Harry Putter and the Chamber of Cheesecakes (5 page)

            “Ron, I already explained that I’m not going to school,” said Harry with exasperation.

            Ron replied, “But I thought you were just making the whole thing up, you know, to get out of going.”

            At Pigbristle’s Quill and Bookstore, Hermione held the door open for Ron and Harry.  Harry suddenly saw the gleaming smile and wavy blonde hair of their old Defense Against the Fine Arts teacher, Gildersneeze Farthard, autographing his latest book.  Harry instinctively ducked behind a bookshelf, pulling Ron with him so that Farthard wouldn’t see them.  

            Harry couldn’t believe it.  Gildersneeze Farthard was out of St. Mongo’s Hospital for the magically afflicted.  He wondered if Farthard had gotten his memory back.  Farthard had a large portion of his memory wiped out during Harry’s third year of school.  What no one knew was that Harry and Ron were the cause. 

            They had discovered the secret to Farthard’s success.  For everyone knew Farthard as a heroic adventurer.  However, no one knew that Farthard was in fact stealing other people’s incredible adventures for years, and was really a coward at heart.  He would interview heroic individuals, wipe their memories from them, then write books about their fantastic deeds, claiming them as his own.  He had become quite a celebrity in doing so. 

            Many people referred to him as the Great Gildersneeze.  It turned out that, the Great Gildersneeze was quite jealous of Harry Putter’s rapidly growing popularity stemming from the boy’s exciting adventures.  So Farthard tried to horn in on Harry’s adventures for himself.  Farthard had revealed his dirty little secret and was about to wipe Harry’s memory clean.  However, Ron crept up on Gildersneeze and whacked him on the back of the head with a half gallon of ice cream from the Chamber of Frozen Dairy Desserts.  It’s not clear whether it was the blow from Ron or Farthard’s subsequent knock to the head as he collapsed to the floor that ironically caused Farthard’s persistent case of amnesia, his drooling problem, and the thick lisp when he spoke.

            Hermione cheerfully skipped up to her old teacher and sang out, “Mr. Farthard!  It’s so good to see you again!”

            Harry groaned and hit his head against the bookshelf several times.  He thought, “How could someone so smart be so stupid!”

            Farthard’s smile seemed to brighten, if that was possible, he was obviously feeling loved by another fan.  “You theem vaguely familiar, child, do I know you?” he asked while wiping his lip.

            Hermione ignored the speckle that touched her face as Farthard spoke.  “It’s me!  Hermione Stranger.  I was one of your students at Hogwashes three years ago!  Remember?” she asked.

            “Well, if you are a thtranger, then I guesth I’m mithtaken, but it’th alwayth nithe to meet a fan.  Would you like an autograph?” replied Gildersneeze, flourishing his pen, ready to sign another book.

            Hermione disgusted, took a step back as he spoke, to avoid the shower of spittle coming from his direction.  She suddenly realized that Gildersneeze probably still didn’t remember much of that year at all.  Of course he wouldn’t remember her.  She handed him a copy of his latest book, “The Ecstasy of Man-made Explosions vs. the Calamity of Natural Disaster,” then retreated a step.  

            “Who thhould I make this out to?” he asked.

            “Hermione Stranger,” she replied, hiding her displeasure.

            “To a mythteriouth thtranger …” he wrote as he said aloud, “Fond wistheth … in all your egthplothive endeavorth … Thintherely … Gilderthneethe Farthard!”  He finished his signature with a flourish.

            Hermione tried to suppress her gag reflex.  She managed to just look dumbstruck.

            “Thay, ith that your required reading litht from Hogwathheth?” he asked with an appalling splatter of drool.

            “Yes, your latest book is on it.  That’s why I’m buying it,” she replied in disgust.

            “Well then, you’ll be pleathed to know that I’ll be at Hogwathheth again thith year.  I’ll be teaching, Defenthe againtht the Fine Artth.  I believe that one’th required for all thtudentth, tho I’ll thee you in clasth!” he beamed.

