Stupid? Yes. Impossible? Yes. And the point is? Nothing. Precisely.
this chap brought to you by Manchot du Destin.
Harry and the Star-Crossed Pineapple of Ill-Fate:
Harry suddenly stopped singing. "Um, Ron? RON? WEASEL!???" That was it, Ron was dead. He had to be, if a cry of 'Weasel' wasn't going to wake him. Harry considered crying. He considered fainting. He even considered breaking out into an encore chorus of Kim Possible.
But, no. That wasn't the answer. Harry pulled his arm out of his sleeve (A/N: I bet you guys thought that monkey had really bitten it off.). He carefully skirted a whole 30 feet around Ron, who was now a rather putrid bluish color all over. No, Harry thought, there are more important events afoot. Then, speaking of feet, Damn, where are my shoes? Oh, there they were, over by Colin. Who was also dead. It looked as if the shoes had fallen on him. Maybe they had dented his cranium and killed him that way. Or maybe it was just the smell.
Harry took a sniff and promptly keeled over.
He came to a full half hour later. Definitely the smell.
But there was nothing he could do about that now. Still, he couldn't wear the weapon that had caused the demise of Colin Creevey. And he certainly couldn't leave the shoes around for just anyone to find. He sat around and thought. And thought. And tried to ignore the rather awful smell that Ron was emitting. And then thought some more. Finally, Harry had an idea. I know! he thought, Thinking really isn't my strong suit. Maybe I should take up Quidditch instead. But no. He had more important things to do. Plus, that didn't solve the problem of the shoes.
"Accio Evil Rabid Monkey of Impending Doom," Harry said, hoping the monkey could help him think up a good idea.
Surprisingly enough, it did. The monkey,) who was both evil and rabid, and simply reeked of impending doom) speaking in an unusual dialect of Portuguese, said "Harry, you're being an idiot. Give me the shoes and I'll take them to you-know-who. I heard he was lacking in footwear."
Harry stared at the monkey uncomprehendingly for 2.36 minutes. Then he shrugged, "I suppose so," he said in that Portuguese dialect, with a flawless accent. "Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll smell them. Or you could always just bite him in the—well, or anywhere, I suppose."
The monkey looked as surprised as monkeys can look, what with all the fur and all. Possibly more surprised than is actually possible. But that's not the point. "You speak Portuguese. I'm astounded. Seeing you flying and singing, I thought for sure, you'd no remaining brain cells. And you're idea; it's actually not that bad. Well, except for the whole biting him thing. I don't eat junk food, I mean seriously. Eeew."
It was Harry's turn to look surprised. "Of course I speak Portuguese. I picked it up at Hogwarts."
"People speak Portuguese at Hogwarts?"
Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, this monkey was beyond stupid. "No, I found it lying on the floor. And nobody looked like they wanted it. So I picked it up."
The monkey stared at Harry for a moment, then realized that he wasn't being sarcastic. Harry really was that dumb. Either that, or he was a fantastic actor. Oh well, it didn't matter. The monkey picked up the shoes, holding them as far away from his nose as humanly, I mean, apely possible, and started off.
"Oh, and by the way," Harry shouted after the rabid monkey, "you mis-conjugated that last verb!" But the monkey was gone.
Huh, Harry thought, now what do I do?
Well, the first order of business was obviously to get away from the stench of, well, of Ron and Colin. No offense meant. Hermione had clearly left long ago.
So Harry picked himself up off the ground, and made his way up towards the castle, the very picture of a carefree teenager having a bad hair day, and not wearing any shoes.
But then, lo and behold, before he was halfway to the castle, there were several loud cracks. Crack! Crack, crack! Crack, crack, crackcrackcrack! CRACK!
Harry paused to count the cracks. Nine. Huh, that sounded like someone apparating. Nine someones apparating if you were going to be picky. But that was impossible on Hogwarts grounds, wasn't it? Which meant that either Hermione had been wrong, or Harry was no longer on Hogwarts grounds.
Harry looked around. Oh, he had been heading in the wrong direction all that time. He wasn't on Hogwarts grounds any more. Phew, he thought, I was really worried that Hermione might have been wrong. That would have been the end of the world for sure.
Then, in front of him was a tall, menacing figure, wearing Harry's shoes, and with a monkey on his shoulder.
Harry knew it had to be Voldermort. Damn, he thought, I forgot my wand down at the Quidditch pitch. I don't suppose he'd let me go get it, would he?
But he didn't have time to ask because it was at that point that Voldermort began to speak. "Thank you, Harry," he said in his eeriest voice.
"Um, you're welcome?" The Dursleys hadn't taught Harry many manners, but he'd picked them up somewhere. Probably on the floor at Hogwarts. Honestly, people at that school littered too much.
"Not you," spoke the Dark Lord, "We named the monkey Harry."
Harry paused to think about this. Finally, he was forced to concede that Harry was actually quite a good name; it had a real nice ring to it. So he could see how Voldermort might want to name the monkey that.
But then, Harry thought of something else. "Monkey?" he said in flawless Albanian. "You're a filthy traitor. Why did you switch sides?"
The monkey looked taken aback for a moment, but then sighed, and addressed Harry in Albanian as well. "It's just that you're so dumb. And it would be confusing being on the same side, us both being named Harry and all."
Harry was insulted. He didn't want to be racist—er species-ist, but only humans were allowed to call him dumb. He tried to think up a good comeback, and failed.
"Well," he finally shouted at the monkey, "Your Albanian grammar is just as bad as your Portuguese grammar!"
The monkey sighed and lobbed a plastic pineapple at Harry. He'd been saving the pineapple for just such a situation of extreme stupidity.
The pineapple hit Harry in the head, and he toppled over. Landing right at Lord Voldermort's feet. Which were still clad in Harry's smelly shoes.
Harry coughed and breathed in.
He was dead before he could even hum the opening line of the Kim Possible theme song.
Yeah, the stupidity of it all!
(okay, I really like Harry, and I felt sooo bad for making him so stupid. It was just that smart people don't get killed by plastic pineapples. So my story is that Hermione or someone cast a spell on Harry that addled his brains. Unfortunately, this means that all of wizard-kind is doomed. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now.)
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