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Kunst gemaakt door johannes_vermeer:
Voor meer schitterende levensechte door mij gemaakte paints ga naar het Fobo van GGMM.
Een vakantiekaart van mijn goede vriend Knut
Groeten terug, o meest nobele onder de ijsberen
Dit gedicht is niet gemaakt door GGMM, maar door sint en piet.
WIZARD PEOPLE, DEAR READERS
Voor Chapter 1 t/m 20 verwijs ik graag door naar het FoBo van Littlerabbit.
Te zien op YouTube via
Voor meer schitterende levensechte door mij gemaakte paints ga naar het Fobo van GGMM.
Een vakantiekaart van mijn goede vriend Knut
Groeten terug, o meest nobele onder de ijsberen
Dit gedicht is niet gemaakt door GGMM, maar door sint en piet.
quote:Kunst gemaakt door Littlerabbit:Beste johannes_vermeer,
Toen zwarte piet in Groningen was hoorde hij een hoop kabaal.
Iemand daar spreekt sinds kort vloeiend zijn moedertaal.
Daar voltooit Johannes zonder stress,
De ene na de andere Spaanse les.
Na het lezen van een live-topic zijn de sint zijn ballen weer behoorlijk blauw,
want daar uit Johannes regelmatig zijn liefde voor een speciale vrouw.
Sinterklaas heeft goed bedoeld advies;
Misschien moet je toch eens op zoek naar andere hobies.
Ook het VI-topic zet je vaak naar je hand.
Wat de moderators er van vinden vind jij niet zo rullevant.
Regelmatig post je daar weer een VI-Quote,
Waar zwarte piet stiekem wel van genoot.
De Sint zit inmiddels alweer op de boot,
maar onthoud: hij vindt jou een echte tijger.
Sint en Piet.
WIZARD PEOPLE, DEAR READERS
Voor Chapter 1 t/m 20 verwijs ik graag door naar het FoBo van Littlerabbit.
Te zien op YouTube via
Obviously, our friends have explained to Hagar their fears about Snake. But Hagar won't have it, even when Harmony explains the spell she saw Snake doing, and the bloody leg, and the hotfoot she gave her. All this does nothing for Hagar.
Hagar tells each of them to bugger off. And then, in his rage, he accidentally drops the name 'Nick Flannel' in association with Dumbledore and the gunnysack.
'Fuck!' he yells so loud that the birds rattle out of their trees. 'You fuckers made me spill the beans.'
The kids are unmoved by his outburst and press on with questions. 'Who's Nick Flannel? What's in the vault? Are we to die in our beds, Hagar?'
Hagar apparently has had enough of the questioning and turns to leave. Harry notices that he leaves with the face of a leaving father, a father that leaves forever, if you know what I mean.
Christmastime snowiness flakes the castle gently. The scene opens with Hagar the Horrible dragging through the snow the largest Christmas tree available. High, happy music follows him in. There is a busy-bee atmosphere: not the usual busyness of the school, but a selfish exodus of students packing and grovelling as a few gross-out teachers decorate for no-one.
Harmony makes her way through the mostly empty cafeteria and sits down with our heroes, who are testing their strategical wits with a thunderous game of chess. Though Harry is Ronnie the Bear's superior in most fields, it is strategy and planning that the Bear is known for, among other traits, I'm sure.
Harmony feels small in their presence, so she decides to split hairs with the Bear.
'Say, Ron, you look tired. Have you ever been tested for diseases?'
Ron replies, 'At least I'm not a hideous fucker.'
She says, 'Are you going home for Christmas? I'm going home. My family's got money.'
He says, 'No, we're staying here. We're going to find out who that fucking Nick Flannel is, and rule the fucking school. So run home and open your presents. I hope you get a new pillow to cry into.'
The snow of Christmas morn falls like angels' shit as Harry fumbles through his last dream and into yet another link in life's impenetrably-armored succession of days.
But behold! Ronnie the Bear has assembled a fine morning's fire to take the edge off. He's wearing a sweater that he himself has made out of a dragon's hide. 'You've got a strange bag down here with your name on it, H. P.!'
Harry overtakes the stairway like an oiled gazelle, and in moments is scrutinizing the gift's card like a detective. Alas, it yields no real clues as to who may have sent it. Ron watches on in boredom. He wonders what evils he could be slaying right now. But he thinks of Harry, who needs this simple joy of Christmas, and Ron, for a moment, is thankful for his own gigantic family.
Harry, from the bag, displays a sick-looking, out-of-fashion cloak. Ron jokingly demands that Harry has to model it.
But lo-ho-ho, dear readers! It is a cloak, a cloak indeed, a cloak with a cloaking device! An Invisibility Cloak!
Our two heroes stand for moments pondering its uses, the dastard halves of their juvenile minds running wild before a practical use presents itself.
