A/N: This is a co-authorship between myself and Lily Luna (a great author, in my opinion)...danke to Jume for beta-ing (yes, I know you're not a fish, and no, I will never delete Five Men in a Boat). A lot of this has to do with www.magichogwarts.com, which is a great site indeed.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie
Harry Potter had once again been pulled from a dream by his obese cousin Dudley, whose snores were louder than both Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's combined. "Perhaps it's a good thing," Harry mentally pondered, "that they're my only remaining living relatives."
Harry sighed, reaching for his glasses and putting them on. Thinking back on his dream, the young boy was glad to note that the the reliving of the latest tracgic even of his life was not present when he had visited Morpheus's Realm. It had not consisted of high, shrub walls--but no, he did not even like thinking about that. Instead of those morbid thoughts, his dream had consisted of minute mud pies, which is an absurd thought in itself, but add to it--of all things!--a wide variety of pink ribbons.
Very odd indeed.
"But such things are ridiculous!" he ranted not so silently to the predawn light. "Mud cakes...honestly. They're not even cakes! More like cookies...yes, that's what they are....mud cookies." Jumping onto his rumpled bed, and reclining backwards onto crossed arms, he murmured, "Absolutely ludicrous..."
"Ludicrous, eh?" inquired a nasty, greasy voice to his right. "Mookies, ludicrous?"
Harry, previously frozen in shock due to the unexpected visit from this odd figure, clumisliy fumbled for his wand. Too late, he remembered that he had placed it with his homework the night before, meaning that it was now gathering dust under the floor boards. The boy stalled for time, "Wh-who are you? And what do you mean, 'mookies'?"
The maniac little man laughed, and his bright eyes glinted in amusement, "Oh, you mean you don't know about Mookies?"
"Well, I--" But before the young Potter could answer the stranger's question, a most-likely purple-faced Uncle Vernon rang through the house--his voice, that is.
"BOY!" sang the violet topped seething mass of narrow-mindedness. "Who. Are. You. Talking to?!" the Dursley demanded, barging into the room full of broken toys.
Harry frantically looked around, hoping that the obese bolb that had invaded his space would not notice his other visitor; but apparently, the crouched down man had disappeared. Quickly recovering, Harry surveyed his uncle with believable (though fake) bewilderment. "Why, what do you mean? There's no one in here save me..."
Flustered, the beefy man's glance shifted from side to side. "Are you sure," Harry continued, "that some of my--ah--abnormalness hasn't rubbed off on you?"
Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, and a bit of spit leaked from his open mouth. He promptly turned around, and walked out of the room. Harry smirked a bit--these particular muggles could be entirely too humorous at times.
Moment of triumplh gone, however, Harry began to search for traces of the strabge man. After scouring hi quarters a number of times, the boy wizard came upon what looked like a business card. Upon it read:
'A Proud
MR. STABSTEIN
One of the Elite
ANTIMOOKIEPEEPS
in the extreme'
Oh, this was becoming increasingly odd.
There was that word 'mookie' again, though he still had no idea what it meant. The Hogwarts-attendee flipped the card over, hoping to find more inofrmation; he was not disappointed.
In an untidy, small scrawl was written:
PoTTer,
In the Mookie Struggle, we Stabsteins are your friend.
Remember that.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Mookie
Harry Potter had once again been pulled from a dream by his obese cousin Dudley, whose snores were louder than both Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's combined. "Perhaps it's a good thing," Harry mentally pondered, "that they're my only remaining living relatives."
Harry sighed, reaching for his glasses and putting them on. Thinking back on his dream, the young boy was glad to note that the the reliving of the latest tracgic even of his life was not present when he had visited Morpheus's Realm. It had not consisted of high, shrub walls--but no, he did not even like thinking about that. Instead of those morbid thoughts, his dream had consisted of minute mud pies, which is an absurd thought in itself, but add to it--of all things!--a wide variety of pink ribbons.
Very odd indeed.
"But such things are ridiculous!" he ranted not so silently to the predawn light. "Mud cakes...honestly. They're not even cakes! More like cookies...yes, that's what they are....mud cookies." Jumping onto his rumpled bed, and reclining backwards onto crossed arms, he murmured, "Absolutely ludicrous..."
"Ludicrous, eh?" inquired a nasty, greasy voice to his right. "Mookies, ludicrous?"
Harry, previously frozen in shock due to the unexpected visit from this odd figure, clumisliy fumbled for his wand. Too late, he remembered that he had placed it with his homework the night before, meaning that it was now gathering dust under the floor boards. The boy stalled for time, "Wh-who are you? And what do you mean, 'mookies'?"
The maniac little man laughed, and his bright eyes glinted in amusement, "Oh, you mean you don't know about Mookies?"
"Well, I--" But before the young Potter could answer the stranger's question, a most-likely purple-faced Uncle Vernon rang through the house--his voice, that is.
"BOY!" sang the violet topped seething mass of narrow-mindedness. "Who. Are. You. Talking to?!" the Dursley demanded, barging into the room full of broken toys.
Harry frantically looked around, hoping that the obese bolb that had invaded his space would not notice his other visitor; but apparently, the crouched down man had disappeared. Quickly recovering, Harry surveyed his uncle with believable (though fake) bewilderment. "Why, what do you mean? There's no one in here save me..."
Flustered, the beefy man's glance shifted from side to side. "Are you sure," Harry continued, "that some of my--ah--abnormalness hasn't rubbed off on you?"
Vernon's eyes narrowed dangerously, and a bit of spit leaked from his open mouth. He promptly turned around, and walked out of the room. Harry smirked a bit--these particular muggles could be entirely too humorous at times.
Moment of triumplh gone, however, Harry began to search for traces of the strabge man. After scouring hi quarters a number of times, the boy wizard came upon what looked like a business card. Upon it read:
'A Proud
MR. STABSTEIN
One of the Elite
ANTIMOOKIEPEEPS
in the extreme'
Oh, this was becoming increasingly odd.
There was that word 'mookie' again, though he still had no idea what it meant. The Hogwarts-attendee flipped the card over, hoping to find more inofrmation; he was not disappointed.
In an untidy, small scrawl was written:
PoTTer,
In the Mookie Struggle, we Stabsteins are your friend.
Remember that.