Harry Potter and the Weapon of Mass Destruction

'Mummy!' cries the little boy that Ron has just frightened.

Ron's grin is wiped clean off his face as he turns to face a disgusted Hermione. 'Ron! You know you're not supposed to do things like that.'

'Come off it, I'm of age, aren't I?' he answers half-distractedly, as he scares yet another child with his wand.

'So, just because you're of age, that means you can break the Wizarding law by exposing yourself to the Muggles?'

'Yeah, you're right. I'm sure all the one

Harry cuts in just on time, before Hermione can snap back in reply, and says, 'Shut up, both of you. We've got to get to the Dursleys ourselves.'

'What?' they both chime, wearing expressions of vague shock.

'Doesn't seem like they got the letter to say I'm coming home early. So we'll just have to find the money somewhere and get a taxi there.'

'You could've said all of this when my parents were still here, you know. But no-'

'Yeah, well, I thought the Dursleys were coming then, didn't I?'

'It's okay! I have enough money for the three of us... My parents... They gave me some money. Just in-case.' Hermione blushes as she says this, but stares at them both as she does so.

'Charming, Ron,' says Harry

Ten minutes on (in which Ron painfully resisted the urge to turn a gang of boys, who named him "ginger minger" as he walked by, into an ugly bunch of "chav ginger flowers", as he intelligently put it), they're in a taxi, passing the wonderful views of London.

'Look! That's where St. Mungo's is, isn't it? And the Ministry of Ma-'

'Ron, shh!' This time, both Hermione and Harry are fuming. The taxi man's eyes can be seen glancing shiftily at the red-haired boy.

'-rgarine...' he finishes rather lamely.

'He's, er, foreign. Lives in his own world most of the time. Big fan of the margarine,' says Harry to soothe the confusion. The taxi driver stops glancing through his mirror, for one thing, but the air in the vehicle is considerably thicker with awkwardness.

'Oh, no!' Ron shouts suddenly, covering his eyes with his hands. He turns to face Harry and Hermione and, seeing the look on their faces, offers an explanation. 'Er, my mum... She's always told us it's bad luck to see three red cars in one journey.'

Harry just nods and thinks to himself what a wonder it is how much one can learn from their best friend, when placed in strange surroundings, in just a couple of hours. 'You're seriously off it.'

'It's quite cute, actually,' says Hermione, a smile cornering either side of her mouth.

Ron, mad with embarrassment at this last comment, turns into a giant beetroot right before their eyes. Harry wonders if she thinks that's cute too. God, even he thinks it is.

A half hour later, or perhaps an hour... Maybe even an hour and a half, Harry doesn't know exactly, the driver stops his car outside a familiar house; number Four, Privet Drive. Hermione orders Ron and Harry to leave while she pays the taxi fare. They leave, wearing looks of bewilderment, and make their way towards the front door of the pretty house.

In a matter of seconds, Hermione arrives (they decided to wait for her before knocking on the door), wearing a mischievous grin. She lightly taps the door three times and steps down again.

'Why have you got that weird grin on your face?' asks Ron.

'You didn't use any spells on the driver, did you?' adds Harry.

'No! Aren't I allowed to have a smile every now and then?'

Harry shrugs and turns to face the door whilst Ron is still staring at her, wearing an expression of slight apprehension.

The door is swung open and a large man, wearing a suit, opens the door. 'What in the blazes...? Why are you here? And who are they?' he adds, jerking his head rudely at Ron and Hermione.

'Good afternoon to you too, Uncle Vermin.'

A hoarse laugh, then- 'I've often wanted to call him that. Good one.'

'Er, okay. Hi, Aunt Petunia.'

'What kind of name is "Petunia" anyway?' says Uncle Vermin angrily. 'More like... More like "Peculiar", ha!'

'No, that was quite bad. Even by my standards,' Ron cuts in.

'Still, better than "Phlegm", though, wasn't it? Hermione wonders loudly. 'I mean, no disrespect to Ginny, but what possessed her to make her think that was witty, or even funny?'

'Good point. If she was aiming to offend, "Fleur the Boar" would've even been better,' says Ron.

Silence follows before Hermione apologetically says, 'He did warn you that he had low standards.'

Uncle Vermin and "Peculiar" just shrug and nod in agreement. 'Do you two have pet names for one another?' asks Vernon, looking at Ron and Hermione.

