The scene is Hogwarts, our hero's name is Jacob Jones...


One day Jacob was hanging around the Hogwarts courtyard, with his strong, slender fingers hooked through the loops in his leather trousers (Jacob was the only student allowed to wear leather trousers because of a favour he had done for Flitwick once.) His elegant platform shoes seemed to almost float above the wet flagstones of the ground, as if he was too perfect to be fully-connected to this world. He was musing over the recent rumours of unrest in the South of England; strange things were happening and it seemed like everyone was ignoring the signs except for him. Dead men has been sighted shuffling around the barren heathland of Cornwall, they were said to be digging for something if fishermen's tales were to be believed; and ever-more people had been going missing in Portsmouth for months it seemed like.

Suddenly, an average-looking girl shuffled up to him and started biting her bottom lip with protruding front teeth. Jacob sighed, knowing what was coming next and already dreading what he must do.

"Jacob... I-" She began. "I- don't think we've met." She thrust out a hand.

Jacob looked at the hand coolly, but did not unhook his fingers from the loops of his expensive leather trousers, which shimmered in the damp air like the glistening skin of a killer whale at an underwater disco. He waited, saying nothing.

"Oh, well-" Stammered the plain girl with frizzy hair, made worse by the drizzle. "I suppose you're, erm... busy? I just wanted to say that I read your superlative re-write of 'Hogwarts: A History' and I quite agree with absolutely everything you argued. I mean, in hindsight it's just obvious that..."

"What's your name, darling?" Jacob asked the horror, kindly.

"Hermione!" Chirped the girl. "Hermione Jone- I mean Granger!" She corrected, blushing furiously. Jacob thought she looked like a hairy radish with teeth. "I just wanted to ask you your views on feminis-"

"Well Hermione, I only go with older women." Jacob mused. He made a motion with his hand and a bent figure shuffled forward out of the gloom of a pillar. "This is Edith, my girl."

Edith scuffed forward on unsteady stilettos, torn fishnets flapping in the gentle breeze of the day. Her footsteps rang out on the cobbles like old typewriter keys, and the letter she was wrote was full of obscenity and forbidden lust.

"Oh, er- pleased to meet you." Stammered Hermione, jutting out a girlish hand. "Do you ah, go here? Only I don't remember seeing you in any classes."

"Naw I dunt go 'ere." Cackled Edith delightedly. "Am sixty-three, far too awld." Her voice was rough and experienced, like second-hand gravel that had been around a bit.

"Edith is allowed to stay in my room because of a favour I did McGonagall once." Said Jacob, answering the confused, but impressed look on Hermione's questioning face. "No one else is allowed." He re-adjusted his supple leather pants, casually.

"Ah used to be da trolly-dolly on da Hogwarts Express," cackled Edith. "Till ah got sacked for dishin' out gobblejobs in da baffroom. Ahm the one who first started calling our Jacob, 'Big Jacob.'" She said proudly. "Only man who cud ever make me gag... an I've been with Hagrid."

"Edith is riddled with AIDS," sighed Jacob with a tragic sigh. "But you better not hold that against her, or you'll have me to answer to." He added fiercely.

"Caught it off a terlet seat in Dulwich," tittered Edith. "Passed it on to me poor baby boy, me son... dead now." She stared at the ground, downcast.

Hermione felt a wave of sympathy for the woman. "Oh I am sorry," she declared. "How, er- old would he have been?"

"Lemme see..." Edith calculated on her gnarled fingers. "I gave it 'im when 'ee were thirty-six, and 'ee were dead by fifty. That were last year right enough, so 'eed be fifty-one now." She rummaged around in her filthy bra and pulled out a tamagotchi, handing it to Hermione.

"Oh- er, thank you." Said the girl, and started feeding it dutifully.

"T'other side ye fool!" Giggled Edith coquettishly, "It's a picture of me 'arold - my boy - when 'ee were only fifteen an' in the prime of his life. Looks just like our Jacob 'ere, don't 'ee?" She stroked Jacob's face fondly, whilst he blew perfect smoke rings from a battered crack pipe he'd produced from behind his ear.

Hermione turned the small electronic device over, which was going haywire because of the spells cast around Hogwarts. The tamagotchi had discovered a nun hiding in it's lavatory and was urinating all over her whilst lecturing her on the importance of good hygiene. The nun kept insisting she belonged in a painting on the third-floor, but every time she tried to leave the frame the tamagotchi would beat her mercilessly then resume lecturing on matters of personal grooming. On the back was a picture of the man she assumed to be Edith's son, Harold.

