Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Friends belongs to J. K. Rowling. While waiting for another series, Harry grew old and frail and rich, and suddenly turned quite insane. I blame it on the pop and the pop music and of course, the lemon drops. They can turn anyone into a cuckoo-head. This is his stupidly weird story.
Mr. and Mrs. Gursley, of number 7, Private Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal. Of course, when one insists that they are normal, they usually are not.
Mr. Gursley was a drill Sargent at a gym called Runnings, which made drills. Mrs. Gursley was a blonde, and while blondes aren't usually stupid, Mrs. Gursley was. The Gursleys had a small son called Milk-Dudley, and while they bragged that he was the finest boy anywhere, they cursed at his stupidity under their breath.
The Gursleys claimed they had everything they wanted, but of course this was a lie. They could use a nice 3D TV, lots of money, and a mansion. And they also wanted nobody to find about their secret: the Butters. Mrs. Gursley's sister and her husband were the worst relatives one could have, and if anybody found out about their secret hobby of brewing hairy butter, then the Gursleys would have to move to America, the Land of No Opportunities.
When Mr. Gursley went to work the Sunday that our story starts, he noticed a tabby cat reading a map.
"Oh, aren't you a cute cat? I'm going to kill you, and eat you, and call you George."
In response, the cat opened its claws. Mr. Gursley stayed away from that cat. There was something strange about it.
At lunchtime, Mr. Gursley took a break from making people collapse in pain. He decided to go to Cannibal Steve, the local baker. He liked to bake humans. There was Apple Coffin Cake, Brain Freeze Ice Cream Cake, Heart Stopper Fudge, and Headache Brownies. But on his way in, he spied a couple of people in cloaks. He eavesdropped on them and discovered what they were saying.
"The Butters, that's right, that's what I heard from the horse's mouth, you know, Horse Dung Fletcher-"
"That's right, their son Hairy-"
Mr. Gursley stopped dead. Almost. The chainsaw by the door of the bakery didn't manage to cut off his head this time.
He went back to the gym and yelled at some more people for the next five hours.
When he left the building, he bumped into a tiny old man. He realized that the man was wearing a cloak – the Violent Violet style. The man stopped and exclaimed, "Though nothing could upset me this day, it seems you did! But still I rejoice, for You-Know? Who? Has gone at last! Even Huggles like you should be celebrating on this happy, happy, uh... night? Excuse me sir, but do you happen to know whether it is day or night?"
When he pulled into the driveway of number seven, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his torture chamber wall. He wasn't sure it wasn't the same one; it had the same marker markings around the eyes.
"Shoe!" said Mr. Gursley loudly.
The cat lifted it's feet, which had Sketchers on them. Claws suddenly appeared from the shoe, and the Sketchers could finally sketch someone's face.
Back at home, Mrs. Gursley said how she was so proud that Milk-Dudley had finally said his first sentence (I hate my family!). After Mr. Gursley let Mrs. Gursley put Milk-Dudley to bed while he ate a bag of biodegradable chips very stupidly noisily, he decided to watch the news.
"And finally, bird watchers everywhere have been reporting that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. No, really? It's not like I just sit around all day and couldn't even bother to look out the window with my eyes? Wait, what? I do? And now over to Him McMuffin with the weather. Going to be any more baths of owls tonight, Him?"
"Well, I seriously have no idea, so I'm just going to give a report on stuff I have no idea about. So... tonight it's going to be cloudy with a chance of meatballs! And tomorrow, we can certainly expect that it will be chilly outside in Chile, so the miners can enjoy a dinner of chile! I know nobody cares about Chile, but who cares? Wait, I just said that..."
Mrs. Gursley came into the living room carrying two cups of puke-flavored soda. He would have to say something to her. He cleared his thorax. "Ahem, Fly-Trap, dear (for Mrs. Gursley was named after that great plant,) you haven't heard from your mother's husband's son's sister lately, have you?"
Fly-Trap turned angry. "No, she may as well be dead right now."
"Well, their son – he'd be about Milk-Dudley's age now, would not he?'
"What's his name again? I Can't Believe It's Not Butter? No? Was it Benacol?"
"No, he was Butter. Hairy Butter. Nasty, uncommon name, if you ask me. But nobody does."
