Harry Potter and The Year Time Forgot

Chapter 1: Hedwig Dies

"Get the fuck out of my face and go to your cupboard!" Mr. Dursley bellowed at Harry.

Just moments before, Harry had knocked on the door having been dropped off by the Knight Bus. He had been wondering why it was spelled like that. It's not like only knights were allowed to ride, nor was it owned nor operated by a knight (wizards had no use for such foolish titles, Harry thought with pride). The idea that they were making an unclever rhyme with the word "night" also seemed wrong since the bus operated every hour of the day. Furthermore, it was probably not named after Knight Rider, Harry's favorite Muggle television show, because wizards did not watch Muggle television. In fact, he wasn't sure wizards even knew what a television was. "No", Harry thought, "wizards do not have time for such base forms of entertainment." He decided then and there that he would never watch television again. He was a wizard, and an extraordinary one at that, and so he would not lower himself to the level of the common person. As for the matter of the naming of the Knight Bus, he decided it was simply the creation of a meager mind, and left it at that.

The pride Harry had been feeling only moments earlier, after having elevated himself above television, and coming home from another school year where he had defeated the almighty Voldemort once again, quickly diminished as he cowered from Mr. Dursley's voluminous spittle. Now, soaking wet, Harry hung his head in shame and sulked over to his cupboard under the stairs. "I don't want to see you again until the end of the summer!" Mr. Dursley shouted after Harry.

Each day crawled by at a slug's pace. Harry had tried opening the door, but it had been bolted shut from the other side. The light seeping through the slit at the bottom of the door was Harry's only way to tell the passing of days. Every morning, before dawn, the door was opened slightly and Harry traded yesterday's plate and glass for a new plate of food and glass of water. Also included each day was a small piece of paper. Harry had read the first couple by lighting his wand using the Luminous spell, but after a week he had stopped reading, for they all carried an identical message. "Rope is in the corner," they read, in Mrs. Dursley's unmistakable handwriting. Harry knew what this meant -- the Dursleys wanted him to hang himself.

The cupboard smelled terrible. He had not been able to think of any useful spells that might rid himself of the pile of feces laying in the corner of his small room. Once, he had tried piling it on his plate and giving that to Mrs. Dursley when she traded him food in the morning. This had been rewarded with three straight days of plates covered in Dudley's overpowering, abhorrent excrement. This year, like each year before it, Harry had vowed to learn spells at school that might actually be useful to him in everyday situations. It seemed like, by now, he should be able to do something about all the shit and piss, and that it was a failure of his teachers to not adequately train him for times like these. Daydreams of the competent use of relevant spells was the only thing that could bring Harry's spirits up. One day he'd come back to the Dursley's house and give them all an ass kicking the likes of which had never been witnessed by Muggle-kind. He was Harry Fucking Potter, The Boy Who Lived, he didn't have to take shit from anybody. "Though," Harry thought, "I'm going to have to do something about that nickname. The Boy Who Lived? What kind of gay ass shit is that? What about The Boy who Beat Voldemort's Ass?"

Once, Harry had made an attempt to escape his tiny cupboard. When the door opened in the morning, he cast Expelliarmus on Mrs. Dursley, and the plate of food went flying out of her hand. While she was distracted, Harry pushed her aside and scrambled through the opening, only to be met by a waiting Mr. Dursley and Dudley, each holding cricket bats. They proceeded to beat him for he knew not how long, since he was knocked unconscious in the early goings. When he came to, he was back in the cupboard, covered in sticky blood, and in great pain all over. Harry wondered why they never taught him, or any other students, medicinal magic at Hogwarts. Why should only Madam Pomfrey know how to use those spells? In fact, the more Harry thought about it, the stupider it was. This was a school where students were either killed or seriously injured constantly, and yet only one person knew how to heal despite the fact that it was something that every wizard was capable of. What kind of idiot thought of that? Was it just to protect Madam Pomfrey's useless position at Hogwarts? What did she have to do for that kind of job security, sleep with Dumbledore? Harry would seek to have this policy changed, and everyone would see what a brilliant managerial mind he had. The thought of this recognition seemed to melt away all the pain he had been feeling.

One night, Harry was curled uncomfortably in the corner of his cupboard that, in his mind, he had dubbed "the bedroom." He was in the midst of a most grand dream, where he was back in the Triwizard Tournament, only Cedric Diggory had been replaced by Dumbledore. After having defeated the greatest living wizard in the tournament (who died under unfortunate circumstances), Harry was being crowned as champion. It was during his coronation, while thousands of his fans cheered his name, that he was awoken abruptly by a loud crash of what sounded like broken glass. A brief moment passed before he heard Mrs. Dursley scream, "It's that damn owl again!"

"Hedwig!" Harry thought. "Hedwig will save me!" He began calling her name.

"Get out of the way!" he heard Mr. Dursley grunt, while the sound of things breaking rang out through the house and into the cupboard. Suddenly, Harry heard a dull thud and a high pitched shriek.

"Is it dead?" Dudley asked.

"It's still twitching!" squealed Mrs. Dursley. This was followed by another thud. "Oh, thank heavens," Mrs. Dursley sighed.

Harry heard footsteps. The bolt to his door was unlocked and the door was quickly pulled open. Mr. Dursley was sweating profusely and panting. In one hand he held his cricket bat, covered in blood both fresh and dry. In the other hung a dead Hedwig, whose white feathers were now spattered with red and whose body was crushed grotesquely flat. "This is what happens when your bird breaks into our house. Do you see, Harry? This is what happens, Harry." With his eyes as wide as, well, an owl's, Harry watched as Mr. Dursley's fingers opened and Hedwig's dead body fell to the floor. Mr. Dursley gripped his cricket bat with his now free hand, lifted it over his head, and brought it swooshing down onto the former bird. "This is what happens, Harry! This is what happens to your bird!" After tiring himself out entirely with subsequent blows, Mr. Dursley let the bat slip out of his hands. He turned towards Harry, slammed the cupboard door shut, and rebolted it. "Dudley, go throw this in the neighbor's yard, and then clean up the mess." Dudley's mutterings were faintly audible behind the cupboard door.

At first, Harry felt terrible. His initial inclination was to cry, but then he caught himself. "Harry Potter doesn't cry," he thought. "And yet, poor Hedwig, she was so loyal." It was then that Harry came to a realization. Poor Hedwig? How many owls get to serve the Harry Potter? There would always be more owls, but only one Boy Who Lived. No, Harry would not feel sad for Hedwig, but rather proud. Almost envious. Did he himself not wish that he could serve as the messenger for himself? What an honor that is! Harry would just find a new owl. It's not like messenger owls were rare in the wizarding world.

Days inside the cupboard turned into weeks turned into months. Finally the summer was over, and he was ready to go back to Hogwarts. He shouted at the Dursleys that it was time for him to leave. This was one request that they were happy to grant. Mr. Dursley opened the door. His enormous body stood there, encompassing the entire doorway, glaring at him and holding a bloody cricket bat. Dudley stood a few steps behind, tapping his bloody bat in his hands. "Get out of my house!" Mr. Dursley screamed.

Harry tried to run towards the door, but his legs were weak from lack of use and he fell to the ground. Dudley burst out in uproarious laughter. "Shut up boy, and help me carry him." Mr. Dursley ordered Dudley. Harry felt himself being picked up and carried by the two male Dursleys. Mrs. Dursley stood by the front door, holding it open. Harry was then thrown out of the house, landing painfully on his stomach. He crawled to the street and signalled for the Knight Bus. "Finally," Harry thought, "I can get on to the interesting parts of my life. Those summers always seem to take way too long."

Chapter 2: The Weasley Twins Die

There were few things Harry enjoyed more than his annual school supplies shopping trip to Diagon Alley. He was the wealthiest child at Hogwarts, and he loved showing that off. If the other kids saw how rich he was, they'd have to respect him. Not that they should need another reason, but Harry knew it never hurt to have more. "Some people," Harry thought, "are only attracted to money. While they are despicable, they need to revere me just like everyone else." Beaming at the thought of his own fortunes, Harry walked into Gringotts Wizarding Bank and fell in line.

Directly in front of Harry stood a boy about his own age, with black curly hair and a handsome face. The strange boy was looking all around in wonder. It was clear that he had never been inside Gringotts before. Likewise, Harry had never seen him before either, and this worried him. "Harry Potter knows everyone," he thought, "and everyone knows Harry Potter." If Harry didn't know someone, then clearly he wasn't important enough to them. Who wouldn't seek out the Harry Potter? Harry cleared his throat loudly, grabbing the attention of the boy, who was now looking right at him. Harry arched his eyebrow in a show of disapproval.

"Oh, hi there. I'm sorry, I was just looking around. I've never been inside a goblin bank before," the boy hurriedly informed him.

"Never been inside a goblin bank before?" Harry thought. "How was that possible at his age? All the banks are run by goblins." Harry began thinking of how he could use his own knowledge of Gringotts to impress the boy.

"My name is Newton Crosby," the boy said while offering his hand expectantly.

Harry did not take his hand right away, but instead brushed away the hair on his forehead, revealing his lightning-bolt shaped scar. Only then did he take this Newton Crosby's hand, gripping it firmly to show his strength, and shake it. "Surely you must know who I am," Harry said confidently.

Newton glanced at the scar, then back at Harry. "No, I'm sorry, I don't really know anyone here," he admitted.

"Yes, but surely you know of me," came Harry's reply, once again brushing away his bangs and gesturing towards the scar.

"Nope, I'm sorry, I really don't," Newton tried to explain.

"I'm Harry Potter!" Harry blurted. "The Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived."

Newton looked confused at this and shook his head. "I'm sorry, like I said. It's good to meet you, though. Anyway, could you perhaps answer a question of mine about this banking system?" he asked.

Harry gritted his teeth. How could a wizard, a wizard roughly his own age no less, not know who he was? Was his fame not as far-reaching as he thought? Were his feats not being told with the proper urgency and pomp? Harry began to worry, but then thought, "He's probably just some podunk rural farm-wizard who's never been to any place of significance before. Surely that's why he's never been to a bank." Harry's popularity wasn't sagging, it just wasn't known in all of the small villages of the wizarding world yet. Soon, though. Soon. He felt better. "Sure, I'll answer if I can," Harry responded, pleased with his own modesty.

