Author's Note: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters in this story. I do own the story though. I shall spork firmly anyone that says otherwise. Love to Mrs. Holmes for showing me the wonders of socks.-grin-

Harry finished the final flourish on his journal and grinned as he heard the ringing of a doorbell. He adjusted his glasses and his tie before hurrying downstairs to greet his guests, humming the theme from Mission Impossible as he went.

It was his seventeenth birthday Sunday, and he had invited various friends and acquaintances to his house for a party. The Dursleys were hiding in the spare bedroom – under the spare bed. The doorbell rang again as he adjusted his tie some more. And again. And again. And –

"Shut up and wait one second, will you?" Harry growled at the door before throwing it open. He grinned again as the familiar faces of Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Hagrid beamed up – or in Hagrid's case, down – at him. "Come on, then," he said cheerfully. As they stepped over the door's threshold, he hesitated and stared at the other figure starting to tramp inside and threw his arms across the doorway. "Hold it," he said. "What are you doing here?"

Draco Malfoy squinted at Harry. He seemed to have adopted a pair of reading glasses since Harry had last seen him, and unfortunately they were tortoiseshell patterned. "I didn't invite you," Harry snarled.

"I got an invitation?" said Draco hopefully, holding up a piece of scented stationary. "It says…"

"Hold it," said Harry. "That's Hermione's invitation. What's all this about?"

Hermione seemed to be trying to slink into the living room unnoticed. "Well…um…I did…sorta…invite him…I mean, he's really nice, once you get to know him, Harry! He's my white knight! My savior! My heart! My love! My-"

"Hermione, please! Get off the table!" moaned Harry, his head in his hands. "But…he's…I…archenemy…argh. I thought you liked Ron?" he said hopefully.

"Oh, I gave up on him." Hermione said as she climbed reluctantly off the island. "I mean...well, you'll see, I'm sure. Come on, Draco!" She grabbed his arm and dragged him off to the living room. Harry winced and started to turn toward his other guests, muttering. "I think Hermione's lost her mind," he said to no one in particular. "Or at least her good –" He was cut off as the doorbell rang. LOUDLY.

"Oh, gosh darn it all! Who's that?" Harry grumbled as he stumped over to the door. He threw open the door and was nearly run over in a stampede of…

"Professor McGonagall?"

It certainly did seem to be, but Harry scratched his head at the differences. Whatever she had done to her face, it made her look like a dysfunctional…teenager. And her hair was cut short and looked as though she had been electrocuted – that is, it was sticking out in all of the possible directions that hair can stick out into. She had abandoned her normal dress and was wearing an extremely short scrap of cloth and….a bikini top. Her nose was perky. And she was riding a motorcycle.

Harry peeled himself off the floor and stared some more. "Professor…your hair… nose… motorcycle… socks…?"

McGonagall gave him a brief, slightly frightened look, then revved her motorcycle motor. "My name's Minerva! I've decided to get in touch with my inner child! And you sent me an invitation!"

"I did?" Harry asked, slightly befuddled.

"Yes! And I've brought my new boyfriend! Meet Scabbers!"

"Hey, dude," said Scabbers from the basket in the front of the motorcycle. Harry could say nothing. "Break out the champagne!" yelled Scabbers. "Come on, baby, let's have some fun!" Moments later, they were gone, leaving only the motorcycle, which Harry stared at in blank astonishment. However, only moments later the doorbell rang again, and Harry tromped over to the door, scowling ferociously. "Hello?" he said before opening the door.

Seven dwarves were standing on the doorstep, glancing nervously around them. "Let us in, then," growled the lead dwarf. "Come on. Come on."

"Who are you? Do you have an invitation?" asked Harry wearily.

"Ah…yes. Here. I'm Thorin, and this is Balin, Bombur, Fili and Kili, and-"

"Wait. I know you! You're from The Hobbit!" Harry exclaimed.

Thorin gave him a slightly unnerved look. "Um…yes. Of course. Now can we please come inside?"

Harry gave up. "All right, all right. But don't ruin the house."

The dwarves tromped inside and Harry shut the door, but moments later another knock came. "Oh, shut up!" growled Harry, but he opened the door again, ready to shout at the crowd. However, he found himself gaping at a strange crowd on his doorstep. A ruggedly unwashed man, a very pretty elf, a very chunkily braided newt, and four very short men...?

"What are you…"

"Quickly, inside! All of you!" said the ruggedly unwashed man. "We musn't let them catch us! Thank you, good ol' chap," he said as he passed, clapping him firmly on the shoulder before disappearing into the house. "Never fear. The rest are coming along soon enough. It'll only be a moment."

"The rest?" Harry moaned, and sat down hard on the ground. He barely had time to think before the door crashed open yet again and he was scattered with shards of shattered door. "What do you think you're doing?" he shouted, attempting to get up, but nine black horses plunged through the doorway, rearing, each ridden by a black rider. They stopped and looked around nervously.

