“Uggh!” someone shouted, awakening Harry very rudely from his tense slumber. Rolling over, he promptly crashed out of his bed, landing in a very grainy bed of what felt like sand.

Around him, in a backward swirl of curses and estranged comments, people were shouting, and as Harry cracked open his tired eyes, gazed down into the ground, and found his face inches from rubbing raw into a pile of sand—well he was willing to say those curses and estranged comments weren’t so nutty anymore.

Propping up, a bit sour, looked around at his fellow housemates, seeing them all moving about, shoving into one another, cursing out comments that could’ve been considered pre-meditated murder in muggle court, and dumping sand out of their clothing.

Neville and Dean seemed the most heated up, shouting the most, arguing their foul humor out on each other’s poor souls, and no one seemed to be able to gather their own good mood, or even somewhat acceptable mood, to stifle all their shouting.

Even the Quidditch game for the day wasn’t any good source of calming the aggravated tempers at the moment.

Flushing off his own sand, eyes glinting their own distemper, Harry looked over in time to see Ron throw a rather large, brittle ball of sand at Seamus, who didn’t duck in time. This, needless to say, led to a counter attack that—like all bad cartoons—ended up hitting the wrong target, thus dragging everyone into the fray.

The thing with sand was, unlike snow, it was brittle, painful, and a sand-ball was nothing was appeasing to get hit with as a snowball. Therefore, again as it was needless to say, the sand-ball fight was not pleasant and set everyone else into an even more foul temper.

It wasn’t until Harry, screaming as loudly as he could that he was going to go invite Professor Snape up for tea that the fight ceased.

“That’s rather cruel to say,” Seamus grumbled tightly but nonetheless acknowledged that they needed to calm down.

“Yes, well, it’s a rather cruel time,” Harry said lopsidedly. “Now, I’ve been at Hogwarts several years now, and I’ve grown to accept some very bizarre things…” everyone muttered in agreement. “However, two inches of sand is not one of them.”

“You think it’s only us then?” Neville asked, calming down some more. “Or the whole school ‘cause I’ve read Hogwarts: A History and this has only happened once before, like two hundred years ago or somethin’, and it was the whole school.”

“This has happened before?” Dean asked, shocked.

“You read Hogwarts: A History?” Ron questioned, dumbfounded.

“Well what are we hanging about here for then?” Seamus asked. “Let’s go see if it’s only us, or not.” With that, the sixth year Gryffindors, stinging from their sand-ball fight, but greatly calmer now, trooped through the sand, which was soft enough to eat their ankles, and out the door.

The sand spilt out through the door and onto the stairs that seemed trekked with sand too. A very good, yet bad sign.

Once down in the Common Room, they found what they feared—for had it only been in their dorm, it would’ve been a funny story—yet now that it was in the whole castle, nearly a half a foot in the Common Room, it wasn’t funny.

Several harassed looking students glanced up at them before bustling about, kicking up the sand, grumbling to each other, and asking what they should do. Hermione looked up from an armchair by the fire, next to Lavender and Parvati. In her lap she had Hogwarts: A History opened.

“Go figure,” Ron mumbled while Neville and the others shot over.

“Figure anything out then?” Dean asked the bushy-haired girl.

“Well, no,” she frowned. “It’s only happened once in all of Hogwarts history, and then it had been a very big, very large joke played by all of the seventh years.”

“And I can fess up,” Katie Bell chimed in from her seat. “It wasn’t us this time. Wonder if we’re still having Quidditch though…” she trailed off, lost in her own thoughts. For one distracting moment, Harry forgot the sand and remembered that due to his hand he couldn’t play Quidditch any more.

He could grasp the broom with it, not tightly enough, nor could he grasp the snitch with it.

Yet…

“Then was it a repeat joke?” Ron demanded. “’Cause it wasn’t very funny.”

“Isn’t,” Parvati corrected, gesturing around. “Still going on isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Seamus interjected, breaking up a fight before it began. “We should go down to the Great Hall. The Professors should definitely have something to say on the matter.”

Everyone nodded and grumbled, standing up awkwardly on the sand mind, and trailed out of the Common Room. Several of the students were so determined to the know that they didn’t pay any heed to the fact that they were wearing their pajamas still.

As they walked, like a giant wave of Gryffindors, they found the sand getting higher and higher, until they reached the Entrance Hall, which was packed full of students, and found it to be well into the range of being a foot high. In the Great Hall, which was swarmed over by demanding, jittering students, they found the sand to be up to the seat of the benches.

Anyone caring to sit down on the benches might as well have been sitting on the ground for all the good it did them.

