Parenting Class Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: I own my horrible Algebra II Honors final grade that should soon be arriving, but I don’t own the magnificent Harry Potter. Do you think Rowling might like to do a switch?

Parenting Class

Sock Puppets and Cinnamon Rolls

“We should probably get going back,” Draco said, breaking up the comfortable silence that had been in the hospital room. “It’s probably lunch time about now…”

“Yes, you’re right. And you’d probably like something to eat, wouldn’t you Harry? Maybe not,” Hermione corrected herself, seeing the way the child was still holding his stomach. “But we still head back anyway. I’m quite hungry.”

“You just ate an entire pie by yourself,” Draco pointed out.

“So? I’m hungry now. That pie was already consumed by my nervousness and anxiety.”

“How can you eat that much? Don’t you worry about getting fat?” Draco looked down at his lean form and gave himself a hug, as if assuring his stomach he’d never feed it the enormous amounts of food Hermione fed hers.

Hermione flared. “Are you saying that I’m fat, Draco Malfoy?”

“I didn’t say that. I said, aren’t you worried you’re going to get fat if you keep eating that much?”

“No. Because I have a high metabolism and it all burns off rather quickly. And besides, after having someone you know for a friend, I’ve developed some of his family’s eating habits.” Draco knew exactly whom she was talking about. After all, how could anyone not know about the Weasley appetite?

The Slytherin sighed and rose to his feet, stretching out his stiff limbs. “Let’s get going. I could use a bite too.”

Hermione followed Draco off the bed, Harry tucked in her arms. “Thank you for your help,” Hermione said, smiling at Brandi. The woman gave them a nod and a smile, and then turned back to the reporters who had flooded the hallway, all wanting to interview her and the young healer who had accidentally found the cure.

The small group made their way carefully to the Floo Room, covering Harry up so they wouldn’t be stopped by anyone that had heard Hermione’s loud announcement. Arriving safely in the Hospital Wing, they were surprised to hear screaming from the lower level of the castle. Very loud screams.

“That’s funny,” said Draco, as he causally descended down. “I never knew any of the kids were that bad.” Hermione, on the other hand, sprinted down the steps, grabbing Draco by his shirtsleeve and yanking him along with her, frantic with worry.

Reaching the main level of the castle, they saw students running from the Great Hall; most so covered in soot you couldn’t make out anything except their eyes. Darting around the students, Hermione moved to the Great Hall, mouth dropping at the spectacle.

The House banners that adorned the walls had flames leaping up the carefully stitched material, melting the small jewels embedded in the eyes. Fire was spreading quickly across the tables, tablecloths going up in an orange and red blaze, the gold and silver plates slowly pooling in a puddle.

Food was turning charcoal black before disintegrating from the hot waves of heat. Already, the inferno was racing along the wood floor, pieces missing and creating dangerously gaping holes. Through the smoky haze, they could make out students making their way to different exit doors, some crying with wails loud overhead.

“Now that’s a fire,” Draco commented, pulling Hermione and Harry backwards as a piece of burning timber fell in front of them, sparks showering the floor.

“We have to help!” the Gryffindor cried, already pulling out her wand and setting Harry down on the floor next to her, the boy completely terrified and clinging to her leg. “INUNDANTIA CONSISTO AQUA,” she cried, a large roar sounding from her wand. A split second later, water came gushing out and swept in a torrent into the Great Hall, washing over tables and the burning floor, the fire hissing in protest.

“Where are the teachers?” Draco wondered, watching with interest as the water quelled the blaze, black smoke now rising high in the air all the way up to the ceiling.

“I…I…don’t know,” Hermione whispered, staring in shock at her wand.

“Something wrong?” Draco asked, turning to look at the girl.

“How did I…do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The spell…it means flood made of water…but whenever I used it before, which was only once,” she clarified, seeing Draco’s eyes widen, “I only got a small amount of water…like enough to water a plant. I’ve never been able to do that much before.”

