Summary: In this chapter . . .
Things look Bad
There is a Big Friendly Giant
Harry reveals his Tendencies
This Author makes a Fool of Herself as per Usual
A Marvel Character makes a Cameo, because this Author is a Geek
Warnings: R for perversion, language, general weirdosity. Mentions of slash, het, bondage, oh em gee light the torches.
Disclaimer: All the characters that you recognise are J.K. Rowling's. J.K. Rowling is also J.K. Rowling's. The various Guilds, Coalitions, etc. do not belong to me either, but rather are random fan entities floating about. (Let me make it clear at this point that I count myself as a member of most of these, or else I wouldn't be making fun of them.) VD is me, and I don't know who I belong to.
Author's Note: Holy cow dung, this took ages. I am super not proud of that right thar time gap. I started writing this segment in November, when I had signed up for LJ's Good Omens Holiday Exchange and gotten writer's block for that, so instead of sitting at my computer at 1.15 am writing a fanfiction novella about how goddamn gay Crowley and Aziraphale are for each other (it's called 'Great Are The Myths', if you feel the overwhelming urge to look it up), I sat at my computer at 1.15 am writing crack parodies. Then I . . . forgot about it, I guess. Oh, bollocks. Well, anyway, I'd like to take a moment to thank my fantabulous reviewers individually, because, yeah, yawlz fab (especially if you're still reading this thing).
She-Who-Loves-Chocolate-To-A-Fault: Eh heh heh heh. Oh, peanut butter. I love it so. And thank you, darling. Although you most likely have given this story up for dead. . . .
Shiro Ryuu: Oh hon, I love you too! (Don't spontaneously combust! How sad!) Yeah, that was my main problem with the book. . . . It's like, EVERYBODY HARRY POTTER PERSONALLY DISLIKES IS EVIL. YO JKR THE REAL WORLD DUN'T WORK THAT WAY. Plus I love Snape. He's such a dick, you can't help but love him. Heh, thanks for the luvs, darling. . . . I can't help it, I insert rap into everything I do. Because I'm a nerdwad. And sorry again that this took so long, argh!
Seregwen Morthil: 'Holy flipping hockey pucks on a marmalade-coloured wig made out of roadkill' is the best exclamation EVER. Pardon me if I steal it and used it, like, seventeen times a day, 'kay? I'm very glad you liked. Also I agree wholeheartedly with your idea about the Parody Police. Life would be so much better for everyone. Especially me and my brain.
chawley and lowla: (Oh my god is that a covert reference to 'Charlie and Lola'? Best television show about a small delusional British girl and her far-too-sensible brother EVER!) Thank you very much . . . especially for the creepy old men bit. Oh, creepy old men, how you amuse me! I do hope you 'n' yer krew do not whack me for taking so long with this bit of parody madness. (Incidentally, I'm American also. I just have British pretensions. XD)
Twitch (who reviewed elsewhere, but whatever): By the by, the phrase you're looking for—where the simplest explanation is the most likely—is Occam's Razor. I know this because I read it in X-Factor last night. Oh, Jamie Madrox, how much you teach me each and every day.
Character/Pairing Note: It appears that my Hermione has evolved (totally unintentionally, I swear) into a complete and utter pessimist. This may be because she's always being attacked by Voldo, but so it goes. Also: any Draco/Harry fans in the audience? Anybody? You want to be on board from here on out. I'm talking obsession. Let's get it on, then.
HARRY POTTER and the HALF-ASSED JOB
A Parody of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
VI. In Which Harry Turns Sixteen and Establishes a Subplot; Also Gred and Forge
LUPIN: Yeah, people are dying all over the place.
BILL: Death death death. Deathy death. And no more free sundaes.
HARRY: Happy birthday to me . . .
(At Diagon Alley)
MR. WEASLEY: We're going to be meeting with some Men in Black now.
HAGRID: Hullo, puny ones! I am the BFG!
MR. WEASLEY: Hey, you're not Men in Black!
HAGRID: Uh . . . my shoes are black.
MR. WEASLEY: So they are! Take my children!
HARRY: OMG, let's go shopping!
RON: OMG, let's do! I need new socks!
HARRY: I need a new corset!
HERMIONE: I need a pail.
HAGRID: I need new underwear!
(HARRY, RON, and HERMIONE exchange glances.)