The whole place with timing with very harassed looking students, all demanding answers of one another before discovering that they couldn’t very well get an answer out of their fellow student, and turned expectantly to the conspicuously empty Head Table.

“Well,” Harry said cheerily to Ginny. “This is a fun morning.”

“Fun?” the girl demanded, incredulous. “Fun, Mr. Potter? I hardly call this a fun morning—actually it’s anything but a fun morning!” She glared at him pointedly, but finding that he wasn’t going to drop his laughing smile she turned away.

Fun indeed it was, for Harry. For not only was Voldemort forgotten about, no one was staring at him, and it he was getting a well deserved distraction from it all.

What he didn’t know was there was one other who thought the exact same thing.

Finally the doors to the Entrance Hall banged open and Dumbledore, along with the rest of the Teaching Staff walked in. The whole hall fell silent at their arrival.

“Now,” Dumbledore began instantly. “I imagine you’re all wondering what’s going on, and I assure you, we are too.” Yeah, that was re-assuring. Ginny snorted. “However, we’re as lost to these proceedings as you are.”

A grumble went up as students whispered to their neighbors. “Many of you might remember this having happened in Hogwarts: A History, but seeing how no year has owned up to the trick—and none will I believe for it wasn’t a year’s doing—we are at a lost. If anyone does know, we’d be greatly appeased if you would inform us, seeing how we can’t charm the sand away and it’s ruining several things—mainly, clothing and sweets.”

Groans erupted all over the Great Hall, from all the students that hadn’t even considered the danger that the brittle sand was putting their candy in. Dumbledore’s eyes, Harry noted, never lost their twinkle.

“Bloody hell, my chocolate frogs,” Ron groaned beside him.

“Now, we can’t let this sand deter us though, and we insist that the day proceed as it usually would,” he clapped his hands and instantly food appeared on the tables, some of which students were standing on to get a better view. “I believe we have a Quidditch game today, so I implore you all to eat and have fun. This sand crisis shall be resolved soon, hopefully.”

Rumbling to each other, the students set in a mindless walk to their tables, questioning and kicking the sand as they walked. Many kicked sand too hard and it landed into the food, where people proceeded to shout at them in annoyance.

“I wonder who would do such a thing.” Neville asked, grabbing a handful of sand with a look that clearly said it was ‘evil.’

“It could be worse,” Hermione said in a bright, almost cheery voice. “It could be mud.”

CRACK!

Suddenly every ounce of sand in the whole Great Hall changed, and there was a ruckus of screams and yells as every single student, save the few still standing, were suddenly tilted backwards from the lack of sandy support in their flat sitting positions, sinking thoughtfully into the mud.

“Hermione!” Ron shouted, glaring at her accusing from the foot of mud that they happened to be sitting in. All over students were shouting, jumping up, and/or throwing mud angrily at the person next to them.

“Everyone!” Dumbledore hollered. “Outside!” Not many failed to notice that beside the Professors had a table seated higher then the House Tables and were in chairs, not any of them were covered in nearly as much mud as the students, wading to get out, were.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Ron snapped again at Hermione, who glared.

“I didn’t do a thing!” she snarled.

“You said mud and it turns into mud,” the man pointed out.

“Oh honestly, hardly my fault,” Hermione huffed out, wading forward a bit.

“Yeah, Ron,” Lavender chimed in agreement. “It’s got to be a time spell or something, and the floor just changes periodically. Hermione just had the misfortune to say mud at the time it changed.”

“That was strangely smart,” Dean muttered into Harry’s ear, causing him to snort.

“Riiight,” Ron drawled but made no further comment.

“Why mud?” a fifth year Hufflepuff shouted. “Jesus, my stuff is all ruined! Why not something nicer! Honestly!”

“Yeah, like honey! At least that smells better!”

CRACK!

A new shout of screams went up as the students set to a horrified, jumbling dance that could’ve been mistaken for insanity as a sticky, gooey, brownish-yellow stuff filled the hall in replacement of the mud and sand.

“Honey!” someone screamed, outraged. “All my shit is ruined now for sure!”

More and more people screamed while the sixth year Gryffindors shared a funny look.

“Why couldn’t it be water?” Seamus tempted the air.

CRACK!

It was water. Everyone screamed again, mainly flipping backwards, dunking themselves in water. Professor called for peace, but no one was listening.

“Why couldn’t it be Chocolate Frogs!” Ron shouted.

CRACK!

