Chapter Four

Terrific Traumatic Transport

The moment Lily started ranting about how cruel it was to force us to go through the Hogwarts' Express ride and how damaging the smoke is to our environment, I decided I had had enough and popped into the train. Honestly, I'm fed up with my sister's talks. I have half the mind to go along with that threat and burn the Amazonas down just to miff her. Die trees, die!

But then again, if I did, my sister would probably murder me with some sort of plant, and I'd die a virgin, which is unacceptable. Seriously, how pathetic can I get? When I die, girls should mourn me, missing me because I'm the King of Passion – they should never wail because an incarnated Saint left the Land of the Living.

Yeah, I know, I am obsessed. Honestly, you would be obsessed too if you lived among highly active fiends and the best kiss you ever got was from a second year stalker. No, I didn't enjoy it, I'm not a paedophile!

So I'm on the Hogwarts' Express, looking for my best mate Scorpius, my cousin Rosie or my other good friend Elisabeth. The only way to spot Scorpius is by following the scent of his evil shisha. I sniff the air – nothing. I sniff a door, not minding a couple of ickle firsties that look at me as if I had sprouted another head. Pffft. Newbies, always thinking they are whoop-dee-doo brilliant.

Plus, behaving like a dog is the only way to avoid certain unpleasant people. I don't know how many times I have begged my dad to let me borrow his Invisibility Cloak, but he won't budge. He says he uses it for his Auror work, but I doubt it. He is most likely using it for doing wicked things to my mum. Ew. Why am I so obsessed with my parents' sexual life? Ew.

Let me tell you, no child should put up with what I have to at home. Children should think for the rest of their lives that they were immaculately conceived. My parents – bloody sadists – blew that dream of mine to smithereens. It's a cruel world.

Aha! I finally caught a whiff of those nasty fumes. Scorpius swears it is strawberry-flavoured, but it smells as if he was smoking Mrs. Norris II. I understand why he would want to get rid of that cat, but slicing her up and then putting chunks of her into that shisha of his is a tad nasty, if you ask me. Scorpius is weird and a wee bit insane, but he is my best mate and manages to put manly male manhood back inside me. Oh, what would I ever do without him?

Oy, seriously! Whoever decorated the Hogwarts' Express had no sense of fashion. These murky yellowish, maroon and orange colours clash horribly. I swear, it makes me want to hit someone. Preferably with a purple handbag, just to have a bigger impact.

Blast it! Do you see now why I need Scorpius?

I follow that odious odour. No matter how much I despise that smell, I know it will take me to my best mate. It's destiny, it's been prophesied: Scorpius, me and a shisha, weaved together until death does us part.

Did I just sound incredibly gay?

I shake my head vigorously. Gay thoughts, go away! I'm Al Potter, a Macho Man! Shoo! Shoo!

I shove my hands into my pockets and ruffle my already tousled hair. I loosen my tie the way girls like it and produce the trademark Slytherin smirk. Ha! That will teach those gay thoughts not to mess with me, Albus Stallion Potter. So there.

Oh heck, the Slug Club is doing their typical conga dance. I had better hide. The last time I had the misfortune to be in the way of their diabolic dance I ended up seriously wounded. Professor Slughorn (yeah, still alive and kicking) and his massive stomach hit me as he twirled around and sent me flying off a window. Let me tell you, Japan is full of people who have an unhealthy obsession with cameras.

All right, so his huge belly didn't cart me off to Japan, it just flung me over the corridor. Still close, though.

Oh, that reminds me, it's the fist of September. That means that tonight a bunch of cameras are to meet their death at my hands. Mwahahahaha.

I wonder if that was how Voldemort laughed. Oh wait! Dad said that Voldemort had a shrill voice. So he would his laugher would be something like "mwihihihihi". I wonder how on earth did he become the scariest Dark Lord in History? Seriously, he sounds like a randy cow with a bad case of constipation. I blame it on Nagini: interaction with a baboon must have turned him loopy. Voldymoo Brokeback Mountain, honestly.

Run, Al, run! The Slug Club is here!

I give a loud shrill – er, a manly yelp – and dash off to the nearest loo. I don't bother to check if it's the appropriate bathroom. Honestly, my life is in danger! Stomachzilla is on the prowl!

… Plus, if I'm lucky enough, there might be some ladies inside.

Yes! It's the ladies' room! Wooohoo, way to go, Al!

Oh drat, it's empty. Oh well, at least it's a good place to hide. And it's clean, unlike the boys' loo. Still, it would be better if there were some nice lasses around, throwing pillows about in nothing but their knickers.

I giggle. It's every man's dream.

All right, so the slight drool that's trickling down my chin is a tad unbecoming, but can you blame me?

I can hear the Slug Club Train of Choo-Choo Conga twirling around, so I decide that it's a good idea to hide in a stall, extra layers and protection and all that. But why do they have to be so dark? Why isn't there a light on?

