This IS Harry's Life

The world spun slightly around, coming to a stop as Harry sat up. His neck was wet and cold, and he stared in bewilderment at the sight before him. He was sitting in the middle of the Dursleys lawn, sans clothing, and was very wet from the early morning dew. Pushing himself to his feet, he walked to the front door, discovering that it was locked.

Considering he was nude, this bothered Harry, greatly. Now fully awake, he rattled the front door angrily. "OPEN!" he yelled. He glared at it. A window opened next door, and Harry clapped his hands over his mouth. Down the street came a rumble from a car engine, and Harry quickly ducked behind a bush.

What in earth am I doing in front of the Dursleys' house this early in the morning? Harry cursed. And why don't I have any clothes on?! Biting his lip, Harry remembered deciding to sleep in the buff the night before. Oh yeah... well, at least I have my glasses.

Harry wandered around the house, checking windows. Something rattled behind him, and Harry spun on his heels. The neighboring woman was peering over the fence, eyes wide.

"Oh my!" she uttered, covering her mouth in shock.

"Uh..." Harry looked at her blankly. She stared back. "Hold on- what are you looking at?!"

She squeaked, disappearing behind the fence. Harry could hear her footsteps shuffle quickly away. He glowered in her direction. Harry trekked on, and by he got to the other side of the house he had unhappily discovered that all the available windows were secured tightly. Maybe I was sleepwalking?

Harry sighed, starting back to knock on the front, deciding he would knock if he had to.

That must be it, I was sleepwalking. Well, comes along with the territory I suppose. He came to a stop. Window! Open!

The window above the kitchen sink was wide open, and Harry anxiously jumped up, propelling himself through.

"Ack!" Aunt Petunia, in the kitchen, suddenly spotted something coming through the window. "Sirius Black!"

She bashed Harry over the head with a frying pan, sending bacon in all directions of the kitchen.

"Ow!" Harry covered his head in defense, flying into the room.

"Aieeeeee!" She shrieked, and promptly threw the frying pan at him.

"AHHH! OWW!" Harry tumbled onto the floor. "Aunt Petunia!" The room tilted crazily. Rita Skeeter (with beetle wings), a cow, and quite a few little sparkly things spun around his vision. Laaa lala la laa lalalala . . . oh my god Becky, look at her butt . . .

"Aunt Petunia! Its me Harry!" He rolled over, running smack into the counter.

"Aieeee-" She stopped mid shriek. "What are you doing in my kitchen?" She demanded.

"I... I live here!" Harry said, confused.

"Where have you been?!" She picked up her frying pan, and Harry scrambled to his feet.

"Erm..." he thought, dizzy. "I dunno."

"WHATS ALL THE RACKET?!" Uncle Vernon burst into the room. He stopped thunderstruck.

Harry grabbled a floral dishtowel, wrapping it around his waist. "I was sleepwalking!" he insisted.

"A LIKELY STORY!" Petunia screeched.

"Um, Aunt Petunia... what do you think I was doing?"

Silence.

"Possibly some kind of pagan ritual!"

"What... what would that entail, Aunt Petunia?"

Uncle Vernon slammed his fist on the counter. "STOP MAKING CRUDE SUGGESTIONS TO YOUR AUNT!"

Harry choked. "I was NOT!" he sputtered.

"Get out of my house!" Uncle Vernon turned bright purple.

"But-"

"OUT!"

"But I'm-"

"Get OUT!"

"Fine!" Harry suddenly found himself pushed through the door, and onto the street. He blinked.

That went well. He hitched his dishtowel around his waist and walked down to the curb, trying to decide what to do.

An ice cream truck went by.

"Hey!"

The trunk slammed on the breaks, and then suddenly sped up and continued, hurtling down the road. It almost missed the turn at the end of Privet Drive, bumping over onto the curb and flattening a stay trash can.

Harry muttered at it, flipping the finger. Suddenly the sprinklers in Mrs. Next-door's yard went on, soaking him.

"Argh!" Harry ran away. Bravely ran away away ...

Thank god it's a dishtowel, not a Kleenex... Harry's mind turned away from that horrifying thought.

