What luck! Two fanfics for the price of one!
An "Umbridge Reads fic" idea you've never seen before. Umbridge gets her hands on a copy of "Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend" (a fic written by me which contains oneshots of a young, flamboyantly gay Harry Potter forming a connection with his cousin Dudley) and forces the entire school to listen to a reading of it.
School-wide snarking and an unusual coming-out ensue.
"Attention, students and staff," the high-pitched, breathy voice of Professor Umbridge rang out through the school one Friday evening. "By order of Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four and a Half, all students and faculty must report to the Great Hall tomorrow for the reading of what promises to be a very informative document. Failure to attend this reading, scheduled to begin at 7:00 sharp, will result in expulsion for students and immediate termination for staff. This includes the Headmaster!" Umbridge's voice grew shriller as she attempted to assert her authority over the school.
In the Gryffindor common room, the students stayed up late speculating on what the document could be and why they all needed to hear it being read to them.
"Maybe it's a Bible," suggested Lavender Brown.
"A Bible? Umbridge?" snorted Ron. "Yeah right. It's more likely to be a guide to Satanism. We'll probably have to sit through some emotionally-stunted weirdo's account about the time she to transfigured a guitar into a Pentagram or something."
Everybody stared at Ron for a very, very long time. "What'd I say?" asked Ron, noticing the strange looks on everyone's faces. As one, everybody in the Gryffindor Common Room, be they friends or foes, from the brawny jerkoff Cormac McLaggen to the tiny, clueless second year Dennis Creevey, shook their heads in unison, well-used to Ron's propensity for saying the wrong thing. Honestly, he was almost as bad as "Loony" Lovegood sometimes.
Hermione sighed. "It's more likely to be some Ministry document or other. Some ridiculous new law that Umbridge is especially pleased with, so she's making us all attend some dumb meeting for the purpose of rubbing it in our faces."
Unfortunately for all the students who stayed up late making various predictions about the unusual meeting they would be forced to attend (or, in Hermione's case, getting a head start on weekend homework), Umbridge's awful voice rang out once again, this time at 6:30 in the morning. "Attention, Hogwarts students and staff," the toad-like woman called out. "This is just to remind you that your required meeting is scheduled 30 minutes from now, at 7:00 in the Great Hall. Remember, attendance is mandatory!" She finished, an annoyingly cheerful lilt to her voice.
The Hogwart-ians groaned, moaned, kvetched, and complained at their rude awakening. Most of them had assumed that the High Inquisitor had meant for the meeting to be at 7:00 PM, not AM, but they clearly had underestimated the toadlike teacher's propensity for sadism.
The school reluctantly roused itself from slumber in order to attend what was sure to be a highly unpleasant meeting. Harry, by this point, was wondering if it was really worth the trouble of following all of these stupid new educational decrees to stay at Hogwarts. But being expelled would mean he couldn't lead the DA, so he dragged himself out of bed with the feeling that this could bring nothing good.
Most of the students were slumped over their respective house tables, still in their pajamas. Harry's hair was more disheveled than usual, and Ron was still wearing his too-short maroon pajamas. At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was sitting primly, not a hair out of place and dressed in an immaculately pressed, heavily-starched version of the Hogwarts uniform. Over at the teacher's table, Dumbledore, like Draco Malfoy, was perfectly groomed, despite it being early Saturday morning.
The Headmaster was bedecked in an eye-catching ensemble that featured colors of all four houses: a green hat with gold trim, a blue shirt, bronze tie, and a long scarlet cloak with silver trim, black pants, and bright yellow boots. A part of Harry wanted to wolf-whistle and shout out a compliment about the Headmaster's outfit. Harry shook his head, wondering where that random thought had come from. However, Harry did not have time to dwell upon any strange thoughts.
Umbridge chose that moment to stand up, a strange tome held in her plump, bejeweled hands. "Attention, boys and girls," she began in her high-pitched, breathy voice. The Great Hall immediately fell silent, not because they had any respect for Umbridge's authority, but because they were all curious as to why the High Inquisitor had called them here today. It must be big news, as Umbridge had just started speaking without making her customary throat-clearing "Hem-hem!"
