Thoroughly Modern Magic


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and associated characters belong to JKR, not me. Well, what a shocker. And the stunts were originally done by a famous American git-wizard (and that phrase is courtesy of the Now Show). Sorted.

Author's Notes: I just liked the idea. It made me laugh anyway. Hope you enjoy. I certainly enjoyed doing this to the Dream Team. Feedback is always welcomed. You know where the review button is, right? Thank you.


Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in the corridor outside Dumbledore's office. Harry kicked moodily at the wall, his hands firmly jammed in his pockets.

"What do you think he wants?" he asked. The other two shrugged.

"Dunno," Ron said, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, "you been seeing things again, Harry? Like last year?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "And I haven't done anything either. Why'd it be me, anyway?"

"Usually is," Ron commented, then hastily changed the subject. "Oh look, the door's opening."

Indeed it was, and the threesome made their way up the stairs and into Dumbledore's office, feeling somewhat apprehensive and uneasy. The office was exactly as it always was, with the usual nondescript silver instruments and the tacky sword that Harry had used in his second year. The headmaster himself sat behind his desk.

"Good morning Harry, Hermione, Ron," he said, twinkling like the Father Christmas he was. "I expect you're wondering why you're here."

The three nodded, awed as ever by the headmaster (apart from Harry, who was still desperately trying to be a teenage rebel).

"Well, it appears that our magic is hopelessly outdated. To be more accepted in the Muggle world we need to upgrade, to modernise."

"Why do we want to be accepted by them?" Harry asked.

"We need unity to defeat Voldemort," Dumbledore told him gently, wondering if that would work as a chat up line on Sybill later. He coughed. "And it was decided that you three are the perfect candidates for it. It will require bravery and courage, and would bring respect from many people."

"I'm in," Harry said, "what do we have to do?"


(Frozen In Time)

Hermione's task was, as Dumbledore had told her, perfectly simple. She just had to stay in one place for a while. Unfortunately for her, this place was in the middle of an ice block. A big, freezing cold ice block. In the middle of a large public area. Hermione could see all the people walking past staring at her.

I'm going to kill Dumbledore, she thought angrily, shivering as much as the ice would allow her to. A drop from the slowly melting ice dripped onto the back of her neck. Hermione just knew that all this water was going to make her hair really, really frizzy. That made her very, very angry.



Ron's face had an expression that was even more terrified than usual. Even his freckles had gone pale.

"This isn't fair," he moaned, knees trembling, "I bloody hate heights!"

The pole he was standing on was rather tall. Far too tall for Ron's liking. Broomsticks were okay; you could control them. But this was just standing on a big pole. Closing his eyes, Ron decided not to look down. A seagull flapped past idly.

Oh God, he pleaded silently, please don't let there be any wind.


(Above the Below, or Freakdangle)

Forty-four days! Harry's mind had screamed. Forty-four days in a Perspex box hanging from Tower Bridge! And in a nappy!

It was just not dignified. He had defeated Voldemort (or servants of the same) six times in all. How did that compare to sitting starving in a box? It just wasn't right. Harry leant back against the side of the box and sighed. Below, he could see lots of people gathered around. He smiled. It was nice to have supporters.

On the bridge below, people looked up at the idiot above. An American scowled.

"Oh, my God," he drawled, "like, what's with stealing my stunt?"

The man next to him wasn't listening. He was too busy fiddling with the remote control in his hands. It controlled a model helicopter from which hung a hamburger.

One cry united the crowds gathered below; a common cause and belief.



Dumbledore hummed to himself as he walked along to the hospital wing. His magic modernising had gone down very well. He pushed open the door.

Hermione lay wrapped in a foil blanket, suffering from hypothermia and really frizzy hair. Ron was encased in bandages and splints, having failed to hit the cardboard boxes properly on the way down. Harry was being fed through a drip. They all glared at Dumbledore, who smiled brightly.

"Well done, well done," he said jovially, "that worked wonderfully. There's one more thing though." He pulled out a revolver. "Now, I'm going to load one bullet into this. . ."

The End.