Dear Diary,

I was once on top. Harry Potter bowed to me.

-Oliver Wood

Harry Potter was not your average 18 ½ year old boy. He was a wizard. He looked around his room and found a number of extraordinary things; a piece of lint he had pulled out of his belly button (which he suspected had secret magical powers, because his belly button was a secret magical place), a poster of the Jonas Brothers (who he suspected were death eaters), a Barbie doll in her birthday suit (an item he had confiscated from ruthless dark wizards), a discarded tissue (full of magical snot because his nose was also a secret magical place), and a girlfriend.

Harry stuck his head outside the window. Instantly, the sill fell down upon his neck, trapping him. He decided it was a good time to connect with nature, something he had neglected as of late.

It was exactly 72.395 degrees Fahrenheit, a fact Harry could deduce with his skills as an Auror. Normally he would have used degrees Celsius, but he was feeling particularly American today. There were cumulonimbus clouds on the eastern horizon, a blinding shade of eggshell white. Harry whipped out his sunglasses in a flurry of boyish motion, but to no avail. They slipped from his fingers and crashed onto the thorny bush below. The blinding light vaporized them.

Harry decided that he no longer wanted to connect with nature, so he whipped out his wand in another flurry of boyish motion and began pointing at random objects.

"Avada Kedavra!" he screamed, and a flash of viridian light erupted from his wand.

The clouds perished instantly and fell to the ground, crying helplessly before dying an agonizing death. Harry Potter had had his revenge.

"I have had my revenge," said Harry, giggling boyishly.

He extracted himself from the window and went back to examining his room. The girlfriend was back, and standing in front of the Jonas Brothers poster.

"I demand that you remove yourself immediately," Harry demanded. "I need to set my eyes upon the startlingly beautiful visages of the glorious Jonas Brothers."

"Inconceivable!" shouted Ginny. "You told me they were dark wizards!"

Harry thought about this for a moment.

"Okay," he said boyishly.

Ginny was charmed by his boyishness.

"Oh, Harry," she sighed.

Harry grinned lopsidedly and sparkled for just a moment.

"Where do you get such boyishness?" she inquired.

"We shall see," said Harry solemnly, "by taking a trip through-" he looked dramatically to the side "-my past!"

And he swept her out of the room with unparalleled strength and speed, dashing for the photo albums in a feat of curdled agility.

The photo albums were resting upon a precarious stack of hypopituitary Chocolate Frogs. Harry took it down pensively, suddenly pondering his life.

"Let us open the sacred tome," he said, his voice senary.

They sat upon the torose floor, opening the album with majestic caution. Harry flipped through its pages impatiently, searching for the one person he wished to see. Unfortunately, Tom Cruise was not in his family photo album. He scowled and settled for his mother.

"Oh, wasn't your mother lovely?" Ginny sighed.

"No," Harry said curtly.

"But look at her piercing green eyes, wallowing in the sorrow of a thousand nations! Her cascade of silky sienna hair, flooding over her shoulders like tears in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom! Her foamy eyelashes! Her dodecaphonic cheekbones! Her extravagantly pointed ears, tapering to a fine vortex!"

"What?" said Harry blankly.

"Her pointed ears, slanting off into the distance!"

Harry snatched the album away from her like a holograph in a bout of hemophilia. "What?" he repeated.

"Her pointed ears! EMPHASIS!" Ginny exclaimed delightedly.

Suddenly, Harry realized the truth: his mother had been a half-elf.

-SUSPENSFUL END TO CHAPTER-