A red car sped by. Suddenly it came to a stop with a squeal of tires, and slowly backed up and stopped next to Harry.

The couple inside looked at Harry, dumbfounded. The window started to roll down. It stopped halfway.

The man behind the driver's wheel cleared his throat. "Um. Do you... need a ride?"

Harry shook his wet hair out of his eyes, exasperated.

"What do you think? No, I'm fine just getting the groceries, thanks. YES I need a ride!" Harry said irritably.

The man frowned. "Well somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." (Harry rolled his eyes ironically) The man muttered grumpily. "No need to be rude."

Without warning, the rather stupefied woman who had been sitting in the passenger seat came to life. "OH MY GOD!"

She flung herself across the man's lap, bashing herself with a smack against the car window. Harry almost dropped his only vestige of clothing, the dishtowel, from around his waist. He was beginning to wish he'd never gone to bed yesterday.

"It's HARRY POTTER!"

-Stufler-

Harry, used to this sort of thing, and did the only thing he could think of. He automatically whipped out a quill from the handy pocket in the dishtowel and started autographing a piece of parchment for the obviously stark-struck woman.

Dear rather stupefied woman,

Please stop yelling my name at me, I know I look beautiful in only a dish towel (owing to the fact that flying around on a broomstick after a metal ball definitely builds up a six pack) and I am aware that my name is Harry Potter, but you have really taken it too far.

Regards,

Harry Potter

He handed it to her, and then decided he'd better get out of this situation and into some clothes as soon as possible.

Once he had gotten into some comfortable muggle clothes (let's face it - robes are stupid), he had to have somewhere to put the dishtowel. He finally settled on wearing it around his head like a bandana. Who knew when a dishtowel would come in handy?

Harry was walking along Diagon Alley, where he had had gone to buy the muggle clothes (there was a store there called 'Incognito a-go-go' especially for wizards or witches who wished to wear muggle clothing) when he spotted Neville Longbottom outside 'Magical Menagerie', where Hermione had bought her cat all those years ago.

As Harry slipped past Neville, he heard him talking to himself.

"What if I buy her some flea shampoo for her cat? No, then it would be like I was suggesting that her cat has fleas or something...Not that fleas are anything to be ashamed of, of course...Trevor sometimes eats fleas when he's feeling peckish, and that's almost the same as having fleas...right?"

Neville stood for a minute, utterly perplexed by the entire flea situation.

Harry smiled at Neville's ponderings and walked on. Harry's smile soon faded as he saw someone else he recognized. Draco Malfoy. Oh, that guy really got Harry hot. Hot? What? Where did that come from? He made Harry angry, yes, that's right. Angry. Harry shook his head confusedly at the strange appearance of the word 'hot' in the same sentence as 'Malfoy'.

Draco was walking along in a simpering kind of way, for once not flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. His blonde hair glistened in the bright sunlight (from the tub of gel he emptied onto his head each morning), and his pale, pointed face looked utterly vulgar in the harsh light of day.

Harry wished to avoid a confrontation so he grabbed a chair at Florean Fortseque's Ice-cream parlour and tried to hide his head in his hands. Malfoy was coming closer and it looked as though he was feeling a little bit ravenous. (Harry could tell that he was hungry due to the fact that Malfoy was rubbing his stomach and saying, "I'm hungry", quite loudly.) He might even stop for a bite to eat at Florean Fortesque's! Oh, the horror! What would Harry do? He grabbed his head, as though to help him think, and his hands clamped down upon some material.

"The dishtowel!" he thought in amazement. "I knew it would come in handy!" Quickly Harry untied the towel from around his head and pulled it up over his head so that it covered his entire face.

Quite unaware of how stupid he looked, sitting down at a pink plastic table with a piece of fabric over his head, he felt rather pleased with having thought of such a intelligent way of hiding himself. Harry now took in his new surrounding...or lack thereof, seeing as he was wearing a cloth over his head. The cloth had a couple of conveniently placed holes just where Harry's eyes were positioned. Harry made a mental note never to kill another moth again as long as he lived, as moths were most certainly the culprits of the holes in his dishtowel.

