1. Chapter 1

Damn Car

Viopathartic

He planned on using the portkey to transport him back to the wizardry world. But the fact that he just battled against Nott, the Deatheater, and now has a bloodied leg and blood over his body kind of made him stop. Plus since he wasn't an expert at landing, the image of him landing flat on his face wasn't that appealing. Damn portkey.

He planned on sending a Patronus but the memory of the incident with the flying car exposure made him stop again. Muggle media would have a field day if they saw a humongous glowing stag running across playgrounds to come to an unknown destination. Damn Patronus.

He planned on Apparating, but adding on a splinched left leg plus his already broken one...not a good idea, Potter.

So now, here he was, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Boy-who-was-really-stressed-out, driving a Volkswagen with an injured right leg.

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Bloody car.

Bloody damn car.

Bloody, bloody damn Volkswagen.

Those were Harry's thought as he hunched over his steering wheel, trying to make out the highway signs.

Yes, Harry Potter never got his driving license, never drove a car, and was now driving illegally.

Why couldn't he whip out his wand and fix his leg in a second? Because, Harry Potter left his wand back at 12 Grimmauld's Place along with his cloak and necessary items. The only thing he had brought was Godric Gryffindor's sword. Harry looked glumly to the passenger seat. There lay the old artifact with the blood of another person covering its blade. So, as many could see, there was no other option.

"Shit!" yelled Harry as he swerved the car to the right. The BMW, which he managed to dodge, beeped angrily at him.

“Oh, be quiet,” Harry muttered, flicking on his left signal. “I should have listened to ‘Mione when she said to get driving lessons.”

He painstakingly steered the stolen car to the next lane, cutting off another car. But he didn’t really care.

Suddenly, not seeing the car in front, he ignored the excruciating waves of pain coming from his leg and he stepped on the brake with all his might. His body lunged forward but because he was strapped in, his body quickly fell back against the seat. He heard the sound of metal hitting metal and the beeping of horns. A yell was heard from behind. Smoke soon covered his vision, not allowing him to see. With a groan, Harry let his head fall against the steering wheel and waited. Someone knocked on his window. Suppressing the urge to bash his head against the window, Harry lifted his eyes.

“Sir, sir! Are you alright? Sir, can you hear me? SIR!!!”

“Will you bloody shut up? I’m coming.” Kicking the door open with his good leg, he climbed his way out. Quickly remembering his other leg, Harry collapsed to his knees.

“D-do you need help?” asked the voice.

“No, I’m just praying. Yes, I need help! Give me a hand here.” said Harry, irritably. He blindly reached out and gripped a very soft feeling hand and was pulled up. An arm wrapped itself around his waist and kept him up. Harry blinked away the dust in his eyes and his pupil adjusted to the light shift. He turned his head and saw his helper. The guy was maybe two or three years senior and he looked at Harry with worry. His hair was dirty blonde, cut short to his scalp. His blue eyes surveyed his body for injury like Hermione would have done, and his mouth was in a tight line.

"Oh...damn, my mum's going to kill me!" Harry looked over at what the boy was looking at and saw what used to be a nice car. Now...it wasn't. The back bumper was completely bashed in and wisps of smoke came out of it. Glass lay shattered around the car.

"I wish your mom would kill me." Harry gasped as weight was put on his sliced leg. The blonde looked questionably at Harry and then at his leg. Color drained from his face and he looked like was going to puke.

"Oh-oh God, did the crash do that...did--oh holy..."

"No, it was the crash. I got it from a fight. The crash didn't hurt me."

"You were in a fight?" The guy looked at Harry with five-year-old awe. He resisted the urge to knock him unconscious. Police sirens were heard from afar and people were starting to gather around the crash.

"I'm Jonathan. Jonathan Goliath."

"Harry Potter." "I'm sorry about you're car, mate." Harry gave a backwards glance at "his" car and shrugged.

"Nah, don't worry, it's stolen anyways."

"It's stolen?" Another look of amazement.

One of the police car door opened and a skinny officer appeared. Harry stared. What happened to the donuts?

"Are you two men okay?" The tag on his breast pocket said McGhamee, Johnson. He lifted his hat in greeting and took out a notepad.

"Yeah. Yes, sir we're fine." Jonathan answered, relieved. Harry could tell the kid was polite...too polite perhaps. Johnson let out a low whistle.

"Sorry about your cars." "My mom's going to kill me for my car but Harry's is fine. It's only stolen," he said matter-of-factly. Harry's eyes bulged and he lifted a hand to smack Jonathan.

"Stolen?" The officer reached for his gun. Harry let out a frustrated groan and Jonathan froze at the sight of a gun.

"Put your hands in the air and don't move." The two of them raised their hands.

"No, not you blonde, the one with the glasses."

"Oh, great. Pick the four eyes." Harry said with annoyance.

"DON"T MOVE, I SAID!" yelled the constable.

"I'm not deaf!" Harry yelled back. Another cop went behind him and cuffed his hands. Jonathan looked at him with an apology written all over his face. Harry sighed. This was turning out to be a really bad day.

As the cops walked him to the police car, only one thought remained in his head.

Damn car.

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You should review. Know why? Cuz.

Yeah that’s right. I was the teenager who was clueless about HTML but learned to use it just so I could post stories for you. So review. Please.

2. Chapter 2

Damn Car

Viopathartic

A/N: Ooh I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: If you are any way offended by the topics discussed in this chapter, I apologize. These opinions are not of my own but were just put into this chapter for harmless humor.

Harry wondered if policemen were gay.

