DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within the Harry Potter series – they are the sole property and creation of Joanne Kathleen Rowling of Number 6 Privet Drive and Bloomsbury books.. or so I'm told.

A/N: This is a fanfiction, intended to be stupid to the extreme so do not go writing to JK and complaining because I don't deserve it – there's much worse fics out there which I will take the mickey out of obviously.

Alexei Noire xXx

Chapter 1: ..Yeah

Harry James 'Da Man' Potter sat underneath the shade of a rather unsightly willow tree in a park near his Aunt Petty, Uncle Vernie and Cousin Dude-Lee's house in Little Whingeing. Harry sat wistfully whilst plucking great tufts of dry, yellowing grass from the ground around him, thinking of his life as a wizard and of what this story will end up as... which ultimately means he's hoping JK doesn't read it should she have heart failure of the very notion of

Well anyway, out of nowhere an owl zoomed towards our lovely blond hero, Harry James 'Da Man' Potter.

"Hoot!" it said, smiling at him (can owls smile?) and pecking at his hair which it mistook for golden worms.

"OUCHIE OUCH OUCH!" Harry screamed, "Get thee away thou spawn of Hades!"

With that the owl zoomed off into the air to You-Know-Who-knows-where.

Blond Harry opened up the post-it note which the owl had dropped and read it slowly, again and again.

Dear Harry 'Da Man' Potter,

This is the Prince of Wales' son, Prince Harry. You know me, the ginger haired stoner with the posh accent and dreams of joining the Royal Navy.

Well I thought, can I come to Gogorts or whatever your school is called for a year to see what it's like? Yeah? Great! Thanks Haz.

You have to let me, I have the same name as you! And plus I'm loaded so I could probably buy you some copies of 'The Half Blood Prince' for when you want to read about your own sordid life. You prick.

Yours sincerely,

Prince Harry the red-headed Prince.

p.s. Do you think I was the Half Blood Prince? No...? Oh well.

He turned the post it note over and over several times to see whether this was some sort of joke or trick from his friend, Ronny 'Da Weasel' Weasley or Hermione 'Brains' Granger.

However, before he could ponder this any further, a loud booming voice called from the other end of the park.

"OI BLONDIE!"

It was Bellatrix Lestrange! Eeeek! Let's run and hide.

"What?" he replied in a bored voice.

"Fancy a game of rugby?" she asked, walking slowly toward him dressed in a bright orange rugby shirt, with Blur songs blaring loudly on her iPod.

"No, my girlfriend won't let me get hurt" he said looking rather dismal.

Bellatrix stopped in her tracks, dropping the rugby ball.

"G-Girlfriend!?" she spluttered, "B-But I thought I was your one and only!"

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Bellatrix's head.

"Crucio!" he yelled.

The pain Bellatrix felt was intense and blinding, she writhed on the ground with her lurid rugby shirt getting covered in dry mud. The screams echoed into the night and ... I mean day, whatever, and roused the attention of old Arabella Figg, who ate a lot of figs so that she could get fig-breath and live up to her name.

"'Ere 'Arry!" she screeeeeeeeeeched, "What you doing to that poor old ex-Death Eater?"

She came near enough for Harry James 'Da Man' Potter to smell her fig-breath. He lifted up his wand and pocketed it.

"YOU BASTARD!" Bellatrix screamed, recovering ridiculously quickly from the most extreme form of magical torture.

"Oh quit your whining bitch," Harry said, "and make me some dinner."

STOP!

The author would like to pause to wonder what the hell's going on here. I mean.... WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ON YOU RETARDED BOY!?

Alexei Noire xXx