I'm always on the computer at weird times when the mood to write something finally hits me, I guess you could say it was true now, seeing as it's 3 in the morning.
Enough with my blabbering and on to a story I've been dying to write for some time now. (With the help of my loverly friend of course).
Basically, on the way home from camp, me and my friend got to talking about odd moments in the books and movies that really couldn't be explained, or just things in them that were so easy to make fun of. So for your, and our enjoyment, me and Oddly present Harry's time at Hogwarts, rewritten……
That Loser
Chapter 1: And then there was Pooter
The lightning cast an eerie glow as it lit up the giant manor. It was a house right out of a horror film, and I'm sure if you listened hard enough, you could even hear the clichéd music drifting through the air. (DUN-DUN)
This manor, which happened to sit on the peak of a hill, was covered in green ivy vines, strangling the house's windows from daylight. And of course, in front of the house was a rickety run-down fence, that's gate swayed in the breeze. Zigzagging from the gate, up to the house was a narrow dirt path.
So with all this mysterious horror hanging around the house, it wasn't unexpected at all to see bats fluttering around near the skeleton-like trees. But it was odd to hear someone brightly humming a song in the middle of all of this. So we venture inside to find the source…
Inside was just as you would picture a run-down haunted house. Old and musty, crypt-like. Every room was dark, except the kitchen, it had the only light on in the house. And inside the kitchen was a small woman with curly brown hair, who was happily dancing across the tile floor, watering her plants. She was just about to spin off towards the next plant, when suddenly; there was a knock on the back door.
The woman was not very surprised or unnerved by this, even though it was in the dead of the night. Just curious. She carefully set down her watering can on the counter and shuffled over towards the back door. She pulled it open to reveal…no one. Puzzled, the woman looked around just outside her doorstep.
There. On the welcome mat, a letter. She bent over and picked it up, then, her eyes still on the letter; she walked back inside and shut the door. Once inside the house, the woman began to open this strange letter, wondering who had to talk to her this late at night. Slowly, she unfolded the note inside the letter and read the neatly scrolled lines.
Quickly, as if it had bit her, she dropped the note, screaming. She rushed over towards the cabinet drawers and frantically tugged them open, one after another. The force behind her pulling, causing the silverware to clash loudly against each other.
Finally, she found it in the last drawer. Reaching in, she extracted a huge butcher knife, gleaming evilly in the light.
She was laughing now, madly. Insane laugher echoing in the tiled room. She plunged the metal knife deep into her chest. Her laughter turned into howls, and pretty soon she was quiet; her breathing lapsing, coughing up blood. She lost feeling in her fingers, and they become blue as they gripped the handle. She was losing feeling in her legs too, as the muscles stiffened and the tendons tensed up.
She stumbled, her legs refusing to bend, hit the wooden table, and fell backwards onto one of her many plants that scattered the kitchen. The knife digging deeper into her flesh. Her vision was becoming hazy, as the searing pain in her chest became a dull ache.
Her blue lips separated, gasping for air. "All f-for you…Edmund…"
Her eyes closed, and in her last breaths her hands fell away from the handle of the knife, limp at her sides.
Then there was silence.
Silence.
The steady drop of blood onto the fichus leaves was the only movement left.
Unfortunately, this tale has nothing to do with haunted houses and suicidal women.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way. It also happened to be Halloween in the year 1981, as our cameras zoom in suddenly to a house found in Godric's Hollow.
Everybody knew that Voldemort was after the Potters. So it was no surprise that if you weren't James, Lily, Harry, or their Secret Keeper, then you wouldn't even be able to see the house they lived in; because the Potters were in hiding.
But what was a surprise was that their Secret Keeper was none other than Peter Pettigrew. You would think that James and Lily, being the top of their class at school, would have figured it out. After all, Peter wasn't even as close to James as his other two friends. But he still trusted Peter over even Dumbledore. I mean really, look at his animagus form, he's a rat! A RAT! This just proving humanity's one true error, stupidness.