It’s something that has remained unanswered in society. The police department could easily install a metal detecting machine like the ones in the airport and ask the arrested person to pass through it. That way knifes, machetes (it has happened before), guns or any other weapons can be detected. But no, the policemen choose to “pat” them down, just to “make sure”. Right, more like to fulfill their most unreachable desires…

Harry was getting uncomfortable as he stood with his arms spread and feet separated. The police officer in question started with Harry’s upper body, giving a few taps to certain areas.

“I’m innocent. I’m innocent. I’m innocent.” Harry repeated with his voice monotonous for he had said this ever since they got out of the police car.

The officer continued to ignore him and moved his hand over to Harry’s bottom, “checking” for weapons. Immediately, feeling the man’s large hand on his buttocks, Harry jumped away.

Narrowing his eyes, he said with an irritable voice, “Watch it, buddy.” The constable, Jerry McPhee, glared in return.

“I’m only searching for weapons.”

“Why can’t I check myself?” The man rolled his eyes as if Harry was the stupidest person on Earth which annoyed him a lot.

“You, as a criminal, are not exactly reliable.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Oh yeah? How can you explain that bloody leg of yours?”

“A dog bite?”

“The bloody sword?”

“It’s for a play I’m doing.”

“With human blood—“

“Oh c’mon—“

“That is not yours.” The two men challenged each other with their eyes until Harry sighed with anxiety.

“Into the interrogation room with you.” McPhee pointed down the corridor. With one last glance, Harry noisily stomped his way to the end of the hall. As he continued on his way, the most brilliant plan came to him and he smiled what people would call his “evil smile”. He supposed if he was going to be here a long time, he may as well have fun.

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Harry looked at the two-way mirror with false awe. Thanks to some of Dudley’s crappy movies, Harry knew that on the other side were a bunch of skinny policemen. He stuck out his tongue, picked his nose, and was just about to moon them when the door opened.

“Alight, buddy. Sit your ass down.” Reluctantly, Harry sat down.

“Let’s start with your name.” The unknown man stared at Harry. Then, faking surprise, Harry asked, “Oh, you’re asking me? Well, gosh, usually people would say ‘What is your name?’ but I guess you’re not one of them.

“Funny boy, aren’t you? Now, I ask again, ‘What is your name?’”

“Osama Bin Laden.”

“Really, you don’t look like him,” said the man sarcastically.

“Oh, well plastic surgery could do anything for you these days!”

The questioner stared at him which made Harry smile even wider.

“Don’t I look purty?”

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“So I see your leg is injured.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Geez, no wonder you’re still an officer…”

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“That’s a very interesting scar you have on your forehead.”

“Really? Well, do you want one? You can borrow my sword if you like.”

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“This boy is a jackass! God, he won’t even answer the damn questions!” Greg said, throwing his hands up in the air. The team was in their quarters, all of them coming from the interrogation room. The others agreed; the car stealer was stubborn. Greg Sanders was the unofficial leader of the group. He was probably the most serious out of the five of them and the most controlling.

“Calm down, we’ll get to him sooner or later,” said Tyler Benson, the newest member and the most laid back. He balanced in his chair, throwing up a soft football up and down.

“It’s impossible! The guy won’t even speak—how can we find his identity—“

“I found his identity.” Patricia Evan cut in, holding a sheet of paper. Everyone looked at the fifth member of their group in surprise.

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“Harry Potter.”

“I would rather if you talked in complete sentences, but yes, that’s me.” Greg slowly walked around the table, pulled up a chair, and sat right in front of Harry.

“We finally found out who you are.”

“Apparently.” Harry crossed his arms on his chest and looked at the man with amusement.

“You are eighteen years old—“

“But mentally three-years-old!” Harry added in a sing-song voice.

“You lived with the Dursleys, your rightful guardian and aunt and uncle.”

“Bless them!”

“And apparently you went to St. Brutus.”

“I guess so,” Harry shrugged. Greg looked up at his response, but did not say anything else.

“What was it that made your guardians send you to a school for juvenile delinquents? Tell me what you think.”

“Tell you? Well, I did nothing!”

“Really? Did you do anything dangerous?”

“Well, if you count the dog incident…I didn’t know he would go for the homemade bomb that I made…and then Little Johnny on the street, I thought the days in the dumpster were good for him…and Dudley…who knew he couldn’t fly!”

To add more to the officer’s shock, Harry smiled with all his teeth.

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He took off all his clothes and stepped into the shower room.

A guard was stationed right next to his stall. Harry began to sing the Barney theme song in off-key tones.

“Will you shut the bloody hell up?” boomed a gruff voice after a few minutes

“Why don’t you leave, you nasty pervert?” Harry yelled back, scrubbing some of the rye soap onto his skin.

“I’m doing my job.”

“By looking at my bum?” He laughed rudely. “Go away.”

“You’re paranoid, Potter.”

I LOVE YOU

YOU LOVE ME
WE”RE A HAPPY FAMILY!!!

“Potter, I have a gun!”

“And I have my di—oops, how rude of me. Bad Potter.” Harry took a deep breath and continued to sing.

WITH A GREAT BIG HUG

AND A KISS FROM ME TO YOU

WON’T YOU SAY YOU LOVE ME

TOO!!!

Harry yelled the last part with all his might, adding in a classical falsetto. He stopped singing when he heard the door close. He smiled wickedly and continued to shower.

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Harry sat in the room, whistling “We Will Rock you” as loud as he could. Two guards stood at the entrance with their hands behind their back and their faces blank of emotion. As much as they hid it, Harry knew it was annoying them, seeing one of them flinch whenever Harry began a new bar. The door opened and the cranky bastard—what’s his name again—came out.

“Time for your mug shots, Potter.”

“Yippee!” Harry jumped up from his seat, feigning enthusiasm. Skipping towards the authorities and causing them to look at Harry as if he was crazy (which he probably was by now). He acted like he forgot something, putting a finger on his chin and turned to Greg. “Do you have a comb? I wanna send my pictures a Christmas card to the Dursleys.”

