Harry Potter and the Obscene Misuse of the Invisibly Cloak

DBTS

"Harry! Harry! It's Christmas!"

Harry's eyes shot open. "Shut up, Ron. I don't want to start my Christmas listening to the worthless babble coming out of that cesspool you call a mouth."

"Er…" Ron stared into oblivion. "What's a cesspool, Harry?"

Harry leaned up and looked at Ron disapprovingly, with his arms folded. "Well, if you get a dictionary for Christmas, you might find out. Oh, wait – your parents probably couldn't even afford paper stapled together with words on them."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "Don't you live in a cupboard under the stairs with a spider as your best friend? What are your parents giving you for Christmas?"

Harry's lips trembled. "Jesus Christ, Ron! I have no parents! How can you even do such a thing as to pick on an orphan, Ron? And on Christmas too? You're so insensitive! What a bully, you are!" Harry jumped off his bed as ran to the door. Just before leaving he turned to Ron, gave him a mischievous wink, and hurried to the common room, crocodile tears running down his cheeks. "Ron made fun of my dead parents on Christmas! He said I wouldn't get any presents!"

Students down in the common room comforted Harry as he cried some more.

"It's okay, Harry," Fred Weasley said sympathetically. "I've known Ron all my life and he's an asshole, I can tell you that. But you can have my present." Fred held out a lumpy, dirty, Daily Prophet-wrapped present. Harry stopped crying to look at the little gift Fred was going to give to him.

A seventh year witch saw Harry's hesitation and just before Harry was going to begin crying again, she came up to him quickly with her present. "Or you would rather my present?" She carried up a large, glittery, package with a golden bow.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, that seems more like a present my parents would give to me."

"You can have both, then!" Fred exclaimed.

"No… no, no…" Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth. "I think my parents would not want me to take advantage of people's kindness and just give me this present here… and maybe that one." Harry pointed at a boy who was in the middle of eagerly unwrapping his sizeable gift. The boy looked bewildered, but before he could protest Harry interrupted. "My parents – I mean dead parents would want me to have that. Yeah, that's right. Are you going to deny the only thing an orphan wants for Christmas? Can you live with that on your conscience?"

"I think I c–" the boy started, hugging on to his loot.

"No!" Harry snapped, snatching the present. "You can't."

"Hey, Harry!" Fred called. "Looks like your parents did leave you a parcel! It looks like a kind of garment!"

Oh crap, Harry thought, That must be another one from Molly Weasley.

"Crap, but that's from Molly Weasley." Harry quickly caught himself. "I mean… what I meant to say is… um… I think… I'm allergic to wool… yeah, I'm allergic to wool!"

"Actually," Ron said, raising an eyebrow. "I think the sweaters Mum makes are from cashmere."

"Uh- um-" Harry hesitated, then hastily covered his mistakes. "Just… I think Madam Pomfrey told me that… I'm allergic to wool, cashmere, I dunno, same thing, better not risk it…"

"Maybe you should open it," Ron said, staring at Harry and unfurling an evil smile. "To check."

Harry stared. Hurriedly thinking he yelled at Ron. "You want me to die, you dumbass? I bet that's exactly what you want, isn't it Ronald? Me to die like my parents did because of Volde… Volde… I got this… Voldemold?... that bald freak without a nose!"

"Yeah!" Fred shouted, bunching his fists. "Fuck off, Ron! You aren't my brother!"

Oliver Wood and George Weasley grabbed Ron by the arms and frog-marched him to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room. Ron struggled wildly as the two boys threw him out through the Fat Lady's Portrait hole.

"Go join Slytherin where you belong, you asshole!" Oliver shouted, giving Ron the finger and slamming the portrait shut.

Ron dusted himself and stood up, cursing Harry. He looked at the Fat Lady. "Caput Draconis."

The Fat Lady said nothing and disappeared from her Portrait. Ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall showed up and dragged Ron to her office by his ear.

Harry smiled broadly at breakfast later. He got a good haul this year: a shiny phonograph that looked like it was plated with gold, which he planned to pawn off later; a box of magical twister, which was like regular twister except it didn't come with a spinner, you used a wand; and the grubby package, which contained a stupid old cloak, that was not from Mrs Weasley but from an anonymous source.

