Egg Salad Sick Day
by Angie the Flying Dork

A/N: This is really stupid. And I don't own Harry Potter.

Ah, twas a lovely, clear day as the early morning sun crept over the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The students, though awake, still were under slumber's thrall, but nonetheless, they dressed and walked slowly down to the great hall, muttering and yawning.

Over a breakfast of piping hot oatmeal, the inseperable Harry, Ron and Hermione were discussing the latest on the rumors about the Chamber of Secrets.

"Parseltongue.. nah.. it's not you,.. Harry.. easy peasy lemon... squeazyy Zzzz--," mumbled Ron, shaking his head and trying not to let it fall into his bowl. Harry sighed, and scraped his spoon against his bowl, trying hard not to brood. Suddenly, a loud sound, like a duck being sat on, sounded through out the hall. The students immediatly looked around, as the sound was followed by a huge sigh of relief.

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, a silvery visage glided through the wall, and hovered down the aisles, pasts the students. It was a ghost, and a rather ugly one at that. It was a fat woman with a pug nose, dressed as a german beermaiden, playing a small accordian in her plump hands. She beltched and farted, as she danced along the tables. The students were quiet as she played her juanty polka, all wondering who this ghost was.

Then, in time with her song, she belted out "I aammm Floraaaa, Florraaa the Flatulent!" She continued to dance to her strange song, while stopping every now and then to give a student a wet willy or squirt them with a little prank flower in her braided hair. She had moved over to the gryffindor table, and spotted Harry. A look of terror raced over his face as she addressed him.

"Vhy, eet moost ve 'Arry Pootter," she yelled. "I 'ave soomting to geeve you." Without notice, she bended over, exposing her mammoth breeches (which were embroided with flowers, like everything else she wore) and let out a humongeous plume of gas from her buttocks.

"Aaargh!," cried Harry, as the unearthly winds blew back his hair. Why, he had smelled many a fart, but never a ghost fart, which smelled a hundred times worst, at least in Flora The Flatulence's case. Her cackles of delight were mixed with those of the Slytherins, loudest was Draco's howls. As she glided off, basking in all the laughter from the students, Dumbledore stepped up to the staff table.

"Silence," he shouted, and the students gained their composure. "As you seem to have noticed, that was.. Flora the Flatulent. Peeves has regretfully invited her to Hogwarts, and we are working as hard as we can.. to convince her to leave. In the meantime, be wary of her pranks, as she seems to have some of Peeves... interests. Thank you." Without another word, he set off for his office, and the students began to clamor again.

Needless to say, Harry left the table. He was still trying to get the stink of Ghostly Gas out of his robes.


After breakfast that morning, Hermione was acting.. a little strange.

"Neville, I never noticed how... brown your eyes were," she cooed to him in potions, scooting closer towards him.

"I, er..uh..," stammered Neville, who incorrectly measured his powdered wormwood and dropped it into the cauldron. "oh.. Oh, great," he moaned. "I messed up..."

"Oh, don't worry," she purred, brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. "We can switch cauldrons, and you can pretend that my potion is yours." Neville looked at her, his small eyes growing wider. "Why, how can I let my little babykins fail Potions?" Neville's face went an alabaster shade. However, passing potions with good marks *was* something he dreamed of. Dare he fufill that dream? Besides, Hermione was a nice girl at times... he had always liked her...

"Eh..uh... thanks Hermione," replied Neville, giving the most convincing smile he could concieve.


For the next few days or so, Harry and Ron began to wonder why Hermione was spending more and more time with..Neville, of all people, and not them. To make matters worse, Flora The Flatulent was not letting up with her bizarre smells. She'd glide carelessly through charms, letting out a loud belch in Harry's ear.

"Vhat es zee matter. Es zee great 'Arry Potter to high above uz for a nice burp?" She would then start laughing, playing her polka, and then dissapear, leaving Harry to deal with the waves of laughter from his classmates.

"She has got to be stopped," Harry muttered angrily, through gritted teeth, as he and ron marched out of class. "I can't take it anymore! It's driving me mental!" Ron, being the loyal friend he was, kept a straight face and nodded.

"Before you know it, Harry, she'll be gone," he comforted. Harry just let out a sigh, and they entered Transfiguration class. They were suprised to see Hermione and Neville huddled close together, and nearly vomited at the site of Hermione tickling his chin with a buttercup. Neville let out a belly laugh, and gave her hand a warm squeeze.

"Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting," grimaced Ron.


The next day was Saturday, and Harry and Ron were relaxing in the Gryffindor common room. Suddenly, a loud clunking noise was heard.