Suddenly the hall was filled with…well chocolate frogs. But not the sort Ron was wishing for. Instead it was filled with frogs…that were coated in frogs. Seeing how everyone had been standing nearly a foot and a half into all the other stuff, there was a foot and a half of chocolate coated, croaking frogs.

The screams echoed for miles.

“Why couldn’t it be cotton!” Hermione shouted, giving Ron a very pointed look. Yet, nothing worked for her. Staring around bemused, Neville shouted Hermione’s sentence again…

CRACK!

White fluffy cotton suddenly piled up, much to the relief of people’s ears, and everyone slumped down a bit eased.

“Come on,” Hermione urged. “We have to talk to Dumbledore.”

Yet Dumbledore was on the other side the Hall, fighting with the other Professors to reach the students, and their journey other there was very eventful.

While many of the other students did put two and two together about saying something that it could be changed it, several others had and were using it to their advantage. Yet, what one person liked, someone else undoubtedly hated, and it was changed.

CRACK!

Kool-Aid.

CRACK!

Orange Jell-O.

CRACK!

Marshmallow—needless to say, this one held up the traveling sixth years quite badly.

CRACK!

Grass clippings.

“Honestly,” Hermione grunted.

CRACK!

Tennis Balls.

CRACK!

Mud, again.

CRACK!

Milk! This erupted in disgusted screams.

CRACK!

Oatmeal.

CRACK!

Scrambled eggs.

They were nearly there. Seeing the group of students heading beeline for them, the bemused Professors that were too far away to coherently hear the shouts of the students’ commands, paused to look at them.

Several seeing hat Hermione Granger was among the group looked relieved, while many took Harry Potter being in the group as a bad sign—mainly Snape.

CRACK!

Fire-whiskey.

Cheers erupted with this and several students dived into the alcohol, lapping it up with cupped hands, while many frowned down disapprovingly. How many students had trekked through that, hmmm?

Next to the mud and the sand, it was by far the longest substance they had yet to have. Taking quick advantage of having a liquid substance, they sixth year students took off running into the Fire-whiskey, only having to drag Seamus and Ron by the scruff of their robes.

Then…

CRACK!

Dog food.

Harry grimaced at the food, but pressed on until they were nearly five feet from Professor Snape—the Professor who had the misfortune to be the closest to them.

“Professor,” Hermione gasped. “We know how everything is changing.”

“So it’s you eight then?” Snape demanded, eyeing them all darkly. His best set of black robes was now ruined because of this little trick.

“No,” Seamus shook his head wildly. “We just figured it out on accident…”

CRACK!

Suddenly they were up to their knees in butter.

“Well?” McGonagall snapped impatiently, having tittered over during the dog food. “What’s going on?”

“Whatever someone requests, it turns into. Only once though,” Hermione informed breathlessly.

“So if I said, why not oil, it wo…”

CRACK!

Oil.

Screams shout up again and someone shouted something else.

CRACK!

Ice cream.

“Dear me,” Dumbledore said, walking over with a twinkle in his eye. “We must stop this then, before someone requests something outrageous.”

He cast a look over his students, all swarming in a pack to get out the doors of the Great Hall, but whatever food substance that happened to be up was slowing them down tremendously.

“Well, I’ve never heard of a spell like this,” Flitwick chimed in, the ice cream nearly up to his chest. Poor little guy. “Nor have I seen magic like this.”

Harry frowned. “You know,” he wondered aloud. “That ‘crack’ noise sounds awfully familiar.” He rubbed his jaw line.

“To stop the spell,” Madam Hooch declared. “We’ll have to find the original caster.”

Instantly the Professor took up a serious conversation that somehow included the six year students from Gryffindor, who were all eager to add their own opinion.

CRACK!

Cream cheese.

Harry wrinkled up his nose, but nonetheless grabbed Ron’s elbow.

“Oi,” the boy yelped.

“Come on,” Harry hissed, casting an eye out to find Hermione deep within a conversation with Professor Vector on the size of the spell and what it was capable of producing. So far it was only capable of producing food with the exception of chocolate frogs, tennis balls, mud, and sand.

Everything else had been food.

“Where are we going?” Ron demanded as they waded through the cream cheese. Harry, finding Hermione at a lose to help them, settled on only Ron, which was fine.

“I think I know,” Harry gasped breathlessly.

“Then why don’t we tell the Professors?” Ron asked, gesturing over his shoulder to the consulting Professors.

Sighing, realizing Ron was right, the boy looked over but found all the Professors too engaged in a conversation to spare him a glance. Except Snape.

Grinding his teeth, inwardly cringing against the idea, Harry waded back over. “Professor,” he said, dragging the man’s unwanted attention to him. “Think I might’ve figured it out,” the man raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Figured we should go check into it...”