Umbridge continued speaking with a wide grin on her toadlike face. "Recently, the Ministry uncovered a strange document entitled 'Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend.'"
Harry choked as he recognized the name of his cousin, then repressed a snigger as he imagined his bullying, bigoted boxing champion of a cousin having a sassy gay friend. As images of Dudley and some pretty-boy in a sparkly tank-top and tight pants going over the outfit to be worn in Dudley's next boxing match danced in his head, Umbridge continued speaking.
"Many of us felt that the name sounded familiar, but we couldn't place it. It wasn't until later, when we were sorting through transcripts of criminal trials from this summer that we realized when we had heard the name. Dudley Dursley is Harry Potter's cousin, a boy who was supposedly attacked by Dementors this summer, only to be rescued by Potter, which, according to his testimony, necessitated the use of underage magic. Young Mr. Dursley was not available to give his testimony on his cousin's flagrant disregard for the law, but, fortunately for certain law-abiding citizens, we have found a written testimony of the life of Dudley Dursley. And so, without further ado, let's get to the truth!"
Harry's heart sank. He could already tell that this book was nothing but lies, and, judging by Umbridge's gleeful expression, this meant bad things ahead for him. His stomach twisted as Umbridge began to read.
"Ever since he could remember, Harry had been confined to the cupboard under the stairs rather than having a proper bedroom," Umbridge began in a bright and cheerful voice. There were gasps from Harry's friends and sniggers from his enemies. Dumbledore looked uncomfortable, while McGonagall looked furious. Snape was paying absolutely no attention to the proceedings and was very obviously reading a Potions text under the table. Umbridge noticed that Potter looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock. She resisted the urge to clap her hands with glee. She was only one sentence in, and things were already going splendidly. However, her heart sank when she read what came next.
"Anyone who actually took a look a good look around the "room" would realize that the boy was not taking this slight as badly as his aunt and uncle would have hoped. It was rather cozy on the whole, a testament to his years of stealing his aunt's issues of 'Better Homes and Gardens' and 'Martha Stewart Living.'"
"Both excellent publications!" Dumbledore said approvingly. "Well done, Harry!"
"Sir, you do realize that this never actually happened, right?" Harry reminded the Headmaster.
"Yes, yes, of course," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "But even so…"
"The cupboard also seemed to be larger on the inside than it would appear to be from the outside. A careful observer might question why anyone would build a window, complete with mini blinds and attractive navy blue curtains, in a cupboard under the stairs. The smarter ones would ask why this window could not be seen from the outside of the house. And how on Earth, these hypothetical observers would wonder, could one fit a king-sized bed, an extensive wardrobe, a vanity table, a sewing machine, a floor-to-ceiling bookcase full of magazines, an indoor pool, a 32-inch plasma screen, and a beanbag chair in one tiny cupboard under the stairs?"
"Magic, duh," responded the entire student body.
Harry froze. He remembered a time when he was younger when he actually could mess around with his cupboard and make it look like a large, spacious, beautiful room in a mansion rather than a dusty old cupboard under the stairs. That was back when he actually did do quirky things like read his aunt's magazines and obsess over fashion and interior decorating.
It was around the time he started school that he realized that these hobbies did not endear him to the other boys, particularly Dudley. So, he tried to be "normal." He stopped caring about his own appearance and how his cupboard looked. He started playing sports instead of sewing. Despite being small and skinny for his age, he was very fast and energetic. However, despite his athleticism, he was still picked last for teams because nobody wanted Dudley to think they liked him.
His foray into normalcy had done him no good. Worse of all, by the time he had come to his senses and gotten sick of it, he could not harness his power and make things beautiful the way he once had been able to. Maybe it was a bit of magic that faded with age.
"Of course, the only visitor to Harry's cupboard was Harry's cousin Dudley, who was well-used to his cousin's quirks. Dudley knew his parents well enough to realize that, as much as they loved him, they despised any mention of Harry or abnormality, plus he valued his cousin's friendship (and 24-hour access to the indoor pool) too much to tell his mum or dad anything about how much Harry was enjoying the room that was meant as a punishment for... being Harry."
"I don't know what's more horrifying about that," said Fred.
"The idea of being confined to a cupboard under the stairs with Dudley being your only visitor…" George continued.
