Harry Potter and the Soft Machine

by carnivorousplant

Harry gazed complacently out the train window. It was a relief to spend the school year at Hogwarts. Relief from the games Aunt Petunia played under the stairs with her hairbrush, relief from Dudley’s hazing, and relief from the other muggles.

This summer had been better than the others. He’d enjoyed turning Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon into pillars of semi-sweet chocolate and watching his lard-ass cousin quiver with anticipation as he tried to decide which to eat first. Put an ass between two equal piles of hay, mused Harry, or chocolate bunnies. Dudley had tentatively scratched his Mother’s forearm, and snuffled the dark flakes. He had hardly slowed down when Harry changed the arm Dudley was eagerly devouring back into Auntie.

Dudley was locked up now, thanks to a timely call to Scotland Yard and a quick reversal of the spell, changing both Dursleys back from chocolate to partially devoured human bodies just before the bobbies arrived. Harry smiled at the thought.

On to better things, mused Harry. Like Hermione. If he could just get the little slut alone, she’d be out of her pants quicker than owl shit. Goose grease. No, quicker than a stitch in time…Whatever. Metaphorous Nomixupus! No diceus. Harry got angry when he was confused, and people were sorry when Harry was angry.

Back to Hermoine. He had managed to drop his wand under her chair only once last year, and Ron had gotten to it before Harry could see under her robe. Oh Harry, you dropped your wand! Harry was certain the little bastard had copped a feel when the staircase was moving and he “stumbled” into Hermione. Ron had acquired a lot of pimples over the summer and it made Harry ill to see someone so spotty. Maybe Ron will have a transmutation accident, thought Harry. No, too many magic workers at school. He’d be caught, and Harry valued stealth above all else.

Trains are boring, Harry ruminated. A farmer’s haystack burst into flame as his coach passed, and Harry giggled quietly to himself.

Hermione stood up in the rear of the coach and began walking towards the loo. Prissy, horny, ungrateful bitch! thought Harry, fumbling for his wand. He dropped it just as she approached his row and eagerly dropped to hands and knees to retrieve it, looking upwards expectantly. What was she wearing underneath that robe? Garter belt? Doctor Who panties? She kicked him in the face with her Sturdy Practical British Girl Shoes and stepped over him.

God, Harry simmered, staunching the copious flow of blood from his nose with the hem of his robe, She’s begging for it!

Another welcoming feast in the great hall; each house sitting at its own table, pretentious little bastards all. People who thought themselves better than Harry made him angry, too. Very angry

“Look!” Ron nudged Harry and gestured towards Dumbledork. “The old fart’s fallen asleep with his face in the pudding.” The Headmaster had indeed slumped forward with his nose in his dessert. Sonorous snoring bubbled from the dish of banana pudding and soggy vanilla wafers. Professor McGallbladder tapped Dumbledork on the shoulder.

“Aldus!” she hissed. “Aldus!”

Some snickering from the new arrivals as they watched Dumbledork mop his face with an enormous napkin, banana pudding streaming from his nose like snot, until the giggling undergraduates began to turn into frogs. “That will teach them some respect for authority.” Hermione whispered primly.

How can such a babe be so stupid? And wear such ugly shoes? What does her underwear look like? wondered Harry.

Freshman were trampled in the rush to get away from their transmogrified classmates. Surely that tiny green and red splat belong to Sally Willberforce, at whom Hermoine had glared when Sally had looked at Ron. “Rana Pipiens Reformus Sallyus!” Harry quietly intoned, and Sally became human again. The result wasn’t what he’d intended at all. That was probably Sally; if Sally had spent the night in the London zoo with Jumbo. A very annoyed Jumbo who walked in his sleep. No chance of distracting Ron from Hermione with Sally now. Dammit.

“No matter, no matter.” Mumbled Dumbledork. Harry wasn’t certain the old man was completely awake. “No harm done, a bit of innocent fun. I suppose I must write some letters to parents, McGallbladder; squashed children and all that. Don’t suppose we can blame it on You Know Who, what?”

Harry was unconcerned. The crushed and dismembered frogs were freshmen, none of his classmates, so the grade curve was unaffected, but sadly no desirable dormitory rooms were emptied.

“I award five million points to the house of…” the Headmaster appeared confused. “McGallbladder!” he hissed, “What house does my young catamite belong too?”

“Griffledork, my Lord,” McGallbladder responded.

“I award one million points to the House of Griffledork, for, er, ah, for extenuating, er, circumstances…” began Dumbledork, beginning to drool.

“Headmaster!” interjected McGallbladder, “It is the beginning of the term, not the end. You can’t give out extraneous points until the term is over and the house of that disgusting Potter child comes in dead last, as it always does.”

“Oh yes, quite, quite.” Mumbled Dumbledork. “Er, what?”

“Oh, Harry young man!” exclaimed Dumbledork regaining his reason for a fleeting moment. “Do come by my rooms this evening…to, er, receive your, er, your instructions for the semester, yes, instructions lad!”

The scar on Harry’s forehead began to throb. Cerebellumus explodeus old fartus! He intoned. Again, no dice.

Dammit! reflected Harry, This term is going to suck, maybe worse than all the others.