Harry Potter groaned softly. His head felt like a hundred drunk elephants were partying inside his noggin.

With a herculean effort he opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings. He was lying on the front lawn of a suburban home, the sunlight blazing into his aching eyes. He sat up slowly, barely resisting the urge to throw up all over himself.

Just where the heck was he?

"There you are!"

Harry turned slowly to regard a large, walrus-like man marching up to him, a livid expression on his massive purple face.

"Awake, are you?" he sneered. "You dirty, rotten, lying, ungrateful, filthy freak!"

"Hey!" Harry snapped. "Watch the insults! What the bloody hell is your problem, anyway?"

The man's angry expression instantly disappeared, only to be replaced by a confused one. He blinked slowly at the boy. "You don't recognize me, boy?"

"No I don't, you wanker!" The indignant boy spat. All this yelling was exacerbating his pounding headache. "I've never seen you before in my life; and believe me, with a face like yours I'd know if I had!"

The man didn't seem fazed in the slightest by Harry's insults. On the contrary, a small gleam of understanding appeared in his eyes. "Bad hangover?" he asked sympathetically.

"Yeah."

"It happens." With a sigh the man bent forward and pulled the boy to his feet. "You've just been pulled into this place, so it must be a bit disorienting and all. Tell me, do you remember your name?"

"Yeah. I'm. . . . I'm Harry, Harry Potter," he said slowly. "And hang on: what do you mean by pulled into this place? What is this place?"

"Oh this? This, my boy, is the story of your life!"

"The story of my life?" Harry asked dumbly.

"Your adventures, more like." The fat man chuckled heartily. "You, my boy, are the protagonist of this story. . . . . the hero who'll fight against evil using his incredible powers, and live in a world of fantasy and magic."

"Magic?" Harry asked in surprise. "You're saying that I'm a . . . wizard or something?"

"That's right! Just think about it! Magic, dragons, ancient monsters, flying on brooms while paying dangerous sports, adventure, love. . . "

"I get the picture," Harry said, cutting off the man from his crazy rant. "Who're you then?"

"I'm Vernon Dursley," the man said proudly. "Your incredibly abusive, magic-hating uncle!"

"Hang on! Did you just say 'abusive'?" Harry slowly inched away from the large man.

"Oh, not physically abusive kiddo. I'm just here to abuse you verbally. My entire role in this story is that of an antagonist who's going to do his best to make your home life as miserable as possible."

"But why?"

"Character development. Makes you seem all the more noble when you go out and do good things despite having such a crappy childhood, on top of being an orphan to boot. You know, typical Hero's Journey stuff."

"Okay. But why do you have to be so abusive and all?"

"How else would you be motivated enough to keep going back to the Wizarding world even after all the crap they throw at you?" Vernon shrugged. "Can't have you having such boring things like a supportive family to fall back on, can we?"

"Riiiiiight. Hang on, what's this about the Wizarding world throwing crap at me. . . ?"

"All in good time, kiddo," Vernon gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "C'mon, I'll introduce ya to the rest of 'em."

Hesitatingly, Harry allowed himself to be led into their home. Inside the living room they found a thin, horse-like woman dusting an already sparkling clean vase.

"This is my wife, and your aunt, Petunia. She's your mother's sister, and your closest blood relation."

"Er. . . pleased to meet you," Harry gave the smiling woman an awkward bow.

"Oh Harry dear!" She gave a small laugh. "You're not supposed to be pleased to see me."

"Why not? Wait, you're not. . . "

"An abusive aunt? I most certainly am."

"But. . . . but why?"

"Well, it's mostly because I'm a bitter, jealous shrew, I guess," Petunia said thoughtfully. "You see, I was always envious about my sister's beauty and strange powers; not to mention I was resentful about you being dumped on my doorstep like a bottle of milk. I guess the fact that I'm so obsessed with neatness and normalcy is just a way to highlight my deep-seated insecurities." She shrugged. "Anyways, I'll be taking out most of my life's frustrations on you. I'm going to call you all sorts of nasty names, occasionally hit you with a frying pan or two, make you cook for us, slog in the garden like a slave. . . oh, and I'll also spread nasty rumors about you so that the whole neighborhood will think of you as nothing but a hooligan!"

