Well, here goes another attempt at an HP fan-fic.

I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, he might actually have a personality.

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Magic Arcane

by:muaaimoi

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Chapter one: Bunny slippers WTF??

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Privet Drive sucked.

Actually, it sucked butt. Or "ass," as the people in the adult shows at night on the telly he wasn't supposed to know about would have said. You may want to consider revising the last sentence to something like: Or "ass," as the people on the late night shows he wasn't supposed to know about would have said. Personally, eight year old Harry Potter preferred the latter. It was, after all, much cooler. But, back to the problem at hand. Privet Drive sucked.

Harry was sooooooooo very bored lying down in his dratted cupboard, listening to his aunt's shallow and uninteresting gossip (As if anyone really cared what color nightgown Mrs.Sinlow wore with her bathrobe, honestly!). Nothing cool ever happened here. Nothing blew up randomly; no one ever found anything missing. In short, it was peaceful. Or, as Harry called it, boring. Very, very boring.

Harry's musings were cut off by the mustached walrus otherwise known as Harry's Uncle Vernon arriving home.

Surprisingly, Harry found the man could be mildly entertaining, especially since his new favorite game was "How Purple Can You Turn the Mustached Walrus." His personal best was a deep puce color.

"I can't believe that man!" his uncle's furious bellowing rang through the house.

Inwardly rejoicing at the thought of something to do, Harry forced his face into a confused mask.

His uncle always picked at him when he was angry. It was a well-known fact throughout the neighborhood. Harry could already hear his cousin racing into the house to watch. Hell (the telly and Harry did a lot of late night bonding), even the neighbors were likely to be "taking a walk" by the house. Harry suppressed a sigh. It was a testament to how bored everyone truly was when the most exciting thing that happened in the neighborhood was the latest Harry vs. Vernon spats. Harry seldom won (eight year olds can only come up with so much in their own defense), but the few occasions he did were always awesomely humiliating to his uncle. Harry took much pride in the fact.

"Boy!" his uncle shouted unnecessarily. He had been expected, after all. It wasn't like this was a one time incident.

His uncle was met with the perfect expression of confusion, if Harry did say so himself. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry said, wondering what excuse he'd use this time.

"Exactly why didn't you water the flowers today?!" his uncle shouted.

It wasn't a real question, but Harry was very bored and didn't feel up to the rant he knew was coming, so he went for his one tried and true tactic: saying the first thing that came to mind. "The same reason you wear bunny slippers," the boy responded, his tone solemn.

And, surely as the sun rises in the East, his uncle's face started turning red.

"What did you say?" Vernon growled angrily.

"The same reason you wear bunny slippers," Harry repeated, this time speaking extra slowly, the way most grownups spoke to Dudley.

"I DO NOT WEAR BUNNY SLIPPERS!!" his uncle shouted, completely enraged.

Inwardly cracking up, Harry widened his eyes innocently. "Oh, so those pink fluffy bunny slippers that blew up weren't yours?"

That did it. Harry's insides were about to burst from the effort of suppressing his own laughter. The look on his uncle's face was ever sooooo very funny, especially considering that the man's slippers were perfectly fine. Vaguely, Harry realized that he had beaten his personal record. His uncle's facial color was almost on par with a plum.

"BOY!" his uncle shouted.

"Probably at a complete loss of what to say," Harry thought, amused. His uncle then proceeded to grab Harry by the collar and drag him upstairs to the bathroom.

The next twenty minutes were a bit of a blur to Harry. He supposed they simply weren't worth remembering. That meant that they couldn't even punish him properly. Ice cold water never hurt anyone, well, at least not after you got used to it. At least, he hoped so. But that just served to reinforce Harry's belief that his life was very boring.

Right then and there, Harry decided that he had had enough. It was a day all of Privet Drive, Dumbledore, and old Tommy would regret for the rest of their days.

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All was peaceful on Privet Drive. The odd atmosphere which had previously set the residents at ease now served to make them apprehensive. For the last three years, Privet Drive had been anything but normal.

It had started small, with mustard and lighters going missing, the kind of things no one really thought about and simply attributed to misplacement. Then, all the dogs in their neighborhood had been dyed neon pink in the middle of the night. That's when people started to talk. All throughout the three month period more and more "things"began to happen. One particularly memorable evening all of the women's underwear went missing. Much shrieking had ensued.

That was the first three months. It was nothing serious. Things were dyed outrageous colors and things went missing. Basically just innocent pranks. Or so it seemed. The occurrences were always so trivial and unrelated that no one ever suspected it was part of a plan. A larger design. No one ever knew that the petty little deeds would one day come back to bite them in the ass. Nope. The inhabitants of Privet Drive were blissfully unaware that in house number four, locked away in a cupboard, a boy planned. It was a wonder that Harry waited as long as he did. Especially considering it was so easy.

Yes, that's right. Little harmless Harry was the cause of all the pranks. So he hadn't been able to actually kill anyone; sue him. It wasn't as if that was all that funny, anyway. Not to mention that if he got caught, he'd die of boredom in prison.

Well, actually... Little Harry resisted the urge to cackle insanely. It just wouldn't do to alert anyone of there impending doom now, would it? There was, after all, nothing like a prison education. Or a least Telly thought so. Their late night ritual was still going strong after all these years, and Harry fervently believed that Telly was the only one that didn't lie to him. Amazingly enough, this was something that was proved over and over again.

Like magic's existence, for example. People on the telly were well aware of the supernatural while his aunt and uncle insisted it was unreal. This little tidbit was disproved by Harry himself, when he had somehow managed to teleport himself onto the school roof. It was one of the most useful things he'd ever learned. He hadn't been caught by Dudley's gang since; a fact that thoroughly confused the miniature Neanderthals.

Another thing Telly was good for was his vocabulary. There were so many wonderfully sophisticated ways in which to insult someone without their knowing. Like sarcasm. Harry loved sarcasm. There were very few things anywhere near as funny. Like every time his Uncle Lard-ass, as Harry currently referred to him (this changed from day to day all depending on how much of an asshole his uncle had been lately. The American channel was such a wonderful thing!), called him a freak.

Harry would widen his eyes innocently and say, "But of course, Uncle. People so obsessed with normalcy could in no way be strange now, could they?" And his oh so beloved uncle would nod in a self-satisfied manner, completely oblivious to having been insulted.

Life was really good sometimes...

"BOY, COME WEED THE GARDEN!" Lard-ass shouted.

Harry grimaced. And then such a PMSing bitch the next day.

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So what do you think? R&R please