Harry power-walked through the dark corridors of Hogwarts, his black cloak billowing behind him and his mirror sunglasses glinting in he candlelight. The sun had not yet risen. He was on a mission.
His high heels clacked in the silence like a bald old man sucking down his own creamy teeth. Ducking into the alcove through which the rich outside world resided, Harry sucked back a gulp of vodka-flavored air and shook his head before breaking into a frenzied duck-like run.
Hermione was in trouble. That much he knew. He had found a small, crumpled note under her textbooks he had discovered discarded in the Gryffindor common room. Harry had known something was wrong when he saw her school books unattended in public-- so, that chilly October morn, early-bird Harry read: "Midget. New York. Help!"
Upon reaching the beetle-back-black sports car waiting for him just past the Hogwarts gates, Harry saluted the seemingly empty bushes before slipping stealthily into the driver's seat. Gunning the gas with the force of one thousand torches in a lake, he sped off to the secret rendez-vous point, previously arranged with Hermione's father. He ran over an orange tabby cat on the way there.
The Leaky Cauldron was empty; families were busy preparing for Halloween, and the drunks were still fast asleep in their cozy puddles of vomit. Harry walked into the center of the pub. "Gupparupps!" he shouted into the air.
"Password. Correct." a disembodied robotic voice that Harry had a niggling hunch only he could hear responded. The floor flew out from under his sadly disfigured feet and he could feel himself flying down a vertical corridor, much like a hole. He landed in a leaking heap at the end of the ride, and someone clapped him on the back. Wearing a rodent green tunic with a pair of Bedazzled copper hot pants, Hermione's father settled himself in the werewolf-sized sofa cushion in front of Harry.
"Ah!" shouted Mr. Granger, lifting and resting his brawny man-arms behind his head. "Hullo, Harry. I believe I've been expecting you," he said. He pushed himself up from the couch, slowly waddling his hulking, muggle form towards Harry, extending his hand shakily for a handshake. Harry, extremely intimidated, averted his gaze as his fragile, feminine fingers were crushed in Hermione's dad's grip. "You can call me Pappy, Harry."
Creamy tears formed in Harry's luscious emerald cirlcly eyes. He'd never had a Pappy. He'd never even had a pap smear. He glanced between his geometrically muscled thighs at this thought. Pappy let Harry's broken hand fall and giggled girlishly.
"You've heard about Hermione, right?" Pappy asked. "Well.. I got this note," Harry began, beginning to extract it from one of his inner pockets, but Pappy tackled him to the ground before Harry could extract anything at all. Foaming at the mouth, he ransacked the crevices of Harry's clothes until the crumpled note was in his hand, and Harry was nude.
"Well, erm, what about.." Harry stuttered like a socially inept mule. Pappy continued to froth cream cheesy saliva down onto Harry's whelk textured throat. Harry tried erratically to squiggle out of the older man's pinchy power, but Pappy jumped up as suddenly as a Christmas tree on acid.
"Hermione needs your help, Harry." Pappy said with the utmost seriousness as he adjusted his package in their coppery confinement.
"Yeah, I... um, yeah, she does." Harry finished lamely.
"You must find her. Cruel midget Professor Flitwick has her confined in his lair in Edinburgh. Those creamy Scots!" he shouted enthusiastically. Harry laughed nervously.
"Um. Why aren't you trying to save her yourself?" he asked, confused.
"Because you're HARRY FUCKING POTTER, God Dammit! Go out and save some fucking lives!" Pappy screamed in Harry's face, bespittling his glasses. Harry, tired of his fucking bullshit, rolled his eyes and walked out of Pappy's underground lair. He pulled down his shades and penetrated his sports car. He was going to save Hermione's life.
After several minutes of sitting in the car like an ass, trying to look cool, it occurred to Harry that he should probably turn it on. With a flick of is uterine index finger he did exactly that and was off to Edinburgh.
After approximately four hours of intercourse between his batmobile and the road, he realized with uncertain flattery that he had never heard of Edinburgh and thus had no idea where the tiny shithole was located. Luckily, he had happened to be travelling north.
He spotted a sign: "Edinburgh, this exit." Score! He pulled off and stopped at a gas station, or whatever those are called in British. He pumped fuel into his gas tank, much like how he had pumped Sirius Black to orgasm the other night. "DING!" shouted the pump station. Harry scowled and pulled out. Then, he spotted it: Another clue!
A gasoline lubed stone tablet had fallen on the ground. It had cracked, but Harry was able to piece it back together pretty well, and read the message. "Sqavasun NSdaueT". "I wonder if that's in Sasquatch.." Harry wondered. He quickly translated the lucrative words into Unicorne, then Hobbit, then French, then a bastardization of Chinese Giantese. "Of course!" he corpulently exclaimed.
It had been written in Spanish-- how did he not recognize it immediately?
"You will find Hermione Granger at 76 Harold Tea Circle. Come prepared. Bring olive oil," Harry read. Cryptic. Harry was filled with a sense of slippery forboding. Then, he realized he was only being filled with his fingers up his ass. He withdrew and reentered his vehicle, typing up the address on google maps.
