Chapter Two

Rambunctious Revolting Relatives

It's the first of September. I'm to go back to Hogwarts today to do my sixth year. I'm sixteen. I'm my dad's carbon copy. I live surrounded by hormonal flat-encephalogram idiots. Blee-arg.

The sun shines, birds chip, dogs bark merrily, my sister Lily yells something about the importance of hugging trees, my brother James burps "Hoggy Warty Hogwarts" in my face. Joy to the frickin' world. Welcome to Potter Bedlam.

I live at Potter Manor. It's huge. It's so big I'm considering hiring one of those Muggle touristic guides. If I get one, I'll make sure he is not Japanese. No offence to the people from that country, but I was freaked out as a kid when an elderly Japanese couple took enough photos of my family to become richer than the Queen of England if they sold them. Since then, I make it a monthly ritual to burn cameras. Mwahahahaha.

I don't burn Japanese people, though. That would be cruel.

So anyway - my place. I still get lost in it, even though I have spent all my life in this place. Oh, I do know which bits of the house I should avoid – West Wing is off limits. Def-o. That's my parents' zone and it's definitely not PG-13.

I swear, if I have to hear my mum howling at my dad "Oh, Dark Lord Potter, set your Basilisk upon me!" one more time – or if I have the terrible bad luck of catching my dad telling my mum "Horcrux, I will make you scream and writhe and yield to the power you know not with my Unbeatable Wand" again, I promise I will be the first wizard to ever successfully manage to perform an Unforgivable with a fake wand.

My parents are freaks.

After too many a time of catching them while boarding the Wild Ride Express, I screamed at my parents to put a stop to their ghastly perverted nature, but my dad told me he just couldn't. He gave me an explanation that I didn't believe at first, but to be honest, I think I do now. It's the only plausible reason. He told me that they had to keep going at it because one celebrated Seer had once prophesied that he would have twelve children.

He was so dead serious I think he told me the truth. Considering the life my old dad had as a teenager, revolving around evil conspiracies, twisted prophecies and whatnot; I'm inclined to believe that if he doesn't have those twelve kids, something terrible might happen. So I'm doomed to put up with the Potter Wildlife Discovery Channel.

How abso-bloody-lutely spiffing.

I have an older brother, James Sirius. He is mental. I'm not exactly normal, but he is beyond insane. The first thing you need to know about my brother is that his love for Quidditch is bigger than Hagrid's height. He refuses to be a somewhat mentally stable person: he has changed his signature from "James Potter-plus-a-girly-flourish" to "James Quidditch Potter-plus-a-girly-flourish". He even used that signature on an official Gringotts' Bank form.

Oh my Potter Prongs Patronus! I still have another year of putting up with his Gryffindor Quidditch Madness before he graduates!

Kill me, just kill me now.

James waltzes into my room, grossing me out by only wearing his zooming-Quaffles boxers. I can tell you, it's a tad disturbing when those Quaffles put a halt to their annoying whooshes and locate themselves in a very private part. I think James does it on purpose. Evil brother.

'Oy, Albie,' he says with a smirk, knowing perfectly well how much that nickname miffs me, 'have you seen my Pretty-Patil boxers?'

I roll my eyes at him. Bloke's such a man-whore – granted, I would love it if I were even given the bleeding chance to be a ladies' man like he is (that's a story for another time); but honestly, enough is enough. His obsession with twins borderlines psychotic.

'No, James. Now get out.'

Fortunately, I don't need to tell him twice. He slips out of my neat and tidy blue room. Yes, I'm a neat-freak. Yes, my room is blue. Manly midnight blue, not that baby blue pansy colour, mind you. You may wonder why I my room is blue instead of green-and-silver, my house colours. I will tell you why: no manly male would ever willingly paint his room silver. And green? I wince. My sister Lily is the reason.

But let's go back to James.

The second thing about my brother is that he is a complete womanizer. His mouth is dirtier than the Chamber of Secrets. Girls tend to find him devilishly handsome and just want to Dementor his mouth. I don't know why, seriously. Get rid of my dad's hair inheritance, and he looks just like mum. Does that mean that girls find my mum devilishly handsome and want to Dementor her too? Ooooooh, girl-girl action. Kinky.

Oh, wait. This is my mum we are talking about. Ew.

