A/N: Er… looks sheepish Sorry, guys. I totally did what I said I wasn't gonna do. I totally abandoned this story. So I was on the computer today, and I was looking for my English essay, when I ran across this, and I felt really bad about it. So I'm re-posting the first three chapters, after I've revised them to get rid of some grammatical weirdness and other things, and I'm gonna do my very best to finish what I've started. I hope you guys don't hate me too much for this.

DISCLAIMER: I AM NOT JKR! If I were JKR, I would most certainly not be making fun of my own books like this. This story is really stupid, so if you don't like parodies, this is definitely NOT for you. This story is about what would happen if the Harry Potter books took place in the muggle universe. (Specifically at PigPimples Camp for Troubled Freaks Like You.)

PROLOGUE

It was a fine Halloween evening, and James and Lily Potter had just finished assaulting the teenagers who had come to egg their beautiful suburban house. As the last gangly, zit-faced, hormonal adolescent limped across the lawn, James turned to Lily and asked, "Well, what should we do now?" Lily considered this for a moment. She was gazing around the house, and hoping that something interesting might catch her eye. Suddenly, her eyes fell upon their baby son, Harry and she exclaimed "Hey, I've got an idea! Let's go make another one of those!" James looked slightly enthused at the prospect, but then a rather morbid thought struck him.

"Yeah, but the last time we did that, you got all fat and stuff…" James was cut off by his wife's imperious glare. "…but you're beautiful when you're pregnant, so let's go for it!" After that incredibly brilliant save, James and Lily trotted happily off towards their bedroom, leaving Harry unattended in the living room. In the middle of their passionate love-making, they were interrupted by a loud crash coming from somewhere downstairs. Lily paused momentarily as she wondered what was going on. James charged downstairs (completely forgetting that he was naked at the time) and searched for the source of the loud noise. Suddenly, a voice spoke behind him, deadly and quiet.

"It's eleven o'clock. Do you know where your child is?" As he turned around to meet the voice, James realized that his worst fear had come true—it was Voldemort, the failed social worker turned into a serial killer. The lethal whispers continued.

"So, you thought you'd leave Harry here to fend for himself, did you? Thought you'd go screw your ugly wife while your poor little child sat here alone, did you? Well you thought wrong!" Lily chose this particular moment to conveniently run down the stairs and observe the mayhem. When she saw that her beloved son was in the arms of a serial killer, her knees buckled and she fell at Voldemort's feet. Voldemort shot James with the gun that he had cleverly hidden in his cloak. Lily rushed up to defend her baby son, but Voldemort bashed her head in with a lamp. There was a blinding flash, and Voldemort dropped Harry on the ground, face first. Harry landed on some shards of broken glass, and a bloody gash shaped like a lightning bolt appeared, the blood gleaming in the moonlight. Voldemort took one look at the scene and bolted. He fled to a far away place where no one would catch him. The only sounds in the room were that of a baby sobbing hysterically. Baby Harry slowly crawled over to his dead mother's arms and passed out.

A/N: I know this part wasn't about the camp, but I'm getting there!

TEN YEARS LATER…

Eleven-year old Harry Potter woke up rather abruptly. It seemed, at first, that he was being squished like a bug getting stepped on. The truth was that he was getting squished like a scrawny eleven-year-old boy being sat on by his sickeningly obese, yet immensely spoiled, cousin.

"WAKE UP, MORON! It's my birthday, so mum says that if you burn breakfast today, she's gonna stick your face in the stove!" And with that, Dudley waddled out of the room as fast as his legs would allow, pausing momentarily to free himself from the doorway. After his parents had been discovered dead, Dumbledore, a very famous social worker, had sent Harry off to live with his evil aunt and uncle. These people weren't just ordinary evil. They were sick and twisted people, hardly fit to raise their own child, let alone someone elses's. Harry absentmindedly stretched while attempting to climb out of his cardboard box without ripping it. The Dursleys only bought him a new box every three months. Harry sighed and began to get dressed. After a moment's disgust, he tied the frilly, French-looking apron around his waist, hoping that the Dursleys would let him take it off after he finished cooking breakfast this time. True to her word, Petunia Dursely rudely shoved Harry's face into the stove upon finding a single piece of bacon that was slightly overdone. Harry's scar burned and blistered.

"How did I get this scar, anyway?" he wondered aloud.

"Your idiot parents dropped you on the head, most likely," muttered Harry's Uncle Vernon. Harry chose to ignore this biting remark, mainly because he didn't want to admit that it might be true. As the day progressed, Harry passed the time by entertaining himself with thoughts of what the night that he was taken away from his parents was like. They probably put up a good fight. I bet that social worker wished that he never walked into my house! Harry's thoughts were interrupted, once again, by Uncle Vernon.

"BOY! Get down here, now! The bus is waiting!" Harry threw himself down the stairs in his haste to comply. As he nursed his latest wounds, he did indeed spy a bus waiting in the street. At least it was a real bus this time. Just last Tuesday, Uncle Vernon had tricked Harry into going outside for the newspaper and had locked him out for the next three days.

"What's with the bus?" asked Harry.

"You're going to summer camp. It's for troubled freaks like you," snarled Vernon.

"Why?"

"Because I SAID SO! NOW GET ON THE DAMN BUS!" Before Harry could obey his orders, an extremely large man ripped the door off of the hinges and stormed in.

"What the devil's been taking you so long? The bus is waiting for you!" shouted the man, throwing the remnants of the door, knocking out Dudley in the process. This stranger was kind of scary looking, and Harry strongly suspected that he was on steroids. Not wishing to anger the man, Harry meekly asked,

"Um… sir? Who are you?"

"WHO AM I? I'm Rubeus Hagrid, sports director and bus driver at PigPimples Camp for Troubled Freaks Like You." Hagrid looked immensely proud of himself for achieving the aforementioned position. Harry was about to ask another question, but he was rudely shoved out the door by the combined forces of Vernon and Hagrid. Hagrid charged up towards the waiting bus, leaving crater-like footprints as he went. Harry tentatively approached the doors. They swung open, and he climbed inside, not knowing what was coming next…

A/N: Again, sorry about being such a sucky person. I hope that the revision makes the story less bad, and helps you guys forgive me. Reviewers still get free e-brownies!