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This Is A Story About A Girl Named Lucky

--Theme Song Ends--

Nearly 10 years had passed since Dumbledore had abandoned Harry Pothead on the front step. Hagrid had conveniently lost the motorcycle in his beard, so no one ever saw it again. McGonagall's Squishy now had an altar dedicated to her in the Great Hall.

Oh, yeah, and the Durselys all hate Harry. But we REALLY think that Petunia likes him but Vernon beats her so she doesn't dare show it. Grr.

Speaking of Harry, he was asleep in the cupboard under the stairs. Petunia had moved all the American money to a hole in the ground and told everyone that she had done a family burial to explain the huge bump in the ground. But that's another story—actually, it's just a humorous subplot—for another day when we're all extremely bored.

"Wake up!" Petunia yelled, knocking on the door.

"Yes, I'm a natural blonde," Harry muttered through snores.

"Now!"

"Grandpa's got my money!" he mumbled, turning over.

"Get up, Harry!"

"Stop!…In the name of love…before you break my heart…"

Petunia opened the door and dumped a bucket of ice water on him.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Well, you should've gotten up!" Petunia waved her wand and dried him off.

"Aunt Petunia, why do you have a wand?"

"…………………None ya!" she yelled, hiding her wand up her sleeve. "Get up, we're going to the post office today. This is a very special day, you know. This is April 4th, the day we send the government false tax papers."

"Okay," Harry said pleasantly, following Petunia into the kitchen.

"Come on Dudley, I know you can do this," Vernon urged.

Dudley was seating profusely at the table. His pen was poised for action just above the paper, a look of deep concentration on his face. You could tell he was about to pass out from all the mental juices he was working.

"Dudley, you can do this…what is…1 plus 1?!"

"11?" Dudley asked.

"…Close enough." Vernon and Dudley turned to give Harry identical glares. Petunia caught on and glared at him, too.

Harry sat down at the table and pulled out a book entitled How To Rip Off Cinderella But Do It In Such A Way That No One Cares and Copyright Laws Can't Get You by J. K. Rowling. Harry wondered what J. K. stood for. Just Kidding Rowling? Jackalope Kangaroo Rowling? Jelly Kicker Rowling? Why would anyone want to kick jelly? Unless the jelly was a brat and needed a kick…

Harry looked over at Dudley, who was now focused in on question 2 in his workbook, "What is 1 plus 2?" He decided not to risk it.

"Make my breakfast!" Vernon yelled at Harry.

"Sweep the halls!" Petunia yelled at Harry.

"Wash the windows!" Vernon yelled at Harry.

"Draw the drapes!" Petunia yelled at Harry.

"Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day it's Cinderelly!" legions upon legions of little mice sang. "Blah, blah, blah, blah, forgot the words. They always keep her hopping. She go around in circles till she's very, very dizzy, still they holler: Hey, guess what, the sequel sucked!"

The mice took their bows and scampered off. Harry wiped tears from his eyes at such a moving production.

Petunia hung up the phone that no one knew she had been using. "Bad news, Vernon. To further the plot and show people how much we suck there's absolutely no one who can baby-sit Harry. Oh, yeah, and Martha just got 5 months in prison and 5 months house arrest." She burst into tears.

"It's all right dear," Vernon said, patting her back. "She knew how much you loved her."

"You think so?" she asked tearfully.

"Of course I do. And guess what, we can irrationally blame this on Harry now!" Vernon thwacked Harry on the head, then immediately had to rush him into the ER for major head trauma.

But Harry healed himself along the way, so they politely thanked the EMTs and then went on their merry way to the post office.

They were all at the post office vending machine getting stamps.

"Exact change," Vernon read on the sign on the machine.

"33 cents," Petunia read on the sign below it.

"No pennies," Harry read on the sign beneath that.

They all stared blankly at the evidence that the postal service people were complete morons and Dudley began to wail. Loudly. He broke all the windows and the poor Fed-Ex guy's glasses.

Harry finally got so annoyed that he yelled out, "Somethinginacreepyforeginlanguagethatwillberelevantinthenextbook!" for no particular reason.

Suddenly, all the letters in their respective boxes broke out and bludgeoned Dudley, so they had to call back the disgruntled EMTs , who considered calling DIFUS on these people who apparently abused both their kids.

"Harry, you're a Postaltongue!" Petunia shouted, pointing at him.

"What's that?"

Petunia stared at him. "Well, isn't it obvious? You can talk to letters!"

"Oh…is that bad?"

"I guess so, otherwise people wouldn't freak out over it."

"Oh…"

After Dudley had been brought home, Harry sat on his bed thinking angsty thoughts. His parents were dead, his relatives hated him, he had a lifelong bad hair day, and it would be another 5 years before he even went out on a date, despite having a perfectly eligible and available girl as his best friend for 3 and a half of those years before she finally got a boyfriend of indeterminate background.

"She's so lucky! She's a star!" Harry sang with his CD, pirouetting about the room. "But she dies/cries, dies/cries, dies/cries of a lonely heart, thinkin', if there's nothin' missin' in my life, then WHHHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYY do theses tears come at night!?"

Thousand of Punk and Goth high school students stormed his room and beat him up, while the Preps and Jocks wept miserably, the Nerds and Geeks stared blankly, the Goody-Two-Shoes wept bitterly at such a display of violence and started making signs reading "Thou Shalt Not Kill", and the Gamers ignored it all, completely absorbed in their Star Wars: The Clone Wars video games. Have I covered all the high-school stereotypes that actually don't exist, because we're all gonna grow up and get boring 9 to 5 jobs and become corporate slaves despite the music we listened to as teenagers? (Weeps bitterly)

So now Harry was not only all alone in the world, but severely bruised, as well. Sighing disconsolately, he hopped onto his computer and clicked on his e-mail.

Insert Suspenseful Music here.