Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I (hopefully) do not own stupidity. The End.
Author's Note:
For your 10 seconds of fame as a reviewer:
athleticsrulz: Actually, I'm not completely sure either. Basically, it's how the book could have been based off of the information that JKR gave us before it was released.
maraudin-around: Thanks, I deleted the real person references. Eventually there might be a plot, but it will probably stay random. See the above response for how it's slightly related to HBP... But yes, you're probably right.
Okay, everybody, this is a AU parody for fun.
// edit: I changed the title to reflect your very good point.
Octavia Eve1: Exactly! Especially if it's a humor fic. Glad you liked it.
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Chapter Five: The Visit from Someone
Harry woke up. Actually, he was thinking about sleeping for five more minutes so that his fan club could ramble on about his appearance, tragic history, and incredible, undeniable bravery, but he figured that we must already know about all that. For once, the guy was right.
One, of course, might be wondering where Harry had been when Dumbledore knocked so fatefully on the door. Needless to say, he had been engaged in more important matters. He had, in fact, been over at Mark Evans' house, trying and failing abysmally to recruit for Hogwarts.
Sitting up abrubtly, he contemplated the dream he had been having. It had been inspired by the movie he had watched while over at the Evans', looking over family history to see if the two might be related. After all, if they were, Mark was a potential wizard for Harry to corrupt.
Fortunately, it was not to be. Mark had given up explaining patiently to Harry that, even though his last name was indeed the same as Lily's, they were not long-lost cousins. Harry was devastated. Seeing the tears run down the Boy-Who-Needs-A-Life's face caused Mark to take pity on him. But, in a momentary laspe of good judgment, he decided to attempt to lift Harry's spirits by showing him a movie entitled "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz."
It had taken Harry awhile to realized that the Wonderful Wizard was not, actually, himself. But, with his short attention span, he quickly glossed over the fact that the world did not revolve around him and stopped bawling. However, he did have notable difficulties accepting other parts of the story.
"Where's Kansas?"
"United States."
"What's a state?"
"Defined, imaginary boundary that contains a politically organized government. Essential component of the United States."
"What?"
Mark sighed.
"Did you understand a word of that?"
"Yeah, actually," said Harry earnestly. "That, a, of, the!"
Proud of his achievement, Harry looked around, expecting thunderous applause.
It was at this point that Mark Evans gave up understanding the kid next door.
Harry watched in blessed silence for a few minutes, then exclaimed,
"WHY IS THE EMERALD CITY GREEN??"
"Because it's the Emerald City?"
"But that's Slytherin colors!" Harry petulantly whined, doing an excellent impression of a Teletubby stuck in the mud .
Mark wisely chose to ignore this, and was rewarded by twenty seconds of peace and quiet. Milliseconds, actually, but he'd take what he could.
Then, much to the dismay of his ears, the Boy-Who-Just-Can't-Shut-Up exploded with another outburst.
"WHY IS THE LION COWARDLY?? LIONS ARE NOT COWARDLY!! LIONS ARE BRAVE! LIKE ME!"
"The lion is cowardly because he is the Cowardly Lion. And would you please stop shouting?"
Harry did his Teletubby In The Mud impersonization again.
"But Gryffindors are brave! The Sorting Hat said so."
As they got farther into the movie, Mark started sorely regretting ever suggesting this. Harry seemed to be determined to drive in his reputation as a mad juvenille delinquent.
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"
"... what?"
"Witches don't melt! THAT'S NOT TRUE!"
Trying to be diplomatic, Mark inquired, "How would you know?"
Harry tossed his head arrogantly. The effect of which was taken away from since he hit his face on the marble counter in the process. Nursing his injured skull, he spat out, "Ha! Wouldn't you like to know that!"
Mark sighed, contemplating the mysteries of the universe. Such as how the boy in front of him had managed to lose even more brain cells. Harry, meanwhile, seemed dedicated to reinforcing his idiotic image.
