Hey, look, another chapter. Have you had time to digest the last one? Tough tits if you haven't! I'm on a roll, don't stifle my creativity just because you have no time to read. Maybe cut down on your TV time, or shave a half-hour from you whack-off schedule. I mean, what you do with your time is your business, but your parents know you're masturbating, and they're concerned. Seriously, like, once a day, tops. Take a breather, rehydrate, and enjoy this chapter.

Beth was considering how to open the front door with her hands full of bagged groceries when someone opened it for her. "Harry! Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

"It's the weekend."

"You came all the way from Scotland."

"It was a slow weekend."

Beth came in and set the groceries on the table. "So, how was your first week?"

"My chemistry teacher hates me, My head of house shanghaied me into playing sports, some albino daddy's boy keeps trying to be my friend, and there's a mythical beast guarding a secret that I'm pretty sure the headmaster wants me to find."

"...So, did you make any friends?"

Rick emerged from the garage, carrying a dripping plastic bag. "Oh, hey Harry. Did you quit that fruity school already?"

"No, dad."

"Your loss," Rick walked over to the kitchen sink and pulled a severed tentacle from the bag, which he proceeded to feed down the garbage disposal. "So, you said something about a secret? What secret?"

"I dunno. The Headmaster just told everyone to avoid a certain door unless they wanted to become a three-headed dog's chew toy. He didn't even lock the fucking door."

"Sounds like a secret not wo*uuuuurth* investigating."

"Wait, I agree with you?" Beth asked, stunned.

"Yeah, dad, what?"

"It's obvious the headmaster is trying to manipulate you into risking your life on some heroic quest," Rick replied, turning away from the sink and wiping tentacle juice on his lab coat. "Don't let yourself be controlled, that just gets you killed, or worse, married."

"Dad, I'm married, and I think I'm in control," Beth replied.

"You're a slave to a p*aaaar*asite of a husband, Beth," Rick replied. "It's not exactly an even relationship."

"You know I can hear you, right?" asked Jerry.

"Of course I do, Jerry. You're literally standing right next to me."

"So… you're telling me I shouldn't investigate whatever Dumbledore wants me to investigate because then I'd be doing what he wants me to do?"

"I'm not telling you to do anything, Harry," Rick replied, opening a cupboard and fishing out a box of Eyeholes. "Then I'd be the one manipulating you. You're a rational adult."

"He's eleven," Beth said, frowning.

"A rational adult trapped in a fleshy, pre-pubescent chrysalis, whatever," Rick replied. "Point is, you control your own destiny, not Dumbledore, and not me."

"I thought you always said no one is in control of their destinies, nothing happens for a reason, and everything is meaningless."

"That was before I found out my adopted son was some sort of miracle wizard Jesus. Do whatever the fuck you want, is what I'm trying to say."

Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Ok, thanks, I think."

"No problem. Wanna watch some interdimensional cable?"

"Nah, I'm kinda busy plotting how to get back at my asshole professor."

Rick grinned. "Want some help?"

Snape leaned back in his chair and dunked his biscuit into his mug of tea. Things were going well. He was torturing James Potter's son, Dumbledore was making no moves to stop him, and the Hogsmeade Grocery had been having a sale on McVitties. As long as he kept Quirrell away from the damn Stone, this year was looking up.

He was interrupted from one of his rare smiles by a hammering on the door. "Go away," he called. After a few seconds, he heard footsteps receding into the distance. Pushing himself up, he walked over to the door and opened it warily.

A small package sat on the ground by his door. He picked it up, quickly scanning it for hidden curses. The scan came up clean. Curious, he tore off the wrapping and read the colorful letters on the front of the box.

"Eyeholes?"

Suddenly, there was a crash behind him. Something had repelled down his chimney and was running towards him. Before he could react, he felt a fist striking his sternum.

"Get away from those Eyeholes!"

As the fireplace soot cleared, Snape could make out a strange-looking creature in a superhero costume, shouting through a megaphone.

"I'm the Eyehole man… those, those are my Eyeholes, not yours! Face my wrath… vill...villain!"

The thing karate chopped the potions master in the throat, sending him crashing to the ground gurgling. It grabbed the box and leaned down so that he was eye level with Snape. It pulled a bowie knife out and ran the blade down the professor's cheek, just light enough so as not to draw blood.

"Next time I find you with these, I will fucking kill you."

With that, it grabbed the box from Snape's hand and vanished up the chimney.

Snape lay there for several minutes, wheezing from a bruised esophagus. "What… what just happened?"

"-And so, at the request of Professor Snape, Filch has added something called 'Eyeholes' to the list of contraband items in Hogwarts," Dumbledore rolled up the scroll and shrugged. "Sorry to disturb you all, please continue your breakfasts."

"Well, that was weird," Ron said, turning to his friends.

"Kind of a bummer, about the Eyeholes, I mean," Morty said. "Those things are fucking delicious."

"Snape should've been more careful with his Eyeholes," Harry muttered, grinning over his plate of eggs. He glanced up at the staff table, where Snape sat trying to eat with a thick neck brace. He couldn't lean his head to get close to the plate, so every time he put a spoonful of wheaties to his mouth he spilled some down the front of his robe. Snape locked eyes with Harry and glared. Harry smiled back.