The Amazingly Magical Stories of Harry Putter and the Putters

It was an incredibly hot summer’s day and nothing new was happening anywhere. Everything was so freaking boring that several people died. But somewhere in suburban England on this boring day, there was a crazy old coot sitting on a porch. He had a long silvery beard and spiky bubblegum pink hair that was hidden underneath a tall pointed hat, and he was wearing big black sunglasses and a dirty white bathrobe over a black Avenged Sevenfold T-shirt and khaki pants with bright red golf shoes. He was sitting next to a beautiful stray calico cat, and he was speaking to it as if there was some possibility that it was human, or at least that it could understand and actually cared about what he was saying.

This may sound boring, but this crazy old coot was in fact the most gifted magical Goffer that the world had ever seen.

“I don’t see any way around this, Professor McKitty,” he said to the cat, “but I suppose this family will have to do.”

“But Professor Tumblefore,” the cat meowed, “I’ve been watching this family, and I snuck into their house while they were out, and I had the sudden urge to go to the bathroom, and they don’t even have a litter box in there! I had to pee on their carpet! I felt so… so… barbaric!”

“There, there, Kat,” he said as he began to scratch behind the kitty’s ears. “They can’t be all bad. After all, they do have Goffer blood in them.”

“Well, I suppose so, but what’s been troubling me…”

But before the cat could tell the old man just what had been troubling her, the front door to the house opened and a rather fat man poked his head and arm out. In his hand he held a cane, which he began pounding excitedly on the ground and the sides of the house.

“Hey! You! Bum!” he shouted at the great Goffer. “I thought I told you already to get off my property, you crazy old hobo!”

The cat hissed and leapt up, its fur standing straight up on its back, but Tumblefore did not move even the slightest muscle. The man in the door continued to pound his cane about for a minute when the shrill voice of a woman shouted at him, “VERNANDO! I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STOP THAT RACKET WITH THE CANE!”

“Yes, Parsnip, my darling!” said the fat man jovially, before pulling himself back inside the house and closing the door behind him.

There was a slightly awkward pause between the cat and the man for a moment afterwards. Then…

“You were about to say something, Kat?”

“Well… You do think the boy is safe here, right?”

At this the old man stopped petting the cat and stared at it as if it had suddenly sprouted several wings and an extra head.

“Do you seriously think that I’d be sitting on this porch having this conversation with you right now if I didn’t think the boy would be safe here?!”

He bopped the cat on the head with his old, wrinkled hand. The cat hissed, and its long black tail puffed out like a porcupine.

“Now what did you do that for? I was just starting to enjoy your company!”

“Kat McKitty, you are one strange animal.”

“I’m strange! Hmph! If we weren’t undercover right now I’d claw you like you were my grandmother’s ugly old couch!”

At this moment, a flying golf cart suddenly landed on the lawn. Suddenly a rather tall, rather fat man emerged from it with difficulty, and as he removed his rather fat bottom from the rather small vehicle, it was a wonder as to how he had managed to fit inside it in the first place.

“Ah! There you are, Hairbrains,” said Professor Tumblefore, as if he had been suspecting the stranger all along to arrive in a flying golf cart.

“Hairbrains!” the cat hissed. “How could you fly here in that thing! You could’ve been seen!” As she said this, a man across the street who had previously been watering his garden suddenly froze, dropped his garden hose, and stared wide-eyed at the scene. However, no one seemed to have noticed.

“Ah, well,” grunted the tall fat man called Hairbrains, “Serious Ferrealz was at deh kiddo’s house when I got dere, Mister Sir Professor Tumblefore, sirz. An’ it wer deh most convenient way fer meh teh travel, y’see. Ain’t got no other magical flyin’ things, y’see. Anyways I brought deh kiddo. Yeh wanna see it?”

“Yes, Hairbrains,” said Tumblefore. “It would bring me great pleasure to see the child.”

“Awrighty, den,” said Hairbrains, removing the giant Eskimo-like coat he had been wearing. “I know ‘e’s in ‘ere summer-wheres.” He began to dig through the many hidden pockets of the giant coat, pulling from them enormous and strange objects like golf clubs and suitcases and toilet seats. Across the street, the man with the garden hose’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed onto the wet grass beneath him. Again, no one seemed to take any notice to him.

Growing aggravated, the giant Hairbrains began to shake the coat violently in his hands as more and more strange items fell out of them. Finally, a small (or at least, it appeared to be small, compared to the other objects that now littered the suburban lawn) bundle of blankets hit the ground and bounced slightly before rolling to a stop at Hairbrains’ feet.