"That dog's name is Toto, right?"
"Yes. Wasn't this at the beginning of the movie?"
"What kind of stupid name is Toto?"
"I wouldn't know. What do you think?"
Ignoring the fact that, in reality, he didn't think, Harry sullenly stated, "Sirius was cooler," and left it at that.
Harry's enthusiasm promptly picked up when he saw the Fighting Trees.
"Hey, that's like the Whomping Willow! Except a whole bunch of them instead of only one..."
"Right."
"Look! A spider! Did I ever tell you about that time when Ron and I went into the forest and..."
"Right."
"I'll bet they get rescued by a flying car that can't fly anymore," Harry proudly concluded. "That's what happened to us."
"Right."
Silence. Mark looked up hopefully, only to be crushed again by the sound of another pointless question.
"The Wicked Witch of the West rules over Winky Country, right?"
"Winkie Country, yes."
Harry was awestruck.
"That little house elf rules a country! No wonder she was able to conjure the Dark Mark!" Acting as though he was imparting a great secret, Harry continued in his characteristic shout.
"Her secret identity is the Wicked Witch of the West! It makes sense now!"
Mark Evans was delighted when the movie ended, and the crazy boy left, especially after Harry's closing remark.
"Y'know... you look sort of like a Munchkin! Maybe you're related to one!"
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Rubbing his eyes, Harry came back to real time and thought deeply about his dream. He had set off on the Yellow Brick Road, he remembered that much. He had been the Scarecrow. Yes, that was right; he had been looking for a brain. As a matter of fact, he didn't remember ever finding a brain. Really, it was such a shame that the Ministry of Magic had put such strict security on the Department of Mysteries. Harry had been considering going there to steal one of the brains he had seen in that tank.
Harry shrugged. Evidently, the dream was foretelling something drastic, but he couldn't imagine himself writing to Dumbledore saying,
'Sorry to bother you sir, but I had a dream that I was looking for a brain. Do you know what that means? Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to know why, even in my sleep, I'm brainless. Sincerely, Harry Potter."
The words sounded dumb even in his shallow head.
What he really wanted, and he almost felt ashamed admitting it to himself, was something like an magic 8-Ball. Something he could talk to without feeling stupid, something that could give him answers to his questions regarding life, something that understood what it was like to be him. He resolved to put this on his birthday list, which happened, conveniently, to be the next day. Happy now that he had thought of a solution to his problems, he went downstairs to eat. After all, breakfast was important.
His meal was rudely interrupted, however, when the doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia's screeches were audible throughout the house.
"NO. MORE. STUPID. DOORBELLS!"
Once again, it was Dumbledore. Looking rather sheepish, he hastily explained to Harry that 'circumstances' had come up on his last visit before the two were able to meet, and that he had returned as fast as possible. Harry was led to believe that Dumbledore had rushed away to do some heroic and noble deed, which was painfully incorrect. Dumbledore had, in reality, realized that his robes were ready to pick up from Madam Malkin's. Yet, to paraphrase the wise mouth of the old man himself, "As we grow older, our mistakes grow correspondingly huger."
This time, however, he was determined to complete his mission. Sitting himself down at the Dursley's kitchen table, he looked wisely down at Harry. He realized that, since Harry was growing, he would soon be looking wisely up at Harry. Which would slightly diminish the effect. Putting his considerable mind to work, Dumbledore decided to make good use of his remaining time of looking wisely down.
Mentally returning to the present, he found Harry looking at him puzzlingly. Actually, the boy was wondering why Dumbledore had had to come during breakfast, but the headmaster of Hogwarts need not know that his hopes rested on the shoulders of a boy with the mental state of a cockroach. A dead cockroach.
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Once they were comfortably situated in the living room, the conversation began.
"Why are you here?" Harry demanded, trying to sound polite.
Dumbledore sighed, albeit quietly. The boy had never been one for subtlety.