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In normal street called Privet Drive, an obese boy, his anorexic mother and his even more obese father sat in their normal home eating a normal family dinner. They turned on their normal TV and watched the normal news.

“Tsk Tsk…Angel dust…Thank God our little Dudley is not like that.” said Aunt Petunia distastefully. Unbeknownst to her, Dudley suddenly paled.

“Just eighteen too. Well, darling let’s change to another channel, I think it’s upsetting Dudley.” Petunia did as she was told. She lifted her fork up, but she froze when she saw the picture on her screen.

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Emma Granger sat in the corner, reading the latest Danielle Steele novel. Her husband worked on the couch, his eyes focused on his laptop. The news flashed by on their tube but none caught their attention.

“…Thanks, Sharon. And now, we move on to a tragic but at the same time humorous story in the arrest of a teenager named Harry Potter. At first the police found him in a car accident but arrested him after they found out he was in possession of a stolen car. Now in custody of police authority, he refuses to say anything. The department claims they identified him but have not yet figured out his past…”

“Dan, DAN!” Emma threw the book into her husband’s lap.

“What?”

“Isn’t that Hermione’s friend?” Dan looked at where she was pointed and his face soon turned into confusion. Hermione, who was baking some muffins in the kitchen, walked into the living room, wiping her hands on her apron.

“What is it, mum?” Learning quickly, she followed where her mum was pointing. Her eyes widening, she yelled,

“Holy fuck!”

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Harry lay in his bunk, smiling to himself. Jail isn’t that bad, he thought. So, now how should I act tomorrow? Harry laughed to himself, organizing a plan. Finding a small pencil, he wrote on the wall:

Monday: Schizophrenic act

Tuesday: Dramatic act

Wednesday: Multiple Personality Disorder act

Thursday: PMS mood

Friday: OCD

Saturday: Normal

Sunday: My Choice

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MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!!!

3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I'm J.K Rowling.

Believe me?

I don't think so.

Damn Car

Warning: Be prepared for my randomness. Again, no offense to any blondes, homosexuals, and well…no offense to anyone who reads this. Keep in mind, this is a humor fic, but it doesn’t necessarily reflect my opinions. Materials used in this is just be for comedic effect.

Though...I don't think this chapter will be THAT funny...I'll let you guys be the judge.

The guard patrolling Cells D-J walked with booming authority as he called out, “Alright, get up!”

Groans and swears called out in response. Ben smiled. This was a typical morning at London’s penitentiary for the 25 year-old. Dad was wrong. This is the best job. Of course his father thought the opposite. As it is the same with every parent, James Cordon wanted his son to follow in his footsteps to become a chemical engineer. But truth was, Ben wasn’t smart enough. Cs and Ds all through high school.

One day, while Ben was waiting for the tube to transport him to Wendy’s, the place where he worked as a cashier, he spotted a lone rock next to his left foot. Feeling oddly curious, he bent down and examined it for a few minutes. Doing this had suddenly encouraged Ben to reflect on his life. What am I doing with my life? Do I want to count change forever? Do I want to ask "How may I help you" or "Want fries with that?" every single day of my life?

“No,” he yelled out loud, causing a nun nearby to look at him alarmingly. With indomitable courage, he retraced his steps into the town, yelled for a taxi, and told the driver to escort him to the local police department.

And here he is today, acting as the babysitter of 20 grown men. God I love this job. Smiling to every convict he saw (which earned him a few birdies), he stopped at a cell with no letter. Reflecting on what his boss said to him yesterday, he remembered. This was the cell of that new smart-ass. Harry Popper? Porter? Ah, well. He seemed to cause a lot of uproar in the detectives’ room.

Putting on a smile, he unlocked the cell with his keys. It was dark; no light is provided in the cell because of a suicide attempt involving electrocution that happened a long time ago. Ben had to squint just to see an outline. Suddenly he felt himself being pushed backwards. His back hit the cold, hard steel metal bars that separated the men from their freedom. He groaned from its impact.

“Get away from me!” His unknown pusher growled.

“Calm down, sir. I’m only here to take you down for breakfast.”

“Should we trust him?” Popper/Porter/whatever whispered, though Ben wondered to whom. Unsurprisingly, no one answered.

“No, he might try to kill me!”

“No! No sir, I’m only escorting you,” Ben tried to reason. “My name is Ben Cordon. I’m a security guard and I’m assigned to your cell.”

A warm hand covered his mouth, preventing him from speaking. “Shut up! He’s trying to speak.” Ben’s eyes widened, swiveling from left to right. What is he on? Who’s speaking?

“So I should kill him.” A muffle scream came from Ben.

“Really?”

The man seemed to be unsure of the speaker, wherever he/she was. Then, apparently deciding Ben was trustworthy, the man released him. He took a hold of Ben’s hand and shook it profusely. And he smiled.

“Hello. My name is Harry. Nice to meet you. I’m going down to breakfast now.”

“U-ugh…uhh….”

“Bye!” Harry gave Ben a cheerful wave and quickly left his cell. He smiled to himself, actually enjoying the act of schizophrenia. Now, to full his “neighbors”…

All Ben Cordon could do was run.

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“Greg…” Patricia called nervously, as she knocked on his office door. His voice called out in return. Taking a deep breath, Patricia stepped in, holding a manila folder with the name HARRY POTTER on it.

“Greg, I thought you should know something about this Harry Potter kid we’re taking care of.”

Greg briefly looked up from a report he was writing and then glanced back down. Harry Potter was a mystery alright. A kid, who seemingly has been missing for the past five years, a thief, and possibly a murderer, ends up in his jail. How convenient since this was the most important time in Greg’s police career. He has been well aware that Arnold McDonald was retiring from his position as the Chief. The only good candidates were him and his arch-nemesis.