'Er-'

'Yes. Yes, they do,' says Harry impatiently. 'He calls her "Er-my-knee" and she calls him "Won-Won". Quite a funny story, actually, involving somebody named Lavender Brown. Perhaps one day, when we're all sat around the dining table, sipping tea and eating dinner, I'll tell you about it.' Ignoring the hisses and nudges from Ron and Hermione, he continues by saying, 'Can you go back to being the Uncle from hell and reluctantly let us in now? I'll even let you spray your spit at me without scaring you with my wand.'

'Fair enough,' he shrugs in reply. And sneering, he asks, 'Why are you so back early?'

'Professor Dumbledore was killed, so they've closed school early,' replies Harry shortly, as he and his two friends make their way through the doorway towards the stairs.

'Who killed him?' This time, it's Aunt Petunia who speaks. Her lips are pursed, tinged blue, and her whole face is pale.

'Snape.'

'Oh, I knew I should have killed him when I had the chance...'

'What?' all four people say.

'Oh, never mind... I didn't mean to say that out loud. Pretend it didn't happen.'

Harry wants to reply that he can't just pretend he didn't hear that, but Ron and Hermione whisper in his ear to let it go and, before he knows it, he's inside the neat and prim living room. Dudley is sitting on the sofa, watching television. He shivers slightly and jumps like a burnt cat when Harry, Ron and Hermione walk in. Hermione smiles gently at him, whilst Ron tries hard to stifle his laughter.

'Hello, Dudley,' she says to him warmly.

His reply is a mini squeak and the bulging of eyes.

'What are you watching?'

'Yeah, what is this? This is... Really weird,' says Ron, eyes transfixed on the television. 'What's this thing called?'

'A television, Ron,' says Hermione, her lips pursed to show her frustration at his interruption.

'A Terry Fisher? Cool. Ahaha, did you just see that? That mouse just ripped out the cat's insides and put them on his plate, so the cat's just ate his own intestines! This is brilliant!'

'It's The Simpsons. That was the Itchy and Scratchy show... Bart and Lisa love it,' grins Dudley.

'Bart and Lisa?' asks Ron, a frown marring his forehead. (Hermione is now staring at the screen, her face full of shock at what the cartoon is depicting, whilst Harry is just slouching on the sofa, listening to Dudley and Ron's conversation).

'Yeah, they're two of three children in the Simpsons household. Bart's the best.'

'I quite like this fat idiot, he's funny,' says Ron, pointing at the screen.

'He's Homer Simpson, the dad. Talking of fat idiots, look at me!' Dudley's two hands are pointing at himself and he has a stupid grin on his podgy face.

A thought suddenly strikes Harry. 'Dudley, what did you see when that Dementor almost attacked you two years ago?'

The usual pinkish colour on Dudley's face disappears and the grin is wiped clean off his face. It's as though somebody has slapped him rather hard. Funny, really. 'I'm not telling you.'

'I'll give you a doughnut,' says Ron, flashing his teeth and conjuring an attractive doughnut, covered in thick chocolate.

Dudley's eyes water and his mouth dribbles. Surprisingly, it takes him longer than ten seconds to give up and say, 'I saw things. Give me,' he finishes hungrily.

'Oh, you boys are ridiculous,' interrupts Hermione sharply, sneering at Harry and Ron. 'Dudley,' she says, smiling once again, 'we can help you. If you tell us what you saw, we can help you.'

'Help him? Help him with what? Losing weight?' says a new voice, belonging to Aunt Petunia. 'Please

'Sorry, we don't do hopeless cases,' says Ron with a grin.

'Yeah, we don't bother with the ugly bullies, to be honest with you,' agrees Harry.

'Oh, how rude! Don't talk about my son like that!' squeals Aunt Petunia.

'Hey! What about me, your husband?'

'Oh, well,' she says, glancing at her husband, 'they are right, Vernon, you are a hopeless and an ugly bully, really.'

Uncle Vernon just considers this for a few seconds

'Go upstairs now! I won't have you talking to my son like that. Go on, all of you, out!'

So the three of them make their way up the stairs towards Harry's bedroom. Hermione is tutting and muttering about 'immature plebes' to herself, whilst Ron and Harry are roaring with laughter at what has just happened. Feeling the cold handle of his bedroom, Harry opens the door and it's as though they've entered a dust desert.

