"Hanukkah Harry Potter and the Bad little Latke"
Chapter One
Author's Note: For goodness sake, it's been so long since I put a story on the intanet! I mean, internet. I'm so GANGSTA! -coughHACK- Kidding... Hack. .Hack//. Yes, I'm a nerd. Anyway, I wrote this out of the PUREST INSANITY OF THY MOUTH AND TONGUES! Um... Yeah, whatever, I just got bored, and It's Saturday. I'm tired, I'm bored... There you go. I'm also listening to Moulin Rogue!... Not a good sign. Anything that happens in this fanfiction, I beg to not being accounted for, especially if lap dances are involved in such nonsense.
Disclaimer: Don't own Harry or anyone else. Actually, I have no idea what this story is going to be about yet, I wrote this for a friend... Several friends actually. Because I'm... (24z'/
It was a soundless and algid night... Dead silent. Not like when you're watching a completely ghetto movie on your completely ghetto VHS player because you found you wanted to watch The Little Mermaid yet the movie is so old that you have no choice because it's not on DVD. Then you fall asleep, from boredom, or however exhausted you feel that particular night. Then all of the stupid fuzzy-wannabe-the Ring-Samara-crawls-out-of-the-tv-ness WAKES YOU UP... No, it wasn't like that at all. Like I said, it was dead silent. (Run on sentences. xD)
It wasn't the type of 'dead silence' in which no sounds were heard -- it was the one where its literal meaning was put in yo full use. Crickets weren't chirping, if that's what crickets even do, they were /screeching/ in their cricket-language as they were burnt to death by NEVILLE...'s TOAD.
The night air was like kissing tag. One minute, you were a virgin lips little girl, (or boy, whichever floats your boat) and some... grotesque little spawn-of-Satan comes and runs their filthy tight-lipped unhygienic saliva all over you. Okay, so it was like this, "GAWD, IT'S SO FREAKING HOT OUTSIDE! I THINK I'M SWELTERING!" Then the next, "AHH! BRR! COLD!" Yeah, like that... Wait, nevermind.
It was amidst a opaque pathway that Harry Potter emerged. Foggy night, as it was, which was not mentioned above... Then again, how many of you know the definition of 'opaque'? Because I'm pretty certain it has at least SIMILARITIES to fogginess.
He had exited from his invisibility cloak; emerald eyes intense, and scanning the area. Where was he anyway? He was looking for Godric's Hollow. Man, why did he have to be so insufferably blind? It was bad enough that people made fun of him for the round and thickness of them. Harry Potter squinted, reading a sign that lingered somewhat right in front of his abnormally high-cheekboned face. And do you know what this read?
It read, "Salazar's Alveolate" , that's what it read.
"Oh, damn." Harry cursed violently. And all of the sudden, out of nowhere, he started to PMS and beat up the sign in a muggle-way.
"DAMN IT ALL! DAMN IT! DAMN IT TO HERMIONE AND RON! THIS IS ALL OF THEIR FAULT!" Meaning, trying to break all of his fingers apart in the process of doing so. Oh, silly Harry Potter. Potter Harry. Parry Hotter. Terry... Whatever, I give up.
Ribbit ribbit. A sound. GASP. What was that bloody sound?! Harry wheeled around; eyes as big as spoons. Or sporks. Whichever floats your boat.
Ribbit ribbit. ... Whatever it was, it was ridiculously close. Harry reached inside his robes in search for his wand – nothing there, except the somehow florescent hole in his pocket. He gasped and cursed again.
"Oh damn!" Ribbit ribbit... Oh damn, Harry Potter started walking backwards in a heavy pace. Ribbit ribbit. Oh damn, Harry Potter fell over. He was always a clumsy young man, that Harry Potter.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" Said a familiar voice. Harry looked up, although could not make out the silhouetted figure in front of him due to that huge forehead of his that obscured his vision and the glasses that had no apparent effect.
"What? Oh damn! Who are you?!" Harry blinked; as though trying to make out the figure before him – it didn't work.
"It's me, Harry! Neville Longbottom!" And so it was! The witless wonder, Neville Longbottom! Round-faced and all, his face in a grin as he leant Harry a hand.
"Neville? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry questioned bitterly, taking Neville's hand. Neville shrugged, then pulled out his oh-so innocent toad, Trevor, who ribbited once again. Harry scowled at the it.
"I lost Trevor, you see." Neville said, gesturing towards the toad.
"Oh damn, Neville, you scared the bloody hell out of me." Harry murmured, looking up at Neville, who was gripping his wand tightly. "All right, Neville?"
"'Course I am Harry, just a little agitated." Neville replied shortly.
"... Agitated? At what?"
"My jalapeno carcass," Neville, next to his toad, pulled out a deadened jalapeno. Harry stared at the both of them; disgusted that Neville could carry such things.
"My grandmum found it out in the freezer this morning. Did you know that 'Vibrissae' is a scientific way to say whiskers?"
"Um... No. But look, I've really got to get going, Neville." Harry began to turn around, and then all of the sudden...
"AVADA FREAKING KEDAVRA!"
Boom. Harry Potter died.
Yes, this was pointless. Yes, it was meant to waste your time. And yes, you may flame it.
If you want me to continue it, just say so.
— Hikari