“I think I might have a good idea why that happened, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, sloshing through the Great Hall towards them, his once periwinkle robes now black and sopping wet. “But first, let me take a headcount of the students to make sure everyone made it out safely.”

“Excuse me, Professor?” said another soot-covered figure, coming to stand next to Hermione.

“Yes, Miss Weal?” The staff had been alerted of the complication of a sibling that attended the school with her ‘kid’ brother, and all had agreed to call Ginny by the last name she’d given herself earlier.

“I was just curious…how did the fire start? And how come none of the teachers were there? You all seemed to vanish from the hall.”

“Everything will be explained later, Miss Weal. For now, why don’t you go get cleaned up and I’ll mark you down.” A gigantic scroll appeared in midair in front of the elderly man, and he checked of Ginny’s name, and then Hermione, Draco, and Harry’s.

“So you’re back to normal?” asked Ginny as she set off down the hall with the threesome.

“Yep, although there wasn’t a cure at first…it was found while we were there.”

“Wow…that’s a stroke of luck.”

“What exactly happened back there?” asked Draco, looking over the bunches of students making their way to their rooms, all almost solid black and quite a number soaked.

“I’m not really sure,” the redhead admitted. “All I know is a fire started over by the Slytherin table…and then it just spread everywhere. I think everyone got out though…which is good. I’ll see you guys later…I have to get a new set of robes!”

“See ya,” Hermione called after the retreating girl. “Let’s head up to our own room…I can make us lunch and we can all get changed.”

“You, cook?” scoffed Draco as the group started down the Charms hall. “That’s hard to believe.”

“I can too cook. Although you probably can’t,” she said slyly, smirking at Draco over her shoulder. “After all, you had house elves at your beck and call…you couldn’t cook if your life depended on it.”

“Then let’s have a baking contest,” Draco challenged. “We’ll each make something, but it has to be the same.”

“I’ll take you up on that. We’ll head down to the kitchens after we all get freshened up.” Turning to the boy on her hip, Hermione said, “Does that sound good to you, Harry? You can meet all of the house elves…they’re very friendly.”

“All right,” Harry said uncertainly. Neither parent could really blame him…after the teapot experience; he had to be even more frightened of magic then ever. As soon as they were approaching the portrait into their room, Harry suddenly jumped in Hermione’s arms. “I forgot to say hello!” he gasped, emerald eyes widening in horror. “She must think I hate her!”

“Who?” Hermione and Draco chorused.

“Aunt Minnie! I forgot to say hello!”

Both stood in silent contemplation before Hermione realized whom it was. “Don’t worry,” she comforted. “Professor McGonagall should be at dinner tonight. You can go say hi then, kay?”

“All right,” Harry agreed. He settled calmly down as the group entered the room, Leviculus letting them through without a fuss, his nose wrinkling when he saw the large amounts of soot and instructed for them all to take a bath.

“Okay, here’s how we’ll do this,” said Hermione as they entered the common room. “Harry, I’ll give you a bath first, and then Draco, you go. I’ll go last, sound good?”

“Why can’t I go first?” Draco whined, shaking soot out of his stunning blond hair. “I hate feeling dirty.”

“Pretend it’s mud from the Quidditch field. Harry gets his bath first.” Leaving Draco standing in the middle of the room, Hermione marched into the bathroom, door resounding with a thud behind her.

“Pretend it’s mud,” he muttered to himself, conjuring a towel and throwing it on the couch before sitting down. “Soot isn’t anything like mud. Mud washes out easily. Soot doesn’t. Isn’t she being mean, Sparkles?” he asked, pulling the dragon out of the robe he’d been carrying around since the incident at St. Mungo’s. The plush toy looked innocently at him, glitter sparkling in the light. “That’s what I thought you‘d say,” Draco sighed. “I guess since you were made by Gryffindors, you kind of act like one don’t you? Wait…don’t answer that.”