HARRY: Why don't you stay out here for now . . .
DRACO: Ha, look, Mother! It's the Mudblood, the Weasel, and the catami—I mean, Potter.
HERMIONE: Bite me, you degenerate freak.
RON: I SHOUT INEFFECTUALLY AT YOOUU!
HARRY: Ngk! (fans self) It seems rather hot in here; can we open a window?
HERMIONE: You do realise he just insulted me, right?
NARCISSA: Really, Draco, your taste in sex slaves is not as discerning as it once was. Now hurry out, or we shan't have time to visit the leather shop.
DRACO: Indeedy-o, Mother. (pinches Harry's arse on the way out)
RON: What did she mean about sex slaves, Harry?
HERMIONE: Seriously, does anybody have a bucket?
(At Weasley's Wizard Wheezes)
GRED & FORGE: Hello, we're Gred and Forge! We have somehow managed to retain our sense of humour!
VD: 'Scuse me?
GRED & FORGE: Yes?
VD: WOOOOOOOOOT IT'S GRED AND FORGE! (embarrassed grin) You shall see no more of that sort of partisan shouting. Ta, then.
GRED: (wiggling finger in ear) That was loud.
FORGE: So Ginny, Ron says you're a slut.
GINNY: (loudly) OF COURSE I AM. (glances around to see if Harry's heard)
FORGE: Fair enough.
GRED: At least she's honest, eh?
(Draco walks by outside)
HARRY: Hey, where's he going?
HERMIONE: Why do you care?
HARRY: Because he might be cheating on m— I mean . . . doing Dark things! Secret darky Dark things! I say we follow him!
RON: Um . . . what I just ate . . . was that a Pixie Stick, or was it U-No-Poo?
RON: Knockturn Alley!
HERMIONE: What about it?
RON: It sounds like a nice name for a girl, doesn't it? Nocturne Allie? I've always liked the name Nocturne.
HERMIONE: You ship Nightcrawler/Scarlet Witch, don't you, you bastard?
RON: (shuffles feet)
HERMIONE: That's it. I don't care what anyone says. I refuse to marry you.
HARRY: Hush! What's he doing?
HERMIONE: Muttering to that greasy Borgin fellow. Who gives a damn?
HARRY: Is he . . . flirting with Borgin? Or is it just me?
HERMIONE: It's definitely you. If he's flirting with Borgin, he ought to be shot anyway.
FORGE: (pops up from nowhere) I've just now invented something that should help you out! (extends drill from arm and fiddles with fleshy thing)
RON: Hey, you're not that Forge!
FORGE: You must admit, there are remarkable character similarities.
RON: . . . No . . . ?
FORGE: D'you want to eavesdrop or not, brat?
RON: Fork it over, then.
FORGE: (zips mysteriously away)
RON: (listening on Extendable Ears, because obviously that's what they are) Actually, I do believe he's threatening the man. Lawks!
DRACO: (shows Borgin his forearm)
HARRY: No! No! That's my forearm! (sobs into Hermione's shirt)
HERMIONE: All right, that is e-bloody-nough. (enters Borgin and Burke's) Tell me what that idiot just bought, or I'll break your bloody arm.
BORGIN: (coldly) No.
HERMIONE: All right, then. (exits) All right, we've done all we can, time to be getting back. (takes HARRY and RON by elbows and drags them back to Diagon Alley)
HARRY/DRACO SHIPPERS: Not to gloat or anything . . . but HA HA HA!
VII. In Which the Word Slug Very Conveniently Rhymes with Club, Sort Of
(At the Burrow)
HERMIONE: If you don't stop talking about Malfoy, I'm going to strangle you with my bare hands. Capische?
RON: Maybe he was trading Pokemon cards with Borgin.
HERMIONE: Ron, I'm shocked. That is an even more asinine explanation than Harry's.
HARRY: What's so asinine about the idea that Malfoy's a Death Eater and is secretly Voldemort's boywhore and will eat all our souls in exchange for ballroom dancing lessons? Which, by the way, is not a theory, but a fact.
HERMIONE: I am going to stop listening in three . . . two . . . (reads)
RON: Harry, who on earth would find Malfoy sexy enough to hire him as a boywhore?
HERMIONE: (still apparently reading) Oh. My. God. Thank you, Mister Tact.
