Chapter 1: THE BEGINNING...dundundunhardeehar
Disclaimer: Er...don't own it, don't own Pooh Bear...yeah. Oh, and the Farce is from a rather strange and campy Mel Brooks movie called Spaceballs which is about...well, it's a spoof on Star Wars. Which I also don't own. Anyway, enough on that subject.
um, this fic is very nicely random, except for the vague semblence of plot surrounding prunes, but other than that, this is just sort of a branch-off of our other excellent fic, Ye Slightly Stupide Chronicles of Potter. WHICH you should read. it's very good. just finished editing Chapter 14, couldn't stop laughing. Emmy did a good job on that chapter. So you'll see that in a bit.
This first chapter is kindof crappy, at least in my mind, but it'll get better later, trust me, in only that signature Charletto way. Anyway, I have some ideas for funny randomness later, but I'm totally open to plot suggestions. include that in ur review. WHEN u review. not if. we're all imaginative here, let's share the love, people...I'll credit you in the disclaimer if i decide to use ur idea.
Enjoy, and review or else. hee.
Harry ran awkwardly down the echoing corridor, his bag bumping wildly and uncomfortably against his laboring legs, his robes flying out behind him.
"Damn...whoo...donuts...bloody...turtle...couldn't...AG!" Harry's toe skidded on the heavily waxed floor, and he fell spectacularely, tumbling head over heel, spinning and sliding a good twenty feet before crashing into a huge and undoubtably ancient suit of armor, which then, with great pomp and ceremony, slowly keeled over and deposited its cargo of considerably heavy and sharp iron objects onto Harry's unfortunate and confused body. Harry muttered something that may have included orange Spice Girls, then lay still.
Professor Flitwick poked his head outside his classroom. "What in Merlin's name-" He looked up the corridor, down, saw nothing of consequence, and ducked back inside with a sigh. "Well, class, no sign of Harry, so I suppose we'll simply continue without him."
Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the class sat stunned, all having witnessed Harry's terrifying annihilation through the open door. The crash itself had reverberated all throughout the castle, and it appeared that there was an ominous pool of blood seeping out from under the armor's various parts. Ron timidly raised his hand, still staring out the door.
"Yes, Ron?"
"Er...sir...I, uh...er...ahem...can we, uh, proffesor...sir?" Ron glanced nervously from Professor Flitwick to what would be Harry if one removed the numerous, sharp iron intruments, back to Professor Flitwick, back to what would be Harry.
Flitwick frowned. "I beg your pardon?" he squeaked.
Ron swallowed. "Er...Harry, professor...I think-"
"Yes, yes, Harry did not show up for class today, and I believe he will be in rather deep dragon feces with Professor McGonagall once he decides to reappear."
"No, it's not that, professor-"
"What do you mean, 'it's not that'?" Flitwick shrieked indignantly. He had a migraine, he couldn't tolerate this boy's insolence. "Do you actually mean to suggest that tardiness is acceptable at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? As my old granpappy used to tell me-"
Ron grimaced. "No, that's quite all right, Professor," he interrupted. "What I mean to say-"
"-is nothing. Case closed." Professor Flitwick smiled daintily. He congratulated himself on sounding almost identical, at least to his ears, to the ravishing Professor McGonagall. He turned away, visions of her beautifully stern and wise countenance floating through his head, and nearly tumbled off his large stack of books.
The pool of blood grew steadily larger underneath the armor, and both Ron and Hermione stirred uncomfortably in their seats.
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The "blood" was, in fact, prune juice, from a large number of prunes that Harry had tucked lovingly into his school bag just the other day. He had heard from a very knowledgeable-looking Luna that prunes, along with Pooh bear print pajamas, worked miracles on pesky cellulite, and so had rushed to the nearest wizard grocer in Hogsmeade and bought as many as his money-conscious brain could allow. Harry had planned, today, to furtively stuff them into his pants and sit on them during class periods, taking them out every now and then and sucking, with great relish, on their life-giving juices, and then returning them to their hallowed position so that they might continue their godly work. He had practiced his sitting and relishing the night before, so that others may witness and experience the healing wonders of prune juice upon the body. As for the tardiness, he had not yet finished his mandatory Goodbye Night-time Hello Day-time ritual that morning, when Seamus came in just as Harry was dancing and singing the Happy Happy Sun Shine song, reacted rather violently, and knocked over a whole bunch of things, messing up the entire ceremony. This rather rude and inexcusable infraction of his daily routine required Harry to Poo Poo Pout for another half an hour, thus making him extremely late for class. While running to class that morning, he had been going through his explanation to the professor in his head: It was all Seamus's fault, you see, it couldn't have been my fault, it was all comPULsory, if Seamus hadn't come in and messed everything up and thrown a bunch of things and called me names I don't understand and even refused to look at my pretty ceremonial birthday suit, I wouldn't have had to Poo Poo and everything would be Happy Candy Dandy!
Nobody ever understood him...