"But. . . but your sister's dead!" Harry said in surprise. "She's been dead for a decade! And you guys are pretty well off so raising another kid shouldn't be that much of a problem for you. So why did you. . ?"

"Character development," Vernon reminded him.

"Riiiiiiiight. Oh hang on, I get it now." Harry felt a light bulb go on. "This is one of those stories where you'll eventually realize how horrible you've been to such a nice kid like me, and then we'll have tearful reconciliation where we'll talk about mutual acceptance, and how family is all about. . ."

He was interrupted by the Dursley couple breaking into laughter. "What. . . What gave you that idea?" Vernon said between guffaws.

"Oh. . . well, I thought the moral was. . . never mind." Harry shook his head roughly and sighed. "I guess this is one of those stories where some responsible adults who care for me will realize how badly I'm being treated by you folks, and then you'll be punished by the authorities for. . ."

He was once again cut off by even louder laughter from the two adults. Vernon was practically rolling on the ground, while Petunia was doubled-up holding onto her stomach. "Punished, he says!" she screamed between peals of laughter. "Oh, you've got such a wonderful sense of humor, Harry. . ."

"What's so funny?" Harry blinked as a miniature whale materialized in the living room, squeezing through the doorway with difficulty.

"Ah Dudders, come here. Harry, this is your cousin Dudley." Vernon got to his feet, face still red from laughter.

"Hi, I'm your cousin Dudley, only child of the Dursley family," the whale shook Harry's hand with a friendly smile. "I'm basically your antithesis. My whole role is to act as a constant reminder of what you never had, like love, affection, trust. . . even food." He patted his massive tummy and gave a large belch. "I'm also a bully, an idiot and simply put, an example of what a child becomes when they're spoiled rotten by their parents."

"Of course," Harry rolled his eyes. "Heaven forbid that the Dursleys actually raise a normal kid."

"That would be detrimental to the storyline," Dudley pointed out. "A normal kid would immediately recognize that we're treating you wrong, and we can't have that now, can we? We're supposed to be the perfect abusive family."

"Riiiiiiiight. Oh, and remind why you're so. . . . um, large?"

"Cause fat people are stupid, Harry," Dudley replied without skipping a beat.

"What? No, they're not!"

"They are. At least in this story. It's why Dad's so fat as well, because he's stupid and mean like me. Mum's a shrewd and petty woman though, so she's thin."

"This is so bloody bolloxed up. . . "

"I know," Dudley said sympathetically. "But my appearance is tailored to fit my character. I'm a bully who'll spend all his time treating you like his personal punching-bag, and doing all the other things that other rotten kids do. . . you know, stealing, smoking, beating up smaller kids for their lunch money; which of course I'll blame on you."

"Riiiiiiiiight. Because it's totally believable that a short and skinny kid would go around terrorizing the bloody neighborhood."

"Don't worry too much about it," Dudley said. "It's only until you turn fifteen. After that, you'll save my life and everything will be fine."

"So, what. . . . you'll realize the error of your ways and we'll become friends. . ."

The entire family once again broke out into laughter. Ignoring Vernon's gasps of "error of your ways, he says. This boy. . ." Harry glared at his cousin.

"I'm not going to do anything of that sort," Dudley snorted. "Forget gratitude, we won't even acknowledge that you did save my life, instead blaming you for everything like we always did. No, only in the last part of the story will I give you an awkward sort-of apology. It won't make up for any of the things we put you through, but that'll be my character's defining moment so. . ."

"How the bloody hell is that supposed to be character development?" Harry shouted. "You mistreat me and bully me all my life, and one lousy apology is supposed to make up for all of it?"

"Hey, don't look at me! It wasn't my idea!" Dudley exclaimed.

"See, it's like this, Harry," Vernon continued. "You're a good guy, so of course you're not going to hold onto silly things like grudges. Your role is to silently suffer through everything that the plot dumps on you, because suffering in silence is noble."

