Hello world! This is shootforthestars speaking, and this is my first ever fanfic! I hope you enjoy it, and please dont expect me to post a new chapter every day because I, unlike most people, have a life. This story is basically the same as the Sorcerers Stone, I'm just adding lots of humor and changing all the names. So enjoy! Oh and PS I dont own Harry Potter at all, otherwise I'd be rich like JK Rowling! Love ya, JK Rowling!
Harold Plodder and the Alchemist's Rock
Chapter 1: The Kid Who Survived
Our story begins on a street called Pickle Drive. Pickle Drive was very small, but many people lived there, so it was easy to get involved with the lives of your neighbors.
Mr. and Mrs. Durskey of number seven liked to eavesdrop on their neighbors, but preferred to go about their own business without interference. They thought themselves as perfectly normal people, and no one expected them to be mixed up in anything weird. Neither did they.
Mr. Durskey was the president of a company that made hammers. He was a very fat man, whose head seemed to sit directly on top of his shoulders. He was also completely bald; the only large quantity of hair anywhere on his body, other than his fluffy mustache, was located on his armpits, which were not places he generally displayed to the public. Mrs. Durskey was tall, thin, and, unlike her husband, had quite a bit of curly brown hair on her head. The Durskeys also had a son named Spudley who, despite being only a few months old, was already much larger than most babies his age.
The Durskeys also had a secret, but despite living on Pickle Drive, none of their neighbors had found out. If they ever did, the Durskeys didn't know how they'd bear it. They were the only ones who knew about the Plodders, as far as they dared to guess. Mrs. Plodder was Mrs. Durskey's sister, but you wouldn't know it, even if you asked. The Durskeys pretended that they weren't related to the Plodders so they wouldn't be mixed up in anything weird. The Plodders had a small son, too, and the last thing the Durskeys wanted was for Spudley to mix with a baby like that.
When the Durskeys woke up one rainy Tuesday, they had no idea that weird things would soon be happening all over the United States. Mr. Durskey sang "Jive Talkin'" while shampooing his armpits, and Mrs. Durskey wrestled a diaper onto a screaming Spudley.
None of them saw the owl fly past the living room window.
At eight-thirty, Mr. Durskey kissed his wife, decided against kissing his son, as he had just figured out how to spit watermelon seeds with both speed and accuracy, and left for work.
As he reached the end of Pickle Drive, he noticed something unusual. There, sitting underneath the stop sign, was a cat taking directions from a GPS. Mr. Durskey stared, unbelieving. How did a cat know what a GPS was? He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, to see the cat walking down Pickle Drive, carrying the device in its mouth. It was lucky that the car behind Mr. Durskey then honked its horn, for Mr. Durskey might have sat there all day. He started to drive, determined to get his mind off of the cat.
When Mr. Durskey reached the edge of town, the cat was completely driven from his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual traffic, he noticed many people wearing weird articles of clothing. Brightly colored cloaks, and pointy hats, too. Mr. Durskey hated these cloaks as soon as he set eyes on them. They almost looked like costumes! He tore his gaze away from the sidewalks and stared straight ahead. These must be hobos, he thought, dressing up on the side of the road for money. Satisfied with his theory, he managed to get to work without any more mishaps.
Mr. Durskey's office only had one window, and it was a good thing he always worked with his back to it, because if he had seen the hundreds of owls flying past, he surely would have had a heart attack. Many women down on the street fainted when they saw the owls, and most of their husbands forgot to catch them, for they were transfixed by this unusual event. However, Mr. Durskey's morning was completely owl-free. He made several important telephone calls, yelled at ten different people, and even fired one. He was so satisfied with the morning's work, he decided to go across the street to the bakery and buy a giant cupcake for his lunch.
The people in cloaks were still huddled in groups on the sidewalk. Mr. Durskey had forgotten all about them. Keeping his hand on his wallet inside his pants pocket, he hurried past a large group of the weirdos next to the bakery and went inside. While he waited for his cupcake, he studied the group through the window. They had started jumping up and down with surprising energy, and were even hugging each other! Mr. Durskey paid for his cupcake, and tried to ignore the cloaked people (who were now attempting to hug the pedestrians) as he walked out the door. But try as he might, he could not help overhearing what they were saying.
"Did you hear about the Plodders?"
"Of course I did! Their son Harold-"
"Poor kid-"
Mr. Durskey was so shocked that he walked right into a telephone pole. Fear coursed through him, and his head throbbed. Thinking fast, he took out his cell phone and began to punch in his home number… but then he stopped, imagining Mrs. Durskey's reaction if he bothered her about this. He snapped his phone shut and began walking back to the office, thinking to himself. Plodder was a very common name, and there could be a lot of Plodders with a son named Harold…it didn't have to be them.
The rest of Mr. Durskey's work day was dull, and he found it hard to concentrate on what he was supposed to do. His head was still throbbing from when he hit it on the telephone pole. Finally, he gave up and took the rest of the day off, bringing his cupcake with him.
