Hello! I’m Arnold, the pygmy puff. I’m also a girl, just so everyone knows. Preferably I’d rather have a nice name like Fluffers, Puffy, or Anita. But no! My owner stuck me with the name Arnold.
My owner is nice. Her name is Ginny; she is rather short, has red hair, and has little brown dots on her face. She likes to talk about boys a lot and asks me how you can like two boys at the same time.
Sometimes she’ll put me on her shoulder. She doesn’t know that I hate this, and every time she does so I feel shoulder-sick. Other than that, she starches me behind the ears and makes sure I have enough thumbprint cookies and fruitcake to be happy.
I’m not a troublesome little pygmy puff. I wash my fur every morning, I squeak when my water isn’t delivered, I eat my fruits and veggies, I don’t squeak when someone else is talking, and I stay away from Mr. Prickle Pants the cat that lives in the dorm with us.
“Hello, Arnold,” says Ginny, walking into the dorm. She has lots of books with her. I’m pretty sure they’re for tests that are going to kill her, as Ginny likes to call them.
“Hello,” I reply, but all she can hear is squeak, and even though that’s all she can hear, I feel like Ginny understands me.
“What’s up?” asks Ginny, sitting on her bed and untying her shoes.
I start to tell her about how Dezmela was feeding her cat tuna fish which I politely squeaked her not to because it makes the room smell, and how Dezmela didn’t listen. Then I tell her about my nap and how I dreamed about fruitcakes.
“Sounds like you had a busy day,” says Ginny, giving me a piece of fruitcake. “Sorry, but this was all I could grab. You know how Dean likes fruitcake.”
I sigh; the piece is a nice size, so I squeak my thanks.
Ginny sits on her bed, opens up her books, and starts to study about plants. She’s failing Herbology, and she keeps asking me how she expected to do all this work.
I really don’t know. I don’t think I could do it, if I was a human.
Ginny sighs and takes me out of my cage. “I can’t focus,” she tells me. “Come on, I’ll take you down to the kitchens and see if Dobby has any thumbprint cookies.”
I would have told her that she needed to do her homework, but I do love thumbprint cookies, and since I’m small and fluffy. I don’t have a very strong willpower. Especially since it’s cookies.
I like it better when she puts me in her pocket. It’s warm and cozy in there, and I don’t feel sick.
“Hey. What are you doing down here?” asks Ginny, and I poke my head out of her pocket and see Harry.
I like Harry. He gives me fruitcake, scratches me behind the ears, and doesn’t put me on his shoulder; Dean, on the other hand, is allergic to me.
“Nothing much,” Harry replies, shrugging. “What are you doing?”
“I was going down to the kitchens to see if Dobby has any thumbprint cookies for Arnold. I’m running low,” says Ginny.
“It’s a tragedy,” I squeak to Harry, who looks over at me.
“Hey, Arnold,” he says, and turns to Ginny. “Can I hold him?”
Her! It’s “can I hold her!” I’m a girl for Puff’s sake.
“Sure,” says Ginny, gently taking me out of her pocket and passing me to Harry. “You can come with us if you want.”
“Sure,” says Harry, walking beside Ginny as we all walk down to the kitchens.
On the way, Harry and Ginny discuss Quidditch. This is a fascinating sport if you ask me. I would love to play beater, but for some reason nobody gives me the chance.
I know Ginny likes Harry, and in a way that’s not friendship. Dezmela told me she wants to snog his face off. I told Dezmela that is physically impossible but she didn’t listen.
She doesn’t listen very well. She can talk perfectly fine, but when it comes to listening she doesn’t seem to grasp the concept.
“Hello, Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter,” says a house elf. “What can Twinkle help you with today?”
“Just some thumbprint cookies please,” says Ginny. “Arnold gets cranky when I run low.”
Damn right I do.
Harry and Ginny continue to talk about the wasps and cannons and debate which one is worse. I’m a full supporter of the Harpies. Not only do they sound like pies, which I love, but they’re all girls. I’m going to play for that team one day.
“I better get going,” says Ginny after the house elf hands her the cookies. “I have to study even though I don’t want to.”
“What notes are you using?” he asks, which I frankly think he couldn’t give a hypogriff’s feather about the notes. He just wants to talk to her.
“My own,” says Ginny. “I tried to get Hermione’s but she wouldn’t give them to me. She said that she can’t just give me her notes. She said that I have to do my own work.”