Harry watched as Malfoy progressed down the illustrious avenue and felt comforted when it turned out that Malfoy didn't feel the need for an ice-cream at that point in time.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and was about to take Sparky, his dishtowel, off (which he had decided to name as it had saved him from some unfortunate occurrences a number of times now) when he heard a voice behind him whisper, "Don't remove your dishtowel. You know we aren't meant to!"

Harry spun around in his uncomfortable plastic chair and found himself face-to-face (well, dishtowel-to-dishtowel) with a person wearing another towel (also with conveniently placed holes for the eyes to see out of), covering the face.

"Who are you?" Harry questioned accusingly, somewhat put off that he was not the first person in history to have thought of wearing a dishtowel on his head.

"Member number 561 of The Dishtowel Appreciation Society That Actually Rectifies Diddly-Squat. Otherwise known as The D.A.S.T.A.R.D.S. Eastern Region. Your I.D. Number?" came a distinctly male voice from behind the fabric.

"Er...Number 2468," ('Who do we appreciate?' thought Harry, smiling.) "Errr...Western region..."

"Very well. I have a message for you."

He handed Harry a folded piece of parchment and got quickly up, knocking over a chair in the process.

Trying to look inconspicuous (which was hard, considering he was wearing a dishtowel over his face), the man disappeared off into the crowd.

Mystified, and still a bit put out that Harry was not so original in dishtowel wearing as he had thought, Harry sighed and began to read.

A Message from: the Dishtowel Appreciation Society That Actually Rectifies Diddly-Squat, Otherwise known as the D.A.S.T.A.R.D.S.

Dear members,

We have news from the underground. The D.A.S.T.A.R.D.S. meet tonight to discuss the under-rated position of dishtowels in society. 8:00 pm sharp, Shop 123 Diagon Alley.

Harry sighed again and finally removed Sparky from his head. "Well Sparky," he said to his dishtowel, "should we go tonight?"

-Larinzia Hope-

He could hear the raucous laughter ahead of him. For the past twenty minutes, he had been rooted fast in this spot in the long hallway without any hope of moving himself. With his luck, he would be the last person to enter the room and would have to endure the ridicule of his prompt classmates. Patting his back pocket where Sparky was securely placed, he took one more deep breath and started down the hall again.

"Harry! Over here."

He turned his head at the loud whisper from the shadows off to his right. "What're you doing, Neville?" The shy boy was barely concealed by a rather rusty suit of armor but Harry could see his friend was visibly shaking.

"I don't think I can do this. I thought I could but I can't. I just can't."

"Come on. It won't be that bad. We'll get this over and done with and we'll be able to hold our heads up in the Great Hall tomorrow morning at breakfast. Fred and George assured me that there's nothing to it."

"Fred and George?" the boy's voice cracked. "Now I really can't do this. Those two have done more harm to me in the past four years then I like to think about. No, definitely not going. Not worth it. Going back now. Can't go."

"Quit babbling. You and I have to go."

"No. Going back. Can't go. Can't."

As he emerged from his hiding spot, still babbling, to head back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry grabbed at him. In the scuffle to get both of them heading the right way, Sparky fell out of it's hiding spot and kicked to the side where it lay in the shadow.

"Bugger! That was my foot you just stepped on. You're coming and I'm not going to stand for any argument." Grasping the still swinging boy by the collar, he set a course that would lead the two of them towards the room at the end of the corridor. Darkness seemed to creep towards them now, keeping their destination a secret.

It did little to hide the guard. Hermione paced just outside the door, her steps agitated and fast. "Where have you two been? We can't start until everyone is in there."

"I don't wan-" Harry clapped a hand over his prisoner's mouth and smiled widely to keep from stuttering himself as he assured Hermione they were happy to be there.

"Right. I suppose I should be happy you two are here in the first place. Get a spine, Neville! It won't be so bad. Put him down, Harry. Wouldn't want the entire room to know you had to drag him here." She straightened her already impeccably straight collar. It was very strange to see the placid girl acting erratic and nervous and Harry could feel the bile start to rise to his throat.

Taking a couple deep breaths, he attempted to calm himself again. Neville seemed to have calmed considerably as he watched, eyes glazed, as Hermione continued her path.