As soon as Hermione and Harry emerged from the bathroom, the child in a fresh set of clothes with his hair neatly combed (though it didn‘t look like that), Draco all but fled for the shower. After undressing and wrapping a towel about himself, he glanced in the mirror over the sink, his jaw dropping in horror. Was that really him?

Moving a hand in a slow wave, the mirror copied. Every single movement he did, the mirror copied perfectly. By then, Draco had come to the conclusion he was the person in the mirror. And he did the thing that seemed most appropriate at the time. He screamed.

Immediately, the door flew open, Hermione’s face frantic with worry. “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking around for anything that might have upset the Slytherin.

“Look at me,” he said, pointing at his reflection in the mirror. “I look terrible! I can’t believe I was walking around like this.”

Hermione did look, before a blush filled her cheeks and she opted to look at the floor. “It’s just a little soot,” she murmured, edging for the door, her eyes still fixed firmly on the tile. “It’ll wash out.”

As soon as she was safely out of the bathroom, Hermione exhaled, closing her eyes and slumping against the door. ‘Bad Hermione! Always knock! Always!’ Shaking her head, she attempted to chase the image away. “I can’t believe myself sometimes,” she groaned, falling to the floor. “All he had on was a towel…what if it had slipped or something? God, I have to knock next time!”

Still feeling completely ashamed of herself for not knocking, Hermione went into her room to get out a new set of clothes, though Draco was still floating around in her mind. “Get a grip,” she argued to herself. “Make the image go away.” She had to admit…it wasn’t a bad image, in fact a rather good image…but she still didn’t have any right to have it firmly implanted in her head.

Harry, who had been in his room, came into Hermione’s when he heard loud banging sounds. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching as Hermione continued to hit herself on the head with a rather large History of Magic textbook.

“Getting rid of a memory,” she answered, slamming it down one last time. “That worked,” she muttered, clambering to her feet and immediately falling sideways, before catching herself on her desk. “Now all I see are eight Harry Potter’s in my room. “Which one of you is real?”

“Me,” said Harry, raising his hand.

“You can’t all be Harry,” Hermione said, still seeing multiple images from her vicious method of forgetting. “Which one of you is really Harry?”

“I think you need to lie down,” Harry advised, guiding Hermione over to her bed.

“Thanks,” she smiled, placing a hand over her eyes to block out the multiple images. “Guess I hit myself a little too much…maybe next time I’ll use a lighter book.”

“Why were you hitting yourself?”

“No reason.”

Harry looked at her strangely, but shrugged, thinking it was a normal thing for Hermione. Both sat (well, Hermione was lying down) in silence for a little while, both simply listening to the absolute silence. “Harry,” the girl said, sitting slowly up. “Do you know what time your bath ended?”

“Twelve thirty-six.”

The Gryffindor glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “He’s been in the shower for over half an hour!” she shrieked. Jumping up from the bed, Hermione ran for the bathroom and threw the door open, just in time to run smack into Draco.

Fortunately for Hermione’s sake, this time he was fully clothed in a pair of black jeans and a skintight emerald green tee shirt, and was toweling his hair dry as he exited. “Yes?” he asked, raising any eyebrow, at seeing the girl blush.

‘He smells like evergreen…such a nice scent…’ Shaking her head quickly, Hermione looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “You’ve been in the shower for almost forty minutes! What did you need that long for?”

“I had to get all of the soot off me…and the smell,” he said wrinkling his nose. “I hate smelling like smoke.”

“There had better be warm water left.”

Draco grinned. “There should be.”

With a snort, Hermione ducked around Draco, clothes in hand and entered into a cloud of steam. “Sure there’s hot water left,” she grumbled, feeling her way over to the shower. “No one uses this much hot water…if Hogwarts had smoke alarms, he definitely would have set them off.”

Putting her clothes on the toilet seat and tossing her dirty ones on the floor, Hermione climbed in the shower and gave a grateful sigh as warm water spouted over her. Seconds later though, those moments of contentment turned to ones of horror.

