Ah. Oh. I've been fearing this for quite a while (the part where you all bombard me with vegetables for being lazy). As you can see I've sort of, er, cut down on production. Computer troubles and whatnot.
Harry: Wait, wait, so…you're not dead!
No, Harry, I most certainly am not.
Harry: How irresponsible of you.
Are you saying if I had been dead, it would be ok for me to not update?
Harry: Quite so, Your Awesomness.
OK, fine. I died for a while. Now I'm back. Accept it and move on. Since it's been so long, I should probably remind you where we are. Harry's at the burrow and it's time for him to go to Diagon Alley to get school supplies. Now for the….
Disclaimer: I don't own this, don't sue me, blah blah blah this is so ridiculous blah blah blah did you know they artificially inseminate chickens?
Thank you for all the lovely reviews: Sabine Strohem-Moss, Black Triforce, me gusta books, Lily the Looter, Jenny, Mecha Scorpion, Mz Hellfire, the-book-dragon, Kalira (Mrs. Weasley is a lesbian who has kids because she's a closet in-denial lesbian, and I didn't steal Ginny dying all the time from South Park because I, alas, have no cable), Abbs, and Annmarie Aspacia (I forgive you for your mean words haha I know u don't mean them. And duh, I'm evil, look at what I'm doing here). Now on to…..finally….for the first time in months…are you ready?….here we go…almost there….now!
Chapter Three: A Small, Insignificant Little Boy"Last time on Harry Potter and the Coliseum of Secrets…" a random man I'd stolen off the set of a soap opera trailed off:
…the time for reveling was over, because there was Mrs. Weasley, getting ready to leave for Diagon Alley with the children clustered about her, holding a large—
Oh no…Harry thought when he realized what it was, completely forgetting that he promised not to think anymore.
Yes, that's right. She was holding a large—bag.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Harry screamed. Then he stopped. "Wait a second, I'm not afraid of bags. What sort of climax is that?"
Of course, darling little Harry did not realize the author had been fishing for a way to create suspense last chapter and bit off more than she could chew. Innuendos can be freely interpreted, but I assure you they aren't there on purpose.
"There you are—hic—Harry dear. Come on, we're going to travel with Fool Powder."
"FOOL POWDER! I'M NOT GOING TO USE FOOL POWDER!" Harry bellowed.
"Shut up, Harry," Fred said calmly, "and use the damn powder."
Harry decided to be a good chap for once and do what he was told, before realizing that he didn't exactly know what the hell Fool Powder was. "Errr…" he tapped the distracted Mrs. Weasley on the shoulder and she dropped her lesbian porn down in a fluster. "Oh, Harry, dear, you simply sprinkle the powder on you after you step into the fireplace."
Harry looked up to the sky, beseeching the author. "You honestly expect me to walk into a fire!" As an answer, the author used her awesome almighty power to make Ron walk up to Harry and smack his ass. "OK, OK," Harry grumbled as Ron stared in horror at his treacherous hand.
Harry strutted—more like cowered—into the fire in the fireplace holding the bag of Fool Powder in one hand.
"NO, HARRY, WAIT, YOU NEED TO PUT THE FIRE OUT FIRST—"
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!"Harry cried as he leapt back out of the fire. After everyone had a jolly good laugh at his expense and all the dead skin had peeled off, Harry reentered the now-empty fireplace to do things the right way. He sprinkled the powder onto himself, dubious that it would actually serve its purpose. But lo and behold, a flash of light appeared in the chimney above and a hand suddenly pulled him up the thing by his arm.
Harry allowed himself to be pulled along and was quite surprised when the owner of the hand appeared beside him. It resembled the dead house-elves in Gryffindor tower, except for being alive, and it was dressed in an oversized Santa suit. "I say," Harry let out, "that suit isn't really very convincing."
"What do you expect, kid?" the elf asked. "It's Fool Powder. You want the real Santa, you go buy some Premium." Harry sighed. The Weasleys had to be the most cheapskating famil—
"Where to, kid?" the elf asked, shaking Harry from his thoughts.
"Oh, er, Diagon Alley," Harry replied.
"What? Pornogon Alley?"
"No, no," Harry said, since he was only twelve and shouldn't like that sort of thing for two years at least. "Diagon Alley."
"Diagon? Never heard of it. What kinda merch they sell?"
"Uh, books…" Harry trailed off, tired of all the chatter. The elf should have seen the vein twitching in the steroid addict's forehead, but unfortunately he wasn't that bright. As they hurtled through the space that looked like tunnels and tunnels of chimneys, poor Harry was forced to listen as the elf went off on tangent after tangent.
"Ohhhhh, books, no wonder. Never had quite the proper education. See, when I were young my aunt Millie says, I tell you she says to me, 'Artie my boy, ain't not fancy pants job for you. You gonna be a honest hard-workin boy, yes you is', Aunt Millie says to me. Of course, I had to go to school with all the other elves but I never did quite get the knack of lit'racy, but I s'pose 's'all in the blood, y'know BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH—"
"ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!" Harry cried as he began madly throttling the elf. Of course, when you're rushing through a buncha chimneys using Fool Powder and the only thing that's guiding you is a particularly talkative elf, it's usually best to listen to him blubber on rather than trying to kill him. But as we have all learned, Harry is quite the idiot and no amount of stray lightning bolts or slaps to the ass by his male friends will cure that.