            Harry and Ron, eavesdropping from behind the bookshelf, looked at each other and screamed.  Hermione shrieked. 

            Gildersneeze drooled, “Do try to contain yourthelf, thweet girl.”

            Harry woke up early and dressed.  It was the first day of school, and he was going to see his friends off at the train station.  He went downstairs, and was glad to see all the Dirtleys were already awake.  They were obviously quite used to the New House Order.  Uncle Vermin was getting ready to drive him to London.  He had informed Uncle Vermin the day before of his intention to see his friends off at Victoria Station.  Aunt Hachooie was there to make breakfast for the family.  Mudley was shining Harry’s shoes as instructed.  Harry was very pleased.  He had Aunt Hachooie make him his favorite breakfast, a huge ice cream sundae. 

            It, the ice cream sundae that is, started talking to Harry, “What a Delicious Morning!  Don’t I look tasty?  But, brother, is it hot out here.  If I stay out here, I’m gonna melt for sure.”

            No, Harry wasn’t crazy.  He was a morsel-tongue, he could hear what his food was saying, and if he chose to, he could reply.  It was his special talent, mysteriously conferred upon him from Moldyfart the first time they met.  As Moldyfart’s powers vanished, somehow this power, the ability to talk to food, was transferred to Harry.  Harry wished he had gotten a real superpower like the ability to fly, use x-ray vision, climb on walls, or perform feats of super strength.  Cripes, why couldn’t he be more like Spiderman?  However, talking to food was better than nothing.  It did have its advantages, too, he supposed, especially if you could tell when your food was lying to you.  Usually food didn’t know much that would be useful, but occasionally it would overhear some gossip or other information of value.

            Harry was quite used to his food talking.  It no longer bothered him to eat something mid-sentence, like it used to.  He found most prepared foods actually wanted you to eat them, and were more likely to tell the truth.  More wholesome foods tended to beg you not to eat them, and would make up all sorts of lies to escape being severed, masticated, and decomposed by stomach acid.  Food that had gone bad, always told you that they were still fresh, making it very difficult in some cases to tell the difference, until he got the knack for it.

            The ice cream sundae was in a hurry to be eaten.  It was entirely prepared for consumption.  Harry was equally prepared to accommodate it.

            When he was finished with breakfast, he held his tummy and sighed happily.  “Cripes!  I’m getting fat!” he thought.

            He relaxed for a moment, recalling the faces of all the Dirtleys when he informed them that he wasn’t going to school this year.  “What a classic!” he laughed to himself.  Their jaws were agape with looks as dumbfounded as a bunch of Republican politicians caught in a sting operation.  Since then, all he got were looks of seething and loathing.  The Dirtleys hated him now.  They hadn’t cared for him at all before the New House Order.  After, they had put up with a lot of abuse from Harry, bearing all their suffering in great dislike, looking forward to him going back to school and life becoming normal for the rest of the year.  His new plan had brought that idea crashing down on their heads.  Now they would have to put up with this miserable New House Order forever, or at least until someone died. 

            Harry suddenly wondered if he was in any danger from them.  They wouldn’t try to do anything to him would they?  He started to worry about poison in his ice cream sundae.  The sundae would have warned him if it had been poisoned, wouldn’t it have?  Aunt Hachooie wouldn’t!  Would she?  She was removing a pie from the oven, but her sidelong look in his direction, made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  He suddenly was feeling sick to his stomach.  He ran to the bathroom toilet and threw up.

            A few minutes later, he was feeling a bit better, and it was time to go.  “Uncle Vermin, go start the car, I’ll be right out.” yelled Harry from the bathroom.  He brushed his teeth, and then ran out to the waiting mini Cooper.

            At the train station Harry got out of the car saying, “I’ll be back in fifteen, twenty minutes.  Can you get me a hotdog and a slurpie in the meantime?”  Then he added, “Please?”  His stomach was obviously feeling better, and he felt benevolent by asking politely. 

