Disclaimer: The characters aren't ours. The setting isn't ours. Even the title isn't ours. We claim the crapness as our own, though.
Absquatulate:
Harry Potter glanced at his watch. Readers across the world relax, reassured by the tradition of it all and the knowledge of what was coming next. Either that or they shuddered at what a cliché said opening had become. The author does not need to confirm either the time of date as it is blatantly obvious to anyone well versed in Harry Potter lore, but will anyway.
"9:00?" Harry muttered to himself, confused. That wasn't right. He sneaked out of bed in order to find another chronometer of some sort. Several minutes later, Harry had fulfilled his quest – the search for the chronometer – finding another watch strapped to the pudgy arm of his cousin. Harry scanned the face of the watch, a relieved expression appearing on his face.
"Midnight," he breathed, triumphantly. That was more like it. Now there was just the case of the misinformed watch to crack. Again, this only took a few minutes. Harry decided he quite liked quests and cases – they were so painless compared with his normal adventures that always seemed to end in a near fatal experience.
He solved the case through logical deduction, which was a relatively difficult task for him; Harry never had had much faith in logic – it contradicted his entire life. He decided that he was much better suited to quests. His quest had simply involved him creeping around in the dark, humming his own personal theme tune and occasionally bumping into furniture.
The author would like to note that his own personal theme tune is not the one everyone knows from the movies as that is Hedwig's theme because, as we all know, the books (and movies) are all called Hedwig and the Something or Other. With this in mind, Hedwig suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
"So, Hedwig, what do you think? Am I right?" This is not as strange a thing to ask as it may appear, because there are several things about Harry that JK has neglected to tell her readers over the past five books. The current author, however, is not so sneaky and deceitful and will reveal all.
Harry, as well as being a parseltongue, can speak the languages of all the animals. In addition to this, he has a psychic connection with his owl; is the heir of not one, not two, but all four founders of the school; can do wandless magic; has had several love children with Ginny; is horribly abused by the Dursleys; is Dumbledore's nephew; is secretly gay and having a forbidden relationship with Draco that is strangely reminiscent of Romeo and Juliet; has a twin sister who is Voldemort's number two, but who will switch sides when she is reunited with Harry; and is a self-harmer who has attempted suicide on several occasions, only to be rescued from himself by his one true love, insert overly complex name of glamorous American exchange student here.
The author would like to point out that the above paragraph is not a sign of over-used clichés; bad plot devices; out of character behaviour; a complete lack of originality; badly written and predictable "dramatic encounters" later on in the fic; and probable author insertion as Harry's romantic interest/relation of some kind/both (hey, it's not me who thought of the term 'twincest'). The author would like to confirm that it is, in fact, all true.
Or at least Harry thinks it is.
But, then again, he believes there are tribes of little goblins in his head, all doing happy jigs out of sheer joy that he remains alive.
The author would now like to point out how hard she is laughing at how delusional Harry is. I mean, who would be happy that he was still alive? It is approximately a 7.6 on Moh's scale of laughter.
The author would finally like to reassure the reader that these specific Harry delusions are unlikely to be mentioned again, so you don't need to worry.
Now…back to the plot…I'm sure there was one around here somewhere… Ah yes, the case of the misinformed watch.
"So the reason my watch tells the wrong time is because it broke two years ago when I wore it while going in the lake for the second task," Harry said triumphantly. Harry was still wearing it because that's the kind of person he is – dumb.
"Is that right, Hedwig?" Harry asked his owl, still labouring under the belief he could speak owl.
"Hey!" an angry reader interjected. "I thought you said you weren't going to mention any of those delusions any more!" The reader was very angry, having already had to read through that particular tangent once before. The author has no defence… She should really apologise…
Steeples fingers MWAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! I lied and there is nothing you mortals can do about it. Goblins in head do little happy jig at the lovely maliciousness of it all.
I went to see White Noise the other day and that movie would have been made for me if one of the evil spirit dudes had steepled his fingers… Is that too much to ask?
