Harry Potter 1. The Questionable Start

A/N: Hello all. First of all, I'd like to say that I am in fact a HUGE fan of the Harry Potter books and this story is NOT meant to be offencive or disrespectful to the boy-who-lived or the marvellously talented (don't you just HATE her sometimes) J.K.Rowelling. I just couldn't resist. If you like it - Huzzah! My first parody worked! If you don't like it ... well, please try not to be TOO scathing with your review :p

Enjoy, or don't :D

On with the pointlessness...

Andaren xxxx

**Chapter One - The Questionable Start**

Doublebore, headmaster of the only - and therefore rather overcrowded - school of witchcraft and wizardry in Britain, checked his watch as he paced tge rather ordinary and slightly dull road of Privet Drive. It wasn't a very good watch; it had no hands, or even numbers, and told him nothing except that he had a rather unsightly ink stain on his nose - it did, however, look rather impressive with its pretty little planets and moons whirling around its face like so many fireflies. If there was one thing that Doublebore prided himself on, it was looking impressive - it kept the wizarding world in constant awe of him and handily distracted everyone's attention away from all the niggling little things that kept going wrong at the school - like the occasional, and _usually_ accidental injury of students due to the escape of dangerous creatures or the fact that the school toilets were rather unhygeinically emptied into the lake across which all students were required to sail in their first year.

Doublebore took a moment to silently congratulate himself on keeping that rather disgusting secret for so long, tried and failed to scrub off the ink stain from his nose, then took something that looked like a cigarette lighter from the inside of his robes and clicked it open.

At once all the lights in the street extinguished. Completely went out. Total darkness.

"Wow!" said a cat sitting on a nearby fence, "that was impressive, but won't the muggles wonder why all the lights have gone out?"

"No," said Doublebore, "for I, headmaster of Half-Bored school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, have cleverly made it so that everyone will belive that it is a perfectly ordinary, if rather inconvenient, powercut."

"Why will they think that?"

"Because it _is_ a perfectly ordinary, if rather inconvenient, powercut - I just thought it sounded impressive to let you believe that it was down to me."

"But the put-outer!" said the cat.

"What's a put-outer?"

"You're the greatest wizard of our time," said the cat incredulously, "and you don't know what a put-outer does?"

Doublebore shrugged.

"Can't you even guess?"

Doublebore shrugged. The cat sighed and rolled its eyes. Doublebore shrugged some more, looking incredibly gormless and not at all like someone we should be trusting with the charge of our children in a field as volotile as magic.

"All right," said the cat slowly, "I'll explain, but I want you to listen carefully, because I am not going to say this more than once."

"Ok," said Doublebore.

"A lighter," said the cat in the most patronising tone it could muster, "is used for_ lighting_ candles and fires and those nasty death sticks that humans call cigarettes. Hence it is called a _lighter_. It _lights_ things. Maybe in the past it may have been used to _light_ street lamps, had it been invented. Now do you understand?"

"Err," said Doublebore.

"Therefore," the cat continued, obviously unwilling to let Doublebore any time to confuse himself further, "we can conclude that a put-outer does the _opposite _of a lighter, which is ...?" it waited hopefully. And waited. And waited. Doublebore just continued to stare at the vexed animal in a rather vacant fashion."

"It _puts things out_ you nit!" the cat exploded.

"Ahhh!" said Doublebore, enlightened, "what does it look like?""

"You are holding one," the cat said acidly, "in your hand at this precise moment."

"This?" Doublebore asked, holding up the thing that looked somewhat like a lighter.

"Yes," said the cat.

"This thing that looks somewhat like a lighter."

"Yes!" said the cat, finally feeling as though it was breaking through.

"It's not a lighter..."

"Finally!" the cat was elated.

"It's a sweet-dispenser."

"Yes, exactly! It's a ... what?"

"It's a sweet dispenser," Doublebore said, tipping two yellow sweets into his palm, "sour lemon - want some?"

The cat slumped, feeling as though it had let itself in for a very long night.

Just then the cat was spared the indignity of trying to strike up further conversation with the witless professor by the arrival of something very stange, unexpected and - for any muggles who may have happened to see it - somewhat alarming. A motorbike, far bigger than anything that had ever been seen racing down muggle roads at break-neck speed ridden by teenagers with a weird taste for danger, was currently racing towards the cat and Doublebore at breakneck speed ridden by something very large and very hairy. It was not, however, on the road. It was in the sky. It was flying. It was far noisier, and, in the cat's mind, far scarier than a full passinger jet that was about to crash on a hugely-popular outdoor festival, killing millions.

"What," shrieked the cat, "is THAT?"

"It's Hybrid," said Doublebore.

"It's what?"

"It's Hybrid, the groundskeeper at the school," said Doublebore calmly, "he's late."

"Late?" shrieked the cat, incenced, "LATE! He's flying an oversized motorbike over a muggle area! He can't bring that thing here! There'll be panic! There'll be riots! The secret will be out!"

"Relax," Doublebore said calmly, "no one will notice."

"No one will notice! Look at it! Listen to it! The only way the muggles won't notice is if they are all deaf, dumb and currently residing on the other side of the planet!"

"No one will notice," Doublebore said, "because the writer does not want them to notice ... it would ruin the story entirely. Therefore we are going to ignore the fact that Hybrid's motorcyle is both huge and noisy and assume that the residents of this street are, for the purposes of this scene, all deaf, dumb and currently residing on the opposite side of the planet."

