Harry Potter: The Sorcerer's Spoof

By: Tour Guide62

Disclaimer: I am neither British nor a woman so I clearly do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 1: The Boy-Who-Is-The-Main-Character

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They hated the poor, made rude remarks about their neighbors, and participated in tax evasion just like that insufferable Jones family down the street.

They also hated the literary technique known as "foreshadowing". So when Mrs. Dursley turned to her husband one morning and said the words, "You know what would suck? If my sister and her good-for-nothing-UnDursleyish-sexy-no-good-husband of hers inexplicitly died and forced us to raise their Eldritch Abomination of a son," Mr. Dursley suddenly experienced what people call the "jumping out of a plane as you realize you forgot the parachute" feeling. As he struggled to regain his sense of composure, he went to kiss his small (for now) son goodbye before he went to work. Unfortunately for Mr. Dursley, he was so frazzled by his wife's question that he missed his son completely and ended up sticking his face into the boy's oatmeal.

After cleaning off the oatmeal, Mr. Dursley stepped outside the house, took a deep breath, wondered if somebody had run over a skunk, and saw a cat. Being deathly allergic to cats, Mr. Dursley made a very manly panicked run for his car, got in, and locked the door. He nervously poked his head up to peek out of the window. Mr. Dursley immediately thought that something funny was going on. For starters, the cat was wearing a pointed hat on its head, a sign that read "I AM NOT A WITCH" was hanging from its neck, and the cat was giving him quite an impressive glare.

As he drove to work, Mr. Dursley's mind kept coming back to the cat. He was so distracted that he ran three red lights and ran over several strange looking people in cloaks. He was distracted once more as he gazed at what the poor soul stuck to his windshield was wearing. Dursley, in an attempt to make his day right again, turned on the windshield wipers, and removed the person from the front of his car.

Still shaken from his not-very-traumatic experiences, Mr. Dursley finally arrived at Grunnings, a company that made drills and was currently the second most frequent place of workplace suicide in all of England (after Parliament, of course). Mr. Dursley had a very nice office on the 31st floor and spent the majority of his day making work three times as hard for everyone working under him by screaming at them whenever they asked for things like health care or decent working conditions.

So focused was Mr. Dursley on yelling at the intercom on his desk that he completely failed to notice an owl fly beak-first into the window behind him.

Around noon-ish, Mr. Dursley began to feel a little hungry, so he decided to walk across the street to get the new "Glazed Glory Diabetic Delight Donut" from the bakery across the street. As he heaved his way towards his sugary goal, he spotted more people wearing cloaks. He was outraged to see that they were standing in front of the bakery, and glared at them for their gross crimes against humanity. I mean, standing? Really? Ridiculous.

Once he obtained his sugary, artery-clogging treat, Mr. Dursley was once again forced to brave the horrors of people in cloaks. He exited the bakery and prepared to begin his mad dash back to the relative safety of his office. However, as he waited for the traffic light to turn red so he could bravely run across the street like a psychopath, he heard a brief snippet of their conversation.

"Yeah, it's the Potters. Their son Harry…" said one.

"Oh dude! I was there after! I managed to snag James Potter's watch!" interrupted another.

"That's nothing! I managed to grab his glasses!" said another.

The light finally turned green and Mr. Dursley ran across the street, screaming a high-pitch shriek of terror. Once he had ran up all 31 floors of Grunnings, he locked his office and used the intercomm to tell his secretary to violently murder anyone with a cloak who decided to pay a visit.

Mr. Dursley grabbed the phone on his desk and started to dial his home phone number in order to ask his wife if she could bring him a new set of trousers. Then he stopped. He didn't know for a fact that the Potters the people in cloaks were talking about were his Potters. There had to be tons of Potters all over the UK. Plus, he didn't know what his Potters had decided to call their boy. It could have been Harvey, Harold, or Henrietta. Yes, he thought as he put down the phone, it was probably best not to worry his wife.

Besides, he was wearing his brown pants today.

(Later in the day)

Mr. Dursley got out of his car and looked around. The cat with the witches hat, the sign that said "I AM NOT A WITCH", and the venomous glare was still hanging around. Shuddering violently, Mr. Dursley ran into his house, went upstairs, changed his trousers, and hid in the closet.

After several hours of manly cowardly tears, Mr. Dursley finally gathered enough courage to go downstairs and watch the news with his wife.

"Showers of stars and downpours of owls. The weather all across England seems to be acting strange today." Said one of the anchors. "I can't believe that this is breaking news folks. I'm just here for my paycheck."

That. Was. IT. Mr. Dursley had had enough weird crap happen in his day. First, Mrs. Dursley had asked him that horrible question. Second, the cat which, if that dark shape outside was any indication, was STILL f**king there. Third, those freaks in the Satanic robes. Fourth and Final, all of the whispers about the Potters. Speaking of…

"Erm…Petunia?" asked Mr. Dursley.

"Hmm?" Petunia Dursley hmm'ed. "What is it Vernon?"