The scene opens in the school's library, and a mysterious floating lantern is making its way alone in the darkness. It is our velveteen Hamlet, tipping on toes towards the restricted portion of the library. Once he is in, he is scanning and scrutinizing the spines looking for two words: 'Nick Flannel'.
Impeded by its heaviness, and feeling like a 'fraidy cat, Harry casts off the cloak, feeling brave enough to challenge anything. Once visible, he draws a random book off the shelf to sample some of this over-talked-about, restricted content. But, first thing he sees is—Waaaaagh! Just as Harry was about to demand of the face book the whereabouts of this Nick Flannel, the screeching voice of Dazzler issues through the halls. It's such a grinding tone that Harry's handbones vibrate and drop the lantern to the ground. It breaks loudly. Now, Harry knows he could easily take this weenie Dazzler, but now is not the time or place. Invisibility on.
Hunching through the library, Dazzler unknowingly grazes by our hero, who is as stealth as a kitten in mittens. Dazzler is a man who obviously has never heard the laugh of a lover, never heard the phrase 'You are fine' from a doctor.
Harry exits the library as his heart goes out to the man who is servant and friend only to a cat with bloody eyeballs, when, speak of the Devil, the cat, the Blood-Eyed Cat of Security, sees Harry! Obviously the cloak does not work on animalia!
Harry quietly treads around the corner, and, dear readers, he stumbles on to Snake and Queerman, having an excited talk up against the wall, very close and breathy, in the dark, romantically arguing heatedly. Snake is demanding loyalty or something from Queerman, and Snake seems to hear Harry, oh God, Harry you're breathing too loud! Breathe into your sleeve for God's sake! Harry backs away just in time.
And Snake finishes her conversation; their eyes display nothing and everything. Dazzler is now upon the professors, and displays the still-hot lantern that was dropped. 'The gig is up! There were kids, kids in the adult books!' Snake is off, and Harry creeps like an icy ghost down around the halls.
He leads himself into a room that he has never entered, just in case they look for him where he usually goes. The room is huge and empty, and Harry's eyes take a while to adjust to the darkness. As they begin to focus, he asks himself, 'What could that be way in the back, up against the wall? Is it a king's mirror, a giant's mirror? Why not take a look', thinks our hero. 'Why not take a deep, telling look?'
The mirror is warm and perfect, the reflection has no warbles, the form stays true when you move. But as Harry gazes, the mirror activates his magic eye to reveal a secret image.
'Oh, my God! Could it be? Are those my parents?' Harry asks. Harry knows they are dead, but could Heaven be here in this cold, cold reflection? The parents seem to animate and respond, 'This is Heaven's entrance.'
His mother, she is beautiful. The guy, he seems pretty cool, too. He reaches out to feel the blue face of his world's perimeter. He wonders what it would be like, what it would have been, if these people would have remained.
Harry feels his trapezius along in time with his mother. 'This is mine', they both say in scary, scary unison.
Next thing you know, Harry is busting into Ronnie the Bear's chamber, disturbing him out of a beautiful slumber. If this is indeed the Gate to Heaven, he and his champion must enter it together. They swiftly navigate the castle's hallways and cast away the invisibility cloak once in the room of mirrors.
When Ron the Mighty is stood in front of the Gate of Heaven he begins straightaway to denounce it. He cries, 'Heaven is for those too scared of nothingness! I will go no further than my mortal flesh will carry. This mirror is the sick bed of Heaven, Harry! The eternity of pansy lives!' Ronnie will have nothing to do with the mirror. He is only concerned with the flesh and the blood of the now.
This destroys Harry. Ron leaves him to contemplate the design of the cosmos versus the terminal beauty of being a wizard.
For forty-three days straight Harry sits in front of the Gate of Heaven, waiting for either God to appear, or for Ronnie to come back and apologise. But, to Harry's surprise, neither shows up. Only Near-Dead Dumbledore stumbles upon the vigil. Harry is considerably weakened, and is actually taken surprised by Dumbledore's presence.
Dumbledore starts in. 'Don't you want some cocoa or soup, Harry? Come away from the light of Heaven's easy life. We need such a valiant, beautiful warrior as yourself here to live and to hack the serpents of evil in two, hell, into twos, into threes and fours! Your life will be the very envy of Heaven and its slobbery inhabitants. No, Harry. You were meant to stride with us, the living! To course with us and our blood. You are meant to end when your share of that blood turns brown upon the rocks of glory! You and I shall drink to-night, Harry. We shall drink to life's confines, to life's pearly end, which is the nothingness of death, not the perpetual pansiness of Heaven!'
Dumbledore is shaking with passion. He is beckoning Harry to enter into the sphere of manhood. Harry is all but wrapped in a buffalo skin, dancing and shaking a bow and arrow around a ceremonial fire. His rite of passage is here, now. He's like a young Native American, preparing to answer the question of life. Dumbledore is all aquiver, awaiting Harry's answer, and Harry answers, 'Yes.'
