(Author's Note: Chapter two! I didn't like copying word for word the chapters. So I decided to wing it and go off of what I remember. Plus, this story is obviously very different from uh... the children's version. heh heh. Oh yeah, I don't own anything but the messed up crap and I'm not making money. Which is apparent, otherwise I would not have had the time to do this.)

Chapter Two: Dudley's Birthday and Other Annoying Things

Ten years later and Whorey Potter wasn't faring much better. His bedroom was a cupboard under the stairs, he was never fed and he was often picked on by his cousin Dudley. Basically, his life sucked beyond all belief. And he still had that scar shaped like the number 69 on his forehead which was much of the reason he was ridiculed.

BUT! Things were about to change…

It was Dudley's birthday and Whorey pondered suicide. He had already endured ten years of this crap. Was it destiny that so much pain must be inflicted upon him? Well, yes actually. But Whorey was a naïve ten.

"Whorey! Whorey! Get up!" Whorey groaned. "Get up and cook some bacon!"

Whorey's Aunt Petunia was anorexic and therefore never liked to cook food. It tempted her to just give up and become bulimic instead.

Whorey pushed his door open and brushed some spider webs off his shoulder; he really needed to clean his room. Or take a vacuum to it.

Upon entering the kitchen, Whorey noted that the kitchen table was sagging in the middle from all of Dudley's presents. Whorey also noted that Dudley's usual chair was sagging from depression. He thought it would be pretty depressing to be a chair that supported the weight of a killer whale.

Preparing meat for breakfast was a favorite of Whorey's. He liked to make sure it was still a bit undercooked. He was hoping on the 20 percent chance that it would give Dudley and Mr. Dursley some sort of parasite. Maybe it would be a tapeworm. The Dursleys wouldn't have to diet and it would save the cost of anti-depression pills for Dudley's chair.

Speak of the Dudley, Dudley walked into the room just as Harry was finishing up with the bacon. Dudley began the annual ritual of counting his horde of presents.

"128? WTF? Last yr i had 129," Dudley so eloquently complained.

"Shut up. We'll get you two more later," Mr. Dursley grunted.

Dudley began to do math in his head. He was turning purple.

"130 darling, 130. Now, eat your bacon," Mrs. Dursley cooed.

Whorey passed on the bacon and grabbed a biscuit from among the presents. It was a bit smashed in but that was okay. Whorey was tolerant of a lot of things. Smashed biscuits, gay marriage, abortion… it was all good.

Besides, if he was ever in the situation where he was a pregnant teen, he'd want that option.

The phone rang.

A minute later, Aunt Petunia put down the phone and sighed. "Mrs. Prig is ill. She can't take care of the bastard." Whorey really hated it when they spoke about him as if he wasn't in the room.

"Damn," Mr. Dursley responded. "Well, he'll just have to come with us."

The doorbell rang.

"Piss!" Dudley ran for the door and greeted his friend, with the unfortunate name of Piss. "Are you ready for the zoo?"

Piss nodded. He didn't look at all excited though. More Murderous with a hint of Mafia.

"Great," Dudley's smile faded. "But Whorey has to come. That's okay though because we can just stab him with your new pocket knife somewhere around the bat exhibit. It's dark in there, no one will see."

Mrs. Dursley's airy laugh sounded. "Oh, DuddyDuddersDaffyDickHead, how adorable."

Half an hour later, Whorey was seriously going to commit suicide. He was contemplating how he would go about getting into the tank before him. In it was a venomous snake… the Black Mamba.

"Psst! BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP?"

Whorey looked around. Who was speaking such foul things to him? He turned back to the tank, shrugging. It was then that he noticed the Black Mamba had his head raised and was looking straight into his own eyes.

"Talking to me?" Whorey asked, pointing to himself. Although, he could have sworn the sound coming out of his mouth were words that only the dirty man who always stood on the corner of Privates Drive spoke.

The snake nodded. "BEEP BEEP."

Whorey shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, I can't help you there."

This type of conversation lasted quite awhile. Then Dudley and Piss appeared. Instantly, the glass to the tank disappeared and the Black Mamba slithered out. "BEEP BEEP BEEP you," were the snake's parting words as he made his way to freedom.

Whorey shrugged.

A lot of harsh beatings from Piss and Dudley later (fortunately no pocket knives were involved), Whorey made it home where he found a letter waiting for him outside the door.

It was addressed:

Whorey Potter

4 Privates Drive

Cupboard under the stairs

Something something ENGLAND

"Odd," Whorey said to himself.

