Harry Potter and the Cubic Zirconium of Doom

 

Author: Darth Maligna

Rating: PG-13

Summary: The Boy Who Got Too Much Credit fights evil and looks awful doing it. Featuring short-changed Slytherins, sexually ambiguous Blaise Zabini, and neurotic gynophobic Oliver Wood.

Disclaimer: Own not, profit not, sue not.

 

 

We open one dark and stormy night on 4 Privet Drive.

 

AUDIENCE: Wait, what about the--?

 

No, no, not much time, gotta skip as much as we can, we’re late, we’re late, we’re late!

 

AUDIENCE: Aww.

 

Anyway, enter mysterious figure.

 

FRODO: Gandalf!

CAT: No, it’s Albus Dumbledore!

 

The cat transforms into a woman.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Quick, Professor McGonagall, let’s put out all the streetlights before we’re noticed by the neighbourhood watch.

McGONAGALL: Like all the street lights going out is real incognito. Can’t we just do a spell or something?

DUMBLEDORE: No, no, far too early to be breaking out the wands. Patience, professor.

 

Loud rumbling sound. Big ‘ol flying motorcycle.

 

McGONAGALL: Brilliant. Take out all the streetlights so we can bring in the noisy flying motorbike.

HAGRID: I’m here! And Harry’s here! Isn’t this great? Half the cast standing here and the streetlights out and all!

DUMBLEDORE: Okay, now we’re going to leave the helpless baby on this doorstep and hope that he’s not dragged off by a stray animal during the night.

 

Hagrid starts to cry.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Don’t cry, Hagrid. It’s not really goodbye. After all, this franchise is going to go on forever.

McGONAGALL: By the way, Hagrid, where did you get that motorbike?

HAGRID: …

 

Somewhere, Sirius Black is crying and the author is laughing at him.

Ten years later…

 

AUNT PETUNIA: (screams at Harry)

DUDLEY: (gets Harry dirty and won’t let him come out of the closet)

UNCLE VERNON: (smacks Harry over the head with a 2-by-4)

THE DURSLEYS: Gosh, we’re awful.

HARRY: Pity me! Pity meee!

AUDIENCE: How can we pity you, you not-thin-enough-blue-eyed-brown-haired-well-kempt punk? Where’s the real Harry?

HARRY: I am the real harry.

AUDIENCE: Oy vey.

 

Meanwhile, the Dursleys dote on Dudley to a degree that borders on complete overkill while Harry makes breakfast with the help of his only friends, a group of loveable sentient mice.

 

VERNON: (puts down mousetraps)

MICE: (gasp, choke, die)

HARRY: Noooo!

AUDIENCE: If you had GREEN EYES, maybe your life wouldn’t suck so much.

HARRY: (sobs) Even the audience doesn’t like me!

AUDIENCE: Well, actually, quite a few of us do.

MALI: Silence!

DUDLEY: Yay, we’re going to the zoo!

 

Cut to the zoo. A school group walks by.

 

AUDIENCE: Wait, so Harry and Dudley don’t have to go to school today, yet there’s a field trip here.

MALI: Well, this is England, and they drive on the left side of the road.

AUDIENCE: What does that have to do with anything?

MALI: (shrugs)

 

Meanwhile, in the reptile house…

 

DUDLEY: This stupid snake is boring. Whine whine whine, bitch bitch bitch. (wanders off)

HARRY : Hello, snake. Do you, perchance, understand me?

SNAKE: Actually, yes.

HARRY: Wow, didn’t expect that to actually work. So, um, how’s it going?

SNAKE: Well, I’ve spent my whole life trapped in a tiny cage being fed dead prey on a regular basis, the essence of my life gone completely, for the amusement of a bunch of elitist humans who think that because I’m not sentient I have no rights. Hey, you should go visit the large mammals; due to their higher evolutionary level, they’re even more miserable than I am.

HARRY: Er.

 

Suddenly Ford Prefect frees all the captives in the London Zoo.

 

VERNON: (smacks Harry) This is all your fault!

 

Back at home, Uncle Vernon puts Harry back in the closet.

 

HARRY: Dammit.

 

The next day…

 

VERNON: I wouldn’t trust you to wipe my ass, but I’ll still let you get the mail.

 

Harry gets the mail and notices that one of the letters is for him. He walks back into the kitchen and, after ten years’ experience with the Dursleys and their behaviour, attempts to open the letter right in front of their faces.

 

DUDLEY: Yoink!

 

They then notice the seal on the envelope.

 

DURSLEYS: Gasp!

DUDLEY: Why am I acting shocked? I don’t know what that means.

 

Just then there is a faint rumbling and all of a sudden the windows and the door burst open and letters fly out of the chimney and the ventilation system and the breadbox and Pedro the flying squirrel’s water bowl and the Tupperware container of tapioca in the fridge and…

 

AUDIENCE: We get it!

 

…and Harry stands there opening the letters one by one and one by one they are taken away and ripped up.

 

HARRY: The repetitive motions are hypnotizing…

VERNON: We’re going away! Far away!

DUDLEY: Daddy’s gone mad, hasn’t he?

PETUNIA: No, not yet, but that scene got cut.

 

Skip that scene and cut to the crappy old house on the crappy old island in the middle of the crappy old sea.

 

MALI: Hee! The ocean! It’s all salty and stuff! (giggles insanely)

AUDIENCE: (roll eyes) Bloody Chicagoans.

 

Inside the Dursleys and Harry are asleep. Harry has drawn a birthday cake on the floor.

 

AUDIENCE: Is it chocolate?

HARRY : I wish that a seven-foot-tall stranger with a pink umbrella would suddenly and inexplicably burst in the door and spirit me away from my horrible adoptive family. (blows out candles)

 

A seven-foot-tall stranger with a pink umbrella suddenly and inexplicably bursts in the door.

 

HAGRID: Harry, I’m here to spirit you away from your horrible adoptive family!

HARRY: Wow, neato-cool!

VERNON: The hell?

HAGRID: Dry up, Dursley, you great prune. Or date. Or raisin. (turns to Harry) Happy birthday! (hands him a cake) I imagine I might have sat on it a bit, but hey, if you can survive that, the cake can.

HARRY: Um.

HAGRID: Well, with our continuing effort to cut down on running time, I’m afraid we can’t stay the night.

VERNON: What do you mean, “we”? Harry won’t be going anywhere!

HAGRID: Oh, and I suppose a great raisin like yourself is going to stop him?

VERNON: Oh, and I suppose the fact that you can perform card tricks and pull rabbits out of hats gives you the right to kidnap a child from his legal guardians?

HAGRID: Um, you’re not supposed to make any valid arguments.

VERNON: Oh. Sorry.

HARRY: What’s all this about?

HAGRID: You’re going to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

HARRY: What?

HAGRID: You’re a wizard, Harry. And a cracking good one, too, judging by the title of the franchise.

HARRY: A wizard?

PETUNIA: Well of course. How could you not be, my perfect sister being what she was? My parents were so happy the day she got her letter. I was the only one to see her for what she was – a freak! And then she met that Potter and they went and got themselves blown up—

HARRY: Blown up! You told me my parents died in a car crash!

HAGRID: Car crash kill Lily and James Potter!? It’s an outrage! It’s a scandal! It’s—wait, hold on a minute…

 

10 years earlier…

A road through the middle of nowhere. A cheese truck speeds along, a pale gray man with a slitty nose and glowing red eyes at the wheel. Next to him sits a single passenger reading a roadmap.

 

VOLDEMORT: Wormtail, have you figured out that accursed map yet?

WORMTAIL: I’m trying, sir.

VOLDEMORT: You’ve been trying for 20 minutes. We’ll have missed our exit; let me see that map!

WORMTAIL: Shouldn’t you watch the road?

 

Voldemort yanks the map away.

Meanwhile, in a mini headed the opposite direction…

 

JAMES POTTER: Lily, Harry’s been crying for a half hour now! Would you try to see what’s wrong with him?

LILY: (looks behind the seat) Oh, dear, he’s dropped his bottle. It’s behind your seat; I can’t reach it.

JAMES: Here, I’ll try…

LILY: Shouldn’t you watch the road?

 

8.7 seconds later…

CRRRASSSH!

Voldemort and Wormtail climb out of the crashed cheese truck.

 

VOLDEMORT: Oh, crap.

WORMTAIL: Erm, they look pretty dead to me.

VOLDEMORT: Well, just a little setback. We can still make the Death Eater meeting on time. Go hitch a lift, peon.

WORMTAIL: Okay.

 

Wormtail flags down a passing car, gets in, and drives off.