It's a perfect, clear morning as Harry steps out into the muffled crunch of snow in the courtyard. Harry looks like a man just married. He does a few ponderingly-paced laps around the frozen fountain, and then decides to proceed. He sends his owl up into the clouds, and then he enchants the bird with a spell, the rarely used Winter-Be-Gone Spell. Harry is eager to get back to life as it was at Hogwarts. He is eager to have the story return to its tracks, so he and everyone else can find out what's in that fucking gunnysack.
A spring sun shows Pledge streaks on a dark, wooded library where kids once again bustle about. Harmony strikes gold in a giant hardbound atlas. While she was at home she worked a temp job playing piano in a jewelry store. Wisely, she wore a hood so as to not distract the customers with her hideous visage. But, whilst in the store, she kept hearing, coincidentally, Nick Flannel's name. It was then that she began to formulate her hunch, which, here in this atlas, she confirms.
'Nick Flannel was the inventor of the Sorcerer's Stone, a rock with enormous powers, such as: lead into gold, horses into gold, immortal life, giving ghosts restored bodies, frag trolls, trolls into gold, et cetera. The Stone is being guarded by the three-headed dog! The Stone is what Snake must want! She wants it so that she may live forever with a stockpile of gold!'
Holy shit. It makes total sense.
Our heroes walk briskly through the night, making their way secretly towards Hagar's shanty. This guy is hoarding secrets, they think. But once he sees who is knocking at the door, Hagar just slams it right back in the kids' faces.
The kids start to yell out, 'Hey! What about the Sorcerer's Stone? Does that ring a fucking bell?' The giant knows they mean business.
They start in on Snake and Snake's needs again, but Hagar gets testy. He explains that every teacher is protecting the Stone, including Snake, with spells, and dogs, and flying hatchets, and cats, and ancient pendulums, et cetera. He seems to be in pain. Hagar continues to seem distracted with something going on behind him. After a while, Ron gets sick of the game and just demands to know what's up with Hagar. Why does he look so haggard, and what is he hiding?
Hagar breaks down and lets it all loose. 'One day a few days back, no, a few months back, I was hunting in the forest alone. I'd shot a stag and was tracking its blood trail through the forest. As I got deeper and deeper, I felt like I was being followed. I turned around and shot my crossbow, but my arrow only went through the ghostly form of Valmart. He demanded that I give him the Sorcerer's Stone, and I told him that I couldn't. He then pointed his wand at my stomach and struck me with a mighty spell. Next thing I know, I'm feeling kicking and clawing down in my gullet. This goes on for weeks. I knew that I was becoming a mother, but to what?
'Later on, during a boating accident in shark-infested waters, me and some friends were stranded, treading water while sharks fed on us. One by one, my friends disappeared in clouds of blood. I alone survived, and the reason is this: my baby inside me was screaming and making such a riot in my belly that the sharks were afraid to open me up. So they let me live, and I was found later by some fishermen.
'A week ago I finally birthed this egg. Apparently I am the mother of a dragon. Now kids, don't tell anybody. It's illegal to have a dragon around here, you know.'
After the story's confusing conclusion, who should appear in the window but that fucking panda cub Mouthoil! After his fucking ass!
Our heroes walk through the halls, talking of plans of trapping Mouthoil and torturing him, when they are stopped dead in their tracks by Hardcastle McCormick. She takes them into her office and dons her demerit costume, hat and all. This must be serious.
'Fifty points deducted for each of you! It is forbidden to be out at night. All of you have detention, even you, Mouthoil!'
Mouthoil tries to protest, but he is overrun by her barrage of degrading talk.
'Spies and thieves!' she spits. 'Spies and thieves!' she spits. Her spittle becomes an acid and flies on to each of their cheeks, burning their little cheeks with pockmarks as reminders of their transgressions. They shall never, ever forget.
Later that night, Dazzler leads the four kids out to their duty of detention. It turns out they have to hang with Hagar in the old forest all night long. Yuck! Soon, they are up around the crossbow fire where detention always gets started. Hagar mopes and speaks about his dragon flying off on him in the night, and how he's sad.
'Dragons have no heart', he blubbers.
The cat's whore, Dazzler, winces and grinds out words as he does, but no-one seems to care, not one fucking soul. But he goes on to grind out sentences, possibly on werewolves, possibly on nothing. Blahhh. His voice is as hard to listen to as a dying loved one calling out to you for help when you are restrained. He gives up on using his words and tries to communicate with only his eyes. Oh, how they bulge and struggle to convey unthinkable meaning! He is trying to say with his eyes that the kids will surely be destroyed in the forest to-night, so it is just as well that he is indecipherable to the children.