"Blimey—" the elf choked out as they bounced along the tunnels haphazardly. When he finally squeezed out of Harry's grip, he shot down one tunnel, disappearing and leaving Harry hurtling down a different path.
"I'll—OW—never travel—OW—with Fool Powder—ARGH—aga—" he was cut short as he tumbled out of the tunnels of chimneys into a fireplace, complete with its very own fire. And so it was that our hero and the spokesperson for the oppressed of Scotland found himself running around like a human roasting marshmallow for the second time that day. He stopped running around long enough to see he was in a strange looking shop and that his archenemy, Malfoy, was entering it with a 40-years-older version of himself. Harry hurriedly hopped into a cabinet, completely forgetting he was still on fire.
"Hello, Slimey McGit," the older man said to the greasy-looking fellow at the counter. "I've brought Draco here for a birthday treat before school." The man's voice was extremely nasal and Harry had an urge to punch his face in.
"Ah, very good, Mister Malfoy," McGit exclaimed. "Girls! Girls, get in here," he called in an accented voice. Two very scantily clad women came out of a back door. "Girls, Master Malfoy is here for a treat!" They led the two men away, and Harry had an urge to follow them. Then, seeing that he'd burnt the whole cabinet to the ground and the shopkeeper was oblivious, he decided…why not? So he left the smoldering wood and went through the back door. However, his perverted plans were thwarted by an unseen bouncer who said "Read the sign buddy. No flaming humans allowed."
And so Harry was thrown out on his ass from "Slimey's Shag Shack". And well he should be. Shame on me, the author, for putting a twelve year old in such a place. Everywhere he looked, there were very R-rated places and low class store names. He had a hunch that he'd accidentally stumbled upon—
"Blimy, Harry, what do you think you're doin' in Pornogon Alley!"
"Rabid?" Yes, there was Rabid with a lingering grin on his face. In fact, he was starting to drool again. Harry glanced around apprehensively. "Oh, look, it's the Weasleys!" he chuckled nervously. "Better go!"
He ran to the redhead family but unfortunately Rabid followed suit. "Oh, Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley cried out. "What were you doing down Pornogon Alley?"
"Nothing," Harry said glumly. Of course, all the children—and Mrs. Weasley herself—began a longwinded banter about how they'd always wanted to see it and how unfair it was and generally made every italicized remark they could. When Harry tired of their tosh, he simply punched a hole through a wall of the now-Diagon Alley and entered the store.
It was filled with books and shelves, but unlike a usual bookstore, this one was also filled with people—mostly paparazzi. "Oh, how giddy!" Harry exclaimed, prancing over, very giddily I might add. A man with a camera ran up to him and began to take pictures. "Oh, yes, admire me!"
"I've got the perfect headline, major!" the man said in a cliché Cockney accent. "Small, Insignificant Boy Punches Hole Through Wall!" Harry was about to yell at him but then he heard someone cry out, "Did someone say small insignificant boy?" A man who looked like Shirley Temple ran and snatched Harry's arm in delight. "Oh, how marvelous! How stupendous! Why, you look just like—"
"Harry Potter the ultra cool hero?" Harry finished for him eagerly.
"—a student! Come with me!" And he pulled the angry Harry to the front of the line. Standing on a desk, the golden haired men cried out "Attention, attention please! Now, this young, boring, insignificant student of Hogwarts came in this rather dingy bookstore expecting to leave it swindled, unhappy, and unwittingly robbed"—this earned him glares from Harry and the store staff—"little did he know that I, Gilderoy Blockhead—err, Lockhart, would be coming to Hogwarts and giving him something to look forward to in his meaningless life! That's right, I'll be taking over as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year, so boring little boys like this one can be astounded and amazed seeing a celebrity every day!"
Harry by now was foaming at the mouth and pouring smoke from his ears. How dare this girlish man call him little, insignificant, and boring all in one overly long speech! It just wasn't right! I'll show him…Harry thought angrily after they were done shopping and had gone home. I'll show him good…
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Well, that's all for now. I considered making it longer but decided I'd never get done. Besides, it's as long as both previous chappies combined. I hope you liked it. Please don't kill me for the wait. Then again no one probably cares about this monstrosity anyway. I'd also like to say my friend Abbs has made a fanfiction account (Poetic License I think) so go read her stories. You know what to do—
Harry: Kill Lockhart?
No, Harry.
Harry: Make a sammich?
NO!
Harry: Ride a narwhal through the ocean while singing the Little Mermaid song and waving around a stuffed lobster?
NO, NO, NO! YOU'VE GOT TO STOP HAVING STRANGE FANTASIES IN YOUR SLEEP! What I mean was—
Lockhart: REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWW!
Harry: YOU AGAIN!
Oh, brother.
