Disclaimer: I am obviously not JK Rowling, despite the many wishes on birthday candles and shooting stars. Clearly, despite the much-visited propoganda, we truly cannot become anything or anyone we would like to be. Jerks.
It was Harry's last visit to the Dursley's house to gather a few necessities for school. In just a few brief minutes, the Boy Who Lived would be rid of the wretched Dursley family forever. He gathered together the last of his socks, paper clips, and the biggest guilty pleasure of all; his long-lasting collection, sorry, "family" of pet rocks. Each had a name, story behind their life, and a personality Harry had created just for them. They were all superheroes. Harry called them his Superlovers, and in times of citywide trouble, Harry would unite the rocks and pretend to save the world with them. He was even featured many times with the rocks on the local news. He received many a howler from the school informing him that he was not to use his magic outside school, however, amongst current circumstances, and by which I mean, muggles be freakin' stupid, he couldn't be expelled considering them dumbasses really couldn't tell any better. Anyway, this useless trip fabricated just to start off possibly the strangest story you ever read was a highly successful one.
Harry had just walked out the front door, prepared to finally leave behind the one that he could blame for most of his life's long suffering, when suddenly, none other than the Dark Lord Voldemort apparated in front of him. Acting quickly, Harry grabbed his wand out of his back pocket, ready to fight to the death. Unexpectedly, Voldemort put his finger up to his mouth and pointed his wand at the Dursley house. He muttered a curse Harry never heard before, but quickly saw it was a destruction spell. Flames quickly licked across the house, leaving nothing left but a pile of rubble. Harry wondered why Voldemort hadn't tried to kill him yet, and as he was looking through the rubble, he noticed all his belongings were completely unharmed, gleaming like Christmas presents underneath the most beautiful Christmas tree his childhood had never seen.
"Great, isn't it?" Voldemort exclaimed to Harry.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Harry asked, apprehensively.
"Harry, don't you understand WHY I killed your parents? Why I just burned down this house right in front of you?"
"Umm… No?"
"Harry, I did this to save humankind. Petunia Dursley, your aunt, once told me that she would one day rule the world. That she would mutate the bunnies, so each and every person had a bunny for his or her self. And those bunnies… They would be... Oh, how dare I say it... Pink!" Voldemort looked ashamed to say the word aloud.
"NO! Anything but that! You're lying. She may be evil, but that's just sick." Voldemort just silently nodded.
"But why did you kill my parents?"
"I thought if I threatened to kill them, they would tell me where Petunia was. I never intended to kill them, but they didn't believe the horrible things your Aunt threatened to do. You see, your aunt was also in hiding. Wormtail knew where your parents were, but your aunt, he knew nothing about. Your parents were her secret keepers. But they wouldn't give her away. So they had to die. I'm sorry Harry." Harry began blubbering dramatically. Like, there were green snot flecks flying in just about every direction you could think of. Except North South East. What a stupid direction that would be.
All this time, Harry knew his parents' deaths weren't in vain, they were martyrs. But they died nothing for the cause he was led to believe they died for. Their deaths were just the start to saving the world in an even more miraculous way than he could ever imagine. They were the stoppers of the Bunnies. Harry walked over to Voldemort and the two held hands and began to sing in unison a song from the great childhood flick, Oliver and Company. Why either male watched this movie in the first place is highly beyond my knowledge.
"You and me
together will be
forever you'll see
we'll always be good company
you and me
just wait and see..."
Suddenly, the worst thing imaginable happened. Lord Voldemort transformed himself into a pink bunny. One of those really scary ones with the big poufy tail where it's kinda like they spend all day, brushing their pouf, so it'll get bigger and bigger until one day it rules the world the world on its own. But that's beyond my point here, you see, because Voldemort turned into a pink bunny. And that is completely terrible for Harry, because Harry hates pink bunnies.
"No! You've betrayed me!" Lord Furrytail was becoming scarier by the second. Harry was about to crawl in a ditch, when he realized he had something better than pinkity... Ness... Harry had LOVE. (Cue magical butterflies and rainbows and heavenly lights) Harry put on his SUPERLOVERS costume, and yelled for all to hear, "SUPERLOVERS, UNITE!"
So all the SUPERLOVERS, hearing his plea, came running to Harry Potter's aid. By which I mean he pulled his rocks out of his pocket and pretended in his mind that they were animatedly helping him defeat Lord Furrytail, but really, he just used the killing curse on him. Unfortunately, someone saw everything that had gone on, someone terrible.
The Boy Who Lived; The Boy Who Killed?
By Rita Skeeter
Everyone's favorite little hero has been up to some dangerous new activities. Like killing his family who housed him after his real parents were murdered by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. It is believed that little Harry joined the Dark Lord not long after summer began, and the two together devised a plan which consisted of burning down his childhood home. Further, less important news, it was revealed just seconds later that Voldemort's true identity was that of an adorable fluffy pink bunny, which Harry murdered as well. I guess our famous heartthrob doesn't like any competition when it comes to looks. When did our hero go wrong? What has happened to the world? Why isn't it butter?!
This is Rita Skeeter, signing off.
AN: This is an old story that I've slightly revised and lengthened. Reviews not expected but muchly appreciated.