"Potter!" said an annoyingly familiar voice behind Harry. He'd just placed his foot on the first step of the marble staircase, Ron and Hermione on either side of him. The three of them turned to find Malfoy standing in the midst of a rushing crowd with a smirk across his face, hand-in-hand with Pansy Parkison. Harry was suddenly struck with an idea... a genius idea...
"My girlfriend and I were just discussing how Gryffindor are going to—"
Whatever Gryffindor were going to do, they never found out. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Harry lunged for Malfoy's lips. At first, he stood frozen in shock with Harry's arms around his neck but tried to pull away once comprehension made its way through his sleek blonde head.
Harry wouldn't let him go. He could detect the sweet trace of pumpkin juice on Malfoy's lips as his hands pushed against him in protest. Finally, Harry loosened his grip and was thrown into the flustered crowd by Malfoy who was now excessively rubbing his mouth with his sleeve.
"What the hell, Potter!" he spat disgustedly.
Harry turned to face the crowd staring at him blankly, lolled out his tongue, and stroked it with his palms.
"You all saw what he did!" he cried, pointing at Malfoy. "That sick prat snogged me!" Ron and Hermione narrowed their eyes while most of the others looked merely confused.
He turned to face Malfoy, but he seemed to have already departed the scene with Pansy. He could feel all eyes fixed on him as muttering broke out through the hall. Without another thought, he shoved past Hermione and bolted up the staircase. He kept on running past Mrs. Weasley's dead body and Winky the house-elf devouring a pygmy puff until he finally reached the seventh-floor corridor.
Oddly enough, the Fat Lady's portrait had been replaced by a portrait of Bertha Jorkins sitting on the front steps of a suburban muggle home that resembled Number 4 Privet Drive a little too closely. She wore a blue and white baseball cap, an orange jersey, and tight leather pants with holes in the knees. She gazed at Harry for a few moments before rasping,
"The password is 'chit.'"
"Great," he replied. "Can you let me in?"
She waved a thin finger and shook her head amusingly.
"Not until you say it back."
"Fine. Chit."
"Oh bravo, Young Man!" she praised. "Very good indeed!"
"Can you let me in now?" he asked irritably.
"Your name is..."
"Harry Potter."
"Well I'll be!" She fell backward and slammed her head on the step above her. Whimpering but still wide-eyed, she said, "Your father's a rockstar is he?"
"No, I don't believe so."
"Oh... Your name is..."
"Harry Potter."
At last, she swung open her portrait to allow Harry into the common room. A first-year boy was sitting alone on a couch with the cushion beside him ablaze. Harry headed straight for the boys' dormitory with his velvety hands resting comfortably in his pockets. When he opened the door, he met an extraordinary sight.
Uncle Vernon was sitting on Harry's fourposter completely naked (with the exception of black, seven-inch stilettos) with a manic glint in his eye. Harry approached him cautiously. Several pink fat lumps hung freely from his sides giving him a walrus-like appearance.
"Hello, Son." He said finally.
"I-I'm not your son..." said Harry confused and slightly fearful.
"You are now."
Harry joined him on the bed and asked,
"What are you doing here, Daddy? I didn't think Hogwarts was your kind of place." He could tell Uncle Vernon was smiling because of the crinkles under his eyes. (His mouth was almost entirely covered by his mustache.)
"I thought you and I could have a bit of fun," he explained delightedly.
"What kind of fun, Daddy?"
"Allow me to show you, Son."
Harry hesitated for about four seconds then nodded. Uncle Vernon maneuvered closer to him and removed his robes with a few fat, stubby fingers. Harry's breath became heavier with each layer that was stripped off of him. Once he was lying there unclad on his mattress, he looked up and said,
"Uncle Vernon, if I were Uranus, you'd be the sun."
"Well, fabricated land mine!" exclaimed Uncle Vernon. "Don't you know how to charm the stubble right off of a man!" Harry blushed.
Uncle Vernon shifted to the edge of the bed and strained to grab something off the floor. Harry could hear rattling, and seconds later two pairs of handcuffs were dropped onto the bedspread in front of him.
"What are—" but Uncle Vernon had already staggered onto the floor in his stilettos and clasped a handcuff to Harry's wrist.
"ouch!" Harry moaned as Uncle Vernon yanked the chain and the metal dug into his skin.
After a minute, both of his wrists were fastened to the wooden posts on either side of his pillows, stretching his arms uncomfortably. He couldn't wait to see what would happen next.
"Lights out, Boy," said Uncle Vernon shambling toward Harry with a black cloth. He fought against the handcuffs binding him to his fourposter, but the harder he tried, the more circulation he seemed to lose in his arms.
"What are you doing, Uncle Vernon?"
Harry didn't receive a response. The fabric was positioned over his eyes and tied tightly around his head, allowing him to see only blackness. The last thing he'd possessed the capability of viewing was Ronald Weasley opening the dormitory door and entering.
He felt a spongy, moist sensation on his stomach and knew it must be Uncle Vernon's tongue savoring his satiny skin as though it were the blood of his father. Harry was thrilled.
"Avada Kedavra!" Ron shouted. Bright green light penetrated Harry's blindfold, and suddenly, a large mass collapsed on top of him, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He could feel Ron shoving Uncle Vernon's body off of his with all of his strength until finally he was relieved of the weight, and a loud thud sounded from the floor.
Ron removed Harry's blindfold, unfastened the handcuffs, and left the dormitory without a word. Harry looked down at his uncle's naked, lifeless body and thought about Crookshanks. It was a good day.