Draco, who had been sitting in the common room with Harry, winced as an explosion thundered through the closed bathroom door. “DRACO WHATEVER YOUR MIDDLE NAME IS MALFOY!!!!! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!!”

Seconds later, Harry had maneuvered himself to the opposite side of the room from Draco, and Hermione burst out of the bathroom, a deep crimson towel wrapped around herself and tucked snugly at the top and a wand in hand, pointed very threateningly at Draco.

“Yes?” he said meekly, his calm, silver eyes meeting the burning brown. But then, a bad move for Draco, his eyes traveled from the enraged face down the length of Hermione’s body, a smile tugging at his face. That smile though, quickly vanished as Hermione reached forward and slapped him, the sound ringing in the silent room.

“You used all the hot water,” she said, voice scarily composed, “and what you just did was very unnecessary. Especially with Harry in the room.” Harry looked at the girl confused, not quite understanding what Draco had done, except use all the hot water.

“I can see what you said about your metabolism was true. You have a very nice fig-” Another slap shut the grinning Slytherin up, his hand going to his cheek to cover the large red spot from repeated abuse.

“Not another word from you,” she hissed, her face now inches away from his, one of her hands gripping her towel protectively. “If I hear one more word, I won’t hesitate to transform you into a ferret…and we both know how much it suits you.”

With that said, Hermione stalked into the bathroom, the door slamming behind her. “What exactly did you do?” asked Harry timidly, peeping around the corner of the couch.

“I honestly don’t know.”

When Hermione exited a few minutes later, this time fully clothed in a pair of dark denim jeans and a red long sleeved shirt with a golden yarn poncho thrown over, she purposely ignored Draco and walked over to Harry. “Ready to go meet the house elves, Harry?”

“They are nice…right?”

“Very nice. You’ll love them.”

“Okay then.”

“Great!” Picking Harry up and settling him on her hip, Hermione exited the room, Draco trailing behind.

When they reached the painting of the silver fruit bowl, Hermione tickled the pear and entered the kitchen, Draco cautiously traveling behind. He know knew Dobby worked here and being tackled wasn’t on his priority list.

“Master Draco!” A green blob detached itself from the other elves and rushed over to the Slytherin, throwing his arms around Draco in a hug and knocking them both to the ground. “Dobby is so happy to see you again!”

“You shouldn’t be happy to see him,” remarked Hermione dryly.

“Hermione Granger!” Dobby squealed, throwing himself at the Gryffindor, his skinny arms wrapping tightly around her legs. Looking up, the house elf caught sight of the child “Harry Potter,” he gasped, goggly eyes growing larger. Jumping up and down, he attempted to hug Harry, the child laughing as Dobby was finally able to pluck him from Hermione, and he was then squeezed like a teddy bear.

“Is your name Dobby?” Harry asked when the creature released him.

“Yes, Dobby’s name is Dobby, Harry Potter.” Then, remembering, what Hermione had said earlier, he turned to look at the Gryffindor. “Why should Dobby not be happy to see Master Draco, Hermione Granger?”

“Because, he was very rude to me earlier,” she sniffed.

“Master Draco was rude to Hermione Granger?” The house elf shot a glare at Draco who gave a weak grin back from the floor. “What did Master Draco do?”

“I was in a towel.” That was all Hermione needed to say for Dobby to understand. A grin lit up his face, an odd mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“Bad, Master Draco,” the elf scolded, approaching the Slytherin. “It looks like Master Draco needs a spanking.”

“No really, I don’t,” Draco protested, trying to scramble to his feet but finding himself pinned down by Dobby’s magic. “I order you to let me go right now,” the blond demanded, struggling to sit up.

“I don’t have to listen to Master Draco,” Dobby smirked. “But Dobby can still punish Master Draco for being rude to Hermione Granger.” Settling himself down on Draco’s back, Dobby conjured a wooden paddle, and yanked down Draco’s pants, so his adorable snitch covered boxers were in plain sight. “How many whacks, Hermione Granger?” the elf asked, readying his paddle.