"Well, I tried using my credit card at the bookstore, but they had never even heard of them! Nor would they accept a personal check. They said they only accept cash, and only coins at that. They don't even take bills! Is the whole wizarding world like that?"

Harry was stunned. Sure, he knew of credit cards, checks, and paper money, but only because he had been raised in a Muggle household. How did this boy know of these things, and not know how wizard money worked? Before Harry could question him about this, Newton's turn in line was up and he was called to the next available teller. The sound of coins clanging against each other quickly changed Harry's thoughts. Soon he would be showing off his spending power, and with that he cheered up.

After withdrawing more money than he needed, Harry headed towards Eyelop's Owl Emporium. Once inside, he approached the clerk, who happened to be perusing the latest issue of Owls Illustrated, and waited until he caught the clerk's attention.

The clerk, an unkempt young man, slowly looked up with bored eyes. "May I help you?"

Harry responded convincingly, "Yes, I'm Harry Potter."

"Ok, Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?" the clerk inquired, sounding even more bored.

"Well, for starters, you could be a bit more enthused to be helping Harry Potter today. As for what I need, show me your most capable owl. I'm Harry Potter, and I demand the best!"

"Uh huh, ok Mr. Potter. Right this way." The clerk led Harry down an aisle filled with owls of many shapes and sizes. Actually, they were all owl shaped, but many sizes for sure. Some were over two feet tall! Others a mere foot and a half. There were brown owls and white owls and owls both brown and white. Harry was astounded at the number and variety of them all. Finally they reached the end of the aisle, where the clerk paused, scanned the cages twice over, and finally his eyes came to rest on an rather plain brown owl of average size. Harry read the label below the cage: "Powell"

"Powell the owl?" Harry asked. "What kind of name is that?"

"What kind of name is Harry Potter?" remarked the clerk.

Harry could not think of a response for this. What a stupid question. "This is your most capable, swift, and loyal owl then?"

"Mmmm hmm," came the clerk's dull response.

"How can you tell?" asked Harry.

"Well, I am the professional," said the clerk with a yawn.

"Don't jerk me around, I'm Harry Potter. I demand an answer to my inquiry. Only the finest owls in all the world are suitable for the needs of The Boy Who Lived."

"Right, " said the clerk, unimpressed. "Well this owl hails from a family of renowned owls who served some of the greatest wizards in the world. It's all in the breeding, you see?"

"You are lying. If this bird were of noble owl blood, why would he be at the end of a common, overpopulated aisle? Show me, Harry Potter, your best owl!"

The clerk frowned. "Come with me, Mr. Potter." The clerk led him right back down the aisle, held the front door open, and said, "It's in our special warehouse a little down the way."

"That's more like it!" exclaimed a delighted Harry. He walked out confidently, imagining what sorts of fantastic birds could await in the special warehouse. The door chimed as it closed behind him. Harry turned around as the clerk was locking the front door from the inside. "Damn!" Harry thought. "This is the only owl shop in the only wizard shopping district in London!" While that made little sense to him, considering that owls were wizards' only form of messenger service, Harry was more worried about the clerk's treatment of him. "He is obviously a Death-Eater," Harry thought. "Why else would he have so little respect for Harry Potter?" This realization consoled him, and he instantly felt better about getting kicked out of the owl shop.

Next up was the bookstore, and Harry decided to try a different tact. Walking at a swift pace, Harry strolled up to the front counter, dropped a handful of coins in front of the clerk, and said, "I'm Harry Potter, bring me my books!"

The clerk's eyes opened wide at the sight of so much money, she quickly jumped out from behind the counter, and eeked out a "Yes, sir!" before running across the store.

Harry grinned at his own effectiveness while gathering up the coins and putting them back inside his pockets. He leaned with his back against the counter and looked out the front windows across Diagon Alley. "One day people will tell stories of how Harry Potter used to shop here", he thought. "They'll have to rename it Potter Alley." His grin widened and then quickly disappeared. The boy he met in Gringotts, Newton Crosby, was exiting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. There was something about him that didn't sit right with Harry. He would head to the twins' shop next to look into it, he decided.

The clerk returned, her face hidden by the tall stack of books that she was carrying to the counter. Her arms quivered under the weight and began to falter. Recognizing this, she ran the rest of they way and dumped the books on the counter. Harry watched as the slid across the surface and came to a rest. Bending over at the waist, with her hands on her hips, the clerk took some deep breaths before standing erect; her eyes glanced over to where the coins used to lay, followed by a brief look of disappointment when she saw that they were gone. Her forehead was visibly damp with sweat.

After the clerk rung Harry up, he said, "Have these shipped to Hogwarts." He flipped a single Knut to her, adding "For your troubles."

Sarcastically, the clerk replied, "My pleasure, Mr. Potter." Harry walked out the door feeling proud of his generosity. That was one more trait for which he'd be known. Rich and generous.

As he made his way to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Harry noticed some young wizards pointing at him and talking to each other. "Fans of mine," he imagined. He smiled and waved. Their laughter in response brought Harry great joy. Rich, generous, and now friendly. Harry wondered if any wizard ever before had been as close to perfection as he was.

Inside the twins' shop the air was hazy and there was a peculiar smell. One of their experiments, no doubt. Like always, the place was crawling with Hogwarts students stocking up for the year. Wizards were nothing if not practical jokesters. Harry shoved some smaller second years aside as he approached the twins, who were bent over facing the other direction. They were seemingly enthralled by some hidden object laying on the floor. When Harry reached them, he said loudly, "How's my shop doing, boys?"

The twins turned around and smiled. "Harry!" they exclaimed in unison.

"What are you guys looking at back there?" Harry asked, attempting to peek his head around to catch a glimpse.

"Nothing," Fred answered quickly.

"Yeah, nothing," agreed George.

"You chums do remember who gave you the money for this shop, right?"

"Of course we do Harry. You remind us every time you come in," said Fred.

"Yeah, of course we do Harry. You remind us every time you come in," mimicked George.

"Well then, let me see what you're looking at," Harry ordered.

The twins glanced at each other. "Fine," said Fred.

"Yeah, fine," reiterated George.

The twins moved aside and Harry stepped forward to get a better view. Lying on the ground was a pile of cylindrical tubes with pieces of string sticking out of the ends. Harry thought he had seen something like that before, but could not recall exactly where. "What are those?" he asked.

"Fireworks!" said Fred, excitedly.

"Yeah, fireworks!" chimed in George, equally as excited.

"It's a type of Muggle practical joke. We're thinking of selling them in our store," Fred continued.

"Yeah, it's a type of Muggle practical joke. We're thinking of selling them in our store," George parroted.

"Weren't you raised with Muggles, Harry? Shouldn't you know that?" asked Fred.

"Yeah, weren't you raised with Muggles, Harry? Shouldn't you know that?" agreed George.

It was strange. Harry knew he should recognize fireworks, but this happened to him all the time. He would return to the Muggle world in the summer and remember all sorts of Muggle technology that he had forgotten about after living in the wizarding world. Oftentimes, many of these technologies would have been useful in some of the predicaments he had found himself in during the previous year. If only he were able to recall these usually simple, common items then he would have a much easier time in his ongoing struggle with Voldemort. "Where did you get those?" Harry asked, ignoring the question posed to him.

"Newton Crosby, the new kid. Have you met him, Harry?" asked Fred.

"Yeah, Newton Crosby, the new kid. Have you met him, Harry?" echoed George.

"No, but that's precisely what I came in about. What can you tell me about him?" inquired Harry.

"Well, he's a Muggle but will be attending Hogwarts this year. Something about overcrowded Muggle schools," Fred replied. "I believe he's the same year as you, Harry."

"Yeah, he's a Muggle but will be attending Hogwarts this year. Something about overcrowded Muggle schools. I believe he's the same year as you, Harry," said George.

So that's why he had never heard of Harry! He was a Muggle! Harry felt much better about this Newton Crosby now. But Harry would have to make sure Crosby understood Harry's importance soon. There was no reason to give him the false impression that Harry was just another ordinary wizard. "That's all I needed, thanks guys."

"Won't you buy something, Harry?" Fred called after him.

"Yeah, won't you buy something, Harry?" George called as well.

"Buy something? All this is mine anyway!" Harry said with a wave of his arm. As Harry left, he turned back and saw the twins once again bending over the fireworks with their wands raised. He stepped out into the sunshine to finish his shopping.

After taking a few more steps away from the shop, Harry heard a tremendous boom, louder than any he'd ever heard in his life. Then he felt himself being thrown forward through the air, and came crashing down a good twenty feet from where he once stood. He clamored up as he heard screams from all around him. Turning back towards the origin of the explosion, Harry saw where it had come from -- Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Pieces of the building, large and small, were thrown everywhere. From where the inside of the shop used to be, dark smoke billowed out and fires could be seen blazing. Harry ran towards the shop, casting spells and whatnot to push away the smoke. He searched desperately for signs of life, but none were to be found. When he made it to where the twins had been standing, he saw pieces of their charred bodies strewn all about. "My shop! My investment!" Harry screamed inside his head. They were gone, and the twins were dead. In the burning remains of the once bustling shop, Harry had what he identified immediately as an epiphany. He could not rely on anyone else, for all but himself lacked in greatness and were doomed to fail. Pleased with his self-revelation, Harry strolled back out of the shop; his errands in Diagon Alley were not quite complete.

Chapter 3: Ginny Dies

Harry arrived at King's Cross Station during the night before the Hogwarts Express was scheduled to depart, and so he slept on one of the empty benches like a homeless Muggle. It was that or return to the Dursley's, and he had no desire whatsoever to go back there. Sleep came easy as Harry had enjoyed a long day of impressing the denizens of Diagon Alley. Thoughts of the coming school year, in which he imagined himself becoming the most popular Hogwarts student ever, filled his mind and carried him into a dreamless rest.