As chitty chitty bang bang drove itself from the little magic computery thing that Harry didn't actually understand in the slightest, Harry debated why the gothic pervert wanted olive oil. He narrowed it down to two practical explanations: 1. he wanted to turn into a manta ray eating shark. B. he was going to pour it into the Thames. Both ideas disturbed Harry so intensely that he went blind for several milliseconds. Oh, no, that was a blink. Never mind.
He began crushing canned olives between his toes in the passenger seat, but when that wasn't going quickly enough he slipped some in each orifice he could think of under such sticky duress.
Luckily, by the time he pulled up to the unlandscaped, unweeded driveway of 76 Harold Tea Circle, the "Extra Virgin" olive oil had leaked from his slick body into a small bottle he had situated at the lowest part of his red leather car seat. He threw on his invisibility cloak, wielded wand and gun, and stepped out of his pimp mobile.
He strode up to the shit-purple door and knocked delicately, secretly hoping that no one would answer. No such luck. Colin Creevey opened the flimsy door and looked around as confusedly as a water chestnut. That was an easy fix, however, as Harry simply kicked Colin in the face with his face before stomping on his engorged, hairless, boy baby batter bowls.
"Hermione!" Harry shrieked like a children's cartoon color or a photo of Helen Keller.
OOF! Harry had been tackled to the ground by what felt like a large bowling ball. Harry felt the bowling ball begin to beat down his balls.
"What the FUCK?" Harry shouted. Then, he saw-- it was that bastard Flitwick, and behind him was Hermione, gagged, blindfolded, and chained to the wall! Harry's brain surged with fury. "You fucking BITCH!" he screamed at flitwick, kicking his leg so hard Flitwick lost his grip. Harry stomped like a giant over to his cowering form.
"Hasta la vista, motherFUCKER," he proclaimed in a deep, austrian-accented man's voice as he stomped Flitwick's face in with his cleats. His babyskull gave in easily, and Harry's foot was quickly engulfed in brains and eyeball fluid.
Harry's massive erection strained around his pants, but that didn't keep him from nudging his toe into Flitwick's crater-like belly button a couple times before using his laser vision to free the scantily-clad Hermione from the wall's erotic clutches. Her saggy ass scraped along the piss-yellow carpet as she squat-walked to Harry, her savior.
Harry, mistaking her jiggling form for Flitwick's evil clone, grasped the can of pepper spray from his Louis Vuitton purse and sprayed her squarely in both the mouth and the labial region. Then he punched her in the face with his thirty karat diamond pinky ring.
"Wha da FUT Hayley! I dought you wuh thaving my liphs!" she shouted, tongue burning with mace. Harry jumped back in shock, accidentally tripping over Flitwick's still-twitching corpse. His bulging cock finally tore through his dockers and his shaft popped up, bright red and winking at Hermione.
"Oh, I--" Harry winced and grunted, trying desperately to keep his mind off his nuts. "I'm sorry, Hermione.. Nnngghh.."
Creamy saliva unloaded plentifully from Flitwicks anus, all over Harry's Uggs. Harry basked in the glittery sensation for a moment before snatching Hermione up by her nonexistent waist and used her as a battering ram to open the back screen door. The pair breathed creamily corpulently as they watched a young green maple tree explode into a thousand 'Nilla Wafers. Screaming in abject terror, Harry grabbed Hermione's ankle like a butterfly feeds its young and dragged her behind him to Herbie the Lovebug, snapping the car door shut on all but the roots of her shit covered brillo-pad hair.
She gasped for air in the passenger seat. "Thanks, Harry. I was afraid I'd get physically injured. Or worse yet-- mentally handicapped!" she smiled at him admiringly. "What ever could I do to repay you?"
Harry chuckled a manly chuckle and brushed his bangs off his face with his brawny man-arm, emphasizing the breathtaking thunder-shaped scar situated so prominently on his handsome, manly face.
"No problem, Hermione."Although, there is one thing..." he added. He made brief eye contact with her and then motioned with his brawny man-arm at the 16-inch trouser sausage still jerking to and fro in his naked lap. It was frowning, growling, and frothing at the urethra.
Hermione libidinously popped the head beyond her tonsils with the ferocity of a newborn dragon eating a candy cane until Harry cracked her across the back of the head with his super high-tech watch. "I meant chew the extra layer of skin off, you sick slut!" Harry looked down at the girl in his lap with an amiable and furious rage seeping behind his pupils.
Hermione, who had thankfully grown up in a Jewish household, nodded in understanding. She pulled the scalpel from a ringlet of her nasty permed hair as Harry revved the engine and got back on the interstate, destination Hogwarts. Hermione made several equally-spaced perforations in the foreskin of Harry's hulking hotdog, taking special care not to make contact with the precious glans underneath. She slipped the scalpel back into the depths of her hair and got to work chewing. Her greenish slobber dropped down his purplish, veiny sausage-shaft, landing finally at the tangled, died-pink bird's nest of a pubic bush at the base of his cock. The dick-hat peeled off cleanly, thanks to Hermione's previous experience in the field of circumcisions.
"Aww Done!" she exclaimed, her speech impeded by the ring of adult foreskin filling her mouth. She chewed, and swallowed.
Harry cauterized his little soldier's helmet. "Thanks, Hermione." Harry smiled much like a chipmunk who's been sleeping in the drink a few too many times. Hermione beamed back at him in a way that broke the glass window in which her face was reflected.
"That's okay, Harry. You're my hero."