Well, non-readers of the novels, i.e. anyone, like me, who’s never read a page of any of the 6 or 7 books, or however many there are now. I’ve seen a couple of the films, so I know a bit about the story, that there’s a school called Hogwarts and they play a kind of violent croquet not on the lawn but hovering above it.
Th idea of this thread is that we jointly write the next great Potter novel. It doesn’t matter if you get names wrong (that’s encouraged, in fact), or get your wizards mixed up with your sorcerers, or whatnot. Again, that’s very much what we’re looking for.
Harry sat on his tuck-box pondering the unfairness of life. As she matured, Hermione’s preference for older men had strengthened, and the attentions she was paying to Dr. Blackstock were making him close to puking. The fellow with freckles, whose name Harry was always forgetting (but inwardly he called him Loser), seemed to have attached himself to Harry like a limpet. Frankly, as Harry looked forward in his mind’s eye across the long sweep of the Michelmas Term, he couldn’t see for the life of him how he was going to get through it if some jolly little adventure didn’t raise its head above the parapet of the tessellated walls of Hogwarts…
“Mr. Potter!” A deep booming voice interrupted his reverie.
It was Professor Longendill, Master of the Art of Wand Waving and General Demon-Forecasting.
“Shouldn’t you be in laboratory now? Headmistress Penzachnia would not approve of your increasing delinquency. Are you still moping about your dead parents? Time to move on, dear Potter. Move on!” Longendill’s voice was not too unkindly, but the saturnine gaze was accented by the fiery red pupils. He had probably been nipping from the Potion Cupboard again, as was his habit.
“What’s that?” Hermione cried, “Muggles making fun of something that brings joy to millions of people young and old?”
“I’ll never understand why muggles feel the need to trample over those who are just having a good time.” Harry said sadly.
“I know what it is,” said Ron, “it’s because they haven’t got anything in their own lives that they’re passionate about, and it makes them feel like big shots if they shoot down other people’s fun.”
“I think we should turn them all into hogs with warts” cackled Hagrid, with a glint in his eye.
“Oh YES, let’s do!” the trio yelled, clapping their hands together in unison.
All of a sudden, several miniature hogs with very nasty warts all over their bodies were scampering around the room. Hagrid opened the door to his shack and Ron, Herminone and Harry stamped their feet and shooed the tiny hogs outside into the blackness.
“Do you think the dragons are hungry?” asked Ron.
“I certainly hope so.” said Hermione. “Now, which one of you should I go to the dance with?” Ron and Harry both looked embarrassed.
To be continued…
(No, I haven’t read all the books, but isn’t this thread going a bit too far? Sheesh.
Harry said dryly, “The police didn’t promise a little boy they would find out who caused his parents to become insane,” as he put on his thick, black glasses and stared into the sun.
“Not a sensible thing to do, young Potter,” said Matron, as she grabbed Harry by the hand and shooed him away. “You’ve got rugger this afternoon, you stupid liitle boy. How on earth is Dumwits going to beat Crackheads if you’re seeing stars when you should be seeing a rugger ball.”
“But, Matron, rugger is so passé, don’t you know? No kicking about an inflated pig’s bladder for us.”
“Then what the hell do you guys play these days?” asked Matron, clealry troubled.
Harry hoped for another glance of the tatoo the nect time Hermonie bent over to retrieve a pencil. He knew he could get into the bitch’s pants if he could get that bastard Ron out of the way. Perhaps there could be a Nasty Dragon Accident in Fire Breathing Reptiles 1300 tomorrow. If not, a defenetration into the moat was in order.
Harry began to tremble with excitement as he used his wand to drill a hole between the Warlock and Witches bathrooms.
“Damn”, cried Harry, far louder than he ought to considering who might be around. The batteries in the wand had run down and the nearest shop, Patel’s Corner Store, had closed early for the annual Bismati festival.
“Never mind. I’ll borrow the freckled bloke’s one. He won’t miss it,” thought Harry to himself, more silently this time.