"But isn't that kind of...?" the cat spluttered.

"I guess that's why the story's called 'Harry Plot-Holes' said Doublebore, "I guess a lot of things aren't going to make sense."

"But that's just plain lazy!"

"Sh!" said Doublebore, "remember that we're fictional characters, entirely at the mercy of the writer. One wrong word and we could be killed in the next keystroke for ticking her off!"

"Oh right," whispered the cat, looking nervously around incase the writer was watching, "sorry!"

Doublebore turned away as the rather large and hairy thing that had been riding the rather large and scary motorcycle came towards him, carrying a bundle in his arms. He was also covered in soot.

"Got 'im Mr. Doublebore, sir!" said Hybrid.

"Ah, good!" said Doublebore.

"Who is he?" the cat asked, craining its neck to see the baby Hybrid was holding.

"Harry Plot-Holes," said Doublebore, "the only person to face Lord Moldyshorts and live to tell the tale!"

The cat and Hybrid winced.

"Don't say his name!" the cat hissed, "say 'He-who-must-be-shamed', will you!"

"What?" said Doublebore.

"I can't say the other title," said the cat, "the writer will be sued to high heaven - why do you think we all have stupid names?

"Oh, right," said Doublebore, "No, I don't think I will say that - saying that takes longer than simply saying the name, and I simply can't be bothered doing it, sorry."

The cat ignored this and looked at the baby instead.

"That's a nasty cut he has there - that's going to scar," said the cat, "but ... no! It looks like ..."

"Yes," said Doublebore, "it's a question mark - kinda neat, don't you think?"

"No," said the cat, "can't you remove it? The child doesn't want to go through life with a questionmark on his head! Imagine how much he'll be bullied over it!"

"No, I can't remove it and even if I could, I wouldn't."

"Why?"

"Mostly because I don't want to - and also because scars are manly. I have one over my knee that is an exact map..."

"Oh do stop!" the cat begged, "I can't _stand_people who boast about their scars! It's a blemish, a wound, an ugly mark left by some traumatising and probably painful event! Boast like that again and I may just have to scrath your eyes out!"

"Ok, ok!" Doublebore said, "keep your fur on. I'll just leave Harry here. then we'll go back to the castle and have a party."

"Party? Why?" asked the cat.

"Everyone's doing it, thanks to Harry here. Moldyshorts is gone. No one has to put up with the stench any more!"

"I see," said the cat, "why are you leaving him here?"

"'Cos this is where his aunt and uncle live. They'll treat him like dirt, but there is a fabulously important reason why he needs to be here, so don't even bother to ask why he hasn't been put up for adoption!" With that he placed Harry on the doormat and turned to leave.

"Hang on!" said Hybrid, making everyone jump because no one had noticed that he was still there, "yer jus' gonna leave 'im on the mat all nigh'? In this weather?"

"Yep," said Doublebore.

"Why?"

"'Cos the writer said so."

"Ah righ'" said Hybrid, "Jus' one more question. Who the 'eck is this cat?"

"Well, that's simple, " said Doublebore, "it's none other than professor Mac-moan-at-all, the transfigartion teacher at Half-Bored! Ok, professor, you can change back now!"

The cat stared at him.

"No, really - change back."

The cat stared.

"Professor Mac-Moan-at-all?"

"Sorry I'm late!" said professor Mac-groan-at-all, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, "What have I missed?"

Doublebore and Hybrid did a double take.

"But if you're here..." said Doublebore slowly.

"...Then who's the cat?" Hybrid finished.

"What cat?" asked Mac-moan-at-all.

The cat was gone.

Doublebore gaped.

Hybrid gaped.

Mac-moan-at all looked extreamly confused.

Baby Harry woke up and started crying at the pointlessness of it all.

And, above them all, the lights suddenly came back on.


	2. Snakes and Dudders

**Chapter Two - Of Snakes and Dudders**

Harry Plot-Holes would like everyone to believe that he had, for the best part of his short and largely insignificant life, been grossly mistreated by his aunt, uncle and cousin Dudder. He would like everyone to believe that he has spent the last eleven years locked up in a cupboard under the stairs with only the spiders for company. He would like everyone to believe that no one ever remembers his birthday and that nobody, but nobody, has had a childhood quite as unfulfilled, miserable or insignificant as he.

These are, in fact, lies. Fabrications. Utter porkies. Pleas for attention from a lonely little boy with a bad hair cut, bad glasses that wouldn't look out of place in a 'should have gone to specsavers' advert and an oddly shaped scar on his forehead - but you already know about that, right?

Harry Plot-Holes was NOT mistreated, he did NOT sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, but that is not to say that his family did NOT dislike him. They DID dislike him - they disliked him a LOT. They disliked him about as much as one dislikes the messy little presents next doors' dog leaves on the front lawn, or that spider that is the _biggest_ arachnid EVER that insists on waiting for you in the bath. Take the doggy do, add it to the spider, multiply it by a tub full of wriggling maggots and you may get some idea of just _how much_ they disliked him.

However, they didn't _dare_ mistreat him, and this was because of something they had feared for a very long time, something to do with our hapless hero, something they saw as potentially dangerous. Secretly they feared that, someday soon, they would get a knock on the door from an organisation that they did NOT want their neighbours to see them associated with. And that organisation ... that organisation that they were so desperately afraid of ... was ...

Social Services.

