Harry Potter and the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic
DISCLAIMER: Number of characters I own in this story: zero. J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter world and everything associated with it. I own no rights to any of the characters in this story. Rowling is God; I am merely one of Her prophets. [smiles with satisfaction.]
SPOILERS: Chapter 4 gives away something in book three and in book two. I would recommend reading this only if you read all 4 books (unless you just don't care.)
SUMMARY: It's pure insanity. There is a loose plot, so it's not completely out there, but it ain't no book 5. If you like parodies and characters getting hit in the heads with silly objects, gee golly, this is the story for you!
Chapter 1: Let the Nonsense Begin
"Harry, you must hurry, or we'll be late for potions."
"Oh come off it, Hermione. We're certainty not in the mood to hurry to any class of Snape's."
"Yes Ron, but if we're late Snape will deduct 347264815 points from Gryffindor!"
"Hermione, I think Harry has far more important things to worry about than House Points! Like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named coming back yet again in a vain attempt to kill Harry, the one who keeps slipping out of his clutches!"
"Ron, while this is indeed true, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't come back until the end of the story, which means Harry as plenty of time to get to class!"
"Well I still think Harry has more important things to worry about!"
"Why don't you let Harry speak for himself!" Interrupted Harry, himself.
"Sorry, Harry. We didn't realize..."
But Harry had stopped listening to his freckly friend. He had more important things to worry about. More important than class, house points, Snape, or even the Dark Lord himself. Harry had to worry about...
...his hair. It was doing this dreadful flippy thing where the front would stick up in about twenty-seven directions and the back fluttered out behind him. It looked as though a gigantic peacock plopped himself upon Harry's head. And the more Harry tried to smooth it down, the worse it looked. Harry knew it looked something awful. He heard the Slytherins snicker at him as he walked past. Of course, the Slytherins always snickered as he walked past...but the Ravenclaws were staring strangely at Harry as well. Even the Hufflepuffs were giggling and pointing. The Hufflepuffs!!! The lamest house in all of Hogwarts! The house represented by a bloody badger! No, this was not good news. Not good news indeed. Something evil was afoot. Suddenly, a terrible though occurred to Harry. It frightened him so terribly that he dropped his spork.
"Harry, what's the matter? I didn't really mean it when I said Cho was a frigid bitch. Harry...?"
Hermione and Ron, Harry's chummiest chums, stared with worry at Harry, who looked like a cat trying to hide from the vacuum cleaner. His lips parted, and he was about to say something when...
"Male's here!" Ron said in awe, as Hedwig, Harry's owl, was pulling with difficulty a stout short German man with her tendons. She plopped the portly fellow beside Harry.
"Der schlieken!" He cursed, as he picked himself up and left, but not before bopping Harry squarely on the head with a bottle of peach Snapple.
"Harry, your German Quidditch trainer arrived and you didn't even notice. Something's dreadfully wrong. What is it?" Hermione asked, face clouded with vexation.
"I...I think Vol-Sorry, I mean He-Who-Must, oh to hell with it, Voldemort, is putting the Pelligrosa Curse upon me."
Ron and Hermione gasped, as they too, dropped their sporks in fear. "N-no Harry...n-not the P-pelligrosa curse?" Ron whispered, his voice trembling like Quirrell's.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but what's the Pelligrosa Curse?" Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, inquired.
"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" asked Ron, somewhat annoyed by Wood's random appearance.
"I've been sitting next to Harry this whole time. Excuse me for listening. It's not my fault, really. You talk so bloody loud even Hagrid can hear you in his hut." With that, Oliver Wood, the handsome Scottish brogue he is, picked up his breakfast to find a seat elsewhere.
"Wait! Oliver, please don't go!" Pleaded Hermione. Oliver stopped in his tracks. He turned to stare at the Potter Three, and said beaming, "Why? Does someone actually...care about me? I have no real friends, you know. I just sort of hang out with my Quidditch supplies. Are you guys...my friends? Does this mean I'll get more dialogue in the books, and more scenes in the movies?"
"Actually, I just wanted you to stay so I could recite for you from page sixty-seven of 'Cruel Curses' what the Pelligrosa Curse is. Any chance to display my worldly knowledge, I take."
Oliver's eyes swelled with tears. "Why...why do you hurt me so?" He threw down his food tray and stormed out of the great hall, tears streaming down his face.
"Excuse me, but this story is indeed called HARRY POTTER and the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic. Oliver Wood's name is NOT in the title."
Sorry, I just got carried away.
"I know."
I love you, Oliver.
"He's not reading this, you know."
I know Harry. No one is. And if they are, it's because they've already read all of the good fanfics.
"Yes. Anyway, tell us Hermione, what IS the Pelliwhatever curse?"
Hermione cleared her throat, and drank a sip of water from her cup. "The Pelligrosa Curse is one of the cruelest curses known to wizards. It causes the victim's hair to grow in all sorts of directions and stick out in odd places. Gel doesn't work. Spray won't help. Water is ineffective. And even if you shave your head bald, the hair grows back even more tangled and unmanageable."
"Ohhh, is that why your hair is so ratty, Hermione?"
Hermione glared at Ron and hit him with the roasted leg of lamb she was eating. Ron stuck his tongue out.
"What shall I do?" Harry asked, his courage returning.
"Well," mused Hermione, "I suppose we should ask Hagrid for advice?"
"...why?"
"Because it's time for a change of scenery."