Bradley Feruton. Bastard. Indisputable arrogant, self-centered, boastful, all around jack ass—

“Greg!”

“You’ve been scowling at that paper for minutes! Is something up?”

“Nah, nothing. So, what about Potter?”

“It seems like he’s schizophrenic.”

WHAT? But he seemed perfectly fine yesterday! This news was unbelievable. He voiced his opinion.

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m scheduling him for an appointment with Dr. Kern.”

His ears perked. Dr. Kern…whoo, she’s hot! Patricia could just read his mind and was unable to fight the monster of jealousy creeping below. She tried to deny magnetism to her closest partner for 7 years. For some reason, she found herself attracted to Greg’s dry humor, his passion for fighting crime, and the adorable way his eyes twitch when he gets angry. But no. Greg was attracted to the blondes and sadly, she was a brunette.

“Greg.”

“Erm…yeah! What?”

Patricia sighed, “Nothing.” Throwing the files onto his desk (with a little more ferocity than intended), she turned and left his office.

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Harry grabbed a rotten apple as he moved down the breakfast line. He added a convulsing twitch just for an effect. His fellow jail mates distinctly slid down the line, making sure to get away from Harry. He stopped in front of a large lunch lady with 2 faces. Her first face was, to say in the kindest words, the cousin of Hephaestus. Her black eyes appeared crooked and were the color of a possessed human (think Supernatural). The lady was growing a mustache. Oh how nice.

Her second face was located at the corner of her lips. It had brown hair and was very large.

And she smiled. Got teeth?

“Here you go, sweeties,” she said in a raspy tone.

Harry smiled and twitched again. He began to walk away. Making sure he was whispering loud enough, he began his act.

“Get a knife? Why?”

“To kill her?” The lunch lady looked up in alarm. The spoon that she was holding dripped of something that looked oddly like vomit. Harry also caught the attention of the man she was serving to.

“No, no, no, she’s too pretty.”

“Yes, sir. How about the man in front of her?”

Harry made a point of by staring intently at-he supposed- Fred. Fred jumped when he saw him.

“You’re right. I’ll kill him at night.” Harry shrugged and grabbed the knife.

He felt like Kreacher.

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“Oh look who it is. The schizophrenic kid.”

Harry glanced up from his lunch tray when he noticed the person’s shadow. The man (Brett?) was bald and appeared to be about 6 feet, a few inches taller than Harry. On his left arm, he had a tattoo of a bloody sword. He reminded him of that steroid induced mini me. All he needed was a sailor’s suit.

“I didn’t know you knew such vocabulary. You could have been an English teacher,” Harry said in a bored tone, forgetting about his schizophrenia. Being a person with impairments in the perception or expression of reality and social or occupational dysfunction is really really hard.

“Oh, he talks. Thought the only thing you could do was twitch.”

“Well no. In order to twitch, I must breathe, and in order to breathe, my lungs and heart have to work. In order for my lungs and heart to work, my brain has to work. In order for my brain—“

A fat hand slammed in front of Harry’s lunch tray. His rotten apple was thrown to the ground and a meaty boot squashed it to apple sauce. Harry looked up innocently,

“Yes?”

“Shut it!” Brett growled in Harry’s ear.

“Shut what? My eyes? Are we playing ‘Hide and Go seek’,” He covered his eyes. “One, two, three…”

He felt himself being lifted from his chair. A hand was around his throat, and it doesn't take a genius to figure that Brett was trying to choke him.

“I said shut it. Now if you don’t then I will kill you.”

And I thought he'd play nice.

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Another guard was reading the newspaper when a shout was heard from the room next door. He immediately called for back up and ran to see the situation. A holoi polloi of men circled the new boy, Harry Potter and one of their old catches, Brett Johansen. The doors automatically locked themselves, holing all of the men inside the cafeteria.

Men yelled and shouted such things like "Go kill him, Brett!" or "He's gonna die!" It was becoming obvious that the guards would never be able to get through the crowd. No matter how much they pushed and yelled, their bats were useless against the murderers and robbers locked inside.

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"This isn't necessary, Brett!" Harry managed to say, his voice choked and sore.

"This isn't necessary," Brett mocked. “You sound like a nun. Innocent little boy. I wonder why you're in jail. What did you do? Steal candy from a baby?"

"Well, yessss...except I stole a car instead. Plus the murder charge..."

Not believing a word Harry said, Brett continued to laugh. Harry was getting a bit angsty. Without a word, he delivered a swift kick to his attacker's crotch. As expected, the man went down, releasing him.

Harry massaged his throat, glad to have his breathing ability back. But the "fun" wasn't over yet. Cronies, most of them reminding him of Malfoy's playmates, closed around him with menacing looks. Aw fuck.

"You're gonna pay, Potter." said the nearest (and ugliest, Harry thought) goon.

Harry smiled. "Sorry, don't have any money on me." And he leapt from his crouched position and swung his right leg around in a semicircular motion, striking with the front of his foot. Hephaestus collapsed to his knees, holding his face with both hands. Sensing he was at an advantage, Harry swung his left fist into the opponent's stomach, temporarily knocking the wind out of him.

Huh. I have to thank Remus for that. During the summer, since he was the "Chosen One', Remus Lupin decided to train Harry in defense and magic. Obviously, the five hour work-outs and intense dueling without wands had paid off. At first, Harry was as clumsy as Hephaestus; he ended up with bruises all over. Sadly, a majority was from Hermione. But after a few months, he got the hang of it.

On instinct, Harry turned around only to find himself face to face with a horde of men. And they looked pissed.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit. SHIT!