            Harry followed a baggage cart to the entrance of Platform
p
where he saw several students milling about trying quickly to divide twenty-two by seven, or to just remember the first ten decimal places of
p
, or holding their heads after slamming them into the brick wall between platform three and four.  There were also several younger ones holding their noses and wailing to their mothers.  Adding to the confusion were enough goats to fill a barnyard as well as other pets, familiars, and elven servants.  On top of that, there was a virtual train of baggage carts.  It’s easy to see why the muddles would avoid that freak show. 

            Harry wound his way through the chaos.  Not having even the most rudimentary knowledge of mathematics, (Hogwashes doesn’t teach any muddle subjects.) he was nonetheless able to attain the elusive platform on his first try.  He had the first ten decimal places of
p
memorized.  Little did he realize, he was being followed.

            Platform
p
, if anything, was even crazier than the scene outside.  The Hogwashes Express looked like a circus train with two whole cars filled with goats and a third with a menagerie of other animals.  Baggage was being loaded into baggage cars.  Families were saying their last goodbyes.  One baggage cart had been upset, and two men were arguing about it.

            From a distance, Harry spotted the Cheesley family’s nuclear orange hair and headed that direction, so that he might say hello to all the Cheesleys.  Bill, Greg, Marsha, Jan, Cindy, the twins, Fred and George, their mother, Molly, and their father, Arthur were all there to see Ron, Ginny, and little Suzanne off to school.  Perky Cheesley was notably absent.  Ron was holding a gigantic squid, with tentacles wrapped around him.  “Hi Ron!  What’s that for?” asked Harry. 

            “It’s my new pet!  I’ve been raising it all summer, isn’t he cute!”

            Harry made a wry face and said, “Yeah, cuddly.”

            The way the squid wrapped its slimy tentacles around Ron’s arms and neck, somehow reminded Harry of the brain-thing in the tank at the circus that had wrapped itself around Ron last spring.  Harry wondered if Ron would ever be the same.  Harry let the thought go.

            Arthur Cheesley was saying, “Sorry to hear about the conspiracy to kill you, Harry.  You’re doing the right thing staying home where you’ll be safe.”     

            “That’s right!  I think it will be safer for everyone this way,” replied Harry, trying to sound like he was doing the noble thing.  Marsha, Jan, and Cindy all sighed lovingly at his words and selfless sacrifice.  Harry was their hero.

            “Well, it’s about time you stopped endangering the other children,” scolded Mrs. Cheesley.  She was still upset about the constant danger Harry kept putting her school aged children in, especially Ginny.  She had long ago concluded that Ron would never amount to much.  Thank God that her baby, Suzanne, wouldn’t be around Harry as she started preschool this year.

            He was warmly greeted by all the other Cheesleys especially Ginny, who cried out, “I’m going to miss you Harry Putter!”  She jumped up wrapping her arms and legs around Harry and smothered him with kisses until her father pulled her off from Harry disapprovingly.

            Little Suzanne stomped on Harry’s foot, and gave him a raspberry.  It was her way of showing him, how much she, too, liked him.  It was her first year at Hogwashes, but she didn’t seem nervous at all.

            Just then Hermione called from the train, “Hurry up girls, the train leaves in ten minutes!  I saved you a seat Ron!”  Ron blushed, embarrassed to know her.  “Harry!” she shouted, “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”

            Harry glanced at the clock, there was indeed still ten minutes before the train departed.    “Are you kidding, Hermione, I wouldn’t miss this if Lord Moldyfart had me chained up in a dungeon somewhere.”

            The crowd immediately went quiet, even the goats became silent.  For seldom was the name Moldyfart spoken in public, and when it was, it was usually at a whisper at best.  Most chose to refer to him as the Fart Lord, “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Smelled,” Mr. Stinky, or Lord Pull-My-Finger.  However, Harry didn’t seem to care about the disapproving looks coming from all directions.  By contrast, Ron took out a paper bag, and pulled it over his own head, wishing that he had gotten on the train already.

            “In fact,” Harry continued loudly, “I wish Lord Moldyfart had tried to keep me away!”

            The crowd started to murmur at this.  There were a few angry shouts.  “Shut up you, twit!” and “It’s that cheating git, Putter!  Kill him.”