Finally, after all of this, Hagar breaks up the stream of incoherence and signals that it is time to go. He grabs his crossbow and his scabbard full of arrows.
Leaves are even scared of this cold, evil place and never settle, but try to ride wind out from among the trees that have dropped them.
Hagar, after a while of tracking, kneels down and knowingly dips his finger into a shimmery pool of unicorn urine. He explains that a prize-sized unicorn is nearby, and, with their help, he will kill it with his crossbow and win a prize in a local contest. The kids seem truly interested in the hunting lore that Hagar bestows: unicorns travel in pairs, unicorns are white, unicorns like apples, et cetera. Hagar seems put off and distant, sullen. His dragon baby has clearly run away with his heart.
Hagar decides to split up the group, and everyone is eager for the hunt. Harry and Mouthoil are teamed up together. Now, Hagar only does this because Harry is an enormous threat, and, even though Mouthoil is a son of a fuck, he is a powerful little puke. So the two are put together, seeing how they'll probably do fine without the help of Hagar and the Crossbow of Kazakhstan.
Harry and Mouthoil take the north part of the forest. The other people take the rest, the south and the west. Harry and Mouthoil talk of nothing. Their hatred for each other curls about their temples like Caesar hats.
Their crazy-looking dog seems to have picked up the unicorn's scent, and they make their way into a grove of cool dirt and shade where they believe it is bedded down, an inviting nap place, indeed. The smallest little cloud is already snoozing here.
But, what the Christ! They are too late! Their unicorn is already fallen under the hand of some Dracula. Harry's scar starts to hurt like it's fresh, and, right when Mouthoil has a chance to win points with the H. P., he chickens out and vanishes, leaving Harry alone to deal with this shade. Oh man, does Harry boldly stand his ground against the Dracula! Harry totally hates detention, and this prize unicorn is his ticket out. If he has to get a little dirty to get what he wants, then fine.
Harry believes this to be some lower-class woodland Dracula and doesn't ready the big spells. but, to his surprise, the spectre is not afraid of him. He must think Harry is just some common first-year. Harry has to back up against a tree's tangle of roots to try to drain some back-out power, and to make a larger spell.
But lo! to Harry's aid jumps a badass man-horse who is kicking and threatening wildly at this prince of blood-lovers. The Dracula skirts away, knowing that his odds are way off in this battle. A man-horse and Harry Potter? No way.
This man-horse knows Harry, of course, and, like all the creatures of the woods, Draculas and werewolves excluded, he would gladly die with him in combat. Now, the man-horse explains quickly that the Dracula was actually Valmart, the scar-artist, and that he, Valmart, is trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone.
Master P. then puts to the man-horse a few well-chosen detective 'questions' like, 'I thought it was Snake who wanted the Stone.'
'No, Snake may be involved, but it is Valmart who really wants to use the Stone.'
Right now, dear readers, the horseman leans in close and begins to blow the doors off of our hero's reality. 'Valmart is your father. That other guy is your step-dad. Your arch-enemy, the guy who tried to slay you, the guy who slayed your mama, is your dada. Your dad is a Dracula.'
Harry just goes ahead and vomits right all over the man-horse's shoes. Tears mix in with the sobby throw-up, and Hagar offers to call detention off early under the circumstances.
Gathered around the fire, four or five cognacs down, our threesome unwinds and works out the details. Neckties loosened, robes unbuckled, they are relaxing. Yes, they were sort of wrong about Snake. She wants the Stone, though not for gold, but to resurrect the Dracula, Valmart, so that he can have a new body and stage a rematch with Harry. The three know that Harry is a badass, godlike animal, but if Valmart gets the Stone, he may kill the Near-Dead Dumbledore and take over the school.
Harmony takes a giant swallow of cognac and says, 'He was never a dad to you, Harry. You know, you're going to have to fight him. You're going to have to beat him.'
Harry knows that this is true.
Finals! The courtyard looks like an anthill. Our three stroll confidently, but Harry seems to be nursing a head that dealt with one too many cognacs. The tests are pretty easy compared to the shit these kids are dealing with in their free time. Harry sometimes wishes his life was as simple as Upfish's.
They talk of lunch and break on to the common ground when a child-summoning tone flows over them and they are helplessly compelled to Hagar's hut. Hagar has done a little headwork lately and decides to confess that last night he told a Dracula-looking dude in a bar that the three-headed guard dog falls asleep easily when he hears music. Hagar had to summon the young detectives to get this off his chest.
Harry is inconsolable. He talks right over Hagar. 'What could have made you say that? What do you think this is, a fucking free-for-all of facts? Why don't you go and get on the school P.A. and tell everyone my dad is Valmart, and that I'm half Dracula? I mean, what fucking good are you? Why don't you learn to keep a goddamned secret, you hairy piece of shit!? God!' Harry is ragged. He has had a long day and good manners are secondary to his cause.