On the other side of the Gryffindor table, Ron was looking paler than usual. He was also shooting Harry dirty looks that suggested that Ron blamed him for being yelled at by Professor McGonagall for the past forty-five minutes about decency and respecting emotions.

Whilst thinking about how much money a gold-plated authentic phonograph would cost in Muggle money, the owl post arrived. Letters dropped from everywhere, some even landing in the porridge, making them virtually unreadable. Looking around, Harry saw Ron receive a red letter. As the envelope hit Ron's head, many people saw and dived under the table.

"Shit! It's a Howler!" Neville bellowed, running out of the Great Hall.

"Ha, Weasel-Bee!" Malfoy sneered, behind his barricade of plates piled high with bacon. "Looks like the shit hit the fan!"

Ron, who was staring at the Howler in shock, stood completely still. Out of desperation, Hermione Granger, a quick thinker, bound the Howler to the Weasley's family owl Errol and tried throwing it out a window, only for the owl to veer off course with a flap of wings and crash in Professor McGonagall's bangers and mash. Potato flew and splattered the staff like an avalanche.

McGonagall slowly rose from her chair, her eyes flaming with so much rage that Ron actually soiled himself, not for the first time today. She whispered, "Whose owl was that?"

Seamus Finnigan, whose face was innocently serious while his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, said, "Sir, I mean, ma'am, it was Ronald's owl. It had a Howler attached to it."

Hagrid lumbered to the burnt plate, which used to contain Professor McGonagall's breakfast and ceremoniously closed the eyes of Errol, whilst wiping tear off his eyes.

Ron backed away, pleading, "Wait, wait, Professor. Hermione threw the Howler at the table. It's her fault! Please! I don't want another Howler!"

"Oi!" Hermione screeched in her thick Australian accent. "Fuck off, mate! It was ya own bloody hum-dingin' Howler that completely fucked the teachers up the wazoo! So, shut up, ya bloody sheepshaggin' ranga!"

"She's right!" George Weasley nodded in agreement.

Professor McGonagall stared at Ron with such hatred and slowly walked over to him. As she passed the other students, every one went cold, apart from Hermione, of course. She grabbed Ron's arm so tightly that it looked like she was going to rip it off. There was a loud explosion and a puff of smoke that filled the hall.

Coughing and wheezing, Lee Jordan said, "Guys, McGonagall and Ron are gone!"

"He got what was coming," Fred said bitterly, looking at where Ron was standing with disgust.

Harry jogged up to his dorm, still laughing at Ron. He moved to his bed to inspect his new phonograph closely, when he noticed the old cloak.

Shit, Harry cursed to himself. That bastard, Fred probably put this crap here… Then again… it is getting chilly. Maybe I'll be needing another blanket and I'm not sure if I'll be able to take one off someone else.

Harry threw the cloak around himself. It wasn't too bad. Even though it was a bit shabby and smelled of what his grandfather's socks would probably have smelled like, if he were alive.

Neville skipped into the room, and looked around, muttering to himself. "Where is my other sock?"

Harry went up to Neville and giggled to him, "How funny was that stuff with Ron, right Neville?"

Neville scanned the room, trying to figure out where the voice came from. "Who's there? I warn you, I'm armed!" Neville pulled out his wand, which was back to front. "I'll shank ya nan, outside Tesco's!"

Harry stopped smiling, and stared at Neville with a look of derision, "It's me you fucking idiot."

Neville's eyes widened in fear, and his search becoming more frantic. "Show yourself! I warn you, I'm a basic beginner in Defence Against the Dark Arts! I am marginally trained in defensive spell casting!"

"Bitch, please, Neville, you couldn't transfigure a raisin into a grape," Harry sneered.

"Just take my money and leave me alone!" Neville was starting to cry. He took out his wallet and emptied it in front of him.

Ding! Harry's brain clicked. It must be an invisibility cloak that he was wearing. Neville couldn't see him so he took off the cloak's hood. Neville froze in horror at the sight of the floating head.

"Harry… your h-" There was a loud thump as Neville's head brutally came into contact with the stiff carpet flooring.

After collecting Neville's money and stuffing into his robes' pockets, he grabbed his bedside water pitcher and splashed some of the liquid on Neville's crotch. Harry quickly put on his cloak hood as he heard footsteps approaching.