The truth was that Harry had, almost from the moment he could walk and talk, owned a slip of paper with the number for Childline printed on it in very large numerals - and he had wasted no time in learning that flashing this said piece of paper in front of his terrified guardian's eyes was usually enough to get him whatever he wanted.

Harry had the biggest bedroom. He had numerous expensive games and toys that he had blackmailed his aunt and uncle (via said slip of paper) into buying for him.

Oh, and for the record, Dudder Dursley is a WIMP. A coward. A spotty, overweight kid whose parents are too busy stuffing food down his gullet to see just how pathetically miserable he is or how much he would prefer to curl up in some inconspicuous corner with a book than attend the boxing lessons they force him to go to once a week.

This, of course, makes him an easy target for Harry Plot-Holes who now, courtesy of some rather graphic descriptions of foster home life on his part, now enjoyed unlimited access to all of Dudders' games and toys, too.

The Dursleys had tried everything imaginable to thwart Harry's threats to shop them to the authorities. They had tried locking him in the cupboard, but he had screamed the house down and three days without a toilet break had had some rather undesirable results. They had tried denying him access to phones, but hadn't counted on him aquiring a mobile from one of his rather dodgy friends at school. They had tried pretending to be nice to him, but it didn't wash with our suspicious hero ... so now they employed a tried and tested method employed by thousands of people everywhere...

They simply ignored him and hoped that he would go away.

Their prayers, as we all know, were about to be answered - but in a most unusual and unexpected way.

* * *

To tell this story we must start with a typical day in the Dursley household - well, not a typical day, it just so happened to be Dudder's birthday and the Dursleys, not being known for thought or originality, had organised the same thing that they had organised every year - a trip to the zoo. 

They had done one thing to make their son's special day better than usual, though - they had devised a cunning plan, a cunning plan that would insure that the trouble-making Harry would not be around to get up to his usual hobby of Dudder-baiting and, well, troublemaking. There happened to be an elderly lady living on the Dursley's street, an old lady named Mrs. Brigg - an old lady named Mrs. Brig who, thanks to a carefully placed foot on Uncle Vernix's part, had tripped while walking home from the shops and broken her leg, leaving the guiltless uncle to apologise profusely and offer to send his nephew around to help her around the house. This, conveniently, happened to happen on the day before Dudder's birthday.

Harry had tried everything to get his aunt and uncle to take him to the zoo. He'd screamed, he'd been sick on purpose, he'd thrown Dudder's pet turtle through the greenhouse roof, he'd let Dudder's parrot out of its cage, broken his toy rifle, put his foot through the tv, blamed it all on Dudders, etc, etc. But to no avail. There was simply no getting around the fact that Mrs.Brigg was expecting him.

So Harry tried something desperate ... he got his mobile phone out, he dialed a number, he glared defiantly at his aunt and uncle, put the phone to his ear ...

And had Mrs. Brigg put into a nursing home.

There was nothing for it - the Dursley's couldn't risk leaving Harry alone in the house (last time he had thrown a HUGE party and completely trashed the place, not to mention somehow managing to demolish next door's chimney), they simply _had_ to admit defeat and take him with them, much to Dudder's despair.

So that's how Harry came to be at the zoo, smirking and waving that cherished Childline slip around to get the biggest and most expensive icecream the shop had to sell, a giant stuffed elephant, sweets, a vip pass into the monkey house, etc, etc, etc. But it was when the entered the snake house (a very BAD idea on the part of uncle Vernix, given Harry's delinquent personality) that things started to go very, VERY wrong.

It just so happened that there was a new employee in the snake house - a very YOUNG employee who happened to have very little knowledge of how to look after snakes and who had been rather irresponsibly left to fend for himself with some of the larger specimens on display. Luckily, the snakes were rather disinclined to bother with attacking someone who was both skinny and spotty and hardly worth the effort of getting up to hunt, and so had left him alone whilst he nervously cleaned out their cages. Unluckily (for Dudder) the hapless snake carer had forgotten to lock the sliding door to the boa constrictor's cage.

Now, Harry Plot-Holes was hardly the sort of boy who would ignore an oportunity such as this. Smirking evily, he slipped up to the cage, when the keeper wasn't looking, and quietly slipped the door open. Fortunately he was, like the keeper, extremely skinny, so the snake was just as disinclined to attack him.

"Hey, Dudder!" Harry roared, "Come here!"

Dudder waddled up apprehensively.

"That keeper's sure done a great job," said our sneaky hero, "the glass is so clean that you can't see it's there, don't you agree?"

Dudder nodded nervously.

"You know," said Harry, a wicked glint in his eye, "I bet that if you lean on the glass, the snake will come up and say hello."

"I dunno..." Dudder knew well enough by now that Harry was not to be trusted.

"Now, Dudder," said Harry in a hurt voice, "I know I bully you sometimes, but surely you don't believe that I, Harry, your loving cousin, would be so mean as to do something nasty on your _birthday_. I'm simply trying to be _nice. _Believe me, it won't happen again for a whole year, so I'd make the most of it if I were you."

Poor Dudder, who was always eager to please and was naiive enough to believe that his cousin might just be telling him the truth (for once), put his hands out to lean against the glass that wasn't there ... and fell through.