"Oh."
DISCLAIMER: Number of characters I own in this story: zero. J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter world and everything associated with it. I own no rights to any of the characters in this story. Rowling is God; I am merely one of Her prophets. [smiles with satisfaction.]
SPOILERS: Chapter 4 gives away something in book three and in book two. I would recommend reading this only if you read all 4 books (unless you just don't care.)
SUMMARY: It's pure insanity. There is a loose plot, so it's not completely out there, but it ain't no book 5. If you like parodies and characters getting hit in the heads with silly objects, gee golly, this is the story for you!
Chapter 1: Let the Nonsense Begin
"Harry, you must hurry, or we'll be late for potions."
"Oh come off it, Hermione. We're certainty not in the mood to hurry to any class of Snape's."
"Yes Ron, but if we're late Snape will deduct 347264815 points from Gryffindor!"
"Hermione, I think Harry has far more important things to worry about than House Points! Like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named coming back yet again in a vain attempt to kill Harry, the one who keeps slipping out of his clutches!"
"Ron, while this is indeed true, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't come back until the end of the story, which means Harry as plenty of time to get to class!"
"Well I still think Harry has more important things to worry about!"
"Why don't you let Harry speak for himself!" Interrupted Harry, himself.
"Sorry, Harry. We didn't realize..."
But Harry had stopped listening to his freckly friend. He had more important things to worry about. More important than class, house points, Snape, or even the Dark Lord himself. Harry had to worry about...
...his hair. It was doing this dreadful flippy thing where the front would stick up in about twenty-seven directions and the back fluttered out behind him. It looked as though a gigantic peacock plopped himself upon Harry's head. And the more Harry tried to smooth it down, the worse it looked. Harry knew it looked something awful. He heard the Slytherins snicker at him as he walked past. Of course, the Slytherins always snickered as he walked past...but the Ravenclaws were staring strangely at Harry as well. Even the Hufflepuffs were giggling and pointing. The Hufflepuffs!!! The lamest house in all of Hogwarts! The house represented by a bloody badger! No, this was not good news. Not good news indeed. Something evil was afoot. Suddenly, a terrible though occurred to Harry. It frightened him so terribly that he dropped his spork.
"Harry, what's the matter? I didn't really mean it when I said Cho was a frigid bitch. Harry...?"
Hermione and Ron, Harry's chummiest chums, stared with worry at Harry, who looked like a cat trying to hide from the vacuum cleaner. His lips parted, and he was about to say something when...
"Male's here!" Ron said in awe, as Hedwig, Harry's owl, was pulling with difficulty a stout short German man with her tendons. She plopped the portly fellow beside Harry.
"Der schlieken!" He cursed, as he picked himself up and left, but not before bopping Harry squarely on the head with a bottle of peach Snapple.
"Harry, your German Quidditch trainer arrived and you didn't even notice. Something's dreadfully wrong. What is it?" Hermione asked, face clouded with vexation.
"I...I think Vol-Sorry, I mean He-Who-Must, oh to hell with it, Voldemort, is putting the Pelligrosa Curse upon me."
Ron and Hermione gasped, as they too, dropped their sporks in fear. "N-no Harry...n-not the P-pelligrosa curse?" Ron whispered, his voice trembling like Quirrell's.
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, but what's the Pelligrosa Curse?" Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, inquired.
"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" asked Ron, somewhat annoyed by Wood's random appearance.
"I've been sitting next to Harry this whole time. Excuse me for listening. It's not my fault, really. You talk so bloody loud even Hagrid can hear you in his hut." With that, Oliver Wood, the handsome Scottish brogue he is, picked up his breakfast to find a seat elsewhere.
"Wait! Oliver, please don't go!" Pleaded Hermione. Oliver stopped in his tracks. He turned to stare at the Potter Three, and said beaming, "Why? Does someone actually...care about me? I have no real friends, you know. I just sort of hang out with my Quidditch supplies. Are you guys...my friends? Does this mean I'll get more dialogue in the books, and more scenes in the movies?"
"Actually, I just wanted you to stay so I could recite for you from page sixty-seven of 'Cruel Curses' what the Pelligrosa Curse is. Any chance to display my worldly knowledge, I take."
Oliver's eyes swelled with tears. "Why...why do you hurt me so?" He threw down his food tray and stormed out of the great hall, tears streaming down his face.
"Excuse me, but this story is indeed called HARRY POTTER and the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic. Oliver Wood's name is NOT in the title."
Sorry, I just got carried away.
"I know."
I love you, Oliver.
"He's not reading this, you know."
I know Harry. No one is. And if they are, it's because they've already read all of the good fanfics.
"Yes. Anyway, tell us Hermione, what IS the Pelliwhatever curse?"
Hermione cleared her throat, and drank a sip of water from her cup. "The Pelligrosa Curse is one of the cruelest curses known to wizards. It causes the victim's hair to grow in all sorts of directions and stick out in odd places. Gel doesn't work. Spray won't help. Water is ineffective. And even if you shave your head bald, the hair grows back even more tangled and unmanageable."
"Ohhh, is that why your hair is so ratty, Hermione?"
Hermione glared at Ron and hit him with the roasted leg of lamb she was eating. Ron stuck his tongue out.
"What shall I do?" Harry asked, his courage returning.
"Well," mused Hermione, "I suppose we should ask Hagrid for advice?"
"...why?"
"Because it's time for a change of scenery."
"Oh."