraits to sneak into the finished half and steal bites of it.

“Not bad, Bernice, even though it’s made out of cardboard,” one of them could be heard remarking to another.

Dumbledore smiled at them merrily. “Ah, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley! Do you have something you wish to discuss?”

Hermione cleared her throat importantly. “Yes, Headmaster. We’re terribly worried about Harry. He says he’s going to change his name to Clive and retire to the country to grow parsnips when he leaves school. He also said, ‘You-know-who be damned.’ Well, you can see how serious it is. Won’t you talk to him?”

The Headmaster of Hogwarts stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It sounds like a perfectly reasonable plan to me. Perhaps I will follow his example. I have always liked parsnips. With a touch of butter, and a pinch of kosher salt.”

“But, sir! He’s obviously gone mad! I bet Malfoy hexed him or something,” said Ron darkly, scowling in a way that was obviously intended to be terrifying, but fell somewhat short of the mark.

“The last time I saw Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter, they were indulging in a bit of nude bathing in the lake. The giant squid seemed to be enjoying the view…it had its binoculars out,” Dumbledore said blandly. “So I doubt that there has been any hexing of that nature. Perhaps if we all simply said ‘Voldemort be damned,’ and went off to the country to grow parsnips, then we would win. I should send a memo to Minister Fudge. And one to Voldemort. I’m sure he would be much happier with a little parsnip farm of his own, instead of going around torturing people and accumulating bad vibes. We could have a Guild of Parsnip Lovers, and get together once a month to trade recipes. It will all be excessively delightful!”

“Sir,” said Hermione desperately, “could you please be reassuringly shrewd instead of amusingly insane for just a moment? It really would help things.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore smiled jovially at her, “but I am only reassuringly shrewd on alternate Wednesdays. I find my job infinitely more fun that way. Also, it annoys people very much. Hee, hee, hee.”

Hermione was deflated. “Well, then there’s really nothing more to be said. Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

She and Ron dejectedly started back for the Gryffindor tower.

“Well, what else can we do?” Ron wrung his hands. “Harry’s so bloody stubborn, there’s no talking him out of anything. Wait—I’ve got it! Subliminal messages! What if, when he’s sleeping, I repeated the phrase, ‘You must fight Voldemort and not grow parsnips. And Clive is a stupid name.’”

“Ron, that’s two phrases. And I don’t think it will work. I can’t really think of--”

Suddenly, the air was filled with shrieks and giggles, and Hermione and Ron were astonished to behold Malfoy chasing Harry down the corridor, both of them dripping wet and without a stitch of clothing.

Ron gaped and then threw his hands in the air. “If you can’t beat ‘em…come on, Hermione. Let’s go to the country and grow parsnips.”

Hermione said thoughtfully, “I’ve always liked parsnips, too…especially with butter, and a pinch of kosher salt.”