Fred the frog was a lonely soul. He only had one-thousand one-hundred eleven brothers and two-thousand two-hundred twenty-two sisters. Only that little! He also had a mom, a dad, an uncle, an aunt, three grandmas, and one-hundred twenty-seven grandpas. Don’t know how that works.
Now, dear reader, you might be wondering why all this is important. It is not important at all. The real title of this story is
Dumbledore’s Christmas Party
“Ouch!”, said Jason Grace. His sister Thalia Grace had just kicked him in the stomach for dropping a cat down the back of her shirt.
“I’ll probably have to see Hera the surgeon tomorrow for the scratches, you idiot!”, she screamed.
Just then, Percy arrived. “Boy, it sure is cold out.”
“Did somebody say ‘cold’?”, asked Dumbledore as he went to the store to buy some bacon.
“I said ‘cold’! How did you know?”, replied Percy.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, I’m hosting a christmas party.”, said Dumbledore. “I’m sure I’ll see you and your friends there!”
Jason replied, “oh, actually Dumbledore, were having a little party here and-”
“Because if I don’t, you’ll be killed! Au revoir, little biscuit!”, interrupted Dumbledore.
“What the slash-fic! Dumbledore’s parties are the worst!”, said Harry Potter, coming up the street.
“You heard us talking to Dumbledore from all the way down the street?”, asked Jason.
“Of course. I cast a charm on him while he was teaching me how to kill Voldemort. It goes like this: Dumb-personion hearo!”
“At least he’s succinct.”, said Percy.
“Wait, this is Harry Potter? Isn’t he supposed to not exist?”, inquired Thalia.
“Wait, this is Thalia Grace, leader of the hunters of Artemis? Am I in the presence of the queen of not real people? Should I bow? Should I dance the hokey-pokey?”, Harry roasted right back at her.
“Dumbledore is surprisingly stringent about having us there, didn’t you notice?”, Jason pointed out.
“He’s always like this. He’s a loser in high-wearing socks!”
Hermione, Ron, Annabeth, Frank, Hazel, Piper, and Leo then arrived, laughing and joking. They stopped abruptly when Jason told them the news.
“Ugh, I hate Dumbledore’s parties.”, complained Leo.
“You’ve been to one before?”, said Piper.
“Yes. He serves very cheep root beer.”, replied Leo.
“He does?”, asked Frank.
“Yup.”, said Leo.
“What’s root beer?”, asked Frank.
“Well, my apprentice, root beer is-”
“Shut up,” Annabeth interrupted. “Let’s get this over with.”
In two seconds, they got to Dumbledore’s party. Don’t ask me how. They put on santa hats and tried to have a good time.
“Surviving this root beer takes strong subsistence.”, said Snape.
“Hey, you should know you stink kind of like fish.”, said Obi-Wan Kenobi.
“Do I stink like fish to you?”, Snape asked Draco Malfoy.
“I can’t really smell with this cold. Curse the curse of nonsmellfulness! Without my smell, I’m as squalid as Hermione Granger!”, said Draco.
“Buildingo explodeo!” Hermione used this spell on the air. To summarize this spell is simple. It explodes buildings.
The building then exploded. Everyone flew into the air and got hit in the head with a brick. Unsurprisingly, everyone dropped dead immediately. Just kidding. Everyone just got knocked out.
Dumbledore was the first to come to. He was sad that his party had been ruined by one simple, gigantic explosion.
The purpose of the party had been to tantalize Voldemort out of hiding. It had worked, because Dumbledore was face to face with him right now.
“You do realize that you have now been under surveillance for three-hundred thirty-three billion, three-hundred thirty-three million, three-hundred thirty-three thousand, three-hundred thirty-three years now, right?”, asked Voldemort, assuming quite correctly that Dumbledore was growing increasingly stupid over the years.
“Am I really THAT old?”, remarked Dumbledore.
“No, you’re eight-gajillion and two, but that’s not important. The point is, I am exiling you to the sewers.”, informed Voldemort.
“Fine, fine, just (sniff) please give me a chance to say goodbye.”
“To who? Everyone you know is dead.”
“What?”
“Okay, not yet, but here goes. Killeo!”
Somehow, Dumbledore deflected the killing curse. I’ll let you think up a good technique of answering that question in your own way.
Anyway, Dumbledore then formed the exploded building and all his friends into a synthesis. He placed it in a snow globe and looked into it. Sadly, the building had not magically rebuilt itself. I’ll need a technician for that, he thought.
“Follow me, now!”, commanded Voldemort.
Dumbledore stomped his foot like a two year old. “NO”, he yelled.
“Your body will begin to swelter if you don’t follow me!”, yelled Voldemort.
“Fine!”, said Dumbledore. “But just because you made me.”
It was a strenuous hike to the nearest manhole. They had to walk nearly one block. Nearly one block! It took them, like, twenty seconds to get there! Who has that kind of time?
That was called sarcasm, by the way.
Subsequent to that, when they got to the manhole, Voldemort fell in and was never seen again. Dumbledore took the explosion scene out of the snow globe, revived everyone, and got the building fixed. Everyone regarded Dumbledore as a hero and finished his party happily. To supersede Voldemort’s reign of terror, this guy named Voldemort junior was elected by the senate of bad, twisted, demented chickens. Everyone lived happily ever after.
~The end~
