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Harry Potter and the Cowman's Retirement
by Vicky S
 From the Fantasy Archers topic of , we pluck the last chapter in an occasional series.
A week into the new term and breakfast time had calmed down at Hogwart's School. The flurry of hastily-forwarded harrier parcels containing left-behind books, wands, waterproof cloaks, orthodontic retainers, replacement potions and teddy bears had dried to a trickle, and the students were now free to enjoy the lavish Hogwart's breakfast repast of Ministry approved healthy, low-fat low-sugar food that appeared every morning on the long tables in the Great Hall. For most pupils the arrival of the morning owl post at half past eight had now settled into a normal routine of Wizard newspapers, Quiddich magazines, Build your own Dragon Lair part works (this week start your Dragon Treasure Collection with this Dazzling Mock Opal), letters from home and birthday cards.
[May we remind parents that transforming birthday cards containing firework displays and/or temporary pets have been STRICTLY forbidden following the distressing incident last term]
But for three pupils the arrival of the post, even on a Sunday morning, was something to be dreaded.
Harry stirred a little tomato salsa into his butter-free scrambled eggs. They looked almost right but he knew it was no substitute for proper ketchup. He wondered if anyone would notice a little flavour-enhancing incantation, but remembered with a sudden grin the fuss when Draco Malfoy had tried to add real sugar to his cornflakes. To prepare his tastebuds he took a gulp of pumpkin, pomegranate and wheatgrass smoothie and swallowed quickly.
Beside him, Ron wiped his plate clean with a rice cake. Ron, like the rest of them, moaned loudly about the new menus but Harry noticed that he always managed to tuck away generous helpings without too much fuss.
"Eight forty." Ron observed, "I think we're safe today. Pass the smoothie jug please Hermione."
Hermione looked up from her self-imposed task of writing runny honey runic reminders to herself across her bowl of organic unicorn yogurt.
"Here you are - " she began, and then sighed heavily. "You spoke too soon Ron. It's here."
From the Slytherin end of the hall a series of whoops and catcalls echoed to the rafters. A loud "Shush!" from the teachers' table reduced the hubbub to subdued sniggers but by now the whole school was alerted. Every eye followed the progress of the last postal delivery of the morning.
A tiny scruffy owl of indeterminate breed flew hesitantly around the room. Eventually it landed heavily at the teachers' high table in front of Professor McGonagal. It upset her cup of caffeine-free fair trade coffee, dragged its precariously-tied parcel across a dish of fat-free butter substitute curls and finally came to rest against a jar of salt-free Marmite. With a quick flick of her wand and a muttered "Restor-antio" the table was restored. Professor McGonagal picked up the little owl and carefully wiped it clean with a soft linen napkin. She adjusted her spectacles and read the address on the parcel. Except for three pairs of eyes, the entire school was watching her expectantly.
"Mr Potter." The Professor spoke quietly, but her voice carried to every corner of the now silent hall. "I believe this owl is addressed to you."
Harry stood up, and began his walk of shame.
Every day for the past week this performance had been repeated. The only variations had been the day when the owl had landed on Hagrid's lap (he had hastily stuffed it inside one of his capacious pockets and given it to Harry later) and the awful morning when it had made an uncannily accurate landing onto Professor Snape's mushroom kedgeree.
Harry, Hermione and Ron took the owl back to the Common Room before unwrapping the parcel.
An assortment of strangely shaped vegetables, internet print outs, newspaper cuttings and photographs spilled out onto the tables.
"How does he do it?" marvelled Ron. "I mean, I could understand if he found this amount of stuff in a month of hard looking, but EVERY DAY. It's beyond belief. Look at it. Where's it all coming from?"
Hermione was sifting through the pile. "Oh gross!" she said. "A picture of a three-headed cow, and it's got FAR too many legs. Oh no, sorry, it's triplet calves. Quite cute really, might keep this one."
"Chimney Trap Man Unhurt." read Harry slowly. "Think that will have to be filed with Man's Beard Catches Fire. No Injury Caused."
"It's got to stop," said Hermione, as she did every morning. "It can't go on. It's just too embarrassing. Bert's a darling, but SOMEONE will have to tell him."
"At least you don't have to go up and collect it every day," Harry pointed out. "I'm the sucker with my name on the parcel."
Hermione and Ron glanced at each other. Maybe now was the time.
"Well, in that case..." Ron began.
There was a noise like thunder on the Common Room door. Hagrid's voice echoed through the room.
"Oi, youse three, come out here for a minnit, I've got something to show you."
They read the letter he handed them.
"Poor Freda," said Ron at last, "There's us moaning about a few excruciatingly embarrassing parcels, but she's living with it day after day. She must be going crazy."
"I have no one else to turn to, my dear friend," Harry read out loud. "Please help me, I am at my wits' end, for old time's sake Hagrid, I beg you to..."
Blushing slightly, Hagrid took the letter back and tucked it safely inside his waistcoat pocket.
"It's because he's not working any more," he explained unnecessarily, "He hasn't got enough to do to fill his time and he's driving everyone to distraction. Poor Freda, she don't deserve this. We've got to help her."
***
My Very Very Deer Frend Freda,
I henclose a letter for you from Professor McGonagal who you may rumember meeting in 1975 when you and Bert come to the Wizard Muggle Interface Convenshunn in Scarbrugh.
I didn't reely want to hinvolve none of the uver teechers but Ron, Harry and Hermione could not fink of a way to help you that did not need magic. Any ways, the Prof was only too pleased to help, she says she rumembers you, Bert and your rhubarb crumble drizzle cake with great fondness, and recalls how deer old Prof Dumbledore spoke of you and Bert with much infecshun.
The Prof says this is not a magic spell, she don't want to get you into no trubble with muggle or Ministree peeple. It is more of a bit of a tonic for Bert to help with his memry, but in a way that will help you more than him if you see what I meen. Most of the ingredients you should be able to get, she says tamarind juice is used in Indian cooking, so you probably have some from your holiday. I fort it was a monkey myself. If you have any probs give me a owl.
Sending my very best regards for you,
as always,
yrs
Reubeus Hagrid
XXXXXXX
***
Robert Snell hummed quietly to himself as he carefully applied the first coat of pale mustard gloss to the front door of Elf Cottage.
"Mornin' Robert", came a familiar voice from behind him.
Robert winced, then forced a smile onto his face. "Morning Bert", he replied. "And how are you? Haven't seen you around for a few days."
"That's 'cos I've been busy", Bert announced. "Haven't had a moment for socialising."
"Goodness," said Robert, thankfully. "What have you been up to?"
"Mostly my shed," said Bert slowly. "It's a funny thing you know, I keeps on trying to sort it out, but I turns my back, and it don't look as though I've even started it. Feel as though I'm back to square one every time, been like that for days now. Funny things, sheds."
" Yes," said Robert slowly. Then "Got time for a cup of coffee? I've got a flask here."
Bert looked at his watch. "Better not," he said. "It's nearly half past, and my Freda likes me to be back in time for my Special. We're on a health kick me and my Freda, she makes me a loverly fruity drink this time of a morning. Really sets me up for the rest of the day my Special does. Wouldn't want her to think I'd forgotten it, now! See you soon Robert. And by the way, you've missed a bit, there look, just by the lock."
More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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