HARRY: (turns bright red and stomps out)
FLEUR: (pops up from behind vase) 'Ave I mentioned zat I'm Freeeench?
VD: But she's not as sexy as Tonks!
HARRY: I thought you were going away!
VD: Um. (coughs)
MRS. WEASLEY: (menaces Fleur with cleaver)
(At Platform 9 17/42:)
HARRY: Mr. Weasley, I think Malfoy's a Death Eater and is secretly Voldemort's boywhore and will eat all our souls in exchange for ballroom dancing lessons.
MR. WEASLEY: Um. Yeah, I'll . . . I'll look into that right away. You just get on the train and take deep breaths, okay?
(On the train)
GINNY: I can't sit with you, Harry, because I have to sit with Dean, who's my boyfriend. As in my lover, my amour, my Flavour of Love, my life partner, my soul mate—
HARRY: Yeah, okay. (walks off)
GINNY: (shouting) Did I mention he's my boyfriend?
HARRY: Hello, losers! I shall grace you with my presence today.
NEVILLE: Oh, hurrah!
LUNA: (vaguely) I'll have one with pickles, thanks.
ROMILDA VANE: Don't sit with them, Harry darling, sit with your horde of fangirls!
FANGIRLS: Squee! OMG it's Harry Potter! Squee!
HARRY: They may be losers, but they're my losers.
ROMILDA VANE: I never said they were losers . . .
HARRY: I never said you said they were losers. Now begone, lesser beings.
FANGIRLS: (scuttle off)
ROMILDA VANE: You shall rue the day you insulted me so! Double, double, toil and trouble, fire bur—
COMPARTMENT DOOR: (slams in face)
LUNA: You're supposed to stick it up the other end. Buggrit, millennium hand and shrimp!
RANDOM GIRL: Hey, notes for peeps, straight up.
NOTE: Dearest Harry,
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Compartment C and candied pineapples
Are waiting for you.
(Longstocking too. But mostly you.)
HARRY: Well, that's creeptastic.
HARRY: Uh, nothing. Neville, come with me.
NEVILLE: Whu— (is yanked)
(At compartment C)
LOADS OF PEOPLE: Word, yo.
HARRY: Wow, what an appetite the Walrus has!
HARRY: Uhh, I mean . . . um.
SLUGHORN: Oh, welcome, welcome, dear boy! Take a seat among these unimportant yet decorative folk!
HARRY: (whispering to Neville) Do you have any pepper spray?
NEVILLE: Way ahead of you. Have my spare.
SLUGHORN: (sucks up to random folk)
HARRY: Huh. Gwenog Jones. He's Gwenog Jonesing again.
SLUGHORN: Harry! Dear Harry! I'm sure you recall how very dead your parents are!
HARRY: No, I'd forgotten.
SLUGHORN: And you're good at everything, according to the Prophet, although admittedly last year it said you were a delusional crackpot!
ZABINI: (makes derisive noise)
GINNY: DO NOT INSULT MY LOVE! (attacks with fingernails)
SLUGHORN: Well, this is slightly awkward.
ZABINI: Holy crap, there are fingernails embedded in my eyeballs!
SLUGHORN: Well, um, yeah. This is the Slug Club right here. Now go away. (slams compartment door)
NEVILLE: Hey, look, Zabini's going back to the Slytherins!
HARRY: Slytherins? (thinking) Slytherins Malfoy buttsecks? I mean . . . finding out about Death Eater-ness . . . yeah, that's right. (aloud) I'll . . . be along later, okay, Neville?
NEVILLE: He remembered my name! (faints)
HARRY: (slips not-very-stealthily into Malfoy's compartment and hops into the luggage rack (why not?))
DRACO: Why, how amazing, a flying trainer!
HARRY'S BLOOD: (boils)
HARRY: Ouch, my bloody blood is bloody boiling!
ZABINI: (sceptically) You think you're so great, eh?
DRACO: Why yes, yes I do.
ZABINI: You're not really that great.
DRACO: I am, actually.
ZABINI: No, you aren't.
DRACO: Yes, I am.
ZABINI: No, you aren't.
DRACO: Yes, I am.
ZABINI: My mum's been married more times than yours.
DRACO: That is intensely random, good buddy.
ZABINI: Right on, bruthah.