Like a regiment in the Revolutionary War, all of them charged at Harry, intending to give the teenager what he deserves. Harry was afraid that he would meet the same fate as his apple.

Now, Harry was exactly smart in this situation. Instead of apparating, like a usual wizard would do, he decided running on top of the tables was his safest bet. After all, when you're about to be killed you wouldn't just take a seat and ponder the elaborate escape plans.

So there he went, jumping and leaping across this table and then that table. But the men just ran through like Macks on a highway. Harry was cornered, literally having his back against the wall and waiting for his death. He closed his eyes, wondering how the bloody hell he ended up here.

Then suddenly, he had a revelation. He was bloody Harry Potter. Huh. Who would have thought that? He was the one who fought Voldemort at the age of one. He was the one who retrieved the Sorcerer's Stone after nearly being killed by his twitchy professor. He battled against a diary version (as ridiculous as it sounds) of Voldemort at 12 years of age. And he---

Aw, hell. Time to meet your maker.

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"Holy shit, look at him go."

"Ouch, that's gotta hurt."

"Hehe, man that's gonna show tomorrow."

The captain of the guards walked out from his office, his gaze fixated on his clipboard. He didn't notice his workers until he heard them cheer. Bewildered, he looked around for a small television. Usually his employees cheered only when a football game or a wrestling match was on. However, there was neither in sight. The captain stood there staring until he finally looked past his buffoons and saw a fight currently in session. A teenager, it seems, was beating the shit out of the other convicts...and the guards are doing nothing about it.

His face turned a deep shade of purple as he marched behind his nearest officer. He hit the guy with his clipboard and that got his attention.

"Git yo ass in there!"

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Bodies of unconscious fools were scattered around the room. Many were sporting bruises. Some were starting to wake. The rest…out cold. Harry stood with the one who started all, planning to knock the daylight out of him.

"Stop!!!"

Shit. Harry released his hold on Brett and loosened his grip on the plastic knife. Greg Sanders was holding a gun in his hands and looked ready to shoot.

"You're in deep shit."

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Greg watched in confusion as the boy dropped his knife, but still had a firm grip on Brett.

"I can't stop. He made me!"

Now Greg really believed Harry was schizophrenic.

"Let him go, Potter."

"No...He says to hurt Brett and that's what I'm doing."

"Hey let go of me man!" Brett pleaded. "No!" Harry answered back, aiming a punch right to his nose. Brett learned never to mess with a schizophrenic kid.

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Harry sat in front of the two-way mirror, occasionally twitching and looking over his shoulders. He was aware of the two officers watching from behind the mirror but they weren't.

Greg stood with his arms crossed over his chest. The psychologist was expected to appear some time tomorrow, but right now, it was the police departments turn to "analyze" the "patient".

However, the two found out their task would not be that easy. After every question asked, Harry would either a)twitch, b)Say "He made me.", or c) stare as if Greg was the most fascinating creature (which he was not) in the whole world.

Damnit, Sanders thought with a slight edge of bitterness.

"Watch it boy. If I was alone with you, I would have had my way with you."

"Have his way with me? Preposterous, what is wrong with him?" Harry hissed out loud. Greg looked at his mates with a confused expression. None of them had ever dealt with a schizophrenic person; therefore it was alittle uncomfortable.

"Ah yes, another gay bastard. Yes, yes, I'll kill him tonight."

"And how will you do that? You'll be in your cell." His officer smirked.

Harry let out his best crazy cackle. Greg stumbled back in surprise.

"Lock your doors tonight, Sanders. We're coming." he sang.

Alrighty then. All I could say is review if you have time.

And...be prepared for Dramatic!Harry...hehehe this is gonna be fun.

4. Chapter 4

Damn Car

Viopathartic

"What are you doing?" Dr. Kern had to ask as she watched her murderer and/or schizophrenic patient. Harry Potter was currently searching the room, muttering about something along the lines of "candles".

Harry, finally finding some candlesticks hidden in a compartment of the desk, placed the candles on its surface and headed over to the curtains. With a swoosh, he closed the drapes so that the room was now completely rid of light.

"Trying to be emo. Duh." Harry turned around and stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why are you--" The doctor was speechless, her mind momentarily frozen as she watched Harry sit down in the farthest corner from her seat and lit two candlesticks. Next, Harry pulled out a book, which looked suspiciously like The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. His elbow rested on the armchair of the burgundy colored chair, and his cheek leant against his palm. Strands of raven colored hair fell forward and obscured part of his face.

"Er...alright." In school, people learned that psychologists were always to remain cool, calm, and unaffected. They would deal with all cases with the same behaviour, regardless of the case. But this...this was just too weird for her. "Now, Harry, you have been admitted to jail because of a murder charge. Why did you decide to "commit" such a crime?"

"Because..." Harry made a dramatic gesture with his hand. "Because...life...is full of misery and nothingness. Everyone will die sooner or later and will suffer in hell. There is no heaven, but just a bottomless pit of fire, pleading sinners, and perpetual life of pain. You and I will end up there eventually."

After he answered, he cast his head down, let out a dramatic sigh, and stared into the flickering light from the candles.

"I-interesting perspective of life."

"Thank you," Harry mumbled solemnly.

"Now I would--"

Harry stood straight up from his chair, so sudden that the furniture piece almost flipped over. He flicked his hair back and raised his arms to the heavens...if there were any in his depressed, morbid thoughts...

"A blackened sky amongst the wind--
speckled crystals light the way.
My hand is reaching for the moon
and clutched within reality.

A needful peace I wish to feel
but only demons bare their teeth.
A grave is dug for every painful
thought that dwells inside of me.

A mirrored imprint of the beast--
sacrifice of lulling screams.
I live this life and bare these scars
wallow in this barren tomb.