Now Dudder, unlike Harry and the keeper, had quite a bit of flesh on his body and, unfortunately for him, it was often suggested that he rather resembled a pig. Even more unfortunately, the boa constrictor just so happened to have very poor eyesight (as most snakes do) and a rather strong taste for pork. Dudder reacted rather quickly when he saw the supersized serpent slithering towards him and turned to get back out of the cage - only to see horrible Harry grinning at him from the other side of a very solid, very real pane of glass.

Next second, the snake had grabbed him.

"DUDDER!" Roared Uncle Vernix.

"DUDDER!" Roared Aunt Petulant.

"BINKI!" Roared the zoo keeper, who was rather fond of the hungry snake and very careful over his diet.

"_Binki?"_ Queried everyone in the snake house (except Dudder, who was, by now, being suffocated).

"But the glass!" spluttered the spotty keeper, "where'd the glass go?"

"Vanished," said Harry innocently, "completely vanished, just like that, honestly, you'd think it was magic!"

You will, perhaps, be relieved to hear that Dudders was eventually rescued from the snake - but only because the creature seized its chance at escape when the cage was, once again, opened (it really rather hated the zoo and did not return its spotty admirer's affections), slithered out into the carpark and crushed Uncle Vernix's car into the size of a dustbin. The zoo got sued by almost everyone in the snake house (and a fair few who got scared when they saw the snake slithering out in the open, too) and hadto close down. The Dursley's recieved two thousand pounds in compensation(which Harry nicked) for the injuries and trauma Dudder suffered, the snake, allegedly, was spotted some days later boarding a boat destined for Brazil and Mrs. Brigg won the lottery, was able to move out of her nursing home and into a mansion, where she was reunited with her precious catsand filed a law suit against Uncle Vernon for GBH ... and won.

Harry Plot-Holes, of course, refused to give back the money he had stolen - meaning that the Dursley's were not only extremely tramatised, but also extremely out of pocket. Even more unfortunately, Harry opted to spend his illgotten wealth on a snake - meaning that poor Dudder locked himself in his room for weeks and refused to come out - meaning that he lost an extraordinary amount of weight, meaning that he won an award from the local paper and received two thousand pounds (which Harry nicked).

So all's well that ends well ... I think...

* * *

A/N: Whew! Another chapter ... Goddess, I hope I'm not embarassing myself too much :D 

Thank you for your reviews, I hope you enjoyed this chapter - I enjoyed writing it. If you didn't enjoy it, feel free to go and read something else :P just don't flame me, and please don't curse me :D

Blessed Be,

Andaren xxx


	3. Teaching Dudders to Suck Eggs

A/N: Hey, you're back! That means that the pointlessness of the last two chapters didn't bore you to death, huzzah!

Thanks for the reviews :D Much appreciated, as always.

**Chapter Three - Teaching Dudder to Suck Eggs**

Perhaps one of the best results of the whole zoo fiasco was that Harry was far too busy spending his newly found - and illgotten - wealth to bother much with the Dursleys at all. In fact, the first few weeks of the summer holidays were the most peaceful that the long suffering family had had in over eleven years, if you ommitted the smallish fact that Harry's snake - whom he'd named Nagini - must have been the reincarnated spirit of Houdini, as she had a knack of escaping (or so Harry said) and roamingfreely throughout the house, much to Dudder's despair.

Anyway, we rejoin our hapless hero and his long suffering victims some weeks later, at what has, so far at least, been a reasonably quiet breakfast. The holidays were drawing to a close and the Dursleys, at last showing some concern for their son, had come up with another cunning -and deperate -plan to get rid of Harry once and for all. They'd been on the phone, had made the necissary arrangements and hatched a cunning deception that Harry, at least for the moment, seemed to be falling for. They'd told him that they were following a Juvinile Delinquent Rehabilitation scheme and were taking him on holiday to Disney Land in the somewhat small hope that a little bit of love and affection would heal his troubled heart once and for all, turning him into a pillar of the community.

What they WEREN'T telling him was that they were really following desparation and sending him to Grim's Boarding School for Criminally Dangerous Boys with the somewhat high hopes that a LOT of discipline and distance would remove Harry's delinquent presence once and for all, turning him into a figment of their imagination.

Harry, unaware of this, was currently lounging against the kitchen wall, his chair tilted up on its back legs as he smirked and flashed his expensive watch, neckchain and knucledusters for all to see. Dudder was cowering in the opposite corner, one eye on Nagini who was lounging on the table, from where our horrible hero refused to remove her. The unmistakeable bulge of Dudder's parrot, which had made the rather ill-fated mistake of returning after Harry let it loose, was clearly visible in the snake's long body. In compensation for this, Uncle Vernix and Aunt Petulant had made their usual offering of food to their son in the form of a large box of Creme Eggs, provided by a friend who happened to work in the factory where they were made.

Unfortunately Harry, being Harry, had nicked them.

"Hey, Dudder," he drawled, unwrapping an egg and popping it into his mouth, "How do you reckon they keep the yolk and the egg white seperate in these things?"

"Dunno."Actually Dudder, who spent a lot of time with his nose in a book, DID know how this was done, but he wasn't going to risk making that said nose any flatter by revealing this.

"Y'know," said Harry, "Some people like to scoop the filling out with their finger, some people like to break off a piece of chocolate and use it as a spoon, but the only way to really eat them is to pop the whole thing in your mouth, don't you agree?"

Dudder was saved the humiliation of answering by the clatter ofthe post hitting the mat.

Uncle Vernix looked at Dudder.

Dudder looked at Aunt Petulant.

