Chapter 1

It was a normal day on a normal street in a normal town. Especially for someone as normal as Mr. Dumbskee.

"Wot the devil?" muttered the extremely normal man. He glanced at his shoulder. "Oi! There's a bit of bird poo on my shoulder!" he grumbled to himself.

A shadow passed over Mr. Dumbskee, and he looked up.

"Congratulations, sir!" rumbled the tall man.

"Wot the devil?" thought Mr. Dumbskee. Why would this man congratulate him on something as normal, revolting, even, as getting bird poo on his expensive but totally normal suit?

"Sir Shoulder Mold has been vanquished!" thundered the man.

"That is most definitely not mold, it is just a bit of crusty old bird poo, and-" Mr. Dumbskee stopped mid-grumble and took a look around. The town square was filled with loads of un-normal people, all shouting, "Harriett Slaughter lives!" and cheering like hyenas.

The tall man danced a jig and hopped into the fountain next to them.

Mr. Dumbskee quickly turned around and walked briskly home.

This was not normal.

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"Merry Christmas, my dear Chrysanthemum!" Mr. Dumbskee yodeled to his wife as he prepared a gourmet supper of sunflower seeds and chocolate milk; a perfectly normal meal for his perfectly normal family of three in their perfectly normal house.

"You too, Burton, my lovey-pie!" replied Mrs. Dumbskee as she planted a slobbery kiss on her husbands pudgy, yet normal, stubble covered cheek.

"Did you see that panther sitting on our maillbox? I wonder whose it is…" wondered Mrs. Dumbskee.

Burton 'harrumphed' in response.

As they sat down at the supper table, Mr. Dumbskee cleared his throat. "What have you heard from, er, your brother, er, what's his name again?"

Mrs. Dumbskee's face vibrated with anger (actually, their wee baby had decided to crawl under the table and shake her legs, but nonetheless, Chrysanthemum still looked intimidating to her husband).

"That good-for-nothing egg!" She hissed, "Leaving us all alone for all these years! He didn't even come to our wedding, dearest, and that wee tot, Harriett, I have never even seen her!" She sniffed as the sucked on a sunflower seed. It was obvious she was holding herself back from continuing the conversation. Chrysanthemum knew how Burton despised her dramatic monologues.

But it didn't matter. Mr. Dumbskee had gotten the information he needed. "Oh pish posh," he thought, "It must have been a different Harriett Slaughter that those weridos in the town square were referring to…"

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"OMG, is that you McGonagall? I have to say, your new panther form is simply fabulous!" sang the incredibly handsome man. His pink-highlighted bangs swept over his eyes like a teenage boy. McGonagall wanted to rip them off.

"Would you mind trimming your bloody bangs? They don't flatter your jaw alignment in the slightest." growled McGonagall.

"I knew it was you, no one else in the entire world is that fashion-deprived! LOL!" The dashing man giggled. McGonagall transformed back into her human form.

"OMG, I totes heart your new robes! They are soooo fetch!" Praised the stud.

"Thimblewar! We don't have time for your bloody shenanigans! Did you bring the girl?"

He grinned, "Of course, my dear feline, I'll fetch her."

Thimblewar pranced over to his smoking jetpack and produced a bulging picnic basket.

"Greedy Hag is in there too, he's been keeping her quiet." Thimblewar opened the basket and produced a swaddle of blankets.

"Oi! She's sleeping! Be careful now!" squealed a high-pitched voice from somewhere around the baby's right ear.

Thimblewar raised his left eyebrow spectacularly at the dwarf giant.

"Oh, sorry, headmaster, you just can't be too careful around babies these days. One little noise, and they explode, like-"

"Alright, alright, enough of this bloody chit-chat! Let's drop her off and leave before someone notices us!" Snapped McGonagall, all business.

"Now, don't get your knickers up in a twist, McGonagall!" sputtered Thimblewar. "I don't even see why people call them 'knickers' anyway," he muttered as an afterthought.

"Thimblewar!"

"Oh, right, yes, jolly good then." Thimblewar tossed the baby to McGonagall and lifted Greedy Hag onto his pink-sequined shoulder.

McGonagall delicately tip-toed over to the house and gingerly smushed the sleeping baby into the mailbox. Greedy Hag wiped away a tear.

"I'm sure gonna miss that little girl!" he sniffed.

Thimblewar glided over to McGonagall. "Harriett Slaughter," He whispered dramatically as he looked down upon her chubby face, "The only witch without a scar…"

With that, the trio wiggled their ears and disappeared from sight.