 

VOLDEMORT: What the--? Wormtail, you idiot, I meant for both of us! Come back here! …Oh, bollocks. (looks around) Great, no civilization for miles. Well, best start walking.

 

He wanders off. A few minutes later, a familiar flying motorcycle appears.

 

HAGRID: (pulls Harry from the wreckage) Gee, sure is a good thing his mother’s carcass formed that protective cocoon over him. All he’s got is this little cut on his forehead.

 

Back in the present.

 

HAGRID: Hehe, oh yeah. Car crash. Anyway, we’d best be off, Harry.

VERNON: I told you already, he’s not—

HAGRID: You’ve been trying to get rid of him for years, so don’t start pissing and moaning about it now. Goodbye.

 

Hagrid grabs Harry and pointedly slams the door.

 

HARRY: Where are we going?

HAGRID: London.

HARRY: Yay! Sightseeing!

HAGRID: No, no sightseeing.

HARRY: Not even Westminster Abbey?

HAGRID: Nope.

HARRY: The Eye of London?

HAGRID: Nope.

HARRY: St. Paul’s?

HAGRID: No.

HARRY: Madame Toussaud’s?

HAGRID: No!

HARRY: Piccadilly Circus?

HAGRID: No, dammit, no! We’re going to Diagon Alley.

HARRY: What the hell is that?

HAGRID: This is!

 

Suddenly they’re in Diagon Alley.

 

HARRY: Whoa.

PROFESSOR QUIRREL: Hello, I’m p-poor st-tuttering Proff-fessor Quirrel!

AUDIENCE: Aww, he’s so innocent!

HAGRID: Come on, let’s shop!

HARRY: Whee! Break out the drag!

AUDIENCE: No! No! God, no!

HARRY: Yeah, how am I going to pay for any drag?

HAGRID: We’ll go to Gringott’s. Your parents were famous burglars and left you all their booty.

HARRY: That sounded wrong.

HAGRID: Shut up.

 

They go off to Gringott’s

 

WICKET THE GOBLIN: What may I do for you?

HAGRID: Harry Potter needs some money, and I need You-Know-Who in vault You-Know-Which.

WICKET: Pardon?

HAGRID: I meant You-Know-What.

WICKET: Oh. Okay. Please follow Mini-Me down to the vaults.

 

Skip a bit.

 

MINI-ME: Key, please.

 

Mini-Me opens the door to Harry’s vault. It is revealed to be full of gold galleons and silver sickles and bronze knuts. Or maybe just gold galleons.

 

HARRY: Wow… Hagrid, how exactly did my parents get all this?

HAGRID: Well, it all started when your mum and dad got a visit from 13 dwarves one afternoon…

 

Forty-five minutes later…

 

HAGRID: …thus at long last Smaug was dead and the goblins and wargs were overrun by the men of Lake Town and the Mirkwood elves and Gwaihir and his host of eagles, and all seemed right with Middle-earth, at least until one day sixty years later when—

HARRY: Hagrid, I get the picture.

HAGRID: Sorry, Harry.

MINI-ME: Well, it’s been absolutely riveting, but if you’ll so kindly follow me…

 

They head down deeper to another vault.

 

HAGRID: (retrieves small, oddly-shaped parcel) Harry, you’d best forget what you just saw, even though you have a natural curiosity inherent in children and this package obviously contains something very powerful or very valuable or both, what with being such a tiny thing in such a high security vault and all.

HARRY: I can’t remember a thing.

HAGRID: Good boy.

 

Hagrid walks off and Harry grins.

 

HARRY: I remember everything.

 

Back on the surface…

 

HARRY: Yes! Madame Malkin’s time!

HAGRID: Nope, no time for mere antagonists. Have to get a wand. Much more important.

HARRY: (snivels) More important than my cute stalker?

HAGRID: Yes! Now go!

 

Harry runs off to Ollivander’s

 

SCARY OLD MAN: I wondered when I’d be seeing you, Mr. Potter. If I’d known it was going to be today, I’d have stayed home. Here, have a wand.

HARRY: How do you know this is the right one?

OLLIVANDER: Because due to the fact that Voldemort has the matching one, I think it’s safe to assume that later on it will be an important plot device.

HARRY: Yay!

 

Just then, Hagrid reappears.

 

HAGRID: Look, I bought you an owl!

HEDWIG: If the author wasn’t too busy watching Priscilla all the time to rent my movie, she’d probably make a really stupid reference here.

MALI: Not my fault! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get time to myself so I can screen the movie before deciding if I want to let my parents see it?

AUDIENCE: You’re a sick kid, you know that? Your parents know you watch gay movies. They know that in several of them people get naked. They even know that you let your siblings watch some of them as well. What more do you have to lose?

MALI: Um… my pride? My dignity? My mind?

AUDIENCE: Why do we even bother?

 

Later, back in the Leaky Cauldron…

 

HARRY: Hagrid, why does everybody know who I am?

HAGRID: Well, you see, when you were a baby, there as this guy. He was really, really evil.

HARRY: What was his name?

HAGRID: Umm, we do not speak it.

HARRY: Can you write it?

HAGRID: No, I can’t spell it.

HARRY: Yeah, should have figured that seeing as how you spelled my name “Hairy” on that cake you made. How about charades?

HAGRID: Oh, fine, I’ll say it. V-v-v-ol… V-v-olde… (deep breath) V-voldemort.

HARRY: VOLDEMORT?!

HAGRID: Shhhh!

HARRY: You mean to say that the DARK LORD’S name is VOLDEMORT?!

 

The other people in the pub are staring at Harry, mouths hanging open. A few people faint. Hagrid slaps his hand over Harry’s mouth.

 

HAGRID: So anyway, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He maimed, he pillaged, and he dialed 0 for numbers he could easily have looked up in the book. Your parents fought against him, or at least they did until one day that got into a terrible car accident. You alone survived. Nobody survived once they ran into Voldemort, literally or figuratively, except for you. That’s why you’re famous; you’re the boy who lived!

HARRY: Wow, just like the first chapter of the book!

HAGRID: Erm, yes.

 

The next day, or maybe some other time, at King’s Cross Station…

 

HAGRID: Platform 9¾. Don’t be late. Whoops, gotta run! Bye! (poof)

HARRY: Huh?

 

Five minutes later…

 

HARRY: I am so lost.

MOLLY WEASLEY: (magically appears) Here I come to save the day! Follow me, dear.

PERCY: Hi, I’m a prefect.

GINNY: Hi, I’m kind of cute but am going to be a major annoyance later.

FRED AND GEORGE: We kick ass but don’t get enough screentime.

RON: I’m a stupid annoying git and I’m going to hang around constantly for the rest of your life!

AUDIENCE: Noooo!

RON: Oh, and I ruined the Potions Class Lego set with my very presence.

AUDIENCE: Who cares?

MALI: Why, god, why!?

MOLLY: Anyway, to get onto the platform, you simply have to run through this wall. Try it, dear.

 

SMACK!

 

MOLLY: Whoops, I meant that wall.

 

Harry turns around and runs through the other wall and suddenly finds himself on platform 9¾.

 

HARRY: Yay! I win!

 

He boards the Hogwarts Express and sits down in an empty car which is a great way to begin a year of antisocialism.

 

AUDIENCE: Antisocialism as in the practice of not being social or the practice of being against socialism?

RON: (opens door) Can I sit in here? Everywhere else is full.

HARRY: So much for antisocialism.

AUDIENCE: What, Ron is a Nazi?

RON: I’m not!
AUDIENCE: We’re so confused!

 

Harry smacks the audience.

 

RON: Hi, I’m Ron Weasley. (looks like he’s about to be sick for no particular reason aside from the questionable acting skills of Rupert Grint)

HARRY: I’m Harry Potter.

RON: (looks even more ill) So you mean you’ve got… you know… the scar?

HARRY: Yeah, of course.

RON: Can I lick it?

 

Harry stares at him. Fortunately for all of us, he is saved from having to answer by a girl with the right hair and personality but the wrong teeth who comes bursting in the door.

 

RON: Hey, you always knock, do you? We could have been, um, busy in here and you come bursting in unannounced!

 

Now Harry looks sick.

 

HERMIONE: I’m looking for a toad; a boy named Neville’s lost one. Has one gotten in here through the door that was closed?

 

They stare at her.

 

HERMIONE: Hmm. Here, let me take care of that for you. Ocularis reparo!

 

Harry’s glasses are fixed.

 

AUDIENCE: How did the spell know she wanted to fix his glasses and not his eyes based on the Latin roots?

HERMIONE: Just lucky I guess. Oh, and you’ve got some dirt on your nose. Did you know?

RON: Growl, snarl.

 

Hermione turns to leave and all of a sudden Ray Park goes jumping down the hallway.

