Harry Putter & the Deathly Hairballs

by O'Donnell, Timothy R.

  Hermione explained, “Ron, it doesn’t work that way. And I’m not taking half a turn. I get to finish my turn, then it’s your turn. We have to go in order.”

  Ron yelled, “What’s going on with you two? You’re always against me. Plotting to steal my time every chance you get. Don’t you think for a minute I don’t notice how you’re always working together to shave minutes off my turn. I have to constantly fight the two of you, just to get my fair chance. I’m sick of it. This time, I’m putting my foot down! It’s my turn!”

  Harry was not in the least afraid of Ron’s stance. He knew Ron didn’t have the magic power or the guts to reinforce it. He scoffed, “Ooh, Hermione, Ron’s put his foot down! He’s so scary! What will we do?”

  Ron scowled and said, “Why don’t you shut up? Moron.”

  Harry continued to jeer, “Or what, Ron? What will you do?”

  Ron shouted, “You know what? I don’t need a pair of sneakers to know I’m better than you two losers! You’re pathetic. You’ve just been pissing in the woods for the past three months. Everyone’s waiting for you to kill the Fart Lord, Harry, and you’re letting all your friends down. I thought you guys knew what you were doing, but you don’t know anything. I keep waiting for you to come up with a plan, but all you two do is spend your time thinking up ways of screwing me out of my turn. Well, I’m done. I’m going home.”

  Cheesley stormed off.

  Hermione called after him, “Ron?”

  He didn’t bother turning around.

  Hermione tried again, louder, “Ron!”

  Again, he ignored her.

  She called out, “You’re going the wrong way.”

  Chapter 9 – Goldbrick Shallows

  What Ron said when he left, cut like a sword – not Harry – Hermione. She was ashamed of herself for having let everyone down. She knew Harry and Ron were both morons, and they couldn’t come up with a plan if their lives depended on it. Just look how dumb the move to the Boil went. That’s what happens when a committee of idiots is in charge.

  At that moment, she took it upon herself to finally come up with a plan. Even then, it was difficult for her to puzzle through the problem because she had too many clues and not enough information. It didn’t take her too long to figure out that she needed something more solid. However, it took her two weeks to finally realize where she might be able to find some answers.

  She announced one evening, “Come on, Harry. We’re going to Goldbrick Shallows.”

  Harry asked dumbly, “Goldbrick Shallows? What for?”

  Hermione answered, “We’re going to search Grumblesnore’s house for clues about hoaxcrocks.”

  “Grumblesnore lives in Goldbrick Shallows? I didn’t know that. You know my parents used to live there?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Then Harry remembered out loud, “But, wait. Grumblesnore’s house? Isn’t that empty by now? I mean, they settled the estate, right? That means they would have cleaned it out and sold it by now, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s possible, but we just don’t know. The house could have been cleaned up by now or not at all. It might have been left to a relative, or it could be up for sale. Anyway, let’s go find out.”

  Harry said thoughtfully, “If we’re going to break into Grumblesnore’s house, we’d better bring some flashlights.”

  “We’ll bring the whole sack. That way, if we need anything else, we’ll have it.”

  “How are we going to get there?”

  “I’ll abberate us there.”

  “You know Grumblesnore’s place well enough to?”

  “Not exactly, my parent’s church is just two streets away. I’ll abberate us and we’ll walk from there. As a matter of fact, while we’re there, you might want to visit your family’s graves. Your parents and your uncle are buried there.”

  Harry swallowed, “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. I mean, do you think we should take any precautions? What if there’s Fungus Eaters staking the place out?”

  Hermione answered, “I don’t know. When was the last time you visited their graves, Harry?”

  He spluttered, “Well, that is, I’ve been meaning to … I just haven’t gotten around to it.”

  “I think it’s safe to say, no one will be expecting you. The Fungus Eaters probably have a better chance of finding us here in the woods, than there.”

  Harry admitted, “Yeah, but, the whole idea kinda gives me the creeps.”

  “Visiting your parent’s graves?”

  “No, visiting a cemetery after dark.”