            Ron whispered to Harry, “Ix nay on the Oldyfart May.” 

            George and Fred Cheesley were enjoying the scene immensely.  If Ron was embarrassed, they were all for it.  They had themselves created quite a public spectacle when they suddenly dropped out of school last year in history-making fashion. 

            “How’s it going Harry?” asked Fred.  “Haven’t seen you in months, you’ve got to stop by the joke shop sometime.  I want you to try out our newest feature, anti-matter toothpaste.  It’s hilarious!”

            “Sounds great,” Harry replied, “I’ve been meaning to visit the shop one of these days.”  He felt a twinge of guilt for having bought all that stuff at their competitor’s joke shop.  “How’s the store doing?”

            “Not bad, we’ve held our own, and should start turning a profit with the return of the students.”

            Just then, Looney Luvnoodle and Neville Largebottom arrived.  Neville was a pear shaped lump of a young man, who was very forgetful, a marginal student, and suffered from chronic asthma.  By contrast, Looney was a large and athletic young woman, a sharp student, and very open-minded.  Her father was the owner of
The Dribbler
, a wizardly world tabloid that most regarded as the least newsworthy of all tabloids, considering it to be entirely fiction.  Harry noticed they were holding hands as they approached him. 

            “Hello, Harry,” said Neville.

            “Hi Harry,” said Looney.

            Neville Largebottom and Looney Luvnoodle were both instrumental in helping Harry last spring.  Harry had been tricked.  The Fungus Eaters had set him up.  They leaked information to Harry of the whereabouts of his uncle, Serious Smack the Clown.  Harry couldn’t help fall into their trap, finding his uncle was his vulnerability, and they took full advantage of it, setting a trap for when Harry arrived at the circus.  If it weren’t for friends like Neville and Looney, that helped him that day, he himself might not have survived.  As it turned out, his uncle wasn’t so fortunate.  Harry choked as the raw emotions of that day as they hit him suddenly with the arrival of Neville and Looney.  He hadn’t seen them since.  Everything seemed to remind him of his lost uncle.

            Harry tried to compose himself, as Neville and Looney told him the good news.  “We’ve been seeing each other all summer,” Neville announced.

            Harry congratulated them with a burst of tears, and wished them well during the upcoming school year.

            Something in his tone alerted Looney, she replied, “You sound as though you’re not going?”

            “I’m not,” Harry sobbed.  He composed himself, and then explained the whole reason why he wasn’t.

            The train whistle blew and the conductor called out for all passengers to board, it was time to say goodbye.  Harry shook Ron’s hand and said, “Don’t forget to send me a goat every so often, to tell me how school’s going!”

            “Don’t forget to send one yourself every so often, to tell me how your extended summer vacation is going,” laughed Ron.

            The Cheesleys all wished Ron, Ginny, and Suzanne good luck in school, and gave them hugs and kisses.  A few minutes later, they were aboard, along with their baggage.  Then the Cheesley family turned to Harry and said their goodbyes.  They all wished him a good year off from school. 

            “I wish I could stay home from school too, you lucky dog!” said Hermione from her train compartment window.  “Imagine how much I would learn then!”  It was true, Hermione hadn’t learned anything at school the last two years, and had calculated her education to be three full years ahead of the rest of her class.  She was already teaching herself post-graduate wizarding studies.  She typically spent the summer educating herself, and the school year educating others.

            Mrs. Cheesley asked Harry, “Do you have a ride home?”

            “Yes,” he replied, “Uncle Vermin is waiting for me out in the car.”

            “A car!”  Arthur and Molly Cheesley laughed at the muddle idea of driving.  Then most of the Cheesleys grabbed hold of their bottle of port and instantly teleported to the Boil, that’s what they called their home.  Fred and George were the only Cheesleys with enough magic power to teleport without a portal key, or as those who could teleport called it, abberate.  They hastily said goodbye, worried that Harry might hit them up for some of the money they owed him.  “See ya, soon.”  They abberated back to their shop, leaving Harry standing alone.