"Just like 'im, isn't 'ee?" Edith said again, jutting her pointed, warty chin at Jacob.

Hermione agreed that he was, keeping her reservations that the man in the picture looked older, balder and fatter, (whilst also seemingly half-Indian), to herself.

Just then Draco Malfoy poked his head out of an upstairs window and started pointing and laughing at Edith. "Oh I say Jacob, I didn't know we were allowed visits from our grandmothers during term time!" He giggled and gyrated in the window. "Why is yours dressed like a post-apocalyptic transvestite, may I ask?"

Big Jacob smiled enigmatically. "It's called 'fashion', Malfoy." He snorted dismissively. "I wouldn't expect someone who wears knee-length shorts and a tank-top to understand." A titter of mirth went up around the courtyard at this devastating putdown.

"And the missing teeth?" Cried Malfoy. "Her mouth looks like a domino wedged inside a prune- No, don't smile!" He yelled at Edith. "I've just eaten."

Big Jacob flushed crimson. "Shit cocks, Malfoy!" He bellowed, wiggling his wand through the air in a complicated arrangement.

Malfoy clutched his hands to his heart in a panic, then started to laugh when nothing happened. "Not so clever after all!" He mocked, still tittering. "Your magic is weaker than your mother's soups, you penniless vagabond!"

Just then Malfoy's stomach let out an harrowing rumble and there was a sudden expulsion of squeaking air; it sounded like a balloon being slowly deflated. A wet plop rang out around the courtyard and Malfoy turned green and slithered out of slight.

Malfoy was all the talk of Hogwarts that night; and whilst having only the word of the Slytherins to go on, everyone seemed to agree how it had happened.

He (Draco) had entered the tower after supper complaining of an upset stomach. He had told Pansy Parkinson - who was by the window mooning over a stolen picture of Jacob - that he had half a mind to sneak to the kitchens and give the House Elves a good thrashing. That was one of Malfoy's secret passions, and he always found the flimsiest excuses to carry it out. One time he had done it because his water was too 'watery', another time because the Beef Wellington made his feet wet. But why he dressed the elves in frilly lace beforehand is anyone's guess; though whispers of Malfoy in lederhosen - carrying a whip made out of edible liquorice, with puff-pastry for shoes - echoed through the school corridors long after he had left.

Just as he was pulling on a pointed felt cap, his stomach let out an almighty grumble and Malfoy jumped up in consternation and fright. Skittering in the direction of the boy's lavatory, he clutched at his midriff and mumbled something about 'giving them double for this' and going 'all the way with Winky this time', before disappearing through the door. It was less than a minute later that a blood-curdling scream shattered Goyle's peaceful lute music drifting through the dungeons, as he serenaded Crabbe in the hopes of getting lucky.

Everyone jumped up in alarm as Malfoy bunny-hopped into the common room, with his knee-length shorts around his ankles and pale white hands covering his milky tackle. Such was the shock of his irregular appearance, many people failed to even notice the women's suspenders that hugged his thighs like tiny aunties with abandonment issues.

"I've been violated!" Cried Malfoy, holding up an exact replica of Big Jacob's jive sausage that had been wiggling in his y-fronts like an escape artist tied into a peach-colored sleeping bag with thick blue ropes.

"What are you talking about Draco?" Said Pansy Parkinson, eyeing the tube of meat lovingly.

"I've been invaded!" Screamed Draco, tearing at his hair in revulsion. "Defiled! This is the fifty-sixth one today!"

"Let me have a look at that Draco." Said Goyle, snatching the squirming meat musket out of Malfoy's hands and pocketing it in an instant.

Crabbe looked at him curiously. "Did you just put that dick in your pocket?" He asked Goyle.

"For research purposes." Explained Goyle, licking his lips. "It might be dangerous, we don't know what the effects of having it up your zippidy-doo-dah could be."

"You're such a good friend," sighed Crabbe. "Always thinking of others."

"Come on." Laughed Goyle, putting his arm around Crabbe's shoulder and slinging his lute across his back. "We'll take turns investigating," and they skipped out of the room.

Malfoy shook with unconditional defeat. "It's that granny-interferer Jacob, he's humiliated me for the last time, I tell you!"

When Malfoy mentioned Jacob, everyone in the common room clapped and cheered as they were filled by a sudden admiration for the wondrous magic perpetrated by Jacob, which was even stronger than the admiration they already felt for him. Even Malfoy joined in through his tears of degradation and shame.