Next, Harry and his team rush into Hardcastle's class, all gangbusters. They start explaining that the Stone is in danger, and that they have to get Dumbledore in order to protect him. Hardcastle is just flabbergasted with all this news. She informs the kids that Dumbledore is in London for the weekend.
'Crumbs and carrots!' cries Harry. 'The Stone is doomed!' He goes on to say, 'You better be up there guarding that Stone personally, Hardcastle, because if it's gone, and Dumbledore gets hurt, I am going to hand you your ass when this is all said and done!' He is ravenous at this point. 'Fuck this!'
Out in the hall, just as the three detectives are beginning to formulate a plan, who but Snake arrives and darkens the hallway with her black robes galore? Again with the face, again with the eyes.
'What are you kids doing here?'
'Well, we fucking go to school here.'
'You will be schooled here.'
A staring match ensues. And, of course, Harry is the victor.
As Snake takes her leave, Harry turns to his brother and sister in arms and declares, 'I will feel her blood on my hands to-night!'
A disturbingly meaningful fog hangs cataracts all over Hogwarts. As our heroes walk down into the Gryffindor common room, they see the frog reclining in the armchair that can only be owned by our friend Upfish.
Upfish, in a foolishly loving gesture, tries to keep our heroes from tasting victory to-night. He puts up his little dukes and sucks in his quick, stupid little breaths. He is sweet, but he is being a nuisance. So Harry, wasting no time, dispatches Harmony on Upfish. A quick Popsicling Spell, and Upfish is out. They nonverbally decide to just leave him there, without a blanket, so that maybe he can think about what he's done, and what brotherhood really means around here in the Gryffindor School.
Under the cloak of invisibility, the three make their way up to the Chamber of Secrets, where the dog lies on that trapdoor, and where all adventures begin. Again, Harry lets Harmony take the lead. She is just so much faster with the Lock Spell than he is. The lock is turned into a dove, and the door is slowly advanced open. But the children are disgusted to see that the dog is already fast asleep. Snake has already beat them to it and has set up a magical harp that cradles the dog's brainfruits somewhere far away from the now.
Our heroes sadly begin to set to work, playing catch-up, moving the dog's hoary paws off the trap door. This isn't as easy as it sounds, for they have to do it noiselessly, like fucking mimes forced into slave labour. They bite back their grunts and muscle whiffs, and Harry notices a strangeness. It's too easy, and it's too quiet, and, oh shit! the music has stopped!
Just then, the giant dog awakes itself and is just much faster than last time. It's so fast, dear readers, that you guys can't even see that it just goes right ahead and takes a big chunk out of Harmony. He bites what is most of her head off. She is dead in an instant. Harry blacks out. Out of him come powers no-one even knew existed. Time is stuck on the cog of Harry's will. He turns the dog inside out and then dissolves it into a pudding. Harmony is in two pieces, but Harry, with eyeballs turned completely white, recapitulates her form and blows life into her. She is full, and is the Harmony of old, and is acting like nothing ever even happened. So Harry comes out of the power coma and thinks nothing happened, also.
Time resumes, and they jump through the trap door on to what I guess is a wad of leathery roots that start to seem hell-bent on rending the wizard kids limb from limb. Their bodies become ensconed in the wet black leather, sinking like in quicksand into the wads of captivity. Harry can't help but notice the coincidence that last night he ate spaghetti. It's funny to him that what's trying to kill him on the outside is just like what's nourishing him on the inside.
Harmony has escaped with some sort of shrewd spell. She tries to explain it to the others, but they just can't understand it. She goes ahead and casts a Releasums on Harry, and he is freed. She tries also on Ronnie, but it just doesn't work. She tries over and over. Why won't it release Ron? Does it know that it can live on the sustenance of such a warrior for years and not need worry about eating or drinking? Well, whatever the spaghetti is thinking, Harmony again proves herself and blinds the wad's hidden eye with some crazy Sunburst Spell and it releases the Bear. He is freed, and they are now able to resume the hunt for the Stone.
After scraping off the spaghetti's fluids from their flannel jackets, Harry is impressed and actually says aloud to Harmony what he has been thinking for a while: 'You're amazing.'
Harry is totally uninterested in this next challenge. He runs through this problem like a set of crunches as his mind's eye daydreams again. He sees himself dressed as a conquistador, crashing in the faces of werewolves and bigfoots with an enormous telescope. He then goes on to envision himself arriving on the coast of a then-undiscovered America. He mingles peacefully with the natives, and trades secrets of magic with their shamans. He makes friends, and blends bloodlines of greatness. He teaches them wizard spells, and they in turn teach him how to fly across the continent at ridiculous speeds. He learns to slay deer with laser beams from his eyes, and how to make all things around the house out of buffalo parts.
