Hello again, readers and strangers. If the summary didn't make it obvious enough, this story is going to be filled to the brim with Harry Potter (and general fanfic) cliche lampooning. I imagine it'll be somewhere around ten chapters by the time I'm finished (assuming I finish, that is).

Just do me a small favor and don't read this hoping for deep and meaningful story-telling or character development; if you find any of either, it'll probably be by accident.

Also, if you want to enjoy the story a little easier, turn it into a drinking game, and take a shot every time you see a cliche you hate (unless, of course, you're underage, in which case only take half a shot. Remember: Always drink responsibly).

So, without further ado, I give you...

Harry Potter and the Something Something

A Harry Potter Mockfic

By Legendary Legacy

Standard Disclaimer: The characters and settings of Harry Potter are the property of J. K. Rowling and whomever she's given the rights to.

Mockfic Disclaimer: If you don't like the idea of me making fun of various stupid or overused (in my opinion) themes/plotlines that you enjoy for whatever reason, then I suggest saving yourself some time and hitting the 'Back' button right now.

Don't like? Read anyway. And then bitch to me about it when you're done. It's not like you have anything better to do with your time, right?



Our story begins, as so many stories tend to do, during the summer between Fifth and Sixth Year. This is most likely due to popular consensus saying that this was about the point where the series started to suck, and therefore makes it the most appropriate time to diverge from canon. Or it could be because all the important characters are now at a fairly acceptable age to start having sex. One or the other.

Anyway, it was on a day during this summer that Harry Potter awoke to the sense that something was wrong. It took all of three seconds to figure out exactly what was wrong when he found himself unable to sit up in his bed. The first reason was because it hurt to move. It hurt a lot. All over. Excruciatingly.

And the second reason was because someone had chained him to the bed. Not by his wrists and ankles to the bedposts, but by an enormous length of chain wrapped several dozen times around his entire body, completely anchoring him to his mattress.

This was…odd.

He didn't have a lot of time to ponder the issue before someone started pounding hard on his octuple-bolted bedroom door.

"Hey boy!" his uncle Vernon's angry voice pierced the room. "I want breakfast on the table three minutes ago! And after you're finished watching the rest of us eat it there are some heavy cement blocks on the front lawn that I need lugged up to the attic and then carried back down to the back yard! And get a move on it or Dudley and I won't have time to give you your morning beating before I go to work!"

Harry frowned. This was…also odd. Vernon seemed to be a bit grumpier than usual. Though, he was talking like this were an every day occurrence despite what Harry personally remembered. Maybe he was suffering amnesia from a previous beating or something.

The pounding grew louder. "BOY! Get out here now or I'll reschedule your morning beating to before breakfast!"

Harry shivered, feeling certain that this wasn't a bluff. Unfortunately, he was chained to the bed. And the key to his padlock was hanging all the way over on the far-side wall. Quite unfortunate.

"Um, Uncle Vernon?" he called. "I can't seem to reach the key to these chains."

"Oh, making excuses, are we! Well, maybe a savage beating will get you out of that bed!"

Harry began to sweat. "Uh…I think just coming in and unlocking the chains will get me out there plenty quickly-"

The door suddenly burst open, revealing a furious face in a shade that could only be properly referred to as puce. He held a thick leather belt in one hand and a set of knuckledusters on the other. "Here I thought I'd already knocked all that rebelliousness out of you, but it seems you need a reminder!"

"…No really, if you'll just hand me the key, I'll- does that belt have fish hooks sticking out of it!"

"I'm gonna count to three!"

Harry was certain of it now. Something was very, very wrong around here. He just hoped he lived long enough to figure it out.


Three days later, Harry had gained a newfound jealousy of the dead.

His relative's attitudes toward him had for some reason been kicked up to Eleven, treating him with a furious rage and hatred so powerful that Harry could probably consider Voldemort, Snape and Malfoy to be three of his closest friends by comparison. Whereas before they would usually just leave him in his room where they wouldn't have to look at him until they needed someone to cook or handle chores that none of them wanted to do themselves, now he barely saw his room unless he were sleeping because he was too busy doing every single menial, ridiculous and increasingly life-threatening task that Vernon and Petunia could think of. Or he was getting the crap beat out of him by Vernon or Dudley and his friends. Of course, since those beatings would occasionally come out of nowhere, including in the middle of the night, he wasn't exactly getting a lot of sleep even when he was in his room for it.

Maybe they had taken exception to being threatened by Moody and the others back at King's Cross. Or maybe they realized that they had just been taking for granted how deeply and perversely they enjoyed making his life hell after all these years and wanted to make up for lost time.

Harry had the sneaking suspicion that it was the second reason.

"Boy! I'm trying to come up with some new ways that I could make your life even more miserable than it already is, but I'm having a hard time with it. What do you think?" Vernon asked him one morning.

Harry, albeit happy to hear that his relatives were running out of ways to torture him, was caught off guard so badly by his uncle asking for his opinion on something that he actually took a few moments to think about it.