"Or the idea of seeing Dudley in his swim-trunks…" Fred finished.
"Maybe the parents know all about how wonderful Harry's cupboard is and send Dudley over to punish Harry for being Harry," Luna Lovegood theorized.
"That was actually pretty intelligent," Marietta Edgecombe said in shocked surprise. The rest of the Ravenclaw table looked equally stunned as they gazed in disbelief at the genius among them.
"There had been a time when Dudley behaved just like his parents,"
"He still does!" said Harry in outrage.
"…treating Harry badly and blaming him for everything that went wrong."
"He still does that! Last summer, he blamed me for setting soul-sucking wraiths on him!"
"But all that changed when they were about eight…"
"No it didn't!"
"…and Dudley realized that underneath the small, skinny body and flashy clothes (hand-me-downs of Dudley that Harry had altered beyond all recognition) was one of the, Hell, he was the smartest person Dudley knew."
"It must have been a low bar," Malfoy and Snape said at the exact same time.
The current and former Slytherin's eyes met across the Great Hall.
"Professor Snape," said Draco in a hushed voice.
"Mr. Malfoy," Snape responded in a low baritone.
"Professor…" Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. "Will you be my Godfather?"
"Of course," Snape replied magnanimously. "Everybody already thinks I am, anyway."
"Thanks, Uncle Sev! Is it alright if I call you Uncle Sev?"
"Never in a million years," Snape said in a deadly whisper that carried across the hall.
Even Umbridge trembled, her wide, toadlike smile faltering. Only Dumbledore remained unaffected and was contentedly sucking on a lemon drop.
Umbridge concealed her moment of sheer terror by diving right back into the strange book.
"It had all started one chilly morning during Christmas break when eight year-old Dudley was going about his usual routine."
"Nice pancake breakfast," Ginny contributed.
"A good B.M." said one of the twins.
"Another breakfast," said the other twin.
"A light snack" added Ron.
"A third breakfast for good luck," said Dean, catching on.
"And out the door for some healthful fresh air before lunch," finished Hermione.
"You guys didn't leave him any time to watch TV," Harry pointed out.
"Couldn't he just watch TV while he eats?" asked Seamus.
"I suppose," sighed Harry. "If you really wanted to trust Dudley with multi-tasking."
"He had the small skinny body of Marvin Hutchinson pinned against a wall and was kicking the nerdy boy in his privates, something he had seen on one of his dad's movies. It seemed to be working, as Hutchinson was slumped over and groaning in pain."
"I have found that that technique works 87.5% of the time. Really, it's a sloppy, amateurish ploy to gain easy money without putting forth any effort," stated Vincent Crabbe, who sounded surprisingly intelligent.
Nobody in Slytherin seemed particularly surprised by this, which raised suspicions that the dumb muscle thing was just an act he pulled outside the Common Room. Everybody started to wonder about Goyle as well, but judging by the way he was attempting to pick his nose and scratch his head at the same time (and failing miserably), everyone decided to not get ahead of themselves.
"'I know you got 20 pounds birthday money,' Dudley growled, sounding as menacing as a six year old boy could be expected to sound. 'So give it up!'"
"I say, the author of this work is not very good, is she?" mused Umbridge. She stated in the beginning that Dudley was eight; now she's having him sound as menacing as a six year old could be expected to sound!"
"I believe that's an example of figurative language," said Luna. "Dudley isn't actually a six year-old, but he sounds whiny and un-intimidating like a six year-old would. It's OK if you didn't catch it the first time, though. It is a common effect of nargles entering a feeble mind."
"Right," said Umbridge, not sure whether to take that as reassurance or as an insult. Then she remembered that Luna "Loony" Lovegood was crazy, so there was no reason to listen to her, anyway.
"Hutchinson reached a shaking hand into his pocket, about to pull out a crisp 20 pound note that he had put in their only this morning. Dudley grinned in triumph, but was soon interrupted by a familiar voice."
"His mother must be coming to put a stop to this," said Pomona Sprout confidently.
"'I think someone else needs to lose 20 pounds. What, what, WHAT are you doing?' Harry suddenly appeared behind Dudley, his hands on his hips."