He was so distracted that when he walked out the door, he bumped into someone. He opened his mouth to apologize, and closed it again, for the person was wearing a bright purple cloak. Instead, he held the bag containing the cupcake close to his chest. "My cupcake!" he snapped.
A huge grin appeared on the man's face. "Even the Shmuggles are celebrating!" he cried in a squeaky voice. "I knew they would recognize a celebration, I knew it! Good job, sir!"
And with that, he punched Mr. Durskey's shoulder and ran off.
Mr. Durskey rubbed his shoulder, glaring after the man. A complete stranger had punched him. He also thought he had been called a Shmuggle, whatever that was. Thinking he was just having hallucinations from hitting his head, he got into his car and drove home.
As he pulled into number seven, he noticed the cat he had seen earlier. He was quite sure it was the same cat, for it had the same markings on its face, and it was sitting on the wall next to the GPS.
"Go away!" he yelled at the cat.
"You have arrived," replied the GPS.
Mr. Durskey took the GPS and smashed it on the wall. Then he stormed into the house.
Mrs. Durskey and Spudley were in the living room watching the news. As Mr. Durskey entered the room, he heard the meteorologist commenting on the unusual owl behavior, and how shooting stars had been seen flying over the Empire State Building. Mr. Durskey decided that he'd take the chance and talk to his wife.
"Um-Pansy? Have you heard from your sister lately?"
Mrs. Durskey whipped her head around and glared at him. He cringed.
"No, I haven't!" she snapped. "Why?"
"Well-a lot of funny things-owls-cloaked people-shooting stars-thought it had something to do with her…"
Mrs. Durskey glared at him some more. She seemed to know he had not finished. He swallowed.
"Uh-what's her son's name again?"
"Harold," she snapped, turning back to the TV. "Never liked that name."
Mr. Durskey swore under his breath. A few moments later, Spudley spoke his first word, and it happened to be the one Mr. Durskey just said.
It was then they decided it was time to go to sleep.
Mr. Durskey looked out the window before climbing into bed. The cat was still there, staring down the street, waiting. As Mr. Durskey fluffed his pillow, his mind was racing…what was going on? Why were these things happening? When would it all end? But of course, he consoled himself, it seemed like it was the Plodders' problem, it had nothing to do with them…
Of course, we all know he was wrong.
The cat sat motionless on the wall, staring down the street. For hours, long after Mr. Durskey finally fell asleep, it sat, staring, waiting…
There was a small pop, and a man appeared on Pickle Drive.
If Mr. Durskey had seen this man on his street, he would have had a heart attack, for this man was the most unusual out of all the unusual people he had ever seen in his life. He seemed to be immensely old, for he had a long, braided silver beard along with long, silver hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. His nose looked crooked, as though it had been broken. A pair of half-moon glasses rested in front of his electric blue eyes. He wore robes like the people Mr. Durskey had seen, but his were, by far, the most outrageous. They looked like they had been tie-dyed rainbow. A gold chain hung around his neck, with a rainbow peace sign hanging off the end. On his feet, he wore pink bunny slippers. This man's name was Albert Dunderbore.
The cat didn't even twitch a whisker when Dunderbore appeared, but remained still, watching him. Dunderbore reached inside his tie-dye cloak and pulled out what looked like a tiny silver boomerang. Grinning, he tossed it in the air. The boomerang immediately flew towards the nearest street lamp as though it were drawn to it, and with a loud crash, broke the light inside it. Then it flew to the next street lamp, and the next, until every single light on the street had gone out. Surprisingly, not one person in any of the houses looked out their windows to find the source of the noise. It was as though they had not heard the loud crashed as the lights broke.
Dunderbore caught the boomerang and put it back inside his robes. He walked over to where the cat sat on the wall of number seven and leaned up against a tree.
"Good evening, Professor McGummable."
He looked at the cat, but the cat was gone. In its place was an extremely strict-looking woman with square glasses and a frown. Her hair was wrapped up in a tight bun, and she wore green robes.
"How did you-"
"It was the way you were sitting," Dunderbore replied. "Never, in my extremely interesting life, have I seen any cat sit so stiffly."
"It's not as easy as it looks," snapped Professor McGummable. "You try sitting here all day!"
"Oooh, a contest!" cried Dunderbore, and he plopped down on the wall. After a few moments he looked up. "This is easy! Sit down, sit down, a bag of Twizzlers to the one who wins!"
"What the heck are Twizzlers?" McGummable was getting annoyed.
"They're a type of Shmuggle sweet. I love them!" And with that, Dunderbore reached into his robes, pulled out a Twizzler, and shoved it in his mouth.
"That's enough, Dunderbore!" yelled Professor McGummable. "I bet you had enough of those already. How many parties did you attend today?"
"Too many," mumbled Dunderbore, stifling a burp.
"Everybody's being completely irresponsible, doing all these crazy things, even the Shmuggles are noticing, it was on their news!"
She glared at Dunderbore as though it were his fault, and went on.