Harry could live with a woman who has strong, magical jet-black hair. She'd be enchanted, and almost a giant. She'd carry Harry around on her shoulder as she walked through the forest, and he'd hold on to her perfect ear, smiling. They'd fly off into the clouds and spend weekends up there, dictating the North American weather patterns. He'd need not worry about clothes, because he'd wear those strappy skirts that were popular back then in America.
But that world of America, of light and natural beauty, and of those people, who were so one with the perfect ecosystem, that world dissipates, and Harry is back in the dark, hoary bowels of storm-ridden England, trying to save all of wizard-dom from his crazed, Dracula-ghost father. Harry almost sobs, but moves on. He is a true champion.
As the three traipse through the dark hallways of Hell, they come upon a challenge fit for only a bear. Giant, sculptural figures stand in two lines of two, opposing one another. This could only mean one thing. It is the famous chess board of Ragnarök.
The Bear enters out on to the board like a World Series winner going for one more World Series win. The board is then illuminated by a magical florescence. The deal is this: Harry and the gang cannot pass without winning this game. It is a raw deal in red heat: you lose, you die. You know the kind, I'm sure.
Soon, it becomes apparent who should take charge of this part of the challenge. Ronnie the Bear begins to dictate how the next couple of moves will happen. 'OK, listen up. I will take charge and make all the moves. You guys keep your mouths and keep out of my way. You act as a rook, I guess, and, Harry, you act as a bishop.'
Harmony farts a nervous fart, but no-one cares. Every one of Ronnie the Bear's atoms is focussing on the task at hand. Imagine God creating, and then you will have a beginning of an understanding of the Bear's massive cerebral cortex at work. This invisible opponent must have invisibly shat himself after Ronnie's first move, knowing full well the challenge that he was about to face. Every battle the earth has witnessed looks like a Three Stooges' scene compared to this match. Patton, MacArthur, Custer, and Charlemagne look on as astonished ghosts, stuffing their mouths with popcorn and jujubes.
The game goes on like Napoleon on Ice, a perfect mix of speed and precision. The pieces explode and crumble and move into position by the will of one, one Ron Weasel, a.k.a. Ronnie the Bear.
There are struggles and losses and pursuits and beheadings. All of the pieces crumble, all of the pieces turn dastardly towards violence, but nothing happens that is not the consent of the Bear.
We get down to where the pieces are only a few, the desert portion of the game, where a skeleton can kill a buzzard if the buzzard is really stupid.
Here now, in the rubble of the last quarter of the game, sacrifices have to be made in order to gain the checkmate. The Bear's face is a phosphorescent mask of jelly. He is at the last strands of sanity, and his mind is swollen, invisible behind his retinas. He is mad with the satanic desire to win at any cost.
'I will die for this!' he says. He is a veritable milkshake of all of the past generals' strategical centres. He takes out a flask and sips a bit of peach schnapps. And then he yells out to Harry, 'You can keep my stuff, if I don't survive this! You know it's sweet stuff, man! Just take it!' And he moves himself into formation and out into danger.
He is putting himself up to the king and is putting that king into check, knowing full well that the queen will come over and have his balls for this. It is a move that everyone knows, and everyone has to do, but when you're not riding a giant horse out there, and it's just a little piece in your hand that you're sacrificing, it doesn't feel quite so heroic. But believe me, here, on this board, in Ragnarök, it is.
Ronnie steadies himself and gazes right into the slit of the helmet, looking for some sort of eyes, some sort of response from his executioner, but there is none. And Ronnie the Bear, Ronnie the Bear quakes and is felled. Chunks of his horse spray-paint Harry and Harmony. She almost goes to Ron.
'Don't fucking move! We finish this now! It's how he would have wanted it!' Harry screams this as he moves like a bishop right up to the face of that king. He takes out a glove, and he slaps that king right in the face. 'Checkmate, you asshole. That was my best friend.'
The game is finally over.
The two, after taking the Sword of Defeat, decide it is safe to run over to check on the status of Ron. 'Is he breathing? Is he dead?' Harmony nags Harry. 'Why did you let him fall?'
'One more complaint out of you and I will erase your ass! You understand me? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just the pressure talking.'
Harry takes a deep breath and remembers what he's down here for. He goes on to instruct Harmony to stay with the injured Bear, make sure his vitals are clean, and to call the president if he's not back in an hour. He knows what is next, he feels it, and he is ready for the challenge.
As Harry walks down into his fate, he comes to realise that this is the moment beyond games, the moment he has been waiting for. No matter what happens, he is where he should be.
Before him, down the darkest of stairs and into the cellar, standing before the Gate of Heaven, why, it isn't Snake at all! It's Queerman! Queerman! Queerman tried to kill Harry in the Cribbage match! Queerman unleashed the troll! Queerman is in league with Draculas and wolfmen! Queerman wants the Stone! It's all been an act! Harry is bowled over. He can't believe he didn't see this coming. Queerman this whole time has been Harry's dad's gofer. Snake was unfairly suspected, and is probably a lovely woman.