“As many as you’d like Dobby,” Hermione grinned, pulling her camera out of her pocket. “Smile for the camera, Draco,” she laughed.

As Dobby gave Draco a well round of spankings, Hermione’s camera flashed, her evil cackling sounding amongst the sounds of the paddle and Harry’s soft laughter. By the time Dobby released Draco from his magic, the Slytherin was bright red, something Hermione had never seen before.

“Is someone embarrassed?” she snickered, Draco simply glowering at her. “Well, let’s get to that baking contest, shall we?” she smiled cheerfully.

“Let’s,” Draco growled, rubbing his sore behind and glaring daggers at Dobby, the house elf merely smiling innocently back. “What are the rules?”

“One, no magic. None at all. Two, we’ll each make an item. I’d personally like to make cinnamon rolls…if that’s okay with you.”

“Cinnamon rolls? Fine.”

“Harry, do you want to stay with Dobby while we bake?”

“Could I really?”

“Yay!” Dobby cheered, pulling Harry into a tight hug. “Harry Potter wishes to stay with Dobby! Come Harry Potter! Dobby shall show you the kitchens!”

“Wait one sec, Dobby!” Hermione called. “Where do you keep ingredients? And can Draco and I use one of the stoves over there?”

“Yes, Master Draco and Hermione Granger may use the stoves. All of the cold ingredients are in the white room over there,” the elf said, pointing to a refrigerated room, “and all of the dry ingredients are in the cabinets over there.”

“Thanks!” Dobby smiled and nodded, before dragging Harry off in a random direction into a cluster of other elves.

“Let’s see,” mused Hermione, setting herself up on one side of the stove. “I’ll need flour and yeast…butter and cream…sugar? No, brown sugar…salt, a few eggs…oh! And cinnamon of course! And the powered sugar for the glaze.” Her ingredients decided, Hermione began to scour the kitchen.

Draco stood pondering on his side of the stove. “Cinnamon rolls are brown…so I’ll probably need brown sugar. And molasses…that’s brown. And cinnamon, ginger, and allspice…and water to hold them together…but Ill need lots of brown sugar so they don’t fall apart. And then that glaze stuff for the top.” His ingredients chosen, he went in search as well.

“And this is Dobby’s sock collection!” the elf squealed, dragging out a gigantic trunk from under a counter. “Lookie!” Harry peered in fascination in the trunk, his face breaking into a delighted grin.

“Can we make sock puppets?” he squealed.

“What is a sock puppet?”

“They’re puppets,” Harry explained. “You decorate a sock with buttons and yarn and other stuff to make a face. Then, you stick your hand in it and make it talk.”

Dobby jumped up and down. “Yes, yes! Dobby and Harry Potter will make sock puppets! Dobby will go get supplies. Harry Potter, please pick out the socks.”

“Okay, Dobby,” Harry grinned, already digging into the mass pile of socks. Finally, the boy picked out several of his favorites. These included: a blue sock with lime green polka dots, a pink sock with orange zigzags, a plain black sock, a yellow sock with a patchwork quilt pattern in red and orange covering it, and a dark green sock with lace on the cuff.

“Those are good choices, Harry Potter,” said Dobby, arriving a second later with a large box in his hands. Dumping the contents on the floor, Harry’s eyes widened in amazement.

Among the items, were packets of glitter, pieces of dried pasta, those stick on googly eyes, pipe cleaners, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, sequins, beads, ribbon, pieces of felt, glue, yarn, and many other things.

With a vigor, both set to work, Harry taking the polka dotted sock and Dobby grabbing the sock with the zigzags. “What are you going to call yours?” Harry asked, carefully gluing on pipe cleaner for an antenna.

“You mean Dobby gets to name Dobby’s sock puppet?” Harry nodded. “I shall name mine…Pokey!” the elf decided, clutching his desired sock to him. “And he’s going to be the most beautiful sock puppet ever! What are you going to name your sock puppet, Harry Potter?”

