The Worst Sort of Muggles
The Very Worst Sort of Muggles
A collection of very dumb ideas that aren't going anywhere and will probably never be touched again, though they might be funny in small doses.
I don’t own Harry Potter and wouldn’t particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nyphadora Tonks wouldn’t be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma’s sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…
A/N: On the Caer Azkaban news group kafkaexmachina posed a challenge, to wit:
"I've done Satanist!Dursley, but now I want to see what you all can come up with. The challenge is to come up with even WORSE varieties of the Dursleys. Post a snippet involving Harry at the doorstep, and any bits that you see following after."
What followed was snippets with Harry raised by Krishnas, by followers of Cluthu, Klansmen, and Hannibal Lector among others. I laugh at those pale imitations of bad human beings. The following is my suggestion for…
The Very Worst Sort of Muggles
The door to #4 Privet drive opened. Out stepped the newest resident of Little Whinging, the man who purchased the place from that nice Vernon Dursley fellow only the week before.
Dressed in his plaid robe and slippers, the man took a deep breath of the pristine suburban air and looked down at an unexpected noise. He was so surprised at finding a small child wrapped in blankets rather than his newspaper on the step; he barely noticed that his stylish permed hair kept moving for several seconds after his head stopped moving.
How very odd. He thought, before turning to call into the house. "Carol!"
--10 years later.
Hermione Granger was searching for Trevor the toad, as she passed the door of the latest compartment something caught her eye... was that a lava lamp? But how??? She worked the latch on the door and stepped into the compartment. The compartment was inexplicably carpeted in... astroturf? Beaded curtains covered the windows. What was going on? In the center of the room, was a boy approximately her own age, he seemed to be working on a bicycle. Why had he brought a bicycle?
"Excuse me?" She said. "Have you seen a toad?"
The boy turned and rose effortlessly to his feet. It was then she noticed that he was wearing denim bellbottom pants and zip up boots, his shirt was a day glow polyester paisley open to the navel with a huge collar. His head was topped by his black hair in a tight perm, from behind a pair of what Hermione thought of as 'John Lennon' glasses a pair of blazing green eyes shown.
"Hey there Pretty Lady" The boy said. "No toads here, just one amazingly cool dude!"
"If you see a toad would you let someone know? I'm Hermione Granger." she said extending her hand.
The boy immediately began an amazingly complex and completely unnecessary handshake. "My name's Harry Brady," he said with a smile. "But a groovy chick like you can call me 'Johnny Bravo!"
- Now THAT'S horror. Amateurs.
- Great now I've got a full scale multi chapter Brady Bunch/Harry Potter cross in my head. But I'm NOT going to write it. No matter how much I want to do the line "Draco, Draco, Draco!"
This story has been marked as suitable for adult readers only.