A/N: I started this in class ages ago. I've been adding to it by little
bits. It was supposed to be this insane wacky thing that I could just add
to with whatever mood I wanted. But funny. However, it's not
extraordinaryily funny which is why humor is its second category. Enjoy :)
Disclaimer: The impossibly sad fact of the matter is that I DO NOT own anything having to do with Harry Potter. I have made up a cat. And the sporks can speak for themselves.
Episode I
Harry Potter needed a spork that summer. It was quite a difficult time, and a spork would have solved all his problems. Unfortunately, to get a spork he would have to go all the way to a certain café in London. That was proving to be a trying experience.
It had been a wonderful day in Privet Drive until Harry Potter discovered his horrible problem. Aunt Petunia had been baking yummy bran muffins (for Dudley, of course) that morning when an odd, long haired, grey and white cat had made off with the spork. The cat picked the spork up in its mouth from where it was hidden in plain sight on the front doorstep up against the bricks of the house. Harry watched open-mouthed from the upstairs bathroom window (still wet from his shower) as the ugly beast stalked off with it. Harry dropped to his knees in shock. He dragged himself over to the sink and pulled himself up to look in the mirror.
His face was dead white under his black hair. The spork.it was gone!
Harry couldn't believe it. Without the spork everything would start going wrong. He couldn't bear to think what his friends or Lupin would say. (Dumbledore didn't even bear thinking about.) He would be in deep, deep trouble. The spork.meant.everything.
To Be Continued-
In the next episode: Harry makes a trip to London with his cousin and certain members of the wizarding community make a shocking discovery.
Episode II
It took Harry Potter 10 minutes to drag himself to his bedroom and even longer to get dressed. One phrase continued to echo endlessly through his mind, no matter how much he tried to shut it out. The spork is gone.the spork is gone.
As he wrenched the comb through his hair staring at his green-eyed reflection in the wardrobe mirror another thought came to him. I must get the spork back.or find another. The thought sounded good in his head.
***
Four members of the wizarding community sat around a table in a gloomy little room without windows. Two torches burned in brackets on the wall, casting little light on the group. A shock of red hair glinted in the torchlight as one of the room's occupants gave a tremendous yawn.
"Keep your mouth shut, you're flinging spit!" growled Alastor Moody holding up a hand to shield his good eye.
"Sorry," mumbled Ron, looking terrified.
"Calm down, Moody, we're almost done," rumbled Kingsley Shacklebolt. "We're all tired, let's just finish this."
"Here's the last three rolls," said Ginny, pulling three parchment scrolls out of a long bag and setting them on the table.
For three quarters of an hour there was complete silence in the room except for the sratching of quills and the occasional sigh of a tired reader.
Finally Kingsley pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back. "Well now, we can all go home."
"And good ridance," growled Moody, his wooden leg banging on the floor as he got to his feet. "I've got to get home and finish some things. You'll see that these get to Dumbledore, Shacklebolt?" he said with a nod to the papers.
"That I will," said Kingsley. "And make sure that these two get to bed."
Moody gave a growl of agreement and thumped out of the room.
Ron, leaning back for a huge yawn, noticed something laying on the floor. "What's that?"
"What's what?" asked Kingsley. Ron picked up something that looked like a dragon leather Muggle date book.
"This. I guess Moody dropped it." Ron flipped it open. It opened to the present week in August. There was something written on the day of the eighth. Ron peered closer at it and then dropped the book in shock. He stared at his hands as if they had been biten.
"What is it?" Kingsley said, jumping out of his seat. "I wouldn't put it past Moody to have an anti-theft spell on it."
Ron looked up at him, his face dead white. "It's.it's."
"Come on, Ron. Sit down, and tell us what happened," Kingsley said bracingly, leading him back to his chair.
"It's.on the.two days from now," Ron gasped out, "it's Moody's birthday!"
Kingsley leaned quickly away from Ron as if he had been bitten or as if he were afraid of catching some contagious disease. There was a look of horror on his face. Ginny, who was also dead white, jumped in shock and dropped all twenty quills she was holding.
"What should we do?" asked Ron, his face now turning grey.
"We call a meeting of the Order," said Kingsley suddenly stern and resolute. "All but one of the order that is."
***
On the edge of Surrey, Harry Potter sat in a car next to his cousin, Dudley Dursley. The car was speeding toward London, speeding towards the new spork.
Next Episode: A café in London-will it have SPORKS?! And there will be a thrown together meeting of the Order.
A/N: The crazy thing is, after I wrote about the cat, this odd, white and gray colored cat showed up at a neighbors (they own him, and he's got some brown.) I think some of this story was inspired by my brother and some of his friends, who had some sort of spork brethren(--but not with that word). Thankx monkey-boy.
