Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone: A DUMM story.
A.N. Oh god I am doing this again okay so this is basically just a silly interpretation of the first HP story if you are looking for surprises you probably wont find them here. If you are looking for giggles I hope you find them here and yes I did copy some dialogue cos I'm lazy.
Mr and Mrs Dursley were proud to say they were perfectly normal and would be the last people to be involved in anything strange or mysterious ignoring the fact that normality is a shifting paradigm that is mostly based on your personal viewpoint and upbringing. What they mean to say is they would not be involved in anything outside of their suburban conservative views you know things like taxing big corporations, proper funding for public schools and talking to minorities.
Mr Dursley is a fat sack of shit in charge of a company which produces drills named Grunnings. He is a hefty man whose weight has often been described as 'grotesque' by several doctors (private doctors of course) and has a large moustache which is soaked in the grease of a thousand sausages. Mr Dursley once asked his workers to refer to him as 'big boss' which was unanimously refused.
Mrs Dursley was a thin blonde whose face looks like it is perpetually sucking a lemon and has twice the usual neck giving her the look of something George Lucas no doubt furiously masturbated to during the production of the Star Wars prequels. The pair and a half also had a blonde pork roast called Dudley and still loved him despite the damage he did to his mother's lower quarters on the way out. The Dursleys had everything they wanted though to be fair they don't really have lofty wants Vernon usually wanted a hot dog and Petunia just wanted vaginal reconstructive surgery but they had a secret.
It was not the secret of who it was that emptied their considerable bowls in the local flower bed after a particularly damaging curry, which caused the aged local priest; Father O'Donovan-O'Malley (who volunteers to manage the flowerbed) to have a heart attack after being assaulted by the smell and sight of the giant pile of human waste. His body was eventually moved after paramedics stopped either laughing or vomiting as the priest fell face first into the brown mountain.
No they were worried someone might find out about the Potters. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursleys sister and they had not met for several years, well as far as she knew Lily Potter happened to be a master of disguise she once disguised herself as Petunias husband for a week and no one noticed (or cared). Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister which was odd because she had a younger sister who will not be named or mentioned in this story after this point, because Mrs Potter and her husband were as undursleyish as you could be, meaning thin and attractive. The Dursleys knew the Potters had a small son and wanted nothing to do with him.
How they knew that fact considering Mrs Dursley had not met her sister in years is still up to debate, I guess they could occasionally share the odd tense phone call, maybe found out from her parents but I'm fairly sure they are dead or had a wild animal break into their house with a greeting card tied around its neck I don't know it's unclear but I know which I want it to be.
The story begins on a boring as fuck Tuesday morning where the Dursleys woke up in the usual fashion, Vernon with a burp and a fart and Petunia falling to the floor from the force sent from Vernons ass, neither expecting anything unusual to ruin their day. Mr Dursley grunted and panted as he attempted to buckle his belt in vain before deciding to add yet another notch while Mrs. Dursley was attempting the heimlich on her son who had swallowed a watch.
Neither noticed the local cycling asshole who never shuts the fuck up about how great cycling is crash into a lamp-post distracted by the large and possibly drunk tawny owl that crashed through a neighbours window.
"Little Shit" grumbled Mr Dursley as he put on his now baby vomit covered watch before testing the structural stability of his car by climbing into it. If he had not spent the usual twenty minutes attempting to shift the driver's seat back, though at this point it was in the boot, he would have noticed a rather stern looking cat checking a map, then reading a road sign before getting chased by a bulldog up a tree. The feline then seems to remember that it is not actually a cat summons a brick and launches it at the dog. Vernon was way out of the street when that happened but he would have laughed he hates that fucking dog.
At the edge of town his usual thoughts of brunch were driven out of his mind by an unusual sight. As he sat in the usual traffic jam (he was living close to London after all) adding to the local pollution by farting up a storm he couldn't help but notice a lot of strangely dressed people and not the normal weirdos he would see. People in cloaks Vernon hated people dressed in weird clothes almost as much as he hated watery gravy, it did not help that cloaks were similar to the muumuu his employees kept buying him for christmas.
They were basically hinting that pants sizes were going to stop soon if he kept gaining weight.
Vernon drummed on his steering wheel in frustration causing ripples on his wrist fat, he figured it was a stunt and Vernon for all his many faults did support LGBTQ rights, like all of us he experimented in college, University and made out with that hot guy in accounting during the christmas party but he thought this one was a bit too far. The traffic moved on and Mr Dursley arrived in McDonald's parking lot to get his custom order the Vernon special (which is just everything on the breakfast menu in a large wrap).