"It would be just great if they found out about us on the day That Guy disappeared!"
"Yeah," mumbled Dunderbore. "Want a Twizzler?"
"No," she said cooly. "I mean, even if That Guy did disappear-"
"Stop calling him 'That Guy', it's annoying. Call him buy his true title: Moldywart."
Professor McGummable snorted, trying not to laugh. When she calmed down, she said, "But did you hear the rumors? About why he's gone?"
She seemed desperate to hear Dunderbore's answer, as though this was the only reason she sat on the wall all day, to find out if the rumors were true.
"They're saying-that Moldywart went to find the Plodders-they're saying-that Millie and Jimmy Plodder are-they're-dead."
"Yup," said Dunderbore. Professor McGummable gasped.
"Oh no! Millie and Jimmy…oh, Albert!"
She sniffled and dried her eyes, and went on.
"But-they're also saying-he tried to kill Harold. But he couldn't. They're saying-his powers broke when he tried. But no one knows why."
"Yup," said Dunderbore. He took out his watch. It looked more like a lava lamp than a watch, but it must have made sense to him, because he said, "Hagger's late. He's supposed to bring Harold here."
Professor McGummable mouthed soundlessly. She looked like a fish. Then she swallowed and said, "Here? Here? But-these people are horrible! They have no respect for anyone but themselves. Harold Plodder live here? He can't!"
"It's the only way to protect him," said Dunderbore firmly. "I've written a letter to the Durskeys, explaining. Ah, here comes Hagger!"
He looked up into the sky. A light was coming closer and closer, a buzzing noise was getting louder and louder, until suddenly, a giant electric scooter fell out of the sky and landed on the street.
The size of the scooter was immediately explained when the man riding it came into view. He was twice the size of a normal adult, and easily three times as wide. He had a full head of bushy black hair and a beard to match. He wore a huge brown overcoat with pockets everywhere, and big furry boots. In his arms was a small bundle of blankets.
"Hey, Hagger!" said Dunderbore. "Nice scooter! Where'd you get it?"
"Borrowed it, sir," growled Hagger. "Harold's here. Looks alright."
"You got him out okay, then?"
"Yeah," said Hagger, nodding. "House was destroyed, but he was fine, got him out alright. He was snoring as we was flying."
He lowered his arms so Dunderbore and McGummable could see. The little baby boy was fast asleep. Underneath his black hair, a star-shaped cut was just visible on his forehead.
"He got a star?" said Dunderbore in disbelief. "Why can't my scar be shaped like that?"
"Can't you make it disappear?" asked McGummable.
"Nah, I'd rather not, even if I could," said Dunderbore. "That scar could come in handy later in his life." He turned to Hagger. "It's time."
"Lemme say goodbye, sir," pleaded Hagger. He handed Harold to Dunderbore, and gave him a very hairy kiss on top of his head. Then, without warning, he started howling, tears flooding down his face.
"Hagger, shhh!" hissed McGummable. "The Shmuggles-"
"HAGGER," yelled Dunderbore, "WE-HAVE-TO-BE-QUIET-OR-THE-SHMUGGLES-WILL-HEAR-US! YOU-KNOW-WHAT-WILL-HAPPEN-IF-THEY-SEE-"
"Dunderbore, SHUT UP!" roared McGummable.
Both Dunderbore and Hagger fell silent, though tears still fell into Hagger's beard. Dunderbore carried the baby up number seven's front walkway and placed him on the front step. He then reached into his robes and pulled out an envelope. Carefully, so he wouldn't wake Harold, he nestled the envelope into the blankets. The three of them stared at the little baby for a full minute. Finally, Dunderbore spoke.
"Well, that's that."
"I'd better go, Professor," mumbled Hagger. "Have a good night."
Wiping his eyes with a spotted hanky, he got on the scooter, rose into the air, and was gone.
McGummable gave a dry sob. With a small pop, she turned back into the cat, gave Harold's forehead a lick, and raced into the night.
Dunderbore stood motionless for a moment. Then, he bent down, stoked the baby's forhead, and whispered, "Peace out, Harold." Straightening up, he pulled a stick-like object out from inside his robes, waved it in the air, and said, "Fixit!"
The shattered glass from the street lamps rose up into the air, swirling around like a tornado. With a soft whoosh, each piece flew back to where it belonged, and light shone down on Pickle Drive once more. Dunderbore had disappeared.
Harold Plodder rolled over, clutching the letter in one small fist, not knowing he would spend the next ten years being punched and kicked by his cousin, not knowing he would soon be woken by Mrs. Durskey's scream as she went to get the newspaper. Harold Plodder slept on, not knowing that at this exact moment, people all over the country were raising their glasses and saying, "To Harold Plodder: The Kid Who Survived!"
Mwa ha ha! How do you like hippie Dunderbore? I kept Hagger sort of the same as Hagrid, cuz I luv him so much! Please review, because a happy writer is a writer with lots and lots of feedback! I NEED FEEDBACK! GRAAAAR! Heehee.