"Just like a strange, sassy superhero," Ginny sighed.
Harry didn't even notice. Cho glared at the redhead.
"He was wearing an old black long-sleeved shirt of Dudley's which the pansy had carefully altered to make it fit his girlish frame. Now, it appeared to be too short for his cousin; the sleeves didn't quite reach Harry's wrists and the shirttail just barely reached Harry's hips. He was also wearing a pair of Dudley's faded old blue jeans that he had altered so they clung to his skinny legs and dyed so they looked new. His freaky, fruity cousin had topped off the whole ensemble with a sparkly orange scarf that rain or shine, he never left the house without."
Not even Pansy Parkinson could think of a way to criticize that spectacular outfit. Dumbledore was taking notes on a napkin, hoping to order an outfit exactly like that when this highly illuminating meeting was through.
"Harry technically wasn't allowed out of the house wearing that scarf, but Harry was a freak, what do you expect?"
"He is NOT a freak," shouted all of Harry's friends, and several acquaintances.
"Oh, yes, he is," said Malfoy.
"Quiet, Draco, you little shit," said an unfamiliar voice.
"Ten points from Gryffindor!" shouted Snape, having a good idea of which table the voice had come from, even though he actually heard it come from the ceiling.
"Dudley made a mental note to tell his mother about Harry's freakish outfit when he got home from the shopping spree he would go on with Hutchinson's birthday money. He would enjoy snickering at Harry as his mum yelled at his moronic cousin."
"Nobody likes a tattle-tale, Dinky Duddy-dums," said Ginny.
"Whoa, Dudley makes mental notes?" Harry asked. "Doesn't that involve, you know, thinking?"
"'He's got money. I want it,' Dudley replied slowly, as if speaking to a buffoon."
Goyle nodded in agreement. That seemed like pretty solid reasoning to him.
"'And I want your thick golden waves on my head instead of this mess here.' Harry flipped his hair, which remained untidy despite liberal application of any kind of mousse and hairspray."
"Potter used hairspray?" the entire Slytherin table asked in shock.
"Hem-hem," coughed Umbridge, who was getting tired of the constant interruptions.
"He knew the only way his hair would ever stay down would be to grow it out long, but every two weeks, his aunt dragged him to the barber shop to get a haircut. She would die before she lived in the same house as any long-haired male."
"Really?" Malfoy cackled evilly, rubbing his hands together. He was already forming plans for introducing Potter's Muggle aunt to his long-haired aristocratic father.
"Yes, really," said Snape irritably. "She used to have the most annoying crush on me when we were children. It was what inspired me to grow my hair long in the first place, even though it does nothing but get in the way when I am brewing potions. Since everybody's actually listening to me for a change, I might as well give some useful advice: When a suitor attaches themselves to you like a highly talkative leech and refuses to let go until one of you dies, it's a smart idea to occasionally listen as they prattle on and on about themselves. It may be the key to their undoing," Snape finished in an appropriately menacing voice.
"You knew my aunt?" Harry asked in shock.
Snape sighed. "Do try to keep up, Potter."
"'That doesn't mean I put my foot in your sausage factory.'"
Dudley's face wrinkled in confusion at the phrase "Sausage factory."
"That's nothing new," Harry said. "Dudley's face wrinkles in confusion at the phrases 'What is your name?' and 'What day is today?'"
"What did Harry's favorite breakfast have to do with anything? And Dudley knew it was Harry's favorite breakfast, because every time his mum cooked sausages, Harry would loudly proclaim them to be 'the best thing in the history of ever' and make a big deal out of eating his. Instead of cutting it into bite-sized pieces, Harry would gently pick his up and slowly bring it to his lips and stuff as much of it into his mouth as he could."
"Classy, Potter," snorted Draco.
"You know you'd enjoy seeing that!" Colin was quick to defend his idol.
"Sausages are a delicious part of a nutritious breakfast," said Dumbledore.
"It's been so long since I've had a sausage," moaned Umbridge despite herself.
Now it was the High Inquisitor's turn to be the subject of a roomful of shocked stares. With a quick clearing of the throat, Umbridge attempted to turn the attention of the Great Hall back to the story.