Shadows flit through somber eyes and
breathe the life that's lead by death.
Gloom is lacing burning veins that
comfort me with blood soaked hands.

Wolfish howls bouncing off of
boney tree's of melting ice.
Watch me fall into this waste
of vile sickened lustful hate.

This whitened world sheds light on pain,
mystic beauty shall enfold.
A blanket wrapped around my corpse
shrouded in these pale, bleak thoughts.

Thorns are sharp and pierce my skin,
they wrap around my pulsing lungs.
Growing, piercing, bleeding, spreading
encasing flesh of mournful dreams.

I've fallen far and lost my way,
I wandered down a darkened hall.
Met by fate and led astray,
I took a path to no return.

Moonlight dances high and bright,
bowing, leaping through my brain.
My heart is pounding in my chest-
intensity of endless strife.
I see the fear, it's just in sight
confronted by a wielding knife.

My wings are spread and painted black,
claimed by death, there's no way back.
I sold away my trust to him and
thought he was a harmless man.

Now I'm trapped inside a world of
veiling beauty midst despair.
Above my shell I wait to see
the angel of my dying wake.

One last glance upon my corpse,
splattered walls of past affliction.
My throat is cut to bleed the shame
a gutted cadavar, hung and bled.

No remorse, he mocks the hurt--
the hurt I tried so hard to hide.
Now I lay me down in death with
nightmares whispered in my head.

An evil grin and bleeding eyes,
toying with his hunting knife.
My body's stiff with rigor mortis,
a kiss upon these cold, blue lips.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Remnants float at heaven's door.
But! (Harry cried out!)
Something holds me down in place
I'm bound here screaming in this state.

Harry swooped down on Dr. Kern, slapping his hands on both sides of the armrest. The female doctor leaned back in fear.

"I pound my fists against the glass
that separates my hopeful quest.
I'm looking close, I see myself,
reflection of a broken soul."

Once the poem was finished, Harry collapsed to the floor and began to sob into his hands. As discreetly as possible, Kern slid her chair away from the pitiful creature on the floor.

"Harry. Mr. Potter, you must stand up and sit down so that we can finish this session." And so that I can quit my job, she thought mentally.

"I can't!" He sobbed even harder, sniffing (or snorting) loudly and pretending to wipe of imaginary snot with the sleeve of his jail suit.

"Why can't you?"

"I can't live without him!"

Oh. Dear. Lord.

"Who?" Dr. Kern gently tried to ask. The doctor has now lost the point of the session.

"Fred!"

"The guy who you beat up last week?"

"He was going to leave me." Harry mumbled before blowing his nose.

"Did you know him before getting admitted to this jail?"

"No," he explained, "but I knew I loved him. And now--And now--" Harry obnoxiously blew his nose. Dr. Kern tried to hold back the bile that was rising into her throat. He dropped to his knees and yelled out, "Oh woe is me!"

Dr. Kern briskly announced that their session was over. Harry hid his smirk as the doctor scurried out of the room. The officer, who was escorting him, stared perplexingly after her and then at Harry.

"Let's go."

Both of them made their way through the lobby to go to the cell room. They were almost there until a voice called out.

Harry's eyes widened.

He saw the red-haired monster coming closer. He felt his lungs being squeezed together and his body felt as if it was no longer his. He wanted...no, needed to get away. Away now. Away, away, away...NOW!

Why was she here? She didn't need to be here. He didn't want her here. So why doesn't she just leave him the fuck alone?

"Harry!" She exclaimed in her oh-so-annoying voice.

Harry acted quick and grabbed the nearest officer by the back of his neck. With such force, he brought the head down so that it would make contact with the edge of a desk. The injured officer groaned and slumped to the floor. His other team mate had seen this and immediately rushed to the scene. His gun was in his hands but his eyes remained on Harry.

"Now, son, don't do anything rash. Step away from--"

"Arrest me or I'll blow this guy's head off!"

The officer must have misheard. One: why did he want to be arrested? Two: The guy didn't even have a gun. "What--?"

"ARREST ME, GODDAMMIT!"

The officer saw that the teenage was getting distressed which could increase the amount of damage that he was capable of doing.

"Harry Potter, you are under arrest for the assault of a legal officer. You have--"

"Yeah, yeah let's skip that and put me in the slammer...NOW!" Harry, with his handcuffs still being put on, dragged the officer into the cell room, quickly slamming the door shut with his foot and leaning all of his weight against the door.

To answer the question that was written all over the officer's face, Harry breathed out, "Ex-girlfriend. Pyschomaniac. Never let her come near me or I will commit suicide in various ways."

"I don't understand!" Ginny whined, stomping her foot on the floor as she stood outside the jail.

"Oh no, it didn't work," Hermione whispered as she sat inside her father's car, watching Ginny. Remus, Ron, and Mr. Weasley accompanied her while they waited for her to come back.

"I told her. Harry broke up with her...three times. At Dumbledore's funeral, at Bill and Fleur's wedding, and right before he left (which was a month ago). But noooo...she insists that she would be able to get Harry out of jail."

"She just wants to see him and she's trying to get back together with Harry. She's not doing anything to help!" Hermione yelled, punching the dashboard with her fist.

She decided that it was enough.

"I'm going in!"

"But you can't apparate! This jailhouse is under Ministry of Magic's protection. There's anti-apparition wards all around.

"Do you think I'll be stupid enough to do that? Honestly," Hermione hissed, getting out of the driver's side of the car and slamming it shut. As she passed Ginny, the red-haired girl snatched her by the arm.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Getting my best friend out of there and let go!"

"Oh no! I'm his girlfriend; I should be the one doing it!"

"News flash, you impudent girl! He broke up with you. He doesn't need you."

