Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and The Parody of Fanfiction ❯ Harry, Muggles, and the Knight Bus ( Chapter 2 )
[ A - All Readers ]
By: Thoughtless Wanderer 
Harry finishes his chores and makes his way to London via the Knight Bus. Along the way he encounters Stan Shunpike, suspicious Muggles, and clowns.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 02.20.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 789 | Visits: 327 | Status: Work In Progress
Harry finishes his chores and makes his way to London via the Knight Bus. Along the way he encounters Stan Shunpike, suspicious Muggles, and clowns.
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 02.20.2007 | Pages: 1 | Words: 789 | Visits: 327 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Chapter Two:
As soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared and Harry had washed them, he proceeded to weed the garden, paint the fence, re-roof the house, wash the laundry, vacuum the house, fold the laundry, make lunch, wash the dishes, iron and put away the laundry, and paint the house; he dashed (Yes, dashed. Because Harry Potter cannot simply walk, he must dash. Although it might also have been due to the pot and a half of strong, black coffee he drank to help him get through chores) outside (Again, the author would here like to pause and congratulate all those who followed the last sentence as it was lacking coherence).
Quickly, before Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could catch him to make him do yet another mind-numbingly boring task, he stepped to the curb and, unmindful of the fact that: A) he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school and B) it was broad daylight and there were many Muggles around with nothing better to do than stand in their front yards and look right at Harry who stuck his wand high in the air.
Immediately the following things happened: 1. Every single Muggle on Privet Drive focused their suspicious stares on the clown riding a unicycle while juggling lit flamethrowers and singing The Barber of Seville at the top of his lungs (in quite a nice baritone, actually) at the opposite end of the street from Harry and 2. The Purple Knight Bus appeared with a loud crack, taking out the neighbor’s, whose attention was still unwaveringly focused on the clown, trash bins in the process.
The door was flung open wide and there stood Stan Turnpike, grinning at Harry like a terribly excited person who is as excited as a terribly excited person who has a really good reason for being terribly excited. He proceeded to greet Harry like the prodigal son.
“Oi, Neville! How you doin’ these days? How’s the whole fight with You-Know-Who coming?”
Without waiting for Harry’s answer, Stan lumbered recklessly on, “You know I think I read somewhere in the paper that a chap by the name of Harry Potter killed him here awhile back and I says to Ernie here, I says ‘Ern! I bet this Harry Potter everyone is going on about is our good friend Neville’ and here you are, riding my bus! So. Where you headed off to Neville?”
Harry once again reminded Stan to call him Harry and directed him to take him to the Leaky Cauldron.
Immediately after being dropped off as per request at the front of the Leaky Cauldron (again in front of a large crowd of Muggles who, as it happened, were staring fixedly in the opposite direction of Harry at the garishly dressed clown riding the much too small for him tricycle while juggling five pineapples. The clowns in England were having a busy day.), Harry made his way through the admiring throngs (yeah, you like that? Harry has admiring throngs. I bet you don’t have admiring throngs. Jealous, aren’t you?), to the majestic steps of Gringott’s bank.
After shoving the last admirer along with a signed photograph (not unlike a certain former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we all loved to hate. Well not really hate, more like laugh at.), Harry strode up to the counter, fished his key out of his pocket and slapped it on the desk.
“I’d like to make a withdrawal,” he said loudly for the benefit of the goblin behind the desk who, although small in stature, was certainly not deaf. The goblin regarded the key with some suspicion, bit into the metal and nodded at Harry.
Moments later he was whizzing his way down the tunnel to his vault. To make a long story short (I know, I know. Too late.), he got his money out of his vault and exchanged it for Muggle money.
Next Up: Harry goes to London.
Author’s Note: Again, I would like to emphasize that this story stems from an attempt to poke a little fun at all the bad fan fiction out there. If I’ve offended you in some way, I am sorry and please feel free to not read the story. If I haven’t, please give me some sort of critique, be it good, bad, or otherwise.
Chapter Two:
As soon as the breakfast dishes were cleared and Harry had washed them, he proceeded to weed the garden, paint the fence, re-roof the house, wash the laundry, vacuum the house, fold the laundry, make lunch, wash the dishes, iron and put away the laundry, and paint the house; he dashed (Yes, dashed. Because Harry Potter cannot simply walk, he must dash. Although it might also have been due to the pot and a half of strong, black coffee he drank to help him get through chores) outside (Again, the author would here like to pause and congratulate all those who followed the last sentence as it was lacking coherence).
Quickly, before Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon could catch him to make him do yet another mind-numbingly boring task, he stepped to the curb and, unmindful of the fact that: A) he wasn’t allowed to do magic outside of school and B) it was broad daylight and there were many Muggles around with nothing better to do than stand in their front yards and look right at Harry who stuck his wand high in the air.
Immediately the following things happened: 1. Every single Muggle on Privet Drive focused their suspicious stares on the clown riding a unicycle while juggling lit flamethrowers and singing The Barber of Seville at the top of his lungs (in quite a nice baritone, actually) at the opposite end of the street from Harry and 2. The Purple Knight Bus appeared with a loud crack, taking out the neighbor’s, whose attention was still unwaveringly focused on the clown, trash bins in the process.
The door was flung open wide and there stood Stan Turnpike, grinning at Harry like a terribly excited person who is as excited as a terribly excited person who has a really good reason for being terribly excited. He proceeded to greet Harry like the prodigal son.
“Oi, Neville! How you doin’ these days? How’s the whole fight with You-Know-Who coming?”
Without waiting for Harry’s answer, Stan lumbered recklessly on, “You know I think I read somewhere in the paper that a chap by the name of Harry Potter killed him here awhile back and I says to Ernie here, I says ‘Ern! I bet this Harry Potter everyone is going on about is our good friend Neville’ and here you are, riding my bus! So. Where you headed off to Neville?”
Harry once again reminded Stan to call him Harry and directed him to take him to the Leaky Cauldron.
Immediately after being dropped off as per request at the front of the Leaky Cauldron (again in front of a large crowd of Muggles who, as it happened, were staring fixedly in the opposite direction of Harry at the garishly dressed clown riding the much too small for him tricycle while juggling five pineapples. The clowns in England were having a busy day.), Harry made his way through the admiring throngs (yeah, you like that? Harry has admiring throngs. I bet you don’t have admiring throngs. Jealous, aren’t you?), to the majestic steps of Gringott’s bank.
After shoving the last admirer along with a signed photograph (not unlike a certain former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we all loved to hate. Well not really hate, more like laugh at.), Harry strode up to the counter, fished his key out of his pocket and slapped it on the desk.
“I’d like to make a withdrawal,” he said loudly for the benefit of the goblin behind the desk who, although small in stature, was certainly not deaf. The goblin regarded the key with some suspicion, bit into the metal and nodded at Harry.
Moments later he was whizzing his way down the tunnel to his vault. To make a long story short (I know, I know. Too late.), he got his money out of his vault and exchanged it for Muggle money.
Next Up: Harry goes to London.
Author’s Note: Again, I would like to emphasize that this story stems from an attempt to poke a little fun at all the bad fan fiction out there. If I’ve offended you in some way, I am sorry and please feel free to not read the story. If I haven’t, please give me some sort of critique, be it good, bad, or otherwise.