Harry Potter and the Nerd's Rock Collection

Guess Who's Coming Home For Harry?

They had moved to the worst place that anyone could think of: Detroit.

(A/N: I'm sorry, but this was the only city I could think of. After all, I do live here.)

They stayed at a Motel 5. Dave had come along for apparently no reason.

Once there, they went to sleep. Harry wished he had one of his letters. Uncle Vernon burned them all.

It was midnight, when all of a sudden, a big BANG! Hit the door!

"Oh, no," Dave yelled, "it's Godzilla!"

"Dudley's right there," Harry said, calmly.

"Oh, good, then we have nothing to worry about."

Suddenly, the door came crashing down. In the shape of Dudley, a man came into the house. This was Hagrid.

"Harry!" he said. "I 'aven't seen ya in a long time. I knew these people would treat ya bad, but I didn't know they'd burn ya!"

He had mistaken Dave for Harry.

"I-I ain't Harry," Dave said, frightened. "Kill him, he's Harry!"

Hagrid turned to Harry.

"Baked this for ya 'cause after all, it's yer birthday."

He pulled out a small box, which contained a green chocolate cake.

"I was just kidding about that 'I'm not Harry' stuff," Dave said.

Hagrid ignored him. He sat on the couch and started a fire in the barren fireplace.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Something Hagrid," Something Hagrid said. "Keeper of keys and grounds at Hogwarts. I suppose you know about Hogwarts know, right?"

"No."

"No? Haven't you even wondered where your parents learned it all?"

"I have parents?"

"You're a wizard, Harry."

The strange, dramatic music started playing.

"Hold up!" Dave yelled, and the music stopped. "Now how come everytime something dramatic happens that music plays?"

Hagrid ignored him again. He handed Harry a letter. Harry opened it and read:

"Dear Consumer,

We hope that your year-long subscription of Playboy's go directly to your location-"

"Whoops," Hagrid said, snatched away the letter and played on a dresser.

"Hear you go," he said, handing him the real letter.

It said:

You should already know.

"He will not be going," Uncle Vernon said.

"And I suppose a big Muggle like yourself is gonna stop 'em, eh Grogle?"

Harry looked at him with an odd expression.

"Muggles are non-magic folks."

"So what's a Grogle?"

"A Grogle is a colonial term used by our ancestors to insult their masters."

Everyone was staring at Dave, because it was him that said it.

"What?"

"We won't have an old man who knows how to some rabbits into a hat get his hands on this boy," Uncle Vernon protested. "He's ours! We own him!"

Suddenly, a frying pan, obviously thrown by Dave, hit his head. He was knocked out. Everyone looked again at Dave.

"I don't like that statement," he said.

Just then, an alarming sound came from Hagrid's watch.

"Well time to go," he said. "Unless ya want to stay ya-"

Harry and Dave were already dressed.

"Well then come on."

As they left, Dave took the envelope, which Hagrid left on the dresser, and stuffed it in his pocket.

As they walked away, Hagrid had asked for the envelope back, but Dave denied that he had it, until Hagrid threatened to leave him with the Dursleys. He gave up the envelope.

(Dang, he thought.)

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