Once Mr. Dursley arrived at work and completed his daily test of the elevators weight capacity he set about his work. Mr. Dursley always worked with his back to the window as he found it difficult to concentrate when people in the office opposite pointed in awe and laughed. Had he been facing the window he would have noticed the endless stream of owls flying overhead. Most people have never seen an owl and now it seemed like they were gathering enmasse to overthrow the human race.
Vernon however had an owl free morning. He yelled at 5 different people to help him up after his chair broke causing an earthquake scare through the lower levels of the building. He made several important phone calls, mostly to fast food places, and yelled at the vending machines. He was in a very bad mood until lunchtime which always cheers him up and with a speed you would not believe possible from a man his size Vernon barreled through the Grunnings lobby towards the Danish Bakery across the street.
He had forgotten about the weirdos in cloaks until he saw a group of them gossiping in front of the bakery entrance, due to his mass and momentum was not able to stop and knocked several through the bakery doors while the others in the group didn't seem to care and went back to chatting. Ten minutes later after eating everything including the raw pastry mix Vernon (or 'overskægget med den bundløse mave' as he is known to the staff) exited the bakery and managed to catch parts of the conversation the weirdos in dresses were having.
"Yeah I had that just rub some cream on it and it will clear up, Oh yeah the Potters and their son Harry".
Vernon stopped dead but then his heart started again and he farted in fear he looked back at the gossiping assholes wanting to say something but thought better of it, plus he was standing in the middle of the road causing several angry commuters to yell at him and beep their horns.
Returning to his office yelling at his secretary not to disturb him, which his secretary did not find odd he usually asked not to be disturbed between 1 and 2 so he can enjoy his hourly Ben and Jerry's. After his ice cream binge Vernon attempted to dial home but as always his fingers were too fat, he was about to get his special dialing wand before he changed his mind. Slamming the receiver down he stroked his moustache dislodging a chicken wing he had somehow missed. Potter wasn't such an unusual name not like some of the bullshit names people call their kids these days, He wasn't even sure his nephew was even called Harry it could have been Halloumi fries or Ham sandwich. There was no point upsetting his bitch of a wife as she became unbearable when her sister was brought up. He didn't blame her, he still couldn't understand for what reason she needed that kidney she stole from Petunia.
He found it no harder to concentrate on drills that day as he never really did normally anyways, he was so worried that they would not refill the vending machines that he walked into two people on his way out of the building one flew through a window across the street and the other fell to the floor.
"Watch it asshole!" he grunted as the tiny old man rose to his feet "Don't worry about it, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!". And the old man hugged around the middle or at least gave it his best shot. Mr. Dursley has a lot of middle.
Mr. Dursley froze rooted to the spot, this wasn't the first time he had been hugged by a stranger on the street in fact there is a very attractive homeless man known as Handsome Leonard who hangs around the area often cuddling strangers which no one seems to mind. He may not be a smart man or particularly attractive but Vernon knows a racial slur when he hears one.
So doing what anyone does when presented with a racist remark in the middle of the street punch the moron who said it. Vernons meaty fist hit the old man in the violet cloak sending him rolling across the floor. Had there not been a timely shoulder rub from Leonard Mr. Dursley would have followed up with a body slam.
As pulled into his driveway, the undercarriage of his car scraping across the floor, he noticed a stern looking cat sitting on his garden wall. He didn't like living animals much (cooked or deep-fried animals definitely) and idly wondered what a cat would taste like before ridding himself of that thought. Vernon is a man who is oddly proud of having never eaten pussy.
Mrs. Dursley had an entirely normal day and she told him over dinner for four all about how their next door neighbours daughter is a whore and how Dudley ruined another kids birthday party by eating the entire cake. After Dudley had been put to bed because his parents were sick of him the couple sat down in the living room to watch tv.
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have behaved very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. How does it feel to be on regional TV Jim" "Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I can't answer that but I can tell you how it feels to be on your wife". After the fistfight broke out the Dursleys decided to go to bed. Petunia fell asleep right away but Vernon was unable to sleep something about the days events kept him awake and worried. Though it could have been that chilli. Shrugging off his worries Vernon jumped into bed, which sent his wife through the ceiling, and went to sleep.
As Mr. Dursley fell into an uneasy sleep and his wife tried to not call into a coma the cat outside showed no sign of tiredness though it did show signs of boredom. The cats eyes stared unblinking at the far corner of Pivet Drive as though waiting for something. Although its eyes darted quickly to the entrance waiting for the takeaway it had ordered.
A man suddenly appeared on the corner the cat had watched, appearing so suddenly it was as though he popped out of thin air however he was not silent as he knocked over several bins which had been left out it was bin collection day after all.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive since about a week earlier when he got lost. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt and just happened to also be tucked into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, now paying a delivery driver. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." He should have watched for the bulldog barrelling toward him.
