Disclaimer-Don't own it. You can't sue, all I've got are my Hermit Crabs! (Holds Hermit Crabs) No!!!!!! You can't take away Peaches&Herb! (Weeps bitterly) Woe is me!

Disclaimer # 2-If I've stolen anything from SilverPhoenix25 or citygirl1116, it is only because I love your stuff and wish to spread it around.


The Boy Who Must Live For Sake Of Plot


Mr. and Mrs. Vernon and Petunia Dungby of number 4, Prissy Drive, were proud to say they were very normal, thank you. You're welcome! Don't mention it! I won't! Fine! Fine! Fine! FINE!!!

SHUT UP!!!!!!!!!!

Sowwy.

Ahem, they were the last people you'd expect to be mixed up in anything strange or mysterious (although Petunia DID seem oddly upset when Martha Stewert was imprisoned, but I'm SURE that the hoards of American money hidden in the cupboard under the staircase had NOTHING to do with it) because they didn't hold with such nonsense. Which was strange, because we often found books in Petunia's bookshelf that had titles such as How To Hide From Your Beefy Husband That You're Actually A Witch And Dated Severus Snape But Left Hogwarts When You Were Attacked By Death Eaters And Irrationally Blamed Your Sister For It And Now Live An Angsty And Regretful Life For Dummies.

Vernon Dungby ran a firm called Gruntings, which taught beefy, ugly men to scare small children. Petunia Dungby was very, very thin because she had taken the Atkins Diet way too far. Despite wearing a negative 798 in jeans size, her cholesterol level was now through the roof. Go figure. She also gave insider training tips to evil, sadistic yet surprisingly cheerful domestic-supplies making American women…I mean, she was a happy homemaker that birdies, squirrels, deer, bunny wabbits and all other manners of wildlife creatures that are considered cute and fluffy were instantly attracted to.

Petunia and Vernon had a very large son named Dummy, who was a spoiled piece of shaving cream, which would lead him to a wild life of drugs, drinking, and violence until his untimely death that cause his parents to buy a rabbit that looked exactly like him whom they would spoil, and then he would repopulate and destroy the city until they all died from food poisoning.

The Dungby's had everything they wanted due to Petunia's black-market dealings, except for popularity in the hearts of thousands of 10-year-olds (not to mention cooler names), but they had a secret. A very, deep, dark yet overused secret that was rather predictable. They were terrified that anyone would find out about the Potheads. Not the people that were always sifting through the Dungby's garden for inexplicable reasons, but Petunia's sister. Lily was Mrs. Pothead and married Mr. James Pothead. Petunia hated Lily because Lily was cooler, smarter and way more popular with the men then Petunia could ever be. Plus, Lily had a nice flower name. Stupid Hippie parents. And Lily had a way hotter husband and a cooler son who would someday save the world from becoming a barren wasteland of doom, gloom, and general misery and would marry every female on the planet and some of the males (based on personal preference of fanfiction author).

The Dungbys woke up on a predictably gloomy day, after all, our poor hero was just recently orphaned. The Dungbys acted like normal, boring, suburban people. They did not notice the large owl that landed on their windowsill because they apparently lack observational skills. Or maybe the owl was never there. Maybe the Matrix has him.

Vernon went to work and Petunia made mysterious phone calls. Either way they were predictably evil and foul and we all hate them, the slimy gits/prats/British insult of your choice.

On his way to work, Vernon saw a cat reading a map. He also heard a parent pointing to it and saying to a 2-year-old, "See cat. See map. See cat read map. Read map, cat, read map!"

Vernon started to freak out. Everything abnormal HAD to do with the Potheads, he just KNEW it.

Apparently he only had eyes for cats, because the flock of owls he ran over made no more impression than the bumping of the car. The ASPCA people who ran after him screaming also made no impression at all.

Long story short, Vernon yelled at everyone and then walked home, because the ASPCA people trashed his car.

On the way he bumped into a man, knocked him into a wall, and gave him a minor concussion. Yet the man remained cheerful and hugged Vernon. Vernon then began to freak out because he was homophobic, so he ran all the way home like the judgmental, narrow-minded, prejudiced son of a baseball bat he is.

Who can tell that the author is not very happy with the Amendment?

Vernon saw the cat again as he came home. But this time, the 2-year-old was pulling its tail and it did not look very happy.

Petunia had given all her friends at the Martha Stewert Company a friendly call, and was in a very good mood. She was reading chapter 1 of How To Hide From Your Beefy Husband can't-be-bothered-to-cut-and-paste For Dummies: Cutting Your Sister Out From Every Aspect Of Your Life. Vernon decided to let her read her book, even though it killed him to let her read fiction. After all, it just COULDN'T be true, even though the real story has too many holes in it to count, and it would explain quite nicely why Snape and Petunia hate Harry without seeming childish.

Vernon turned on the news.