 

HERMIONE: Hey, Neville, there he is!

 

Old lady comes by with a cart of candy.

 

HARRY: Do you have anything with under fifteen grams of saturated fat?

OLD LADY: Nope.

HARRY: Good, we’ll take the lot.

 

Harry sits there and watches as Ron stuffs his face, imagining his arteries clogging in a matter of minutes.

 

RON: This is my rat, Scabbers. He’s like ten years old and eats jellybeans. Is that normal for a rat?

HARRY: (shrugs)

 

That evening, the Hogwarts Express arrives at… Hogwarts. Harry and Ron get off, now wearing their dorky school uniforms.

 

AUDIENCE: Sweaters? All of these cute English schoolboys and you put them in sweaters?

MALI: And the robes. Don’t forget the ugly cut of the robes.

AUDIENCE: Yeah! You might as well stick them in muumuus!

 

Wait until you see the Quidditch robes!

 

AUDIENCE: (visibly pale)

HAGRID: First years this way; gotta let the giant squid kill off the weak ones before the school year starts!

 

Some of the first years start to cry as their friends are eaten in a horrible 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea-style bloodbath. Draco Malfoy panics instead of looking irritatingly aloof as one would expect. He will continue to do this for the rest of the film.

 

SLYTHERIN FANS: Stupid movie.

 

Up at the school, the new students are met by Professor McGonagall.

 

McGONAGALL: Now that your ranks are suitably thinned, the survivors – that’s you – will be sorted into your houses. They are, in order of what is popularly perceived to be the “best” to the “worst”, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin.

 

The ambitious students roll their eyes, knowing that they’re going to be scapegoated for the entire rest of their student lives.

 

McGONAGALL: Now I’m going to duck out for a minute. Mr. Malfoy, do your stuff.

DRACO: Finally.

AUDIENCE: (shifty eyes)

DRACO: So what they’re saying is true. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.

OTHER STUDENTS: (are obviously surprised all though anyone who could do simple math should be able to figure out that The Boy Who Lived would be 11 years old this year)

HARRY: Umm…

DRACO: My name’s Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.

 

Ron snickers.

 

DRACO: You think my name’s funny, do you? (turns to the audience) I would like to state right now, for the record, that Ron started it.

 

He abruptly turns around and punches Ron in his stupid face.

 

DRACO: (to Harry) I’ll see you in the Astronomy Tower after we hit puberty. (winks)

HARRY: …!

 

McGonagall comes back in.

 

McGONAGALL: It’s time.

 

They enter the Great Hall.

 

HERMIONE: The ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky outside, so during lunch you have to wear sunscreen. I read about it in Hogwarts: A History.

TOUR GUIDE: And here we see Hermione Granger, mere moments before she is sorted into the house where her brilliance will prove most useful to our protagonist, demonstrating why she should logically have been sorted into Ravenclaw. So much for coherency.

 

Harry looks up at the staff table, where he notices Professor Quirrel the funny turban guy and, sitting next to him, Snape the amazingly sexy and well-written head of Slytherin house.

 

SNAPE: Bite me.

 

Isn’t he cute, folks?

 

DUMBLEDORE: Before we begin, I would like to set up a few rules for Harry Potter to break. No out after dark, no going into the Forbidden Forest, and no entering the Dark and Sinister Third Floor Corridor. Thank you.

McGONAGALL: You will now be sorted into your houses. While you are here, your house will be like your family, except in the case of Slytherin in which they will be more like your fellow untouchables.

SLYTHERIN: Hmph. Don’t hate us because we’re beautiful.

 

McGonagall holds up the Sorting Hat.

 

FRED AND GEORGE: (snicker) Pointy hat trick!

McGONAGALL: Let’s go completely out of alphabetical order, or any sort of order for that matter, this year. Hermione Granger.

 

Hermione, instead of running up there, is scared out of her wits.

 

SORTING HAT: Well, you’re really smart, but we’re going to put you in Gryffindor so that you can hang out with our protagonist and make sure he doesn’t screw up.

McGONAGALL: Ronald Weasley.

SORTING HAT: Hmm… your blind stupidity and lack of judgement can be interpreted as courage, so off to Gryffindor with you.

McGONAGALL: Draco Malfoy.

DRACO: (to Sorting Hat) If you mess up my hair, I’m going to rip you apart.

SORTING HAT: Slytherin!

 

Draco prances off to the Slytherin table.

 

McGONAGALL: Harry Potter.

STUDENT BODY: (is once again utterly surprised)

HARRY: Would everybody stop acting shocked? It’s getting really annoying! Geez! (puts on the sorting hat)

SORTING HAT: Slyth—

HARRY: Not Slytherin!

SORTING HAT: Not Slytherin, eh? Why not? You’ve got a thirst to prove yourself, and Slytherin could help you on your way to greatness and profitability.

HARRY: Yeah, but they all look kind of… evil.

SORTING HAT: Look, kid, you gotta take the bad with the good. They might be slightly less than fully upstanding citizens, but barring Crabbe and Goyle and a few kids with dental problems, they’re also all-around much better-looking than any of the other houses.

HARRY: True, but this is a franchise designed for kids, and kids need archetypes, so can’t you just put me in a slightly less evil house? Think of the children!

SORTING HAT: Fine, but in exchange for your giving me a hard time about it, I’m sentencing you to seven year with Ron Weasley. Better be Gryffindor!

 

Harry gets up and notices the Slytherins looking at him like he’s something unpleasant that one would find wedged in the tires of one’s car.

 

HARRY: Holy shit, did we just say that out loud?

 

The Slytherins crack their knuckles.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Screw the rest of the sorting. The rest of you grab a house; let’s eat!

DRACO: FOOD! (slams his face into a bowl full of mashed potatoes) We never have food at home! (laughs maniacally)

PANSY PARKINSON: Draco’s gone mad, hasn’t he?!

BLAISE ZABINI: How would I know? I don’t even have a gender!

MALI: (waves her Magic Author Wand) There! Now in my story you’re a guy!

BLAISE: Then why am I wearing a dress?

MALI: I never said you were an average guy.

 

At the Gryffindor table…

 

HARRY: Oi, Percy, who’s that professor sitting next to Quirrel?

PERCY: That’s Professor Snape; he’s head of Slytherin house. He teaches potions, but everybody knows he’s a pervy defence against the Dark Arts fancier. Quite literally once we get to your third year, as I understand it.

HARRY: Sorry I asked.

 

After the feast, the prefects lead the first years to their dormitories. They enter a hallway full of staircases that may or may not have moved in the book, depending on who you ask and how good their memory is. The pictures on the walls do move, but only occasionally and only for very limited amounts of time.

 

AUDIENCE: You’re losing Enchantment Factor by the minute here, movie. You hire ILM to do your special effects and then do a half-assed job of it?

 

Leave me alone, dammit.

 

PERCY: Caput draconis!

AUDIENCE: And by the way – what 8-year-old kid knows anything about Latin? We’re talking to you, JK Rowling! It makes it seem like the school motto is talking about grease-boy.

JK ROWLING: Leave me alone. I have to finish book 5.

DRACO: And I’m not greasy!

 

Inside Gryffindor Tower…

 

HARRY: It’s so good to be away from my abusive adopted family. Imagine! I’ll never have to do their laundry or scrub their floors ever again. It’s like a dream come true. Now if only I was old enough to go to the ball.

MALI: Maybe in the fourth book, dear.

AUDIENCE: I can see it now: Malfoy searching all the boys’ dormitories with a glass slipper.

MALI: Hey, how’d you know?!

AUDIENCE: We said it before and we’ll say it again. You’re a sick kid.

 

The next day at breakfast…

 

RON: Here’s the mail, it never fails, it makes me want to wag my tail! When it comes I want to wail, “MAAAAAILLLL!”

HARRY: That was pretty sick.

 

An owl drops a newspaper and a letter into Ron’s food.

 

HARRY: Can I borrow this?

RON: Sure.

 

Harry picks up the newspaper and hits Ron over the head with it. He then looks at the front page.

 

HARRY: Hey, check it out. Somebody tried to rob Gringott’s. Wait a second… that was the vault that Hagrid and I went to earlier that day. He took this little tiny package out of this big ‘ol high-security vault.

RON: Mmm… bacon…

HARRY: Ron, pay attention; this is important!

HERMIONE: I’m listening.

HARRY: We don’t even like you for, like, another twenty minutes.

HERMIONE: Grrgh.

 

After breakfast it’s time for transfiguration. And before anybody says a word, yes, Gryffindor has all of its classes with Slytherin. Hogwarts has become a living hell. Suddenly the doors burst open, and in rush Harry and Ron.