"He wouldn't bite it, though. He would just suck on it before pulling it out."
"Potter, will your talents ever stop emerging?" asked Pansy, fighting back a snort. "I think you've found your true calling."
"He could give you lessons!" Dennis innocently defended the fifteen year-old that he and his brother hero-worshipped.
"Yeah!" said Ron, cottoning on. "He could lead a seminar. Then, by the time he's through, the Slytherin Quidditch team can finally get some girl players!"
"Detention, Weasley" said McGonagall and Snape at the same time.
"He would repeat this process until dad threatened to lock him in his cupboard for a month. Harry would then give mum and dad this stupid look that he clearly intended to convey innocent surprise. This would only raise dad's blood pressure further, and he would slap Harry around the head."
"These people are barabarians!" said Hermione in shock.
"Harry would gag on the sausage still in his mouth, rub his head where dad had hit him and mumble something random like 'I like it rough.'"
"Stay strong, Harry," Colon whispered encouragingly. "Stay strong."
Whenever Harry opened his mouth, unless it was to stuff in a sausage, weird comments were sure to come out.
"Sounds like Ron," snorted Ginny.
"Anyway, back to the matter at hand."
"My memory must be failing me in my old age," said Dumbledore. "But could someone please remind me of what exactly the matter at hand is?"
"Harry's cousin Dudley was about to beat up a kid and take his money. Suddenly, Harry stepped in, and he's gonna stop his great bully of a cousin from picking on smaller kids," the diminutive Dennis Creevey promptly filled him in.
"Thank you, Mr. Creevey," said Dumbledore, inclining his head. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
"He's a dorky piece of piss. And a nerd!" Dudley's eight year-old mouth shot out the worst insults that he could think of. "And you are too!" he shot at Harry.
"That's absurd!" barked Snape. Snape noticed that everybody was looking at him now. "Albus makes me watch movies aimed at Muggle adolescents in order to relate to my students better," he explained. "I have it on good authority that one has to be intelligent in order to be a nerd."
Everyone released the breath they didn't realize they were holding as status quo was restored.
"Dudley was a second away from grabbing Harry and throttling him, but his selectively shrewd mind made the connection that he currently had his hands on someone who Dudley knew had money in his pocket. It was highly unlikely that his dweeby cousin had any cash on him. So, he quickly decided against letting go of the dork with money to beat up a dork without money. There would be other opportunities."
Crabbe and Goyle nodded in understanding. They recognized good bullying technique when they heard it.
"'So we beat him up and take his money? You can't just beat the shit out of everybody who annoys you! If I did that, Jersey Shore would start getting a lot more interesting.'"
None of the Muggleborns present could argue with this. Then again, almost anything would make Jersey Shore more interesting.
"Dudley had no idea what Harry was going on about. He desperately tried to stay afloat in the confusing argument. 'Not we! Me! I'm gonna beat him up and take his money! You're gonna stay out of my way and let me go shopping!'"
"'Oooh! You're going shopping? Please say it's for new clothes!' Harry squealed."
"Potter wants to buy new clothes?" Malfoy asked incredulously.
"Be sure to take Weasley with you, Potter!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
"No! Now get out of my face" roared Dudley, attempting to turn his attention back to Marvin Hutchinson.
"Then what are you shopping for?" Harry asked curiously.
"I need some soda. Or maybe some juice. Or a slushie... It's none of your business! Now beat it!"
"You know, I have a beverage that you might be interested in."
"What's the beverage, Harry?" Colin Creevey asked eagerly.
"Firewhiskey?" asked George Weasley.
"Butterbeer?" Dennis Creevey guessed.
"Pumpkin juice?" Ron theorized.
"A Cherry Coke Blended Float," said Luna Lovegood with absolute certainty from the Ravenclaw table.
Dudley raised an eyebrow curiously. "Is it that David Hasselhoff stuff that you were talking about last night?"
"Huh?"
"'Last night, you said that David Hasselhoff was good to the very last drop.'"
"What the Devil?" asked Snape, his voice sounding different for some reason.
You could have heard a pin drop in the Great Hall. Everybody turned around to stare, open-mouthed, at Harry.
Harry shrugged. "I was a big Hasselhoff fan when I was a kid. So what?" he said.