Aunt Petulant looked at Uncle Vernix.

Uncle Vernix looked at Harry.

Harry flashed the Childline slip.

Uncle Vernix looked at Dudder.

Dudder went.

"Ugh!" said Harry suddenly and loudly, "This isn't a Creme Egg! It's one of those cheapo ones with the horrible thin chocolate and the crappy toys inside!" But he ate it anyway, just so he wouldn't have to give it to Dudder.

"There's a letter for Harry," Dudder said, waddling into the kitchen. Harry snatched the letter out of his hand.

"Dear Mr. Potter," he started to read, "we are happy to tell you that you have been enrolled..."

Uncle Vernix suddenly snatched it out of his hand.

"Oops!" he said a little too cheefully, "that should have been sent to me!"

"It's a school letter," said Harry, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

"Yeah, uh, nightschool," said uncle Vernix, wondering how on earth Grim's Boarding School could have slipped up like this.

"Now, you wouldn't happen to be planning on sending me away to boarding school, would you?" said Harry threateningly, waving the Childline slip in the air.

"No, no!" said Uncle Vernix in a voice that was too high and too squeaky to be convincing, "now if you don't mind, I need a word with your aunt."

Harry narrowed his eyes.

"In private."

Harry narrowed his eyes some more.

"Petulant, dear," said Vernix in a false whisper, just loud enough for Harry to accidentally-on-purpose overhear, "did you hide that money under the mattress like I asked?"

Harry bolted out of the room. Dudder waddled after him.

"What money?" asked aunt Petulant.

"There isn't any!" Uncle Vernix hissed, "Why would the school send him a letter? We told them NOT to send a letter!"

Petulant took the letter and shrieked, "Vernix, this isn't from Grim's ... it's from _there_!"

"There?"

"_There!" _Shrieked aunt Petulant, "Vernix, we can't send him _there_! He'll learn how to turn us all into toads, just like our Lilith did! What are we going to do?"

"We'll just have to take him to Grim's ... today! They can't take him if he's already enrolled in Grim's!"

"I'll pack his bags," said aunt Petulant.

"I'll pack the car!" said Uncle Vernix. They both darted in different directions, but unfortunately collided together and fell, sprawling across the floor. The letter fell on top of them.

"Look at this," said Vernix, holding the letter up, "_Dear Dursleys, knowing what utterly rubbish guardians you are, I have taken the liberaty of sending a second letter, cunningly concealed where your grubby little eyes can't find it, directly to Harry so that you can't stop him coming to our school. So I will expect Harry at Half-Bored on September 1st whether you like it or not, ner!_ (here was a doodle of a man with a beard pulling tongues at the Dursleys), _signed, Professor Doublebore_."

"Concealed where we can't find it?" Vernix said.

"Wait..." said Petulant, "...Craig's factory doesn't make those eggs with the toys inside..."

"THE EGG!" they both roared, sprinting out of the door.

They were too late. Harry was standing in the hallway, a letter in one hand and two halves of a plastic container in the other.

"Half-Bored School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, huh?" he said, grinning evily, "Boy is this going to be great ... Nagini just _loves_ toads!"

Two hours later and the Dursleys were speeding down the motorway with a screaming Harry in the back seat, yelling curses and trying to dial childline on his phone. Both adult Dursleys were praying that the would get to Grim's before Harry realised that Uncle Vernix had removed the SIM card.

They didn't. Before long a huge storm forced them to stop for the night, though the only place they could find to stay in was a dilapidated hut in the middle of nowhere, which was so swamped by the rain that the hill it stood upon resembled a small island. Harry wass dragged inside, screaming and cursing, and shoved into the bedroom where he promptly claimed the best bed and pinched Dudder's blankets, too.

* * *

Harry lay awake all night, plotting his revenge. He'd show them - even if he didn't get to go to the school he would learn how to turn them into toads and feed them to Nagini. _Then_ they'd be sorry. Anyway, in about 5 seconds it would be his birthday. 

5 - gosh, that storm was loud!

4 - _was _that the storm? Maybe it was Bigfoot.

3 - Oh, wait, Bigfoot was American, wasn't he?

2 - Maybe he'd wake Dudder up, just to annoy him

1 - CRASH!

The door flew inwards and crashed against the opposite wall. There was something in the doorway. Something VERY large, VERY hairy and very, VERY wet.

It wasn't Bigfoot...


	4. The Brolly Brawl

Hello!

At last, another chapter!Thanks for coming back to read this - I really didn't think that this story would work, much less that people would actually read it and _like_ it! 0.0

Wonder what miss Roweling thinks?

Ok, on with the pointlessness,

Blessed Be,

Andaren xxx

(Runs as J.K spots her and runs after her with a frying pan, enraged at the mutilation of her masterpiece) 0.0

**Chapter Four - The Brolly Brawl**

It is a little known fact that what occurs in the physical world can manifest itself in our dreams. For example, you may dream that you are walking beneath a waterfall only to wake up and find that the occupants of the flat above have left the bath running and completely flooded your bedroom.

It is not very surprising, therefore, that given the thunder going off like cannons overhead and the damp, dingy conditions of the hut, that Dudder Dursley dreamt that he was in a warzone that night. It is also not very surprising, given the torture that he had to go through at his callous cousin's hands, that Dudder utilised his dreams to achieve what he couldn't dream of achieving in the waking world ... revenge!