 

RON: Oh, good, we made it. Can you imagine the look on McGonagall’s face if we were late?

McGONAGALL: (transfigures from cat on desk) I can.

RON: That was bloody brilliant!

McGONAGALL: Flattery will get you nowhere.

RON: I’ll just go sit down, then. Heh.

 

Potions time! Yay!

 

AUDIENCE: Oh, here we go…

SNAPE: (bursts in the door) Before we begin, let’s get one thing straight. I’m not.

 

Beat.

 

SNAPE: No, wait, that’s not what I was going to say. Now, ah, yes. I don’t like kids. Except maybe you. (points to Draco) And you, boy in the sequined ball gown.

BLAISE: It’s not my fault!

SNAPE: No, I’m serious. Going gay early; good for you. Saves a lot of trouble later on.

BLAISE: But I’ve only been male for 24 hours! (sobs)

SNAPE: Yes, anyway, back to the evilness. There will be no silly wand-waving or incantations in this class. There will also be no parchment airplanes, synchronized swimming, martial arts…

 

Fifteen minutes later.

 

SNAPE: …Broadway show tunes, cross-country skiing, Shakespearean playacting, or points for Gryffindor. There will be simply potions.

DEAN THOMAS: So what exactly do we do in potions?

SNAPE: You measure things out and put them in a pot.

SEAMUS FINNIGAN: So basically it’s like… cooking.

 

Beat.

 

SNAPE: Um.

DEAN: Therefore, potions is, essentially, home economics.

SNAPE: 5 points from Gryffindor. Now where was I? Ah, yes. Mr. Potter… our new celebrity. Tell me, what is the capital of Assyria?

 

Hermione’s hand shoots into the air.

 

HARRY: I don’t know, sir.

SNAPE: Let’s try again. What is the average air speed velocity of an unladen swallow?

 

Hermione raises her hand again.

 

HARRY: I don’t know, sir.

SNAPE: Pity… clearly, fame isn’t everything. Is it, Mr. Potter?

HARRY: Seems a pity not to ask Hermione, seeing as she knows the answer.

SNAPE: Seems an even greater pity that I’m going to have to call down the wrath of God on you.

 

Harry is suddenly and inexplicably smote.

 

SNAPE: Never mess with someone whose acting résumé is longer than your… wand.

DRACO: (stares, doe-eyed, at Snape) Be still my beating heart.

 

Outside…

 

MADAME HOOCH: Welcome to your first flying lesson. Please pay no attention to how realistic the special effects in this sequence do or do not look. Since no one has ever actually seen someone ride a broomstick, we really have no idea if the CGI looks real or not and thus it would be best not to think about it. Now, everybody put your hand over your broom and say “up!”

AUDIENCE: So wrong.

 

Harry’s broom immediately jumps into his hand. Why? Because the broom knows that he’s “special”. Draco is next. However, instead of admiring him like we did Harry, we think he’s a showoff. On the other hand, Ron is unable to successfully call his broom and is instead hit in his stupid face with it. Again and again and again.

 

AUTHOR, HER BROTHER, AND MOST OF HER FRIENDS: (giggle and press the reverse scan button repeatedly) Tell us we’re not the only ones who do this. ^_^

AUDIENCE: Stop that!

 

Ron stops getting smacked.

 

HOOCH: Okay, now we’re going to mount our brooms—

AUDIENCE: This is really a PG movie?

HOOCH: —and push off and hover a few inches above the ground.

 

Without even having done anything yet, Neville loses control of his broom. An altogether too-long sequence in which he gets knocked around a bit before falling off his broom and breaking his wrist ensues.

 

HOOCH: If I see any brooms off the ground, whoever’s riding them will be out of here faster than you can say “Quidditch”.

 

She walks off. Malfoy’s immediately on his broom and in the air.

 

DRACO: Ass!

AUDIENCE: Did he just say that?

DRACO: I think I’ll leave Longbottom’s remembrall on the roof for him to find.

 

Harry jumps valiantly onto his broom and goes after Malfoy.

 

HARRY: Give it here!

DRACO: No, I don’t think I will. Let’s fuse.

HARRY: In front of everybody!?

DRACO: Sure.

HARRY: Well, okay, but I—hey, you’re trying to distract me!

DRACO: Is it working?

HARRY: Yes. I mean no! Give me the remembrall!

DRACO: If you want it, go and get it.

 

He throws it. Harry goes after it.

 

DRACO: Having already used my single allotted swear word for this children’s film, I will now make absolutely no allusions to the game of fetch, any animals that play fetch, or any other names for said animals, especially in a sexual or even vaguely sexual context.

AUDIENCE: Come again?

 

Meanwhile, Harry catches the remembrall but a in the process accidentally crashes through a window. He lands on McGonagall’s desk.

 

HARRY: Hi, Professor!

McGONAGALL: Who cares if you weren’t supposed to be flying and if you should have just told Madame Hooch what Malfoy did with Longbottom’s remembrall when she got back and you just broke my window? I’m making you the new Gryffindor seeker and I’m buying you an extremely expensive racing broom!

HARRY: Yay! Crime does pay!

 

They rush down to Quirrel’s classroom.

 

McGONAGALL: Professor, may I borrow Wood for a moment?

QUIRREL: I d-don’t mean to be r-r-rude, b-but you’re the ffffourth person who’s st-to-opped by asking to “b-borrow” Wood this mmmorning. If I lent W-wood out to everyone who w-wanted me t-to, he’d never learn anyth-thing.

OLIVER: Why can’t anyone leave me alone? (hides under his desk)

McGONAGALL: I don’t want to ”borrow” Wood, I just want to speak with him.

QUIRREL: Oh. All r-right.

 

Wood gets up and inches over to the door.

 

McGONAGALL: I’ve found us a new seeker!

OLIVER: (looks fearfully at Harry) And he doesn’t want to “borrow” me, either?

McGONAGALL: No! Nobody wants to “borrow” you!

OLIVER: If only that were true… (twitches) The fangirls… the fangirls…

 

Later that day, Harry and Hermione and Ron are going up to their common room when the stairs they’re on switch. You’d think with the kind of inconveniences this would probably cause, somebody would do something about the moving stairs, but apparently not.

 

RON: C’mon, let’s go wherever the stairs put us down.

HERMIONE: But this is the Third Floor Corridor of Doom. First off, we were told to stay out of it because we’re going to die if we don’t, and second off we know it doesn’t lead to our Common Room, so why bother going down it?

HARRY: (shrugs) It’ll advance the plot.

 

They go down the corridor, which looks like something out of a bad horror movie. Suddenly, there’s a GIANT THREE-HEADED DOG!

 

HARRY, RON, AND HERMIONE: Ahhhhhhhhhh!

THREE-HEADED DOG: Hello and welcome to Hades. Admission is ₤7.50 for adults, ₤6.50 for seniors and children under 12, plus a tip for the ferryman. Guided tours start on the hour every hour. And please do remember not to eat the pomegranates.

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turn around and run screaming in the other direction.

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room…

 

HERMIONE: Now, if you don’t mind, I’m not going on any more bloody adventures with you two; you’re going to get us killed. Or worse, expelled!

RON: She needs to get her priorities straightened out.

 

Courtyard of the castle. Harry and Oliver enter, lugging a large wooden chest. Oliver is wearing a wreath of garlic around his neck.

 

HARRY: Dude, you small funky. Can’t you take that thing off?

OLIVER: No… (shifty eyes) I always wear it when I leave the castle. It keeps… (drops his voice to a whisper) It keeps them away.

HARRY: Who? The fangirls?

OLIVER: (slaps a hand over Harry’s mouth) Shut up; they’ll hear you!

HARRY: Mrrnf.

OLIVER: Now then… Quidditch is fairly easy to learn. It requires two baseball players, three basketball players, and a goalie. It also requires a seeker. That’s you.

HARRY: Uh, Wood, why are you talking with an American accent?

OLIVER: The Irish one is too sexy. Can’t risk it. Anyway, this is a quaffle, which the chasers try to put through those three hoops over there. And these are the bludgers, which try to knock you off your broom. The beaters have to keep these away from you. And this…

 

He produces a small gold ball that should have silver wings.

 

OLIVER: …This is the Golden Snitch. It’s your job to catch the snitch before the other team does. It gets us 150 points and ends the game.

HARRY: So what’s the point of the other balls?

OLIVER: You won’t find out until the fourth book, so don’t worry about it.

HARRY: And why does the snitch have wings but the bludgers don’t?
OLIVER: Umm… I don’t know. Go catch the snitch.

 

He lets the snitch go and Harry goes skipping and jumping across the field trying to catch it.