  Hermione rolled her eyes and said, “Don’t worry, big guy. I’ll protect you!”

  A moment later, they were outside the small church in Goldbrick Shallows. They made their way to the cemetery. They searched around, using their flashlights to locate the gravestones of James and Lillyput Putter, and Serious Smack.

  James Putter Lillyput Putter

  1966 – 1988 1034 – 1988

  The first enemy to surrender is France.

  Serious Smack

  1976 – 2004

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  When Hermione saw the grave of James and Lillyput Putter she said, “That’s so true! The French are such blatant cowards. If we’re not kicking their butts in a war, then it’s the Germans.”

  Harry said, “Uh, I thought France and England were allies.”

  Hermione replied, “Don’t swallow everything you hear, Harry. I don’t think there are two countries on the planet that have fought more wars than the English against those filthy Frenchies.”

  Harry asked, “So, is there, like, a personal reason you don’t like them? Did they kill a relative or something?”

  Just then, a red sleigh pulled by eight reindeer, nine if you count Rudolph, flew overhead. They could hear Father Christmas’s laugh, “Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas!”

  Hermione dove for the cover of a large tombstone. She exclaimed, “Holy Crap! The old fart is after us! He’s trying to get his bag back!”

  Harry said, “More likely, it’s Christmas Eve.”

  Hermione asked, “You sure you want to take that chance? You more than anyone should know he’s partial to using a shotgun.”

  Harry stood watching the sleigh come to a rest on a nearby roof top.

  Hermione whispered, “Come on, Harry, get down before he spots us.”

  Harry replied, “It’s dark out, and we’re in a cemetery. Why would he spot us?”

  Hermione pulled out her wand. She said the magic word, “Stupidify!”

  Harry became more stupid than usual, actually, rather senseless. Hermione pulled him down and sat him against a tombstone.

  Just as Harry was starting to regain his senses, Hermione was pulling him and saying, “C’mon, now’s our chance!”

  She ran, leading Harry by the hand. They made their way down the lane taking cover behind hedges, garbage cans, and automobiles. She turned the corner and made a dash for it. She ducked behind a pickup truck and stopped to rest. Harry was so out of breath, he was wheezing.

  As he huffed and puffed, Hermione was looking over the bed of the pickup for signs of Santa. She said, “If I’m not mistaken, he was heading down the street the other direction, so we should be safe for now.”

  Harry, meanwhile, was noticing the large Victorian house behind them. There was a sign that said, “Crabby Cots Bed and Breakfast.” However, he found the smaller sign even more interesting. It was hard to read in the dark, but he eventually made the words out. It read, “A historic landmark: The only B&B where infant Harry Putter defeated the evil Fart Lord.”

  He pointed the sign out to Hermione. He sadly said, “Wow, look at how big that house is. If it weren’t for Lord Fartypants, I would have grown up there, instead of in the Dirtley’s dog house. I might have had brothers and sisters and a pet dog and cat. I’ll bet we would have had a swing set in the back yard.”

  Hermione consoled, “But then, you wouldn’t be you. You’d be just like e
very other nerdy teenager. Harry, you’re special. You’re an exception. If you were just like every other twit, you wouldn’t have a fan club and books written about you. And let’s face it, it’s only a matter of time before they turn your adventures into a colossal summer movie blockbuster.”

  Harry’s eyes glazed over at that. He whispered, “The Quest to Destroy Lord Moldyfart.”

  Just then Saint Nick’s sleigh flew over the rooftops. Santa called out, “C’mon, Comet, get the lead out!” There was a crack of a whip and a reindeer’s bray.

  Hermione gasped, “Run!”

  Harry ran.

  Minutes later, Harry was retching in the gutter on a different residential street. Hermione said, “I don’t know where we are now. I think we ran the wrong direction. I think Grumblesnore’s place is back that way, somewhere. Maybe, if I walk down to the corner, I might recognize the name of this street.”

  A strange woman’s voice kindly offered assistance, “Maybe, I can help? What street are you looking for?”

  A middle-aged woman walking her dog, a Jack Russell Terrier, had happened upon them in the dark.