"You remember how I told you last June that I was going to tell you everything?"
"Yeah."
"Well, hate to break it to you, but I lied."
"You what??"
Dumbledore sighed again. He was really getting too old for this.
"I lied."
"You, you, you, you - " Harry babbled incoherently.
"I lied, yes. But I had my reasons, I assure you. You don't see the flaw in my great plan yet?"
"What great plan?"
"That's the flaw."
Harry stared, devoid of any understanding. Dumbledore went on, choosing to overlook Harry's confusion.
"It was evident from the beginning...but I didn't know how to tell you. Should I have broken it to you after your first year? No, the evidence wasn't strong enough back then. After the Chamber of Secrets, I could have told you, but I opted to wait a few more years. Yes, I thought. He is not old enough yet. Your head had grown so swollen by all the praise you had received, I didn't want to be the reason why it blew up."
"For I was about to heap the greatest compliment of all upon you. So I waited. Your third year passed, and Sirius appeared. I still didn't tell you. After that rather nasty incident with the Goblet of Fire and the Triwizard Tournament, I realized that the moment was drawing near. But still I held off. The proof was growing to be insurmountable, but I was scared at your reaction...and ashamed."
"Finally, this past year. The evidence was everywhere; I still didn't share. But now... now..."
Harry jumped when Dudley slammed the refrigerator door. He had sunk into a half-stupor because of Dumbledore's speech, which was saying something considering his normal state of mind. He had, however, comprehended enough to make a relatively intelligent statement.
"You already told me about the prophecy, sir. Remember?"
"The prophecy? Oh, no, my dear boy. This is far more important than the prophecy... far more important."
"Hurry up then. I don't need a summary of my life. You're being overdramatic."
"Overdramatic? How... ironic. But very well, Harry. I shall get to the point." Dumbledore paused, preparing to drop the bomb that would change the future of wizardkind.
"You're left-handed, Harry."
At first, Harry didn't believe it.
"Left-handed? Me?"
Why did the boy feel the urge to repeat every word he heard? Sighing, Dumbledore clarified.
"Yes. You are left-handed."
"But...that day...in Ollivander's! I remember saying quite clearly, 'Er - well, I'm right handed.'"
Dumbledore tried to speak in a gentle voice, which was becoming increasingly difficult.
"You were wrong, I'm afraid. Luckily, Ollivander immediately owled me after you left the shop, equipped with what was really a left-handed wand. Didn't you ever wondered why you were pathetic in classes, but shone brilliantly in the face of real danger? You've never had anything strange or mysterious happen, when you used your left hand instead of your right hand?"
A grin slowly came over Harry's face. Now that he thought about it, hadn't he used his left hand in everything dangerous that happened at the end of each school year? Yes, it was true...
Seeing that Harry had seen the truth, Dumbledore spoke.
"Yes, you see? I'm correct. Not left-handed...why, in a few days, you won't know yourself!"
With a self-satisfied smile on his face, Dumbledore gave careful instructions to Harry.
"Now, tomorrow morning, I want you to go to London and meet somebody in the Leaky Cauldron."
"How will I know who to meet?"
"Don't worry, the Force will guide us."
"The what?"
"Never mind. Just go to the Leaky Cauldron. The person you're going to meet will say a password, then you will know."
"Well, then, what's the password?"
"I'm not going to tell you. Don't worry, you will know."
"Fine. Why am I going to London anyway?"
"You shall see..." muttered Dumbledore, trying to sound mysterious and forboding. "You shall see..."
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Author's Note:
You will find, if you look on the covers of most of the American versions of the books, that Harry holds his wand in his left hand. He's even left-handed in some of the chapter pictures...
In addition, occasional parts of the movies (notably the Leaving the Dursleys scene in Prisoner of Azakban) show him left handed. Now, there are far more with a righty Harry, but we'll ignore those. xD.
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