"Oy, Hermione! Get in here. We can't wait all day! Oh, you two finally decided to show up. Well, bully for you. We've had to spend a very unpleasant thirty minutes arguing the merits of boiling you three in tar versus the rack." Ron's unexpected entrance woke Neville from his trance and stopped Hermione.

"Tar? No, no, no. Going back."

"Neville! Quit babbling!" Hermione shouted, grabbing his hand to drag him through the doorway Ron vacated to walk over to Harry. "It won't be nearly as bad as you think it's going to be."

"Come on, mate. The festivities won't wait forever."

Taking several more deep breaths, Harry unconsciously reached behind to feel the comforting cottony talisman he had brought along. The lack of another but denim on his backside brought him up short.

"Sparky's missing!"

"Who? I don't think there's anyone named Sparky in Gryffindor. Have you been making friends in other houses without telling us?" Ron asked, his face still glowing red from his early agitation.

"No, Sparky's a dishtowel. We have to find him. I can't do this without him!"

Ginnysdarkside

Ron stared at Harry for a moment. Were his friend's pupils a little larger then usual or was it just his imagination? "Whatever, mate," he said. "Listen, you haven't been getting into Snape's potions again have you?"

"Err ..." said Harry. He made a slashing motion at his throat. Ron was wondering if this was some sort of sign for choking when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"What about my potions Mr. Weasley?" said a creepy and unfortunately familiar voice from behind him.

Ron turned around and stared at Professor Snape in shock. "Nothing, Professor ..." he stammered.

"We're just talking about your next lesson," Harry supplied, trying to look innocent.

"Indeed," Snape sneered. "I doubt that you have the intelligence for that Potter. It would be very unfortunate if I ever caught either of you sneaking around my potions. It would mean clothes!" He drew himself up majestically and looked at them.

Harry and Ron looked at each other in confusion. "Ummm ... Sir," said Harry. "You do realize we're not house elves don't you?"

Snape waved his hand irritably, "Students, house elves, what's the difference really, in the grand scheme of things ..."

"Sir," Harry interrupted. "What are you doing here?"

Snape surveyed his surroundings with a look of distaste. "You mean here, in this castle? Or here in this realm of existence?" he asked.

"No Professor, what are you doing here with us?" Ron tried not to roll his eyes, ever since the 'incident that must not be named' last fall, Snape had been going through a midlife crisis, spouting philosophical claptrap and trying to grow a goatee. Next thing they knew he'd be falling for a younger woman.

"Oh," Snape recollected himself. "Dumbledore. He wants to see you."

"All right, Professor," said Ron. "Give us a moment." He pulled Harry aside and whispered in his friend's ear. "Harry! This could be a trap. How do we really know it's Snape? It could be Filch under Polyjuice. Or someone worse."

Harry nodded and walked over to Snape. "Professor," he said. "We need to ask you a few questions first to make sure this isn't really a trick."

Snape sighed and looked to the ceiling as if requesting divine guidance. "Very well, gentlemen," he said finally. "But make it quick."

"What's your middle name?" Harry asked.

"Sméagol," said Snape.

"Who's your best student?"

"Anyone but you, Potter."

"Did you send Hermione the Valentine's card with the fluffy little bunnies on it?"

"Yes ...POTTER!"

"Thought so," said Harry with a smirk. He turned to Ron. "You owe me three sickles, mate."

The sound of a body hitting the floor startled them all. They turned to see Hermione passed out near the door. At least they thought it was Hermione. It looked like her, but her hair was suddenly straightened and she was wearing makeup and Muggle clothes, because things like that just happen in fan fiction.

Snape looked down at her with a look of tenderness, which made him look vaguely like a baby seal. Ron shuddered, blinking to clear the terrifying image from his mind, and poked Harry in the ribs. "You're right, he does fancy her. Do you think he's under a love spell?"

Snape kneeled on the floor and patted Hermione's hand to try and wake her. He looked up when Harry cleared his throat and said, "Oh, yes. Potter, Weasley, go ahead to Dumbledore's office, I'll take care of Miss Granger."

"Get your hands off her," Ron shouted, his face turning purple.