"Harry, wake up! Up up up! Come on cutie pie, get up and give me a hug!" Harry felt himself being poked repeatedly in the stomach. Lazily, he opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust, the world slowly coming into focus. Standing in front of him was Ginny Weasley. Ginny, finally seeing the look of recognition in Harry's eyes, yelped "Harry!" She took his arm, pulled him up out of the bench, and gave him a tight hug that seemed to Harry to last twenty minutes or more. He hugged her back softly, though without feeling, because not doing so felt awkward.

Behind Ginny stood Ron Weasley. "Hiya, Harry!" Ron said warmly.

"Yeah, hey Weasley," Harry shot back while stifling a groan. He hoped more students showed up soon -- spending time with these Weasleys was just painful.

"Harry, I want to tell you all about my summer!" Ginny squealed as she pulled him back down onto the bench. Once seated, she scooted right up next to him and pulled his right hand into her lap, and grasped it with both of her hands. "Ok, let's start at the beginning. The first day I got home from Hogwarts I ran up and hugged mum and dad. They were excited to see us again, and I was happy to see them. I also noticed a new squirrel family in our big oak tree! So, of course I had to name them. But how could I name them if I just met them, Harry?" Ginny paused. She seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"Umm...you couldn't?" Harry guessed.

"That's right, I couldn't! You think exactly the same way I do, you know that Harry? Anyway, so I went inside and made myself a nice big sandwich with ham and mayonnaise and lettuce and a glass of turnip juice. You know how much I love turnip juice, Harry! And then I went back outside and sat under the tree where the squirrel family lived and started observing them and ......"

Harry tried putting himself into a coma, but he had no idea how to even begin doing that. Why couldn't they teach him that spell at Hogwarts? He needed to do something to get Ginny to shut up. Looking over at Ron, who was sitting on the ground and staring at his legs, Harry decided that he was the better option. "So, Ron..." Harry began.

Ron's head jumped up immediately. "Yes, Harry?" Ron asked, eagerly.

"Umm, tell me about your summer, I guess," Harry regretted the request as soon as he made it. Ron trailing him around everywhere was already bad enough, it would only be worse if he thought Harry cared about him in any way.

"Wow! Really Harry? Ok! Oh boy, where to start?" said Ron. "Well, as you know, I usually spend most of my time at home in my room. You know, thinking and stuff." Harry knew that Ron was actually in there pouting about how nobody liked him, not even members of his own family. "I also started writing some poetry. Oh! Would you like to hear some of it?"

Harry thought how to decline the question without sounding like a complete asshole. He may not have liked Ron, but patience was a virtue, and Harry strove to be virtuous. Meanwhile, he noticed the poking had stopped. Ginny had been jabbing him with her finger as soon as he struck up the conversation with Ron in an attempt to regain his attention. At that moment, he heard her yell, "Hey Harry, look at me!" Harry looked up to see Ginny balancing herself on the edge of the train platform. "Oh god, let her fall. Please, let her fall," Harry verbalized in his head. Of course, Harry happened to forget that he was holding his wand in his left hand since he had been sleeping with it as a form of protection. His wish must have cast some nonverbal spell, because Ginny was pushed by a seemingly invisible force off the platform.

"Ahhhh!" came Ginny's scream as she disappeared below their view. Harry and Ron looked at each other and erupted in laughter. What they hadn't anticipated was the Hogwarts Express arriving, traveling at some magical speed (for it could slow down in an instant using magical brakes) and not making any sound, also thanks to magic. The train ran right over the spot where Ginny fell and came to a stop at platform nine and three quarters. Ron ran toward the edge of the platform, with Harry right on his heels. Looking down, they saw nothing in the way of Ginny.

"Oh no!" cried Ron. "Mum and Dad are going to kill me!"

Harry tried to hide his elation. He had finally gotten rid of that pestering nuisance, and nobody would ever know that he was at fault. Though, he did decide that he needed a better hold on his control. He couldn't go around casting spells accidentally, even if they had positive consequences. Actually, the more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that nearly every time he had been successful as a wizard, it had been because of an accident. This was far too much coincidence; it couldn't just be accident. No, it must be instinct. Clearly, Harry was naturally a great wizard, and he would have to trust his instincts. Already he felt better about killing Ginny.

Ron also felt better, but for an entirely different reason. At that moment, Hermione Granger could be seen approaching them from across the station. Ron's look of horror rapidly morphed into that of lust. His sister's death couldn't be further from his mind, for Ron had long had a crush on Hermione, and when she was around he could think of nothing else.

Each year at Hogwarts, Hermione had become more and more promiscuous. Harry thought it had something to do with the fact that she had no real parental supervision, even when she went home during the summers. Her parents, being Muggles, could not understand what her life was like the rest of the year. That disconnect had resulted in their daughter turning into an all-out slut. As Hermione came near, Harry could see that this year was no different. She had cut the bottom of her wizard robe so that it was at mini-skirt length, and she had cinched in the waist. On her feet, she wore high heels and stockings. Moving on up, she had cut a plunging v-shaped neckline into her robe, and was showing off a good amount of cleavage. Her face was coated in all sorts of makeup: blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, lipstick. She had plucked her eyebrows and wore hooped earrings. Harry decided that she resembled a wizard prostitute, if such a thing existed. He was disgusted. Ron, on the other hand, was visibly turned on. His tongue was literally hanging out of his mouth. Harry was amused at this.

"Heya, boys," Hermione said when she reached them. Harry nodded in response.

"He....he....hey Hermione. Don't you think you should...ahhh.....ahhh..." Ron stuttered.

"I should what, Ron?" Hermione asked with a frown.

"Well, you know, cover up?" Ron said meekly.

"Shit no. What are you, my father?" Hermione was already as annoyed with Ron as Harry was. "So which one of you is going to carry my bags onto the train?"

Ron rushed over and picked up Hermione's bags with a groan. He began carrying them towards the train, visibly straining. "What's in these? Gold bars?"

"Whips, chains, all that kind of thing," Hermione answered. She followed Ron onto the train, with Harry picking up the rear. They found their usual car and sat down. "So Harry, how was your summer?" asked Hermione.

"It fuckin' blew, how do you think?" Harry said curtly. With that, the conversation died, and the minutes passed in silence. Eventually they were joined by Neville Longbottom, who sat next to Harry quietly, not uttering a word.

It was a short time later when Hermione spoke again, "Hey, who's the hottie?" She was looking through the window to the next car. Ron looked over with jealous eyes, and Harry followed suit. On the other side of the window, facing them, was Newton Crosby. In front of him, facing the other way, was a blonde haired kid that Harry could immediately identify as Draco Malfoy. Just then he heard Malfoy shout, "Get the hell out of here, Muggle!" To Harry's amusement, the bigger Crosby pushed Malfoy out of the way and stepped through the door into the cart where Harry and his friends were sitting. Behind him, he saw Crabbe and Goyle stand up, ready to pounce, but Malfoy held them back with his hand.

Crosby came towards them, carrying his bags. "Mind if I ride in here with you all?" he asked the group.

Hermione was the first to speak. "Not at all! Come sit next to me." She pushed Ron away and patted the now empty seat beside her.

Newton gave Hermione a friendly smile and asked, "Are you sure he won't mind?" gesturing towards Ron, who was visibly insulted.

"Oh don't worry about him, he just wants what he can't have," Hermione said sweetly. Ron's spirit seemed to die altogether. Newton put his bag up and sat down next to Hermione. "What's your name, honey?" Hermione asked with interest.

Newton looked a little uncomfortable with Hermione staring at him. "Newton Crosby. I'm new this year," he said. Looking around, he noticed Harry for the first time. "Ahh, Harry Potter was it? Nice to see you again."

Harry was immensely pleased that Newton remembered his name, but he dared not show it. Instead, he acted as if he expected the recognition. "Likewise," he responded.

"I'm Hermione, and that's Neville Longbottom," she said, gesturing towards Neville.

"How do you do?" said Neville.

"Fine, thank you. And what's your name," he asked, looking at Ron.

"Wha, huh?" Ron was surprised anyone was taking an interest in him. "Oh, I'm just Ron Weasley." He put his head back down again.

"So tell us about yourself, Newton Crosby," said Hermione.

"Well, for starters, and this is going to sound a little weird I know, but I'm a Muggle." There was an audible gasp from everyone except Harry. Newton continued, "Yeah, it's true. Let me explain. Do you all know much about Muggle schools?"

"My parents are Muggles!" Hermione said enthusiastically. Ron and Neville just shook their heads, while Harry did not answer.

"Cool!" said Newton. "Anyway, so our government just passed this new policy regarding school vouchers. Basically it said that anyone in public schools could instead enroll in private schools on the government's dollar. So, naturally, everyone did. Now all the private schools, including mine, are overcrowded. My parents sought a better solution, and they stumbled across Hogwarts. After talking with Headmaster Dumbledore, I was allowed to enroll for the year. Neat, huh?"

Everyone had a look of confusion on their face. They were all thinking the same thing, which Neville verbalised, "How did you know about Hogwarts? There are magical barriers preventing Muggles from seeing it."

Newton laughed. "Those things? Those are centuries old, man. Don't you think the British government, in the 21st century, would have fully explored all of its land by now? I mean, we're not going to stop looking just because there's a sign that says 'Keep out' or something. Plus, we've got spy planes, GPS systems, satellite imagery, all sorts of stuff. No, we've known about your Wizard world for a while now."

The wizards were all dumbstruck. Muggles knew about wizards and Hogwarts? And here they had always assumed Muggles were clueless Neanderthals. Neville was again the one to pose another question. "Planes ? GPS? Satellite? What are those?"

Newton looked as confused to them as they surely did to him. "Don't you guys have technology?"

The wizards looked at each other, then back at Crosby and shook their heads. Harry said, "Who needs technology when you've got magic?"

"Perhaps you're right, you guys can probably do a lot more than what we've been able to accomplish. By planes, I meant these vehicles that travel through the air at high speeds. They can be used to transport people or cargo, or be loaded with weapons."

"Oh," said Ron. "We ride on broomsticks."