All right, I'm steering my thoughts away from my mum and those practically Oedipus-like thoughts. Otherwise I might just have to Crucio myself until my brains turn into mush. Er, all right. I shouldn't be joking about that. Blame it on my Slytheriness.

'Urg, I hate packing,' I mutter morosely, as a sock worms its way out of my trunk. Just so you know, socks are evil. Especially mines. They run away from me like Umbridge would flee from the Forbidden Forest. Socks were made to make my life miserable.

Twenty minutes later, I'm done. I have checked four times that I have included those items any red-blooded male should have. Of course, that doesn't mean that I will get to use them, because I'm doomed when it comes to girls. But still, it's the thought that counts, peeps.

I drag my trunk downstairs, probably pulling all the muscles in my arm. What can I say? I have my dad's physique when he was my age: I resemble an underfed vampire Skrewt. It's funny, because I never lived in a cupboard.

Oh no. My freakish sister is in the living room.

Let me tell you, you don't want to mess with Lily Potter. She inherited my mum's flaring temper and my dad's wrath. Lily is downright scary. It's as if she were on PMS all the bleeding time. No, it's actually worse than PMS. The girl is on warpath twenty-four/seven.

She is drumming her fingers impatiently on the chess table next to the couch. She has a scowl that promises death, mayhem and all the things green. I know my sister, all right? She is a psycho.

Lily would be very good-looking if she weren't so loopy. I know she is my sister, but I don't consider it incestuous saying that she is pretty. It isn't incestuous, is it? She got grandma Lily's face and dark red hair, but she has grandpa's James hazel eyes. When she smiles, I reckon that Lily is probably the second best-looking girl in the school.

But Lily smiling is as rare as seeing Flitwick sober. Crazy bint is a revolutionary. She is wearing her forest green "Society of Hogwarts' Alumni Growing Morals about our Enviroment" t-shirt – also known as "Shag me". She is oblivious to the subliminal message, though.

Yeah, you got that right. My baby sister only cares about hugging trees, adopting skunks, snogging the living daylights out of flamingos and such zoophile-related things. Lily thinks of herself as Mother Nature's Ambassador. I heard her once consoling the Whomping Willow.

My sister used to wear garments made of leaves stitched together until third year, much to our family's embarrassment. Not wanting to delve too much into womanly growth, my mum and dad flat-out refused to allow that charade for another second. They told her that unless she started sporting normal clothes, they would Portkey to South America and burn down the Amazonas. That got her into a right tiff, but she did give up on her Adam-and-Eve look.

Compared to my family, am I not perfectly normal and sane?

Dad and mum choose to stroll down the stairs just then, both wearing identical smirks. My eyes widen in horror. Not again. Please not again.

I bang my head against the nearest wall. Of all families in the United Kingdom, why do I have to belong to such a wacky one?

I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts. My life there makes sense. Well, almost. There are a few things I can't wrap my head around; but meh, you can't have everything in life. Oh well, the Potters aren't that bad compared to my mum's side of the family, the Weasleys.

The sanest person in the family is my glue-brother Teddy Lupin though. He is my dad's godson. I say "glue-brother" because he seems to be glued to us. Why on earth would someone willingly associate with my family is beyond me, but Teddy is cool. He is a rockstar, lead singer of "Remus and the Werewolves". He's my idol.

Oh, wait until you meet my best mate Scorpius! Despite his Malfoy sliminess, the bloke is brilliant! Really down to earth and sensible, unlike these clowns I have for a family. Scorpius is able to restore my sanity after spending too much time with the Rotter Potter Clan.

That is, unless he has been possessed by his Auntie Daphne's spirit and has gone back to smoking evil things with that shisha of his and playing his banjo.

My life isn't fair.

-oOoOoOoOo-

DISCLAIMER: JKR owns Harry Potter and millions of pounds. I own my laptop and my fridge's contents.

A/N: Oh my giddy Aunt Francis, I'm having so much fun writing this! It's mental. Oh, don't worry, after Albus gets to Hogwarts there is actually a story to tell, not just complete and utter randomness.

I can't claim I understand how the mind of an adolescent boy works, but I do remember when I was sixteen, even if I was a girl. I'm so happy those crazy days are over.

Review? *Puppy eyes*

Cheers.

Vermouth

Member of the Siriusan Order.