 

OLIVER: Kid asks too many questions.

 

Suddenly there is a noise in some nearby shrubbery. Oliver blanches and goes running back into the castle.

The next day, or whatever. Halloween. Charms class.

 

DRACO: I’m charming enough as it is, thank you.

MALI: Bad puns aren’t charming.

STAR WARS FANGEEKS IN AUDIENCE: Professor Flitwick rules!

REST OF AUDIENCE: What about the bank teller at Gringott’s?

FANGEEKS: Well, he wasn’t as cool.

FLITWICK: Remember: swish and flick. Everybody try it, now – swish and flick. Very good! Now let’s try “wingardium leviosa”!

RON: Wingardium leviosa! (utterly fails)

HERMIONE: It’s leviosa, not leviosa. Sheez.

 

After class…

 

RON: She’s a nightmare, honestly! I’m going to take her bloody wand and shove it up her—

 

Ahem.

 

RON: …nose.

 

Hermione runs past, crying.

 

HARRY: I think she heard you. Idiot.

 

Dinnertime!

 

DUMBLEDORE: Instead of having regular food, we’re going to have candy!

SEAMUS: I seem to remember hearing a story from the Muggle half of my family when I was little about a witch who lured small children into her lair so that she could fatten them up and cook them.

DUMBLEDORE: Oh, shut up and eat.

HARRY: Hey, where’s Hermione?

NEVILLE: She’s been in the girls’ bathroom all day, crying.

HARRY: How do you know she’s in the girls’ bathroom?

NEVILLE: Blaise Zabini told me.

 

The doors of the Great Hall burst open and in runs Professor Quirrel.

 

QUIRREL: Troll! Troll in the dungeon! …Thought you ought to know. (faints)

EVERYONE: (panics)

DUMBLEDORE: Say, Professor Snape lives in the dungeon. Severus, have you been keeping a pet—Severus? Where’d he go?

 

The students are running around in circles screaming and tripping over the comatose body of Professor Quirrel.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Silence! Now, prefects, please escort your houses back to the dorms while the teachers get the troll out of the dungeon.

SLYTHERIN PREFECTS: Out dorms are in the dungeon.

DUMBLEDORE: Oh well. No great loss.

 

Percy leads the Gryffindors up to the dorms. But just then, Harry remembers something!

 

HARRY: Hermione is in the bathroom; she doesn’t know about the troll!

RON: Oh, no!

HARRY: Instead of telling a teacher that she’s missing, let’s go find her ourselves!

RON: Oh, no…

 

They run off towards the bathroom. Just then, there is a loud, rhythmic thumping sound that is not a headboard so stop your pervy thoughts, audience.

 

AUDIENCE: Aww…

 

…Ahem. Harry notices a glass of water sitting, for some reason, on a nearby windowsill. The water is vibrating.

 

HARRY: I think the troll’s left the dungeon.

RON: Yeah, it’s, umm, entering the girls’ bathroom.

 

They run the rest of the way towards the bathroom but stop in the doorway.

 

RON: Now what? We can’t go in there!

HARRY: But Hermione…

RON: (grabs Harry’s collar) Harry, this is the girls’ bathroom we’re talking about!

HARRY: Oh, you’re right. What are we going to do?

VOICE: Never fear! I’ll save you!

Harry and Ron turn around to find a tall blonde man-type thing standing behind them. He’s wearing a French maid outfit.

 

LEGOLAS: I’m Leggy the House Elf! With my dangerous levels of androgyny, I can cross gender barriers like no one else! Even Blaise Zabini! And, of course, I have lots of experience in defeating cave trolls.

HARRY: That’s a mountain troll.

LEGOLAS: Eh.

HERMIONE: Um, hello?

 

Leggy rushes into the girls’ bathroom valiantly and fires an arrow straight into the troll’s throat.

 

TROLL: Gasp, choke, die.

HERMIONE: My hero! (goes to hug Leggy)

LEGOLAS: Ah ah ah, no touchy. (makes sure his hair is okay)

 

Leggy nances off. As he does, McGonagall, Quirrel, and Snape rush in.

 

McGONAGALL: What’s going on here?!

HERMIONE: (makes up some outrageous lie instead of telling the wholly-believable-because-it-happened truth)

SNAPE: Oh, for the love of…

HARRY: What happened to your leg?

SNAPE: I… um… I fell.

HARRY: And cut your thigh?

SNAPE: It’s a paper cut.

HARRY: Bleeding that profusely?

SNAPE: I was bitten by Draco Malfoy.

HARRY: No fair!

 

McGonagall stares at Snape.

 

SNAPE: What? (limps off)

 

The next day at lunch there are troll patties for everyone; yay!

After lunch, it’s Quidditch time.

 

OLIVER: You scared, Harry?

HARRY: (shaking in his little space boots)

OLIVER: Don’t worry; you’ll be fine. Nothing… bad… ever happens… at first games.

HARRY: What? You’re a terrible liar. What happened at your first game?

OLIVER: Well, once I put on the leather gear, a horde of hormonal fangirls caught the scent. I never had a chance; I never even made it out onto the pitch. They did horrible things to me, Harry. Things that would make a grown man weep.

HARRY: (awestruck) What sort of things?

OLIVER: (just stares at him, lip quivering, and then bursts into tears and throws himself into Fred’s arms)

FRED: Now look what you’ve done! Gone and made him cry! Aww, there there, Oli darling, the mean old fangirls can’t get to you anymore.

OLIVER: (snivels) They’ll come back. They always come back!

HARRY: Um.

 

Ten minutes later, Oliver has calmed down as much as is possible for a person as neurotic as he is and the match is about to start. Guess whom it’s against.

 

AUDIENCE: Hold on… you made it sound like the Quidditch uniforms were going to be awful, you bastards!

 

I never said that. But aren’t they great?

 

AUDIENCE: Try “the sexiest thing we’ve ever seen”. But what’s with the Slytherin team? Marcus Flint has bad teeth and the seeker has a terrible haircut.

SEEKER: They’re trying to make you hate us by making us evil and ugly, but they shall not succeed because we have cute girls on the team!

MARCUS: (would add something here but can’t actually talk because his teeth get in the way)

SEEKER: Poor Marcus. He’d be kind of hot, too, if not for his lack of dental insurance. (pats him on the head)

HOOCH: Okay, I want a nice, clean game.

MARCUS: (rolls his eyes and looks through the Slytherin playbook to see if that have anything at all that fits that description)

HOOCH: Ready, set, go!

 

Madame Hooch releases the snitch and then the quaffle. Gryffindor takes it.

 

SLYTHERIN TEAM: Oh, for Christ’s sake.

CHRISTIAN FUNDAMENTALISTS: Don’t you ever mention our Lord and saviour again! You heathens!

HP CAST: Huh?

FUNDAMENTALISTS: You’re a bunch of godless infidels. You promote paganism, you devil-worshippers! All of you!

CAST: Um, first off, we’re not anything like actual witches. And second off, pagans can’t be devil-worshippers because you have to be a Christian before you can be the antichrist.

FUNDAMENTALISTS: You take that back!

CAST: Take what back?

FUNDAMENTALISTS: You’re all going to burn in hell!

CAST: (blink)

MALI: Well, we’ll be sure to bring our sunscreen, thank you. (pushes the fundies out of the story) On with the Quidditch, ladies!

 

Umm, let’s see. Well, Harry sits there doing nothing, just staring at the Slytherin seeker’s godawful haircut. Marcus Flint has his shot blocked by Oliver, who gives him this snarky look. Then they just act sort of slashy in general some more. Fred hits Marcus with a bludger, so Marcus Flint grabs a bat and hits Oliver with one. Oliver falls into this sand pit at the bottom of the, um, goal things.

 

FRED: Noooooooooo!

 

Suddenly there is a vague ominous rumbling sound and a horde of dozens of teenage girls comes stampeding through the Quidditch pitch. They grab the comatose Oliver and run off with him.

 

FRED: Get back here, you crazy estrogen-laced bitches!

 

He drops his bat thing and goes after them.

 

GEORGE: Fred! We’ve got to—the game—gah, forget your stupid—oh, bollocks.

ANGELINA: We’re so dead. (grabs the quaffle and scores an impossible point because they’re Gryffindor) Or not.

SLYTHERIN: (utterly fails to score even when Gryffindor lacks a keeper) Life hates us.

 

The Slytherin team continues getting pummeled into the ground. Meanwhile, somebody’s put a spell on Harry’s broom!

 

HARRY: (suffering severe whiplash)

HAGRID: Hey, what’s the matter with Harry?

RON: Maybe he’s turned into Neville!

HERMIONE: No, look at Snape! He’s jinxing the broom!