"Cool," said Newton. "I'm sure they go way faster than our planes. GPS and satellites actually go together. You see, we have these big machines that we shot up into space, and they sit out there orbiting the planet, and transmit all sorts of information. GPS systems are these little machines that we carry around with us that talk to the satellites and can tell us exactly where we are in the world."

The mouths of each and every wizard was wide open. Space? That was impossible. Even magic couldn't take you into space. There's no way Muggles had the ability to do that, without even the help of magic. Clearly, thought Harry, Newton was lying.

"Well, tell me about your magic. How do you use it? What can you do? Can you show me some cool tricks?"

Harry answered him, "Basically, if you are a wizard, you first have to find the right wand." He produced his own wand from his pocket. "Then, you have to learn how to cast a spell. It can be verbal or non-verbal, and always requires great concentration. You hold your wand, concentrate on the spell, speak the words if there are any, and voila! If you did it right, the spell works.

"Hmm, what do you mean by concentrate? Is there some kind of inner force you have to summon up? What is it that you have to do that someone like myself couldn't?" Newton inquired.

"Umm," Harry said as he thought. "Pretty much you just have to think hard." He hadn't realized before how simple it sounded.

"That's it?" asked Newton.

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Interesting. You see, in Muggle world, we've often fantasized about magic. In fact, there have been many books and movies and whatnot made where we explore the idea of all kinds of magic. But in most of them, the creator usually establishes a deep, clever system requiring lots of skill and effort. And then it turns out the real system of magic is so simple and dull a child could have thought it up!" Newton did not mean to offend, but he had, and it was apparent to him by the hurt looks on the faces around him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it was easy..."

The only one who didn't seem to be angry was Neville, who asked, "You really have lots of stories about wizards?"

"Yeah, but we try to avoid them. Magical systems are usually typical of bad storytelling, because you can pretty much invent stuff to get out of any situation. It makes for a lack of suspense and serves as a substitute for good writing."

"Hmm...," Neville thought, and asked another question. "How are you going to be able to participate in all our wizarding activities at school if you can't even use magic?"

"Good question," said Newton. "We talked to Dumbledore about that too. I'm going to be able to use what technological gadgetry and Muggle knowledge I've gleaned and hopefully be able to simulate many of the things you can do. I'm sure I won't be able to fully keep up, not without the gift that you wizards have, but Dumbledore seemed amused at the idea."

Everyone laughed at him, even Hermione, who tried to hide it by covering her mouth and faking coughs. A Muggle compete with wizards? That'll be the day! "But how will you use your machines? Hogwarts grounds prevent the use of Muggle technology, there's too much magic in the air," informed Neville.

"Think about that, does that even really make any sense?" asked Newton. "But anyway, Dumbledore cast a spell on all my stuff so that it would work."

"Can he do that?" asked Harry, doubtful.

"Sure, it's magic isn't it?" asked Newton.

"So," said Hermione, changing the subject, "do you have a girlfriend?" Ron squirmed. So did Newton.

Neville teased, "Ooh, her pants are blazing for you, Newton Crosby."

Chapter 4: Draco dies

The train arrived at Hogwarts in the early evening, right on schedule. Harry waited on the train for all of the second years and above to arrive at the Sorting Ceremony ahead of him. If he could be the last person to enter the great hall, then he would make the grandest entrance with all the more eyes upon him. A plan devious in its simplicity, thought Harry. Meanwhile, Newton was led off with all of the first years. He would have to be sorted like the rest before he could join his classmates. Or maybe they'd just create a new, fifth house for him. "Mugglepuff!" Harry burst out laughing at his own, unspoken joke, before catching himself. Thankfully, nobody else was around to see him, so he allowed himself a quieter chuckle.

After a few moments had passed, Harry made his way to the ceremony. Walking through the big doors, he held his hands out, closed his eyes, and was ready to embrace the attention and applause he was sure to receive. But....nothing. Opening his eyes, he saw that they were staring at something, just not him. He looked to see what it was they were all pointed at, and noticed Hermione in the middle of the floor, slowly bending over to pick up her wand, which had fallen on the ground. Given how low her robe had been cut, Harry could see that she was wearing a thong. "That fucking slut, ruining my entrance!" thought Harry.

Examining the seats at the front, Harry looked for an empty chair that might have his name on it. Thanks to his heroics once again saving the school and his fellow students' lives last year, he assumed he'd have a seat next to Dumbledore. It was not to be, however, as every seat was assigned to a teacher. As his gaze came across Professor Snape, he saw that Snape was looking right at Harry. Their eyes met, Harry's narrow with anger, Snape's slitted with evil. Snape inconspicuously pointed at Harry, and then made a gesture as if he were slitting his throat. Harry's eyes went wide, and then he quickly looked away and walked briskly to the Gryffindor table, sitting down next to Ron.

The first years and Newton were then led in by Professor McGonagall, and came to a stop at the front of the room. She made a slight bow towards Dumbledore, who stood up to give his annual welcome speech. Dumbledore cleared his throat, and all eyes were upon him. "Welcome to........where are we? Ahh yes, Hogwarts. It....you.....hi! Ohhhh, my back, my precious back!" Dumbledore grabbed his back and winced in pain. "Where was I? Ahh yes, Hogwarts. No ma'am, I don't quite think your child is cut out for our school, as we don't allow homose.....what? Who? What's happening? Ahh yes, Hogwarts." Then he sat down, tucked in his napkin like a bib, picked up his silverware, and began trying to cutting imaginary food, since the actual food hadn't been served yet.

Professor McGonagall brought the Sorting Hat to a chair that sat in the middle of the tables of the four houses. Then, she hurriedly took her seat next to Snape. To Harry's horror, they held hands and smiled at each other. But his attention was snapped back to the Sorting Hat when it began its new song for the year.

Greetings to all, And to all a hello, My name is The Sorting Hat, In case you didn't know.

Despite a stupidly obvious name, My job I shall repeat. I am here to sort you into schools, Because you fools can't work a spreadsheet.

Moving on with the task at hand, Let's talk about the year ahead. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, But a lot of you will be dead!

Yet none of you ever listen to me, Despite that I'm right every year. You keep coming back, despite tragedy. Oblivious and without fear.

So fuck all of you people, Fuck you right where you pee. Especially that whore of a girl, I'm talkin' bout Hermione.

Let's get on with the sorting, The wizards and witches, I want to go back to sleep, And not have to deal with you bitches.

Though you already know, What I'm going to say, It's all in a name, As to which house you will stay.

If you're friends with Harry, Or important to the plot, Then I'm pretty damn sure, Gryffindor's your spot!

Perhaps you are evil, Or a Death-Eater. Slytherin's your home, You bottom feeder.

If nobody gives a shit, Who you are or where you go. Welcome to Ravenclaw. Or Hufflepuff! The difference? Fucked if I know.

So that is my song, All of you retarded monkeys. Now I will sing, Something a tad bit funky.

She's a very kinky girrrrrrl, The kind you don't take home to mothaaaaa! She will never let your spirits dowwwwwwn, Once you get her off the street.

She likes the boys in the bannnnnd...

After the Sorting Hat had finished singing Superfreak, he called up the first student to be given their house. This, it had apparently been decided, would be Newton Crosby. He walked over, sat in the chair, and put the hat on. The sorting seemed to take an exceptionally long time, and then, to absolutely nobody's surprise, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Draco Malfoy, seated at the Slytherin table, burst into laughter. His compatriots, Crabbe and Goyle, noted this and began laughing as well. All of the other students at Slytherin, being of a hive mind that follows everything that Draco Malfoy does, also started laughing. "Gryffindor House is the only one shitty enough to have Muggles!" he squealed with glee. "They should just call it Muggledor!"

"He stole my joke!" Harry thought. "I'll get him for that!"

Newton took the hat off, walked over to the Gryffindor table, and sat next to the only person in the entire room cheering for him -- Hermione.

The rest of the ceremony sucked. Harry would never remember the names of any of the kids that got selected. And honestly, he didn't care. Sometime during the ceremony, he fell asleep, and didn't wake up until the food was actually served. He began eating, and listening to the conversation that Newton was having with Ron.

"So are these robes a school uniform, or do all wizards wear them?" asked Newton.

"Oh, all wizards wear them. That's why we call them Wizard Robes," answered Ron.

Newton followed with, "Do they increase your magical potency? Do they help you evade spells? Is there some kind of advantage, or tangible reason for everyone to wear the exact same thing?"

"No. We just wear them because that's what wizards do," Ron again answered.

"So let me get this straight. You guys look down upon Muggle society, a society which allows freedom of expression in things as simple as choice of clothing, and yet you all conform to wearing the same ugly, drab clothing for no good reason?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said Ron.

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. As Harry got up to head towards the Gryffindor rooms his fellow housemates, Professor Snape and Professor McGonagall approached him and stood in his way. McGonagall had her both of her arms wrapped around Snape's right elbow, and her body was pressed right up next to his. "Mr Potter," Snape began in his evil British accent. "I noticed you were a little tired tonight."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered.

"Well, that is no way for a Hogwarts student to act during the Sorting Ceremony. You will show respect to the first years, do you understand me?"

"But..." Harry began.

"No buts!" Snape ordered.

"Yes, sir."

"7 billion points from Gryffindor!" Snape said with glee.

"But, we don't even have any points yet! And seven billion? You can't do that! Professor McGonagall, do something!" Harry begged.

"Are you trying to play me against Professor Snape, Harry? Another billion from Gryffindor! And 50 million to Slytherin, because they're the only other school that matters, and because you hate them so much!" McGonagall seemed even more excited than Snape, who was now wearing the biggest grin that Harry had ever seen him make.

Looking at Professor McGonagall, Snape said, "You're so beautiful when you scold." And then, towards Harry, "I told you no buts." He and McGonagall walked off, both of them laughing.

Harry looked around, all of the Gryffindor students were standing there frowning at him. "Way to go, Harry!" said Neville. Someone hurled their knife from dinner at his chest, but fortunately it was just a butter knife. They all walked off towards the Gryffindor rooms, leaving Harry there alone. Well, all except for Newton.

"What just happened?" asked Newton. "What was that stuff about points, and why is everyone so mad at you?" Harry explained the House Cup to Newton. "You mean they can assign or remove an arbitrary amount of points for any arbitrary reason?" asked Newton.