Hermione yanked her arm away and continued on until she was finally inside the jailhouse.

She met an officer in the lobby and he asked what she needn't.

"Harry Potter, please."

The officer, who was at the hands of Harry a moment before, immediately stiffened. His eyes flashed.

"I'm sorry, that is not possible."

"But I need to see him."

When Hermione realized the officer was not going to let her see him, she rushed past him, blindly running into the very area where Harry was staying.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed in surprise, getting up from the floor.

Hermione smiled, but their reunion was short-lived.

"Hey, Miss, I said you weren't allowed to see Harry Potter!" The officer approached Hermione from behind and lifted her by her arms.

"Hey!" Hermione exclaimed, her legs kicking as they left the ground. She struggled to break free, moving her hands and feet. While doing this, she "accidently" leaned back her head, smashing the officer's nose. Harry winced when he heard the crack and couldn't help but cover his crotch when Hermione's leg swung backwards right into...there.

The officer collapsed to his knees, his face turning dark shade of red. Hermione backed away, covering her mouth as she realized what she had just done.

"Oh no, oh no. Harry! W-what should I do?" The man continued to whimper in pain as Hermione continued to panic.

"Hermione! You're a witch!" Harry said, his mind immediately remembering back in first year when Harry and Ron were trapped in the Devil's Snare and Hermione was too worried to use her mind.

Hermione didn't seem to hear. Harry banged his head against the railing. It was no use. Even as he banged his head once...twice...three times, he could hear the hurried steps that sounded closer and closer.

Next thing he knew, Harry had a new roommate.

I cannot take credit for the little "emo" poetry in the middle. I took it off of a site. The poem was called Drained of Life and written by Nymphetamine Girl.

Hope you liked it.

Vio

5. Chapter 5

Damn Car

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updates. My funny bone was broken.

HAHAHA!!!!

Get it? Funny bone?

Alright, most of you guys probably forgot about me because of my lack of updates so I suggest you go and read all of Damn Car and if you would like my other stories to. I also have some great (maybe?) news that you guys should read at the end of the story.

For flamers who are just waiting to set this story on fire, I just want to let you know that I accept the fact that you hate me. I cry myself to sleep every SINGLE DAY because some people on the internet hate me.

Uhh..no. Just don't bother.

Also…this story is for fun. FUN, people. Yeah, there is some OOC in this one but c'mon, it's everywhere.

I hope you find this chapter funny.

The day was Wednesday and what a lovely Wednesday it was. Factories of mass production were emitting greenhouse gases into the air. Convenience stores were getting robbed every 23 seconds. The jailhouse was full with lively sorts of people!

And if you listened closely, you could hear an odd sound coming from Cell With No Letter.

Thud.

"Will you stop kicking me, Harry?!?"

Harry made a disgruntled noise and plopped back onto his cot, looking seriously put out. Hermione sighed agitatedly as she paced the inside of her friend's cell with her eyes closed.

She muttered, "Now all we have to do is wait for someone to come by, cast the memory charm, and then apparate out."

"But I don't want to get out."

Hermione stopped moving and turned to look at her friend with narrowed eyes. He was currently lying with his hands behind his head, looking quite content for a fellow in jail for a murder charge.

"How, pray tell, can you possibly like being inside a cell for 24 hours?"

Harry snorted. "Beats getting chased by some black-cloaked weirdoes who clearly do not have any other hobbies."

"Harry, you are going crazy. We will get out of here, find the Horcruxes and then...oh bullocks!"

Harry giggled. Yes, giggled, which caused Hermione to look at him as if he was loony...which I am, thought Harry proudly. "You said bullocks."

Hermione made a small growl of frustration. "Harry, I HAVE to get us out of here. You're losing the remainder of the few brain cells you possessed by staying in this dirty bin. But I can't because you were on the news so everyone knows you're gone---we can't cast a memory charm on everyone!"

Harry smirked, "The Boy-Who-Lived. The Boy-Who-Killed. Has a nice ring to it, I admit."

She ran her hands along the wall in wonder. There were words on the wall but they can't be read. She angled her body so that light could make way and shine on the darkened words. "What's this?"

Harry turned his head and smiled. He jumped off his cot and went over to her, explaining, "My schedule, of course. I CANNOT afford to miss one day, you know." He informed her of this as if his being in jail was an important matter in life.

"Monday: Schizophrenic Act."

"Me and Harry are WONDERFUL actors," Harry said in a child's voice.

"Tuesday: Dramatic Act."

"The light shines through your busy hair and lights you up life fire. Burn...Hark!" Harry turned dramatically, successfully whacking Hermione at the back of her head but not noticing.

"Please tell me that was not from a well-known poet," Hermione muttered, rubbing her head, "or else, hope for an intelligent society of people will forever be nonexistent."

She turned her attention back to the "schedule". "Wednesday, Multiple Personality Disorder Act...isn't that today?" Her arrest had taken place yesterday and yes, she had to spend a night in a cell with Harry.

Harry nodded enthusiastically.

He continued to smile, moving his eyes from the wall to her as if signifying something.

"Yes?" Hermione asked flatly at his look.

"Do it with me," he answered.

"Excuse me?"

Realizing the many implications that could derive from his previous statement, Harry stuttered and managed, "I mean...pretend you have two or more personalities with me."

Hermione absently traced the words of his schedule as she considered his invitation.

"I suppose it won't hurt....Remus and Ron will get us out of here soon..."

"That's right," he agreed.

"And my parents will never know...right?"

"Absolutely," Harry said. He turned and plopped down onto his cot, fixing an expectant look on Hermione.

"So this was what you did for the past two days? Execute these acts of yours?"

Harry nodded and Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

"Tell me what happened."