  Harry retched again noisily.

  The woman said, “Oh, my goodness. Are you all right? Why don’t you come in and have a glass of water. My place is right over here.”

  Harry croaked, “That would be awesome. I’m parched.” He used his robe’s sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  The woman suggested, “Maybe you should try breathing through your nose.”

  But then the woman suddenly recognized Harry. She gasped and said, “You’re Harry Putter!”

  Harry lied, “My name’s … Shameonus, Shameonus Finnigan.”

  The woman was not fooled. She replied, “Don’t be silly. I recognize the scar on your forehead, Harry. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Butthilda Bigshot.”

  Harry gasped, “Bigshot! As in Benny Bigshot? The movie producer?”

  “Why, yes, that’s my husband. I see you’ve heard of him.”

  “Everyone’s heard of him. And, today’s your lucky day! You just became my next best friend.”

  Butthilda mused, “Hmmm, well, I may be more of a friend than you realize. Let’s get some water and we’ll discuss a little plan I have. I think you will find it to our mutual satisfaction.”

  Butthilda led the way to her house. When she opened the front door, she was greeted by one of her many, many cats. There were more cats than Harry could count. Some of them dashed for cover when strangers arrived. Others were more outgoing and curious.

  The movie producer and his wife had a lovely home, and Harry said so. He wisely kept his opinion about the odor of the place to himself. Butthilda led them into the kitchen, she was nearly tripping over two cats, which were vying for her attention.

  In the kitchen their host quickly got Harry a glass of water. Then she offered them both tea and cookies. The two teenagers sat at a large butcher-block kitchen table, while Bigshot put a kettle on the stovetop, heating it up in the old-fashioned manner. She said, “I hope you don’t mind waiting a moment for it. I prefer tea the English way, though it takes a bit longer than zapping it hot with a wand. Tea needs a good five minutes to thoroughly brew. That’s what I always say.”

  Meanwhile, Harry and Hermione watched as cats came and went about the kitchen. Several congregated around Mrs. Bigshot’s legs, rubbing against them. One tabby-striped cat was particularly friendly and took especial liking to Hermione. When she sat at the kitchen table, the tabby jumped up into her lap. Hermione ran her hand over its head, neck, and back and soon had the cat purring.

  Suddenly, Harry heard a strange hacking noise coming from under the table. He looked and saw there was a tawny cat beside him. Harry wondered if it was choking on a fish bone or something. He asked, “Is this one alright?”

  Butthilda answered, “Oh, it’s just coughing up a hairball. It’ll be fine.”

  Harry was disgusted and yet morbidly fascinated by the process. He had never seen it before. Hermione was not looking, but she had a cat and knew all about hairballs. Harry noticed the cat was hovering over her foot. It was her turn, so she was wearing the light-up sneakers. Harry did not want them to become sullied by contact with the hairball once the cat eventually cacked it up. Hermione didn’t notice as she was petting the tabby in her lap. Harry tried to call her attention to it. However, she ignored both him and the tawny cat under the table. Three seconds later, Harry kicked her in the shin. She pulled back her leg just in the nick of time. The wet hairball of tawny fur landed on the kitchen floor. The cat ran away like it was shot from a gun.

  Hermione cried out, “Ow!” She gave Harry a scowl. “What was that for?”

  Harry smiled mischievously and answered, “Sorry, I slipped.”

  Butthilda sighed as she grabbed a paper towel from the kitchen dispenser. She said, “They’re always leaving hairballs all over the house. They get in the darnedest places, too. Why, I even once found one inside one of my shoes! Found that one the hard way.”

  As she used the paper towel to clean up the cat’s mess, she continued, “The worst is in the middle of the night. Imagine trying to sleep with that hideous noise going on. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night without interruption.”

  Hermione said, “But you must love them. After all, you have so many.”

  Bigshot replied, “Oh, without a doubt. I truly do. They bring me such joy. Each one has its own personality and they’re all my babies. That one you’re holding is Mr. Buzzywuggles.”

  Hermione shook the cat’s paw and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Buzzywuggles.”

