Chapter Two: Owl Post Revisited

Another delightful plagiarist activity: the second installment of "Harry Potter: the Opera," which can be traced back to "Larry Rotter," (starring Simmers as the boy you love to hate) in itself a thinly disguised rip-off of Erica Smith's bestselling novella "Barry Trotter," which derived its comic inspiration from the obscure "Harry Potter," a piss-take of "The Worst Witch," who's origins go back to vile Satanic orgies among devil worshippers in the boy's toilets in manor School. It's truly the stench of evil you sense there, ignoble traveller... Enjoy the ride! I will too, provided that Bill Oddie doesn't jump out of my evening Coco Pops. One cannot be too careful where nature is concerned.


On the Hogwarts Express
(NOTE: from here on, the motherly voice of Stephen Fry appears in neatly bracketed italics)
(Harry, Hermione and Ron are all in a train compartment, possibly a line of tables, upturned, with red cloths on. The train’s smoke can be signified by black and grey tissue paper.)
Hermione: Harry Potter! Reaaally! I’ve read all about you, you know! Why, you’re- (Muffled noise comes from under Hermione) Oh sorry Ron!
Ron: Watch where you plant yourself, you great kettle!
Harry: Will you two please stop bickering! I can feel one of my dark-wizard induced migraines coming on!
Hermione: A migraine! That means that Voldemort must be on the train!
Ron: Voldemort! Never!
(Enter Dumbledore wearing a late 90’s dinner-ladies apron.)
Dumbledore: Anythin’ of’t trolley dears!
Harry: My God you need a shave!
Hermione: Aaaaaaaaaaaahhh! It’s Him! It’s Him!
(Harry, Hermione and Ron scuttle around listlessly, trying vainly to set fire to each other in abstract panic.)
Ron: Noooooo! I’m flammable, I’m highly flammable!
(Ron’s midriff impulsively catches fire.)
Harry: Pull the beard! Pull the beard! It’s an ever-so-clever disguise!
(Harry pulls Dumbledore’s beard. It does not come off. Ron smoulders obediently on the floor.)
Dumbledore: Alas, you’ve found me out! I’ve had to do this job for nine years, due to budget cuts.
Hermione: Budget cuts! Why can’t you just magic money out of thin air!
(Dumbledore does a small hand gesture by rubbing two fingers together, signifying money. Ron smoulders obediently on the floor.)
Dumbledore: So… anythin’ of’t trolley dears!
(Hedwig, signified by an old tea cosy painted white, flies at the old coot.)
Dumbledore: Aaaahh! Never work wi’ children or animals, they told me! Did I listen, did I ‘ell! An’ look where it’s got me now!
(Several treats fall into the laps of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. Hedwig flutters to the windowsill, before being sucked out through a microscopic crack. All chortle at its grave misfortune.)
Hermione: Do you think we should take these back?
Ron: Nah, we don’t have to pay for it! Come on… I’m cheap! My mother’s a ball of goddamn wool, for goodness sake!
(Ron righteously throws himself at a pumpkin pasty nearly twice his size.)
Hermione: Just because you couldn’t afford to stitch your own arm back on properly!
Harry: Oh, please stop this bickering! I can feel one of my dark wizard-induced migraines coming on… (Scene repeats, ad nauseum, in a feeble attempt to bridge a considerable narrative gap.)


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