"Give me that!" Mr. Dursley yelled, snatching the letter away. His eyes opened wide and he ripped open the envelope. Inside was a piece of parchment. Mr. Dursley scanned it and then promptly tore it into little pieces.

"Hey! That's my letter! I'm entitled to at least read it!"

"Too bad, it's illegible now," Mr. Dursley said a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Ten days later and Whorey was still thinking about that letter and the many others that had arrived for him. Presumably from the same person or place as the first one.

But they had all arrived in the mail and Mr. Dursley made sure no one else went to get the mail. And once he had Whorey's letter, he burned it.

Whorey got up as usual and undercooked the bacon, as usual. Then, out of nowhere, something hit him square in the back of the head. "Ow," he exclaimed. He turned around and found a letter, identical to all his other letters, on the floor.

Mr. Dursley had eyes in the back of his head though and snatched it before Whorey could even think of bending down and hiding it in his pocket.

Then, because the letters were always addressed to The Cupboard under the stairs, Mr. Dursley thought it best that Whorey move into Dudley's spare room. Whorey rolled his eyes, like that would stop whoever was sending him the bloody letters. If they knew he lived in a stupid cupboard; a room without windows or room to breathe, then they would know, fo' sho' that he lived in a guest bedroom.

And sure enough, the next day, a letter arrived and the only difference was that it said, "The room next to Dudley's".

Well, Mr. Dursley went insane and decided to stay in a cabin on a rock in the middle of a lake on Jupiter. Well, it could have been on Jupiter for all the trouble Mr. Dursley went to ensure that no letters would reach them.

It was a dusty place that needed more cleaning than Whorey's cupboard. And to top it off, Whorey was sent to sleep on the floor… again.

Because it was Whorey's birthday… or at least, it would be in about ten minutes… Whorey cleverly made himself a birthday cake out of dust. He blew away his dust candles and made a wish:

"I wish I could leave this place."

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Whorey jumped. Woah! God must have pitied him a whole goddamn hell of a lot to grant his wish that quickly.

BOOM! The door to the cabin fell down with a huge thud and behind it was standing a man the size of a giant! Whorey scrambled backward as Dudley awoke with a "WTF?"

Mr. Dursley came out of the bedroom with Aunt Petunia in tow. He had a gun in his hand and he aimed it in the direction of the door.

Then, the giant like man entered the cabin; his head bent a bit to adjust to the height of the room. "'ello. The name's Whorid. I'm here to pick up a Whorey Potter."

Mr. Dursley pointed to Whorey with his gun.

"Gee, thanks," Whorey muttered under his breath.

"Right. Thanks," Whorid said, nodding to Mr. Dursley. He motioned for Whorey to follow him. Whorey looked back at the Dursleys. Stay here with his demented family? Or go with a strange giant looking man and hope for the best? The latter sounded like heaven compared to the former. Whorey followed the giant called Whorid.

Whorey and Whorid made their way down to a boat and began to row their way across the lake.

Whorid opened a newspaper. "Back to business. Yer Whorey Potter, the Boy Erected. Yer a whore and yer life goal is to defeat a dark whore named You Know… Whore."

"Care to repeat that?" Whorey asked.

"Yer a whore."

Whorey made a face. "What?"

Whorid put down his newspaper and took out a pink pimp cane. "Mind if I … speed things along?" Whorey realized they hadn't left the rock in the middle of the lake yet. Whorid pointed his pimp cane at the oars and after muttering something under his breath, the boat began to row itself.

"Magic?" Whorey asked, quite surprised.

Whorid nodded, "Oui. C'est magique." Whorey soon realized that Whorid couldn't speak English worth shit but could speak French better than the French could. That was almost more surprising than the magic.

"Whores are magical. Don you believe all tha' witch an' wizard crap that's been going round. It's the whores tha' are the magical ones."

So you don't have to endure Whorid's horrible grammar… Whorey soon found out that when he was a little baby, his parents, some of the best whores ever known, had been killed by an evil whore named You Know… Whore. Well, actually, his real name was Voldematrix. But nobody liked to speak the name for fear it would bring him back. A bit like actors and saying the play name Macbeth. But not. Anyway. Whorey was the only one who had ever survived the wrath of Voldematrix. Because of this, in the Whoring world, he was known as the Boy Erected. And now he was of the age to be able to go to Hagwarts, a school for White Trash and Whoristry. Whorey thought it was all a bit too surreal for his taste, but figured it was like being a celebrity so why not?

Whorey paused. Couldn't they have come up with something better than the Boy Erected?