"Save your Gryffindor posturing, Weasley. Just because you've been too much of a fool not to notice Miss Granger's charms doesn't mean everyone else has. I'm not going to hurt her, you idiots. Now leave us." He gently cradled Hermione's head in his lap, and to the horror of Harry and Ron, began to hum the theme song to Titanic.

Ron made a loud growling noise in his throat and lunged for Snape, but Harry grabbed him and dragged him kicking and screaming out into the hall. "Come on Ron," he told his friend. "Settle down, we have to see what Dumbledore wants." His expression brightened, "Maybe he knows something about Sparky!"

They walked up the hallway, dodging Peeves who was juggling a trio of screaming first years, and Millicent Bulstrode in a purple bikini.

"Ah! I'm blind!" screamed Harry, falling to his knees. "Oh, the inhumanity."

Millicent gave them a brilliant smile and began a hula dance. Ron made a gargled noise in his throat and pulled Harry to his feet. "Run, Harry!" he screamed. They took off down the hall and arrived puffing at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

"Acid Pop, Cockroach Cluster, Sugar Quill, Blood Pop!" screamed Harry.

"Quick," cried Ron. "She's right behind us." The sounds of flip flops, hula music, and heavy grunts of exertion were getting closer and closer.

"Chocolate Fudge, Fizzing Whizbee, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum." Harry looked over his shoulder and saw Millicent rounding the corner. He hammered frantically on the gargoyle. "Dumbledore! Let us in you old coot! We're dying out here!"

The door swung open and Dumbledore peered down at them from the staircase. "What seems to be the problem here?" He looking huffily over the tops of his half moon glasses and gasped in terror. "Oh, dear. What is that?"

"Millicent Bulstrode, Slytherin," said Harry. He and Ron pushed through the door and it began to slide shut behind them.

"Well, I didn't realize the Slytherins have changed the composition of their school uniforms."

"Urr ... They haven't. Sir, let's get inside." They shoved Dumbledore up the stairs. Behind them the door shuddered and they heard a howl of frustration.

"How interesting," said Dumbledore. "Do you suppose I should get a uniform like that?"

Harry tried to shut out that disturbing mental image while Ron vomited discretely in Fawkes' water dish.

"Ummm ... No, Sir," said Harry. "Professor Snape said ..."

"Oh, yes," said Dumbledore. He settled down behind hid desk and offered them a bowl. "Skittles?" They refused, and Dumbledore shook his head in disappointment. "Pity. They're quite a tasty Muggle sweet." He popped a skittle in his mouth and wiped his lips with a napkin. "Now, as I was saying. I wanted to talk to you about Hagrid's tea trolley."

Ron looked confused, but Harry's eyes were riveted on Dumbledore. There was something familiar about that napkin. He stood up and snatched it from Dumbledore's hand. "What have you done to Sparky?" he screamed. He shook the dishtowel frantically, scattering breadcrumbs, and then cradled its limp form in his arms. "Sparky ... Speak to me ..." He turned to Dumbledore. "You killed him! You killed Sparky!" He gave a roar of despair and launched himself across the desk, skittles flying wildly, and grabbed the end of Dumbledore's beard.

"Harry, No!" yelled Ron. He seized Harry and pulled him back, a great tuft of wiry white facial hair clutched in his hand. "This is Dumbledore," he panted. "He must have had a reason."

"Yes indeed, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, nodding wisely. "It's because ... I'm not really Dumbledore and now you're too late!" He gave an evil laugh and with a mighty explosion burst into flames. They yelled and jumped back. The flames shot up and charred the beams of the ceiling, incinerating a small scrap of cloth in their aftermath.

"Sparky," said Harry mournfully. "He always did like fires."

"Never mind Sparky," said Ron, pushing Harry out the door. "We have to find Hermione. She'll know what to do."

Harry and Ron retraced their steps (avoiding the hula music coming from the library) and burst into the room shouting, "Hermione! Dumbledore's missing and his imposter burst into flames!" They stopped in shock at the sight before them.

Snape was sitting on the floor, a hysterically crying Hermione in his arms. He looked up at them and said, "I just asked her to tea."

Amanita Muscaria

"WHY? Why is it, that every time I try to be nice, THIS happens!?" He looked quite distraught, alternately patting Hermione on the back and gnawing at his fingernails.

