Disclaimer: I do not own HP or any of the copyrighted stuff.
A/N: Yay, a parody! XD This was actually the first fanfic that I started planning on writing for publishment, but I got distracted because of a lot of drama with my family and didn't feel much like comedy. I'm not sure how good it will be, but hey, you all are the judges of that.
Oh, and if you have a moment, please write a review! I want to know what everyone thinks, and what I should improve on.
Chapter One -- The Boy Who... Well... Lives
Vernon and Petunia Dursley were perfectly normal citizens of Little Whinging, Surrey. They lived in number four, Privet Drive, and had a young son named Dudley. Vernon worked as the director of a company that made drills, while Petunia remained at home to care for Dudley. Okay, so they had weird names; but other than that, they were perfectly normal.
At least, that's what most people thuoght. None of them had noticed that the Dursleys avoided the topic of Petunia's family, that they dressed their son up in bonnets that made him look like a beach ball, that they despised all mention of anything extraordinary, or that they randomly yelled at random people for random reasons that often didn't make a lot of random sense. Apparently, a lot of people in Surrey were either very inobservant or very stupid. Maybe both.
Then one day, onto this scene burst a cat. This wasn't just any cat, though; it was a gray tabby cat. With markings around its eyes. Who could read disappearing maps and green street signs. Vernon Dursley himself saw it, and he certainly didn't have the imagination to make up something like that!
The cat turned out to be only the tip of the iceberg, because the night after the cat appeared, new, strange things started happening very quickly. A very tall, very old, very odd and obviously eccentric man wearing sweeping robes and half-moon glasses appeared on Privet Drive. He seemed to pull a silver cigarette lighter from his pocket, but when he clicked the button that should have lit a flame, the nearest streetlamp went out and a ball of light flew into the cigarette lighter. The same thing happened several more times, until all the lights were out.
The old man began to walk calmly along the street toward the cat, but halfway there, he lost sight of the tiny green lights that were the cat's eyes. There was a loud clanging as he walked into a metal trash can, and a sort of soft snuffle from the cat.
"I suppose you find that amusing, Professor McGonagall?"
As the man reached number four, he found, not a cat, but a solemn-looking woman with a tight bun and emerald green robes. "Of course not, Professor Dumbledore," said McGonagall stiffly.
Dumbledore sat down on the wall of number four next to McGonagall and asked, "So, why have you been sitting no a wall all day, instead of celebrating with everyone else? And would you like a lemon drop?"
"I was waiting to speak with you, Albus," McGonagall answered. "And what in the name of Merlin is a lemon drop?"
"A lemon drop is a Muggle candy, Minerva. I am quite fond of them; they are quite good. So, then -- would you like a lemon drop?"
"No, thank you," McGonagall answered, changing the subject. "Are the rumors true, Albus? Is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named gone at last?"
"Ah, it seems so, Minerva Dumbledore said seriously. "However, I would much appreciate it if you would use his proper name. All this You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named nonsense! There is no reason to fear calling him Voldemort."
With a gasp, McGonagall slipped off the wall and into a hedge. As she picked herself up, she distinctly heard a chuckle from the wall. When she resumed her seat, she asked stiffly, "I suppose you find that amusing, Albus?"
"Of course not, Minerva. Lemon drop?"
McGonagall sighed and said again, "No, thank you." Then she went on with what she had been wanting to say: "Albus, have you heard what everyone is saying? They say that, last night, You-Know -- oh, all right -- Voldemort found his way into Godric's Hollow. They're saying that he found Lily and James and that -- that they're --"
"I'm afraid it's true, Minerva. Lemon drop?"
McGonagall's face lost all color and she turned to the house, not wanting to look at Dumbledore. "Oh, no -- I couldn't believe it -- I didn't want to believe it!"
"There, there," Dumbledore said, patting her on the back. "It's not all bad news, after all. Care for a lemon drop?"
McGonagall ignored this, and went on, "Then, is it true -- that little Harry -- he survived the Killing Curse? And that's why Voldemort is gone?"
"Indeed it is, Minerva. No one knows why, but when Voldemort failed to kill Harry, his power somehow broke. And so I am here now to deliver Harry to his aunt and uncle while leaving them only a letter to explain everything and not checking up on them for ten years! Nothing could go wrong with that plan! So -- would you like a lemon drop?"
McGonagall was silent for a moment, as if considering this, before she spoke. "So, where is Harry?" she asked, completely ignoring the irrationality of Dumbledore's comments. Perhaps McGonagall was one of those inobservant, stupid people in Surrey. Or perhaps she just trusted Dumbledore. Or perhaps both.
"Hagrid is bringing him."