Seamus walked in just as Harry smiled to himself. The first thing Seamus saw was Neville lying on the carpet, having apparently wet himself. "Jesus, again Neville?!" Seamus bellowed.

Hermione ran up into the boy's dorm. "I heard a ruckus. What 'ave ya dingo-brained lads been up to?" She spotted Neville on the ground. "Crikey, this bugger never seems to quit pissin' himself."

"Er," Seamus piped up, fearfully. "This is the boys'…" Seamus trailed off, and looked at his feet.

"What was that, ya bloody wanker?" Hermione roared, and whipped out her wand. "Ya want me to dangle you off the Astron'my Tower again, you shrimp-dicked fuck nugget?"

Seamus' eyes filled with shock as he remembered his last close encounter with Hermione. "No, sir, I was merely-"

Hermione went right up to Seamus' face. "Next time you question my authority again, you'll be pissin' more than Neville. You got that, you chicken-shitting low-life fuckwit?"

Seamus bowed down to Hermione and sprinted out the room, followed by his tormentor.

Harry wandered the halls with his new invisibility cloak stuffed down his pants. As he pondered about the many things he could whilst being invisible, Harry spotted Ron limping through an archway and rubbing his sore buttocks. Realising that he needed Ron's gullible nature by his side to survive for six and a bit years, he rushed up to him.

"Ron!" Harry injected fake concern into his voice. "Are you okay, mate?"

"No thanks to you," Ron sulked as he stopped walking and folded his arms.

"I'm so sorry Ron," Harry pleaded, on the verge of tears. "I need you as my friend."

"I dunno," Ron stared at Harry with his eyes narrowed.

Harry leaned down on one knee and began to sing, "Baby, come back. You can blame it all on meee! I was wrong and I just can't live without you!"

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, clapping his hands. "You wrote a song, just for me?"

Harry winked at Ron. "Yeah, because you are one of a kind."

"Oh, Harry!" Ron seemed like he was about to swoon. "But, what about Hermione?"

"Well… Hermione…" Harry started to say, but he caught sight of narrowed brown eyes fixed intensely on him. There was Hermione, right at the end of the corridor twirling her wand expertly between her fingers, as though she was about to cast an Unforgiveable Curse on Harry.

Watch your cakehole, mate Hermione mouthed.

Harry cleared his throat and began again. "Hermione is… wonderful, young, beautiful, intelligent, kind, generous and absolutely not scary at all. Nope." Harry's voice broke. "Not scary at all. I am sure she of all people would never want us low-life disgusting scum as her friends. It… It would be an insult to even call her my friend."

Hermione slowly nodded in satisfaction and climbed into her kangaroo Patronus' pouch and hopped away.

"Yeah," Ron said thoughtfully. "I reckon she's a bit wacky."

Harry's eyes widened and he dived away as the giant kangaroo Patronus came crashing next to Ron.

Hermione hissed into Ron's ear. "You takin' the piss, mate?"

Ron shrugged, apparently oblivious to the murderous witch and her three metre tall Patronus. "Wacky can be a good thing."

Hermione eyed Ron for any signs of insincerity. "Nice save, mate."

"Ron," Harry whispered into the curtains of Ron's four-poster bed. "Ron, get up, you twat… I mean, Ron, my best friend."

"Harry," Ron rumbled. "What do you want? It's the middle of the night."

"Just get up," Harry hissed.

Ron rolled around, tearing up. "No, Harry," Ron pleaded. "You know I hate when you talk Parseltongue. I don't know what you're saying but it's scaring me."

"Then I'll keep going until you get out of your bed, and I might be calling snakes up to your room to gobble you up!" Harry grinned, then began hissing again in Parseltongue. "How to make blueberry short-cake by Voldemort, as seen in Voldemort's Kitchen. Step 1, add flour and sugar to a bowl and stir well."

"No, stop, Harry," Ron protested. "I'll get up, just call your snakes off."

Ron clambered out of his bed and rubbed his eyes – not from sleep, but because he was crying from the terror of Harry's snakes. "What do you want, Harry?"

Harry didn't reply and made a gesture for Ron to follow him. They tip-toed around the castle, following the Marauder's Map he had stolen from the Weasley twins. Soon, the boys found themselves in the Library.

"What are we doing here?" Ron spoke in hushed tones.

Harry smiled back as they walked towards the Restricted section. "I found some nice Restricted shit in here that Snape comes and looks at every once in a while. The pictures move, so that makes it even better."