"Yep," said Harry.

"And all of the professors have biases towards a house. And individual biases against students are allowed?"

"Yep."

"And on the last day of the cup, any professor can just assign however many points they want to whatever house they want, and that determines the winner?"

"Yep."

"That is the stupidest game I've ever heard of in my entire life," said Newton. Harry had never thought about it much before, but now that Newton put it in that context, he was right. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't realized the idiocy and meaninglessness of the House Cup before.

"You know, you're a pretty smart guy Newton. You could almost be a wizard," Harry told him.

Newton paused. "Thanks, I guess..."

That was one. Harry would win the rest of his friends back next. Nobody could stay mad at him. He was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. People may be mad at him right now, but they were only human. Eventually they would come to love him again, because that's what commoners do. They love those who are great.

As Harry and Newton walked back towards the dormitory, they encountered Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle waiting for them, each holding their wands. Harry drew his own, and saw that Newton noticed this. "Hold it, Muggle," Draco said. They stood about 50 feet apart.

"We're just going back to our beds," Newton said.

"Your beds? Nothing here belongs to you, Muggle. We don't want you here. So leave," said Draco.

"Yeah, do that thing he said," said Crabbe and Goyle dumbly, and in unison.

"No, I think I'll stay," said Newton.

Draco appealed to Harry. "Are you going to allow this? A Muggle bringing down your House? Embarrassing you even more than you already were?"

Harry thought of what to say, but Newton beat him to it. "I may have just got here, Malfoy, but let me see if I have this straight. You are a little asshole that nobody likes outside of your own House. That House is the same one that has produced all of the Death-Eaters, including Voldemort himself. Your father is a Death-Eater, and you probably are too. Your cronies are the two stupidest people at this school, and are basically the exact same person, because nobody can tell them apart. You lose at everything every year, and consistently get your ass kicked. But still you want to act all big and tough? Are you that stupid?"

Draco was stunned. As Newton spoke, you could see the look of realization come to his face. He lifted his wand, and Harry, alert as ever, did the same, ready to defend himself and Newton. But Draco continued to lift his wand until he pointed it at his own head. Harry could see tears coming to Draco's eyes. "You're right, you're absolutely right. I'm like the most cliched, stupidest villain ever. What purpose do I possibly serve? I add nothing to this world. Avada Kedavra!" His wand glowed green, and then Harry saw the life go from Draco's eyes just before his body collapsed to the floor.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other and screamed, "Noooo!" in unison. They fell to the ground, pounding their fists in unison, and sobbing in unison. Harry looked at Newton shrugged, and they continued on.

Soon they came to the Fat Lady, the keeper of the Gryffindor rooms. The fat lady looked at them and said, "Password?"

Harry responded, "Umm, it's the first day and we haven't been here yet. But we're Gryffindor, so just tell us."

The Fat Lady thought about it for a second, and then said, "Alright. The password is vagina."

"Vagina, got it," said Harry.

Newton grabbed Harry's shoulder. "Hold on a second. So the way to get into Gryffindor House is with a verbal password? And you can just ask for it?"

Harry laughed at Newton's innocence. "No, you can't just ask for it. You have to be in Gryffindor, trust me."

"Ok, but you just have to know the password? So somebody could be around listening while you utter it and then use it?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"Sweet lord, what is wrong with you people? Alright, I'll tell you what, I'll install a better security system for you."

"Yeah, right, better than magic? Good luck, Newton," Harry said, sarcastically. With that, he went to bed, happy that he was so patient with a Muggle.

The next morning, when Harry and Ron woke up, they headed off towards the dining room for breakfast. On their way out, they saw Newton installing an electronic machine next to the fat lady. "What is this?" Ron asked.

Newton looked up. "This," he said, "is a retinal scanner. It will replace our verbal password, and will never allow a non-Gryffindor access to our dorms."

After rounding up a stray Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw student, and testing the scanner, Harry saw that Newton was right. He couldn't believe it. Technology had beaten magic. What was the world coming to?

Chapter 5 -- The Quidditch Team Dies

Being that Quidditch was one of the most important things in Harry's life, in that it was something he excelled at and in which others marvelled at his abilities, Harry decided to start Quidditch practice early this year. He went around to each of his teammates and informed them of their first scheduled practice the following morning. Getting an early start would be helpful in beating Slytherin and those other Houses this year. Harry also invited Newton to come out and watch them practice, in the hopes that showing off what he could do on a broomstick would impress him. Newton was excited at the idea, and told Harry of his great love of sports. "I can't wait to see a wizard sport," Newton told Harry enthusiastically.

"The wizard sport, you mean," said Harry.

"You mean there's only one?"

"Yeah, Quidditch is the only wizard sport. It's so great, there's no need for another."

"You're telling me that with all the various things you can use magic to do, you've only invented one sport?"

Harry felt his temper rise, how dare this Muggle question Quidditch. However, responded calmly with, "You'll see why. Quidditch is all we need. Baby, it'll blow your mind." Pleased with that closing line, Harry walked away happily.

The next day came, and Harry found himself out on the Quidditch pitch in the brisk morning air. He took a deep breath and then exhaled. What a day for Quidditch! His teammates began to show up, as did a small crowd of other Gryffindors. Newton sat next to Hermione, and within earshot of where Harry was stretching.

"So how does this game work?" Harry overheard Newton ask Hermione. Hermione explained the rules, the equipment, and the positions. "Wait, hold on," interrupted Newton. "So if a Seeker grabs the Golden Snitch, the game is over immediately?"

"That's correct," said Hermione.

"And catching the Snitch is worth 150 points? And regular goals are 10?"

"Exactly."

"So you're telling me that one person, who has little to no interaction with any other player aside from the opposing Seeker, can negate everything that's happened in the game? He can render the entire rest of the game completely meaningless?"

"Umm, well other points count too..."

"Worth one-fifteenth of what the Snitch is? How often do scores get more than 150 points away from each other before the Snitch is caught?"

"Well.....almost never...." Hermione was on the defensive.

"So then yes, the actions of one person, independent of the actual game, completely decides the outcome. Now then, I assume all broomsticks travel at the same speed? Or is that a function of the skill of the wizard?"

"I guess it's the skill of the wizard, somewhat. But really it has to do with how much you spent on your broomstick."

"Are you serious?" asked Newton. "You're telling me that the only position that seemingly matters in this game is based on how much you spent on your equipment? That games are basically decided by who has deeper pockets? They don't force you to use the same broomstick...."

"It's not exac....it's....well......" Hermione was stuck. Harry, hearing all this, was horrified. Could Newton be right? Hadn't he needed to upgrade to the best broomstick available in order to compete? And now that he had, wasn't he the fastest Seeker? He had never thought about it like that before.

"Let's go back to these bludgers," he heard Newton say to Hermione. "Now, they can knock players off their broomsticks, players who are flying high in the sky, and who then fall all the way to the ground?"

"Yeah, you have to watch out for the bludgers," said Hermione, happy that she was able to answer this question.

"Don't people get hurt from that?"

"Oh, very often. It's ok though, Madam Pomfrey fixes them up right after the game."

"So Beaters go around with big ass bats, and knock these bludgers away from their teammates, right?"

"Yep!"

"Can they knock them into opposing players?" asked Newton.

"Sure, that's been known to happen," said Hermione. "If you're a skilled Beater, that is."

"Of course. So, are there any rules about physical contact? Like, what if two players run into each other? Or a Beater accidentally misses a bludger and hits someone with his bat?"

Hermione thought for a second. "Well, there's probably rules somewhere, but the referees never call them."

Newton's mouth dropped open a bit. "Let me get this straight..." Harry, who had been listening intently, was called over by one of his teammates whose name he never cared to remember. He picked up his broomstick and flew off to see what they wanted, and to start practice. Every so often, he turned back towards where Newton and Hermione were seated, and he saw them watching and actively conversing. He wished he could hear what they were talking about.

Two hours passed, and Harry decided that they had had a great first day of practice. As he was walking off the field, Newton ran up to him. "Harry! Hey, Harry!" Newton called.

"What's up, Newton? What did you think of Quidditch?" asked Harry.

"I want to be your coach," said Newton. "I want to coach the team. I think I have a pretty good grasp of the game and some ideas on how to play better."

Harry laughed. He didn't want to be mean, but he couldn't help it. "After watching one practice, not even a game, and you already think you can coach? I'm the captain and the coach of the team. You don't even have any playing experience. Sorry Newton, but no thanks."

In response, Newton said, "Hmm, I thought you might say that. I'll tell you what, Harry. How about I organize a group of players not tied to any Quidditch teams. Just some random wizards. And then we have a scrimmage. If my team wins, you let me coach."

Wow, thought Harry. This kid's got some confidence. A team of losers? But he had never considered the idea of a scrimmage before, and he had to admit, it was a good one. What better way to prepare for actual games than with a practice game? Plus, it was an additional chance to attract some fans. "Sure, Newton, that sounds like a really good idea. Let's say one week from today. You pick your team and coach them, but it has to be Gryffindor kids, I don't want to give any advantages away to the other Houses."

"Deal," said Newton. They shook hands on it.

Soon, the rumor of a scrimmage game between the Gryffindor team and Gryffindor newbies, coached by the Muggle, made the rounds all across the school. When the day finally came, the stands were actually half-full. Harry even spotted Professors Snape and McGonagall in the crowd, sharing a large popcorn. Harry's team walked to the middle of the field and met Newton's team. Though all of them came from Gryffindor, Harry couldn't remember the names of any of them. Truly, they were scrubs, and this game of Quidditch would be a slaughter. The referee had everyone shake hands, and then the game was set to begin. Just before it did, Harry noticed something peculiar about Newton's team. The ends of all of their broomsticks had been sharpened into points. "Hah!" he thought. "They think that will make them more aerodynamic?"