CRABBE & GOYLE: (grunt)
DRACO: Pansy darling, could you please remove your greasy fingers from my hair? I do so despise your feminine dominating tendencies.
HARRY: (in luggage rack) W00t! (waves "H/D 4evah!" flag)
ZABINI: (brightly) Hey, look, school! Uh . . . not that I care or anything. Because I'm cool!
DRACO: Right. You go ahead. I shall catch up. There's someone—something I need to do first.
MOST EVERYONE: (leaves)
DRACO: Flying trainers. Honestly! Petrificus Totalus!
HARRY: (is Totally Petrified)
DRACO: Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry. What's to be done with you?
HARRY: (fades to black)
VIII. In Which Harry Attempts to Answer the Age-Old Question: What's Up with Boys, Anyway, When You Get Right Down to It?
HARRY: (regaining consciousness) Holy crap, what? Body check! Legs: fine. Arse: not sore. Arms: reasonably unbroken, which is a blessing. Nose: . . . oh, bugger.
HOGWARTS EXPRESS: Chug! Chug! CHOOOOO CHOOOOO!
HARRY: Where are my screaming fangirls when I truly need them?
TONKS: What up, homie?
HARRY: Oh. I guess you'll have to do.
TONKS: Let's jump off this moving train!
HARRY: Uh, what—AHHH! (is dragged off moving train)
SNAPE: Moohaha! Give me the Potty!
TONKS: Right then, see you, Harry.
HARRY: Thanks loads, bitch.
SNAPE: You suck, Potter.
HARRY: No, you suck, Snape.
SNAPE: No, you suck.
HARRY: No, you suck.
SNAPE: No, you suck.
HARRY: No, you suck.
SNAPE: No, you suck.
HARRY: No, you suck.
SNAPE: No, you—
DUMBLEDORE: Shut up, losers!
STUDENTS: Dude, the fuck! Your hand! It's like an overdone potato chip!
DUMBLEDORE: . . . mm, crunchy?
STUDENTS: Okay, eww.
DUMBLEDORE: See? You should just shut up. Blah blah blah Slughorn blah blah blah Potions blah blah blah Snape blah blah Defense Against the Dark blah.
SNAPE: Teehee, victory is mine! (does victory dance, jabbing air with fingers)
HARRY: ARGH WE ALL GONN' DIE!
DUMBLEDORE: Also Voldemort. Voldemort Voldemort Voldemort death doom deathspawn Voldemort.
EVERYONE'S EARS: (bleed)
VIX. In Which Snape Is (Predictably) An Asshole
HARRY: So. Malfoy. Yes. How 'bout them boywhores?
RON: (loudly) We dumped Hagrid!
HERMIONE: (even more loudly) Also we're prefects!
HARRY: Fuck you guys. (broods)
PROF. McGONAGALL: Yo, here's y'all's skedj00lz. Harry can take teh Potions now. Word.
(Later, in DADA, which sort of sounds like 'ta-da!' if you say it out loud:)
SNAPE: I hate all of you. Let's learn how to defend ourselves from Voldemort's attacks.
HARRY: (to self) OMGZ HE'S CLEARLY VOLDO'S MAN.
SNAPE: Now, let's study nonverbal spells to fix that plothole that keeps opening up whenever Dumbledore silently waves his wand and makes something Popetacular happen.
HARRY: Hey, Snape, you suck!
SNAPE: Yes. Yes, I do. Have some detention anyway.
DUMBLEDORE'S NOTE: Private lesson numero uno tres magnifique!
HARRY: I don't speak your taco language.
DUMBLEDORE'S NOTE: (swears creatively)
(Later, in the dungeons:)
SLUGHORN'S BELLY: (wobbles)
SLUGHORN'S MUSTACHE: (cackles)
SLUGHORN: Why, hallo, Harry! (gropes)
HARRY: Erm. (extracts self) I need me some bookage.
SLUGHORN: Why, certainly! Have this mysteriously battered book of mysteriousness! Weasley can have one too, only not as mysterious!
RON: Oh, how surprising.
SLUGHORN: So . . . what's all this bling in these here cauldronos?
HERMIONE: Blah blah blah genius blah blah knows everything blah Veritaserum blah blah blah.
SLUGHORN: Totally and absolutely correct! Ten thousand squillion terbillion points for Gryffindor!
