Disclaimer: Despite this story's brilliance, me and Little Red Riding Hood do not own this series. Entirely Jk Rowlings story. The plot is all ours though. How fab! Purely comedy, though there is a plot, do not worry. Cheers to all who read this and reviews are loved.

Harry sat in his uncle's pink Volkswagen beetle, the colour glistening merrily and cheekily in the hazy fog. It was a bright summer's afternoon and the sun shone merrily, reflecting off the bling bling earrings Harry wore.

All of a sudden, the car skidded to a stop, Destiny's Child, the CD playing, skipped.

"Can you ke-keep up?"

"Jesus Christ Vernon!" Harry exclaimed, his glistening lips forming a strawberry flavoured pout. "I don't pay you nothing for nothing!"

Vernon trembled in his seat, and hurried to park the glistening beetle merrily next to the footpath.

It was King's Cross Station. It was Monday morning and the first of September. The snow that was beginning to fall glistened merrily. Harry grabbed his Louis Vuitton trunk and Prada owl carrier complete with "Precious" his new extra fluffy and merry Owl with his perfectly merry manicured hot glistening pink nails.

"Jesus Christ Precious, have you strayed from your Weight Watcher's diet again… I told you to cut down on those chocolate drops."

Harry waved, merrily, to the paparazzi, blowing a glistening, strawberry flavoured kiss at Rita Skeeter. "Hi doll. You look fab! Have you lost weight, hun, cause darling, I would kill for those thighs."

Across the station was none other Dumbledore, the school headmaster. He had never before witnessed the students entering 9 and ¾, and it was definitely a turn on for him. This was probably why he was banned.

He smiled innocently at the new female prefects, taking the time to look down their tops as they talked to their friends. He was merely admiring Gods creations…. And damn that ass was fo-ine! Hubba hubba.

"Oh hello Harry, my how you've grown," he commented merrily, while taking a nice look at the young mans ass, which was looking quite firm in its tight leather pants. "So…..tall" he added, squeezing his shoulder tightly.

Harry also gave the man a once over, even though he didn't bat for that team, much to many males dismay, and he knew it. "It's this new salsa workout I've started Dumbly, lifts the buttocks and all."

"That it does," Dumbledore admitted, once again looking at the boy's arse. Boy did he lurve leather pants.

Suddenly Harry noticed Ron across the station. Ron was slobbering, attractively, towards Hermione, who was chatting to none other than Luna Lovegood. The boy was red in jealousy, and red really wasn't his colour, Harry noted. 'Better get my stylist on it,' he thought, flipping his newly trimmed hair, complete with blonde highlights. 'It does nothing for his complexion!'

Harry's gaze moved towards Hermione. He had put his stylist on her months ago, and it was obvious. She now had the blondest hair possible, which shine merrily in the fog and snowy rain. She was wearing a tube top and skirt, both by Harry's fav brand, Chanel. They did the best boxers. So satiny and luscious. He just wanted to run his hands over it, but that would have to wait till later. He was a busy hero after all. It was then that it happened. His scar burned merrily and he had the oddest vision of coldness. Ice bergs perhaps. He figured it was just the Ben & Jerry's ice cream he had the other night. He just adored cookie dough. MHHHMMMMM! He continued his merry swagger across the platform, till some stupid person stuck out a manolo blahnik encovered foot, tripping him so he was sprawled merrily across the floor.

"Jesus Christ Malfoy!" he cursed merrily, giving the blonde a manicured middle finger. "Nice shoes though," he complimented. He was rewarded as Malfoy gave him the business card of his stylist. Can you say shopping spree?!