Anyways, on that All Hallo's Eve, Lord Voldemort planned his attack. Which really, no one was suspecting, the date being no different from any other date of the year. Oh, ok…it did have a bad rep as being the most evil day of the year, but that's not very important. With the help of Peter (whom Voldemort should have suspected would give him bad directions, him…after all…being a rat.) Voldemort successfully found and entered the Potters house, the day just happening to be Halloween (which made it all very dramatic none-the-less).
A bright golden light glowed around the back door as it swung open to reveal…Voldemort.
The Dark Lord marched inside to the living room, finding James there. Dueling stances were immediately taken.
"Scared Pooter?" Voldemort spat.
"You wish-wait… what? Pooter?"
"Yeah…James Pooter, the Pooters."
"My name's Potter!"
"Potter? What kind of name's Potter?"
"What kind of name's Pooter!"
"It's better than Potter!" Voldemort said, becoming hysterical.
"You mean to say you came here to kill my whole family and you don't even know our names?"
"Since when am I required to memorize peoples names!"
"You gotta be kidding me! After all went through, Voldy! The whole 'Thrice Defied' thing!"
"Look, I already feel bad enough! Ok?" Said the Dark Lord, tearing up.
James, feeling a little awkward, lowered his wand. "Here-don't cry. I'll uh-I'll get you a tissue." He turned his back and went to do so.
"HA! Your weakness for comforting crying, ugly, evil Dark Lords shall be your downfall! Avada Kedravra!"
A green light shot out of his wand and went straight…out the window. He missed.
"That was lame." James snickered.
"Shut up!" Voldemort whined, flailing his arms.
"Ok, ok, just get on with it."
"Ha, Potter, you blood-traitor. You will never see your loved ones again-"
By this time, he had to stop, because of a stifling-like noise Potter was making across from him. James was trying to hold his laughter in-but he ending up straying spit all over Voldemort and cracking up instead.
"Avada Kedravra!" He growled, he could still hear the bloody laughing echoing in his head even after everything was silent.
Stepping over James Potter's dead body, Lord Voldemort made his way to the stairs, then up to wee little Potter's room, the reason he came here for.
"Kill me instead!" Lily Potter screamed as he walked into the room.
"What?" he said, exasperated. This was a long night.
"Not Harry! Please not Harry!"
"Oh, ok, I'll just floo over to your second cousin's, Chad Potter, and kill him instead!" The Dark Lord rolled his eyes.
"Oh…that would be nice-"
"Move aside you silly girl!"
Lily blushed, "I am silly-aren't I?" she laughed, flipping her hand.
He had had enough. "Avada Kedravra!"
And with a flash of green light, his last roadblock was histo-what?
Lily wasn't dead. In fact, she looked very much giddy.
"This isn't possible!" He screeched in outrage.
"Hey Voldy," she said, "all you need is love."
"You should be dead!"
"Oh, I am."
"But-"
"But I had to tell you this before I died. Ha-ha-ha-ha-nana-nana-boo-boo! You'll-be-sorry-!" She recited in a singsong voice. Then fell over. Dead.
Voldemort, kinda freaked out now, drew his wand and pointed it at Harry.
"And they said you'll be my downfall, pathetic. Look at yourself! You don't even have a fashion sense!" Indicating to his teddy-bear clad pj's.
"Goodbye Harry Potter. Avada Kedravra!"
And we all know what happens from there. Let's move on shall we?
Harry Potter was a young boy of eleven who lived with his aunt and uncle because his parents had been killed in a car crash. It was all very sad and depressing. But what was even more pathetic was that poor, innocent, young Harry slept in a cupboard. Made to sleep with spiders and brooms and other nasty things. But it wasn't from his guardians evilness, no, Harry just liked mops. That's right, The-Boy-Who-Lived had a mop fetish.
And because of this strange hobby, Harry was often seen cleaning the house and lawn. Because that's just what Harry liked to do. He was weird. Another thing that made Harry weird was his emerald green eyes, untamable black hair, and an odd scar on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Oh, he also wore glasses, which were taped together. So now we can conclude that he was also a dork.
But these things did not bother Harry, because deep down inside, Harry knew that one day he was meant for greatness! Even if he was beaten up and bullied from his cousin; one day-when he was great- he would make them pay, they would all pay! THEY WOULD REGRET EVERY TIME THEY HAD:
pushed him in the mud
threw stones at him
gave him a wedgie
gave him a swirly
stole his shoes
made fun of him
AND STOLE HIS MOPS! Because with his great power, then they would all pay!
