"What happened to Atlantis?"
"Someone left Aguamenti running."


Harry checked his Super Genius wrist watch; the hands of Wile E. Coyote indicated 6:42. He was standing in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He donned sunglasses.

"Evanesco-Veritas, Potter, James, Harry!" read Professor MacGoohan from the list of new students.

Harry marched across the floor to the Sorting Stool. Everyone in the room watched him go. The students. The teachers. And, from the biggest chair in the room, Headmaster Professor Arbus Wulfraed Alberich Fred Read-The-Oxford-Unabridged-Entry-It-Doesn't-Just-Mean-Bumblebee Dumbledore, a wizard with a beard marked off in years.

From the Sorting Stool Harry picked up the Hat that did the sorting, dislodged the cat from inside it, and placed it upon his head.

To the sound of a long wire being struck with a polished artillery shell the Hat immediately achieved transcendence, disappeared in a blaze of glory, and was not seen again on the Earth.

"Possibly a next step in our evolution," said Harry. "RAVENCLAW!"

"Um, yay?" said a small professor.

Professor Dumbledore said, "Will Mr Filch kindly fetch the animatronic Four Founders from the basement that we may Sort the remaining students?"

Harry went over to the Ravenclaw table and sat next to Hermione.

"Well, that was odd," she said, presenting him with a cup of Klatchian coffee. Unlike any other table, Ravenclaw had its own Klatchian coffee maker. They called it the knurd house.

"Yep," said Harry. "Actually my computer brain is so overclocked on this stuff —" he raised the cup — "that we had a whole long conversation about where to put me before it couldn't take any more and sublimed."

"What'd it say?"

"Oh," said Harry, and paused to drain his coffee in one gulp, "Slytherin's Basilisk would be happy with me in his house, Professor MacDuff would sooner set fire to Gryffindor Tower with everyone inside than let me in hers, and I love ponies. What'd the hat say to you?"

"Same thing."

"WATHANMATES!" cried Harry. "Oh, and apparently I intend to invent the chain-guillotine. Like a chainsaw, only with added AW350M4."

"Ew!" said Hermione. "Squick!"

"And humane! Wait, you did say quick, didn't you...?"

The Founders played one-potato-two-potato until the sorting was done, and then Headmaster Dorbeldumb stood up.

"Before you chow down I should like to say a few words," he said, "and as I can't help but notice that we omitted the sorting hat song, and we need to do a school song too, let's sing them all together:

Happy Happy Boom Boom, Happy Happy Boom Boom
Happy Happy Boom Boom, Happy Happy Boom Boom
Happy Happy Boom Boom, Happy Happy Boom Boom
Boomy Boomy Swamp Swamp Swamp!

Yay Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin,
the houses for those of you who prefer
pseudointellectualism, bullying and corruption
to the sultry bursts of ecstasy that compose life with Hufflepuffs.
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Rah Rah Rah! And The Muggles!

"Amen, preach it brother!" yelled a particularly heroic Hufflepuff.

"Hush, Cedric," admonished Bledore. "Let us not dwell on the despair that awaits the other three-quarters of the student body, for there is a reason they all want you dead. In other news, anyone wishing to practice alohomora is invited to try it in the third-floor corridor, where death and adventure await the enterprising. And now, this year's Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher has something to add. Be kind, it's his last year alive."

While the DADA teacher drifted up to the podium like a man suspended by wires, his feet lightly scraping the floor, his terror-stricken face reconfigured into a confident smile. "Good evening," he said in a tone dry but not unwitty. "As you probably know, the position of teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts was cursed by You-Know-Who Himself. Consequently I will be making a doomed attempt to evade the rule of doom by changing the course, returning to the older, more proactive format titled—"

His fists raised up into the air, his head snapped back ninety degrees and he roared:

"MORTAL KOMBAT!"

He then returned to normal and said "Look forward to it. Thank you and good night."

Quirrel scraped his way back to his seat where he collapsed with a rattle of bones quite like a set of bamboo wind-chimes, and Professor Gongledarg returned to the podium.

"Sleep tight," said the Headmaster, with a little wave to the school. "Don't let the bed-bugs bite. If you do, ask a prefect to Apparate you directly to Madam Pomfrey as it is so frequently fatal."

This, thought Harry as he brushed treacle-tart crumbs from his robes onto the floor, is going to be the best year ever.