"What?" Harry gaped at the fat man. "But that's just ridiculous! Being a good guy doesn't make me a bloody doormat!"

"But it does," Petunia said earnestly. "Harry, only bad guys talk about retribution and giving others punishment. You're a good guy, so you just take all the bad things that bad people do to you in stride. You're not going to stoop down to their level by demanding that they be held responsible for their actions."

"That's. . . that's the biggest load of crap I've ever. . ."

"Harry, Harry. . . kiddo, look at me." Vernon spread out his hands in a calming gesture. "The three of us are the poster children of abusive families. Throughout the story we'll be treating you in ways that'd make you a therapist's wet dream. We're going to starve you, beat you, abuse you verbally and mentally in extreme ways. . ."

"And you'll get off with simply a slap on the wrist?" Harry shot the man an incredulous look.

"I'm saying we won't even get a slap on the wrist, my boy!" Vernon gave a hearty laugh. "Don't you see? In this story bad guys rarely get punished; and if they ever do, it's nothing compared to the crimes they committed. You think that us walking away scot-free after everything we did to you is bad; it's nothing compared to what you'll face in the Wizarding world!"

"What will I face in the Wizarding world, exactly?" Harry asked with growing trepidation.

"There's this Dark Lord in your world who has an army of followers who rape, torture and murder innocent people because of their bigotry and outdated ideals. By the time the story is over hundreds of innocents and many of your friends will be killed by these Wizard-Nazis. And guess what happens to them?" Petunia asked.

"What?" Harry croaked, dreading the answer.

"Nothing!" she shouted gleefully. "Some of them will go to prison, but the majority get off scot-free. Only the Dark Lord Voldy-something and his lieutenant get killed, everybody else goes home happy. Oh, a few of them will have to spend some time in a jail cell, but. . ."

"Hang on!" Harry said. "You're saying there'll be a. . . a civil war of some sort, and despite killing so many people and doing such horrible things the bad guys just go free?"

"Now Harry," Vernon said chidingly. "You're a good guy, remember? You don't talk about things like 'punishing the guilty' and 'killing bad guys'. You're the hero, which means you have to suffer and suffer and then suffer some more. You're not going to get any closure, and you most certainly will not be bothering yourself with such insignificant details like 'justice for the innocents'."

Harry felt his headache return with a vengeance. "But. . . but that means. . ."

"Oh, for the love of. . ." Dudley sighed. "Harry, look at me. For the last time, okay. "You good guy. You get tortured, your friends get tortured, your family dies, your friends die, you die. . . but you not talk about punishing bad guys. We bad guys. We torture you, and we go home happy. Okay?"

"Okay." Harry took a deep breath. "Okay, I understand. I suppose that's also why I'm dressed like a street urchin." He gestured at the rags he wore and glared at his relatives.

"It's part of your character, I guess." Vernon shrugged. "We gave you those rags to signify, along with your nickname of 'freak', that we do in fact think of you as less than human. The fact that you wear those things despite having a small fortune of your own is proof of the fact that you're a noble hero, who doesn't care about frivolous things like clothes, shoes, good food, or your health in general." Vernon beamed at his nephew. "Did I mention that we spent your entire childhood telling you that your parents were a bunch of worthless drunks who died in a car crash, despite the fact that they were war heroes in your world?"

"Riiiiiiiiiight. Because wearing good clothes is a sign of evil," Harry rolled his eyes again.

He then looked at his relatives curiously. "Say, why do you guys look so. . ?"

"Ugly," Petunia suggested.

"Repulsive," Dudley chimed in.

"I was gonna go with 'hard on the eyes', but yeah whatever floats your boat."

"It's simple really, Harry," Petunia said. "It's because we're evil."

Harry blinked in shock. "Excuse me?"

"We're evil, so we're ugly. It's how this story works," Vernon explained. "The more evil a person is in this story, the uglier they are. Why, the main villain is a snake-human hybrid, if you'll believe that."

"You're kidding me," Harry said in utter disbelief. "All ugly people are evil!? What the hell kind of a story is this?"