Actually Hermione said, “Ginny, I’m not giving you my notes so you can snog Dean all over the schoo. You’re going to have to do your own work.” But I don’t think Ginny wants to bring that up.
“I could get them for you,” says Harry.
Oh my squeakers! This boy is going to risk the wrath of Hermione Granger just to get Ginny some notes?!
This boy is totally run by his hormones.
“Really?” asks Ginny in disbelief. “Well, if you can get them without being killed, then yeah. Sure. I’d love to have them.”
“It’s no big deal. I’ll get them for you,” says Harry, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
He’s going to die.
Harry Potter gave Ginny his fifth year notes instead because he uses Hermione’s notes and said that his notes we’re basically a copy, and then Dean came over and started sneezing, and Ginny said she was about to go put me back in my cage.
Then Harry offered to do it and on the way back to Ginny’s dorm, (Ginny made sure the slide didn’t come), he asked me questions like what does she see in Dean, and why is she dating him? I told him I didn’t see it either because Dean sneezes when he sees me and I take offense.
Then Harry asked me, and I quote, “I’m a nice bloke, right?”
I nodded my head, and I told him that I think Ginny should date him because he’s a very nice bloke and we could go to Madam Puddifoot’s, and I could get the white cookie with pink frosting.
What? I like my pink snacks.
Then Harry muttered something about how Ron (Ginny’s older brother, just in case you didn’t know) would kill him if he did as much as hold her hand. Then that was that, and I was back in my cage wondering what I could do to save Ginny from Dean Thomas.
I was planning, and planning. I even ran some of my ideas by Mr. Prickle Pants who was nice to try not to eat me and actually help me with my plan. We thought and thought. It was long and tiresome work, but I’m sick and tired of being sneezed at.
That’s when it happened. After five hours of planning, Ginny stormed into the dorm, looking furious. The last time I saw her this mad was when Ron nearly called her a bad word.
“Fine,” she yelled at the door. “Fine, you prat! I don’t care!”
I looked a Mr. Prickle Pants, hoping Harry didn’t say something to upset her. Mr. Prickle Pants didn’t seem to care and just lied down under the bed and didn’t move.
“I’m glad we’re through!” declares Ginny, looking anything but glad. She pauses for a minute, and then sighs. “You know what, Arnold,” she says, turning to me. “It’s for the best. I’m not being fair to him, and that’s not nice. It’s better that Dean and I don’t date.”
I am so shocked that I can’t squeak. This is unsqueakable.
Ginny looks over at me and sighs. “It will all be ok, right, Arnold?”
As much as I wish she would stop calling me that, I nod my head.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, and turns over on her side. I look over at her, not knowing what to do.
A few weeks pass by and Ginny is no longer upset. This makes me very happy because I hate to see Ginny upset. Harry and her talk a lot more, which is making me wonder when he’ll kiss her or ask her out. I mean, it’s taking a rather long time.
How many times do I have to tell him to hurry it up? Maybe he’s just depressed that he’s not playing Quidditch anymore, which is a perfectly logical reason, but still…HURRY IT UP!!
Then along comes the Quidditch game. Ginny won’t let me go. She keeps worrying that a bludger will hit me, or that the crowds of cheers will ruin my eardrums. I think she’s being a tad overprotective, but there is nothing I can do about it.
I wait and wait for Ginny to come and get me. She promised me she would let me come to the after party. Or the funeral. It all depends on if they win or not. It feels like forever before I hear a bunch of kids screaming. “We won! We won!”
Then Ginny comes up. She’s smiling and picks me up out of my cage. “Arnold!” she cries excitedly. “We won! We won the House Cup!”
I squeak in delight, and she carries me downstairs where kids are jumping up and down, and some of the older kids are spilling butter beer. I duck the splash so it doesn’t land on my fur. She puts me on the table by the fruitcake and gives me a piece.
“Harry!” cries Ron holding the House Cup over his head. “We won! We won the cup!”
Ginny tells me to stay where I am and runs to hug Harry.
A hug is not what she gets. The whole room gets very quiet and some people whistle. I stare at the unbelievable sight of Harry finally kissing Ginny.
It seems like a rather long time, but Harry and Ginny break apart, and I squeak in delight. Ginny glances over at me while Harry glances at Ron, and I smile at her to let her know I approve.
Harry takes her hand, and they walk out of the Gryffindor common room. I turn back to my fruitcake, and sigh happily. Today has been a good day.