Dear Private...
by AMM

A/N: There is no A/N. Heee...

Dear private,

This letter is highly ionized with positive energy. To release it, one must press it to one's head while massaging one's stomach clockwise, in delicate, circular movements. This amount of positive energy will suffice for a whole month. I shall send you a letter like this one every month, if you decide to take care of my case.

  Regards,

Tracy McKenna.


  Harry sighed heavily and put down the letter, looking bewildered. It was attached to a complete and highly illustrative documentation proving that Tracy McKenna has been regularly invaded by talking hamsters. No one ever believed her as she was also reported to be schizophrenic.

  Harry sighed, even heavier then last time, and thought about his life. It has been highly miserable, filled with flying saucers, singing furniture and giggling carpets (these carpets had a strange habit of scaring one out of one's wits whenever one attempted to clean them), ever since he had defeated Bad Bald Bloke (as everyone preferred calling him these days). It has been 3 years ago, 1 year after graduation. Half of a year after he had rejected Chudley Cannon's offer to join on the team.

  Harry sighed, yet again, and saw, with an overwhelming feeling of melancholy, a photo that has been taken on the night he defeated Bad Bald Bloke: he was covered in bits of gooey, grey flesh, the remains of his ex arch-nemesis.

  He remembered that day as though it had been 3 years ago (which it was).

  ***

  The heavy mist covered the half-molten asphalt ground, making the scene look very mysterious and spooky indeed. A few black bats flew above the grey, semi-ruined tombstones that were covered in moss. A bright surge of light striked out of the middle of nowhere, and two figures fell out of the sky.

  One of them was slightly confused, while the other one was totally confused. So, the both beings stared at one another in the most confusing of ways, the confusion palpable in the air around them. They stared like that for a confusing amount of time, up till one of the beings decided to throw the confusion out of the scene, as it was a very confusing emotion to show. He did so by sneering down at the other being and saying 'Hark! Harry Potter' in an icy and unpleasant sort of voice.

  "Hark?" responded the other being, forgetting the confusion. (The Confusion, forgotten and abandoned, went out of the room with a banging of the door and stomping of its feet, muttering something that strangely sounded like 'I'm going to Spielberg!').

  "Yes, hark." sneered back the sneering creature, straightening its robes. "I understand by our meeting here that the movie director wants us to turn the final scene, is that it?"

  "Alas, yes." sadly answered the other being, dusting off its robes. "I would have gladly discussed the whole matter over, say, a cup of tea and get to some sort of compromise..."

  "You're not following the lines, guys!" peevishly shouted a voice from above, warningly striking a bolt of lightning in their general direction.

  Both personages sighed heavily.

  "It's been really nice to meet you, you know." gloomily said the dark haired boy. He also appeared to have a scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning and bright green eyes, so lets just assume his name is Harry Potter, for the sake of my aching fingers. "I reckon you're not /that/ bad of a dude, after all. It's all the media and stuff..."

  "Yeah, I know..." the other person (lets just call him Bad Bald Bloke, to make things easier) shook his head slightly. "I just hope you'll take care of my plushy..."

  "Guuuuuuyyyyys....." said the voice, yet again. "Return to your act, or I shall hire someone else."

  "Okay" the Sneering person and the Harry Potter's look-alike said in unison, then sighed.

  "Your day has come to a miserable end!" said Harry Potter, pointing his finger at the Bald Bloke.

  "No, Potter, /your/ day has come to a sad and pathetic and!" shrieked back Bad Bald Bloke. "I shall give you a soup of my own recipe, and then feed you to Nanagini!"

  "Don't be so sure about that!" responded HP, standing in a competitive position, searching around his pockets for something. Finally, he exclaimed 'aha!' in the way of someone sure to win a fight, and pulled out... a bunch of daises.

  "Hey!" he shouted, tilting his head up. "Where's my wand?!"

  The voice from above seemed to shrug and told him to use his imagination.

  The delicate yet strangely handsome and transparent features of Harry's look-alike showed clearly all the emotions that resided in him. He looked bewildered, then pensive, then determined, as though he had taken a grave decision. His facial muscles tensed as he leaped forwards, kneeled on one knee in front of Bad Bald Bloke, handed him the daises and said:
"Bald Bloke, I really hope we can still be friends after this..." his voice trailed off as tears glistened in the eyes of BBB.