"I don't know, Uncle Vernon. I mean, you're already allowing me only the barest minimal necessities for keeping me alive. You're also beating me on a four times a day basis, five times on Saturday since it's your day off, plus the beatings that Dudley and his friends give me whenever they feel like it. Also, I've never been allowed to properly tend to any of the wounds I've received from those beatings, so my body's probably heavily infected in multiple places right now. You killed my owl and then forced me to cook her for your supper, and then beat me because she was too salty. I could honestly die any day now of starvation, dehydration, overexertion, or a combination of all three. The jury's still out on whether or not I've contracted cancer from that toxic waste you dumped on me the other day, and let's not forget that I'm also mentally scarred, not just from all the verbal abuse I take from you three, but also from seeing my godfather, the last remaining family I have that cared about me even the slightest bit, killed right in front of me not so long ago. I can honestly say that my life sucks about as hard as is metaphorically possible already and, off the top of my head, can't think of a single way that you could make it worse short of murdering the rest of my friends in front of me."

Vernon thought about that for a moment, making a mental note to return that toxic waste barrel to the dump before Dudley started eating it. There had to be something he could do to further torment the boy. What else did he have to live for if he couldn't fulfill such sadistic pleasures anymore?

Then an idea came to him. "Well, what if I were to violate you sexually?"

"...Well, there you go: that would do it," Harry said with a firm certainty. "That would be the proverbial icing on the seven-layer tragedy cake of my life. I really have to commend you, Uncle. Voldemort himself could take lessons on what it means to be a truly evil bastard from you. And I'm not just saying that, either. When Voldemort wants to be evil he just kills people, or tortures them into insanity and then kills them. Pretty cut and dry stuff. But you? Hell, you actually sap the very life out of a person, making them so unbearably miserable that it just completely takes away any will to continue living that they might have had. And then when they think their life has hit rock-bottom, well you just go find them a pick-ax and tell them to get back to digging. Truly monumental, that."

Vernon blinked a few times, taking a moment to get back up to speed. "You're giving me a lot of unexpected praise here, boy, so just so I'm not misunderstanding: Me sodomizing you would make you unhappy, right?"

"I was sort of hoping that the rant and the praise would distract you enough that you'd forget to actually do it, but yes. Yes it would."

"Excellent!" Vernon shouted, looking immensely pleased with his brilliant idea. "Just let me go grab some things from Petunia's sock drawer and, assuming that no random strangers come to the house before I get back, we'll get right to it!"

As the fat man ascended the stairs, Harry wondered if it would be at all possible to run to his room, write out an SOS message, send it off to the nearest friend or authority figure he could think of and have them arrive within the next twenty seconds to rescue him.

Not likely. Especially since it took him five of those seconds to come up with the plan and another twelve to calculate who was most likely to reach him the quickest if he sent it to them. Consequently, he hadn't even the time to leave the room before Vernon returned with a handful of objects that even a consenting person would probably find disconcerting to have used upon them. The child-at-Christmas grin on Vernon's face just added to the horror.

"Well, let's not wait around all day boy. Can't have you returning to that freak school of yours any less than one hundred percent traumatized, now can we?"

The doorbell rang. Harry nearly fainted in relief.

"Bugger, must be the milkman," Vernon surmised. "Here, hold these." He thrust the multitude of disturbing objects into Harry's arms and stomped over to the door.

Believe it or not, it was not the milkman. It was, in fact, a woman who neither Vernon nor Harry had ever met before. The woman had a very generic look to her, which is just this author's way of saying 'make up your own image for her' since he doesn't feel like going into detail about an OC who won't ever be appearing again after the next chapter.

"Hello," the woman greeted Vernon. "My name is Emma Davis. My daughter goes to the same school as your nephew, and I..."

She trailed off as her focus shifted from Vernon to Harry; standing in the middle of the room, looking fresh out of a twelve round fight with a pair of bludgers after a ten year stint in Azkaban holding an armload of kinky sex toys.

"Morgana's morning breath!" she swore as she pushed past Vernon and grasped the boy at arm's length. "Tracy told me you spent a lot of time in the hospital wing, but I never imagined this! What on earth have these relatives of yours been teaching you, Potter?"


"Listen Harry, I don't want to tell you how to live your life, and I understand how young people get their thrills with experimentation and whatnot, but Merlin's jockstrap, hasn't anyone explained to you about using safe-words?"


"Well it's obvious that you're not getting the proper upbringing that a person of your status deserves, Harry," Mrs. Davis continued, swiping the toys from his grasp and pulling him toward the door. "You'll just have to spend the rest of the summer with my family, away from these irresponsible muggles. We'll have you straightened out in no time." So saying, she escorted him past his uncle, out the door, and into a waiting car.

Vernon finally remembered that he should probably be objecting to something here only after he'd watched the car disappear around the block. Oh well, it wasn't like he was going to miss the boy or anything. Well, he'd miss having someone to beat, but maybe he could just start beating Petunia for the time being. After all, that boy's freakiness had obviously come from her side of the family, so she probably deserved it anyway.



Figured I'd start with the obvious cliche of "Dursley's being more evil than Voldemort himself", supplementing it with the less recognizable "Harry is rescued and taken away by the parent of some girl he barely/doesn't even know". And no, I've never actually seen it done with Tracy Davis's family, but I have seen it done with Pansy, Daphney, Susan, Luna, Tonks, Fleur, and (I think) Cho and the Patil's families. This of course doesn't mean it hasn't been done with Tracy or others, just that I haven't read them yet, which I think is understandable.

Next Time: More mockery.

Til then.