"You entrusted him to Hagrid? You left the boy who... well... lives, I guess.. in the hands of a man who got expelled in this third year but still does illegal magic?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my wife."
McGonagall stared. "What did you say?"
"So sorry; I had a lemon drop stuck to the roof of my mouth. I meant to say, 'I would trust Hagrid with my life.' Lemon drop, Minerva?" he added into the silence that followed.
As if on cue, there was a great rumbling sound and a light fell from the sky. Dumbledore and McGonagall were blinded, and as they tried to stand up, they knocked into each other and went sprawling into the dirt. There was a laugh from the general direction of the light.
"I suppose you find that amusing, Hagrid?" asked both Dumbledore and McGonagall at once.
"O' course not, professors," Hagrid answered. "It seems that li'l Harry did, though, sir."
A giant of a man stepped off of the huge motorcycle that was giving off both the light and the roaring sound. He had a little bundle in his arms, a little bundle that was moving.
Dumbledore had regained his feet by now, and had pulled the silver-cigarette-lighter-looking-thingamabob from his pocket again. With a click, the light from the motorcycle's headlight had gone spinning into the cigarette lighter, as well.
"'Ey!" Hagrid objected. "Tha's not my bike, Professor Dumbledore, sir! Young Sirius Black lent it to me, I have ta return it with the ligh' workin'!"
"Don't shine it in our eyes, then, Hagrid," McGonagall said irritibly. "I expect Albus can return it later, anyway -- and keep your voice down, you'll wake the Muggles!"
Dumbledore, however, was staring at the bundle in Hagrid's arms. "He's supposed to be asleep," he told Hagrid incredulously.
"'Arry was asleep, sir," Hagrid answered. "Fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol. Bu' then I almos' dropped him and he woke up again."
"You almost dropped him," McGonagall repeated faintly.
"Tha's wha' I said, ain't it?" Hagrid asked shiftily before he admitted, "All righ', so I did drop him. Bu' I caught him, too, so no harm done."
Dumbledore objected, "But he's supposed to be asleep!"
"You rock 'im ter sleep, then," Hagrid said, handing Dumbledore the bundle which contained a baby boy with jet-black hair, green eyes, and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
"Is that scar -- where the curse --" McGonagall began, but when she couldn't seem to get out the question, Dumbledore answered serenely, "Yes. He'll have it forever." There was a pause, and then he asked the boy, "Harry, would you like a lemon drop?"
"You can't give the boy candy," McGonagall interrupted. "He'll never sleep that way!"
"All right, then," Dumbledore said quietly. Then, with a sigh, he put the baby boy down on the doorstep of number four.
"What are you doing?" McGonagall interrupted; perhaps she wasn't so stupid, after all. "If you leave Harry there, he could crawl off and get lost anywhere!"
"But -- he's supposed to be asleep!" Dumbledore objected again. With a sigh, McGonagall picked up the baby and began rocking him, singing softly under her breath.
Hagrid looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked at Hagrid. Hagrid scratched his head. Dumbledore tapped his finger on his leg.
"There," McGonagall said at last, after laying the now sleeping Harry back on the doorstep. "Was that so difficult?"
"Er.. yeah, I'd say i' was," Hagrid answered, looking at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore looked at McGonagall. McGonagall looked at Hagrid. Hagrid looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore glanced at them both and asked, "Would either of you care for a lemon drop?"
"A wha'?" Hagrid asked, but McGonagall interrupted, "We had best be going, Albus."
"True, very true," Dumbledore said, pulling the silver cigarette lighter back out of his pocket again. He clicked it once and the balls of light flew back to the streetlamps, and to the motorcycle.
Hagrid tried to get back to the bike, but as he was blinded by the light, he tripped over it instead and fell to the ground with a loud crash. There was the sound of a half-suppressed laugh from the direction of the two professors, and Hagrid stood up, asking, "I s'pose yeh find tha' amusin', then?"
"Of course not, Hagrid," Dumbledore answered serenely, but McGonagall, who was still shaking as she tried to keep from laughing, said, "Perhaps just a bit."
Hagrid looked at McGonagall. McGonagall looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked at Hagrid. Hagrid mounted the motorcycle and said, "I had bes' get outta here 'fore the Muggles see."
"Yes, and so should we all," Dumbledore said, and he began to walk back in the direction he had come from. He heard the motorcycle fire up and head into the sky, and as he reached the end of Privet Drive, he turned. McGonagall was nowhere to be seen, but there was a gray tabby cat walking out of sight on the other side of the street.
"Best of luck, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Perhaps when you're older, Minerva will let me offer you a lemon drop."