The Snitch was launched, and Harry shot upwards as fast as he could, straight up towards the sky. When he had reached a good height, he stopped and looked around for the Snitch. Below him, he heard some shouts. A moment later, he saw in his peripheral vision a brown blur headed towards him from that direction. Looking down, he saw the entire opposing team headed right towards him. "Get Harry! Before he gets the Snitch!" came a cry from below. Harry, recognizing the danger, flew away from them and then back towards the ground. He turned around, and saw the blur still chasing him. Again, up he went, still looking backwards towards his pursuers. Quickly, he snapped his head around to see where he was going, and saw that right in his path was an awaiting Beater, holding his bat. The Beater wound up and swung his bat right towards Harry's face. Harry saw a flash of light before he passed out.

It took a few seconds for Harry to realize where he was, but he had been in Madam Pomfrey's clinic enough to recognize it even before his eyes were able to focus. "He's awake," he heard a girl's voice say. Hermione's. He saw her leaning over him and looking down. Another figure appeared next to her, and Harry recognized Newton Crosby.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"You got knocked out during the Quidditch game," said Newton. "Sorry about that."

Suddenly the memory of the Beater came back to him. "Did you tell your guy to do that?" Harry asked Newton.

"Yes I did, Harry."

"Why would you do that?"

"To win," said Newton.

"And did you?" asked Harry.

"Most assuredly, yes," said Newton.

Harry couldn't believe it. How had the Gryffindor team lost to a ragtag bunch of no-names? It didn't make sense. "How is that possible?" he asked.

Newton set about explaining what had transpired. "When I learned the rules of Quidditch, thanks to my very able and very sexy teacher," he began. Hermione smiled and blushed. At least, Harry assumed she blushed, but her face was already covered in blush, so it was hard to say. "I discovered something important. Do you know what that is, Harry?"

"That you can injure people with no negative consequences?" said Harry.

"Well, yes, that's part of it. But more importantly, I learned that Quidditch is most probably the stupidest sport ever invented. No, not just invented. It's more than likely the stupidest sport ever conceived by anyone!"

This stung Harry, for he held Quidditch very dear. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Let me explain my strategy. First of all, we couldn't just let the game end, which would only happen if you caught the Snitch. We had no chance at catching the Snitch, because our Seeker's broomstick was not as expensive as yours. So, in order to prevent the game from ending, we had to remove you from it. All of our players, including the Keeper, went after you to knock you out. Which, as you yourself admitted, is perfectly legal. During this time, we gave up 200 points to your Chasers. Thus, our only way to win at that point was to either score sixty more points than your team and then catch the Snitch, or to remove your team from the game entirely such that you had to forfeit. As you know, our players were not nearly as skilled as yours, and even if they had been, there was no guarantee we could score that much. Instead, we went with the latter option."

Harry was listening, terrified. They injured every single player on his team? This would not reflect well on his leadership qualities. People may begin to question his ability to captain. He began to feel sick.

Newton continued, "You may have noticed, Harry, that all of our broomsticks were sharpened into points. This was done to turn them into weapons. Only Beaters are allowed to use bats, so we needed some way to disable your team. We did this by having our players fly their broomsticks straight into your players. The broomsticks worked as spears and impaled your players so that we could net the forfeit."

"Dear God!" exclaimed Harry. "Someone could have been killed! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Actually...." said Newton. "There were some deaths...."

"What!? How many?" Harry cried with what little strength he had.

"Basically.....everyone but Ron. He gave up before we could get him. They're all dead, Harry. I'm sorry about that."

Harry was flabbergasted. This was terrible, absolutely terrible. If his players had died, he had no team. Nobody would respect a Quidditch player with no team. Nor would they respect a captain who let all of his players die. On top of all that, the only other person who lived was the one who annoyed the shit out of him. "Why would you do this?" he asked Newton, angrily.

"Like I told you before, in order to win. You see, Harry, all sports are about winning. You do whatever it takes to win while staying within the rules. Even though we brutally murdered everyone on your team, and they all now lay in a bloody heap, do you know how many rules we broke?"

Harry couldn't muster a single word.

"None, Harry. We were completely within the rules of Quidditch. Do you see now why it's such a terrible sport? Do you see why the inventor of the sport had no idea what they were doing? Quidditch sucks, Harry. It sucks balls, and I'm done with it. Come see me if you ever want to learn how to play basketball."

Chapter 6: Ron Dies

It was the morning before the first day of class, and the Great Hall was abuzz with anticipation. Harry sat down to breakfast with the usual suspects: Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Newton. "So what classes are you guys taking?" he asked them.

"Everything you are, just like always!" Ron said cheerily. Harry stifled a groan.

"Same here, in that I'm doing the bare minimum, just like you slackers always do," said Hermione.

Ron, Harry, and Neville all gasped. Then, Ron said, "But you love taking classes! You always take as many as possible!"

"Yeah," Hermione said casually, "but that was before I knew what I wanted to do after school. Now that I know, I don't really need any of these classes anymore."

"What do you mean you know what you want to do? I mean, what are you going to do?" asked Ron, somewhat nervously. He took a drink of his milk.

"I've decided to rebuild a shop where Weasleys' Wizards Wheezes used to be. I'm going to put up a Wizard Sex Shop -- Horny Hermione's Hoozits," said Hermione. Ron was so shocked at this that he spit his milk out all over Harry.

"You son of a bitch!" Harry yelled at Ron. He pulled out his wand and cast a spell that threw the contents of his own glass of milk onto Ron. Now both of them were drenched in milk. Luckily, Hermione knew a spell to clean them right off.

"That one comes in handy in the bedroom," she said.

"Why in the hell do you want to open up a shop like that for?" asked Ron.

"Well, you have to remember that all wizards are human, and therefore love to fuck. Yet, there aren't any wizard sex shops. Doesn't that seem weird? I'll have a monopoly on the sex industry! Plus, just think of all the things magic can do in the bedroom. Wizards really need to explore that more," explained Hermione.

"I think it's a great idea," Newton said.

"Aww, thanks sugar," Hermione said with an innocent smile. Well, as innocent as one can be after what she had just been talking about.

"What classes are you taking then, Newton?" asked Neville. "I mean, what can you even take without the ability to use magic."

"A surprising number of classes, actually, Neville," said Newton. "I'll be taking Muggle Studies, Potions, History of Magic, and Care of Magical Creatures. When I came here, I knew there'd be things I couldn't do, but I also assumed that you all would have fundamental classes that everyone should have, wizard or not. Things like Math, English, Social Studies. But strangely, I didn't see any of those in the course schedule."

"That's because we don't have those," admitted Hermione.

"How can you not have those? You can't tell me that a working knowledge of mathematics, or being able to read and write in your mother tongue become irrelevant just because you have some magical ability." Newton was appalled at the idea. "Where do you learn these things?"

"Umm, nowhere," said Ron.

"Are you telling me that none of you know how to perform basic algebra? Or know how to diagram a sentence?"

"Algewho? Diagram a wha?" said Neville.

"Geez, what is wrong with you peop..." Just then, Newton was interrupted by the arrival of the messenger owls. Owls flooded through the large windows and landed in front of their addressees. Of their group, Harry was the only one to receive any mail, and he had received not one, but two letters!

"Well, look who the popular one is," whined Ron.

Harry was giddy. Of course he received the most mail, he was Harry Potter. Now everyone else could see that too. However, he had to be careful and not look too excited. Instead, he acted casual, as if he had expected two letters already on the first day of school. Slowly, he opened the first letter. It was from the Dursleys, and it read,

Harry,

Do not come home from school this Christmas. In fact, don't come home over the summer, either. Never come back here again. If we see you, or if we find out you report us to the authorities, we'll kill you.

Love, Your Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin

It was the same letter he had received on the first day of every school year since he had started at Hogwarts. Opening the second letter, it read,

You will die this year, at my hands. The Dark Lord commands it! But he also commands me not to do so until the end of the school year, so until then, have a great year!

S.S.

Two letters, and both of them death threats. Probably not a great way to start the year. Harry was frightened for his life and started to sweat. As Harry thought about it some more, though, his mood began to lift. "Who sends death threats to unimportant people?" he figured. "Two death threats must mean I'm really important. That I'm some sort of boy-king. Yes, this is a good omen." Harry's worries lifted. Now he just had to figure out who this S.S. was.

"Owls serve as your mail service?" asked Newton. "Do you guys have any other means of sending communications?"

"Aside from actually traveling somewhere, that's all we have," said Neville.

"How long does it take to send an owl somewhere?"

Ron answered this time. "It can take up to a couple days, depending on how far away the person is."

"Wow. Just...wow. Let me show you guys something." Newton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small machine with a screen and an antenna. "This is a cellular telephone, or often times just called a cell phone. I can talk to anyone else who has one of these phones in real-time. Watch." Newton pushed a few buttons, and suddenly there was a ringing noise coming from the phone.

"Hello?" came a voice from the other side.

"Hey mum, it's just me calling from school," said Newton.

"Newtie!" came the voice; everyone snickered at this. "How are you doing?"

"Great, I just wanted to call and say good morning and let you know I'm doing alright. Say hi to my wizard friends."

"Hi wizards! Take good care of my Newtie!" Everyone snickered again.

"Bye mum," said Newton, he pressed another button and put the phone away. "That's just one way in which we communicate."

Everyone sat there silently for a second. "That's pretty impressive, Newtie," said Neville. Everyone laughed again. "What else can you do?"

"Glad you asked." Newton reached down into his bag and pulled out another machine. This one was rectangular shaped and folded in half. Newton unfolded it, and pressed a button. The bottom half was some kind English typewriter, and the top half had a screen like the one on the cell phone, only much larger. Suddenly images began appearing on the screen. "This is called a laptop computer, or just a laptop. It has a huge number of uses for us Muggles, including communication. Watch this." Newton began pressing the keyboard, and letters appeared on the screen. He was writing a letter. "I can send this to anyone who has a computer, which, these days, is pretty much every Muggle in the civilized world." He pressed a button and the screen disappeared. "There, they'll get it the next time they use their computer. It takes no time at all to get there."

"Are you saying that it doesn't take any time for your message to get from you to someone else? No matter how far away they are?" asked Harry.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Harry was confused. "Then what good are owls?"

"That's what I'm wondering," said Newton.

"What else can this thing do?" asked Ron, pointing at the laptop computer.