They know now is the perfect time to discuss the revelations; any ideas on who R.A.B. could be, where the real Horcrux - the real locket - could be, where Snape probably is, what Draco's doing, what colour pants he's wearing-

'Like I said, Harry, you're obsessed.'

'I was just wondering.'

'Pains me to say it, but shouldn't you be wondering what colour pants my sister is wearing?'

'Probably blue, as usual.'

'How do you know that?' asks Ron, extremely suspicious this time.

'Oh, er, I, er, completely guessed. Lucky guess if it's true, too. But let's forget about that. There are more important things to discuss like... Like-'

'I've got it! I know who R.A.B. is! I can't believe it. The whole time it's been right under our noses. How could we have not realised it before?' screams Hermione.

'Who is it, for God's sake?'

'How am I supposed to know?'

'You just said... You just said you knew!' replies Ron incredulously.

'I was just trying to change the subject.'

'Oh, well done. Do you want a prize for getting our hopes up like that, then crushing them again?'

'Calm down, Ron. Your time of the month?'

'I've got it. I can't believe it.' Harry stands up and begins walking from one wall to another in a fast pace.

'Don't try and change the subject again. Won't fall for it. Like the special effects though, the walking and all.'

'Shut up. I really do have it! It's thanks to Hermione, really. What you just said about it being under our noses the whole time, did you make that up?'

'Yes,' she replies, rather stunned.

'I don't know if that was fate scoring for our team, but I think I'm sure I know who it is...'

Moments pass by and Harry is still standing still, like a statue, staring at the other two, whilst the other two are staring at him, waiting for the answer, waiting for who R.A.B. is. Or, at least, who Harry thinks it is. But, still, no noise. Nobody has spoken...

'Er, are you going to tell us who, then?' says Ron.

'Yeah, sorry, I just wanted to thicken the tension. You know

'Oh, yes, I remember watching-'

'Okay! I get the point; single Ronniekins out, make him feel a plum. Yeah, it's hilarious, too. What? You're asking why I'm not laughing if I find it so funny?'

'Nobody asked you that...'

'Rhetorical question, Harry.'

'Actually,' says Hermione, 'a rhetorical question is-'

'Blah, blah, blah. Thank you for that.'

'Regulus Black.'

'Where?!' shout Ron and Hermione, both getting up abruptly and brandishing their wands, looking ready to attack the first thing to move.

'Here,' replies Harry, trying hard to suppress a laugh, handing over the creased note which had been lying in his pocket since Dumbledore's funeral, the day before.

'Harry... I can't see him. You sure he's on here?'

'Ron, don't be silly. He means Regulus Black is the person who wrote this note, you... silly.'

'Aaah. I get it.' Then, as though something finally clicks in his mind, Ron shouts, 'Regulus Black! Sirius' brother! Harry, it's Regulus! R.A.B. is-'

'Regulus Black. Well done, Won-Won.'

'This is great, you know what we've got to do now, don't you?' says Harry, hands gesturing wildly.

'Er, Harry, no offence, mate, but I'm not really into that kinda thing.'

'Why doesn't that make sense to me?'

'Or me?' adds Hermione.

'Wait, weren't you talking about a threesome?'

'...No.'

'Oh. Well, neither was I. I was just wondering if that's what you were talking about. Because it wasn't what I was talking about. So, what were you talking about then, huh?'

Ignoring Hermione's chortle, Harry arches his eyebrows at Ron and replies, 'I was talking about us going to Twelve Grimmauld Place. Our next stop.'

'Harry,' says Hermione immediately, her voice rich with indignation. 'Harry, no. You have to stay here until you turn seventeen and that's not for another month and a half. You promised Dumbledore, remember?'

Harry hates Hermione just then. He hates her for being right, for mentioning Dumbledore's name, the only thing that's made him re-consider. 'I never said now, did I?'

'Don't forget Bill and Fleur are getting married on the first of August, too.'

'Well, then we'll leave for Twelve Grimmauld Place after the wedding is over!' says Hermione, glancing from Ron to Harry, a chirpy smile on her face.

'Yeah,' they both reply, their voices showing no indication of enthusiasm.

Suddenly, the door is whipped open and all three of them are thrown out of their train of thoughts as a woman with a horse-like, bony face appears. 'You,' she jerks her head at Harry

'Merlin! No, Aunt Petunia. I don't want to. I'd rather have Voldemort read me a bedtime story or something.'

'What are you babbling on about? I have something important to tell you which might help in your quest to kill that... That "Voldie" thing,' she snaps.