“Ah! Here’s the little tyke. Aww, lookit ‘im, ‘e musta felled asleep! He’s so cute I could jus’ squeeze ‘im!”

“Best you refrain from squeezing anything, Hairbrains,” said Tumblefore, as he crossed the lawn and bent down to pick the bundle up, closely followed by McKitty.

“The boy has a name, does he not?” meowed the cat quietly.

“His name is Harry and he has a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that will remain there for the rest of his life. It is probably magical or something, and I probably know much more about it than I’m letting on at the moment, but there ain’t no way in hell I’m telling you, bitches.” He snapped his fingers in a Z-formation as he cradled the bundle in his free hand. He then lifted the blankets to reveal a tiny, sleeping baby with mountains of dark hair and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, just as Tumblefore had suggested.

“Will you stop trying to be so mysterious one day, Tumblefore? It really is very annoying.”

“Ah, but that would take the fun out of things, McKitty, would it not?”

“Whatever you say, Professor Tumblefore…” The cat swished her tail in annoyance.

Suddenly Hairbrains burst into loud, obnoxious tears that could’ve shattered glass if only they were higher pitched.

“I don’t wanna say goodbye to ‘im yet, ‘e’s only a baby!!!” sobbed the giant man. “What if he don’t like it ‘ere? What if the other kids are mean to ‘im???”

“He’ll be alright, Hairbrains,” Tumblefore assured him. “Besides, you’ll most likely see him again in ten years or so, if he has magical Goffer abilities, as everyone is sure he will, since his parents were amazing, and the man who killed them was amazing-er.”

“But Professor Tumblefore,” the cat meowed anxiously, “are you absolutely sure that this is the right thing to do?”

“Professor McKitty, I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

“Well, if you say so…” The cat rolled her eyes and swished her tail in aggravation.

From his pocket Tumblefore pulled out a white envelope with the words “Mr. and Mrs. Vernando Dizzly, Number Forty, Sweetbriar Drive, Small Lynching, England, Planet Earth, Milky Way Galaxy”. He walked up to the porch, placed the baby gently in front of the door, and tucked the envelope safe inside the blankets so that it wouldn’t blow away with the non-existent wind.

“Lord Bunkermort’s powers have been weakened because of this boy. For now the Goffing world is safe. Now, how would you two like to join me in a celebration?”

“Oh, Tumblefore,” meowed the calico excitedly, “that would be absolutely splendid!”

“We must hurry though, or all the lemon drops will be gone! Quickly now, Hairbrains, to the golf cart!”

Wiping his eyes, Hairbrains grabbed a golf club from the ground, pointed at the mess on the lawn, and shouted, “Messbekleen!” Magically, all of the large items strewn across the lawn had floated up off the ground and began hurriedly stuffing themselves into Hairbrains’ giant coat. Across the street, the man with the garden hose regained consciousness, rubbed his head, and passed out again.

Hairbrains grabbed his coat and crossed the lawn to his flying golf cart. He had barely put one leg in before he had gotten stuck. He pulled it out, shook it a bit, and then fit himself in, giant coat and all, with ease. McKitty leapt swiftly into the vehicle and landed gently beside him. Glancing out the window, she spotted the unconscious man across the street, his garden hose dancing about like a snake, spraying water everywhere. She gagged, as if preparing to hack up a furball.

“Professor Tumbledore!” she hissed. “It’s a Wogger! He’s unconscious! Do you think he might have seen us?”

“It is always a possibility, Professor McKitty,” he said with ease. “Best be safe than sorry.” Again, he reached into his white robe pocket, and this time he pulled out a dark blue golf club. Pointing it at the unconscious man on the lawn, he shouted, “Flowerpower!” A puff of blue smoke appeared over the man’s head and disappeared almost instantaneously. The man lifted his head up, shook it a few times, then smiled goofily and rolled over onto his stomach, kicking his feet in the air and humming merrily.

“You don’t think…” the cat meowed cautiously. “Sir, you don’t think you may have… overdone it with him, do you?”

“Nonsense! He’ll be fine. Now, hurry! We’ll miss the lemon drops!”

Tumblefore turned around, knocked on the door of Number Forty, Sweetbriar Drive, and then, giggling maniacally, ran towards the golf cart and hopped in. As it sped away into the sky, Vernando Dizzly’s wife Parsnip Dizzly opened the door, looked down at the sleeping baby on her porch, and with a scream, dropped the freshly-baked pie that she held in her hands. It landed right on the baby and suddenly exploded, covering every house on the street with bits of pie.

High up in the sky, unaware of what had just happened below him, Professor Tumblefore chuckled merrily.

“Everything turned out better than expected,” he said with a smile.