Albus Dumbledore: Dark Hippie Extraordinaire

Albus Dumbledore: Dark Hippie Extraordinaire

Flame Star

*Dumbledore sits in his office, wearing a hippie outfit, shuffling through pink papers decorated with yellow and white flowers*

Dumbledore: Ha! I've found what I've been looking for since the Dark lord was temporarily vanquished fifteen years ago!

*The flowery seventies phoenix named Fawkes cocks his head*

Dumbledore: There there, my pet, it will all be over soon. Harry Potter will thwart the Dark Lord within the coming year. Now where is my comb?

*Dumbledore picks his comb up off of his desk and proceeds to brush his silver white Afro*

Dumbledore: I look totally groovy. Now, Fawkes, my pitiful underpaid message bird, please get me Funkedelic McGonagall. We have some unfinished business to discuss.

*Fawkes rolls his eyes and then disappears in a flash of flowery smoke*

Dumbledore: Egg-salad! Maybe I can bewitch McGonagall into coming to the Yule Ball with me!

*Fawkes returns with a totally funky-fied Professor McGonagall*

Dumbledore: Ah, Minerva, you're looking groovy today.

McGonagall: Right back at ya!

Dumbledore: You know, I know you don't like me the way I like you, but it would be in your best interest if you allowed me to bewitch you into coming with me to the Yule Ball.

McGonagall: Ok!

*Dumbledore whips out his wand and performs a simple charm on McGonagall*

Dumbledore: There we go! All better!

McGonagall: Oh Albus, I love you!

Dumbledore: I love me too.

*Suddenly, Harry Potter bursts in riding his Firebolt*

Harry: *looks scared at the Professor's strange behavior AND clothes*

Dumbledore: Welcome, my super-stupendous star student. Come, come, take off your robes and stay awhile.

Harry: I'm wearing nothing underneath them.

Dumbledore: Oh. Harry, if you're that low on underwear I'm sure I could lend you some.

Harry: No, that's ok...I'd best be going...heh heh...heh.

*Harry hops on his Firebolt, and crashes out the window, which fails the instant he exits the building, and falls off and crashes to the ground seven stories below. *

Dumbledore: Well, there goes our chance of ever seeing the evil in this world brought to an end.

McGonagall: Yes. Quite frankly I never knew he would end up turning into the Boy Who Lived But Fell Seven Stories Out Of A Window With A Broomstick Pierced Through His Abdomen When He Hit The Bottom And Yet Still Lives.

Dumbledore: I don't think either of us did. Come on; let's go to the teacher's lounge and groove until we drop.

McGonagall: Alright, but we really must invite Severus, he borrowed all the Funkerelic CDs from the lounge.

Dumbledore: That's fine with me. Hey, while we're at it, we can cancel all classes due to an...um...a magical rogue hurricane that is directly in our path and all the teachers can come get their groove on.

McGonagall: Ok, I'll make the announcement.

*McGonagall leaves to go to the teacher's room*

Dumbledore: You know, I should really go and get Harry; he's bleeding all over my freshly watered grass.

*Dumbledore grabs garden hose conveniently located next to the window and marches off downstairs*

Harry: *silent and unconscious*

Dumbledore: Harry! Look what you've done!

Harry; *still silent and unconscious*

Dumbledore: You've wrecked my precious daisy!

*Trembling, Dumbledore kneels to the ground and picks up a blood soaked flower off the ground*

Dumbledore: Noooooooooo!

Harry: Fuggyudumbadoor...

Dumbledore: What's that, Harry?

Harry: FUGGYUDUMBADOOR!

Dumbledore: Poppy will know what to do. Be right back Harry!

Harry: *silent and unconscious again*

*Dumbledore returns with Madam Pomfrey and she shrieks in terror*

Pomfrey: OH MY WORD! Poor thing, we need to get him to the hospital wing, Albus!

Dumbledore: *Magicks up a stretcher* Will this do?

Pomfrey: Yes, it'll be fine. Now hurry up and get him on the stretcher!

*Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey whisk away the poor, bloody, unconscious flower to the hospital wing, leaving Harry to rot and die*

Harry: *Wakes up and performs the Irish jig for all you Irish readers*

Irish Readers: YAY!

*Ron and Hermione rush out the front doors of the castle towards Harry*

Hermione: That's a lot of blood-dy hell! What's wrong with Harry?