Hmm…how did I manage to loose the plot so soon after I had resolved to find it again? Not to self: must have more self control and not insert random stuff in this story such as notes to myself…damn.
Anyway, back to the story, because this is definitely a proper story rather than an outlet for all the stress induced ramblings of teenage minds...
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Suddenly, Random Fangirl, aka Soyamaid, aka person who got the coveted prize of a cameo in this fic after winning a competition in our last fic, appeared.
"Happy birthday, Harry Potter!" she yelled, before disappearing again. Now can you see why a cameo appearance is so coveted?
"That was random," Harry muttered to himself. "But at least it gave some hint of sanity in that this fic starts on my birthday…"
Then Dudley woke up. "Aaaargh!" he yelled. I mean, could you honestly say that you wouldn't do the same if you woke up at midnight only to find Harry Potter by your bed? No, I thought not.
"Daddy!" Dudley screamed. "He's going to turn me into a frog or some such!" Vernon Dursley strode into his son's room.
"Boy!" he shouted, spittle shooting out of his mouth. "Is this true?"
Harry didn't have time to deny this (although he wouldn't deny it even if given plenty of time as Dudley's accusation had been quite correct) before Vernon swung at his head with a crowbar.
As he fell, all Harry could do was lament his misfortune of living with his violent, abusive uncle and dream of the happy days he spent with Ginny and their seven love children. Author smirks at reader, who is now contemplating throwing a boot at the computer screen
By the time Harry awoke, he was on the Hogwart's Express. "There has got to be a better way to change scenes," he said, ruefully. But the author quite likes this way, so sucks to be him.
"Harry?" a low seductive voice asked. "Are you awake?" Harry turned towards the source of the voice.
"Hermione?" he asked, half amazed, half disgusted at the degradation the author had imposed on the girl in front of him. If it was Hermione, she had filled out in all the right places (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean?)
I actually saw that phrase used in a fic that wasn't a parody and was appalled.
APALLED!
"No, I'm not Hermione," the girl said, demurely. How she managed to pull demure off while only wearing a bra and a thong, we shall never know. "I'm Katriana Elyssabeth Potter Granger Malfoy Dumbledore Weasley Riddle Longbottom."
"They fit all of that on your birth certificate?" Harry asked amazed. Then he realised what she had just said. "Longbottom? But Neville's not particularly glamorous."
"Yeah, but I'm Neville's long lost twin sister, whose been living in America for the past sixteen years. The prophecy is really about me." She shook he head at him. "I'm sorry Harry – that's just the way it is. There's nothing special about you."
Harry would never be able to fully describe how beautiful the world was at that particular moment. The prophesy wasn't about him? No more spending the entire year wondering what Voldemort's plan was! No more almost getting killed by Voldemort! No more gawking at him in the middle of the corridor just because of some stupid scar! No more responsibility! He could have kissed Katriana Thingamabob Whatsit if it wasn't for her somehow being related to him and the rest of the wizarding community.
Just then, Hermione walked into the compartment, thankfully unchanged from when Harry had last seen her.
"Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow at the scantily-clad girl already in there, who had apparently just walked out of a Victoria's Secret catalogue. "Sorry Harry," she said, turning her gaze towards him. "Didn't realise we were interrupting anything."
"You weren't," Harry said, still in a happy daze. "We were just talking."
Hermione smirked. "Whatever."
Harry was about to object, but was beaten to it. "You're just jealous of me, you spiteful, vindictive cow!" Katriana Elyssabeth Lots of Last Names screeched, before marching out of the compartment.
"Ok," Hermione said slowly, hoping normality would resume soon. "I say we push her off the train."
"We can't," Harry said, simply. "She's the prophesised one, and if she dies, then I have to go back to killing Voldemort."
"Prophesy?" Hermione asked.
Harry remembered too late that he hadn't as such told his friends about the prophecy. Luckily, he was saved from having to explain when Ron entered the compartment, with a small girl trailing behind him.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing them. "You haven't met my sister yet, have you?"
"Sister?" Harry asked. "You have a sister and you just forgot to mention her in five years?"
