Henry H. Pottermore, Vol I

THE ADVENTURES OF HENRY H. POTTERMORE AS HE ATTENDS SCHOOL AT HOGDEATH SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

or

HENRY H. POTTERMORE AND THE MYSTERY OF THE MURDERED P.E. PROFESSOR

    Henry H. Pottermore... the boy who loved! And all loved him! At last, he was on his way to school. But this was no ordinary school. Oh no. This was Hogdeath School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! The most famous school in town! For you see, Henry H. Pottermore was a wizard of sorts. How did he become a wizard, you ask? Well, it's a very long story. And a very boring one too. So that's all that will be said about it. But it came to pass in the year 199999 AD that Henry H. Pottermore, beloved of all who loved, was aboard a high speed train, headed straight for Hogdeath. Headed straight for the front door. This train was not stopping. And it was going like, 300 miles an hour. The children aboard the train screamed.

     Henry H. Pottermore, one of those very children, screamed as loud as he could. He shattered the window of his compartment with his bare hand and screamed out the window. "HEEEEELP!!!" he cried, as blood dripped from his now severed hand. It was chaos. The train bore down on Hogdeath, now only a few miles off. "HEEEEELP!" he cried again, but it was in vain, for the only creatures to hear his cries were a few sheep, grazing amidst the fields of gold.

     "Wait Henry," said his hot witch girlfriend Hortense. "Didn't you used to be a high-speed train operator?"

     Suddenly, Henry H. Pottermore remembered his training.

     "Henry, you can stop this train!" Hortense said, staring deep into his cold dead eyes. "You can stop it!"

     Henry's friend Rob Schadenfreude nodded in agreement. "Only you can stop it Henry!"

     Henry H. Pottermore took courage at this. He had a job to do. One that would save lives.

     Just then, the train slammed into Hogdeath, crashing through the lobby, with the screeching metal and the screaming children and the exploding everything and killer debris flying everywhere.

     "What a mess," said Headmaster Donny Trump as the train eventually came to a rest in a giant pile of twisted metal wreckage. There would be few survivors, he guessed, and he would be right.

     "5000 POINTS FROM SNUGGLEBUM!" cried Headmistress Madonna, in her typical scolding manner. Fortunately, Henry H. Pottermore, Rob Schadenfreude, and Hortense all survived with just third degree burns and post-traumatic stress disorder. "Aw, come on Headmistress!" whined Rob.

     "Enough Mr. Schadenfreude!" she said. "I don't know who re-arranged the train tracks to lead right into Hogdeath, but I've been here long enough to know the pranks of the Schadenfreude boys! And detention for all of you!" And she walked off in her snooty headmistressy manner.

     "I hate her," said Henry H. Pottermore. "I'm gonna kill her."

     "Henry H. Pottermore!" said Hortense. "You want us to lose the house cup?"

     "I'm going to wingardium leviosa her head and put it in the house cup."

     "Yeah!" cheered Rob, and he high-fived Henry.

      Just then, Henry's arch-nemesis Chuck McChucklin walked on the scene, with his two bodyguards, Agents Snow and Laughlin. No, they were actual bodyguards. No one knew why he had bodyguards. They were dressed in fine suits and wore sunglasses. They also had guns.

    "Well well well, if it isn't Mr. Henry H. Pottermore," he said, with that typical evil sneer in which evil kids sneer at things. "Been crashing high-speed bullet trains through the Hogdeath lobby again, I see?

     "Shut up McChucklin," said Rob.

     "Well well well," said McChucklin, turning toward Rob. "If it isn't Mr. Rob Schadenfreude. Been... being an... idiot lately?"

     "Shut up McChucklin," said Hortense.

     "Well well well," said McChucklin. "If it isn't Mrs. Hortense... what's your last name?"

     "We get it McChucklin," said Henry. "It is us. It's all of us."

     Just then, Rob lunged for McChucklin, the bloodlust in his eyes. "I'LL KILL YOU JERK!" he cried, and threw a punch to McChucklin's face, before Agents Snow and Laughlin managed to pull him off and hit him with a stun gun.

    "700 POINTS FROM CHUCKLEFLUB!" shouted Headmistress Madonna, striding back onto the scene. Henry H. Pottermore was pretty sure there was no such house, but he held his tongue.

     "I have never, in all my days, beheld such tomfoolery!" she cried. "You are all hereby banned from playing Squimmitch! Forever! A total kickban on Squimmitch!"

     Henry H. Pottermore felt his stomach drop. "No," he said, in total disbelief. "No, you can't do that. No way. Not Squimmitch."