After a five-minute struggle he finally managed to get the dog off his leg and as if by magic sent it flying into a bin and down the lane before returning to rummaging through his many pockets. Several moments went by as the old man emptied his pockets among the items removed were an anvil, a rubber chicken, a book of coupons, a pocket watch, several signed photos of Patrick Swayze and an all-weather tire.
Dumbledore finally found what he was looking for, a silver cigarette lighter, opening the item and raising it up in the air he clicked causing it to light. With a frown he put the lighter back in this pocket and drew an identical item from another pocket. Trying again when clicked a nearby light flew out of the lampost and into the silver trinket. Repeating the action several times the street became engulfed in darkness. Slipping the out-putter back into his cloak he set off down the street towards number 4, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. Or at least attempted to because of how dark it was he misjudged the wall and fell on his ass.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby attempting to regain some sense of dignity from the floor, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked. "My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat order chinese food." Dumbledore was correct most cats order Italian, Lasagne mostly. Cats love Lasagne.
"I was starving been sat on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall popping some sweet and sour pork into her mouth. "All day? When you could have celebrated? I must have passed a dozen feasts, parties and orgies on my way here." Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head at a neighbours living-room window, one of the ones not watching the news anchor and weatherman fight. "I heard it. Flocks of owls, shooting stars, drag races Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He was always a stupid fuck." "You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years." "I can and will blame them," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors and body fluids." She threw a sharp, downwards glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You -Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "But I must confess I didn't really check ".
"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -" "My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have tried to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort. Or pencil dick" Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name." "I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Pencil Dick, was frightened of." "You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have." "Only because you're too senile to use them.".
Dumbledore didn't seem to hear that last point. "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had waited on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true since she couldn't be bothered to look into it herself. Dumbledore, however, was trying to remember his own birthday and did not answer. "What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are dead. " Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James I can't believe it." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the knee. "I know" he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke and that's why he's gone. Dumbledore nodded glumly. "It's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done, all the people he's killed, he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding, of all the things to stop him, but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?" "We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know and frankly I don't really care" Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?" "Yes," said Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore shook his head the hairy bastard never could keep his mouth shut.
"And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?" "I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now.". Except for his other aunt.
"Not these abominations of nature" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore you can't. I've watched them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son I saw him eat 3 garden gnomes. Harry Potter come and live here!" "It's the best place for him, probably I'm not an expert or anything" said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."
"Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous a legend, I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future, there will be books and poor fanfiction written about Harry, every child in our world will know his name! Soaked underwear will be thrown in his direction everytime he leaves the house ".
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it or give it?" Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Fuck, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it. Considering the things she's seen this incredibly powerful man with dementia do it was a safe bet.
"Hagrid is bringing him" Dumbledore said. McGonagall rubbed her eyes "Oh for Fucks sake Albus".
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky. Down the street the pair watched a large motorcycle smash into a building. It was at this moment the two noticed another noise growing louder at a rapid pace. A deep scream could be heard hurtling towards the ground and a large mass hit the car in the Dursleys driveway sending a wave of empty fast food containers to fly into the air.
The two approached the now groaning giant mass before Dumbledore smiled. "Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?".
The giant hairy man known as Hagrid groaned attempting to shift the gearstick that lodged itself past his prostate "Ah borrowed it from young Sirius Black sir". Well a more accurate version of events would be upon finding the burning wreckage of his best friends house and assuming everyone was dead Sirius Black fell to his knees tore off his shirt and screamed to the heavens then started hitting the floor with his fist as tears flowed. So he didn't hear when Hagrid said he was going to borrow his bike.
"No problems, were there?" "No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before people started looting the place. He fell asleep when we stopped for a quick drink." Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. "Is that ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever." Dumbledore said his voice filled with sorrow.
"No not that" Said McGonagall sharply then pointed at the babes arm "I meant that". On the 1 year old's arm was a tattoo of the grim reaper riding a motorcycle. The pair stared for a second before craning their necks up towards the giant. "I er had a coupon and he seemed cool with getting a matching set".
After a few moments of silence Dumbledore decided to get this over with, taking the bundle from Hagrid. Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook and he patted his chest with a closed fist, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out and the electrical engineer sent out to find out why the power went out in Little Whinging was supremely confused.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and party."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back." Sirius wouldn't be getting his bike back and Hagrid knew this. Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid noticed the police car in the next street over no doubt responding to the call of a motorbike coming through the roof. Hagrid then ran off into the night. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange, the lights then exploded due to the sudden surge in electricity and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could easily see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being treated for pneumonia. He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter Beastmaster".
A.N. And there you have it I dont really have anything to say just going to try and think up more fat jokes if I decide to continue this.