"Well, I have a pretty extensive music collection on here." Newton pressed some buttons and the screen changed. There was a listing of what appeared to be songs. Suddenly, music started coming out of the computer. It sounded awful to Harry, not his taste in music at all. "Oh, sorry, I don't know how but my sister's Tears From the Wrist album got on here. Let me find something better."

"No wait!" said Ron. "This music.....this music feels so real, so human! I've never heard anything like it!"

"Huh?" said Newton. "This is just emo; it's shit."

"It isn't! It's speaking to me, I must hear more of this." In a flash, Ron grabbed Newton's laptop and ran out of the Great Hall.

"Don't worry about him," said Harry. "He won't do anything to your laptop. He's a pussy." They finished eating breakfast and went to their first class -- Potions.

Harry, wanting to be as far from Snape as possible, sat in the back of the classroom. His leadership was evident, as all of his friends did the same. Snape was seated at his desk, staring right at Harry with those evil eyes. Harry cowered, trying to shield as much of his body with the desk as possible. Oh, how he hated Snape. "Alas, every hero must have his nemesis," thought Harry. The idea of having a nemesis, and therefore being a hero, made him feel better.

Snape stood up. "Potions," he said loudly, "is an important subject. Can anyone tell me why?" Hermione raised her hand. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Because for some reason nobody has ever figured out how to make magic spells do the exact same things as potions, even though it is theoretically possible given that it's magic after all, and anything should be possible. Despite the fact that potions requires tedious work and deadly accuracy, and spells can be cast on the spot without any prerequisite materials, wizards still devote much of their time to the creation of potions instead of investigating means of performing the same functions with spells." Hermione spoke quickly, which meant she was probably quoting a textbook.

"That is correct," said Snape. "I have long claimed that you are all despicable idiots, and now I will finally be able to test that theory. For this year we have a special member of our class -- Mr. Newton Crosby. Mr. Crosby is a Muggle, an even lower life form than the rest of you, and therefore should be inferior at a magical subject such as Potions. If any of you perform below his certainly low levels, then I will be forced to fail you. Consider that while you are fucking up my recipes this year."

"Today's potion," Snape continued, "is called the Loony Strange Drink. Can anyone tell me what it is used for?" Once again, Hermione was the only one to raise her hand. Snape grunted, and then called on her.

"Drinking Loony Strange Drink results in prophetic visions of color and form."

"Correct again. Everyone come up here for a cauldron, a recipe, and the ingredients," said Snape.

As they went to line up for their materials, Harry said to Newton, "This class is hard, don't get too discouraged if your first attempts fail."

Once they got back to their desks, Newton, who had been reading the recipe, asked Harry, "So we just follow this recipe?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "But you have to be exact."

"Ok...." said Newton, unconvinced.

Harry set about working on his Loony Strange Drink. The result was supposed to look colorless and odorless, but his ended up brown and smelling like shit. "God dammit!" he exclaimed. "I screwed it up again."

"Dude," said Newton, "all you have to do is follow the recipe. This is easy as shit." Harry went over to look in his cauldron. It was colorless and odorless.

"Ok, time's up," announced Snape. Everyone bring your cauldrons up here. I will test them over the course of the week. Whoever gives me a good trip passes. The rest of you miserable twerps fail this exercise." With that last line, Snape had been staring right at Harry.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Harry didn't have any more classes with Newton, but they met up in the afternoon while both headed back to the Gryffindor area. "How'd your first day go?" asked Harry.

"Very well, I guess," said Newton. "All of my classes look to be remarkably easy. This school makes me feel like I'm in special education."

"Well, for you, in some ways we are in special education," said Harry. He was proud of the remarkable wit of this statement, and he hoped Newton noticed.

Back in the bedroom, Harry and Newton came upon a ghastly sight. Ron lay on his bed, which was covered in fresh blood that was still dripping off the sheets. Newton cried, "Oh my god!" and ran over to Ron's bed. Harry followed him over and scanned the scene. The blood originated from Ron's wrists, which had been sliced open. Somehow, during the course of the day, he had found the time to dye his hair black. It was combed down over the left side of his face, including over his left eye. He had also applied a large amount of eyeshadow under his eyes, and was wearing an all black robe with black socks. Over his ears, he was wearing headphones which were plugged into Newton's laptop. Newton checked his pulse. "He's gone."

Harry spotted a suicide note nearby and read it to Newton.

I am tired of all the hate in the world. There is just so much sadness, so much anger. I feel myself full of all the negative feelings that exist around me. Why can't I stop it? Why can't I get rid of all the sorrow? There's just too much for me. Nobody else seems to recognize the pain that I know they feel, just like I do. Everyone's a phony, oblivious to it all. I'm not one of them. Whoever's reading this, I'm not one of you. I hope one day you come to know the true nature of the world like I have. There is peace in death. It is not sad; life is sad. Death is the end of sadness. Thus it can only be happiness.

Newton was silent for a moment, then said, "I can't believe it. I....I just can't believe it. It only took one day for Ron to go emo." He collapsed on the floor. "And it's all my fault."

Harry didn't care what Newton thought, because he was thrilled. Finally, he was free of Ron. Ron who followed him everywhere. Ron who would never shut up. Ron who sucked at everything. Ron who couldn't make his own friends. Ron who was pathetic and wouldn't stand up to Hermione when she teased him. Gone forever. This was possibly the happiest moment in Harry's life.

Chapter 7: Nobody Dies

The school year seemed to pass especially quickly for Harry, which he attributed to Ron's death. Life at Hogwarts was far less tedious without that annoying bitch. Not much of importance had happened during the year, but then again, did anything important ever happen before the final weeks?

Harry had received a few more death threats, all of them addressed from someone signing the letters as S.S. After the third or fourth one, Harry had finally figured out who it had to be -- Severus Snape! Indeed, Snape had been riding his ass even harder this year than usual. Singlehandedly, Harry's run-ins with Snape had caused Griffyndor's score in the House Cup to fall below negative seven hundred trillion. Slytherin led the four houses, also thanks to Snape, with a score of somewhere near ten to the forty-first power. It was the largest gap in the history of the House Cup, a fact in which Harry took some pride.

There were other clues too. There was one instance where Harry was bragging to his classmates about his brushes with death, and Snape interjected, "Maybe you won't get so lucky this year." There was also the instance where Snape shot a Cruciatus Curse right by Harry's head and claimed he thought he saw a cockroach. Harry's other clue came from Professor McGonagall, when she told Harry, "My boyfriend is going to kill you." Everyone knew that she and Snape were dating, especially Hermione, who claimed to have "intimate knowledge" of the affair.

One evening in the late spring, a messenger owl arrived for Harry. It read,

Meet me in the Great Hall tomorrow at midnight, so I can kill you.

S.S.

Harry read and reread the letter several times, his body numb and unable to move, his heart pounding, and he was sweating profusely. "What'll I do? What'll I do?" he said quietly, and then gradually louder and louder, until he was shouting it.

Newton was nearby reading a book, and quickly came running over to see what was the matter. "What is it, Harry? What's going on?" he asked. Harry showed him the letter and told him about all of the earlier death threats. "Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" asked Newton.

"Oh, and what could you have done, Muggle?" asked Harry, unable to hold back his contempt.

"Well, for starters, I could have sent this off to Muggle police. We have a lot of technology that could help us identify who wrote this, like DNA testing for example."

"DNA? What is that?" asked Harry.

"Don't worry about it, it doesn't matter now. Let's take this to Dumbledore," said Newton.

"I don't think that'll help," Harry warned.

"Let's just do it." They practically ran all the way to Dumbledore's office and knocked on the door.

"Is that my door talking? What is it door? Can't you see I'm busy?" came the voice from within. Harry sighed and pushed it open.

Inside the room, Dumbledore was sitting on the floor, in front of a lit fireplace, polishing his toenails. Dumbledore looked up and spotted the two kids. "What? Who are you? You're not my door, I don't know you," he said stupidly.

"Yes you do, I'm Harry Potter. I'm like the only student you ever talk to at this school," Harry said.

"Ahh yes, Harry. I remember now. Harry, what do you think of this color for my toenails? I'm worried that it may detract from my eyes. My eyes are my best feature you know, Harry."

"Yes, I know that Dumbledore. Anyway, I have something more important to show you. You see, I've been receiving death threats all year and now, tonight, a new one arrived for me telling me that I was going to die tomorrow."

Dumbledore considered this very carefully. "Uh huh, and what does this have to do with me or my choice in colors?" he asked.

Newton answered before Harry could, "What does it have to do with you? You're the damn headmaster! One of your student's lives is in danger! Kids have been dying here every year for the last few years, so it's obviously serious. Don't you think that your job includes the safety of your students? What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Dumbledore chuckled. "A headmaster always knows when students need to solve their own problems, and learn for themselves. This is one of those times, friend."

Newton was visibly taken aback, and Harry filled in the silence with, "Sir, I think I know who is behind all this. I believe it is Professor Snape."

"WHAT!?!??!" Dumbledore thundered. "How dare you question one of my staff. Snape is a golden-hearted hero, you little bastard! Get out of my office! OUT!" Harry and Newton turned and ran out, slamming the door behind them.

"I told you so," Harry said to Newton. "The old man is senile."

"What are we going to do, then?" asked Newton.

"We're just going to have to face whoever it is, like I do every year. It's ok, I always win," said Harry proudly.

"You're going to have to tell me about these previous encounters," said Newton. Back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry did exactly that. When he got to the events of his third year, Newton stopped him. "Hold on....you can travel through time?" he asked.

"Well, we did that time, yeah," said Harry.

"Why don't you just do that again?" asked Newton. "We can travel in time, see who is trying to kill you, travel back in time, and kill them while they sleep."

"Gee, that'd be a pretty good idea, but we don't have the Time-Turner anymore," said Harry.

"What? Where is it?" asked Newton.

"I don't know, we just kind of lost track of it I guess," said Harry.

"Lost track of it!?" Newton was incredulous. "Come on!" Pausing for a minute, he continued, "Harry, do you know why time travel is the weakest storytelling technique possible?"