Disclaimer: The impossibly sad fact of the matter is that I DO NOT own anything having to do with Harry Potter. I have made up a cat. And the sporks can speak for themselves.
Episode I
Harry Potter needed a spork that summer. It was quite a difficult time, and a spork would have solved all his problems. Unfortunately, to get a spork he would have to go all the way to a certain café in London. That was proving to be a trying experience.
It had been a wonderful day in Privet Drive until Harry Potter discovered his horrible problem. Aunt Petunia had been baking yummy bran muffins (for Dudley, of course) that morning when an odd, long haired, grey and white cat had made off with the spork. The cat picked the spork up in its mouth from where it was hidden in plain sight on the front doorstep up against the bricks of the house. Harry watched open-mouthed from the upstairs bathroom window (still wet from his shower) as the ugly beast stalked off with it. Harry dropped to his knees in shock. He dragged himself over to the sink and pulled himself up to look in the mirror.
His face was dead white under his black hair. The spork.it was gone!
Harry couldn't believe it. Without the spork everything would start going wrong. He couldn't bear to think what his friends or Lupin would say. (Dumbledore didn't even bear thinking about.) He would be in deep, deep trouble. The spork.meant.everything.
To Be Continued-
In the next episode: Harry makes a trip to London with his cousin and certain members of the wizarding community make a shocking discovery.
Episode II
It took Harry Potter 10 minutes to drag himself to his bedroom and even longer to get dressed. One phrase continued to echo endlessly through his mind, no matter how much he tried to shut it out. The spork is gone.the spork is gone.
As he wrenched the comb through his hair staring at his green-eyed reflection in the wardrobe mirror another thought came to him. I must get the spork back.or find another. The thought sounded good in his head.
***
Four members of the wizarding community sat around a table in a gloomy little room without windows. Two torches burned in brackets on the wall, casting little light on the group. A shock of red hair glinted in the torchlight as one of the room's occupants gave a tremendous yawn.
"Keep your mouth shut, you're flinging spit!" growled Alastor Moody holding up a hand to shield his good eye.
"Sorry," mumbled Ron, looking terrified.
"Calm down, Moody, we're almost done," rumbled Kingsley Shacklebolt. "We're all tired, let's just finish this."
"Here's the last three rolls," said Ginny, pulling three parchment scrolls out of a long bag and setting them on the table.
For three quarters of an hour there was complete silence in the room except for the sratching of quills and the occasional sigh of a tired reader.
Finally Kingsley pushed his chair away from the table and leaned back. "Well now, we can all go home."
"And good ridance," growled Moody, his wooden leg banging on the floor as he got to his feet. "I've got to get home and finish some things. You'll see that these get to Dumbledore, Shacklebolt?" he said with a nod to the papers.
"That I will," said Kingsley. "And make sure that these two get to bed."
Moody gave a growl of agreement and thumped out of the room.
Ron, leaning back for a huge yawn, noticed something laying on the floor. "What's that?"
"What's what?" asked Kingsley. Ron picked up something that looked like a dragon leather Muggle date book.
"This. I guess Moody dropped it." Ron flipped it open. It opened to the present week in August. There was something written on the day of the eighth. Ron peered closer at it and then dropped the book in shock. He stared at his hands as if they had been biten.
"What is it?" Kingsley said, jumping out of his seat. "I wouldn't put it past Moody to have an anti-theft spell on it."
Ron looked up at him, his face dead white. "It's.it's."
"Come on, Ron. Sit down, and tell us what happened," Kingsley said bracingly, leading him back to his chair.
"It's.on the.two days from now," Ron gasped out, "it's Moody's birthday!"
Kingsley leaned quickly away from Ron as if he had been bitten or as if he were afraid of catching some contagious disease. There was a look of horror on his face. Ginny, who was also dead white, jumped in shock and dropped all twenty quills she was holding.
"What should we do?" asked Ron, his face now turning grey.
"We call a meeting of the Order," said Kingsley suddenly stern and resolute. "All but one of the order that is."
***
On the edge of Surrey, Harry Potter sat in a car next to his cousin, Dudley Dursley. The car was speeding toward London, speeding towards the new spork.
Next Episode: A café in London-will it have SPORKS?! And there will be a thrown together meeting of the Order.
A/N: The crazy thing is, after I wrote about the cat, this odd, white and gray colored cat showed up at a neighbors (they own him, and he's got some brown.) I think some of this story was inspired by my brother and some of his friends, who had some sort of spork brethren(--but not with that word). Thankx monkey-boy.