“We?” Snape echoed. “Pray tell, where did this ‘we’ come from?”

“I meant,” Harry ground out. “We as in Ron and I…I was merely informing of you where we were going in case someone wondered.”

Snape stared down at him. “Not many would wonder Potter, you’re not alone in this crisis. I’m sure several are stranded in corridors or bathrooms.” Harry cringed. Now that was a thought.

“Fine,” Harry spat out and turning, he waded back to Ron. “They don’t care, come on, let’s go.”

“Where to?” Ron asked, nodding.

“The Kitchens.”

CRACK!

Mash potatoes.

“Bloody hell, who says this shit?” Ron demanded as they exited through a secret Entrance that led to a level above the kitchens.

“I don’t know,” Harry grumbled as he picked at his pants. “Betcha everything’s ruined that had the misfortune not to be protected by our trunks.” Ron groaned.

“Why the Kitchens anyway?” Ron demanded as they got farther down the passageway.

CRACK!

Lettuce.

It was a crisp and cracking beneath their feet. “And whose bright idea is it to have the floor filled with someone’s current desire? And I want to know who started with sand!”

“Mate,” Harry laughed. “Calm down. Shesh, it’s not that big of a deal. Whoever it was...well I dunno, but still.

CRACK!

Condensed milk.

“Shite,” both boys groaned just as someone cleared their throat behind them. Startled, they turned to find Snape standing there.

“Headmaster sent me after you, just in case you indeed did find the culprit.” He looked like he rather be anywhere else.

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Going to the Kitchens.” Then without further ado, he and Ron turned to keep on wading through the condensed milk.

“You know,” Ron grunted as he almost slipped on a stair.

CRACK!

Ketchup.

All three males couldn’t hold back a groan. Yet they pressed on, as all good adventurers do—mind, one really wasn’t welcome there or wanted to be there.

“Know what Ron?” Harry questioned as he pushed open the passageway door onto the level before the kitchen.

Ron blinked at him, slightly confused. “Don’t remember.” Snape snorted.

CRACK!

Mayonnaise.

“Think someone wants a hamburger?” Harry asked, incredulously. Ron snorted as he picked up his leg and looked at his shoe.

“And they were brand new,” he whined. “I’m gonna kill whoever it was…”

“Threats, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked and the boy flushed. “That’s considered bad manners.”

Harry snorted. “Look whose talking,” he muttered, at the perfect moment no less too for suddenly there was another change.

CRACK!

Tomato sauce.

They turned down the stairway that led to the kitchen level and hurriedly walked it.

“Oh, I remember now,” Ron said, as if struck by an epiphany.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, loudly to cover Snape’s snort.

“The kitchen, mate, its only full of House Elves.” Ron looked pointed at Harry as they saddled up before the picture of the bowl of fruit.

“Yep,” Harry said, showing white teeth in a grin. “I know.” Ron blinked at him as his friend tickled the pear. “Think about it, Ron,” he said almost tiredly. “What’s that ‘crack’ sound like?”

CRACK!

Butterbeer.

The unlikely trio waded into the chaotic kitchen, where the house-elves were running around, jumping on tables to avoid drowning or suffocating to death in whatever substance that was there.

“Like a house elf’s magic,” Snape breathed for Ron and Harry nodded.

“Yep,” he looked around. “And I only know one house elf who would do such a thing…accidentally, mind.”

“Dobby,” Ron said, struck with realization.

“Dobby,” Harry looked around, searching out his little elf friend.

“Can we helps sirs?” a squeaky, brown house elf asked loudly from a top a table that she dared not venture down from.

“Yeah, can you fetch Dobby please!” The little elf squeaked, nodded, and scampered away.

“But why?” Ron asked, dumbfounded.

“Not a clue,” Harry shook his head slightly. “But it’s Dobby, remember he tried to save my life by killing me?”

“Yeah,” Ron’s face broke into a laughing smile. “That was grand. But he can be quite helpful…” he waded forward.

“At times, yeah,” they were making for the tables. “Especially with the second task, would’ve been dead without it.” Ron snorted.

CRACK!

Vegetable soup.

“Well honestly!” Ron cried out.

“Harry Potter sirs!” a squeaky, blur of a creature suddenly squealed, shooting out of nowhere and tackling Harry backwards into the soup. Coughing and sputtering, Harry set up, shaking his head like a dog and groaning.

Damn, he had remained so clean up till then.