"Never mind that now," Harry impatiently muttered. "If you're THAT upset by it, try asking ME next time. What about Dumbledore?"

Ron was looking from Harry to Snape, a horrified expression on his face.

Hermione blinked a few times, swallowed hard, and said, "I'd like to see you get Severus to put his arms around you so soon after asking YOU out. Anyways," she continued, getting up quickly and blotting her tear-stained face. "What about Fawkes? And, more importantly, did Neville or Goyle win the limbo contest? And, more important even than that, what do Malfoy's legs look like in a grass skirt?"

Snape rose slowly to his feet, his narrowed black eyes burning manically. "Did I hear you right, Miss Granger? Draco's wearing a grass skirt?"

Ron had by now backed into a corner and slumped to the floor, covering his head with his arms, whimpering and moaning softly, "You do NOT want to see that! You REALLY DO NOT want to see that!"

"Oh, yes, we do!" replied Snape, Harry, and Hermione together.

Harry, being the Hero, took the lead. "Quickly, now, to the library!"

Hermione paused and turned at the door. "You will be alright, won't you, Ron? I mean, I expect it's just because you're a late developer." And she rushed after the other two.

Meanwhile, back in Dumbledore's office, the infant Fawkes was cheeping in an annoyed fashion on the cold, stone floor. He hadn't been standing on his perch when he caught fire, so he hadn't landed in his soft, comfortable, warm bed of ashes this time.

"What I really, really need, right now," he was thinking in a phoenix-like fashion, "Is a Hero." But no Hero was handy, the current Hogwarts Hero having rushed off to view his archenemy's bare legs.

Meanwhile, up in the third-floor girls' toilet, Moaning Myrtle was glumly picking at a large red spot that had appeared right between her eyes, and thinking.

No one had come in to see her in a very long time.

Peeves hadn't annoyed her recently; he'd seemed to be preoccupied with irritating the live inhabitants of the school.

It would be another 100 years or so until Sir Nicholas invited her to another Death Day party.

The mermaid in the Prefects' bathroom had told everyone about Myrtle the Lurker, so they all were wearing swimming costumes in the bath.

And there was a very - danceable - beat thrumming through the pipes of the school.

Making up her mind suddenly, she flipped over and dove into the toilet, splashing water all over the floor, even though she wasn't corporeal.

"That'll teach them to ignore me," she thought gleefully, and headed for a bathroom very few, ghost or live, knew about.

In another part of the castle, far below, Filch was carefully cutting coupons out of The Wizarding Enquirer. He finally had enough to send away for his free weekend course in Magic for the Muggle-Minded, or Smarter Squibbing. He was hoping that Dumbledore would give him that weekend off. As he'd worked, day and night, for the past forty-two years, and hadn't ever taken any holidays, he thought he had a good chance, but you could never tell.

"Bloody Granger," he muttered. "All this fuss she's making about House Elves."

He looked around for Mrs. Norris, suddenly overwhelmed with self-pity and needing comfort.

"Bloody cats," he muttered. "Never there when you want them."

Snape was gloomily observing Harry and Hermione watch the hula-dancing competition. It was obvious to everyone that Draco was going to win, apart from the designer grass skirt and the lei flown in specially from Hawaii, the boy shook his hips as though he'd been born on a volcano in the middle of the Pacific. Except he'd probably be more tanned if he had been. Professor Snape had once asked Draco to tea in the first year. The boy had ate all his chocolate biscuits, stolen an almost-full bottle of whiskey, and threatened to blackmail him.

Hermione was unobtrusively putting a spell on the record player, making the music go faster. She WAS a very clever witch, thought Snape sadly. This meant that Ernie's, Crabbe's and Draco's grass skirts flew higher and higher. Suddenly, Moaning Myrtle appeared in a ra-ra skirt and basque that she didn't quite fill.

"Party time!" she shrieked.

Back in Dumbledore's office, the baby Fawkes was huddled on the cold stone floor, warily watching Mrs. Norris creep closer and closer. God, he wished a Hero would appear!

Shahrazad

Suddenly, Harry burst into the room, scooped up the baby Fawkes, and flew head first out of a glass window. He and his new friend sailed through the air for a good six seconds, before descending upon a group of hula-ing boys.