“I think I’ll name mine Buggy.”

“That is a wonderful name, Harry Potter!”

While the two of them worked peacefully together on their sock puppets, it was war on the other side of the kitchen.

Feverishly, Hermione stirred her batter with her left hand, while with her right she mixed the filling for the inside of the cinnamon roll. On the others side of the stove, Draco was calmly molding his finished dough into the shape of a cinnamon roll and placing them on a greased cookie sheet, humming merrily.

‘How is he going so fast?’ Hermione asked herself, now stirring so hard bits of her mixture were soaring out of the bowl and splattering her face. ‘I have to catch up! Faster Hermione, faster!’

Still humming softly under his breath, Draco placed his dessert on the top rack of the oven and set the timer for twenty minutes, before going back and making his glaze. As soon as Hermione finished her batter, she threw a towel over it and waited for the yeast to activate, still wondering how Draco had gone so fast.

“Are you using magic?” she queried suspiciously, looking carefully at Draco for his wand.

“Nope,” he smirked. “Are you?”

“No…but is it all right if I use it to speed up the rising process? It won’t change anything,” she assured. “But it should sit for twenty-four hours and I really don’t want to wait that long.”

“Then go ahead.” Hermione smiled her thanks and cast the quick spell, her dough now rising quite rapidly, the flipping spread neatly inside. Rolling them into a circular shape, Hermione placed her cinnamon rolls on a greased cookie sheet and set them in the over below Draco’s.

Both impatiently waited for them to finish baking, Hermione immersing herself in a cooking book and Draco simply drumming his fingers on the counter.

When the buzzer dinged and they both pulled them out, they were met with a surprise. Draco’s looked like they’d been made by a world famous chef, while Hermione’s looked like molded play-doh a two-year old did. “We can certainly see who the real cook here is,” smirked Draco, watching Hermione’s face fall.

“It’s taste that counts,” she retorted, decorating her rolls with glaze. ‘I must not have molded them right,’ she inwardly groaned. ‘That was stupid Hermione. Slow down next time.’

“Should we go have Harry sample them?” Draco asked, placing his cooled cinnamon rolls in a container he’d retrieved.

“Let’s.” Hermione placed hers in a separate container, and both went in search of their charge. After a few minutes of hunting, they found Dobby and Harry in a corner of the kitchen, ‘talking’ with their sock puppets. “Aww, those are so cute,” Hermione exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Harry grinned.

“Thank you, Hermione Granger. Dobby is glad you like Dobby’s sock puppet.”

“Harry, is your stomach feeling better to sample our cinnamon rolls? We need to know who did better. Dobby, would you like to try them too?”

“Dobby would love too!” The elf took two of the treats from each platter and handed one of each to Harry. Both bakers watched in anticipation as Dobby and Harry both took a small bite from Hermione’s. Smiles lit up both faces and Hermione smirked at Draco.

Then, they both took a bite of Draco’s. But instead of smiling, both turned slightly green, and Dobby conjured two trashcans in front of them, into which they spat out the cinnamon roll.

“Master Draco! That was disgusting,” choked out Dobby, grabbing a glass of water another elf ran over for both testers. “No more cooking for you! Ever!”

“I win,” Hermione cheered, now sampling her own cooking. Draco took a bite of his own treat, and also turned a slight shade of green. “Next time, try tasting the batter before you cook them,” Hermione advised, patting Draco on his head. “Come on, we’d better get back to our room. I want to get some homework done before dinner.”

With waves and hugs goodbye to Dobby (Draco once more being tackled and threatened that if he ever did anything rude to Hermione, he’d be spanked again), the threesome left, sock puppet firmly in place on Harry’s arm.

As they were going up the staircase, Ginny collided excitedly with Hermione. “Guess what?”

“What?” Hermione asked, grabbing onto Draco to regain her balance.

“I know who started the fire!”