"It's no more irrational than you transporting yourself from Dudley's bedroom to the Hogwart's Express while being unconscious," Hermione said, huffily.
"Or me randomly turning up later than Hermione with her little sister in tow," Ron added.
Harry ceded the point. This, it seemed, was not a logical fic. He might as well just accept it.
"So what's her name?" Harry asked.
An evil glint came into Hermione's eyes as she raised her outstretched little finger to her mouth and said, "I shall call her…Mini-He!"
There was no reaction from either Harry or Ron.
"Don't you get it?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "Like Mini-me, but Mini-He, because of the first two letters of my name!"
Neither Harry's nor Ron's expression changed.
Hermione looked ready to scream. Instead, she contented herself with saying "Boys!" derisively and storming off, dragging Mini-He behind her.
"You know," Harry reflected after a while, "even if the Dursley's had let me watch that movie, it still wouldn't be funny."
Beside him, Ron laughed triumphantly. "Ha ha! I won the pretending to be botoxed competition!"
Harry looked at him strangely. "There was no pretending to be botoxed competition."
"Oh," Ron said, disappointed. "Can we have one now then?"
"Ok," Harry said.
So they did.
They just sat there.
Pretending all their face muscles were paralysed.
For hours.
Maybe even days.
It seemed like years.
Luckily, Draco Malfoy entered the compartment just as everyone was dying of boredom.
"So, Potter," he drawled. "Still hanging out with the Weasel, I see."
Harry didn't say anything. He couldn't – he was in the middle of a pretending to be botoxed competition.
"Too famous to answer me, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, venomously.
Harry contemplated how best to convey that he was pretending to be botoxed, while pretending to be botoxed. Eventually, he stood up and drew out his wand, intending to do that spiffy writing in the air thing that Voldemort had done in his second year. He turned his back to Malfoy, so he wouldn't have to write backwards, which was a real pain.
"Do you want to duel, Potter?" Malfoy scoffed. I mean, drawled. That was a close one. Nearly had Draco Malfoy speaking in a different way than drawling. That would have been a heinous crime, indeed.
Harry ignored him, being too intent upon the task of figuring out exactly how one managed to write in the air. Malfoy took his silence for a yes.
"Well, Potter, there's one thing you've forgotten…" Malfoy drawled, thinking for some reason that a crap macho cliché would help him in this situation. "There's no teachers around to make sure we fight fair." And with that –
"Insert vaguely Latin sounding word here!" Malfoy yelled. Well, yell-drawled.
The curse hit Harry in the small of his back, making him fall to the carpeted floor of the compartment.
(It may be useful here to tell you something else JK forgot to mention: Harry has an irrational fear of carpets. Not the 'that looks as if it could give me a nasty carpet burn' dislike of carpets, or even the 'but I wanted luxury soft-pile carpet in my bedroom' irritation, but a terrifying irrational fear. Of carpets.
Don't ask me why. People are scared of the strangest things. Many people have a completely irrational fear of, say, hanging by their fingertips over a large precipice. For Harry, it's carpets. That's just the way things are. This being so…)
Harry screamed at the sight of the upcoming carpet.
And then the fabric of time and space shifted and Harry found himself several hundred years into the past. The present was just a distant memory of Ron's jubilant voice as he yelled –
"Ha ha! You screamed! I win the pretending to be botoxed
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Yes – we're back and there's nothing you can do to stop us!
Yeah, and this one is promising to be just as strange, but we're about to take our GCSE's, so really you should pity us…
There is another chance for a cameo appearance in this fic (I can tell you're all highly excited by that joyous, joyous news)! All you have to do is tell us what you think the chapter title means…NO CHEATING AND LOOKING IN THE DICTIONARY…just because that's what we did... The closest one to it gets their very own cameo! Ah, the suspense of it all.
So review (!) and tell us what you think
P.S. Went to see Team America yesterday and it is fully the most amazing thing in the world ever.
P.P.S. I like to think that my inane manner of speaking is completely ironic, but fear this is not so.
P.P.P.S. You're still reading this? Oh well, may as well use the opportunity to plug…REVIEW!