RON: Or maybe he’s using an incantation to turn Harry into Neville!

HARMIONE: Shut up, Ron.

 

Hermione runs off. She gets under the stands and lights Snape’s robe on fire.

 

MAXWELL DEMON: Snapey’s on fire; better throw him in the water!

AUDIENCE: (groans)

PROFESSOR SPROUT: Umm, Snape, you’re, um… burning.

SNAPE: Shite!

AUDIENCE: Gasp! Children’s movie!

 

Snape Irish step dances on his robs to put them out. He accidentally smacks Professor Quirrel in the face in the process. Harry regains his balance and control of the broom.

 

HERMIONE: Yay! I win!

HARRY: And now, for my next act, I’m going to win the game!

 

Suddenly, the snitch is floating about two inches in front of the Slytherin seeker’s face, but just before he can grab it, Harry comes by and the snitch disappears.

 

SLYTHERIN SEEKER: What the--? Where’d it go?

HARRY: (burps) Tastes like chicken.

 

And so Slytherin was defeated and a few hours later Oliver Wood was found and rescued by Fred Weasley, half-naked and curled up behind greenhouse #3, muttering incoherent nonsense and sobbing. Yes, all was right with the world. Except for one thing.

Later that day, or maybe some other day…

 

HARRY: Professor Snape is trying to kill me!

HAGRID: Nonsense; he kicked that habit a long time ago. He hasn’t killed a student in almost four years.

 

Harry blanches.

 

HERMIONE: But at the Quidditch game he was jinxing Harry’s broom!

HAGRID: Was not!

HERMIONE: Was too!

HAGRID: Why would he want to do a thing like that?

HARRY: Because he’s evil?

RON: Because he’s secretly in love with Harry?

HERMIONE: No, because he wants to get whatever that three-headed dog is guarding!

HAGRID: How do you know about Fluffy?

ALL: Fluffy?

HAGRID: (sighs) Look, I want you to forget all about that. It’s none of your business; it’s strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.

HARRY: (gasps) I haven’t eaten any chocolate frogs yet!

RON: Sure you did. On the train.

HARRY: Yeah, but I didn’t read the card.

HERMIONE: Harry, the fourth wall has already been burnt to the floor. You’re just pissing on the ashes right now.

HARRY: Sorry.

 

From out of nowhere, it begins snowing.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Happy Christmas, everybody!

 

Harry looks around worriedly, hoping this doesn’t trigger another assault from the Christian fundamentalists.

 

HERMIONE: What? Christmas!? I’ve got to go pack!

HARRY: Hermione, not so loud! You’re going to attract the—

 

There is a distant rumbling that grows steadily louder.

 

HARRY: (gulps) Bible-thumpers!

 

The Bible-thumpers thump Harry with their Bibles. Hah! Get it?

 

HERMIONE: Uh, yeah, gotta go… pack…

RON: And I gotta go… er… polish my clogs. Yeah.

 

They run off.

 

HERMIONE: (calls back) Don’t forget to look in the Restricted Section, Harry!

 

Christmas morning.

 

RON: Harry, wake up, we’ve got presents!

HARRY: We do?

 

Harry notices that Ron is wearing an enormous pink bow on his head.

 

HARRY: Ron, I’m going to say this one more time: I’m not interested.

RON: (sniffle) Well, you’ve got other presents anyway.

AUDIENCE: So… these kids are eleven.

MALI: Oh, hush.

 

Harry opens up one of the packages to find a shiny bundle of cloth.

 

HARRY: The hell? What’s this?

RON: (shrugs) Lingerie?

HARRY: (unfolds the bundle) Oh my god… it is lingerie.

 

He holds up a corset and a pair of panties.

 

RON: Well, let’s see it then.

 

Harry slips the corset on over his pajamas and Ron gasps.

 

RON: I know what that is! It’s invisibility underwear!

 

Harry looks down to find that his chest and stomach have disappeared.

 

RON: It’s really rare and really valuable. Who gave it to you?

HARRY: The card doesn’t say. And this doesn’t look like Malfoy’s handwriting.

RON: Hey, I know what we can do with it!

 

Later that evening in the common room again. Ron finishes lacing up Harry’s corset.

 

HARRY: How do I look?

 

Ron steps back and admires his handiwork.

 

RON: About 45% more invisible than you were ten minutes ago.

HARRY: I still don’t understand what good that does me, exactly.

RON: Harry, it’s quite simple. 45% more invisibility means 45% less chance someone’s going to see you!

HARRY: I guess.

RON: Now get out there and find Nicholas Flamel!

 

The library. The restricted section consists of some cheap plywood paneling and a velvet rope with a sign that says “DO NOT ENTER” hanging from it. Harry enters. Apparently it’s so restricted that there aren’t even any spells protecting the damn thing.

 

HARRY: Hmm, Flamel, Flamel, Flamel… well, this book has nothing to do with Nicholas Flamel, but it looks sort of interesting. Hmm… “The Screaming Book”. Let’s see what it’s about.

 

He opens the book. It screams really, really loudly.

 

HARRY: The hell?! They should print warnings on stuff like that; honestly!

 

He grabs his lantern, fixes the incredible wedgie his invisibility panties are giving him, runs for it, and immediately drops the lantern. The wedgie comes back.

 

HARRY: This really just isn’t my evening.

FILCH: Hey, who’s in here?

HARRY: I had to say something.

 

Harry runs the opposite direction as Filch’s voice.

 

HARRY: (under his breath) 55% chance of being spotted, 55% chance of being spotted…

 

He reaches the far end of the library, goes through the doors, and finds himself in the same hallway as two other familiar figures in what at first appears to be a compromising position.

 

HARRY: Oh my god… he really is a pervy defense against the dark arts fancier!

 

Harry notices that Snape is actually has Quirrel in a chokehold up against the wall.

 

HARRY: Phew.

SNAPE: I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that just as soon as I point out that I would prefer not to pervily fancy any dark arts teachers until book three, thank you. (turns back to Quirrel) I’m warning you, you slimy git… (makes plenty of ambiguous statements) You don’t want me for an enemy, Quirrel. I’ve very nearly outsmarted Kevin Costner and Bruce Willis and I sure as hell wouldn’t have a problem with you because in this one I don’t have the bad guy disadvantage.

MALI: (hisses) You’re giving too much away!

SNAPE: Sorry.

 

Suddenly Snape turns and notices Harry.

 

HARRY: 45%, 45%…

SNAPE: (shrugs) Hm.

HARRY: I don’t believe it. It actually worked!

SNAPE: Hey, wait just one second…

HARRY: Eep!

Harry turns and runs into the nearest vacant room he can find. He closes the door and turns to find himself faced with a large full-length antique mirror. Across the top is engraved “Revelctaht tnsi rorrim amidnas drawk cabnettir wsisiht”.

 

HARRY: Hey, I can see myself! (stupid laugh)

 

Suddenly two other figures appear beside Harry.

 

HARRY: Huh? What—mum? Dad?

 

The figures nod.

 

HARRY: Oh my gosh, you’re my parents, you’re—(looks at James) That’s what I’m going to look like when I’m older?

AUDIENCE: Yes, that’s what you’re going to look like. Let us be the first to say that it’s not that much of a downhill slide for you, Daniel Radcliffe.

HARRY: (looks hurt)

AUDIENCE: We’re sorry. You’re a cute kid and all, but just… not Harry. You’re just not Harry.

HARRY: Where did it all go wrong?

AUDIENCE: Well, it’s not all your fault. Harry’s kind of a whiny prat anyhow, so maybe we just needed a really incredible actor to pull him off. Don’t sweat it; you’re all right.

HARRY: Eh, oh well. My career’s probably going to be over after these movies anyway.

AUDIENCE: Yeah, you’re no Elijah Wood. Even if you do have big blue eyes.

HARRY: Hey, that’s not my fault!

AUDIENCE: Forget about it. Now how about getting on with things a bit, eh?

 

Harry runs back to the Gryffindor dormitory and drags Ron out of bed. They return to the room with the mirror.

 

HARRY: Look in the mirror! My parents live in a mirror!

RON: I don’t see your parents. I see… I see me, and I’m… well, you don’t want to know what I’m doing.

HARRY: But… but… (sobs)

 

Some other time, maybe the next day, maybe the next week, who knows? Harry is sitting in front of the mirror just staring at it.

 

DUMBLEDORE: (jumps out from behind a potted shrubbery) Boo!

HARRY: Gyah!

DUMBLEDORE: I came to tell you about the mirror. I wish I could say that you’d have a bit more time to obsess over your parents, because in a few years you’re probably going to see yourself doing obscene things to Draco Malfoy in the mirror instead of your family, but I can’t, because tomorrow the mirror is going to a new home.