Vernon Dursley was a brave man. If by "brave" you mean "hen-pecked and cowardly". Nevertheless, he gathered whatever backbone he had left and muttered, "Have you…have you heard from your…your sister lately?"

Petunia Dursley froze. Her head slowly swiveled around to stare at her husband with very narrow eyes.

Vernon Dursley almost soiled himself again.

Petunia did not blink as she asked, "Why in the name of JK Rowling herself do you want to know that?"

"Just…Just…" Vernon whimpered pathetically.

"You want to leave me for her, don't you?" accused Petunia.

"No, I-"


"I…I…" whimpered Vernon. "I was just wondering what the name of her boy was again."

"Oh." said Petunia. "His name's Harry."

"Good." said Vernon. He felt like crying. "That's good…"

As an emotionally shattered Vernon Dursley crawled into bed with his wife, he thought about the events of the day and shuddered. He rolled onto his side, slightly lifting the mattress due to his weight, and relaxed. Whatever the strange events of today meant, it surely could not effect either him or his family.

It is a good thing that Vernon Dursley did not hate the literary device known as irony, otherwise we would not be able to go to sleep that night.

Hours later, the cat outside adjusted its witches hat and stared down the street. Suddenly, with a flamboyant pop, a man in a pimpin' purple robe appeared out of thin air. The older gentleman stroked his long white beard as he came up the street. He pulled out a silver cigarette lighter and clicked on it. Every single light on the street, from the streetlight to the nightlight in scared little Jimmy Nelson's room, went out. As Jimmy Nelson wet his bed, the old man outside wandered over to #4 Privet Drive and looked at the cat.

"Hmmm…" he mumbled. "Where's Minerva? She said she'd be here…"

The cat looked at the old man, gave the cat equivalent of an exasperated sigh, and suddenly transformed into a stern looking woman with glasses.

"Professor Dumbledore." greeted the woman. "I can't believe you didn't know it was me."

"My dear Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore. "It is both very dark and I am very old. I'm afraid that I wasn't able to recognize you. And I was a little confused by that sign hanging from your neck. I mean, "I'm not a witch"? That's false advertising."

Professor McGonagall took off the "I AM NOT A WITCH" sign and glared at Dumbledore. "I'm just being careful." she said in her own defense. "Not that anyone else in the wizarding world is giving a damn about security. People running around in cloaks, flocks of owls, people hugging Muggles and then Disapparating right in front of them."

"I think," said Dumbledore gently, "That after eleven years of constant fear, we deserve a chance to finally celebrate and be a little lax in security."

McGonagall fixed Dumbledore with a steely glare. "I suppose you've heard about the group of wizards who released a group of dragons on a Muggle town in celebration."

Dumbledore smiled and said, "Ah…youth. A time to be careless. Why, when I was their age, I felt the overpowering need to subjugate and oppress Muggles! And now look at me!"

"What?" asked McGonagall.

"Nothing. So," said Dumbledore, "How about that Voldemort? Up and dying like that just when the war was getting good."

"So he actually is dead?" asked McGonagall. "Really?"

"Probably." said Dumbledore. "I'm like 65% sure."

"Then are James and Lily really-"

"Dead as a doornail?" supplied Dumbledore. "Yep. Hey!" He said suddenly, holding out a small bag. "Want a Sherbert Lemon? Or are they Lemonheads? I can never tell."

McGonagall simply stood there, shocked. "Th-then their son…Harry. He really…killed Voldemort?"

"Like the little badass that he is." said Dumbledore. "I don't really know how yet, but when I do I'll be sure to let you know."

"No you won't." said McGonagall. "You don't tell anyone anything!"

"That's not true. I told you about the Potters being dead." Dumbledore said. "Oh, by the way, I'm bringing Harry here."




"Here. Yep."

"NO!" yelled McGonagall. "Albus, these people, if I can call them that, absolutely detest magic! They hate Lily and James! Why on earth do you think they'll bother taking him in?"

"Because it was in the Potter's will!" said Dumbledore.


"I, Lily Potter (née Evans), request that, in the event that James Potter and I die off-page in accordance to some prophecy, Harry James Potter never ever be left in the care of my sister, Petunia Dursley (née Evans) and her husband, Vernon Dursley." Read the will. Albus Dumbledore stood in front of the table holding the legal document, holding a bottle of White-Out.

(Back to the present)

"But what about Sirius Black?" yelled McGonagall. "He's Harry's Godfather."

"Funny story." said Dumbledore.


"PETER!" yelled Sirius. He was standing in a crowded street filled with Muggles and a short, fat man who was trying to run away. "YOU BETRAYED-"


"What?" asked Sirius. "No I-"




"Excuse me while I barf." said Sirius, who was green in the face.

"And excuse me while I blow up these Muggles." Muttered Peter.

"What?" asked Sirius.

"Explosivo!" yelled Peter as he pointed his wand at the sewer.

