A/N:
This is ridden with grammar mistakes and typos, but I don't want to read through it. So deal. From the perspective of Neville Longbottom.
So today, I was thinking about that Harry Potter bloke. Yeah. He's a total hottie. He's super famous and a freaking beast. I wish I was him.
Not only is he beyond extremely attractive, but he does super-fly things.
I mean, when he was a baby, he stopped the most powerful dark wizard-Voldemort. A BABY! Don't tell Dumbledore this, but I'm sure he couldn't have even done that. Now, that's sayin' something. When I was a baby, all I did was sit around eating, crying, and pooping. Yeah. I'm sure my parents were proud of that. Jealous? Yes.
When he was an eleven year old, he stopped Voldy again. Double teamed, this time. It was him against Quirrel AND Voldemort. I bet he just looked at Quirrel and Quirrel just died from his radiating foxiness. When I was an eleven year old, all I did was sit around eating, crying, and pooping. I bet Turban Boy was pretty embarrassed that he got beat up by a first year. He also attacked a mountain troll—who peed his pants. Not only that, but he had several encounters with a giant three headed dog who could have inhaled him, became seeker—the youngest in a century, played a life sized version of Wizard's Chess, became best friends with a ginger, half-giant, Dumbledore, and an afro girl, denied Malfoy, almost died from devil's snare, and a whole bunch of other mega rad things that I can't even imagine an eleven year old could have done. ELEVEN. When I was a first year, I slept in the corridors because I forgot the password into the commonroom. I'm cool.
In Harry's second year, he drove a car. Yeah. That's illegal. He's such a rebel. He's twelve. Driving a flying car. How cool is he? He was probably wearing his boss sunglasses, leather jacket, skinny jeans, converse, rockin' a gelled Mohawk, playing the guitar. WHILE FLYING A FREAKING CAR. I am jealous of Harry. I am even jealous of Ron! I mean Harry got his swagger all over Ron's car! He also killed a massive basilisk, pulled the freaking sword of Gryffindor out of the sorting hat, rode a phoenix. He used a basilisk fang to destroy a part Voldemort's soul. He got a basilisk fang IN HIS ARM. Nearly died, but a phoenix cried on him, so he's all good. He saved Ginny Weasley's life. I'm wish I was Ginny, besides the fact she almost died. Talked to snakes, spilt pudding on a fat lady, thought he was the heir of Slytherin, had his arm become jelly, had to drink dumb Skele-Gro, opened the Chamber of Secrets, heard voices, freed a house elf, and he managed all of this without messing up his bloody gorgeous hair. I can only dream of what my life would be like if I could all do that and look stunningly sexy all the while. Because I do. I have recurring dreams about this. In my second year, the only things I did were get hung up on a chandelier by pixies, get petrified by Hermione Granger-that meanie, and faint from a mandrake.
When Harry was a third year, he was able to cast a patronus. That's hardcore. He also blew up his aunt, befriended a werewolf, almost was eaten by that werewolf, went back in time, saved a hippogriff, rode a hippogriff, found out that a "mass murderer" was his godfather, saved his godfather from the dementor's kiss, then saved his godfather again from almost being killed, fought off like a billion freaking dementors-that sexy beast, rode the Knight Bus, met Stan Shunpike, fell off his broomstick while unconscious, discovered that Scabbers is really a scary old man, was made fun of by Malfoy, fainted on a train, watched Malfoy get attacked by a hippogriff, and saw the grim. I would have died. Just from the crazy excitement that does not belong in my completely monotonous life. Like, seriously, I don't understand how so much crazyradtasticalness can ever fit in one human being. He's not a human; he's a god.
When Harry was a fourth year, he saw Voldemort return, saw Cedric die, brought Cedric's body back to his parents, was rejected by Cho Chang, was tortured by his dreams, went to the Yule Ball, grew gills and fins-AND I HELPED, fought a dragon, rocked out on his firebolt, escaped from evil merpeople, saved Ron, rescued Fleur's sister, met Victor Krum, saved Cedric from evil plants, went to the Quidditch World Cup, saw Dumbledore's memories, became a tri-wizard champion, experienced a death eater in the form of an auror teaching him, solved a supertricky riddle, and didn't die. I would have cried as soon as I heard I was a tri-wizard champion. This kid has guts. But I helped him turn into fish-boy and that's all that matters. I'm inching my way towards BEING HARRY FREAKING POTTER.
In Harry's fifth year, he was getting it on with Cho Chang. I often dream that I am Cho Chang. He created Dumbledore's Army, became a hot teacher that all the girls-and guys-adored, hated Umbridge with all of his soul, saved his dumb cousin, almost got sent to Azkaban, almost got expelled, befriended Luna Lovegood, rode thestrals, used more of his patronus skills, never learned what nargles are, sat with me on the Hogwarts express, discovered that Mrs. Fig is a squib, attended a hearing, had horrid dreams, let centaurs do away with that old Umbridge hag, witnessed Fred and George break out of Hogwarts, took his O.W.L.s, had Voldemort possess him, saved Arthur Weasley, saw into Voldemort's thoughts, decided he wanted to be an auror when he grew up, and attacked those fools, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Oh gosh. He's hot. But enough about him. I'm getting in. You see, this was my plan. I'm finally being noticed. I'm not the dummy that just gets mandrakes exploded in his face. Not anymore. I am also the one who found the Room of Requirement so we could have our DA lessons in private. I'm cool.
In his sixth year, he found a Horcrux, looked into many memories of Tom Riddle, snogged Ginny Weasley-I wish I was her, became fantastic at potions with the help of a manky old book he practically made love to every night-I wish I was that book, cursed Malfoy and nearly killed him, spent quality time with Dumbledore, and basically rocked my world. I didn't do anything really remarkable this year, but Harry made up for that with his superawesomemegacoolness.
In his seventh year, it was my year. Harry, being the awesome little turtle that he is, found some horcruxes, destroyed some horcruxes, was betrayed be Xenophilius Lovegood, nearly died in a freezing pond, broke into Gringott's, broke into the Ministry of Magic, escaped from Malfoy manor, saved Luna Lovegood, saved Mr. Ollivander, saved Xenophilius Lovegood, attended a wedding, camped out, rode a dragon, burnt his hand, stole Slytherin's locket from Umbridge, found out Snape wasn't evil, became a godfather, was threatened by Voldemort, asked me to kill Voldy's snake, figured out how to open his snitch, found Gryffindor's sword, was attacked by a massive snake, found the resurrection stone, possessed the Elder Wand, and became the master of death. Then he died, came back to life, and killed Voldemort. Bloody awesome. Well, if I died, I'd be dead, first of all. I bet his love for himself was enough to bring him back from the dead. I mean. He's just cool like that. At least Voldy took it like a man-he tends to be whiny. I KILLED THE SNAKE AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS SO SUCK IT HARRY POTTER. BECAUSE I'M COOLER THAN YOU AND YOU'RE JEALOUS. I AM A BLOODY HOTTIE. AND YOU KNOW.
No one knows this, but since my second year, when Harry was a swagging beast in that flying car, I went out to buy sunglasses, a leather jacket, and a guitar. At least four times a week, I dress up like Harry Potter. And dance. In the night. I have a poster of him under my pillow. One time, I baked him a cake and drew his face with icing. Don't tell my gran.
I still wish I was him. I will never compare.
I LOVE Harry Jamesfreakinsmexypants Potter!