     "Don't make it worse Pottermore," said McChucklin, sneering. "You were always the worst at Squimmitch anyway." He really was. Pottermore was only in his second year at Hogdeath and had already been labeled the worst Squimmitch player ever to Squimmitch a Squimmitch ball. Would you like to understand how Squimmitch works?

Squimmitch: A sport that is popular with the children at Hogdeath. The premise is, you have a bunch of kids on riding lawnmowers in a room with a big ceiling fan. One person on each team holds up a tall stick with a basket on top. Players on each team attempt to toss the "Squimmitch" ball (similar to a golf ball) into the ceiling fan and have the fan knock the ball into that team's basket. A couple players on each team are given spiked baseball bats and are allowed to beat the players on the opposite team. The game ends when a team has scored 100 points from knocking the ball into the basket, or when one team has been beaten to death by the other team.

Pottermore's job was to hold up the basket. A daunting task for sure, because, by George Custer, you never knew where that Squimmitch ball was gonna fly when it hit the fan. Usually the Squimmitch ball just hit him in the face. He would then hold the basket in front of his face, hoping this would alleviate the problem, but then the ball would just fly down and smack him in the crotch. They called it a "crotch-smacker" and the opposing team would get 50 points.

    

     That night, after the wreckage had been cleared and the bodies of the dead wingardium leviosa’d into a mass grave, the children retired to their beds. Pottermore had a dream that night. A dream of love. A dream of passion. A dream of murder, betrayal, and deceit. A dream of fire and fury the likes of which the world had never known. A dream where Hortense was there and he was about to kiss her, but then she like, turned into his mom for some reason, and then he was in this elevator that was going up and down over and over again, and then Chuck McChucklin was there, and he like, brought him dinner in the elevator but it was really hard to eat because of all the constant up/down motions, and McChucklin was like, “I’ve got to get me one of these elevators,” and Pottermore was like, “Get outta my elevator!” And then all of a sudden, the elevator door opened, and there stood his dear Uncle Bob, saying to him,”What have I told you about eating your supper on this elevator?” And Pottermore begged for forgiveness, and Uncle Bob gave it to him because he was a great uncle. And then suddenly, he was in the Squimmitch room zooming around on his John Deere 5000 mower, with one hand wielding his basket stick and the other hand steering the wheel. Then without warning, the basket caught on the fan, and then his arm was ripped from its socket, and the fan flung it across the room, and all the children laughed at him, including McChucklin, who, as the name implies, enjoys a good chuckle at the expense of others, especially Pottermore, and then suddenly, he was...

     “AAAAHHHH!” screamed Pottermore as he sat up in the bed, wiping sweat from his brow. What a nightmare. He had had this dream several times, but he was still unsure of what to make of it. But it confirmed to him what he had really feared all along. That he really was the worst at Squimmitch.

     Classes began bright and early the next day! The children awoke to a fine breakfast of puddings! Just puddings, as far as the eye could see! White pudding, black pudding, yellow pudding, blood pudding, green pudding, pudding with bacon in it, pudding with more pudding in it, pudding inside bowls, pudding inside glasses, pudding all over the floor, pudding floating around in the air, pudding pudding pudding! Henry H. Pottermore gazed upon the scene with the utmost delight! How magical! How wonderful! Henry spotted his friend Larry, a very fat child, across the room, screaming as pudding poured out his nose and ears. How wondrous!

     Suddenly, Chuck McChucklin approached, Agents Snow and Laughlin in tow.

     “Well well well,” he started, the usual sneering routine. “If it isn’t Mr. Henry H. Pottermore. At it again, I see?”

     “At what again?” asked Henry.

     “You know. Just… standing there. Looking around at things. Looking at pudding. You always were a pudding looker, Pottermore.”

     That last statement was the last straw for Rob Schadenfreude.

    “I’LL KILL YOU YOU PIECE OF GARBAGE!” he yelled, and lunged for McChucklin’s throat, but Agents Snow and Laughlin restrained him. McChucklin laughed.

    “See you in class, losers,” he said, and wandered off.

    “He just tries to egg you on, Rob,” said Hortense, caressing him very seductively. “You can’t let him get to you like that.”

    “He just… he just makes me so mad,” said Rob.

    Once they had had their fill of pudding, they walked to their first class, which was called PE, or Physical Education. Yes, just like PE classes of old! What, you think these gifted children should be deprived of the magical experience of PE? Well I never!

