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Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Potter, Harry Potter...

The latest Harry Potter book's due out in July. Across the world millions of eager readers, anticipating J.K. Rowling's latest tome, are frantically pacing around their rooms, thumbing through threadbare copies of her earlier books, writing and reading fan fiction as fast as their weary fingers can word-process, and wondering just how the hell long it will take July to roll around before they lose their minds completely.

Until then, here's a little edition of the Boy Who Lived and Made His Creator the Richest Woman in All of Britain...via the worldview of the Spike Channel's favorite secret agent.


(Scene: The mountains of Afghanistan, present day. Taliban forces are gathering. Bearded, black-garbed men are polishing guns. Inside a tent, Osama Bin Laden is perfecting his Carol Channing disguise in an attempt to evade American and Afghani forces. All is not what it seems though. One of the black-robed fighters slips in behind Bin Laden's tent. He is wearing glasses and has a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. He is the famed magical agent 007, Harry Potter.)

Agent 007: (whispered) Flatulatus Inflamare'!

(The tent with Bin Laden in it catches on fire. He runs out screaming, wearing a white chiffon dress and tiara.)

Agent 007: (speaking into what appears to be a mirror) General Hagrid, Send in the airstrike!

(A large dragon swoops out of the sky, stomping repeatedly on Bin Laden, until there is nothing left of him but a red and white chiffon stain on the ground. The dragon then breathes fire on the stain until is smolders like a spent charcoal after a barbecue. Agent 007 runs across the camp as Taliban fighters race around in panic, alternately being eaten and breathed on by the fiery beast. As he hurtles over smoldering radicals, he spies a fighter waving a broomstick around as if to ward off the dragon. In a stunning display of gymnastic ability, Agent 007 leaps onto a moving jeep, strangles its driver, whilst steering him towards the broom wielding terrorist, leaps off the jeep, does a flip in midair, snatching the broom, landing on it, and soaring off into the sky, just as the jeep hits the Talibani, at the precise moment the dragon parbroils the lot.)

Agent 007 (flying away): He didn't do a very good job of keeping his cool... (He smirks, almost imperceptibly)

(Cut to, traditional loud James Bond chords and guitar riff by Guy Hamilton. As they play, we aee through a spyglass/gunsight as 007 walks into view. Just as it seems he is about to be gunned down, he turns, points a magic wand, and shouts "Rigor Mortis!" at the camera. The gunsight tips backwards and points straight up to a large ceiling that appears to have the night sky painted over it. Fade to...)

(The offices of MI6 [Magical Intelligence, Sixth Years]. Harry walks into the secretary's office, and throws his cloak across the room onto a waiting cloakrack. Miss MoneyGinny is sitting at her desk typing, her bright red mane of hair framing her smiling face.)

MoneyGinny: D is waiting for you Harry. I'm afraid he's got serious business on his mind.

Agent 007: As usual. (He smiles at MoneyGinny, which simultaneously makes her go weak at the knees and swoon at the same time. She gurgles ever so pleasantly. 007 walks through the door into the office of D.)

(D is pacing back and forth across the office. Without looking up, he acknowledges 007's entrance.)

D: Well, I see you were unable to perform a simple assassination, without setting fire to half of Afghanistan. President Karzai is not pleased.

Agent 007: Hamid? He'll get over it. I sent him a box of the finest Cavendish blended pipe tobacco available in Europe. He'll smoke away his troubles in no time.

D: You know Karzai?

Agent 007: My father and he met in the World Cup some years ago... literally. They had a head-on collision in mid-air. They woke up in the same hospital room together and became fast friends. It's all in my father's memoirs.

D: I see. Well, remind me to have you send me some of that Cavendish blend as well. Meanwhile, I've got a tough assignment for you. Are you familiar with Karkaroff, the notorious dark agent?

Agent 007: Like a 1947 Mouton-Rothschild.

D: He's gone missing, and missing with the Pillar of Storge in his possession.

Agent 007: Blimey! Isn't that the legendary...

D: (Waves off 007 to quiet him) You'll start in Budapest, which was where Karkaroff was last seen. He was last noticed driving along a window-ledge near the Danube in a Volkswagen Bug with racing stripes and the number 53 painted on the hood.

Agent 007: How odd...

D: First, see F. and G. about your equipment... and don't forget to be back by next week. You've got a match against Hufflepuff on Tuesday. (007 walks out of the office)

(Agent 007 walks back into MoneyGinny's office to get his cloak.)

Agent 007: Well, it's off to Budapest for me, MoneyGinny. Will you miss me? (He waves his wand and his cloak flies over to him.)

MoneyGinny: Not as much if you'd be kind enough to kiss me goodbye.

Agent 007: If I did that, I might never get out of the office, and then I'd never be back in time for Quidittch. (He smiles again, with the same results as before, briefly grasps her shoulder and then saunters out the door, having completed the requisite flirting for this picture.)

MoneyGinny: (Moonily, just after the door closes) Harry, just for once I wish you'd play with my golden snitch...

(Scene: The deepest recesses of MI6. Agent 007 walks into to a room where several small and odd-looking elves are gathered around various devices. One device is a large cauldron. The elves tip a human mannequin into the cauldron and it is sucked in, swirling round and round, as if in a blender until it is consumed by the cauldron, which then burps loudly to the obvious delight of the elves. Another group of elves is sitting at a chessboard with a mannequin on the other side of the table. One of the elves presses a big red button by the chessboard and suddenly the chess pieces turn and attack the mannequin, ripping it to shreds with their tiny pole-arms and broadswords. Another elf is unwrapping chocolates and flinging them at a target across the room, which they stick into like knives. Finally, a elf stands with an owl on his arm. A small, motorized rat runs across the floor nearby. The elf presses a button on his sleeve and the owl flies like a missile, head first into the rat and explodes, destroying the rat and a section of the lab.

007 walks through the smoke and spies two stocky red-headed gentlemen patiently giving instructions to three elves.

F: (to Elf 1) ...you're to make sure the electrifying pocket-watches don't short out underwater...

G: (to Elf 2) ...and you're to make sure the trick cloaks maintain their silky softness, even whilst strangling their victims...

Both F and G: (to Elf 3) ...and you're in charge of the biscuits!

F: (To 007) It's about time you're here...

G: ...D said you'd be down ages ago...

F: It's just like you to keep us waiting...

G: ...will you ever grow up...

F: ...and begin to act your...

Agent 007: Will you bloody shut up?!? It's like trying to chat with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. You're like a bleeding human tennis match where no one ever gets a break point!

F: Fine, if that's the way you want it...

G: ...figure out how to use these on your own...

F: ...to locate the Pillar of...

G: ...SHHH!

(They dump a pile of harmless looking shaving kits, watches, belts, and cigarette lighters into his arms, and storm off angrily. 007 walks over to a nearby table and gingerly puts everything down so as not to disturb a thing. He then wipes a considerable dose of sweat from his jaggedly scarred brow, and sits in a nearby chair, which promptly explodes.)


Will our intrepid agent ever make it out of MI6 in time to get to Budapest? Will there be parts in this pic for Hermione and Ron, his two best friends? Will people come to their senses and realize there's nothing between Granger and Weasley except cat dander and a fondness for toast? Will J.K. Rowling sue me for writing this? There's every chance we'll never find out, because I've run out of time this evening and if I do more than one HP satire a month, Juan Carlos begins to weep and mutter repeatedly about the GAN.


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