  Butthilda continued, “Buzzy is very instinctive. He can always recognize a cat lover. You do own a cat don’t you, Ms. Stranger?”

  Ms. Stranger replied, “You can call me Hermione. And, I do, her name is Croakshanks. How many cats do you have, Mrs. Bigshot?”

  “Call me Butthilda. And, seventeen in all. The dog is really Benny’s. The cats are mine. Yes, I’m what you might call a crazy cat-lady.”

  Hermione exclaimed “Well, seventeen is a lot of cats.”

  Harry brown-nosed, “Nonsense, you can never have too many cats. That’s what I always say.”

  Butthilda asked, “Oh, and how many do you own, Mr. Putter?”

  Harry replied, “Call me Harry. And, uh, none. That is, unless you count dust bunnies.”

  They all laughed at Harry’s joke.

  Mrs. Bigshot put out a tray of assorted Christmas cookies, scones, and fruitcake. She poured the tea and there was sugar, milk, honey, and sliced lemon to prepare it to personal taste. Finally, Butthilda sat down and joined them at the table.

  She began, “My next door neighbor is someone I believe you are familiar with.”

  Hermione said, “Oh, is he your next door neighbor? And here I thought we had gone the wrong direction. I guess I got turned around so much, I didn’t know which way I was going.”

  Harry felt suddenly excited. Perhaps, Grumblesnore had entrusted Bigshot with some big information. Perhaps he had left her some important artifact for her to give to him – something that would help him on The Quest to Destroy Lord Moldyfart. His eyes glazed over for an instant. However, he quickly realized that Butthilda was talking and he should be listening.

  She was saying, “…not the sort of neighbor I had hoped for when he first moved in. I can tell you! He was rather unfriendly from the start. Though Benny and I always smiled and waved, he deliberately ignored us. And then, there are the garbage cans. He always puts them out next to my fence. We’ve asked him not to. However, for some reason, he thinks he’s putting them in front of his property. We’ve tried to show him, but he just doesn’t seem to get it. Really, I think he’s doing it on purpose, just to annoy us. And, I can tell you, his garbage stinks, and I mean, really stinks. Some days, especially in the summer, I can smell it from inside the house.”

  Hermione sympathized, “It sounds horrendous.”

  Bigshot agreed, “It is. And you s
hould see his lawn. He hardly does anything to take care of it. And we get so much lovely rain, you’d think it would at least be green, but it’s mostly dead and brown. It’s such an eyesore. I just know it brings down the property values in the neighborhood.”

  Harry nodded knowingly, though he knew virtually nothing about being a home-owner and trying to get along with next-door neighbors.

  She added, “Not to mention his taste in lawn decorations.”

  Hermione could only imagine. American’s were notorious for their lack of refinement and inexplicable partiality to the plastic pink flamingo. Besides, she had heard of tacky displays on the lawns of Graceland, Elvis’ former home in the states, back when he was a much younger man and a rock legend.

  Butthilda continued, “Then there was the swimming pool incident. The pool liner has been stained ever since. And believe me, we’ve tried everything. We’ve had experts in, and try as they may, they simply cannot do a thing about it.”

  Hermione asked, “And you’re sure it’s his fault?”

  Bigshot admitted, “Well, I don’t have any proof. But, Benny and I feel certain, it was him.”

  Harry nodded and said knowingly, “I see.”

  She added, “Oh, and don’t get me started about that loud music he plays, and always so late at night. It’s a good thing we don’t have any babies, or they’d never get their sleep. I don’t know how the Cromwell’s put up with it. They’ve two toddlers. I can barely tolerate it, but if I were them, I’d have called the police and had them put an end to it.”

  Now Harry was confused. He wondered, “Why was she still complaining about his music when Grumblesnore has been dead for over six months? I guess some people are just whiners.”

  Hermione said, “Yes, but given his past in show business, I’m sure you must have expected rock music when he moved in?”

  Butthilda laughed and said, “Rock ‘n roll? I wouldn’t mind it so much, if it were rock ‘n roll music! Personally, I like to rock out once in a while. I was referring to his late night organ playing.”