"Ok," Ron said, a bit confused. "But why doesn't Professor Snape just read normal books? They entertain the students well enough."

Harry stopped and craned his head around to look Ron right in the eyes. "Not sure if you are being purposely stupid or putting it on for the hell of-" Harry paused. He heard the old bastard caretaker, who patrolled the school with his cat.

Argus Filch staggered around with one hand holding a lantern and the other controlling his sock puppet of a cat named Mrs Norris, the actual cat being six-feet under Hagrid's house. She had tragically died as a result of one of the Weasley Twin's dungbomb prank going haywire. A distraught Filch was cured of his depression when Dumbledore gave him a sock puppet replacement of Mrs Norris. For added realism, the whiskers had been harvested from her dead corpse and PVA'd to it.

"Not a single fucking word, Ron," Harry whispered.

Now not so very far away, Harry and Ron could hear Filch talk to his hand. "Now, let us find some bad diddly students wondering around the this dern-doogly place, shall we, my little Norris?"

The sock puppets mouth open and closed repeatedly as Filch's voice went falsetto and began to say, "Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow."

Harry and Ron carefully tiptoed away in another direction and out of Filch's and went to hide in a disused classroom.

"That was too close," Harry said, wiping his sweaty eyebrows. He noticed something in the corner of his eye. "Ron, bring that tall thing over to me."

"Um, okay, Harry," Ron said and began to drag the tall object over. Harry dramatically removed the cloth and was disappointed to find it was merely a mirror.

"Whoa!" Ron said suddenly, staring intensely into the mirror. "That's a lot of butter-beer! Harry! I have my own chocolate factory! I even have house-elves that sing and make the chocolate for me!"

Harry looked at Ron ludicrously. "What are on one about now, you daft child?"

Ron pulled Harry in closely and pointed at the two of them in the mirror. "Can't you see me and my river of butter-beer, liquorice trees and pumpkin cake bushes?"

"No, what the hell are you-" Harry said, then he saw the picture changing and suddenly, the mirror was showing something very different. Harry's eyes widened and a grin erupted on his face.

"Are you seeing the factory too?" Ron asked, clapping his hands together. "I'm pretty happy about it too!"

Harry realised Ron was still here and shushed him up. "Shut up, Ron. Er, I actually see my dead parents and stuff, since we are definitely seeing what we want most in the world. Oh no, I see my parents. I, er, need you to leave the room, because I am so sad right now. Yes, leave the room."

Ron was a bit confused for a second, but decided to slowly back out of the room anyway as Harry began grinning pervertedly again and his ears turning red.

"Do you need some tissues, Harry?" Ron asked.

"Yes!" Harry exclaimed, but quickly caught himself. "Er, yes, I definitely need tissues to wipe away my tears. That is why I need those tissues. And close the door on the way out Ron."

For two days running, Ronald Weasley limped into the Great Hall, giving Harry the evil eye. Harry was so preoccupied with his discovery last night that he forgot Ron was outside the room waiting for him, leading him to be snatched by Filch and his "cat". Harry did not care a single bit, because he was now in deep thought about his experience with the Mirror of Erised.

What have I been doing with my life, Harry pondered. Before now, all I have been doing with the cloak was screw around with Snape and steal peoples' possessions. I now see what I truly desire in my heart, thanks to the magic mirror. Now, I must do everything to reach it, and I have just the thing to do it with. But if I get caught, I'll need the bumbling idiot to take the fall.

Ron sat down opposite to Harry, angrily grabbing sausages. Harry smiled innocently at him.

"Ron," Harry began. "I am so sorry that I wasn't able to save your sorry ass from Filch and his puppet."

Ron grinned back at him, blushing. "It's OK, Harry. He only maimed me a little this time."

Harry scanned the room for new targets to test out his plan. Some saucy looking fifth-year Ravenclaws seem like worthy of attention. A few of them he recognised from Quidditch matches. Perfect! He'd spy on them in the locker rooms. They wouldn't have as tight restrictions as the dorms or the bathroom.

Harry's mind began to wander and soon, he was beaming openly to himself. Hermione, who was a few seats down eating her hearty breakfast that consisted of two jars of Vegemite (that's it. That was all she's eating), began to get suspicious of Harry's daydreaming expression. She put her Vegemite down, the corks on her corkhat bouncing up and down as she turned to face him with the full intensity of her death glare.

