Harry Potter and the Freakishly OC Everybody: Chapter 8: Get Me Some Gabagoo

"Harry, I have decided that it's finally time to tell you everything I should have told you before but never did since I shouldn't have told it to you, but really should have. Capiche?"

"I thought you said at the end of last term that you were going to tell me everything." Harry said, pouting and resisting the urge to suck his thumb. He was sick of being treated like the baby that he used to be. Hadn't they seen how much he'd matured since Sirius had…gone back to the pet store? "Sir." Harry added ten seconds too late, trying to hurt Dumbledore's feelings and make him see how wrong he'd been.

"Well, Harry. I lied."

Harry was shocked by this blatant display of honesty. Didn't Dumbledore realize he was supposed to speak in riddles like, 'well, Harry, I didn't almost tell the truth that I was avoiding to say in the first place since you were born'?

"Now, all things that I will show you are things I know are real, but will pretend are questionable to make myself feel better about lying to you."

"Sounds like I'll have the time of my life." This, of course, made Harry immediately think of his favorite 80's movie Dirty Dancing, and he suddenly had the urge to dance with Patrick Swayze.

Patrick Swayze came up behind Harry and wrapped an arm around Harry's waist. "Not now, Patrick." Harry blushed and pushed him away.

"Oh you bet your bottom galleon, because, Harry," Dumbledore said, referring to Harry's comment about having the time of his life, and choosing to ignore Patrick Swayze, "this is the first time you'll be venturing into the pensive with me…and, more unusually, with permission. You sneaky little jackass." Dumbledore muttered the last bit under his breath.

"What was that, sir?"

"…What was that Faux?"

Faux just looked puzzled and continued to do Dumbledore's paperwork.

"The man we are about to see is none other than Bob Ogden, but he is more commonly known as Boob Ogler for his prominent trait of looking at women's ta-ta's. He has passed on now, but before his life ended I tracked him down and refused to let him use the public restroom until he promised to give me his memories."

"La-la-la time to use the potty!" Bob Ogden said, heading to the bathroom, but first stopping to peer into the women's bathroom.

"Not so fast." Dumbledore stepped out of a shadow, still appearing to be five thousand years old, but otherwise ageless.

"Durgan!" Bob cried.

"I need a certain memory from you…"

"Is this about those pictures I sold on Wiz-bay? Because I didn't know you two were married!"

"No, I enjoyed those pictures very much. This is about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Voldemort."

Bob Ogden looked shocked. "No!"

He tried to push past Dumbledore but Dumbledore sidestepped him. "Give me the memory or your bladder gets it!"

"Only if you flash me."

Dumbledore was not one to be prudish when the future was riding on it.

"Let's go, Harry." Dumbledore said after the flashback ended.

The world around Harry swirled as they entered the pensive, and he thanked Gandalf that he didn't get motion sickness…usually. There had been one incident involving a boat and Uncle Vernon and Dudley heaving themselves about a little too much and waggling their tushies to Britney Spears music, but Harry always tried to forget that. He hated Britney Spears.

For some reason this made Harry think of Malfoy in a school girl outfit, but that would only be sexy if Malfoy was blond…but everyone knew that Draco's hair was usually something like silver.

When Harry finally stopped thinking about Malfoy, he found himself outside of a small mushroom-like cottage. Walking towards the cottage was a young man who, in Harry's not-so-humble opinion, looked quite snazzy with his dark hair, and silky robes.

Harry figured that must be Boob Ogler, not because he was the only man in site, but because he was ogling a pair of breast that he'd conjured midair.

Bob Ogden squatted down and knocked on the tiny mushroom door.

"Wipe your feet."

"Whaaa? Who said that?"

"Don't get my carpet dirty."

"I suppose you can understand what she's saying, Harry?"

"Yeah! She doesn't want her bloody carpet dirty; he should just wipe his bloody feet!"

"Harry, he doesn't understand what she's saying."

"Why not?"

"Name something you can do that others can't."

"Defeat Voldemort." Harry guessed.

"Yes, but no."

"Ummm that's kind of all I've got, sir. You have to work with me here. I'm only quick on the uptake when it's convenient for me."

"Parseltongue, Harry."

"You mean she's a snake!"

"Precisely. My, Harry. You're quite the little genius, aren't you?"

"Smarmy bastard." Harry muttered.

"What was that, Harry?"

"…What was that Faux?"

Faux knew coming on this stupid memory was a bad idea.

Meanwhile, back on the farm.

"Open up!" Bob Ogden cried, using the rusty mushroom-shaped knocker to hit the door.

Finally, a short Italian man answered the door. "Badda bing badda boom, what can I do you for?"

"Is your son Angelo?"

"I believe the question is, is your son Angelo?" The short Italian man said and held up a gun.

"No."

The Italian man gave Bob an appraising look. "Are yous an Italian Jewish Pure-Blood?"

"It's neither here nor there or up the stair or in the bushes over there."