Holding Dobby by the armpits so that the little creature didn’t drown, he stared at the laughable house elf. He had socks on his ears, tea cozies on his head, and his eyes were as wide as saucers and his bottom lip was quivering.

“Is Dobby in trouble Harry Potter sirs?” he quivered. “Dobby know he did bad, but Dobby hadn’t meant to be so strong.”

Sighing, Harry shook his head. “You’re not in trouble—just tell us what you did?”

“You are talking about the floor right?” Ron asked, just for good measure. Instantly Dobby wailed and fought hard against Harry’s hands to escape and punish himself. Harry held on tighter, not letting go.

“No, Dobby, stop!” Harry panted. “You’re not in trouble, no need to hurt yourself. STOP!” Instantly the little house elf ceased struggling.

CRACK!

Vanilla frosting.

“Harry Potter is too goods to me,” Dobby cried and the boy rolled his eyes.

“Dobby, just tell me what happened, please,” the house elf cried a bit more but nodded all the same.

“Dobby just wanted to makes peoples happy—give them one request with no ties…” Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron. As far as he could tell, everything being requested would be gotten in the Kitchen any time. “It was only supposed to be little, in their hands, but Dobby’s magics is too big. It messes ups and makes floors…this.”

“Why, Dobby?” Ron asked and the little house elf shrugged.

“I was tireds I guess,” Dobby informed and Ron closed his eyes briefly.

“I meant, why give everyone something they wish for?”

“Because Harry Potters sirs is unhappy, I’ve seens it,” Dobby wailed. “I thoughts if I gives him somethings he wants then he be happys. Then I thoughts the whole school would be happys to have the same things.”

Awkward now, Harry shifted in the frosting. “I’m fine Dobby, you didn’t have to…” the house elf was wailing. “But it was a good idea, and I’m greatly, erm, honored…” he looked helplessly at Ron, who shrugged.

Dobby sniffled a bit. “Honored?” he squeaked and Harry nodded vigorously.

CRACK!

Sour cream.

“Harry Potters sirs is honored!” Dobby smiled broadly. “I will dos whatever Harry Potters sirs wants!”

“Uh, can you cancel the spell? It’s kind of interfering,” Harry suggested and Dobby frowned.

“I haves tried, but it no works...” Ron and Harry look at each other desperately.

“Maybe we should get Professor Flitwick…” Ron trailed off helplessly.

“Or,” Snape suddenly interrupted. “Dobby, tell me, must everyone request something or most something just request the right thing?”

“I was ables to make it be the rights thing requested but that is all, sirs,” Dobby bowed his head slightly to Snape, still sitting in Harry’s hands.

“Then,” Snape sighed tiredly. “Why couldn’t it be nothing….”

CRACK!

Harry was sitting on the floor, covered in every food imaginable, and Ron had tittered haphazardly. Dobby bowed his head, ashamed, while all the other house elves squealed and jumped up to their work hurriedly.

Sitting down the small house elf, Harry stood up and placed his hand on his head. “Thanks for thinking of me Dobby, really,” he smiled at the hopeless house elf. “But next time you want to, erm, help me out…just give me a sock, ‘kay?”

“OK!” Dobby piped up. “Thanks Harry Potters sirs, but I must gets going sirs, to helps with the cleaning.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry stepped back and instantly Dobby disappeared, vanishing with the all too familiar crack.

Ron and Harry grinned goofily at each other, but their amusement was short-lived. Snape cleared his throat.

Turning to face him slowly, they found the man staring down his crooked nose at him. “We need to report this to Dumbledore,” he declared, relieving them greatly. “Come.” They had been afraid they were in trouble for who knows what.

“Well,” Ron breathed as he climbed out of the Kitchen. “That was an interesting morning.”

“And you’ve still got a Quidditch match,” Harry pointed out, smirking. Ron groaned and instantly paled, desperately wishing they hadn’t figured it out so quickly. “You’ll do fine,” Harry clapped his back.

Once they reached the noisy Great Hall again, Ron took the lead, determined to talk to Katie Bell, the Quidditch Captain, about something. Yet, before Harry could enter, Snape rounded on him. Grasping his shirt, the man crouched before the boy.

“I’m serious Potter,” he hissed. “Watch what you say about me, understood? I don’t want to have this conversation with you again.” Then he straightened back up. “Oh and a detention for saying I have bad manners.”

That cleared some things up.

Grunting, Harry nodded curtly and pushed passed the man into the Great Hall. Everyone looked a mess—a variety of things and all in bad moods because of it.

Yet, somehow, Harry wasn’t. It had all be so distracting and funny that he…well he almost wished he hadn’t figured it out so quickly either.