Harry did not see where Newton was going. "No, why?" he asked.

"Because once you introduce time travel, everything goes out the window. You can solve every possible problem with it. So here you are, at risk of death every single year, with a solution that would save you each and every time, and you lost it. What the hell, man?"

Though Harry had never thought of it that way, he could see that Newton was right. Time travel was stupidly powerful. Why didn't he just use it every time? He had been dumb to lose the Time-Turner. Then he realized that he had survived each and every year since without the crutch of time travel. A true hero didn't need to rely on the same thing each time. Harry immediately felt better about things, and continued to recount the events of previous years.

When he had finished, Newton asked, "So every year there is piles of evidence against Snape, and every year at the last minute it turns out that you were wrong the whole time?"

"Yeah, seems that way," said Harry.

"No, it is that way. And who do you think is trying to kill you this year?" asked Newton.

"Snape. With the help of Voldemort, of course," said Harry.

"Tell me more about this Lord Voldemort, please." So Harry told him everything he knew, which Newton then considered for a minute. "So, is Voldemort the most powerful wizard alive then?"

"No," said Harry. "Dumbledore is more powerful."

"Does saying his name actually alert him, or give him power, or do anything extraordinary?" asked Newton.

"No."

"Then why is everyone so afraid to say his name?"

Harry shrugged.

"Well, does Voldemort have any powers that are out of the ordinary for wizards? Is there anything special about him besides the fact that he's the leader of a cult?"

"No, not really," said Harry.

"And his cult, the Death-Eaters, does that name signify something? Are they immortal? Do they have abnormal powers over life and death?" asked Newton.

"No, they're just evil wizards that like to kill people," said Harry.

"Wait, ok, so this Lord Voldemort, who the entire population of wizards fears like he's some kind of demon or god, is really just a serial killer?"

"Umm....." Harry didn't know what a serial killer was, but he couldn't tell Newton that.

"The answer is yes. He's just a fucking serial killer. That's it. And not even a good one at that, since everyone knows who he is, he couldn't even kill a baby, and he doesn't even eat people. Do you know how many more dangerous killers we have in the Muggle world? My god, this is just pathetic!" Harry did not know what to say to any of this. Finally, Newton spoke up again, "I'm sorry, that wasn't helpful. So tell me, Harry, how do wizards fight? Is there anything I'll be able to do to help you?"

"Probably not," said Harry. He then explained to Newton how wizard fights worked.

Newton again looked dumbstruck. "So the first spell people always cast just knocks your wand out of your hand?"

"Yep," said Harry. "And without your wand, you can't do anything."

"Why don't you just tie your wand to your hand?" asked Newton.

Harry was blown away. That was the single best idea he had ever heard of in his life. Tie your wand to your hand. It was genius! "That's a great idea!" said Harry.

"Ok, and then, after that, you just shoot fireballs and shit at each other?"

"Well, they're not fireballs precisely..." said Harry.

"But you can just dodge them. You just jump out of the way. Wizard fight is nothing more than dodgeball," said Newton.

"It's a lot more complex and dangerous than dodgeball," said Harry. Newton may have had a good idea with the wands, but he clearly didn't understand the mechanics of wizard fights.

"Hold on," said Newton. "I think I can help." He sprinted off towards his room and came back holding a black object.

"What is that?" asked Harry.

"This is basically a Muggle wand," he said. He showed it to Harry. It was pointed, like a wand, but it was metallic and stubby, and a handle jutted out at a right angle. Harry picked it up, and it was heavy. He didn't like the feel of it compared to his wand.

"What's it do?" asked Harry.

"Same thing as a wand," said Newton. "It shoots fireballs."

They were both tired, so they went to bed. Harry, however, could not sleep. The next day he was scared and exhausted, and time seemed to pass like a dream. Before he knew it, midnight approached. "Come on," said Newton. "Let's get to the Great Hall."

"Ok, one thing though," said Harry.

"What's that?" asked Newton.

"You have to let me handle this myself," said Harry. "This is my fight." Harry couldn't have a Muggle stealing his thunder, he was a hero to the entire wizarding world. If they found out he had a Muggle's help, they'd be devastated. There'd probably even be suicides all over the place. Harry couldn't have that on his conscience.

The Hall was dark when they arrived. Out of nowhere came a menacing voice. "Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you." The sound of cackling followed, and suddenly all of the torches were lit. At the far end of the hall was.....Harry's Defense of the Dark Arts teacher!

"Professor Friendly!" said Harry. "You're SS?"

"Yes. Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Sinister Smith, and I am a Death-Eater!" Smith, who was once Professor Friendly, began cackling.

"You'll never kill me!" yelled Harry. "I'm Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived!"

"Ahh yes, I know who you are," said Smith. "And I don't care." Harry quickly pulled out his wand. "What good is a wand if you are unable to use it?" asked Smith. "Expelliarmus!" Harry's wand, however, was tied to his hand. Despite a slight tug, it did nothing. "Damn!" said Smith.

They began fighting. Casting spells at each other and whatnot. Both of them were jumping around, dodging, hiding behind things. Eventually, Harry somehow got hit by a Petrificus Totalus and became incapacitated. Before Smith could cast an Avada Kedavra on him, however, Newton appeared from where he had been watching in the shadows.

"My turn!" said Newton.

Smith laughed uproariously. "You? A Muggle? A Muggle thinks he can defeat a wizard?" Smith laughed even harder. "Ok, Muggle, let's see how you handle.....this! Confringo!" A fireball came rushing after Newton, who rolled out of the way. Newton drew his "wand" from a holster at his waist. Smith began laughing. "A Muggle with a wand? What are you going to do with that, throw it at me?" Smith laughed some more.

"This," said Newton. "is my boom stick!" Suddenly a loud explosion emanated from Newton's wand. Harry didn't see any spells come out, but Smith fell to the ground, screaming. Newton walked up to Smith, pointed his wand as Smith's head, and then came another explosion. The screaming stopped; Smith's body went limp.

A voice came from behind Newton, "Petrificus Totalus!" Newton was frozen on the spot. A shape appeared from the darkness next to Newton. It stepped around Newton's rigid body and came towards Harry, who instantly recognized the man -- Voldemort! "Clever Muggle, but he didn't see the invisibility cloak coming. Get it? Didn't see the invisibility cloak?"

Harry, however, couldn't speak.

"Oh yes, I forgot. My audience is a bit stiff tonight. Get it? A bit stiff?" Voldemort paused as if he had received laughter. "Did you know, Harry, that Muggles have a technology that can see through the invisibility cloak? They call it infrared, or night vision. Yes, Harry, Muggles have made a lot of progress in the last several hundred years, and in many ways have surpassed us Wizards." Voldemort was pacing back and forth in front of Harry.

"For instance, did you know that Muggles have several levels of government? Each of which is elected by the people? It is far more advanced than our archaic despotism, yes. And did you know, Harry, that they actually have more than one school per country? Amazing, I know." Voldemort stopped pacing and stared right at Harry.

"That's all I'm trying to do, Harry. Is modernize the wizarding world. The problem is that everyone else is so stuck in the damn mud, mired in tradition! None of them would have anything to do with Muggles. So I decided to just kill them all and start anew. I call it 'The Final Illusion'. Get it? Final Illusion?" Harry had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded pretty evil.

"One day, in my quest to kill all of the wizards, I came across your family, Harry. I killed your mom and your dad, as you know. But then, when I tried to kill little old you, my spell backfired, and you went off to live with your Muggle family. You probably think that's why I'm obsessed with you, Harry, don't you? You think that's why I want to kill you, because you embarrassed me, but it's not. I'm not a self-worshipping, arrogant little douchebag like you are. No, Harry, I want to kill you because you lived with Muggles. You saw how they lived. You witnessed the miracles of Muggle technology, the wonderfulness of Muggle life, and yet you chose the wizarding world. You are everything I hate, Harry. You are ignorant. You are foolish. You are wowed by the inanities of wizard life. You enjoy living with idiots, and being an idiot. How much did you learn from Newton this year? How much did he show you the ass-backwardness of wizards? And yet you still prefer it, don't you? Yes, I can see it. And that is why you must die, Harry. That is why all wizards must die. Because you are a boring people. You are an idiotic people. It is the fact that you enjoy being a wizard, despite that there is so much better out there for you, that is why I am going to kill you now."

Suddenly, Snape appeared standing next to Voldemort, his wand pointed at Voldemort's head. "Dodge this. Avada Kedavra!" Snape's wand shot out a green light, and Voldemort's body collapsed to the ground. Snape looked at Harry and shook his head. "Mr. Potter, what am I going to do with you?" He uncursed Harry and Newton.

"Where did you come from?" asked Newton.

"Time travel," said Snape with a shrug.

"But I thought you wanted to kill me!" said Harry.

"Why would you think that?" asked Snape.

"Well you did make a throat slashing gesture towards me during the opening ceremony."

"No, I was telling you to wipe something off your neck," said Snape.

"What about when you shot that Cruciatus Curse at my head?"

"I told you I saw a cockroach. It was Smith, he's an animagus. I knew he was a Death-Eater the whole time."

Newton looked puzzled at this, and said, "If you knew..." but Harry interrupted him with, "What about when Professor McGonagall said her boyfriend wanted to kill me?"

Snape laughed at this. "Oh, you must have misunderstood her. We were playing wizard chess, and I said, 'Boy, I'd love to play that Harry Potter. I'd kill him.' She meant I was going to kill you at wizard chess."

Thus, the school year was over. Newton and Snape agreed to tell the story as if Harry had saved the day, because neither of them had such fragile egos. Also, Newton decided that he couldn't handle the idiocy of wizardry and wanted to go back to Muggle life. Harry, once again, was the hero.

For a short while, anyway. You see, Hermione had fucked everyone at the school, and unbeknownst to her, had given them all Wizard AIDS. Every student, teacher, and staff member, regardless of gender or race (even the house elves) got Wizard AIDS. A few years later, all of them died. All except for Newton, who wore a condom. Wizards, unfortunately, didn't have condoms. Yes, every single wizard and witch at Hogwarts died. Including Harry Potter. Especially Harry Potter.

FIN