And then, after watching General Hospital, Glee, Wonder Pets, and a healthy dose of T.U.F.F. Puppy and Fish Hooks, they wound down with Twilight and went to sleep, where they dreamed about locking up children and cooking them in a cauldron.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd think he'd just popped out of the ground, but in fact he fell from the sky. The man's name was Fat Albert Bumblebee.
Fat Albert Bumblebee realized he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still obnoxiously staring at him from the other end of the street. He chuckled, choked, and muttered, "I should have known."
He sat down next to the wall by the cat.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGoonygall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. Instead, it was on the floor, because the wall had turned into a severe/Severus-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the same shape as the marker markings the cat had had around its eyes. While the cat landed safely on the ground, the same cannot be said of the man leaning against where the wall was, who fell to the ground and started bleeding.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit more stiffly. You must have been an extremely uncomfortable place to sit. And I have certainly never seen a wall so ugly."
"You'd be ugly if you were being pooped on all day," said Professor McGoonygall. "But you were partying, of course. The Huggles have started to notice. They're not completely stupid."
"Yes, they are," said Bumblebee.
"And there's no reason to lose our heads," said Professor McGoonygall irritably.
"Why, there is. Just this morning, I walked into a bakery with my friend, whose head was chopped off on the way out. I picked it up and ate it."
"A fine thing it would be, on the very day You-Know? Who? Seems to have disappeared at last, the Huggles found out about us all."
"It certainly seems so," said Bumblebee. "We have much to be thankful for, but of course, we aren't thankful for anything. Would you care for a bird dropping?"
"A what?"
"A bird dropping. They're a kind of Huggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you not," said Professor McGoonygall hotly, as though she didn't think this was the time for bird droppings. "As I don't say, even if You-Know? Who? has gone-"
"My dear Professor, surely a non-sensible person like yourself can call him by his real name? All this You-Know? Who? Sense – for eleven years I've been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Goldysnort." Professor McGoonygall snorted.
"You know what everyone's saying?" asked Professor McGoonygall. "About why he's disappeared? What finally stopped him? What they're saying is that last night Goldysnort turned up at Hodric's Gollow. The rumor is that Lilac and Games Butter are – are – that they're – dead."
Bumblebee bowed his head. In fact, he was only admiring his new pair of Ed Hardy sneakers, but Professor McGoonygall gasped.
"That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Butters' son, Hairy. But – he couldn't. He was that weak. Epic fail."
Bumblebee nodded. Actually, he nodded off. But then his watch screamed, "Wake up, you dork! He's late! He's late! For a very important date! You bumble-head! You ******* little *****! How could you sleep on a ***************************************************************** night like this one? One day I'm going to push you off of Ya-"
"Who was that watch talking about?" Professor McGoonygall asked. She was really asking Professor Layton, but Bumblebee answered.
"A-Grid. He's going to bring Hairy to his rightful place – here, in a house a wackos and nutcases."
A low rumbling could suddenly be heard, and McGoonygall, frightened, turned back into a wall. This was unfortunate for the midget who came down in a huge motorcycle, and he crashed into it.
"A-Grid," said Bumblebee, "where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Stole it, Professor Bumblebee sir," said the midget, climbing down the motorcycle. "From young Serious Pink. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, the house went up in flames because I lit a cigarette, 8 people died and 50 got hurt, but everything else went perfectly fine."
Bumblebee and Professor McGoonygall bent forward over the bundle of blankets A-Grid was carrying. Inside, clearly visible because of his huge size, was a baby boy, fast asleep - Hairy. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a fairy unicorn. As A-Grid gave him to Bumblebee, he let out a howl like a beached whale.
"Shhhh!" hissed Professor McGoonygall, " you'll wake the idiot Huggles."
Bumblebee laid Hairy on the doorstep, and Hairy let out a humungous snore that woke the whole town up.
"OMG WIZARDS!" screamed everybody.
"This," Bumblebee told them, "is the Chosen One."
"Then," somebody retorted, "we will all die in 2012."
But for some reason, even though they agreed with him, everybody said in a hushed voice, "To Hairy Butter – the boy who snored!
(In 2012, Hairy approached Underlord Goldysnort, and died, and then everyone died for no apparent reason.)