"All right. Dismount!" said one of them. Harry saw Hermione and Draco peering in from the living room. Draco appeared to be shirtless, and was still wearing his tortoiseshell glasses. Harry winced again. Fourteen more heads poked through, too, and then disappeared, looking relieved.

"It wasn't them," Harry heard the ruggedly unwashed man say to the others.

"What are you doing here!" he snarled, clearing the last of the wreckage of the door away from him. "You don't have an invitation – you can't just come charging in here – breaking doors – nearly killed me – my socks are ruined –"

One of the Black Riders gave him a nervous look and edged away. "There's a good chap. It's all right. You won't even know we're here. I swear. We'll just…go on upstairs…"

"I always knew these humans were insane," whispered another one of them. The one he had whispered to nodded and edged a little away from Harry. Harry scowled more deeply.

"Who's insane?" he muttered. "This party is insane."

"Ooooh!" said one of the horses suddenly. "wOOt! A pinball machine!"

"A ping pong table!" said another.

"A trampoline!"

"Badminton!"

"Whoa! A TV! Let's go watch football!"

In a moment, the horses were gone. He dimly heard a squeal that sounded like Hermione from the living room. However, it could have been Malfoy. Harry winced. "Well," said a Black Rider, already halfway up the stairs. "We'll just be up here. And don't open the door. Please." Then they were gone, too.

"Don't go in the spare roo…" Harry called ineffectually after them, and then flopped down onto the floor again. The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if the horses used Dudley for a birdie in badminton.

There was a shout from upstairs, and a squeal that sounded vaguely like Dudley. Then a sound of glass shattering, and a horse's yell of "Whoa, look! A birdie!" Harry winced. The doorbell rang. "Come in," said Harry weakly. Then he realized what he had just said.

"Wait! One minute! Who are-"

The door banged open, and in marched a double line. Of…girls. In the same short skirt, pleated pink and white, and wearing T-shirts that read…

"FFLOTR?" Harry read incredulously.

"Fangirls for Lord of the Rings," said one of them disparagingly. "Now, where are they? Aragorn!" she called in a singsongy voice. "Legolas!"

"No, that's not how you do it!" growled another. "You have to sneak up on them, like stalking a rabbit."

"No way. You've got to lure them out with bits of cheese and bacon as bait," protested another.

Harry left them to it and fled to the living room. Only to find the Black Horses on one couch, fighting over the remote and Hermione and Malfoy sucking face on another couch. Harry winced and turned away quickly. "Wait," he said as he looked at the other couch "Neville?" Harry squinted at the couch. He wished he had his glasses. The boy appeared to be hiding under a couch cushion. He looked…terrified. He looked terrified, Harry decided. "What are you doing under the couch cushion?"

"Shhh!" hissed Neville. "Hiding! From-"

"There you are, pookiekins," said a familiar voice from the doorway. Harry stared, gaping, at Ron. Only…he was wearing…something. It looked like a dress. Suspiciously like a dress. "Were you hiding from me, pookiekins? Come here, my little itsy bitsy tootsie."

Neville let out a whimper and huddled further under the cushion. Harry stared at Ron. "Um, Ron…what's the matter? Have you gone mental…or something? And is that a dress you're wearing?"

In two bounds Ron was staring at Harry, his eyes angry. "Is there something wrong with my dress? Huh? Huh? Is there something wrong with my dress, punk? And my name isn't Ron…it's Veronica." He sniffed, in a fair imitation of Hermione. Harry gave Ron another crosswise look.

"You're insane, Ron. You've been my best bud for ages, except for that one time when you were being a brat during the Triwizard Tournament. But anyway, you're very male, and your name is Ron. And that's Neville, Ron. Neville."

"Pookiekins," insisted Ron. "His name is Pookiekins. And STOP CALLING ME THAT!" he roared at Harry. Harry thought the sound force would knock him over. "MY NAME IS VERONICA, NOT THIS VULGAR…RON…YOU SPEAK OF."

Harry backed away a couple steps. "Okay, Ro – I mean, Veronica. But…Neville?"

"ARE YOU QUESTIONING MY TASTE IN MEN?" Ron roared. "I'LL SHOW YOU NEVILLE, YOU LITTLE…TAKE THAT! AND THAT!"

Ron began vigorously whacking Harry with a porcelain, cherubic statue of a…well…cherub. Harry did his best to fend off the attacks, but Ron's aim was rather off, fortunately, and he seemed to be slightly on the blind side, so Harry was able to slip out of the living room and leave Ron whacking a couch cushion, instead. Harry hoped it wasn't the one with Neville under it. He thought he understood Hermione giving up on Ron now.