HARRY: But I thought that potion was called—
HERMIONE: (breathes fire)
HARRY: (hastily extinguishes hair)
HERMIONE: Also that's Felix Felicis, commonly known as The Plot Point.
SLUGHORN: Indeedy-o-bob! Now everybody make this extremely complex potion right now, and then you can have it to do what you will with, as you're all obviously so mature!
HARRY: (picks nose)
POTIONS BOOK: HAY LOOKIT ME I'M ALL WRITTEN ON.
HALF-BLOOD PRINCE: Double, double, toil and trouble, everyone loves Double-Bubble!
SLUGHORN: Harry Potter is the winner! Have some heavily regulated, semi-legal potion, boy!
X. In Which Harry Receives A Lesson On The Dangers of Inbreeding
(Some deserted hallway:)
TRELAWNEY: (mutters sherry-fully)
(Dumbledore's Office o' Phoenixness:)
HARRY: What up, homie?
DUMBLEDORE: We goin' down Bob Ogden's memory lane, fo' shizzle.
HARRY: Who the fuck is Bob Ogden?
DUMBLEDORE: Some Ministry loser.
(In the Pensieve:)
OGDEN: (sticks out like a sore thumb)
HARRY & DUMBLEDORE: Pant, pant, pant.
SCI: . . . HEY WAIT NO NOT LIKE THAT. THEY'RE RUNNING AFTER HIM! ARGH YOU PEOPLE! (beats own head in)
HARRY: You need some medication, girlie.
SCI: Oh yeah? WELL YOU NEED TO GET LAID.
(A random mysterious clearing:)
DEAD SNAKE: Dangle dangle dangle. Fuck, this nail through my head hurts.
MORFIN: Hiss hiss batty as a bedbug hiss hiss hiss!
OGDEN: Holy fuckery, you're ugly. Also I have no idea what you're saying.
HARRY: Oh, I get it! He's speaking Parseltongue!
DUMBLEDORE: (rolling eyes) Nice one, genius. With you as our champion, Voldemort won't stand a chance.
DEAD SNAKE: Hey kids! Swinging pathetically from a door is a great hobby! Try it yourself! All you need is 1 (one) nail, 1 (one) door, and 1 (one) totally psychotic inbred menace to society!
BIG DADDY GAUNT: HI ARE YOU PUREBLOOD.
OGDEN: No. Are you aware your son is madder than a spoon? Or even a spork?
BIG DADDY GAUNT: YEAH BUT HE'S PUREBLOOD.
MORFIN: Snake. Heh. Heh heh. (pokes it)
LIVING SNAKE: Oh fuck am I ever in trouble.
BIG DADDY GAUNT: RARR.
BIG DADDY GAUNT: BLEEDLE BLOODLE. SQUIBFACE.
MEROPE: (screams) (has nervous breakdown)
OGDEN: So. Your son? He's a psycho.
MORFIN: Heh. Heh heh. (strokes snake)
LIVING SNAKE: THIS IS SEXUAL HARASSMENT!
OGDEN: He goin' layin' the smackdown on Muggles just 'cause they're pathetic and magicless lumps of flesh. So the Ministry wants him in the lower dungeons in chains and leather.
BIG DADDY GAUNT: . . . BUT HE'S PUREBLOOD! (strangles Merope, just for the heck of it)
MEROPE: Grardleblardleflghwrrrrrrrghhh. (chokes)
MORFIN: Hiss hiss incestuous tendencies hiss hiss Tom Riddle Senior hiss hiss hiss wanks to him hiss hiss over Daddy's dinner hiss.
MEROPE: Worst. Brother. EVER.
BIG DADDY GAUNT: WHAAAAAAT BUT HE'S NOT PUREBLOOD! (beats the shit out of Merope)
LIVING SNAKE: (slithers the heck out of there)
OGDEN: I hate my job. . . .
(Back in Dumbledore's Office o' Officialness:)
HARRY: Yeah, okay . . . what was the point of that little display?
DUMBLEDORE: To enforce upon you the importance of the advice I'm about to give you. Harry . . . never have sex with your sister.
HARRY: I don't have a damn sister.
DUMBLEDORE: You might do. Your mother, she got around.
HARRY: You know, I think I would've preferred Snape's detention.