Harry's opinion of Boob Ogler instantly went up. How could you not respect someone who could think of something as witty as that while having a gun (a magic gun) pointed at his head?

The Italian man glared at him, "Wait one moment."

"I should let him in?"

"I just finished cleaning the carpet!"

"I think we should let the man in."

"Only if he takes his shoes off!"

Short Italian Man turned back and said finally, "Alright, you can enter, but on one condition-a: You lose the shoes."

Bob slipped off his loafers and Harry thought that made him look a little less snazzy.

"I wouldn't have minded if it was just me by myself, but my wife here just finished cleaning."

And that's when Harry saw the snake slither up behind Short Italian Man.

"This here's my wife, Nagana."

"Hello."

Boob Ogler shook her…tail.

"How do you do ma'am?"

Nagana just tilted her head. Harry noticed that she had the prettiest, blackest, silkiest wig he had ever seen on a snake. He also particularly liked her mini-skirt and grandma-bra. It was all cone shaped and pointed like Madonna's. She was one sexy snake-mama.

They walked inside the house and Dumbledore and Harry followed. She didn't do much of a good job cleaning the place, Harry thought with disdain.

Harry noticed a small girl standing in the corner snapping some gum and making some raviolis. She had three arms, five hands, and two feet. Two. Whole. Feet. On her head.

"Hey, Candy, get me some Gabagoo." Short Italian Man shouted at the girl in the corner.

"I only gots five hands, Pa." She whispered angrily.

"Don't talk back to your father!"
"You always take his side!"

"I do not, now stop this nonsense right now ugly lady!"

"Fine."

The girl half slithered half walked over to the fridge to get some gabagoo or whatever it is they store fresh gabagoo in.

"Ew, she has one foot and one tail." Harry said, staring at the girl.

"Ah, yes, Voldemort's mother, Meepit."

"Like on neopets?"

"Exactly. Where do you think they got it from? How else could such evil be spawned?"

"Oh. I see." Harry said, closing his eyes.

Boob Ogler sighed from across the room, "Now, I love me some gabagoo as much as the next guy, but we need to get down to business here. Your son Angela was found poking people with his wand in the park. That's a serious offense in the wizarding world. You remember when we had to release all those fake toy wands since too many people had gotten wind of the real ones? Huh? Huh? Do ya? Angelo is under arrest!"

"I said GOOD DAY SIR!" Short Italian Man cried.

"Wha…?"

"Now that he's confused it's our chance!" Italian Man cried, doing absolutely nothing. "Meepit!"

Meepit walked over and bitch-slapped Boob Ogler, and then ran away.

"You fool!" Italian man shouted and started smackin the bitch around a little bit.

"NO!" Harry cried, like that would do anything.

"Yes." Patrick Swayze said, putting his arms around Harry.

"Not now, Patrick!"

The fighting continued on in the strange house of Voldemort's ancestors until there was a knock at the door.

"Uh, delivery for Meepit Slither-Carpelli. You ordered flowers for yourself, Ma'am. I need you to sign right here."

Meepit walked over despite her broken leg and many bruises. She looked dazed and pleased. "Oh, hello, Delivery-Boy. I didn't know that when I sent these to myself you'd be here. PRETTY!"
"Don't touch, Meepit! What have I told you about touching the Delivery-Boy? He's Jewish! And a Muggle!"

"Oh, but, TOUCH!" Meepit touched the boy, slammed the door shut, and ran away from her father.

What none of them knew was that not only was this Delivery Boy Voldemort's future father and a Jew, but he was also the grandfather of that briefly mentioned mailman (way back in chapter one) that went to the Weasley's house by mistake. It's a small world after all.

"It's a small world after all…" Harry sang cheerfully as they went back to Dumbledore's office.

"Wasn't that a fascinating look back into the history of Voldemort?"

"Yeah. His family is pretty wacky. Sitcom material. It's a shame he didn't become a comedian instead of the most-evilest-guy-ever."
Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Well, Harry. That usually is the decision most of the best comedians have. They reach a turning point in their life when they have two ways to choose. They can either fight you or host the Roast of Pamela Anderson. I of course would choose the former, but that is just my humble opinion."

"Yeah, the Roast of Pamela Anderson sucked."

"That it did, Harry."
TBC

Notes: I don't really care if the timeline for some of that is off. I'm writing what I find amusing here, and since I'm really busy lately I'm just glad when I sit down to write this at all. In any case I hope you continue to enjoy my random sense of humor. I love all of you that do, and don't really care about those of you who don't because no one is forcing you to read this.

I love the fact that Harry is from the Muggle world because I can have references to things outside of it. I know Dumbledore wouldn't know (or maybe he would since he's pretty fucking brilliant and culturally aware) about the Roast of Pamela Anderson, but come on people, it's a parody. Work with me here. I do try to keep it to a minimum but I honestly couldn't resist.

Oh and I am Jewish, I am not anti-semetic. (Well, I kinda am (it comes from going to a Jewish day schoo for eleven years.) I don't particularly care if you were offended by any of that hope you enjoyed.