Greetings from Angel Dragoon! Prepare yourself to enter the world of Harry Potter for the first time once again. As a note of caution, this story is packed with drivel and may be rather dry until chapter eight or so. My apologies for the bloody bizarre numbering. Now, with that out of the way, we can read:
Harry Potter and the Unlicensed Parody, by Arcturus Maple and co. [but if J.K. wants to claim this work as hers, which she won't (It's sordid), she can. I only ask that it be free for anyone to read (because what idiot would pay to read it?).]
Due to the first chapter being extremely unimportant to this work, we will begin with:
Chapter 2: Dudley's Birthday
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find a baby on the doorstep and learned they had a nephew. Private Drive had not changed at all. The sun rose on the same tidy front rock gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful vision from the Lord. Or Budweiser. One of the two, anyway. Only the photographs on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different colored dresses. Now the photographs showed a bony old geezer with bags under his eyes in papal robes and a wide boy holding up a fake gold Boxing Chumpion belt. They weren't in the same frame, but they shared the mantel.
Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her voice that made the first noise of the day.
"U-" she began to yell.
"Up! Get up! Now!" Vernon yelled, cutting her off.
Harry woke with a start, thumping his head on a 2x4. His uncle banged on the sheet metal door with a hammer.
"Up!" he hollered.
Dudley then tottered down the stairs, making them groan ominously and causing asbestos to shower down on Harry with each step. Dudley's birthday – why should he care? Harry got slowly out of bag and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his sleeping bag and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he was stored.
When he was dressed he went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new mini-fridge he had wanted, not to mention the third television and the moped. Exactly why Dudley wanted a moped was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley usually ordered Aunt Petunia to drive him everywhere, even across the street. The one form of exercise Dudley seemed to like was punching people. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, of course, when he could catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was very fast. It helped that Dudley was so slow.
Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than an Asian child model, though this was mostly because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about five times bigger than he was. Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair and bright green eyes. He wore round coke bottle glasses held together with chewing gum because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the shnozzola. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his ear that was shaped like a teardrop. He had had it since Dudley had volunteered to pierce his ear. He had another scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning which was slightly less cool. He had had that one for longer than he could remember, and the second question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia, after "what's smegma?" was how he had gotten it.
"In the lawnmower when your parents snuffed it," Vernon had said, "and don't ask questions!"
Don't ask questions – that was the second rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys, after, of course, to let Dudley have it his way and – you know, it was the third rule. After the number one rule- it was very important to never mention magic around his Aunt and Uncle.
Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.
"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.
About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his bible and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it all made no difference, his hair simply grew that way – very fast.
Harry was poaching the eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley looked a lot like his father. He had a large pink face, a thick neck, small, watery brown eyes, and thick blond hair that curled away from his thick, fat head. Uncle Vernon often said that Dudley looked like the Lone Ranger – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a baboon's most prominent feature.
Harry put the plates of egg, hash browns, bacon, ham, donuts, bagels, herring, and Texas toast on the table, which was difficult, as there wasn't much room. In the end, he just set them on freestanding eating trays. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.
"Eighty-nine," he said, looking up at his mother and father. "That's only five more than last year."
"Son, did you count Auntie Marge's present? It's here under this big one from us."
"All right, sixty-two then," said Dudley, going purple in the face. Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley flipped the table.
Uncle Vernon obviously scented danger, too, because he said quickly, "And we'll buy you three presents while we're out today. How's that, partner? Three more presents. How does that sound?"
Dudley thought for a minute, then two, then three. It looked like hard work. Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have forty … forty …"
"Ninety-three, ma' boy," said Uncle Vernon.
"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily making the chair groan and grabbed the nearest box. "All right then."
Uncle Vernon chuckled.
"Just like his old man! 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He ruffled Dudley's hair.
As Harry pretended to gag, the telephone rang and Uncle Vernon went to answer it while Harry and Petunia watched Dudley unwrap the moped, a cell phone, a universal remote control, forty-five computer games, and a shotgun. He was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Uncle Vernon came back from the telephone looking really angry.
"Mrs. Figg is sick with hay fever. She can't take the boy."
Aunt Petunia furrowed her brow with feigned concern and made a move to speak.
"R**** old biddy isn't good for nothing," interrupted Vernon. "What do we do with the boy, then? Can't leave him at home, he'll burn the place down."
"I will not," protested Harry.
"Quiet you," commanded Vernon. "I guess we could always bring him with on a leash. Dudley, the leash."
Dudley used his pool skimmer to lift the well-used leash off its place on a nearby hat rack.
The trip to the aquarium was a long and boring one. So, instead of boring you by describing the long and tedious journey, I'll spare you the details and instead use the next three paragraphs as a space for the epilogue to part 1 of this trilogy. If you want the ending to remain unspoiled, skip ahead three paragraphs for now and come back to this after you've read chapter 19. If you just wanted to skim some rubbish and don't give a moldy dog biscuit, read on.
The drive back to Privet Drive was only a little awkward. Dudley was his pudding-body self, taking up the back seat as he played a videogame, listened to music, and texted on his cell phone. Vernon grumbled and swore at every other driver on the road, whom he was convinced were all Sunday drivers. Aunt Petunia was her usually frosty self, making virtually no presence. Harry may well have found it a difficult atmosphere to be in, were he not safely ensconced in the trunk.