There he was, gun in hand, chasing an enimy soldier who just so happened to have Harry's face (complete with comical graffiti-style moustache and beard) through no-man's land, enjoying his hated bully's screams for mercy as gunfire roared all around them.

Dream Harry tried to dive for cover in a trench, only to find it suddenly filled with snakes that immediately tried to crush him. Harry yelled and started to throw grenades at Dudder, but they turned into creme eggs, which Dudder ate gleefully as the wriggling mass of serpents engulfed his cousin. Suddenly he found a grenade that had turned into a different kind of chocolate egg and opened the plastic container within to reveal a letter:

_Dear Dudder,_

_I am pleased to inform you that your cousin, Harry, henceforth known as the condemned, has been sentenced to a lifetime in Gar Bidge's Home for Badly Conceived Characters (refered to, by some, as 'The Dump'). This is, as you know, a place full of rotten food, smelly teabags and the parts of meat that even the dog refuses to eat. Harry will, therefore, spend the rest of his life eating mouldy banana skins and having his feet chewed on by rodents. Therefore, I am happy to say, he will not be able to bother you ever again._

_Have a pleasant dream,_

_Signed,_

_The Sandman x_

_P.S. The tanks taste especially good._

Dudder whooped with joy, danced a little jig and was just contemplating eating a nearby tank (which seemed to be made out of fudge-cake) when, suddenly...

BANG!

"Where's the cannon?" Dudder sat bolt upright and was a little disappointed to find himself back in the hut and that Harry was NOT in Gar Bidges Home for Badly Conceived Characters having his feet chewed on by rodents, but was currently sitting by a roaring fire, chewing on a piece of fudge-cake given to him by...

Dudder gaped.

Uncle Vernix came skidding into the room, a long package in his arms, aunt Petulant close behind him.

Uncle Vernix gaped.

Aunt Petulant gaped.

Dudder gaped some more.

Harry scowled.

"Keep the noise down, will you?" he said rudely.

"Who are you?" Uncle Vernix demanded, glaring at the giant, hairy figure sitting by the fire.

"Name's Hybrid," said Hybrid, "Come teh give 'Arry his birthday cake an' take 'im fer 'is school stuff, seein' as you lot won't do anythin' fer 'im." he glared at the Dursleys. "Luckily I'm rather good at parties - I can even do balloon animals, look!"

He snatched the long package out of uncle Vernix's hands and deftly twisted it into the shape of a giraffe.

"That was my gun!" squeaked uncle Vernix.

"Gun?" snorted Hybrid, "What d'yeh need a gun fer? Stupid Muddle! Gonna shoot 'Arry now, are yeh?" he glared some more, the Dursleys cringed. "Bet yeh haven't even told 'im how 'is parents died, have yeh?"

As it happened, the Dursleys had _tried_ to explain to Harry just last year (they'd thought him too young to know before then) that his parents had been horribly murdered - but as Harry had been busy trashing their living room at the time, they weren't really sure just how much of it had sunk in.

Of course Harry, being Harry, wouldn't have told Hybrid this.

"Not a word," he said in his most pathetic voice, "not a word for eleven years. No matter how much I wanted to know about my parents, they wouldn't tell me a thing! Do you know what they said to me every time I wanted to know about my parents?"

"What?" Hybrid asked, giving Harry a pitying look.

"'Shut up and don't ask questions."

"YEH HEARTLESS GITS!" Hybrid roared (Harry had, at this point, burst into a fit of fake tears). The Dursleys cowered. "Well, don't worry 'Arry, I'll tell yeh.You've heard of 'He-Who-Must-Be-Shamed', righ'?"

"Er, no," said Harry.

"Well, his real name is Lord Moldy Shorts."

Everyone winced at the horribleness of the name.

"Yeah," said Hybrid apologetically, "not the writer's best idea. Anyway," he continued, "Yeh parents had been hiding from him for some time..."

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Cos everyone hides from him - no one likes him," said Hybrid.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"He stinks," said Hybrid.

"In what way?" asked Dudder.

"No one asked you to butt in, chubby!" snapped Hybrid, scowling, "I mean, he stinks - he smells like a mix between a sewer and a dump."

Dudder suddenly went rather quiet as he reminisced about his dream, imagining horrible Harry lying on top of a huge heap of rubbish, covered in...

"Anyway," continued Hybrid, "Some say he jus' wanted to make friends, others say he was after the washing powder yeh dad had nicked from him and refused to give back, whatever the reason, He-Who-Must-Be-Shamed came round to yeh house..."

"And murdered my parents?" Harry asked, "What did he use, an axe?"

"Er, no," said Hybrid.

"Gun?"

"No."

"Magic?"

"Actually, no," said Hybrid, "the fact of the matter is, 'Arry, that he didn't try to kill yeh parents at all."

"Then how'd they die?"

"Well, yeh see, yeh parents smelt him coming and panicked. Yeh dad tried to run and slipped on a banana peel - he hit his head on the floor."

"What about our Lilith?" squeaked Aunt Petulant, who had, contrary to popular belief, been rather fond of her sister.

"Like you'd care," Hybrid spat, "If you must know, Lord MoldyShorts (everyone winced), yeah, sorry - he followed yeh mum up to her room and she just kinda passed out from the smell."

"How come I didn't die?" Harry asked.

"Well, luckily you had a cold at the time," said Hybrid.

"But what if he tries to find me again?" asked Harry, "Dudder stinks enough - I don't want to meet an even smellier creep!"