“Bob’s your uncle” spouted Harry.
“I’ll just nip off to the Loo and nab a pint.” ejected Hermione.
“Check the lorry on the way, I think I left my broomstick in the boot.” interjected Ron.
“Take the lift, its quicker.” opined Harry
“There’s a queer cove” Ron announced as Professor Snape walked by.
“He’s a bit of a fanny if you ask me” Harry whispered.
Harry emerged from a snog behind the bicycle sheds with an expression on his face that seemed to say “I’ve been snogging again”.
The hormones were kicking in.
But, there was work to do be done in defending Hogwarts against Lord Vegemite. Armed with the information he had gleaned from his latest conquest between snogs, Harry stood erect as he communicated this to Dumbingdown.
“You were snogging with a…a…girl when you learned this? But I though we had something, you know, special going! Oh well, so you tell me, Lord Vegemite is behind the unionization of the house elves? But who will we get to do our slave labors?”
Dumbingdown looked out the window at all those young, innocent, impressionable students, so eager to please, and a slow smile spread across his warty face.
:: Stephen Fry General Melchett voice: "Meh! That’s the spirit!::
“It was, I mean, IS special, Dumbingdown,” breathed Harry, caught between his love for Hermoniony and the stirrings in his loins that betrayed his feelings for his mentor. “It’s just – just that…as one grows, one develops different, you know, different…”
Dumbingdown’s face had turned a colour that matched his flowing robes. Rather than speaking, he spat at Harry: “Out with it, boy! Out with it!”
“I’m in love with Scrape, sir,” he cried, and shot from Dumbingdown’s chamber.
What is this thread except a stupid and pointless attempt to sneer at the books and the people who like them? Making up a story with mumbo-jumbo names is just sad and pathetic. Get a blog.
You do need to cool off. I’m fifty, and a huge HP fan. Bought book last Saturday morning, and finished it Sunday evening. Yet I find this thread hilarious.
[Foghorn Leghorn] It’s a joke son, ya understand me? A joke ah say![/Foghorn Leghorn]
Hermeeown… hermine… hermaphrodite… herman… (dammit) Her-My-Oh-Nee! burst through the Griffin Door gasping for breath.
“Harry, come quick!! Ron’s been attacked by a Doxy!! No, you twit, one of those flying venomous insects!”
Harry and Her… dammit… his female friend burst out of the castle running as fast as they could to the greenhouses where Doxys were known to cluster. Passing by Hagrid’s hut, they stopped briefly to catch their breath. Only to hear Professor Twig (or Root, or Branch, or something vegetation-related)'s voice inside the hut, saying something incoherent.
Harry and Herbie stopped in astonishment. What was Professor Trunk doing in Hagrid’s hut??? Shouldn’t she (??? it was honestly hard to tell, with those loose robes and odd hairstyles. Professor Leaf could have been a woman, a man, or a chicken for all they could tell) be at the greenhouses, dealing with the doxy infestation? A student’s life was in danger! Then again, the teachers never seemed to be around when life-threatening stuff was happening to the kids. Someone ought to sue their negligent asses.
They listened more carefully. And were even more puzzled when they heard Professor Stamen’s voice saying, with a definite cooing tone, “Why Hagrid! And you told me your… wand… was broken! It seems to be, oooooh, fully functional and capable of performing all sorts of magic…”.
Suddenly, Harry felt a nudge at his ankle. Looking down, he saw the former ferret mascot, Peter Piper Equipoise.
“Harry Potter! Such behavior is most unbecoming of you! Don’t you have any respect for the honor and traditions of the most notable institution of Hogwallets? Your father must be spinning in his grave! And your poor late mother–the shame, the shame! How dare you dilly-dally with such hijinks when you have so many other things that you’re obliged to take oh-so-seriously!”
He never did like that ferret. This was the second time in the last week the twerp was busting his bollocks for simply unwinding a bit. He had had enough.
“Piss off!” said Harry, as he unceremoniously squished the pest.