"Oi, four eyes," Hermione called over as everyone who wore glasses immediately stopped talking, including Dumbledore and McGonagall. "Potter," she added. The rest of the Great Hall sighed with relief, thanking Merlin that they had escaped Hermione's ire for now. "What are you grinning about? You look like your team just won the footy."

"Nothing, Hermione…" Harry realised that Hermione was giving her a full glare. "Just thinking of how lucky I am to be in your presence."

Hermione seemed to be contempt with this answer. "You bloody fucking know it."

As Harry grovelled under Hermione, Oliver Wood skipped over to them and brightly said, "Harry, you ready for the game today?"

Needing to put his plan into action, Harry quickly replied, "Oh yeah Wood… I dunno. I feel like I got food poisoning or something. Maybe the elves are trying to kill us or something, haha…"

Before Oliver could speak, Hermione jumped out from her seat and faced Harry off, grabbing him around the neck. "You bloody what, mate? I got big dollarydoos on this game! You better fuckin' perform well, you-" Hermione paused and let go of Harry. "You said you got food poisoning? Maybe them elves are finally rebelling like I told 'em to and joining my army! Crikey! 'Scuse me, lads, I've got some appointments to make… Gimme your galah, Harry."

"My what?" Harry said.

"Your white galah, ya boofhead," Hermione snapped.

"What galah? What is a galah? You mean my owl, Hedwig?"

"I know what I fucking-" her voice held promise of a dementor's kiss that signalled to everyone in a ten kilometre radius of what was about to be unleashed "- SAID HARRY! ARE YOU BACK TALKING TO ME, YOU FILTHY WANKER? DO YOU WANT THE NEVILLE TREATMENT? I WILL FUCKING END YOU, POTTER. YOU WILL FUCKING WISH THAT YOU DIED WITH YOUR PARENTS THAT NIGHT!"

Even Harry, who would most likely be milking his orphanhood, could not utter a single word. Silence filled the room, apart from Hermione's heavy breathing. Hagrid mouthed to Harry, what did you do? whilst Neville was praying to Merlin and shaking his head furiously as horrifying flashbacks flooded him of the night that became known as the Neville treatment. Seamus was crying softly behind his plate of waffles and begging to dear God to calm the raging demon that was Hermione.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered in the hushest of hushest tones.

"SORRY AIN'T FUCKIN' GOOD ENOUGH," Hermione yelled, her corkhat finally falling off. "GIMME YOUR FUCKING GALAH NOW!"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the hair, dragged him to the Owlery and forced him to point Hedwig out. After threatening Harry about what was to happen if he lied, Hermione snatched the sleeping Hedwig by her leg and hurtfully tied her note addressed to the Ministry's Department of Treasury and threw the bird out the window.

Whilst the whole school was cheering on the Quidditch teams, Harry was propping himself inside the girls' locker room. When he was in a comfortable spot, he threw the cloak over himself and grinned broadly at what was to come. Harry heard footsteps and laughter so he quickly scuffled, only to knock off his glasses. The laughter became louder and he heard the door opened. Silently and swiftly, Harry picked up his spectacles and looked up to glare at a person's rear. It was freckly and even though he thought it was strange, his eyes wandered up higher and saw the ginger hair. Wait a second… Harry didn't remember any girl in his team that had red hair. Then he realised…

"Good game, guys!" George said happily. "Nice goal keeping, Oliver."

Harry shuffled towards the door as quietly as possible, then stopped when he thought he heard his name.

"Yeah," Oliver Wood smiled at George. "Who would've thought we could have done it without the great Harry Potter!"

"I agree," George nodded. "We did really well without Harry. Almost as though we don't need him at all."

"Whoa," Fred interrupted. "We shouldn't say things like that about Harry, you guys. I mean he is an orphan."

"Yeah, but Fred," George said. "He might be an orphan, but he's kind of a twat."

Harry silently gasped and wanted to lunge at George for spouting such blasphemy, but realised if he did he'd have to answer a lot of awkward questions and his cloak would be confiscated. So Harry was forced to remain still.

"I suppose," Fred admitted, nodding at George. "He is a shithead at times. I mean everyone says that he's a dick all the time, but they put on a show just for him."

