Disclaimer: The entire following story is based on the works of J.K. Rowling.
A/N right this isn't flattering, but it is funny!
Vermin Worsely stepped through the door to his subdivided prefab home and looked up and down a street of identical homes. He waved goodbye to his wife Putridia. Putridia smiled and continued feeding their one-year old son, Muddily.
"Goodbye dearest," Vermin called as he got into his SUV and drove to work. He passed by a great many strange sights without noticing; oddly robed men and women whispered in corners and remote control airplanes swooped about without a child in sight.
Perhaps it was national 'take your crazy relations out day' that would fit with what happened to Vermin later, or so he would think, but Vermin was not paying attention to planes and bath-robed kooks. He was busy working; he had a very important job as a telemarketer.
Vermin was a particularly persistent one and took a perverse pleasure in bothering people at their homes especially around mealtimes and at night. Vermin was beyond night shifts though, he delegated who took the strenuous late hours now, and as the manager of the telemarketing firm, he was very near the top of the business ladder.
Unnoticed on Vermin's street sat a cat, a very large very bored looking cat. She was waiting for someone. Cats usually did not visit the Worsely's neighborhood, even such a despicable creature as a cat disliked the facades these houses and their people presented to the world. The cat licked its germ-ridden paw and smoothed back mangy fur, despite being able to kill a rat with her mouth (who but a cat would want to?) the cat did not much like being a feline.
When Vermin returned home that evening, he ate his meal and played with his son, the same routine as every day. He turned on the news for exactly one half hour as his wife put little Muddily to bed. If he had not dozed off Vermin would have heard the startled toy-sellers of the world tell of hundreds of miniature airplanes in the skies. The remote control jets had been out in force all day.
"In other news," the TV blared, "we have reports of illegal fireworks and even a report of a flying car…"
If Vermin had heard those reports before meeting Putridia, he would have laughed himself silly at the thought of such foolish superstition… now, knowing her family, he would have paled with dread and fear. Not their kind, but Vermin did not hear the reports, Vermin was soundly asleep when Putridia came down to turn off the TV and gently wake him.
"Let's go to bed then," Putridia smiled at him, Vermin wrapped an arm around Putridia's waist and guided her toward the stairs.
"To bed then dearest," He agreed cavalierly.
Meanwhile the cat stalked from her perch toward the Worsely home. She was tired of waiting, if her friend didn't show up she would just have to go find him to yell at him … cat claws worked on more than just rats. The cat caught herself, that wasn't her thought; that was something a cat would think, if she didn't stop being a cat soon she would not be able to stop at all.
Just then one of the bath-robed men popped out of the air inches from the cat's nose.
"Mrs. Lagonal!" the man called sharply.
"I am down here Headman Dumb-ol-door!" the cat replied primly, sitting and curling her tail around her forepaws. She quickly uncurled it and leapt back with a yowl as the man took a step toward her endangering the precious bit of flesh and fur in an attempt to find her.
"Where?" he asked.
"Right here!" the cat barked as she turned into a middle-aged auburn haired woman, also one of the bathrobe wearers.
"Oh, very well then."
"Did you bring him?" Mrs. Lagonal hissed.
"No, I had Hair-grit bring the boy."
"Hair-grit? That great lummox simply cannot be trusted! How could you leave the most famous robe-wearer of all in the hands of that incompetent fool?"
"Now, now chin up; you must have faith in Hair-grit. Besides Merry survived an attack from Moldy-wart, the most feared robe-wearer of all time!"
"Yes, well, if anything happens to Merry Rotter … the boy who didn't quite die because of you I will…"
"You will what, Madame?"
"I will turn into a cat and yowl outside of your window every night from now until eternity."
Dumb-ol-door had a smart remark all ready in reply but just then what appeared to be a large red firework exploded into the sky above them.
"I'm coming Mister Dumb-ol-door, with Merry Rotter, the boy who killed He Who Can Now Be Named," an imp of a man with wild dreadlocks for hair hollered from somewhere within the blaze.
He never arrived though. Hair-grit had 'borrowed' Dumb-ol-door's robo-parrot, Phoenix, and the mechanical creature chose that moment to live up to its name. A chance gust of wind blew the flames from its rocket propellers onto its enamel feathers, which promptly caught fire sending the bird, the imp and the baby, Merry Rotter, plummeting to certain death, until the engine fuel caught and they were burned to a crisp instead.
"Nicely executed, Headmaster," Lagonal snarled, "how shall I return the favor?"
"Um, well … now, I am upset about this too, Merry Rotter was my ticket to fame, when he came to my school I would have been an instant star … and Phoenix was my bird, not to mention Hair-grit…"
Lagonal was not listening to the nervous bath-robe clad man though; she had turned back into a cat and proceeded to chase him down the block and out of sight. Thus was the triumphant tale of young Merry Rotter, the boy who didn't quite die, tragically cut short.