Harry stands before the babbling Queerman and readies himself for final combat. He puts on his lucky headband and pops his knuckles. And all the while, Queerman seems to be conversing wildly with the air.
Harry knows that his dad is a ghost, a ghost Dracula, and he knows that he flies around in the air sometimes, but he doesn't see him flying around anywhere here and wonders just who Queerman is talking to. The air, then, miraculously, becomes thinner, and Harry's forehead aches. The air begins to tell Queerman to retrieve the Stone using our champion, using H. P. as a vehicle, for only innocence can retrieve the Stone from the Gate of Heaven. The Stone is locked behind Heaven's gate and only a pure soul may enter.
A spell is cast, and Harry is forced to walk all jerky-style right up to look into the dreadful threshold of Heaven. He knows he looks really stupid, but he cannot break away from the spell and has to peer into the mirror as Queerman is demanding to know if Harry sees the Stone.
'Put your hand in there, boy!'
Harry defiantly thrusts his hand down into his pocket. Somehow the Stone manifests itself into Harry's sweaty mitt. 'Oh, God, this sucks', Harry thinks to himself. But, having broken the spell with the hand thing, he decides to just back away. While Queerman is chatting up the air, maybe Harry can just hide the Stone somewhere else until he can decide what to do, once talking with Dumbledore. He makes up an excuse about how he can't get through Heaven's gate because, you know, he killed a dude a couple of weeks back, and that clearly prohibits his entrance and all.
But, through Harry's excuse, Queerman is starting to take off his turban mesmerisingly, and, even though Harry should be making his way for the steps, he's always wanted to see what Queerman's head looks like.
Harry and the boys have always joked about the possible hair-dos, or crazy balding—AAAGGGHHH! Holy fucking balls! There's a sick-ass face on Queerman's head! Harry almost ignites in vomit. Harry's dad's face begins to move, like a marmalade baby just out of the womb. He calls to Harry to join him, and says how they could use the Stone together and live in a golden castle and shit. Harry's scar begins to vibrate so hard and fast it causes a tone that almost makes Harry's skull shatter. He cannot believe one fucking piece of this reality. Fuck! and shit!
That crazy, sick-ass face is burning everything now. He wants that Stone so bad. He wants to paddle Harry so hard. He starts telling Harry all sorts of fake shit, like Harry killed his own parents but just doesn't remember, and that Dumbledore eats babies. Harry is confused and scared. This is his dad talking. He doesn't know what to believe and what to hate. He wants to run off. He imagines that that man-horse would come in here and take him away, and maybe they could catch a movie, or make dinner or something. Something fun for a change.
But, finally, he comes out of this reverie and holds the Stone to absorb some of its power and then waits for the right moment to strike. The flames are licking hotly all about, driving him crazy. And that sick-ass face is still talking. It wants that Stone so bad, it is willing to burn everything, including itself, for a chance to get it.
Harry can't believe it. 'This is not me. I am not my father. I could throw this Stone into a gutter and not give one fucking shit.'
The squirmy dad-face is seemingly having trouble commanding its host-body and tries to get him to jump at Harry, and, after a few takes, it finally does. He lashes out on him, choking him and spitting in his face, trying to kill our champion. But, Harry gives forth a ferocious growl and burns that fucker with a Flaming Hand Spell. Queerman recoils, but that sick-ass face on the back of his head just won't have it. He will not take retreat. He continues to press Queerman to get the Stone. 'Hey, Queerman! Forget the hand, man! Get the Stone! Get the Stone!'
Queerman again reaches for the Stone, but Harry valiantly lays his magnificent hands on Queerman's face, and instantly turns the entire body to crumbling ashes.
At long last, Harry is in real time with his destiny. He cries out, 'I am important and unavoidable!'
Harry yells down into the empty neck-hole, 'Oh! this game is over when Harry says it's over, and no-one else! Harry is the one who kills around here, and Harry has killed you! I killed you, Dad!'
Harry picks up the Stone just in time to turn around and feel his dad blow through him, just as everyone has their dads blow into them like a kite, a kite of chromosomes blowing on the wind of inheritance. The stream of the ghostly Dracula exits, and Harry passes out into a deathy sleep.
Harry then dreams of nothing but a black, still ocean that he is at the bottom of. His senses are all in the shop for immediate overhaul.
Next thing Harry knows, he is waking up in the student infirmary. There are flowers and cards from presidents, and queens, and diplomats. Harry yawns and collects his glasses. He seems pleased, like a man can seem pleased.
In walks Dumbledore, near-dead and beautiful. He talks about Ron, and Harmony, and the Stone, and Nick Flannel, and Valmart, and fathers, and how sometimes fathers can show up on the back of people's heads even when you least expect it. But Harry is way beyond all that. He just wants to kick back a few cold ones and get through finals.