(Back on Privet Drive)

"I don't even want to know what you mean when you say 'Funny story'. But the fact remains," said McGonagall, "That he can't stay here!"

"That's where you are wrong, Professer McDonald's." said Dumbledore.


"Right. Anyway, he doesn't have anywhere else to go."

"Doesn't have-Albus, everybody in our world will want to adopt him!" said McGonagall. "People will name their kids after him! Hell, people will Transfigure their kids to look like him!"

"But don't you see how better off he'll be, away from all the fame." said Dumbledore. "Don't you see that years of abuse will be better for the boy rather than years of attention and praise and getting treated like a human being?"

"Um…no." said McGonagall.

"Oh." said Dumbledore. "Well then…" He whipped out his wand and said, "Obliviate!"

McGonagall's eyes became unfocused. "I-Albus?" she asked. "What are we doing here?"

"I'm bringing Harry Potter to his relatives. You agreed that it was the right course of action." supplied Dumbledore.

"I did?"

"Sure, why not?" lied Dumbledore.

"…Well, do you have him then?" she asked, eyeing Dumbledore's bitchin' purple cloak.

"Nope!" said a cheerful Dumbledore. "Hagrid's bringing him."

"Uhm…not to doubt Hagrid's reliability, but is that the safest course of action?" asked McGonagall.

"What do you mean?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well…Hagrid doesn't really measure danger in the way normal people do." said McGonagall. "Remember that time he led that group of Ravenclaws into the Forbidden Forest?"

"If they were real Ravenclaws," said Dumbledore, "They would have known better than walking through that camp of trolls."

"Albus, Hagrid led them to the camp of trolls! He started to arm-wrestle one of them while the others bludgeoned the Ravenclaws to death!" screamed McGonagall.

"Oh please," said Dumbledore, "Hogwarts doesn't go one week without a death of a student. Why I remember when I was young-"

"Albus?" interrupted McGonagall. "Do you hear something?"

A loud rumbling noise was breaking the sleepy silence of Privet Drive. The two professors looked to sky to see a gigantic motorcycle with an even more gigantic man riding it fly through the air. The motorcycle crashed onto the street and pulled to a stop right in front of the professors.

"Ah, Hagrid!" said Dumbledore. "Right on time."

"Where on earth did you get this ridiculous contraption?" asked McGonagall.

"Sirius Black gave it to me when I went to the wreckage of the house." said Hagrid. "He looked really shaken up though…"

"Never mind!" said Dumbledore. "I'm sure that Sirius will be nice and comfy in Azkaban, that traitor."

"What?" asked Hagrid.

"Nothing. Do you have Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Do I have Harry?" Hagrid chuckled. "Of course I got-" Hagrid looked all over the motorcycle. "Do I got Harry?" he asked himself. He felt a wiggling feeling in his coat pocket. "Oh yeah!" he said as he reached in and pulled out a small baby wrapped in blankets. "Got 'im!" He handed baby Harry to Dumbledore.

"Hagrid…" said McGonagall slowly, "You put a baby in your pocket?"

"Well, I needed to steer the bike." said Hagrid. "Duh."

"Holy crap look at the scar on this kid!" said Dumbledore, looking at the baby in his arms. A scar in the shape of a lightning bolt adorned the forehead of Baby Harry. "Good for you buddy!" Dumbledore said to the sleeping infant. "Chicks dig scars…so I'm told."

"Should we get this over with, sir?" asked Hagrid.

"Oh yeah." Dumbledore took Baby Harry to the front door of #4 Privet Drive. "Whelp, it's been fun, huh Harry? Mum and Dad are dead and you get to enjoy life with your Auntie and Uncle! Uhm…good luck with that." He laid the blanketed Harry onto the porch and gave him a letter. "Give that to your Uncle/Aunt so they'll take you in, ok? There's a good boy." He pressed the doorbell and hid with the other two in the bushes.

Vernon Dursley opened the door and shouted, "If that Jimmy Nelson is doorbell-ditching us again, I am going to beat the ever-loving-" He looked down on the porch and spotted Baby Harry. "HOLY CRAP, A BABY! Petunia didn't have another one, did she?" Very confused, Vernon picked up Harry and brought him inside.

"Well, that's that." said Dumbledore, coming out of the bushes. "I guess we should skedaddle."

"Ok…I'll head back to Hogwarts." said McGonagall. She Disapparated.

"And I'll take Sirius his bike back, unless he's been wrongfully imprisoned." said Hagrid.

"And I'll head back to the party I was at!" said Dumbledore. "There's this cute blonde next to the punch bowl. I'm going to see if I can chat him up." Dumbledore walked to the edge of the street, turned back to look at #4 Privet Drive. "Dumbledore's getting some tonight!" he said as he Disapparated.

I'm not turning this into "Dumbledore is secretly behind every bad thing ever in Harry Potter's life", he's just going to do anything he can to get his way in this story.

Anyway, want to ask a question? Make a comment? Yell at me because Dumbledore would never use the words "Dumbledore's getting some tonight"?

Then Review!