CHAPTER FOUR – GHETTO HARRY

Disclaimer: YAY Harry in all his ghetto glory! Yummy. Unfortunately, I own not Harry or his ass.

Warning: This chapter contains a LOT of colorful language.

Harry Potter slumped over to Hermione in the library the day after his duel. He had been beaten by a girl. He his ass had been thoroughly kicked by a GIRL. The thought was too much. On top of this, he felt like he had a hangover. His head was pounding and for some reason he couldn't shake the mental image of Dumbledore giving McGonagall a lap dance. Not that he'd actually seen such a thing in real life. He had lost a Ayrton in dismay, not feeling the need to eat. He was dealing with such aguish in a very strange way: he had decided to go ghetto. He tapped Hermione on the shoulder and said, "Crookskanks. Yeah. He's a she. Mrs. Norris? She's a he."

"I—what?"

"Neva mind, bitch."

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"Like a fuckin' pile of shit, how do you think?"

"SHHH!" said the librarian, spaying them with spit.

Harry Potta got all up in her face, yellin' an' shit. "I'LL 'SHHH!' WHENEVER THE HELL I WANT YOU OLD, BATTY, BASTARDING BARMCAKE! FUCK THAT, BITCH!"

"Out!" the librarian pushed him out the door.

"Fuck you." Ghetto Harry gave her the finger. "Fuckin' librarian…show her…show them all…they took the precious…MY preciousssss…we hates them…we kills them…we keels them good…" Potta was too busy muttering to himself to watch where he was going. He, of course, ran straight into Snape. Heaven forbid he goes a single day without contact with this vile, greasy, hygiene-challenged individual.

"WATCH IT POTTER!" He exploded into Harry Potta's face, blowing off his do-rag. "I AM NOT A BULLFIGHTER AND YOU ARE NOT A BULL, AND THOUGH YOU ARE EXTREMELY SEXY I MUST RESIST MY SELFISH KINKY DESIRES EVEN IF YOU SO HOT IN CORNROWS. AND STOP BUMPING INTO ME OR I MAY BE FORCED TO DOCK POINTS!"

"Wha?"

"Er, fifteen points from Gryffindor!"

"Fuck that, bitch." Harry Potta said for the second time that hour.

"DETENTION!" Perhaps some provocative kinky chores…Snape thought evilly.

Fortunately, Harry doesn't show up to that. He left Snape waiting by himself with the sequined thong, handcuffs, feathers, and cottage cheese. But that's another story.

"—You mix the lesbian unicorn fetus with the ogre toenail fungus powder and mix it counterclockwise seventeen times—"

Harry Potta interrupted Snape by suddenly starting to rap. It was a pitiful ramble about being the "Boi Who Fucking Lived" that covered various random subjects, like watermelon ("It's all watery and shit") to his "fly" shoes.

The class sat in stunned silence as Harry did a series of C-walks, the Worm, and other various dance moves that they couldn't identify, including some freestyle brake-dancing. Just as he was moon-walking out of the classroom, Snape said, "Pathetic. Malfoy can rap and dance way better than you, boi."

"WHAT did you say…about my mama?"

"Er--no, what I said was—"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY about my MAMA?"

"What?"

"TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT MY MAMA, YOU HALF-ARSED MOTHAFUCKA. WAIT. I TAKE THAT BACK. NOT EVEN YO' MAMA WOULD WANNA KEEP IT SALTLY WITH YOU!"

Snape whipped out his wand. I hate to do this Potter…I love your fine ghetto ass…but you've left me no choice…

Harry Potta pulled his out too. "Avada ca Debra!" he cried.

Absolutely nothing happened.

Snape looked at him. "Stupify," he said in a bored tone.

Dumbledore was standing over Harry Potta as he came to. "Good job," the headmaster said sarcastically. Harry Potta had never heard Dumbledore use a sarcastic tone of voice before. It was very fitting. "Absolutely peachy. You've given our Potions Master prostate cancer."

After he left, Ghetto Harry allowed himself a giggle.

Hermione glared at the back of the heads of the two people sitting in front of her. She ground her teeth loudly. She noticed vaguely her nails were digging grooves in the wood on the top of her desk. The two heads were leaning against each other, the vivid red mixing with brown. Spirals of wood shavings curled as he dragged her nails across the once perfect oak. She fought the urge to poke Ron in the head with the tip of her quill as her eye twitched insanely. Instead, she scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and shoved it into Bridget's hand. Bridget read it, looked back at her, smirking, wrote a reply and threw it over her shoulder. Hermione scowled as it bounced off her forehead and landed in her pumpkin juice.

I hate you.

Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful. You like my ruddle-doo, don't you, Granger?

Trust me, I have other reasons.

Oh, Mione! Don't be so jealous.

My NAME is HERMIONE. Bitch.

Bridget crushed the note in her fist and pointedly leaned against the oblivious Ron.

Aryton 10 lbs

Coming up: an auction, new roommates, and Sherlock Homes.