"Um, no, I was talking about... something else."
Harry feverently hoped that nobody at Hogwarts found out exactly what he was talking about. He'd never be able to live it down.
Maybe Harry should refrain from talking like that around Dudley. After all, the television in his cousin's room had parental controls on it. Since his aunt and uncle had no idea that Harry had somehow managed to acquire a television for his cupboard (and never seemed to hear the noise through the walls no matter how loudly he had the telly on), Harry was free to watch anything he wanted.
"Little sneak," mumbled Umbridge. I shall certainly be sending an informative owl to these clueless Muggle relatives. They need to know the things Potter is hiding and the horrible influence he is on their angelic son."
As Harry had a good time imagining how a pair of people as determinedly Muggle as Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would react to an owl from the self-important High Inquisitor, everybody else reflected that Umbridge was the only person in the room who would call Dudley Dursley "angelic."
"This beverage is, if possible, even better. Wouldn't you like a delicious water beverage made just to your personal taste?"
"'Yes,' Dudley admitted. That did sound good right about now, after all this work."
"Yes, he's certainly exerting himself," Snape snarked, before the small amount of interest he had managed to develop in the story completely evaporated, and he buried his greasy nose back in his Potions text.
"Then make it MiO! All you need to do is FTS."
"FTS?" repeated Dudley, puzzled.
"Harry pulled a 20 ounce bottle of water and a small, round, silver container out of nowhere. 'Flip it,' Harry flipped the lid off of the silver container, 'Tip it,' Harry tipped the silver container upside down over the bottle of water, causing a small amount of red sugar-water to come out, 'Sip it,' Harry sipped the from the water bottle, grinned, and offered it to Dudley, who swallowed half the drink in one gulp."
Several sniggers were heard throughout the Great Hall, predominately at the Gryffindor table. That did sound like Dudley Dursley.
"'That is good,' Dudley admitted."
"'Now, what do you say we forget about this mess and go get some more?'"
"'Sounds good to me,' said Dudley. 'This is getting to be too much work.'"
Harry snorted. Dudley would say that.
"They walked off together, leaving a relieved Marvin Hutchinson to question his sanity."
"As well he should," said Harry. "Wearing striped pants with a polka-dotted shirt. I mean, honestly, who does that?"
The stares from all around the Great Hall told Harry that he had said that out loud.
"Um, Harry?" said Hermione. "There's nothing in the story about Marvin's outfit. Did this actually happen?"
"Something sort of like this happened when we were kids, but in the end, Dudley just beat both of us up, took Marvin's money and my MiO, and then ran off. Don't believe everything you read."
"The cousins hadn't gone very far before Dudley stopped in his tracks. 'Harry?' he said. 'We don't have any money.'
"Harry gasped and slapped his forehead. 'I totally forgot about that! C'mon you stupid bitch,' Harry said in a friendly kind of way. 'That's what parents are for.'"
Draco Malfoy felt his respect for Potter, at least the Potter portrayed in this story, rise just a tiny bit.
"Dudley, shocked that he didn't think of this before, hurried home to ask his mum for money. Harry lagged behind, knowing that his appearance would not cause Dudley's mother to be particularly generous."
"And who could blame the poor woman?" Umbridge asked herself. "Putting up with such a fashion hoodlum for a nephew! Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he stole all those sparkly scarves and fancy hair products!"
He grinned fondly after his cousin, shaking his head. "He's a stupid bitch," Harry said warmly to nobody in particular.
"He really is," said Harry. That part, at least, had been true.
A/N: Awww… poor Harry's repressed his sassy gay side. Don't worry, though. I'll use the reading to help bring it out. Also, I was thinking of including mild slash in this story, but I'm not sure what pairing. I was thinking Harry/Draco or Harry/Ron, but then I like Ron/Hermione. If you have any suggestions or have a male character you'd like to see Harry pair up with, tell me in your review. I hope you enjoyed the story so far. Please note that I will still be updating my "Dudley Dursley's Sassy Gay Friend" fic along with this one.
If you enjoy fanfics which parody other fanfics, check out my new fic "Bedtime Story: Tyler Durden Reads My Immortal," and laugh as you never have before.