'Voldie... Good name. You're excellent at this name thing.'

'Thank you,' she replies, twirling and striking a pose. 'Hurry up, or it'll be your loss.' She shuts the door loudly and the remaining three can hear her soft thumping footsteps.

'I better go, then. If I'm not back in ten minutes, break the wall down. I don't mind if you see me naked or struggling, just as long as you save me... Save meee! I can't face this liiiife alooone- Ah, Queen. Great band, great band.'

'Stop it. It's not funny talking about struggling in bed with your Aunt and-!'

'If Ron wasn't laughing, I might believe that.'

Hermione scowls at Ron.

Ron's laugh has mysteriously morphed into a cough.

Harry leaves the peaceful atmosphere of his bedroom and enters the mean and cold corridor. Knocking gently on his Aunt and Uncle's bedroom door, he opens it slowly. What he sees makes him quickly shut the door and shout, 'Sorry!' before he is told, rather impatiently, to open the door again and 'come in'.

His Aunt Petunia is lying on her neatly done bed, on her left side. She is, for some reason, wearing a long, red satin nightgown and white arm-gloves to match. She is also, Harry notices, wearing her hair up in curls and has bright red lipstick on. Before her is a black box, decorated with pretty whirly patterns.

'Come here,' she says.

'Er, okay,' he replies nervously.

'This,' she says, indicating the box with her left hand, 'is your answer to everything. Your Uncle Verm - Vernon - got it years back, just in-case, but he's never had to use it. So I'm giving it to you. It'll come handy when trying to kill whatshisname.'

'Okay. But why are you dressed like that?'

'You don't like it? I always wanted to be a Bond girl and do something Bondy. It's a secret though, don't tell anyone.'

'Bond girl? Bond?'

'Oh, never mind. Just take the bloody box.' Harry takes the box, but before he opens to see what's inside, she loudly interrupts with, 'Don't, and I mean don't you dare, use that thing in my house. Don't even hold it in my house. And if Dudley even gets a sneak peak at it, I'll use it on you. Mark my words.'

'Right. They're marked. Can I go now?'

'The name's Bond, Petunia Bond.'

'What?'

'You're useless. Go!'

In less than ten seconds, Harry rushes into his bedroom and doesn't notice Ron and Hermione quickly breaking away. 'Look! She gave me something. Said it might come in handy when killing Voldie.' He pauses and looks up to the ceiling, as if in a trance, and smiling to himself, he quietly says, 'Ha, Voldie. I like that name.'

'Open it, what's inside?'

'Wait! Come sit with us first,' suggests Hermione.

Harry makes his way over to the bed, but stops before sitting on it and says, 'You guys didn't, er, do anything on my bed while I was away, did you?'

'No!'

'Well, that's not true-'

'Ron.'

'What? He needs to know... I'm surprised you didn't notice, Hermione. Harry, I farted... Sorry.'

'Oh, I noticed that when we-' She stops and blushes. 'When we were talking about... Ants! And ant universities, ant healers and all that,' she finishes with a nervous laugh.

'Oh, that's what that smell is? What did you eat, mate? Any chance you ate some shit? Literally?'

'Oh, well, sorry my farts don't smell particularly flowery tonight-'

'Oh, please. Just stop going on about it. Open it, Harry.'

'Okay. But first, you two need to get behind me a little so that our heads form a little triangle from a bird's eye view. And I want you both to open your eyes wide. Your mouths too, have them opened wide in shock.'

'But why?'

'I always wanted to be a Bond girl, okay?'

'A Bond what?' asks Ron.

'Oh, you're useless,' says Harry, tossing his head and huffing.

'Dun dun duuuuun!' sings Ron.

'What are you doing?'

'What? We need a drum roll in there, somehow.'

It seems to take forever. Or, perhaps, it is taking forever because Harry is slowly lifting the lid to reveal what's in the mysterious black box. Suddenly, a pale hand appears out of nowhere and grabs the lid before throwing it across the room.

'Ron! You ruined it! We'll have to start again now. Thanks a lot,' he mumbles.

'Harry, look! It's... It's a gun!' Hermione squeals, pointing out the obvious.

He forgets about re-acting the "scene" and, instead, gasps with Hermione. 'Ron, why aren't you gasping with us?' he asks, patiently holding in his impatience.

'I don't know what a gun is,' he answers with a frown.