On the eve of Voldemort's ferocious attack, Harry Potter sat alone at the kitchen table of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He sighed dismally, kneading his forehead with his hands. Something was being planned, somewhere, by someone: Lord Voldemort.
Harry shivered slightly, his mouth watering. Being addicted to marshmallows isn't as easy as it sounds. He craved the sugar, but that wasn't enough. He needed to feel the soft, fluffy warmth in his mouth. Suddenly, he couldn't take it anymore. He got up from his seat and ran to the pantry, desperatley searching its laden shelves, but there were no marshmallows in sight. Harry sat on the floor, tears welling up in his fabulous green eyes. Having learned of his obsession, Dumbledore forbade Mrs. Weasley to buy any more marshmallows, hoping to cure the boy. Needless to say, Harry wasn't very fond of Dumbledore's theories at present.
Harry heard the kitchen door opening, and dashed out of the pantry, arranging his face into an expression of innocence.
"Potter!" It was Professor Snape. "What were you doing in there?"
"Nothing, Professor."
"Turn out your pockets, Potter."
"Ah, Snape, haven't we been through this kind of thing enough times?"
"You will address me with due respect, Potter! Poor famous Harry Potter, with his marshmallows and his cookies...."
"What?" said Harry, suddenly gaining an interest in this ridiculous plotline, "I don't have a cookie problem, I hate cookies, you know that, Voldemort knows that, Dumbledo-"
"Shut up, Potter. The Dark Lord uses all things to his advantage, and you must be prepared for whatever he may throw at you, literally. Dumbledore has asked Remus Lupin and myself to teach you how to dance against the Dark Arts, and for some reason I agreed."
"Dancing Against the Dark Arts?" Harry inquired as he walked with his loathsome teacher into the spacious living room, where an assortment of ballet bars stood waiting, along with Remus Lupin some other Order members. "I thought it was Defence Against the..."
"Yes, well, we decided that really wasn't working out." Remus said cheerfully. "Besides, this is much more practical. Voldemort uses the Dark Arts, so everything we use he knows about, and so he can counter us quite easily. However, we're pretty sure he doesn't know how to dance."
"How do you know that?"
"Use your head, Potter!" snapped the Potions Master. "Who is the Dark Lord's greatest enemy?"
Harry paused to think, the strain clearly evident upon his young face.
"Hmmm ... me?"
"You flatter yourself, Potter. We're talking about Dumbledore."
"Ah. Right."
"Voldemort has always gone against everything Dumbledore has done," said Remus, smiling happily at Harry as he pulled on a blue leotard and lycra pants. "It is common knowledge that Dumbledore loves music. If Voldemort were to learn how to dance, he would have to listen to music, which would remind him of Dumbledore who he doesn't like ... and so you see where I'm going with this."
"Not exactly."
"Good boy," Remus said, concentrating on the difficult 'grand jetè'. "Severus, that really isn't fair!"
Snape had pulled out a large bag of marshmallows, and was eating them slowly. Harry was practically drooling at Snape's feet.
"I'm not the one with the addiction! Why should I suffer?"
"If you don't put those away immediatley, I'm telling Albus."
Reluctantly, Snape stuffed the marshmallows back into his bag. Harry spent the next three hours learning what he could about the elusive dancing technique. The most difficult of all was the pirouette, a spin on one leg with the other tucked neatly into the knee. Harry had only just managed to master a spin to the right before it was time for bed.
"Don't worry Harry, from what Severus has told the Order, the attack is going to be mainly cookie based, we'll do our best to shield you."
"Could we not ... just ... eat the cookies?" Harry asked tentativley.
"Oh no, we're not going down that road again Potter. Do we look stupid to you?"
Harry looked from Snape with marshmallow bits in his hair, to Remus, still dancing furiously in his tight-fitting leotard, and shook his head quickly. He left the living room, and began to climb the stairs, when the most wonderful smell crept through his nostrils. Going into the kitchen, the source was revealed. Harry's tired eyes widened in shock - Molly Weasley was baking cookies.
"What are you doing!!!" he screamed in horror. "Who are you?! Who's side are you on?! TELL ME!!!"
Mrs. Weasley remained mute, shaking her head from side to side in shock.
"They're for Voldemort, aren't they?! AREN'T THEY!!!"
Remus burst through the door to the anguished woman's aid and ushered Harry away, apologising hurridley to Molly. When they reached Harry's bedroom, Remus turned to him, his hands laid heavily upon his shoulders.
"Harry, it's okay. Voldemort ordered all the Death Eaters to bring their own cookies, those are for Severus. Now stop being so ridiculously paranoid and go to sleep, tomorrow will be hard for all of us."
Calming slightly under the strict gaze of his adopted godfather, Harry nodded and prepared himself for sleep, innocent of the horrors the next day would bring.
He woke suddenly at dawn to the frightened yells of the inept Order members being attacked by equally inept Death Eaters.
"Harry, get up, we have to go!"
Struggling out of bed, Harry met Remus in the hall.
"Harry, Voldemort knows about your marshmallow problem, there's no time to lose. He plans to raid Diagon Alley and take all the marshmallows with him, out of your reach. Dumbledore wants you to go there immediatley and eat as many as you can; we'll try to hold them off ..."
"I thought Dumbledore wanted me to go cold turkey?"
"Harry, stop asking awkward questions and lets go!"
"You guys are always changing your minds ..." Harry grumbled as he pulled on his clothes and ran after his panicked godfather. He quickly dodged the Death Eaters that had been sent to stop them from getting to Diagon Alley, and grabbed the Portkey Remus held out to him. As soon as he arrived in the little street, he threw himself into Honeydukes, and proceeded to eat every marshmallow he saw, until, due to the noise outside, he was forced to stop and watch in horror.
Scores of Death Eaters ran through the streets, singing hoarsely as they emptied shops of marshmallows. Harry watched in confusion as the Order members who ran to stop the Death Eaters were suddenly transfixed as they got near, and instead began to search for the cookies the Death Eaters had dropped.
"Remus, what's going on?"
"We knew they were going to use cookies, but we hadn't counted on the song!" cried Remus. "I don't know how to fight this!"
"This is a new low," Harry said in disgust. He resisted the song's urge to go out and look for the cookies, and instead resumed his search for marshmallows.
"Remus, the marshmallows are gone!"
"I know Harry, that's what I've been trying to tell you. This song is unbeatable."
Unable to deal with his sudden and unexpected loss, Harry collapsed and needed to be dragged back to the Portkey by Remus. Through his blurred vision, he thought he saw Voldemort surveying the scene upon a hill-top, with a mug in his hand. Once they reached the safety of Grimmauld Place, Harry went straight to his room, unable to speak, grief tearing through his soul. He was far too young for this.