"...Bloody stupid feather stilettos...," the heard Hermione mutter angrily. Then, they saw a truly bizarre sight laid out before their eyes. Hermione had tripped down the stairs, dressed in a silky, hot pink bathrobe, with matching 4 inch high heels that had dyed feathers on them. Ron could almost taste his bile.

"What, have you gone mad, girl?," he shouted, jumping to his feet.

"What's it to you, Ron," she asked huffily. She got up, smoothed her hair down, and looked around the room.

"Well, Hermione, please explain yourself and that disturbing outfit," said Harry.

"It's not disturbing!!!" she screamed back. "I thought Neville would like it! And have you seen him?" She placed her hands on her hips. Ron sat back down, and put his hands in his face.

"Probably still in the dormitories, if you ask me." Hermione let out a little agitated sigh, and marched back upstairs. "What's wrong with that girl? Has she gone absolutely nutters?"

"I don't know," replied Harry. "But she's been acting funny ever since Flora the Flatulent showed up. She's got have something to do with it."


The two boys happened to discover Flora The Flatulent standing outside the Gryffindor entrance, holding a conversation with The Fat Lady.

"--Und zat ees how I learned how to fvart 100 consvecutive times," she gabbed, while the Fat Lady admonished her with a repulsed face. Flora's attention immediatly turned toward Harry. "Ah, Mistah Potter. I have somezing to give yuh!"

"No, no. Not now. No thanks," cried Harry, waving his arms. "We need to talk, Flora." Flora looked at him, flattered.

"Yuh vant to talk vith me? Okey day, then," she replied happily. "Vhat must you be needing to know?" While she talked, she quietly played her little polka on the accordian.

"Well, uh, we want to know what you've done to Hermione," butted in Ron. "She's been acting like a gaga." Flora grinned, and looked up, eyes shining proudly.

"She's in luff," she claimed. "I vas chust gliding around zat mornin' when I cleared muh glutious in yuhr face, Mistah Potter, undt I saw little gvirl looking sad. So I do luff spell!"

"What?!," shouted Harry. "A LOVE SPELL?"

"Ja, undt a simple one, too." She puffed up her fat chest proudly. "Now little gvirl no sad. And little chubby boy happy to. Ah, such ees luff!"

"Well, can you tell us how to break the spell," asked Ron.

"NO," she boomed, starting to grow frantic "For vonce, I do right. I make people happy. You not going to ruin eet fur me!" She chewed on her pudgy lips, then glided off.

"Great, just great."


"You know Ron, I don't suppose there isn't anything wrong with Hermione being in love," commented Harry at dinner that night. He shoved a sausage down his mouth and swallowed. "She *is* a lot happier.."

"Forget love," spat Ron, who didn't notice that his elbow was buried in mashed potatoes. "She's *our* friend. Hermione is supposed to be helping us, and acting like a nutter around *us*." He glared down the table, where Hermione had sat her self down next to Neville. They were feeding each other meatballs.

"Zhere comvink to take me avay, ha ha! Zhere comvink to take me avay," sung flora The Flatulent, as she glided in the hall. Her accordian music accompanied her. She paused right where Percy sat. "You like my song, no?"

"Lovely," he muttered, pushing his glasses up. "Listen, it's really not you're song. You didn't write--" Percy was mid-sentence when he realized the mistake of correcting Flora the Flatulent. He was greeted with a huge burp that smelled of stale ale and limburger cheese. He nearly fainted.

"Apolvogise, Veasley boy," she yelled so loudly that everyone in the hall stopped talking to watch.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Zhat ees not enough, Veasley Boy! Dance for me!" Percy gave a puzzled look, when all of the sudden, he was lifted into the air and his body was being jerked around. The students gasped.

"Professor McGonagall! Someone--eagghhh--HELP," he cried out. The teachers began to get up and hurry over. Flora was now playing the Mexican Hat Dance and laughing like an elephant.

"Come on now, Don Percy," she said between bouts of giggles. "I vant to hear some spanish!" Almost robotically, the words came out of his mouth.

"Hay una fiesta en mis pantalones!" As if the laughter wasn't bad enough, the students began roaring and rolling on the floor in hysteria. Some repeated the words, some pointed at Percy.

Out of the corner of his eye, in all the wildness, Harry saw Neville take Hermione to the floor, and they began to dance in time to the mexican hat dance.

Up until now, Harry had thought he had seen some strange, horrifying, yet oddly amusing things. But this had to take the cake. Deciding he might as well enjoy it, Harry grabbed the bowl of egg salad and scooped himself some, sat down, and enjoyed the show with his meal.

A/N: There is no A/N. ^_^

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