  "No one...ever in my life... /flowers/!" then burst into tears and exploded from the amount of emotion that was sweeping above him.

  The curtains dropped over the scene, and large white letters forming the words 'The End' appeared on the screen. A plump lady in magenta robes and an assorted hat popped up on the screen as well,

  "This film won the 3rd prize at the pewter cauldron award, in Canees, 1992." she informed in a sweet and syrupy voice. "Now, for the news.. Jabar Faratat decided to bombard Southern Asia again in this weekend..."

  Ginny Weasley yawned and switched off the TV, standing up and rubbing her back and heading to the kitchen.

  "Hullo, Herm." she said to Hermione Granger-Weasley, who sat at the kitchen table, listening to "Losing my lil' pigeon" by R.M.E. on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

  "Hullo, Gin" Hermione answered. "You look anxious... Anything happened?"

  "Yeah, it's Harry..." uncertainly said Ginny, explaining her tangled love-problems to Hermione. "What do you think I should do?"

  "Hermione seemed to consider the question a bit before replyidance think I've got an idea..." she said, just as WWN switched to "Give me lady one more try (at that newt)" by Brittania Spurs. Hermione turned it off, and began to explain her plan to Ginny, who said:

  "This isn't such a bad idea..."

  ***

  "Harry? Harry!" Seamus Finnigan, Harry's attractive Irish co-worker snapped his fingers in front of him. "Sup?"

  "That wasn't very Irish..." said Harry, looking a bit lost.

  "Whatever." Seamus shrugged his slender Irish shoulders, then said in a slinky Irish voice. "Who's that letter from?"

  "That Muggle schizophrenic, Tricia McKenna. You know, the positive energy and flying hamsters person..."

  "/Talking/ hamsters, Harry, you're mixing up the cases."

  What the mazy author of this story forgot to mention is that Harry Potter, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom formed a private detective cabinet, and were extremely popular in both the wizarding and Muggle world.

  "Whatever" Harry answered.

  "While I think about it, Harry dear, you could definitely do with some positive energy." Seamus stated. "Remember our game of truth or dare back in 6th year when you didn't want to dress up like a banana, danse the flamenco and shout 'I hate banana splits' and I told you that I'll let you off the hook if..."

  "Yeah yeah, I remember. What do you want me to do?"

  "Follow the instructions in that letter and get soaked up with positive energy. I'm curious to see what will happen..."

  "Whatever."

  Harry placed the letter on his head, and strted massaging his stomach in delicate, circular movements. He forgot about the 'clockwise' bit though, and that ended up having serious consequences on his best friend Ron.

  But we'll talk about that later.

  ***

  "Kids! Kids!" said Angelina Johnson-Weasley, looking for her offspring. "Your Hogwarts letters just arrived!"

  "Yes, mummy!" they shouted back, racing down the stairs. "Are we both accepted at Hogwarts, mum?"

  "Yes, sweeties!" said Angelina, patting her children. They were twins, one boy and one girl, both chocolate-skinned and brown-eyed. "We'll go shopping for your school things tomorrow, with Uncle Harry."

  She opened the letter, and stared at it. Next to the usual, normal list of school equipment, the children were also supposed to buy...

  "Moose chips. A shrubbery. A kayak... A shovel?! What the hell?" She had to hold on to the chair for support. "Why are we supposed to buy all that?!"

  "Look mum, there's another slip of parchment, right here!"

  They were right, another letterr slipped out of the enveloppe, and fell on the table. It was written on a orange and yellow stationary, and had a big clown at the top.

  Dear Gloria Weasley,

  We are pleased to inform you that new classes will be held at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. These classes are: Wizard Cooking; Magical Gardening, and Muggle Sports. The reasons for these additions are multiple. Here are some of them:

  1-Most of the students have big houses with large, beautiful gardens; often, they go and waste becasue of the lack of care and knowledge of their owner; hence we're introducing our Magical Gardening class;

  2-Many wizards don't know how to cook. It's sad, but true. A very big percentage of modern wizards eat their meals at McNoggle's, instead of preparing nice, home-made meals. That's why the class of Wizard Cooking shall be available for interested.