"He won't," said Hybrid, "at least not for a while, yeh see, when the Ministry arrived at yeh house, they found Moldy unconscious on the floor."

"What? how?" asked aunt Petulant.

"Well, Harry had filled his nappy at the time," said Hybrid, "seems that he passed out from the smell."

There was silence as everyone tried to digest this rather disgusting fact.

"Anyway," said Hybrid, "best get goin' - we need to get yer school stuff before the start of term."

"Err," said Uncle Vernix nervously, "that won't be necissary, yeh see, he's already enrolled in Grims..."

"Are you implying," said Hybrid, bringing his face dangerously close to Uncle Vernix's, "that you don't _want_ 'Arry to go to Half-Bored?"

"Err," said Uncle Vernix.

"Or that you don't think it _necissary_ that he learns how to use his magic?"

"Err," said Uncle Vernix.

"Or _maybe_," said Hybrid, "you think Professor Doublebore is a halfwit incapable of adding two and two together?"

"Err," said Uncle Vernix.

"THAT DOES IT!" Roared Hybrid, "NO ONE INSULTS BULBOUS DOUBLEBORE INFRONT OF ME!" He swung his umbrella around, catching Uncle Vernix in the side of the face.

Uncle Vernix yelped and threw himself backwards as balls of blue light came out of the tip of Hybrid's brolly and flew over him. He grabbed his gun - sadly, still in the shape of a giraffe - and tried to hit the hairy giant with it, but somehow Hybrid leapt into the air and seemed to hover there in a ridiculous pose for a few seconds before falling and squashing Uncle Vernix flat. At the same time, an energy ball errupted from the brolly, hitting Dudder in the seat of the pants and revealing a curly, pig-like tail (in fact, he had been born with it - the spell had done little more than rip his clothes).

Dudder screamed.

Aunt Petulant screamed

Uncle Vernix Squeaked with pain.

Harry roared with laughter.

"Uh oh," said Hybrid, getting up and looking around him at the somewhat scorched hut and at Dudder, dancing around holding his pig tail, "I'm not suppos' to do magic! Quick, 'Arry, leg it before someone comes!"

They both left rapidly, leaving Aunt Petunia extreamly vexed, Dudder extremely embaressed and uncle vernix extremely flat.

Then, suddenly, the hut fell down around them.


	5. Slantways

**Slant-Ways**

The train was not only late, but shabby, dirty and crowded with an inordinate number of very angry looking people clearly intent on getting to work in the fastest way possible whilst managing, somehow, to keep their clothes perfectly clean and wrinkle free. Quite how they managed this, Harry didn't know; in the first few seconds of him boarding the train his clothes were ripped, his glasses broken and he had somehow managed to sit on three lots of discarded chewing gum and trodden in something that he thought – or at least hoped – must have once been a chocolate pudding.

Muttering darkly about the curses he would soon be able to unleash upon the great British transport system and its inconsiderate passengers, our hapless hero barged his way through everyone and squeezed into a seat. A lot of people were staring, but not at him – Hybrid was sitting next to him, knitting an oversized pink sweater whilst taking up three seats by himself, his bushy beard threatening to suffocate the small child who had had the misfortune to sit next to him.

"Gor yer letter, 'Arry?" Hybrid asked, turning the air blue with swearing as he realised that he had dropped a load of stitches and his sweater now looked more like a lumpy balaclava.

Harry pulled the now much crumpled, torn, stained and generally neglected letter out of his pocket and started to read:

_HALF BORED SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_CLOTHING:_

_Robes, black_

_Pointy hat, black_

_Cloak, black_

_SET BOOKS:_

Why vengeful magic is a bad idea_– Ima Toad_

A detailed account of magic through the ages _– U.R. Sleeping_

A guide to safe magic – _Holin Ceiling_

Plants and their properties – _May B. Deadly_

(Optional)

A guide to broom safety – _Ronda Tree (though first years are reminded that they are NOT allowed broomsticks, so why you would want this book is anyone's guess!)_

_OTHER EQUIPTMENT:_

_1 wand (well, you're not going to get very far without one, are you?)_

_1 cauldron _

_Glass phials_

_Athames, pentacles, chalices and replicas of chosen gods and/or goddesses are optional, but that's another area of magic entirely!_

_Students may also bring an owl **OR **a cat **OR **a toad **OR **a rat **OR **a pygmy puff…_

"Hey, wait a minute," said Harry, "I thought pygmy puffs didn't get invented till book…"

"Shh!" hissed Hybrid, "don't draw attention to it! The author's obviously hoping that no one will notice."

"Actually," booms the author's voice out of nowhere, "I'm trying to make a point about how nobody seems to observe the school rules. Now get on with the story before I kill you all!"

"You can't kill us!" said Harry, We're involved in at least five more books, so ner!" he stuck out his tongue rather rudely. The author's voice trailed away, muttering something about rude, good-for-nothing characters that should be issued with one-way tickets to the waste-paper basket as Harry and Hybrid return to the story…

…**_OR_**_ a giant hairy spider – or anything you like, really – go nuts!_

_Have a nice day!_

_The Half-Bored staff xxx_

"Hey," said Harry, "Is there some secret place in London that only wizards can get into where we can buy this stuff?"

"Yer," said Hybrid, "But they're damned expensive, so we're going to go to an ordinary New-Age shop instead, then hit the pub!" looking pleased at this plan, Hybrid started to rise, got stuck in the seating, then caught sight of all the people staring at him.

