Harry Potter and the Dungeon Master


By Jaana


It was the heart of English summer. Privet Drive was unbearably hot as the sun baked the uniform suburban blocks. Flowers were dying by the scores in the blistering heat and the inhabitants had retreated indoors to escape the glaring orb in the sky.

Through an open window in the wall of number four Privet Drive a sixteen year old boy could be seen laying on his bed, humming a melancholy tune along to his portable stereo. He was grateful of the simple Muggle invention, because with the music he could drown out the sounds of the house. (There was always a television on, Dudley snickering with his friends, or Uncle Vernon yelling at the telephone.) He had salvaged the contraption that was now connected to his ears from the garbage, where his cousin Dudley had thrown it away along with some CDs that he now considered uncool.

The boy on the bed was wearing black jeans that were slightly too big on him and a dark green t-shirt. The shirt was only a slightly darker green than the boy's bespectacled, long-lashed eyes.

As Harry Potter listened to a sad song by Bauhaus, he couldn't help but cringe at the memory of his late godfather Sirius. Sirius had died a few months back due to Harry's own stupidity. He had been quilt-tripping himself about Sirius' death all summer vacation. With the aid of frequent visits from Tonks, Moody, and Lupin (much to Aunt Petunia's horror), he was starting to feel slightly better. But he knew that he could never forgive himself. Sirius had been the closest thing Harry had ever had to a father, and now he was dead because Harry had been fooled by Lord Voldemort.

Think of Sirius as he might, he had another even graver concern on his mind. The prophecy. Dumbledore had revealed Harry the terrible fate that was to befall him one day. It was Harry's destiny to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him. Since Harry was still only a sixteen-year-old wizard who still went to school, and Voldemort was the most powerful dark wizard ever, he was quite sure he would be the one to die.

In order to distract himself from the thing, he turned his attention to the magazine that Ron had given him yesterday for his birthday. As Harry leafed through Boobs and Pubes, a Muggle porn magazine, he couldn't help but to feel a little puzzled. The images of spread-legged women fondling their enormous breasts did nothing for him. He wasn't aroused at all. On the contrary, these women made him sick. No matter how long he spent staring at them and looking at his magazine form all possible angles, he didn't get an erection once.

Most of Harry's days were spent confined in his room. The Dursleys ignored him, which was a relief. Tonks, Moody, and Lupin made sure he had enough food by sending him parcels of goodies everyday. Ron and Hermione pitched in every now and then as well. Just that morning Harry had received a huge box containing fruitcake from Mrs. Weasley.

He knew now why it was necessary for him to spend the summers at the Dursleys'. Dumbledore had explained it to him. So without a single complaint he suffered through summer at number four Privet Drive. His only companions were his owl Hedwig, his portable CD player, and his porn magazine.

At the end of the summer vacation Harry had developed a taste for David Bowie. He had also come to realize that he was 100% gay.

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