At that very -insane- moment of thought, someone knocked on his cupboard door. It was time for him to cook breakfast. He clutched his favorite mop to his chest.
Don't touch the mops.
By some unreasonable amount of luck, which we can say only happened because the author needed this to pop up in the storyline somewhere; Harry was taken to the zoo.
This was his first time at the zoo, he had heard many things about it though, wasn't it filled with lions and tigers and bears?
"OH MY!" screamed Petunia, out of nowhere.
Everything Harry had heard was true; he did have fun at the zoo. But they only had one more stop before it was time to leave. So they followed the yellow-brick road up to the reptile house.
Inside was dark and damp and cool. It was also decked out in green and silver, but this had nothing to do with anything and for no reason at all foreshadowed anything.
As fate would make it, Harry walked up to the cage of a huge boa constrictor. And because Harry was weird and slightly insane, he began talking to it. Only people who have no friends would talk to animals, and everyone would be going 'awwwww…' for the poor boy if they weren't already laughing at the dork for being friendless.
And it just so happens, that the snake talked back. But you might as well forget this now, because it never pops up in the storyline again, as I've told you before.
"Oh great big, evil snake, I am so sad."
"Why are you sssad?"
Harry gasped, shocked-like. "You can talk!"
"No duh, dipssstick- I mean, yess masster."
"Master? What, does that mean…like, you have to listen to me?"
"Yess"
Harry was really liking this 'great power' thing. Vengeance is soo sweet, no matter what the self help books say about it always blowing up in your face.
"Well, then, ATTACK DUDLEY!"
And for the same convenient reason that Harry went to the zoo and learned to talk to snakes, the glass of the snake's cage vanished, as it then did Harry's bidding.
"MWHAHAHA!" cackled Powercrazy!Harry.
So Petunia screamed, Dudley peed his pants, Vernon showed the world he was really a pansy, various people fainted, zookeepers were called in for help, and the snake escaped. Muttering back at Harry something that sounded like "Sssee you in two yearss." But that was not important.
Soon all good things must come to an end, and then Harry was locked in with his mops again, having realized that, against all reason, self help books don't lie. Unless the company has decided that it's more profitable, or they just don't like you.
By now you readers understand what the Dursley's did not understand. Harry was magical, that's why all these strange things were happening, but as it happened, even Harry was dense; so that's why Harry was very surprised one day to find a letter addressed to him.
On the first day, Harry got one letter. Which was taken from him.
On the second day, he got five letters, which were again, taken from him.
So Harry figured the next day when he got the mail he would open a letter in the hall.
Let's take a break and add up the things we know about Harry: weird, dorky, friendless, STUPID.
The third day Uncle Vernon got to the letters first and burned all fifteen. Harry was beginning to lose hope, would the letters keep coming?
Harry sat at the breakfast table grumbling, it was Sunday, and he would have to wait till tomorrow to try and steal a letter, but he doubted he could, because his uncle had boarded up the windows and the doors so that no letters could get through. So he sat there, sulking.
Just as he was about to stop pondering over the letters, and eat some food, a buzzing sound could be heard from the living room. Glances were exchanged, and they all made their way to see what was going on…
Hundreds of letters were shooting out of the fireplace. Harry was ecstatic; no fear of paper cuts would keep him from this! So he dove into the fray, trying to snatch a letter.
Harry jumped up and down, trying to grab a letter out of the hundreds that were very closely clumped together in the air. But. He. Just. Couldn't. Do. It. This is where we wonder if the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die failed gym; every single year. It was amazing that he made the Quidditch team; after all, his position on the team was basically grabbing small things out of the air. Why would his ability leave him now? When a blinded retard could do better than him?
"THAT'S IT! WE'RE LEAVING!"
A furious Uncle Vernon scooped Harry up around the middle and pulled him bodily out of the room. Quickly he was forced to pack and they all left the house, Uncle Vernon at the wheel driving them…somewhere. His face was red, he was muttering to himself, and his left eye was twitching. This couldn't be good.
Siriusly