Warts
A Parody of The Harry Potter Series
I walked down the hallway of my-I mean, the school, Hogwarts. It was kind of annoying with all the ladies throwing themselves at my feet, because, you know, I'm Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. However, scarheaded gentleman that I am, I allowed it. I mean, I am Harry Potter. You know, that kid who kicked Voldewhothefuck's ass as a two year old kid? Yeah, the Boy Who Lived. Me. Harry James Effin' Potter. It's kind of hard to keep your cool around me, because, well... I'll just say it. I'm hot shit.
Especially since Fred and George left last month. Especially since Cedric kicked the bucket and all. For a while I was kind of like "boo-hoo", but then I realized: my final competition for the ladies is dead!
Score!
My ginger-headed sidekick who drags his tongue after me, Ron Weasley, straggled up to me. It was obvious he wanted to bask in the glow of my uber-awesomeness. I mean, it's just not possible he just wanted to hang out. Who wants casual discussion about crap we're not going to remember two days from now, let alone thirteen years, when you can get a free tan from my aura? "H-h-hey Harry," Ron mumbled, barely keeping it together.
"'Sup, Ronnie-O." I raised my eyebrows. Chicks love that dark and mysterious crap.
"Malfoy's been bugging me again."
"What, that slimy git? No worries, Ronnie boy, I'll take care ofit." I strutted effortlessly down the hallway, flipping back my calculatedly messy black hair. A first-year swooned at my feet. That happens alot. "Oh, and Neville, get her to the Infirmary." Neville has absolutely no life so I let him follow me around. He appeared miraculously. Hey, I'm Harry Potter. I can do that. Neville and his puny muscles somehow managed to drag the girl the five feet to the Infirmary door. I guess I could have done it, but that would have meant messing up my manicure.
Who should come along at that moment but Hermione Granger, the hottest effing smartass in the entire school? Too bad Ron kind of had his eye on her. I don't steal my mates' girls. That's... just not quelle.
Wait, I'm Harry Potter. I can do whatever the hell I want, I realized. Then I remembered: Oh, yeah. Viktor Krum has his eye on her two. (Or is that too? Hotshots like me don't need to spend time learning grammer. Grammar? Or is it math?) Anyway, so I strutted down my-I mean, the, hallway to kick some slicked-back, prissy prude, Daddy's-little-girl ass.
By that I mean Draco Malfoy's ass. And I will.
Cause I'm.... Harry Potter.