  3-Unfortunaltely, Mme Pomfrey informed us that most of our students suffer of obesity, becasue of th lack of sport in their lifes. There are only 28 people in the whole school who do any sport at all (Quidditch), and so, the class of Muggle sports will be compulsory.

  The list of any additional materials is enclosed.

  Regards,

  Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.


  She wondered briefly if Dumbledore has gone completely nuts (after all, he was already 155 years old!), while Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen.

  "Ron, dear, I know how much you like your family, but we have the right to have our own house and move out!" said Hermione.

  Ron shrugged, and continued nibbling on his dietetic biscuit.

  "Ron, why is it that I am doing everything, while all you do is eating your blasted biscuits and doing /nothing/?!" shouted Hermione.

  "It might look like I'm doing nothing," proclaimed Ron happily, "But at the cellular level, I'm really quite busy." Hermione screaed at the top of her lungs, her face red with rage. In this very moment Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen. Harry just returned from work and Ginny came from the living room, looking flushed. They both stopped in their respective corners, watching their siblings.

  "I think the phrase 'what the hell?' sums up this situation quite nicely..." Harry mumbled as he watched a shrieking Hermione chase after Ron with a battered frying pan. Ginny nodded in fervent agreement.

  "Where is everybody?" asked Harry, after watching Ron and his wife for a longer moment.

  "They're in the living room. I'll go and ask them to come here,  as I've got something to say..." said Ginny.

  Hermione stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, and flashed a smile of encouragment at the red-head. "Do you want me to stay and watch?" she asked, instantly forgetting her pan and her husband, who were both laying next to the oven.

  Ginny didn't answer as she was already in the living room, urging her brothers to come to the kitchen. They all sat around the table.

  Ginny cleared her throat, and the entire gathering of Weasleys (sans Mr. and Mrs.), Hermione, and Harry stared intently at her. She looked down at them from where she stood up on the kitchen table. "Sometimes it's hard to be a woman..." she began singing in a nasal waily twang, "Giving all your love to just one maaaaaan. And if you love him...aww, be proud of him... 'cause after all, he's just a man." Harry could have sworn he heard Charlie blink. "Stand by your man..." continued Ginny, closing her eyes and singing louder.

  After she finished, everybody stared at her, waiting for her to explode or do something as strange as just a moment ago, while Ginny jumped off the table, straight onto Harry's lap, and kissed him.

  "After all, you're just a man..." she wispered, looking at him. Harry, the meaning of this whole scene finally getting to him, stood up, took Ginny by her shoulders, and kissed her.

  "You're my dream come true, my one and oooonlyyyyy yoooouuuu!" sang Fred and George, batting their eyelashes. Harry promptly whacked both of them over the head.

  Ginny radiated with some sort of inner light, smiling at everything and everyone, even the poor, forgotten frying pan.

  Ron cleared his throat.

  "Hmmm... I think I shall say, that was one heck of a day..." he begun. "First of all, my wife, threatening my life, and now, my sis, oh, how shall I miss, her stupid little crush, but at least now I can brush, my teeth in the bathroom, or else eat a mushroom..." He blinked, and tried again. "I am really confused, this rhyme was overused..."

  Everyone stared at him, jaws hanging open.

  "Ron!" said Hermione. "You were never capable of making a single rhyme! What's going on with you?!"

  "Oh, why do I rhyme, could someone please devine?" he said looking even more confused then the rest of his family. "I really hate poetry, and now I shall go plant a tree..."

  Harry snorted with laughter. "Now that was a stupid one." He thought for a little moment, and, after a moment of over-working his brain cells, got an idea. (come on, he's our hero detective, after all!). "I've got an idea!" ho shouted, and raced to the hall, taking out a crumpled letter out of his cloak. "I got this leter," he said, catching his breath "and Seamus forced me to do what this lady told me to..." he gasped, pointing at a spot on the letter. "I didn't notice the PS..."

  PS: Please notice, that if you won't massage your stomach in delicate, /clockwise/ movements, the person you're currently thinking about can be affected. This spell can force him to do things he would never usually do.

  Tracy McKenna.

A/N: There is no A/N!

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