Harry is eager to move on, and he asks Dumbledore if he has seen that man-horse around. Dumbledore says no, but Harry sees a glimmer in his eyes. Harry seems to guess that God would be happy to know that Dumbledore would try to keep Harry from such a union. But, for Harry, God is no thing to worry about.
They continue to chat about death, and stones, and next year, and whether or not they plan to replace that one teacher that turned to ash, and then Dumbledore leans in.
'Your dad and I, we go way back. He was an evil bastard, but I loved him. I loved him so much. He proofread my novel. He liked it. He was the only one.'
This information seems to sit right with Harry. Even though he knows his dad is pretty much the quintessential evil person, he doesn't like being disconnected from his people. He then goes on to worry and wonder about his mother, and whether or not she'll return to earth in the form of a gas, or turn up hanging out on the back of some poor lady's head, or go crazy for obtaining powerful objects. But anyway, he decides just not to worry about it. As he tells Harry a funny little joke about a drunken werewolf, a crippled witch, and a fold-out couch, Dumbledore begins to pick over what's left of Harry's candies. Nurses hum and scuttle about, making little actions and noises that Harry decides perfect sounds to fall asleep to. Dumbledore, the scavenger, takes all the red ones from Harry's jelly beans. Harry, watching, seems to just not care.
After a while, Harry decides to leave the infirmary and put back on the cloak and tie. He walks out strong and encounters his playmates who have been anxiously awaiting him. They quickly compare notes on the adventure and exchange shit-eating grins. They all feel great.
The cafeteria is a crazed sea of almost-vacationing students. The only thing that stands between the kids and summer vacation is Hardcastle McCormick's hokey points awards show. Dumbledore laments that yet another year has passed and he is even closer to his end, but soon commences in the announcing of the points.
Gryffindor has a measly 312 points. The students' morale is very low at this fart of a total.
Hufferpuffer has 420 points, and that's pretty good for the remedial class that they are.
Viacom, well, this year Viacom has earned 480 points.
And Slytherin, Slytherin has an even 6,000 points. Coming in first for the first time in front of Gryffindor, Slytherin seem to be the champions.
'However', Dumbledore says, 'last minute points are thus.'
Snake is seemingly on the edge of her seat.
'To the Wretched Harmony, for aiding some unmentioned titans and knowing your spells in desperate times, you are awarded 300 points.'
Everyone claps, and Harmony feels like she could cry out a second self of tears so that she could have someone to hug. She feels accepted, though.
'Ronnie the Bear. Ronnie the Bear Weasel, you are bravery, you are courage, you are chess. One thousand points!' The applause begins to increase, as if they know who is to be honoured next and they are just getting ready.
'And of course, the keeper of our hearts, and the true magician who has bewitched us all, Harry Potter, receives six million points for vanquishing the Dracula!'
The crowd goes apeshit, clapping their asses off in a mixture of admiration for Harry and excitement for fucking summer-time to finally get here. The new points mean that Gryffindor are now the champs of the year. They get to hold the trophy and drink from it whatever they wish.
The entire cafeteria, Mouthoil, Snake, and Pitstains included, join in supporting Harry and summer-time. The applause is gigantic. The universe only accepts love to-day, and, luckily, everyone is in accordance.
Dumbledore sings a little song, a pleasant song that sounds like a flute, a flute that was designed by Jesus Christ.
Gryffindor totally destroys the other schools in points, but a truly beautiful glance and wink are shared by all. The hats begin to rain upward fast, and, as always, slo-mo right back to the hands of the tossers. Thoughts of Slip 'n Slides and water-balloon wars are impossible to avoid. If you have hair here, it is going to get rustled awesomely.
Everyone is packed, and has emptied out their dorm rooms, and is boarding the Hogwarts Express. Report cards are being altered as we speak.
Harry must have a word with Hagar the Horrible before he leaves. He tells his friends to hold up and to make sure the engineer doesn't leave him behind. Before Harry can say one word, Hagar produces a beautiful portable television with a clip of Harry's parents cued up for Harry's delight. This is the first time that Harry looks at himself in a picture, not to mention as a baby. In the clip, he coos and responds to love in the form of a tiggle.
'This is really weird, man', he says, and Hagar nods, like he knows what a tiggle feels like.
They hug awkwardly and talk a bit about next year's problems, whatever they may be. And then Hagar tells Harry that he's got to go trim some hedges and make things right for the summer. You know, you have to put seed down for ticks and stuff like that.
And Harry says, 'Yeah, well, I've got to get back home. I've got some horses I need to check up on, you know.
'I guess I'll see you.'
It turns out that they do like each other, and it wasn't all out of obligation. Harry thinks that he will come back next year, and, when he does, Hagar will be there waiting, as long as God doesn't fuck anything up.