Yeah, I know, it's pathetic to be afraid of the dark at the age of sixteen. I blame it on my dad. He used to live under a cupboard for the first eleven years of his life, all gloomy, claustrophobic and plagued with spiders. So I guess I started getting scared of the dark and closed places after I heard those tales.

I still –

'Oooomph!'

Oh My Gurdyroot! I'm being kidnapped! Oh heck, I'm paralysed, I can't get my wand! Shucks, someone just gagged me and tied me up! Flook flook! What do I do? Flook!

I knew it, it's the Japanese invasion! They are going to kill me because of all of the cameras I have burnt! They are going to slaughter my ruggedly handsome self because I was concocting a plan to murder that Fujitsu God-of-Cameras bloke! Oh no, I will most definitely die as pure as a –

'You… Are… My… Slave…'

My eyes open wide in fear. Oh no, oh no, no no, no! This is much worse than a horde of angry camera devotees! It's worse than Voldemort on PMS! Worse than Draco Malfoy after he discovered he was going bald! Worse than that one time when a garden gnome at The Burrow humped my leg!

It's her – my stalker!

Oh flook! She is groping me! Flook!

Harry Bloody Potter Saviour of the Frickin' World – where the blazes are you? Help! Help! I'm in distress! I'm like the fairy tale princess locked up in the topmost tower of a fancy castle, with a deadly enemy by my side. Only I'm not a girl. I have manly bits, if you must know. Yeah, seriously, I do. And I don't need a boy to snog me senseless.

'I missed you, Albie,' she whispers into my ear, making me shiver in revulsion. She's friggin' twelve! 'I have changed my name to Alba -' (flook! Is she serious?) '- Albus and Alba – it's fate! We are getting married in June at Madam Puddifoot's -'

Voldemort, kill me!

Screw my Manly Code, I'm about to get raped by a toddler, I want to cry and have my mummy and daddy with me!

Both fully clothed, though. Pervs.

' Don't move. I will have your child, Albie. It's going to take nine months for the stork to deliver it, so we must hurry. We could name him Alberic -'

My mind is screaming and my eyes are racing around frantically. I need to get out of here. I'm too young to be a dad, and I don't want to have a kid with a twelve year-old. I would be a terrible dad. I would end up miserable and stooping so low so as to steal Scorpius's shisha and drown my pain with it. It would break my dad's heart.

I could kill myself right now. I need ideas. Think, Al, think.

Resurrect Severus Snape and then give him a hug.

Tell Scorpius she is very pretty and that I want her babies.

Burn the Forbidden Forest in front of Lily.

Resurrect Sirius Black and have him watch me giving Snape a hug.

Resurrect Voldemort and wear a big "I support Harry Potter" badge in front of him.

Commit grammarcide in front of cousin Molly.

Outwit Hugo when he speaks like a gangster.

Transfigure myself into some wacky Muggle device and let Grandpa Arthur play with me. Oh. Ew.

Tell the newly resurrected Voldemort that he has daddy issues.

Throw a microwave at the newly resurrected Voldemort and scream "You're It!"

Huh? Come to think about it, I'm not being raped. I'm still wearing all of my clothes! Yay, I'm so happy I could do an Irish jig! Well, I would if it weren't for the fact that I'm still tied up. But the thing is that at least I'm not about to be defiled by some runt, which is good news.

Then again, she is hugging me to death and inhaling the scent of my hair with such a force it's as if I had a vacuum cleaner on top of my head. Oh drat, what if I turn bald? Oh no! This is horrible! I –

BANG.

'What's going on?'

I'm saved! I'm saved! My friend Elisabeth just turned up! I swear, I can see her dressed as an Amazona, a spear in her hand and sunshine and war music in the background! Tchan, tchan, tatachan, pweereepee peepee pee pump um dum, dada dun!

The brave warrior rescues the mansel – yes, I'm a mansel – in distress, covers him with an extra robe and guides the poor shivering and traumatised thing out of the place where he was tortured. She gives the evil fiend and glare so powerful the villain in petrified in her spot, but will of curse seek revenge.

The end.

Somehow I don't think fairytales are about incredibly handsome sixteen year-olds who are kidnapped by psychotic twelve year-olds and end up being rescued by a friend who resembles a super assassin birdie in leather clothes. But who knows? Thing might change. Take that, Cinderella!

I give Elisabeth a calculating stare. She looks tired and angry, her black hair is all over her face and her blue eyes are steely. Meaning, she is miffed. I better not tell her then that she looks a tad fit in leather clothes then.

I'll keep the image in my mind, especially for the next time I get kidnapped.

I sigh. I'm so gay sometimes.

-oOoOoOoOo-

DISCLAIMER: JKR owns Harry Potter, not me

A/n: So sorry for the delay! Seriously, exams at med school suck. Big time. I promise that if any of you burns my uni to smithereens I will update more frequently. Oh, and make sure you burn the exams too.

I really need my random muse to get back. I only have my cerebellum muse around. Pffft.

Until next time,

Vermouth

Member of the Siriusan Order.