     The professor, a very pale cold man named Horrocks, was the worst teacher Henry had ever had at Hogdeath. He was, in the words of Rob Schadenfreude, “the biggest jerk that ever jerked.”

     “Hello children,” he muttered after they were all seated. “Welcome to Physical Education. To become a powerful wizard and battle the forces of pure evil, it is imperative that you keep yourself in tip-top shape. Unlike Larry over here, who is just so fat.” He pointed at Larry, Henry’s fat friend, who began to cry. “What’s wrong Larry?” Horrocks asked. “Too much pudding this morning?” Many of the children laughed. They were terrible terrible people. And this school taught them to be that way.

     “Leave him alone!” yelled Henry from the back of the class.

     “Well well well,” said Horrocks, slowly advancing towards Henry. “Henry H. Pottermore. The boy who loved. Loved what, Pottermore? His mommy?” The children giggled.

     “Uh yes, I do love her, is there something wrong with that?” he asked, confused.

     “Oh, little Pottermore loves his mommy! Little mommy’s boy Pottermore!” Horrocks cooed.

     “AVADA KEDAVRA!” yelled Henry, raising his wand, and shot Horrocks with the killing curse, right in the groin. Horrocks flew backwards and slammed into a wall. Then his body hit the floor, unmoving. And… he was dead? Yeah. Wow. Did Henry just… wow.

     The other children stared at Henry in stunned silence.

     “You… you just murdered him,” said Hortense. “You just murdered a professor.”

     “Well,” Henry said. “I didn’t think that would really work. I don’t know how…”

     “Henry,” said Rob. “That was… insane. I mean, look at him. He’s dead.”

     Sure enough, Horrocks lay on the floor, dead as a dead person.

    Just seconds later, Headmistress Madonna burst into the room. “What has happened here?” she yelled. “Why is Professor Horrocks dead on the floor? Pottermore? Is this your doing?”

    He slunk low in his seat, then, with his hand over his mouth, subtly pointed his finger at Rob.

    “ONE THOUSAND POINTS FROM SNUGGLEBUM!” she cried. “Both of you come with me!” And she grabbed Rob and Henry by the scruffs of their necks and hauled them out.

    “Explain yourselves!” she said, once they were in the hall.

     “Well,” said Rob. “Henry just murdered him.”

     “It was an accident!” cried Henry.

     “No accident,” said Rob. “He performed the killing curse.”

     “I didn’t know it would do that!”

     “Do what? Kill?” said Rob, rolling his eyes.

     “Enough of this!” she said. “Pottermore, how did you even learn the killing curse? Only dark wizards fiddle around with powerful magic like that!”

     “Well,” he said. “Pretty easy. I just found it on the internets.”

     “And pray, Henry H. Pottermore, what did the internets tell you?” she asked.

     “The internets said, raise your wand and say AVADA KEDAVRA. It’s not like it’s hard or anything. Just raise your wand and say crap.”

      “Don’t forget the little flick of the wand,” said Rob.

      “Yeah, the wand flick or whatever,” said Henry.

      Headmistress Madonna nodded. “Hmmm. Well I guess that’s true,” she said. “But you’re going to be getting some pretty severe detention for this, Pottermore. In fact, murdering a professor is usually grounds for life in detention.”

      “Life in detention…? Gee whiz,” said Henry.

      “Unfortunately, we can’t have police involved with this or there’d be a full-on investigation into all the other terrible things that happen here. And then no more Hogdeath. And why deprive the world’s gifted wizards and witches of an experience at Hogdeath?”

      “Makes sense,” said Rob. “Right Henry?”

      “Yeah, I guess,” he said, and he looked pretty dejected at having to spend life in detention. But he really did deserve it. He just murdered a professor.

     “Well then, come with me Pottermore,” said Headmistress Madonna. “Back to class with you, Schadenfreude. Tut tut!” And she slapped the handcuffs on Pottermore.

      Suddenly, there was McChucklin. Just out of the blue. How did he do that?

      “Well well well,” said McChucklin. “If it isn’t Mr. Henry H. Pottermore. Been murdering professors again, I see? Well, you’ll have a good time in detention. I’ll even come visit you once in awhile.”

      “That’d be nice,” said Pottermore. “I actually would really appreciate that.”

      “No problem,” said McChucklin. “You see, I’m really not a bad guy.”

      “I know,” said Pottermore. “Everyone thinks you’re my arch-nemesis, but you’re actually really friendly.” And they did a little bro hug.

And thus Henry H. Pottermore was led into the dungeons to live out the rest of his life in detention.

THE END