"Wor?" he snapped, "Haven't yer ever seen a giant hairy man knitting a pink sweater that looks more like a lumpy balaclava whilst taking up three seats in a bus before?"

Some time later Harry was sitting in a very grotty pub, being served coke by an equally grotty barman, watching as Hybrid got steadily drunker and drunker.

"Don' _hic_ know about you, 'Arry," Hybrid slurred after a while, "But that lady's startin' to look real pretty!"

"That's not a lady, it's a gargoyle," Harry said, looking around at the somewhat cosmopolitan occupants of the pub with interest. The gargoyle Harry was referring to suddenly burst into tears, stamped its foot and shrieked in a very feminine voice:

"Well some of us can't _help _what we look like!" before racing out of the pub as fast as her stumpy legs would permit. Several non-magical people out in the street screamed as she raced past them, reducing her to further hysterics – which made the muddles scream more, which made her scream more, which started a riot.

"Say, Hybrid," Harry said, ignoring the chaos he had just caused, "Why is this pub called 'Slant-ways', anyway?"

Hybrid let out a huge belch, went cross-eyed and slipped sideways off his barstool, landing with a resounding THUDD that shook the entire pub. He lay there, snoring abominably, whilst Harry sneakily pinched what was left of his pint and proceeded to get drunk himself on the contents of the Hybrid-sized flagon.

"W-w-what's g-g-oing on h-h-here?" asked a quivering voice from somewhere over Harry's shoulder. Harry hiccupped and glared through bleary eyes at what looked at first to be an enormous mushroom with eyes, but turned out, upon squinting, to be a very nervous looking man wearing a turban.

From somewhere on the floor, Hybrid roused.

"'LO SQUIGGLE … AH MEAN, SQUIRRAL!" Hybrid bellowed – why he bellowed was anyone's guess, but 'Squirrel' jumped so high in the air that his turban brushed the ceiling, dislodging a multitude of spiders.

"W… w … what are you d…d…doing here, H…H…Hybrid?" Squirrel stuttered, "Y…you're supposed to be p…p…picking up H…H…Harry Plotholes!"

"GOR 'IM 'ERE!" Hybrid bellowed, sending Squirrel on a second trip to the ceiling, "GOR 'IM 'ERE!" he added for good measure, once again sending Squirrel skywards.

"Y…y…you shouldn't have b…b…brought him in here Hybrid," Squirrel said, rearranging his rather squashed turban, "He's t…to young t…to be in a p…p…pub."

Harry suddenly let out a rather loud belch and slipped sideways off his stool, his glasses skewed across his face.

"H…h…he's DRUNK H…Hybrid!" stuttered a scandalised Squirral, "DRUNK! D…D…Doublebore won't be pleased when he finds out that y…you brought him h…h…here! WE'RE not even s…s…supposed to be in here, w…what were you thinking?"

"AH THINK!" Hybrid roared, sending Squirrel skywards once more, "ah think the better question is what are _you _doing here?"

Squirrel went red and muttered something incomprehensible.

"AH THINK!" Hybrid roared, Squirrel flew, "Ah think yeh've been shoplifting again, yeh've got somethin' stashed in yer turban an' yeh've ducked in 'ere to avoid the muddle police!"

Squirrel muttered something else, going bright red as he brushed spiders off his turban, which made a suspicious clinking sound as he brushed it.

"Y…yes, well, p…p…perhaps Doublebore d…d…doesn't need to know a…about either of us being here. P…p…perhaps I could j…just buy you a d…drink and w…w…we can forget all about this?"

"NOW YEH TAL.KIN'!" Hybrid roared – Squirrel flew.

"NOW YOU'RE _HIC_ TALKING!" Roared Harry – Squirrel flew again and this time actually smashed through the ceiling before falling and smashing through the floor, also.

In the room above a hooked-nosed, sallow-skinned man named Snivellous Snipe glanced out of the shower to see what all the noise was about, saw the hole in the floor, shrugged and shut the shower door again.

"Hey, _hic_," said Hybrid, peering down into the second hole Squirrel had made and in which he was still lying flat on his back, "Are you alrigh'?"

"I…I think," Squirrel stuttered, "I…I think I just saw S…S…Snipe WASHING HIS HAIR!"

"Must 'ave banged 'is head," Hybrid snorted, "washing his hair indeed! There's more grease in that man's hair than in a deep fat fryer! HAH!"

WOOSH! Squirrel was once again involuntarily impersonating a rocket. He shot up through the same hole he had made earlier, this time seeing Snipe as he came out of the shower, and was unconscious from the sheer horror of it by the time he was once again lying in the hole in the bar floor. A full bottle of wine fell out of his turban and Hybrid promptly snatched it.

"Gonna be out fer a while," he reasoned, "Shame to let it get warm and go to waste, eh, 'Arry!"

Harry hiccupped in response and held out his goblet. He didn't remember much about what happened after that – except that he had passed out at some point after the dancing pink elephants, all wearing strange, balaclava-like jumpers, had left the pup.

Somehow, when he woke up, he was back in Privet Drive, his glasses askew and with Squirrel's turban jammed over his head. Nagini was coiled up on his bed, a large lump visible in her long body and several feathers strewn around her.

Harry suddenly realised that he had forgotten to thank Hybrid for his birthday present.


End file.

Harry Potter, Humor, Parody