"My father will hear about this!" Cried Malfoy. "He loves any news to do with Jacob, they play hopscotch together on Sundays with the Minister of Magic."

Pansy Parkinson began stroking his hair lovingly. "Can you remember the spell he cast, Draco?"

Draco jutted out his bottom lip and began to weep like an old cheese. "No." He stammered. "It was magic far greater than any I have ever seen, or heard of. A silent spell of intricate wonder and delicacy. It looked a bit like this-" Draco waggled his wand about ridiculously, looking like Snape that time he got drunk and danced to Taylor Swift, before insisting on giving the first year girls a raunchy puppet show using only his wrinkliest body-parts as characters.

Pansy stopped her stroking at once, her face determined. She stalked into the corner of the common room, waving her wand around her head in a foolish imitation of Draco, before wriggling hopefully, and sighing when nothing happened.

Back in Gryffindor tower, Jacob was sitting in the best seat by the fire, doing his best to ignore all the admiring stares from the Gryffindor girls, and the envious scowls from the Gryffindor boys. Neville was before him, humming the theme tune to Knightrider whilst painting Jacob's portrait. Edith was curled at Jacob's feet, twitching; out of her skull on a cocktail of ketamine and Dorito-powder. She was foaming slightly from the eyes and gargling as she half-choked on her own spit; Jacob adjusted her head lovingly and sighed.

Suddenly Seamus Finnegan let out a startled Irish yelp. "Bugger me sideways!" He cried. "But der's a great big dragon looking in through de window. Jacob, tell us what ter do?" He turned to Jacob frantically.

Jacob looked up calmly and smiled, also calmly. He kicked Edith's head off his foot and heard it clunk on the floor like a church bell filled with old meat. "One of the clock." Smiled Jacob, looking towards the window. He clicked his fingers and did a spell which involved no wand, but twelve minutes of body-popping accompanied by some erotic beatboxing. The window flew open and everyone clapped.

There was indeed a dragon outside; it was very large and had hard, black scales like a burnt leper. Its one visible eye looked menacingly into the room, surveying the scene like an out-of-sorts engineer. The head dipped and a haughty silver-haired woman with violet eyes, stepped through the window, staring daggers at Jacob. She saw Edith fitting at his feet and her face became a mask of hot fury.

"So this is the side-chick?" She bellowed, placing her small hands on her hips and vibrating with anger.

"Wot side-chick?" Asked Neville, as he longingly stroked the canvas with his small, but firm implement. "That's Edith, Jacob's fiancée."

Jacob let out a little amused cough, but didn't speak. The effect made him look more beautiful and dangerous than ever before.

"She can't be his fiancée!" The silvery woman barked, like a tuna doing an impression of a pine tree. "She can't be his fiancée!" She trumpeted again, "because he is my husband!"

It was Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, Jones - Mother of Dragons!


Authors note: If anyone is interested in what exciting thing happens next, let me know and I can add more chapters. The real drama happens later on in the story, but I'm keeping it light-hearted early-on whilst I introduce the main characters. In the next chapter, Jacob is asked to officiate a game of charades between Dumbledore and The Hound, which predictably descends into horrific madness and violence, with a sexual element.

J. Jones (GandaldorePoggins) x


Sneak Preview of the next chapter:

The game began with Dumbledore pulling a sensual face and waving his arms around his head like a helicopter.

"Old Twat." Guessed the Hound.

"You're supposed to say what you see." Advised Dondarrion.

The Hound scratched at his burnt face and frowned. "Old twat flapping his arms about."

Beric sighed. "It's a film."

"Old twat flapping his arms about: The movie."

Dumbledore beamed and clapped his hands together. "Excellent, Sandor!" He cried. "Not many people have seen that film, I'm surprised you got it so quickly."

The Hound snorted derisively. "Joffrey used to make me watch it every Christmas."

"Did he now?" Asked Dumbledore, who was still windmilling his arms like a maniac.

"Yeah," said Sandor. "You were really good in it."

Dumbledore blushed. "Oh Sandor, you're too kind." He giggled and threw in some Cossack kicks.

"No I mean it," said The Hound. "It's like you were born to play a silly old twat. I especially liked the incest scenes where you used that grapefruit to..."

Beric coughed lightly and inclined his head towards the innocent faces of the gathered children. "Sandor..." he chided gently.

The Hound looked genuinely confused. "What's wrong with grapefruit?" He asked...