Upon his return to the cupboard under the stairs, Harry was met with the terrific stench of all the Dursleys' laundry which had been dumped in the one place in the world where, until just last September, he had been able to find peace. Harry had known not to expect any kind of miracle coming back, but even he had not expected this level of disgustingness from the Dursleys. More than ever he felt rage at being stuck here, still unable to escape them even after discovering he was a wizard and becoming part of a world where he was not only accepted, but actually loved.
As Harry dug into the first moldy bag of Dudley's pants and socks, he turned his mind to Seamus and his other friends from Hogwarts. Even stuck in the disgusting muggle world, Harry had, for the first time in his life, hope for the future.
When they got to the aquarium, Vernon threatened him and told him not to do anything "funny."
Everything was going fine until just after lunch. Dudley called Harry a misfit. Harry felt so angry inside, like a ball of nitroglycerin crammed into high heels. He wanted revenge, not just for this latest insult, but for a lifetime of cruelty and malice. The ball of anger seemed to burn white hot and then it happened. The glass in the walrus exhibit disappeared while Dudley was leaning against it. Not only that, but the glass disappeared in all the exhibits, including the shark, dolphin, and invertebrate tanks.
Dudley made his move to escape, but the glass had reappeared behind him! He was trapped in the walrus enclosure, and there was no escape. Meanwhile, the aquarium staff were rushing around trying to keep the aquatic animals alive and wet, as well as put out the fires started by all the angry customers who were rioting and demanding their money back. In the middle of the chaos, Harry was approached by a largish person with a great tangle of hair and beard in a thick puffy overcoat.
"Are yeh 'Arry Potter?" he asked.
"No," answered Harry.
"Yeh kind o' look like 'im, with the 'air an' the eyes an' the distinctive scar an' all. Are ye sure ye ain't 'Arry Potter?"
"Well, I'm not the one you're looking for, but I am a Harry Potter. Who are you?"
"Everyone calls me 'Agrid. It's jus' tha' I 'ave a very important job ter do. I 'ave ter deliver this 'ere letter ter the one an' only 'Arry Potter. It's a ticket ter a new life o' fun and freedom. Now, one last time, could yeh possibly be the 'Arry Potter who lives at Number 4, Privet Drive, in the cupboard under the stairs, by any chance?"
"Maybe. That certainly sounds like me."
"Well, then this letter belongs to yeh, 'Arry," said Hagrid.
"Couldn't be. No one ever writes to me."
The big man smiled and shook his head, "there's a first time fer everythin', 'Arry. Open it up. Go on, then, it won' bite."
Almost unable to contain his excitement, Harry began to tear into the envelope the man had just given him. He knew in his heart this would be another mistake, a comic disappointment the universe was using to mess with him, but for a moment, a tiny spark flickered to life in him somewhere. It was the merest fraction of a whisper, something which Harry had not known in all the years he had lived with the Dursleys which now squeaked in the back of his mind. It was a teeny tiny ember of hope.
The thick parchment of the envelope parted between his fingers and he unfolded the letter within. It was very short, and Harry had to read it a few times before he could make himself believe what it said.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your name has been on our list of candidates since you were born. Your parents were among the finest pupils to attend our institution and it was their wish that you should be offered a place here. All the arrangements have already been made for you to begin your studies. It is, however, still your decision whether you are willing to give up the life you have always known, living with your aunt and uncle. If you are ready to take the first step into the world of magic, you have only to sign your name on the line below and we will take care of the rest.
Sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress
It was too good to be true. It must be some kind of trick. Was it an elaborate hoax by the Dursleys to crush his dreams once again? If it was, though, why would they pick something so absurd? A school for witchcraft and wizardry? The idea was one which Vernon likely would have called 'ludicrous' or 'cockamamie.' Harry only thought about it for a few more seconds before he realized that he already knew what his answer was. There was nowhere in the world that he felt like less of a person than under his uncle's roof. He would take his chances with the witches and wizards and whatever would come of it, he was certain it couldn't be worse than what he was leaving behind.
"Hagrid, do you have a pen?" asked Harry.
Hagrid's grin turned into a frown and he began rummaging through his coat pockets. "Got one in 'ere somewhere," he muttered.
A few moments later, Hagrid produced a creased quill and ink pot from one of his enormous coat pockets. He passed Harry the quill and watched with solemn pride as Harry signed his name on the letter.
"Marvelous," rumbled Hagrid as Harry handed him the quill and parchment. "I 'aven't seen yeh since yeh were a wee baby, 'Arry. Yeh've grown up so much!"
Hagrid wrapped Harry in a big, somewhat smelly bear hug. After he had released Harry, Hagrid turned around and looked at the devastation all around.
"Can't say I understand why muggles like these things. I guess it's just not my idea o' entertainment. Well, 'Arry, ready ter go?"
"Go where?" asked Harry.
"Well we can't too easily get yeh everything yeh need here fer school. Come along, then, we can take my motorbike."
"Is it fast?"
"Fast? It can fly."
And with that, Harry set out with Hagrid to begin a new chapter of his life.
Next time on HPMF:
Dudley: Why am I only in one chapter? Daddy, I want to be in the next one, too!
Vernon: Not a chance. I've had about all I can stomach of this nonsense.
Harry: But what's going to happen to me?
Hagrid: There's nothing to worry about, I'll have yeh ready fer school, right after we go ter the pub.
Dudley: I want to go home!
