Owlbus Humblebore and the Labyrinth of Doom
A Harry Potter Parody

Prologue Thingy – That Kid

To say that Terry Gardner was your average boy was enough to have you carted off to the asylum. Terry Gardner was the furthest thing from normal.

It is completely true, of course, that there are many reasons for this. Many reasons, it would seem that a certain old man is well aware of, certain reasons that said old, decrepit fart would not even disclose to me, the narrator.

You see, one seemingly random day-after-Halloween morning, a certain not-as-old woman found a poorly-wrapped kid placed on her doorstep. Poor thing, too. She doubted she'd ever be able to completely rid the porch of the stain from the child's drool. She pondered punting the child across the street to the neighbour's yard, but, when a particularly cheery donut-wielding police officer passed by her lawn, she sighed and dragged him in by the left ear.

She stared at the boy for several minutes, her foot itching to have a go. But, the thing was quieter than her own son...

"Euthanasia, where is our..." began her husband when he walked down the stairs, his enormous arse wobbling like a poorly made cup of gelatin dessert. "What is that ghastly thing?"

"This ghastly thing," mocked Euthanasia, "Happens to be a child of some sort."

"A child?" Springy, her fat oaf of a husband, said, "Well, haven't we already got one of those?"

"Perhaps this one is a new model?" she asked in reply, prodding the child with her enormous left index finger, scrunching her nose up in disgust as the child sneezed on her hand, then looked up at her with a mischievous grin.

'Well," Springy said, stepping behind her and leaning downward to get a better look at the ball of flesh, "Did it come with an instruction manual?"

Just then, for dramatic emphasis, Euthanasia's finger prodded something quite dry and paper-like. Pulling it out slowly to annoy all the readers and make her chubby husband's heart beat faster (Hey, if he had a heart attack, the insurance money was all hers), she discovered it was a pink envelope with thin, silver text written neatly on its front.

"Well, what does it say?" Springy asked impatiently, clutching the left side of his chest, "What does it say!?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Springy Deadbrains, Fourteen-hundred and twenty-six Bush Street, Winchester, Hampshire." Euthanasia read aloud, her eyes widening at just how much this paper knew.

"How did it know?" Springy asked in both fear and amazement. "How does it know our name?" he cleared his throat, "You've not been clicking on those pop-up ads again, have you?"

Euthanasia blushed slightly, "Well..." she lowered her head. "Maybe just a few..."

Springy grumbled, then motioned for her to open the envelope. Instantly, with her sharpest nail, (which, consequently, happened to be the nail of that very same left index finger) she sliced the letter open, revealing a sickly beige parchment. Golden writing adorned the surface of the letter,

Mr. and Mrs. Springy Deadbrains,

It is my utmost pleasure to inform you that Euthanasia's sister was brutally murdered yesterday, so you get to keep their son safe for the next seventeen years while I do all sorts of cruel and unusual things to the boy and tell them its all in his mind.

You are to raise him as you would your worst enemy, make sure he eats, but not enough to make him happy, because we all know what a menace happiness can be. Be sure he sleeps in a room that is full of spiders and is very small. Preferably, he could share a room with your brooms or the unlaundered clothing.

Be certain to beat him repeatedly with a long, wooden cane. This way, when I send my enormous giant that's really only a half-giant because he can't be the biggest for dramatic effect, he'll want to come along without even thinking about all the absolute rubbish shooting from his mouth.

Oh, and if any guys come knocking on the door with long, black robes and silver or golden masks, just smile and wave.

Oh, and remember, duct tape and French fries will save our bacon!

Owlbus Humblebore,

Pigzits School of Twig-waving and Other Things We Can't Mention in a Story that is Rated T.

"Well, that certainly was informative."

"Shall I get the wooden cane, then?"

"Oh, I do think so."

A/N: Okay, so this is a pilot chapter for a story I am considering doing. If you found at least part of this amusing, leave a review telling me what part(s) was/were so I know what kinds of comedy to incorporate. I do have lots of material for later in the story, but, right now, for this part, I'm rather limited. Also, if you have any ideas to add to the parodical value of the story, feel free to share them in a review. Duct tape and French fries will save our bacon!