PART OF AUDIENCE THAT READ THE BOOKS: (get odd mental image of Dumbledore trying to get through all of the tests, lugging the mirror behind him)

HARRY: Aww, shucks. Oh well. I can find other ways to amuse myself. I’m going to go see how many jelly beans I can fit up Ron’s nose.

 

Winter turns to spring and Harry, Ron, and Hermione forget all about Nicholas Flamel for about four months.

 

HERMIONE: Hey, remember that Nicholas Flamel guy?

RON: Who?

HARRY: You know, that guy who has something to do with that thing that Snape’s trying to steal.

DRACO: (nances by) Snapey’s just a regular kleptomaniac, isn’t he?

HARRY: Why do you say that?

DRACO: Because he’s stolen my heart! (skips off)

HARRY: (nails dig into the table) I’ll kill the bastard.

HERMIONE: Anyway, I found out who Nicholas Flamel is. I checked this out ages ago for a bit of light reading.

 

She sets a giant 75-pound book down on the table and on top of Ron’s hand. Ron starts crying.

 

HERMIONE: Nicholas Flamel is the only known maker of the Sorcerer’s Stone, a stone that can turn any substance to pure gold, produces the Elixir of Life, which grants immortality to those who drink it, and makes a mean chocolate soufflé.

RON: Hey, no wonder Snape wants it; I want one!

HARRY: Let’s go visit Hagrid in the dead of night.

 

Later, in the dead of night…

 

HERMIONE: (stares incredulously at the invisibility lingerie) I don’t care what crackpot theory you guys have; we’re never going to all fit in those.

RON: Okay, what if you take the corset, and Harry and I share the panties?

HARRY: Let’s just run really fast and hope nobody sees us.

 

They run out to Hagrid’s hut and knock on the door.

 

HAGRID: Sorry, I’m in no fit state to entertain tonight.

ALL: We know about the Sorcerer’s Stone!
HAGRID: Oh. Damn. Well, come on in. Meet my dragon, Norbert. I got him from a mysterious stranger down at the Newt and Cucumber. Innit he cute?

ALL: Umm.

HAGRID: Oh, by the way, Snape’s not trying to steal the Stone; he’s one of the wizards protecting it.

 

Suddenly there’s a noise outside and a flash of greasy hair at the window.

 

ALL: Malfoy!

 

They rush back into the school, only to be met by Professor McGonagall, Draco in tow.

 

McGONAGALL: Growl, snarl.

HARRY: Uh oh.

 

McGonagall’s classroom.

 

McGONAGALL: Nothing gives students the right to wander about the school at night. So I’m going to take one hundred fifty points from Gryffindor.

ALL: What?!

McGONAGALL: Also, all four of you will be serving detention.

DRACO: (counts on his fingers) Bollocks.

 

The next day, Harry is following a random kid around the hallways. The kid is walking as fast as he can trying to get away.

 

HARRY: Stupid Draco, with his greasy hair. GREASY HAIR! And his HEAD!

RANDOM KID: Why are you following me? I’m not even in your house!

 

Late that night, or some other night. Filch’s facial expressions are too brilliant to have him in this without them, so let’s just, like, chop him out. There we go.

 

HAGRID: Umm, they sent Norbert to Romania. Oh, cry, oh, sob. Now c’mon, we’re going into the Forbidden Forest.

DRACO: What! We can’t go in there! There are… skull children!

RON: Are all you Slytherins this yellow?

DRACO: We’re not yellow; we’re ambitious. We just like to live long enough to see our ambitions play out. Not like you poncy Gryffindors with your blind stupidity.

RON: I’m gonna smack you good for that one!

HAGRID: Stop that. Now, you see this? This is unicorn blood.

HARRY: It looks like the Matrix.

HAGRID: Hush. Okay, there’s a badly injured unicorn in here and we’re going to go find it.

HERMIONE: Why?

HAGRID: Because unicorns are delicious and so good for you!

ALL: Er.

HAGRID: Okay, Hermione and Ron come with me, and you two mortal enemies/slashy kids go off by yourselves to fight/make out.

DRACO AND HARRY: We’re eleven years old, for chrissakes! Can we all just stop referencing this?!

MALI: Sorry. Can’t help myself. Shall try to resist urge.

LEGOLAS: (skips past) She’s got the urge to herbal!

EVERYONE: (shifty eyes)

HAGRID: Right. Let’s get going.

 

Harry and Draco go off on their own.

 

DRACO: My father’s going to have someone’s head for this.

HARRY: Shut up.

DRACO: This is servant’s stuff.

HARRY: Shut up.

DRACO: And it’s really dangerous; we could get killed!

HARRY: Shut up.

DRACO: Not only that, but—

 

Just then they come across the dead unicorn, as well as a black-cloaked figure.

 

DRACO: Shutting up. (runs away)

HARRY: (clutches scar) Gah! THE WOUND!

 

Harry falls on the ground and starts rolling around and screaming. The black figure emits high-pitched screeching noises and goes over to Harry. He searches his pockets, finding only a wad of lint, a half-melted stick of chewing gum, and a couple of knuts.

 

CLOAKED DUDE: (screech!)

SUBTITLES: The hell? This isn’t the Ringbearer!

 

The cloaked guy stomps off in a huff. Enter Firenze the centaur!

 

AUDIENCE: (get a good look at Firenze) Somewhere the ancient Greeks are weeping.

FIRENZE: Harry Potter, you are in danger. Somewhere in these woods there is another type of evil person in a black cloak, and this one really is after you. It’s living off the unicorns, for unicorn blood can bring one back even when one is but an inch from death, but at a terrible price.

HARRY: What price?

FIRENZE: ₤39.99 a month.

HARRY: But who would choose such a life?

FIRENZE: Can you think of no one?

HARRY: …David Bowie?

FIRENZE: No, Voldemort!

HARRY: Well, shit.

 

Reenter Hagrid, Ron, and Hermione.

 

HAGRID: Hello, Firenze. Hello, Harry. So, you found the unicorn, eh?

 

Hagrid pokes the unicorn with a stick.

 

HAGRID: Yep, it’s dead. Well, let’s get out of here. Where’s Malfoy?

 

Meanwhile, in another part of the forest…

 

HALDIR: You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back.

DRACO: No, you don’t understand, this is all just a big mistake! Now if you’ll just let me leave, I have to be back at school soon…

 

Later that evening in the Gryffindor Common Room…

 

HARRY: Snape’s not trying to get the Sorcerer’s Stone for himself; he’s trying to get it for Voldemort!

RON: (slaps him) Stop saying the name!

HARRY: VOLDEMORT! Voldemort Voldemort bo boldemort banana fanna fo foldemort me my mo moldemort! VOLDEMORT!

RON: Stop it! STOP IT!

HARRY: V is for how VERY awful he is! O is for OBVIOUSLY regaining strength! L is for LOUDLY spelling his name! D is for DARK Lord of E is for EVIL! M is for MORIR which is what his MEXICAN victims do! O is for OH how horrid he is! R is for REALLY REALLY bad! And T is for TRYING to figure out how to stop him without your silly interruptions!

RON: (rolls around on the floor in anguish)

HERMIONE: 0_o;

HARRY: Now, we need to go stop Snape like right this minute.

HERMIONE: How do you know that?

HARRY: Because my spider sense is tingling.

RON: I do hope that’s not as perverted as it sounds.

 

Harry and Hermione give each other a look. They drag Ron off to the Third Floor Corridor of Doom.

 

HARRY: (notes harp playing and sleeping dog) Snape’s been here already.

RON: Aww, that’s sweet. Snape never occurred to me as the type that would play the harp. How romantic!

 

Hermione and Harry give each other yet another look and open the trap door.

 

HARRY: Get in there, you big, furry oaf! I don’t care what you smell! (shoves Ron into the hole)

HERMIONE: You guys scare me. (jumps in)

HARRY: Gee, thanks. (jumps in as well)

ALL: Uh oh.

 

They look around and realize that they’ve landed in a large patch of vine-y things.

 

HERMIONE: Everybody relax and it’ll let you go.

 

Ron immediately starts screaming and thrashing about wildly as Harry and Hermione are lowered to the ground beneath the plant.

 

HERMIONE: Hey, I remember this from herbology! It’s devil’s snare! There’s some way to defeat it, if I could just remember the poem…

HARRY: Hurry up!

HERMIONE: There once was a man from Nantucket, who lived his whole life in a bucket…

HARRY: Hermione, Ron is dying!

HERMIONE: Got it! There once was a man from Nantucket, who lived his whole life in a bucket, and devil’s snare hates sunlight!