Wood hopped on the bandwagon. "I can't believe that bloody little fuck-tard got two extra presents."

"And he always thinks he's better everyone because he doesn't have any parents. A mean you-know-who killed hundreds of wizards, so there's at least 10 in my class at least."

"Yeah and he seems to think that he owns the elves that cook the food for the cafeteria!"

"And have you noticed the way he chews his food? It's so fucking weird, I kind of want him to have mushy peas all the time or something so I don't have to look at him chew strangely!"

Amidst all of the sick burns the three boys were spitting out, the last one hit Harry a little close to home. How did they know about his double wisdom teeth on his left jaw… he thought he was chewing normally! Tears were leaking from his orphan face and he knew he needed to get out of this place. Putting his ventriloquism that came with Parseltongue to good use, he shouted in a snivelly voice that sounded a lot like Draco Malfoy, "George Weasley has a freckly butt!"

Outraged and forgetting he was completely naked, George swung the door open and ran outside, screaming death threats, with Harry following behind.

The Weasley twins propped themselves next to Harry, who was staring at his porridge coldly. The looked over and did not get a response from Harry.

"What's up, Harry?" Fred asked politely.

Harry craned his neck back up and glared at the twins with fierce hatred. "Fuck off, you gingers."

The twins were bewildered at the sudden aggressiveness given off by Harry, but before they could retort Dumbledore stood up and made an announcement.

"Students," his voice boomed, but somehow projected a feel of being an old man, in his final years of senile dementia. "I have good news and bad news. Good news is Draco Malfoy fell down the fuckin' dangerous, constantly moving stairs. I mean, we all knew it was gonna happen, that thing is a death trap waiting to happen, but thank Merlin it was fuckin' Draco that injured himself!" He made a brief laugh. "Yeah… we all fuckin' hated him – but anyways, the bad news. Hogwarts probably won't be continuing next year, since Lucius Malfoy is suing us to fuckin' hell. So yeah, deal with it, see you guys never, I'll be enjoying my retirement in the Bahamas. Peace peace, homies."

When the twins turned back to Harry, he was nowhere to be seen. Harry was outside the Great Hall, formulating another brilliant plan without the risk of getting an eyeful of some Weasley butt.

Peeves was just minding his own business, which happened to be stealing Filch's sock puppet of Mrs Norris and tearing it up in front of him whilst Filch cried helplessly. Harry stormed into the room and Filch looked up, hoping that his saviour was there. But instead, Harry cruelly kicked him and then hexed him out of the room, causing him to fall down the remaining 12 flights of stairs that hasn't been demolished.

"I need something, Peeves," Harry growled. He tried to make his tone as intimidating as possible, but being an 11-year-old made him seem more like a small Chihuahua trying to attack a Doberman Pinscher.

"What the fuck do you want?" Peeves questioned, throwing away the remaining cloth. "You want more ghost-drugs? Well, you got your freebie, now you gotta pays up."

"What?" Harry was bewildered. "No, I didn't even use that, I just spiked Snape's drink for fun."

"You gave it to Snape?" Peeves exploded. "He's my top customer, so I know he'll be back anyway."

"Shut up," Harry interrupted, waving his hands about. "I don't care! What I need is the password for the prefects bathroom."

Peeves bounced about, cackling. "What's in it fer me? What am I getting?"

"I happen to know a mate of mine," Harry smiled cheekily. "I think his name was… the Bloody Baron."

Peeves flew up in horror. "I don't believe you! You is bluffin'! You don't know none Bloody Baron, there."

"But are you going to risk it?" Harry unfurled a smile. "I might call him now actually…"

Harry cupped his hands around his mouth and pretended to call out, but just as he was going to, Peeves lunged over and tackled him. "All right," Peeves whispered. "Be quiet, I'll give you what you want.

Harry got up and dusted himself off. "Cheers, Peeves. Glad we could do business."

After dinner, everyone moved back to the common room… except for Harry Potter. He was staying back and making his way to the prefects' bathroom. Harry pulled his cloak over him and swiftly jogged to the other side of the castle. This proved to be a difficult task, as he had to climb up the walls, since the stairs were destroyed. He tiptoed towards the door, gave the password and slid into the room, shutting the metal door quietly behind him. Harry stepped carefully into the main showers and was met with a strange surprise. There were no prefects taking a bath, but Hermione sitting on her throne. The whole place had been turned into a war room and the giant bathtub was filled to the brink with Vegemite.