"There are a few exceptions here and there," Petunia interjected hastily. "But generally, all the evil characters are described as being ugly-looking. Even the good-looking evil characters eventually become ugly," Vernon's cough suspiciously sounded like 'Bellatrix', "or they're usually described as wearing nasty expressions."

"Right," Harry muttered. "Right."

"If it helps, you can always cross-check with this," Dudley dumped a massive book onto Harry.

"What the hell is this supposed to be?"

"Compilation of the Harry Potter wikia," the fat boy said smugly. "Contains a summary of all the characters. Use it if you ever get confused."

"Thanks, I guess."

Suddenly, the front door flew open with a loud bang.

"Hey there, Harry," a giant of a man said. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid. I'm basically a kid in a giant's body; a friendly fan-favorite character who'll put yer life in jeopardy several times throughout the story, but yeh won't mind that since I'm such a nice guy. I'll also spend most of the time telling yeh how great Albus Dumbledore is." He glared and pointed his umbrella at Dudley. "Yeh want me to give him a pig's tail?"

Harry fainted.

". . . I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Harry blinked. "What's that supposed to mean, anyways?"

"Oh never you mind, lad. Just some foreshadowing for a major plot point. There'll be a lot of talk throughout the story about how you're so much like You-know-who, but that's just bollocks really!"

"Thank God," Harry said in relief, glad to hear that he was nothing like his parents' murderer.

"Of course, you're not," Ollivander continued. "Whatever else You-know-who might've been, at least he had a spine. You, on the other hand, seem perfectly content with having senile old men dictate your entire life."

"It's not my fault," Harry protested. "Everyone keeps saying that I should be a doormat. It's bloody frustrating!"

"Fine, fine. . . spare me your angsty shite. Take your wand and get out now."

"Oh, and Mr Potter," Harry paused at the doorstep. "Next time you use your wand, remember that I've run my wrinkly old fingers all over it, many times."

As the implications of that statement hit him, Harry resisted the urge to hurl. Behind him, the old man cackled evilly.

"Oh god," Harry groaned, clutching his stomach. "I hate that bastard. . . . I hate him so much!"

"Cheer up, Harry," Hagrid said. "Say, did I tell yeh how great Dumbledore is?"

"89th time this day."

"Let's make it a even hundred, then. Say, I got you a birthday present!"

Harry's eyes watered in joy at the sight of the beautiful snowy-owl in the cage. "Thank you so much, Hagrid!"

"Ah, don' worry about it much," Hagrid said graciously. "Least I could do for dumping yeh on your evil relatives' doorstep. By th' way, yeh might not want to get too attached to the owl. She'll die by th' end of the story, like most of th' people yeh love."

Harry gaped in horror.

"Hi, I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. The best and most loyal friend you'll ever have!"

"Ron Weasley you say?" Harry glared at the redhead suspiciously. "The wikia says you're going to turn your back on me."

"Twice," Ron said proudly. "Once out of jealousy, and once out of hunger; and both times I'll be abandoning you in your time of great need. But you'll take me back anyways."

"Why the hell would I do that?" Harry demanded.

"I think it's because of your upbringing," Ron said seriously. "You didn't have any friends growing up, and you were so starved of affection that you'd do anything not to lose the few people you have in your life. It's a clear case of emotional neglect, and it doesn't help that you've developed a severe lack of confidence in your social skills due to your upbringing in an abusive household.

"That's. . . that's actually pretty smart of you." Harry regarded the walking stomach with a new found sense of respect.

"I know, right! I can totally be a smart bloke, but they put me in the role of the stupid sidekick who just bitches and whines about being overshadowed by his siblings while not doing anything worthwhile with his life. I'm a great chess player, for Merlin's sake! How can I be dumb?"

"Actually, there isn't much of a correlation between skill in chess and intelligence; unless you're an expert in the game, which you're not."

Harry turned around to regard the newcomers. The one who'd spoken was a bossy looking girl with frizzy hair, while a shy-looking boy stood behind her.