Ron: I'm afraid I don't know, dear friend. It's a bit of a sticky wicket to find Harry in the middle of his own blood performing the Irish jig. Quite disturbing, actually, I do believe he finally went insane.

Hermione: Call the plumber then!

Ron: The what? You mean the asylum? St. Mungo's has one. We can just ship him there. But dear, the Dark Lord just owled me to say he's on his way to kill Harry.

Hermione: Well, then the bugger can go eat a bloody...erm... go eat bloody Malfoy!

Author: Wait a minute, when did Ron get his extensive vocabulary? And when did Hermione borderline swear? And I thought- wait a minute- AAH!

*Malfoy and his cronies walk out of the front doors and over to Harry, Ron and Hermione.*

Draco: Looky here, boys, it's the know-it-all Mudblood and the Weasel. Never did find out how he could ever understand Granger, because of his dumb traitor family.

Ron: Okay Malfoy, you just stated, if you listened carefully to your oversized mouth with an ego to match, that Hermione was smart and I was dumb. Complimenting someone whom you just called a very disgusting name will not do and I'm afraid, as head girl, I'll have to take fifty points from Slytherin.

Hermione: Take that, you great git! Don't ever insult me like that again or I'll sic my cat on you!

Author: OH, I see what's wrong now! You two have somehow switched personalities! Better switch them back!

*Ron and Hermione have blank expressions on their faces as the blue spirit personality came out of Hermione and was replaced by her own red one. Ron's floated back to his own body, and they both lie there semi-conscious on the grass*

Crabbe: Hey Goyle, lets go over there in the corner where we can slap each other's asses in private.

Goyle: Ok.

*Crabbe and Goyle leave Malfoy with three unconscious people.*

Author: Now, I don't like it when you and Hermione hate each other, Draco. Gotta have the opposite.

*Hermione wakes up and Draco stares at her with an expression of awe on his face.*

Draco: I think I've fallen madly in love with you, Hermione Jane Granger.

Hermione: I think I've fallen in love with you too, Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Draco: Want to go off somewhere and snog the brains out of each other?

Hermione: Fun! Let's go!

*They go off, leaving a groggy Ron to revive Harry, whose previous attempts to use Healing magic ended up killing the thing he was healing*

Ron: Oh great, Hermione and Malfoy went off to snog, which leaves me here with Harry...ooh. What's that I see sticking up under his robes?

*Ron investigates closer to find it was a sack of Galleons cleverly hidden in his pocket.*

Ron: Well, it'll come in handy.

*McGonagall hurries out of the school in her Funkedelic Hippie outfit and addresses the outside, which consisted of two secretly snogging students, two ass-slapping gays, an almost dead Boy Who Lived But Fell Seven Stories Out Of A Window With A Broomstick Pierced Through His Abdomen When He Hit The Bottom And Yet Still Lives and a rich little money stealing bitch.*

McGonagall: I regret to inform you that the school is in the direct path of a rogue magical hurricane. Please return to your common rooms immediately, whichever ones you choose. The Gryffindor Password is Brave Cowardice; Slytherin's is Badass Mo'fos; Hufflepuff's is Good-for-Nothings, and Ravenclaw's is Indirectly Stupid. Thank you.

Ron: A Hurricane? Well, we'd better stay outside in a cluttered area. You know the old sayings, like 'If you're in a fire, stand in an elevator', and 'If you're having a heart attack stick your head between your legs'.

*Ron leaves to go to the Ravenclaw Common room*

Ron: I have the strangest feeling I've forgotten something. Oh well.

*Harry is left out in the slight mist, and in his slight state of awareness, hears loud smacks and sucking noises in the distance.*

Hermione (from far away): You know, Harry is still unconscious, Draco.

*Draco looks up and Harry does more of the Irish jig*

Irish Readers: YAY!

Draco: No, I think he's just mental.

Hermione: Right, now where were we?

*Draco and Hermione hear smacking and whoops from Crabbe and Goyle*

Draco: On our way to stop a seriously intimate slash moment.

Hermione: Oh yeah, right.

*They look at each other for about five seconds before Draco lunges at Hermione again, tackling her to the ground in sweet kisses*

Harry: *Silent and Unconscious*

Irish readers: We want the Jig! We want the Jig!

Harry: *Does the Irish jig*

Irish readers: YAY!