Filled with both shock and awe, Harry didn't notice Hermione sniffing around the room, getting closer to him. When Harry finally realised, it was far to late. Hermione's hand shot out like a dingo on a wallaby and firmly grasped around his neck. Harry kicked and struggled underneath his cloak but it was no use; Hermione had an iron grip on him.

Ripping off the cloak and glaring right at Harry's eyes, Hermione said threateningly, "G'day, mate. Looks like ya found me secret stash and war room, Potter. I trust that you find it impressive, but ya see here, mate, I can't 'ave you blabbin' to no one here, y'see?"

"P-please, Hermione," Harry fought hard to breath. "I didn't m-mean to."

"Oh, don't ya worry, mate," Hermione smiled. "I won't be losin' no sleep, coz I know how to keep ya quiet… forever."

10 Minutes later…

Harry was now strapped to chair with ropes and Hermione was circling him, menacingly. She was waiting for her potion to brew and for the past ten minutes, Harry has remained as still as possible, sweating like a fountain.

"Hermione," Harry croaked, silently.

Hermione stopped pacing and faced him off. "Whaddayawant?"

Harry gulped and spoke slowly, knowing if he did anything that might set her off, it would be the last thing he ever did. "I don't think I've ever seen a potion like this before."

Hermione cuffed him around the head and tutted. "Of course ya haven't, ya boofhead. I took this shit fresh frum the Restricted section. This is medieval stuff, mate."

"But how did you get…" Harry trailed off, already knowing the answer.

"Becoz, ya dingus," Hermione snapped stirring the potion. "I invented the Restricted section. That shit wasn't there before I came here, was it? Ya think the librarians run that place, mate? I do. And now, to finish it off, I need just a few cups of ya blood."

Harry's eyes widened. "What?! NO! Don't!"

Harry violently trashed about the chair, but could not move. Hermione pulled out her machete she received from Paul Hogan after she saved his life six years ago and gashed Harry's arm. "Be quiet, ya stupid git," Hermione said, dropping the blood into her cauldron. "I was yankin' ya tail."

With the potion complete, Hermione forced a cupful down Harry's throat before letting him go. Just as Harry was about to exit the bathroom, Hermione thought hard as to why Harry was in here to begin with. Realising he was planning to perv on the prefects, Hermione stopped Harry before he could leave.

"Just where da ya think your goin', mate?" Hermione asked through an evil smile. "Ya thought i wouldn't realise you was gonna perv on some girls, eh? Thought I was gonna let ya go?"

Harry desperately tried to run out the door, but Hermione grabbed him around the ankles and dragged him back to the chair.

Epilogue

Ron stopped going to school and lives a simple life on the country farm.

Neville won the wizard lotto but still lives in the same house with his Grandma, who confiscated his money.

Hermione invaded Russia after a disagreement with Vladimir Putin. Now renamed the HSSR, Putin's remains are put on display in Hermione's new palace.

Snape still leads a lonely life.

Dumbledore is chilling in the Bahamas, drinking Peña Colatas with Voldemort, who fled after Lord Hermione's rise to power.

Argus Filch is now a permanent resident at Saint Mungo's since all of his bones were broken and is now unable to control his sock puppet.

Malfoy was pronounced dead two weeks later due to internal haemorrhaging which could have been prevented by the wizarding Healers except Lucius Malfoy wanted to collect his life insurance.

Harry's dead body is still in the Forbidden Forest where Hermione left him, covered with his own Invisibility cloak. He is presumed missing, but no one misses him as he was a dick to everyone.

Days, months and years later, people moved on from The Boy Who Lived. But still, they remembered him - kindly, but not with too much thought, because they didn't send out a search party… ever. With magic on their side, people still didn't care enough to do anything, not even a "missing" flyer or something. Rightly or wrongly, the witches and wizards of Britain lived out their lives without giving a single damn about the boy who lived… then died, I guess. On the whole, everyone was pretty chill. The moral of this story is probably not to be a dick. Everyone should follow this moral. To do so will ensure a longer life. Hermione, at the very least, believes that the moral is important. In fact, it is a law to follow it in her new empire, or risk being killed. So… yeah.

The End, I guess.