Harry Pooter and the Cursed Plunger {On Hold}

Chapter One: Yer A Cleaner Harry

Watch out because this is going to have long chapters like an actual Harry Potter book would :3

It all started with a boy named Harry James Pooter, with the famous nickname 'The Boy Who Stayed Clean' that was given to him when Voldetoot, 'The Silent One,' attempted to use the Oxiclean curse on him and failed. The result of this failure left a single scar on Harry's forehead in the shape of a loofa and Voldetoot's disappearance--where ten years later, most consider him dead. His name will forever be synonymous with cleanliness.

But in the little street of Bidet Drive (where every day was not a lovely day in the neighborhood), Harry lived completely oblivious to his fame with his aunt, uncle, and god awful cousin. While they forced him to clean and live in the cupboard under the stairs, they lived in style without the fear of dirt on their fabulous couches and floors.

"Get up you filthy child!" His uncle Vernon--an angel, really--called, hitting the door to the supply closet a few times. As his footsteps receded the man muttered, "You'd think for someone who slept next to cleaning supplies he would be cleaner..."

Harry groaned, realizing that he had forgotten the date of Dudley's birthday.

He groggily stood and left the closet, walking into the kitchen to start his duties. As he worked on perfecting the bacon and cooking a large breakfast for a pod of beached whales, he watched his cousin Dudley get showered with presents for his birthday. Aunt Petootnia walked in, carrying more gifts and set them down beside her son.

"Happy birthday, Doodles," she said in a sing songy voice and pinched his cheek, not knowing what she was getting herself into.

"I told you not to call me that anymore!" Dudley yelled and hit her hand away. "And how many presents did you get me this year?"

"Thirty six. I counted them five times just to make sure." Uncle Vernon said sitting down at the table, rather pleased with himself.

"Thirty six? Last year I got thirty seven!" Harry (inwardly) scoffed at Dudley's response and put the eggs, bacon, grits, and sausage onto a plate and set it down in front of Dudley.

"Calm down Doodl--Dudley! We'll go out and get you three more presents to it make up to you, ok?" Aunt Petootnia said, trying to calm her red-faced tyrant.

In response to the (not really) sensible suggestion, Dudley wailed and pounded his fists on his mother's quickly retreating embrace, not noticing his friend (the not-showered-in-a-month-rat-sewer-face) Piers Polkiss was at the newly furnished door. At the same time as the door bell's ring!, Aunt Petootnia ran to answer the now ring! -ing telephone, looking sad that her efforts to make her Doodles truly happy was in vain.

"Doodl--Dudley, your friend is here!" Dudley sprang--as much as one whale can, which would look more like a flop than anything--from the splinter-free and windex-polished chair and sauntered over towards the door, stopping his fake crying immediately for it had been many years since he had truly cried.

"Where's Mrs. Figgs? Wasn't she supposed to be here by now?" Mr. Dursley inquired, looking quite peeved.

"She broke her leg earlier this week. She can't take him in." Mrs. Dursley replied, getting off the (newly polished) phone.

"Well... Since we can't leave him here, as he'd no doubt clean the house to death, we might as well take him with us." Harry bristled at those words. Cleaning is an art.

"And leave him in the car?" Mrs. Dursley suggested, waiting for her Doodles to reappear in the room.

"How about: No?" Mrs. Dursley embraced herself for the lecture on car safety.