Underneath the suit of armor, however, Harry's mind was blissfully free of Seamus and Professor Flitwick and funny-sounding names and pretty birthday suits. He floated through dreams of Sunshine and Happiness and Prune Juice, in a land where Pooh Bears frolicked and cellulite was utterly non-existent. Harry bounded through fields of yummy-smelly poppies and dancing prunes toward a choir of smiling, singing Pooh Bears, who, smiling oh so happily, began throwing prunes at him. The prunes splattered joyfully all over Harry, who wept with happiness as he felt all cellulite leave his body forever, and as he slipped and fell and landed on a squishy bed of wonderful squashed prunes, he cried out in joy, stuffing them in his mouth-
Suddenly, there were no more prunes. In his dream, Harry looked up in confusion. A great big black shadow stood over him.
"I AM LORD VOLDEMORT," boomed the figure. Harry whimpered in fear. "AND I HATE PRUNES!"
Thunder crashed! Harry screamed. Oh what a terrible dream, oh how TERRIBLE!
"I HAVE COME TO TAKE AWAY ALL PRUNES FOREVER!"
"Nooooooooo, please, please, no, moldie voldie, please don't, not the prunes, not the-"
"FOREVAAAAAAAAAAA!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed. Suddenly, deep inside, he felt the spirit of the Pooh Bear come into him, and all was momentarily suffused with a bright golden light. Harry faintly smelled the beautiful smell of prunes wafting on a heavenly breeze.
"Use the Farce, Harry. Be strong. Show this Poopy Poo Poo Head who's boss. Use the Farce!"
Then, the pruney smell and the pretty light and the Pooh bear voice went away. Harry looked up into the eyes of Lord Voldemort, which were utterly void of all prunes. He gathered all of his strength, and shouted from the depths of his lungs.
"You Poopy Poo Poo Head! You can't take away my prunes!"
Voldemort looked surprised. "YES, WELL, ER...ACTUALLY,YES I CAN! YOU SEE, BECAUSE I HAVE YOUR PRECIOUS POOH BEAR HOSTAGE, HERE, YOU SEE?" He held up a small cage. Sad Pooh Bear sat inside.
"Help me, Harry, help me! Help meeeee!"
Harry's eyes widened in shock, then anger. He lunged at Voldemort and the cage. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Voldemort ran away, cackling viciously, throwing rotten prunes at Harry. Harry hit the dry, utterly non-prune ground, then struggled back to his feet, shaking his fist at Voldemort's retreating back.
"I'll get you, you poopy head! You won't take away my prunes! I'll rescue Pooh Bear! IT'S NOT OVER YET, VOLDYMORTY POO POO HEEEEEAAAAAAADDDDDD!"
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Ron and Hermione rushed out of the classroom as soon as class was over, and ran over to where the pile of armor lay, twitching and making frustrated little noises. Ron and Hermione hauled several large plates of armor off, and Harry, covered in prune juice, eyes wild, blood flowing freely from his nose and his scalp, burst from the pile, causing both Ron and Hermione to utter little squeaks of surprise.
"THE FARCE!" he shrieked. "PRUNES! FARCE! MOLDIE VOLDIE! POOH BEAR! THE-THE PRUNES!" Drool flew from his mouth in great foamy, pruney flecks.
"What? What, Harry?"
Harry began struggling out of the metal pile. He tripped clumsily, and his friends caught him, but his eyes were wildly focused on something far beyond them.
"The prunes...HE WANTS TO TAKE AWAY THE PRUNES!...must...save pooh bear...must...PRUNES!" Harry slobbered, and burst past the two of them. He ran aimlessly for two or three steps, shedding flecks of blood and drool and snot and prune juice, then ran into a wall and sat down hard. A few prunes were still stuffed into his pants, and they let out a faint farting, squishy sound as juice flew out from under Harry's bottom. Ron and Hermione ran over to him.
"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione gasped.
"Harry, God, mate, what-"
Harry gripped Ron's arm and stared at him. "He wants...to take away...the prunes! We-we've been wrong all along...that's what the bugger's after...the...the prunes..." Harry's wide-eyed, glassy gaze slipped off, and he got up again and ran, shrieking, down the hall, bumping into the odd wall every now and then. Ron and Hermione stared after him.
"I think...something's wrong with him," Hermione said slowly.
"Well, we knew that already, but this is really..." Ron trailed off as Harry let out a high, thin cackle as he ran.
"Oh, God, it must have been the fall..." Hermione ran a worried hand through her thick hair. "Help me catch him!" She ran after Harry, who was at that point maniacally climbing a large statue of Godric Griffindor, drooling and cackling, leaving a tell-tale trail of various repulsive substances.
Ron mimed shooting himself in the head, and then joined Hermione.
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Miles and miles away, Lord Voldemort sat in his dark and fire-lit den, brooding as usual. Wormtail catered to him, delicately setting a tray of tea and biscuits beside his thick armchair. Suddenly, Voldemort looked up, his eye twitching. Wormtail paused.
"What is it, my Lord?"
"I think…" Voldemort shook his head as if dislodging something from his ear and rubbed his temples. When he spoke again, it was slowly and with great measure. "I think our idiot archo-nemesiso may have done himself some serious harmo…" He stopped for a while, his head cocked, as if listening, feeding upon all his bodily powers of evilishness and…and evil. Wormtail waited as patiently as he could manage, his anxiety slowly building.
At last Voldemort turned to Wormtail, a triumphant and evil grin on his face. "This may finally be our time to strike…"
Hee. So, folks, like i said, review or else. MORE COMING...o, and if u hated it, id appreciate...er...soft flames...or at least constructive flames...i WANT ideas, so be considerate...;)