HARRY: What?

 

Hermione shrugs and produces a beam of sunlight from her wand. The devil’s snare withers and drops Ron.

 

RON: Gee, good thing we didn’t panic.

 

They move on to the next room.

 

AUDIENCES: Damn. Of all of the tests they could have cut, it wasn’t this one.

HERMIONE: Harry, you’re the youngest seeker in a hundred years; now get up there!

Hermione and Ron shove Harry onto a broom.

 

HARRY: (bitter) I love the extra mile this movie goes to make me feel extra-special by pushing only me into situations I wouldn’t normally have to go alone. (gets on the broom)

 

It turns out that these are not just any flying keys; these are evil man-eating flying keys.

 

HARRY: Just my luck.

RON: Say, what’s this? (picks something up off the floor) Hey, it’s a key with a broken wing!

 

Hermione tries it in the lock.

 

HERMIONE: Whadda you know? It fits!

RON: Oi, Harry, you can come down now! We didn’t need you to catch the key after all!

 

Harry somehow manages to land and stumble over to the door, bleeding from a hundred tiny paper cut-like gashes. Ron and Hermione hurry him out the door and slam it.

 

HERMIONE: Where are we? I can’t see a thing!

RON: Maybe this is a broom closet.

HARRY: I don’t think so.

HERMIONE: How would you know?

RON: Harry has lots of experience with closets.

 

Harry smacks Ron.

 

RON: Ow! I simply meant that you’ve spent most of your life in one!

 

Harry slaps him again.

 

RON: Ow, dammit! I meant literally!

HARRY: Oh, yeah. Sorry.

HERMIONE: Now if you two would be so kind as to shut up…

 

Hermione produces a light with the tip of her wand and leads them on until the reach the center of the room, when suddenly several fires spring up on all sides.

 

RON: Yay! Giant chess board!

HERMIONE: You really are just a simple creature, aren’t you?

MALI: Umm… (doesn’t know anything about chess, much less how to parody it)

RON: Okay, we need to take the place of pieces and play our way across the room.

HARRY: Sort of like Jumanji?

RON: Huh?

HARRY: Never mind.

RON: Okay, Hermione, you take the queen’s side castle…

AUDIENCE: …Rook?

RON: Harry, you be the queen…

HARRY: Subtle. Real subtle.

RON: And I’ll be a knight.

MINSTRELS: When danger reared its ugly head, Sir Ronald bravely turned and fled!

HERMIONE: Petrificus totalus! (freezes minstrels)

RON: Thanks.

 

So anyway, they play for a while and lots of things get smashed to bits until finally it’s gotten to the point at which the only way for Harry to take the king is for Ron to valiantly sacrifice himself. Or at least his beloved steed.

 

RON: No, Asfaloth! Nooo!

AUDIENCE: His sacrifice touches us; we’re suing for sexual harassment!

HARRY: C’mon, Hermione, let’s keep going; we’ve still got to stop Snape!

HERMIONE: No, I’m going to stay here; my test was cut.

MALI: That’s because they didn’t want to acknowledge Snape’s brilliance cinematographically.

HARRY: Cinemechowhat?

MALI: Ah, just get going.

HARRY: Okay.

 

Harry goes on to the next room.

 

HARRY: Hey… you’re not Professor Snape!

QUIRREL: That’s right! It is I: Professor Quirrel! And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!

HARRY: But Snape was trying to kill me!

QUIRREL: No, I was trying to kill you, and Snape was stopping me.

HARRY: Snape… saved me? Geez, well now I feel kinda guilty. …Eh.

QUIRREL: Well, it’s all been for naught, since I’m going to kill you anyway just as soon as you get me the Sorcerer’s Stone.

HARRY: I’ll never help you! Never!

QUIRREL: I’ll give you candy!

HARRY: Well, okay, when you put it—no! I will not give in!

 

Quirrel physically drags Harry over to the mirror, which is standing in the middle of the room. How about that?

 

QUIRREL: What do you see?

HARRY: I see… uh… a city in the clouds… (gasp!) Han! Leia! They’re in pain!

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: He lies…

QUIRREL: Try again, punk.

HARRY: I see… umm… the Scouring of the Shire? A great eye?

QUIRREL: Wrong! Tell me the truth!

MYSTERIOUS VOICE: Let me speak to him.

HARRY: What the hell is that? Are you keeping a parrot in your turban?

QUIRREL: No, you idiot. (unwraps his turban) I’m keeping the Dark Lord!

VOLDEMORT: Boo!

HARRY: Gross! Oh, god, that’s not right!

VOLDEMORT: No, it’s not, it’s really not. Look what I have been reduced to: living in the wrong side of some random peon’s cranium, being nearly asphyxiated by that wretched turban all day, having my face shoved into a feather pillow that gives me allergies all night… I need you to help me get a new body.

HARRY: Too bad! I’ll never tell you where the Stone is!

VOLDEMORT: Can we play twenty questions for it?

HARRY: No!

VOLDEMORT: Give me just one hint?

HARRY: Um…

VOLDEMORT: Oh, come on.

HARRY: All right. What have I got in my pocketses?

VOLDEMORT: (pauses, thinking) …Dryer lint?

HARRY: No.

VOLDEMORT: A piece of string.

HARRY: No.

VOLDEMORT: The Mormon Tabernacle Choir?

HARRY: No!

VOLDEMORT: Oh, hell, I give up. Quirrel, kill him!

 

Quirrel lunges at Harry, who tries to duck and… fails. Quirrel latches onto Harry’s neck and starts to strangle him before his hands suddenly turn to ash and disintegrate.

 

AUDIENCE: 0_o;

QUIRREL: Oh isn’t this just splendid. Plot devices!

HARRY: I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that.

QUIRREL: Yeah, the fact that you have to survive or else the next book’s going to be called Neville Longbottom and the Potions Test of Doom.

HARRY: Eh.

VOLDEMORT: I thought I told you to kill him, lackey!

 

Quirrel tries again. This time he disintegrates completely.

 

AUDIENCE: That’s just slightly morbid.

HARRY: Oh, I feel faint! (swoons)

VOLDEMORT: Yeah, I’m still here… just so you know.

 

The infirmary.

 

HARRY: (stirs) Where am I?

DUMBLEDORE: You are in the hospital wing, and it is 10:00 in the morning on October the 24^th, if you want to know.

HARRY: October!

DUMBLEDORE: No, not really. I lied. It’s actually… well… closer to April. While you were asleep, I destroyed the Sorcerer’s Stone, you missed your final exams but don’t have to make them up at all, Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup, and the Nazi party took over which will undoubtedly lead to a comical sequence in which several stormtroopers will be hit over the head with a frying pan by Hermione.

HARRY: Nazis!

DUMBLEDORE: Nah, I lied again.

HARRY: There’s still one thing I don’t understand, Professor.

DUMBLEDORE: What’s that?

HARRY: How did I kill Professor Quirrel?

DUMBLEDORE: Well, you see, Harry, sometimes an author reaches the end of a story arc only to find that she’s completely forgotten to write in a way to tie it all together. So instead of going back and redoing everything, she just makes something up. Here goes: Quirrel couldn’t bear to touch you because your mommy loved you.

HARRY: What?

AUDIENCE: What?

DUMBLEDORE: Don’t look at me; I’m just the messenger.

HARRY: Well, now that we’ve just cheapened the whole movie even more…

 

The Great Hall.

 

DUMBLEDORE: Slytherin wins the House Cup!

SLYTHERIN: We do?

DUMBLEDORE: No, not really. We have to take last-minute Gryffindor achievements into account.

SLYTHERIN: Figures. And they had to do this during the closing banquet so as to add insult to injury, didn’t they?

DUMBLEDORE: To Harry Potter for defeating the Dark Lord even though Quirrel couldn’t have gotten the Stone anyway so it really didn’t matter at all, fifty points. To Ronald McWeasley for sacrificing his faithful horse Asfaloth, fifty points. To Hermione Granger for the use of logic and calm reasoning she would have displayed had not that scene been cut, fifty points.

HERMIONE: That makes us tied with Slytherin!

DUMBLEDORE: A tie? Oh, that won’t do; the red and green banners would make it look like Christmas. 5 more points to Gryffindor for no particular reason.

GRYFFINDOR: Yay!

SLYTHERIN: And people wonder why we’re always so crabby.

HARRY: (turns to the camera) I’ve learned never to judge a book by its cover. After all, just because Snape is dark and scary and never smiles doesn’t mean he’s evil. Of course, I’m going to forget all that by the next movie, so who cares?

SNAPE: (glare) Next time, Potter. Next time!

MADCAT/MRS. NORRIS: Mreowr.

 

The end.