[While waiting impatiently for Book 5 in the Harry Potter series, "The

Order of the Phoenix," many fans have created their own fanfics. I

humbly offer these new very brief parody versions of...]



Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Take Two - Darker

Harry Potter hesitated before the gargoyle that guarded the door to Dumbledore's office. His scar had been burning again, and he figured he'd better tell the headmaster; but he didn't know the new password, only Dumbledore's penchant for naming it after muggle candies.

"Er - Smarties! No, too obvious. Well then, what about ... Cadbury's Milk Bar? I guess not. Wait a minute: I know! Black Magic!"

With that, the gargoyle leapt aside, and the moving spiral staircase hummed to life. Harry stepped on, and rode it up to Dumbledore's door. Stepping off, he knocked twice hesitantly. He heard no reply, so he rapped again, more insistently. There was still no answer. He tried speaking instead. "Professor? Are you there?"

A croaky voice - not Dumbledore's - said, "Come in, Harry Potter!" Not quite sure whether to risk it, Harry slowly opened the door, to find - nobody. He looked around the office, and was about to leave, when he spotted Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, resting on a perch by the window in the streaming sunlight.

"'Lo, Fawkes," Harry murmured, as he walked over and stroked the bird's head.

"Hello, Harry," the bird croaked.

Harry jumped sideways in surprise as though his hand had been burned. "Fawkes! You - you can talk!" he stammered, excitedly.

"One of my many gifts," said Fawkes. "And, yes, I can understand speech, organize my thoughts, communicate my intentions, and so forth. Albus did tell you that we phoenixes are uniquely unusual, didn't he?" Harry nodded, dumbstruck. "Well, then, don't be so surprised; and do go back to scratching my head, there's a good lad, especially behind the ear."

Harry immediately reached out and touched Fawkes. The bird hummed melodiously, and Harry's fingers felt a bit warm. "Do you know where Professor Dumbledore is?" he asked.

"He's off on an errand, but he'll be back in an hour or so. A little lower," Fawkes croaked.

"Any idea where he said he was going?" inquired Harry.

"I know exactly where; I sent him," said Fawkes.

"What do you mean, 'You sent him?'" Harry said confusedly.

"When Dumbledore taught me how to talk after my last Burning Day, he didn't really realize that a Phoenix is extremely persuasive. For a year now, I've been giving the orders, and he's been carrying them out," Fawkes croaked with a note of pride in his voice.

"Wait a minute!" cried Harry. "Then it was your idea to allow four students into the Tri-Wizard tournament? And your idea to make the Tri-wizard Cup into a portkey? And... your idea to let me go back to the Dursleys' last summer, even with Voldemort lurking about?"

"Naturally," said Fawkes impatiently. "You needed a little training up, get tougher, face some danger, prove your mettle. You survived, didn't you?"

Harry couldn't believe it. "All the time I thought it was just Voldemort, getting lucky - but it was you, intentionally putting me in harm's way!"

Fawkes was adamant. "You're taking this all wrong, Harry Potter. It was merely a training exercise, and you are none the worse for wear."

"Stupid bird-brain," Harry muttered crossly, reaching into his pocket. He turned around and struck a match; Fawkes, used only to magic, would never expect it. Covering his hand, he swiveled around, and quickly lit the phoenix's tail-feathers. "Burning Day comes early this time, Fawkes!" he spat with a manic grin.

Fawkes shrieked with rage, "Stop that! Put it out! Get some water!" came the Order of the Phoenix. But his oily feathers caught quickly, the flame becoming an inferno; and in no time, all that was left of Fawkes was a few puffs of ash on the floor, a scorch mark on the perch, and a rather sickening smell.

Just then, Dumbledore opened his office door, and spotted Harry and the remains of Fawkes. "My goodness," he mused, "I had no idea it was time for a Burning Day yet. How can I help you, Harry?"

Harry forgot all about his scar, and turned to Dumbledore with a frown. "There's just one thing you can do to help me, Professor. This time, don't teach Fawkes how to speak!" And with that, he walked out of the office in a huff.

"How extraordinary," said Dumbledore, as he noticed a new, tiny, naked baby phoenix poking its head out of the ashes.

End

~*~*~*~



Take Three - Darkest

"You'll be taking your detention with Professor Dumbledore, Potter," said Professor McGonagall sternly. "The password is 'Charleston Chew.'"

With his head lowered and shoulders rounded, Harry made his way up to the office. "Ah, there you are, Harry," Dumbledore said unsmiling. "I need you to clean out Fawkes' litter-box, and take the contribution down to Professor Sprout's magical fertilizer bins." He returned to his paperwork, and Harry frowned and flicked open a paper bag. As he scooped the smelly droppings into the bag, Fawkes looked down and emitted one pleasant note. Harry sighed and carried the paper bag out.

Arriving at the greenhouses, Harry stopped a seventh-year Hufflepuff doing some extra credit work. "Excuse me, do you know where Professor Sprout keeps the magical fertilizers?"

The Hufflepuff wrinkled his nose and turned sideways. "Greenhouse three, in the back, behind the fern cuttings." Harry thanked him and went out.

At the back of greenhouse three, Harry saw four little bins, side by side. They were all labeled, in ancient script: Ye Dragon Dung, Unicorn Crap, Niffler Poop. The fourth one read, "The Ordure of the Phoenix."

Holding his breath, Harry removed the lid and dumped the contents of the bag in. Quickly he covered it again, gasped, and ran out of the greenhouse. //It'll take hours to scrub my hands, but my nose will take days to recover,// he thought. It was one of the worst punishments he could remember, and he vowed to behave - at least for a while.

End

~*~*~*~

Take Four - Pitch Black

Harry was feeling peckish. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and these ministry parties had a bad habit of going on too long before dinner was served.

The youngest-ever Minister of Magic brightened and smiled when he saw some elves in gold-trimmed tea-towels, proudly carrying in trays of little sandwiches, canapés, crackers and patés. Eagerly he waved over an elf, who seemed thrilled to be noticed by Harry.

With gusto, he lifted a little cracker with a mound of paté to his mouth, and chewed. "This is different; isn't it goose liver paté?"

"Oh, no, sir, Minister Harry Potter, sir!" the elf said, bowing. "These are the "Hors D'oeuvres of the Phoenix!"

Harry turned pale; he spat the remaining food into a serviette, and made his way woozily out to find a loo.

End