"Hi. I'm. . . I'm Neville Longbottom, the shy kid. I'll mostly be a source of comic relief for the first few books, but later under your training I'll become more confident and by the end of the story I'll magically become a complete badass, despite not even having the guts to stand up to my teacher in the beginning."

"Riiiiiight. And you are. . . ?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Oh yeah, the smart one. What's your deal anyways?"

"Well, I'll be the brains of our group; with you being the powerful but useless protagonist and Ron being an insecure jerk, it'll mean that I'll be mostly responsible for getting us out of whatever trouble you decide to get us into, Harry." Hermione shrugged. "I'll be the stereotypical good girl and teacher's pet, who'll spend the initial part of the story worshipping the ground authority figures walk on. With your help however, I'll realize that there's more to life than books and cleverness, such as recklessness and stupidity. I'm also a bit of a Mary Sue, which is why my own insecurities will be brought up later in the story to make me seem more human and believable."

"Okay. . ." Harry said slowly. This didn't sound that bad.

"Did I also mention that I have a bit of OCD as far as studies are concerned, and that I'm also incredibly self-righteous with a tendency to browbeat people into accepting my views as the only truth there is?" Hermione said brightly.

Harry resisted the urge to face-palm. "No. No, you didn't."

"Well, we should get going then. Oh, and future husband, try not to eat so many Chocolate Frogs at once. They'll rot your teeth."

"G'bye, future wife," Ron said thickly, somehow managing to speak with ten wriggling frogs crammed into his mouth.

"What was that all about?" Harry said as the other two left their compartment.

"What? Oh that! Hermione and I are soul-mates."

"What?" Harry's eyes bugged out. "How did you get that idea?"

"Well, we're going to argue with each other a lot. That means we're made for each other, right?" Ron said with a dreamy look on his face.

"Who told you that?"

"C'mon mate, when a boy and girl fight a lot, it means they're in love. Don't you know anything?"

"But. . . but you two have absolutely nothing in common!" Harry exploded. "She's a bookworm and intellectual, while you're a sports nut with a bottomless stomach."

"So? It means we're opposites, and opposites attract! It's true love, Harry," Ron argued.

"But you both are going to be at each other's throats all the bloody time!"

"It's how love works. And I'll have you know that your own parents used to fight each other all the time, and everyone says they were made for each other. So there!" Ron said smugly.

Harry couldn't help himself this time. He face-palmed.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "I am the Deputy Headmistress; the strict, unbiased disciplinarian of this school."

"Finally," Harry exclaimed. "A sensible character."

"Just kidding!" McGonagall said happily. "Actually, the only time I'm going to be unbiased is when I'm against you, Mr Potter."

"Wha. . ?"

"That's right!" She nodded. "I'm going to keep talking about how your House is your family, and how my door is always open for you, but that's all a bunch of Hippogriff dung. The truth is your housemates are a bunch of whimsical arses who'll turn on you at the slightest provocation, and I sure as hell am not going to help you even once in all the seven years you'll be here. I'll even stand by and let other teachers insult you and punish you, unless the punishment is related to Quidditch, which I'm completely crazy about. And Merlin help you if you defend yourself from any abuse, physical or otherwise, or I'll punish you severely!"

"But. . ."

"I will, of course, blather on about how your parents were my favorite students, but I'm not going raise even a pinky finger to help you. I assure you, anytime you need a reasonable adult at your side, you most certainly may not rely on me."

"How could you!?" Harry was extremely disappointed.

"I didn't give a kneazle's arse about leaving you at your evil relatives' doorstep in the middle of a November night boy, and I sure as hell am not going to start now. To the Headmaster's office with you!"

Harry sighed and walked away, head bowed low.

Only to look up as someone stepped in his way.

"Potter!" The man sneered. "You're just like your arrogant father."

"Wait a sec," Harry said and consulted his wikia. "Your description reads as 'a thin man with sallow skin, a large, hooked nose and yellow, uneven teeth'. Sooooo, you're evil?"