"Good evening," said the anchorman. "Tonight's news: The world sucks and we should all kill ourselves. We report Nuclear War right after these messages!"

Vernon laughed at a Geico commercial. You know, the one where the squirrel runs out in the road and (snort) makes the guy crush and then he (giggle) high-fives the other squirrel? Tee-hee.

"Petunia, have you heard from the Potheads lately?"

"Why, yes, Vernon, they keep tearing up my begonias," she said, glaring at the family of ghetto thugs that were digging up her flowers.

"No, the other Potheads."

"The Potheads? You mean my sister's family? You mean the family of the boy that we'll be forced to adopt even if we hate him, except I don't hate him, I'm just upset because his magic reminds me of how I made the worst mistake of my life? The Potheads who fathered the boy who will be idolized by half the planet, except those really ardent book-burning Catholics who hate magic, who are between the ages of 6 and 45?"

"Yeah, them."

"Nope." She flipped a page. "Haven't heard from them."

Vernon and Petunia went up to bed (though the entire world wonders how Vernon doesn't roll over and kill Petunia in his sleep) thinking that nothing could possibly change in their life.

Poor simpletons. They should've knocked on wood. Makes me wonder if I/Ever had to knock on wood/I'm glad I haven't yet/Because I'm sure it isn't good…

Sorry for that song-and-dance break right there.

Meanwhile, on the street, a hidden Broadway chorus was chanting…

"It was red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ochre and peach and ruby and olive and violet and fawn and cream and crimson and silver and rose…"

A chariot of gold appeared from nowhere, which absolutely no one noticed because, of course, it's NIGHT, and apparently no one can see in the dark or stays up late.

The Broadway chorus broke out into, "And he came to Egypt in a chariot of gold! Of GOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD, of GOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD, of GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLD!!!!!!!!!"

Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the chariot. "Sorry, guys, but I'm not Joseph. He just lent me his car for tonight."

There was much grumbling and mumbling as the Broadway chorus cleared away to form a picket line. For God's sake, just sign another contract!

Albus clicked the little button on his keys. The Chariot's door made a "Beep, beep!" sound as it locked.

"You there, baby?" he called silkily.

The cat from earlier transformed into a very unhappy-looking woman with the proverbial stick up her butt. Forget stick, more like plank.

"Albus," she said, irritated, "You know that according to this author, I'm your stepdaughter, so it would be very strange for us to begin making out in the middle of Prissy Drive!"

"Oh, sorry, I got lost in my multiple romances," he said, sighing. "Woe is me!"

"Multiple romances?"

"Well, yeah, mostly I'm paired with you, but some slash writers pair me up with Moody and I think Hagrid was mentioned somewhere."

"Huh. That's weird."

"Ain't it?"

"Hmm…oh, wait!" McGonagall took out her script book and flipped a few pages. Having found her place, she read, slowly and methodically: "Do—you—think—it's—smart—to—let—a—man—with—an—IQ—of—a—peanut—bring—the—main—character—to—this—house—of—doom—and—gloom?"

Dumbledore did not answer. He had downed a bag of assorted candies and was now bouncing off the walls. Strange, because there were no walls. Maybe the Matrix has them, too.

"Oh, Albus, since I'm the only one who ever uses your first name, look at that giant motorcycle hurtling at us from the sky!"

Indeed, a huge motorcycle was hurtling at them from the sky. It, however, missed the street and crashed into a house. The house burst into flames and the people, which included babies, senior citizens, and cripples, all died horrible, grisly deaths.

Dumbledore and McGonagall watched this for a while, before turning to look at Hagrid.

"Oh, Hagrid, is Harry okay?" McGonagall wailed, over the agonizing shouts of the dying people in the burning house.

"Yep!" Hagrid handed something over to Dumbledore.

"Hagrid, that's not Harry," Dumbledore said. "That's a Cabbage Patch Kid."

"Are you kidding?! They stopped making those! Do you know how rare they are?! Gimmee that!" McGonagall snatched the Cabbage Patch doll away and ran off, clutching it to her chest and muttering, "You are my Squishy. I will take you home, and you will be my Squishy."

"Oh, here's Harry!" Hagrid handed over the real baby. Except there are three of them. Did you know that three kids played Baby Harry? Cool, huh? I wonder what they got paid?

"Hagrid…why is the Tinkie-Winkie sign on his forehead?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He got back on his motorcycle. "Oh, by the way, I'm a giant." He took off.

Dumbledore went over to number 4, Prissy Drive and put him on the front step. Now, isn't that cliched? And it's irresponsible, too! What if they didn't notice he was there and stepped on him? But that's young people today, so thoughtless and uncaring. In my day we sat with the baby until the people came out! I remember 1937…it was a good year…

"Good-bye, Harry Potter!" Dumbledore said. "The Boy Who Must Live For Sake of Plot!"

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