Moaning Myrtle gasped and disappeared. Draco Malfoy said, in a dignified sort of voice, "How dare you interrupt our luau? And without the proper attire..." He shook his head, muttering, "Honestly..." to himself.

Harry cleared his throat. "Erm, what are you doing?"

Ernie piped in, "What's it look like?" He pointed at his skirt, flittering in the wind.

Draco threw a lei at Harry. "Just shut up and dance."

The baby Fawkes flew a few feet into the air, pulled out a ukulele, and began to strum a Hawaiian tune. The small bird sang out, "Ooka waka tiki, c'mon I wanna lay you."

The four boys danced together, hips swaying to the rhythm.

Just then, Hermione came running across the field, arms flailing. "HARRY! DRACO! COME QUICK!"

The two boys dropped their grass skirts to the ground and ran towards her.

"Why...Draco...with us?" Harry began, upon reaching Hermione.

"Oh there's not time for that!" Hermione screeched. "Come into the castle--someone's stolen the Ancient Tiki of Hogwarts."

Harry and Draco exchanged nervous glances before dashing inside after Hermione. They followed her deep into the most unused and dusty passageways of Hogwarts.

They came to a halt before a bamboo door. Hermione traced the woodwork before whispering, "Just as I suspected... made in China..."

Harry and Draco, again, exchanged nervous glances. "But what does it mean, Hermione?" Harry demanded.

Draco nodded in agreement. "What in the bloody hell is going on--Ancient Tiki of Hogwarts?"

"Honestly, boys, haven't you ever read Hogwarts: A History? Well, if you had, you'd know that Hawaiians manufactured the Ancient Tiki of Hogwarts sometime around when Jesus was born. Since then, it has resided within the Ancient Tiki room behind these doors... the Tiki holds all the powers of the universe... so it's obvious who would've stolen it." She looked at the boys seriously.

Harry's face paled with realization. "You don't mean..."

"Yes," Hermione said, nodding.

"George Bush! I...I can't believe it..."

Draco smacked Harry. "No, you moron, VOLDEMORT!"

"Ohhh," Harry said. "Well, in that case, I don't see the problem!"

Hermione and Draco sighed. "Harry, dear," Hermione began, "don't you see we must rescue the Tiki and save the world?"

"Duh." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Alright," Draco said, "let's assemble the force."

"The force?" Harry and Hermione echoed.

"Our team of secret agents!"

"Oh," Harry breathed. "Well, um, since we're here shouldn't we go inside the Tiki room?"

"No!" Hermione gasped. "Never! If one goes inside the Tiki room then one is forever evil."

Draco looked at the door, clearly impressed. "Whoa."

Harry cleared his throat, ignoring Draco. "Then why did we even bother coming down here? And if you can't go inside then how do you know the Tiki was even stolen?"

"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "Do not speak of the Tiki! The room will awaken and have vengeance!"

"What the hell..." Draco said. "Merlin, let's just assemble the force and get to work."

The three changed into their leather Charlie's Angles Copyright Infringing outfits and ran to their respective common rooms.

Inside the Gryffindor common room, all was well. Seamus and Dean sat in a corner, playing chess. Ginny and Lavender exchanged gossip by the fire. Ron busied himself with writing love letters to Hermione at a table.

Just then, Harry and Hermione burst in.

"ASSEMBLE THE FORCE!" Hermione barked, handing out leather outfits.

Seamus hit 'play' on the stereo, and some random Prodigy song filled the room. The Gryffindors assembled in slow motion.

Down in the dungeons, Draco screamed, "THE ANCIENT TIKI HAS BEEN STOLEN! ASSEMBLE, STAT!"

Then he collapsed on a couch. None other than Voldemort himself had dipped the lei Draco still wore around his neck in chloroform.

Up in the Gryffindor common room, Harry fell to the floor, clutching his burning scar. He knew Draco was done for, and that he must lead the force to save the Ancient Tiki of Hogwarts.

To be continued...

What will happen to the Ancient Tiki of Hogwarts?

What... what is a tiki?

To whom will the fanfic torch be passed NEXT?