"That's right!" The man slapped his back with a hearty laugh. "You're learning, kid! I'm Severus Snape, Potions Master and your nemesis in this school." He gave a short polite bow at the end.

"Remind me why you hate me again?"

"Your father and his friends bullied me when I was in school; and since you look exactly like your father, I'm going to take it out on you. I'm going to torment you horribly for your entire school career; passing snide comments, calling you names and constantly browbeating you over your average academic performance. . . all the while doing everything I can to make your life at Hogwarts as miserable as possible. And you know the best part?" Snape said eagerly.

"What?"

The older man leaned forward. "I was the one who set Voldemort on your parents."

"What!?"

"That's right," Snape cackled. "Stings doesn't it. I spend six years insulting your dead father, despite the fact that I'm the reason he's dead in the first place. I spend six years calling you an arrogant, incompetent fool, and all the time I'm the reason you lost your parents and childhood, and were forced to live with those abusive relatives of yours. Pretty awesome, right?"

"You evil bastard!"

"Hey now, I'm not evil!" Snape was indignant. "I'm one of the good guys."

"How the hell are you supposed to be good?"

"Well, you see. . . I was in love with your mother."

"What?" Harry gaped at him.

"That's right: your mother and I were childhood friends. And I had a huge crush on her, you see. But she rejected me, partly because of the racial insults I hurled at her, and then I went and joined the Death Eaters. Then I went and passed the Dark Lord some important information and painted a target on your mother's back. He promised me he wouldn't kill her though, just you and your dad. But he broke his promise." Snape pouted like a child whose dad had refused to buy him a new toy. "So, I came to work for Dumbledore and have been working to redeem myself since then."

"Redeem yourself. . . how exactly?"

"Mostly plotting on different ways to influence you. The old man's a control freak, you see," Snape shrugged.

"So, let me get this straight," Harry said. "You loved my mother?"

"That's right."

"And she rejected you?"

"Damn straight!"

"So you went and joined an organization full of bigoted pricks who hunt down people like my mum?"

"Er. . . "

"Then you went and got her killed. . "

"Hey, it was the Dark Lord who killed her," Snape said indignantly. "She was supposed to be spared. . . ."

"And I'm sure she would've thanked you if she'd found out about it, wouldn't she?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Um. . . "

"Then you go and take out all your bitterness on me because I look like my dad . . . . my dad who died because of you!" Harry screamed.

"When you put it that way. . ."

"How the bloody hell are you supposed to be a good guy?"

"I loved your mother," Snape puffed out his chest and proclaimed.

"Did she love you?"

"Well. . ."

"Did she love you?"

"She thought of me as a friend. . ."

"Answer the bloody question: did she love you or not?"

"It doesn't matter," Snape said stubbornly. "I loved her. That's all that matters."

"For the love of. . . . are you being serious right now?" Harry was beyond exasperated. "If you really gave a rat's arse about my mother you would've accepted her choice, wished her the best and gone on to live your life."

"SHUT UP!" Snape bellowed. "Shut up, you toad spawn! What would you know what love is?"

"And whose fault is that?" Harry demanded.

"I LOVED YOUR MOTHER!" Snape screamed. "I loved your mother so that makes me a good person no matter what I did! Only good people can feel love, and if I feel love then that makes me a good person!"

Harry's jaw dropped at this jump in logic. "So evil people don't feel love? At all?"

"That's right," Snape nodded his greasy head violently. "And it doesn't matter how horrible I act towards you or any of your pathetic friends; I loved your mother, and that makes it all okay! Now off to the Headmaster's office with you, you filthy, arrogant, big-headed, dim-witted boy!"

Harry watched the obviously unhinged man walk away, his robes billowing behind him. He swallowed heavily and walked towards the Headmaster's office, praying that at least this Dumbledore bloke might be slightly sane compared to the rest.

AN: I've been in a real bad mood since yesterday, so I wrote this to cheer myself up.

I repeat: this is a CRACK fic. It is not meant to be taken seriously. Do not start attacking me for bashing your favorite character, cause that's how this thing works.

Reviews will be greatly appreciated. Ideas are also welcome :)