I own nothing. Not even myself. *Sigh*. On with the story!
Harry Potter and the Meaning of Life
Book Six
Chapter One
Harry Potter was an unusual boy. Firstly, J.K. hasn't mentioned his voice breaking and Harry is 16. Secondly, he hates his relatives, who he should be thanking for putting up with him. Thirdly, he's a wizard.
At the beginning of the holidays, Harry had been rather depressed. So, he did ALL of his homework. When he finished, he was still depressed. Why? You should know! O.K., he was depressed because J.K. killed my favourite character in the whole series, the incredibly sexy, Sirius, who just happened to be Harry's Godfather. So now my favourite character in the whole series is the evil, devious, conniving Tom Riddle, as in the 16-year- old version of Voldemort. Draco's pretty hot too.
Harry's depression had ended when he followed Dudley, his incredibly fat cousin, to a party. Of course this party consisted of much under aged drinking, which usually ended up with people having hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex and waking not remembering a damn thing. The hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex had cured Harry of his depression.
Maybe this story should go somewhere.
Harry sat outside, enjoying the sunshine. He had been avoiding his aunt and uncle so he could enjoy the summer without chores. Harry was contemplating which party to gatecrash that night when a thought struck him: What was the meaning of life? An obvious answer came into his head; hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex. Duh. Then he remembered. The stupid prophesy. The meaning of Harry's life was to kill Voldemort and die young. At least he'd leave a beautiful corpse. *cough cough*
He thought some more. If he was going to die young, he'd better have as much hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex as he could get.
He thought still more. How would he kill Voldemort? He'd tried to kill Bellatrix Black, but it didn't work. When Harry needed to know something before, he'd write to Sirius. Fighting back tears, he decided to write to Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school Harry attended. Harry went inside to his room and began his letter:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I was just wondering how I should kill Voldemort.
Harry screwed up the piece of parchment. He didn't know how to say it without sounding really gay.
He hoped Dumbledore had something planned. To tell the truth, Harry was scared shitless. Until now, hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex had distracted him from the real issues. Maybe he should write to Ron, or Hermione, but he didn't know how they could help him.
If only Sirius was still alive. Harry had only just got to know his godfather and then Sirius had been killed. Just like that. Tears fell down Harry's cheeks; he couldn't hold them in. Sirius being dead was different to his parents being dead. He never knew his parents. Sirius was the closest thing Harry had had to a father.
Harry pushed the painful memory of Sirius's death out of his mind, or at least, his conscious thoughts.
Harry's stomach rumbled. He checked his watch. It was time to eat. He pranced down stairs to find all three Dursleys standing in front of him. Vernon's face was a brilliant shade of purple: The purple that usually meant starvation for Harry. Petunia was chewing her tongue, glaring at him. Dudley looked smug, like Draco Malfoy, who's pretty cute, when he's got Harry in to trouble. Oh shit! Dudley must have been sober enough to notice him at one of the parties and told Vernon and Petunia.
No more hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex!
Harry's mind raced, he searched for excuses. His head began to spin. The Dursleys, standing in front of him went suddenly blurry, even though Harry was wearing his glasses. Harry felt his legs turn to jelly. He fainted.
Harry Potter and the Meaning of Life
Book Six
Chapter One
Harry Potter was an unusual boy. Firstly, J.K. hasn't mentioned his voice breaking and Harry is 16. Secondly, he hates his relatives, who he should be thanking for putting up with him. Thirdly, he's a wizard.
At the beginning of the holidays, Harry had been rather depressed. So, he did ALL of his homework. When he finished, he was still depressed. Why? You should know! O.K., he was depressed because J.K. killed my favourite character in the whole series, the incredibly sexy, Sirius, who just happened to be Harry's Godfather. So now my favourite character in the whole series is the evil, devious, conniving Tom Riddle, as in the 16-year- old version of Voldemort. Draco's pretty hot too.
Harry's depression had ended when he followed Dudley, his incredibly fat cousin, to a party. Of course this party consisted of much under aged drinking, which usually ended up with people having hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex and waking not remembering a damn thing. The hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex had cured Harry of his depression.
Maybe this story should go somewhere.
Harry sat outside, enjoying the sunshine. He had been avoiding his aunt and uncle so he could enjoy the summer without chores. Harry was contemplating which party to gatecrash that night when a thought struck him: What was the meaning of life? An obvious answer came into his head; hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex. Duh. Then he remembered. The stupid prophesy. The meaning of Harry's life was to kill Voldemort and die young. At least he'd leave a beautiful corpse. *cough cough*
He thought some more. If he was going to die young, he'd better have as much hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex as he could get.
He thought still more. How would he kill Voldemort? He'd tried to kill Bellatrix Black, but it didn't work. When Harry needed to know something before, he'd write to Sirius. Fighting back tears, he decided to write to Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school Harry attended. Harry went inside to his room and began his letter:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I was just wondering how I should kill Voldemort.
Harry screwed up the piece of parchment. He didn't know how to say it without sounding really gay.
He hoped Dumbledore had something planned. To tell the truth, Harry was scared shitless. Until now, hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex had distracted him from the real issues. Maybe he should write to Ron, or Hermione, but he didn't know how they could help him.
If only Sirius was still alive. Harry had only just got to know his godfather and then Sirius had been killed. Just like that. Tears fell down Harry's cheeks; he couldn't hold them in. Sirius being dead was different to his parents being dead. He never knew his parents. Sirius was the closest thing Harry had had to a father.
Harry pushed the painful memory of Sirius's death out of his mind, or at least, his conscious thoughts.
Harry's stomach rumbled. He checked his watch. It was time to eat. He pranced down stairs to find all three Dursleys standing in front of him. Vernon's face was a brilliant shade of purple: The purple that usually meant starvation for Harry. Petunia was chewing her tongue, glaring at him. Dudley looked smug, like Draco Malfoy, who's pretty cute, when he's got Harry in to trouble. Oh shit! Dudley must have been sober enough to notice him at one of the parties and told Vernon and Petunia.
No more hot, wild, unprotected, jungle-sex!
Harry's mind raced, he searched for excuses. His head began to spin. The Dursleys, standing in front of him went suddenly blurry, even though Harry was wearing his glasses. Harry felt his legs turn to jelly. He fainted.