He went on to explain how he ended up in jail in detail, being sure to include the genius Jonathan Goliath and the incident with the car.

"On Monday, I acted as Kreacher and ended up getting chased by my fellow inmates, which led me to deck one of my inmates in the face. After, I was interrogated by a bastard named Greg Sanders.

"On Tuesday, I was subjected to one on one time with a psychiatrist because for some ODD reason, they thought I needed mental help. That session led to the resignation of Dr. Kern and my arrest...again...and then yours."

"Now we're here in my cave. The end."

Hermione shook her head for the hundredth time and said, "Now you want me to "act" with you?"

Instead of answering, Harry stood up and pulled Hermione up from the cot. "Choose your personalities. Let's start from there."

"Alright." Hermione bit her lip in that adorable way of hers and began to walk around, voicing her ideas to Harry.

Slowly, an evil smirk appeared on her face.

"I can be Jane."

Harry nodded encouragingly, "Jane. That's a nice name. And what will she be?"

Her smirk grew more pronounced as she took leisure steps towards Harry. Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and slowly dragged it up to the back of his neck.

"Jane will be a seductress...a mistress...someone who only serves..." She pulled him forward while taking a step. Instinctively, Harry wrapped his arms around her waist. "Master Harry," she breathed into his right ear. Harry chuckled nervously.

"I think I'll like that," he whispered in the same manner. Hermione stepped back, much to Harry's disappointment, and smiled normally. She reached up with her arms and took Harry's glasses off the crook of his nose.

"Or I can be Bertha." She snorted. "Ugly Bertha."

"You can never be ugly," he suddenly said, causing Hermione to look at him oddly. He tried not to blush but he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

Hermione smiled awkwardly and handed him back his glasses.

"Or...I can also be schizophrenic Susie."

"Sorry, I was schizophrenic Sam the other day."

"Ashley?"

"Like, yeah, like, I'm, like Ashley," Hermione said airily, twirling a strand of her hair. Harry laughed, throwing an arm across her shoulders.

"Perfect."

For an hour or so, the two "rehearsed" their roles and decided that they were ready to perform.

"Granger, Hermione."

She turned around, "Yes?" The voice came from the security office that was located far from the cells.

"Interrogation room 5 is waiting for you," Hermione stood up and was about to leave, but Harry pulled at her hand.

"Don't worry, Just have fun, you know? I mean, you're only in jail once in a lifetime," he paused then added, "unless you're a compulsive drug addict. Let loose and just act like Jane, Bertha, and Ashley."

"Potter, someone's here to see you," yelled the same rough voice from down the hall. The cell door opened and the sound of keys jiggling and heavy footsteps came closer and closer to their cell.

"Just a minute, honey!" Harry yelled back, ignoring Hermione's giggles.

"POTTER!"

"Sweetums, if you want me to come, you'll have to be patient."

He turned back to Hermione and mockingly rolled his eyes, taking on his best imitation of her. "Honestly, boys!"

Harry sneered, causing the constable to take a step back from him.

Petunia nodded stiffly, seemingly afraid that her nephew might jump and kill her, even though there was a glass wall between them. Harry lifted up his phone and said dully, "Hello darling."

Petunia glared at him, feeling more secure to see two constables standing aside. "A killer! What have you done, boy? I already saw you on the telly and was about to just ignore you and the news. But then, a constable called me up and demanded my presence here!"

Harry rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he wanted her here. "Are you going to get me out of here, then?"

"Never! You can rot in jail for all I care!" Wow. What a bitch.

Harry nodded very casually while clearing his throat.

Gearing up for his next act, he took on a low, menacing voice.

"Yo, where my drugs at, foo?" His slang sounded a bit odd since he still had a slight British accent.

Petunia jumped in her seat, letting the phone fall from her grip. Her eyes darted around to check if anyone had heard. Thankfully, no one. She whispered, "W-what?"

"My drugs. Give'me my drugs, foo. Ain't there?" Unfortunately, Harry decided to speak loudly, quickly catching the attention of the guards.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about, I--"

"WHAT???" Harry yelled in his loudest voice, causing the other perps and visitors to look at him in an alarmed manner. "YOU DON'T GOT MY DRUGS? WHAT KINDA DEALER ARE YOU, FOOL?" He threw down the phone (just to make things more "legit") and flipped back his chair.

He nodded at the constable in his most "ghetto" way. "Yo, let's blow this joint!"

Once he was out of the visitor room, he laughed out loud, now thinking about how scared his aunt must've looked. He didn't notice that he was now alone in the corridor and without the escort that he left with.

Meanwhile:

Hermione, though she was nervous, tried to remain calm as she stepped into Interrogation Room #5. A man with short blond hair was already seated at the table and grimaced once he saw her. Well, that was rude.

"Hello. My name is Greg Sanders and I just want to ask a few questions."

Hermione nodded, opting not to speak so that she could get ready for her first role.

"What is your relationship with Harry Potter?"

"You mean, Master Harry," corrected Jane in a sultry voice, crossing her legs.

Greg resisted the urge to shudder. "Master Harry? W-What does that mean?"

"Means Master Harry has been my master for seven yearssss. Since I was eleven." Jane smiled seductively, feeling triumph at the look of disgust on Sanders' face.

"Ms. Granger, are you aware that Potter--"

"Master Harryyyy," she purred. Wow, I actually purred, thought Hermione.

"M-master H," began Greg, but he just couldn't finish it, "Er, are you aware that Potter is a very violent and angry person?"

Jane smirked and nodded, uncrossing and crossing her legs once more. She threw her hair back just for an extra measure. "Why, of course. I remember the first time we had an "encounter". We were both 15 and we were mostly alone in his godfather's house. Master Harry was very aggressive but he didn't hurt me that much," explained "Jane".

Greg spluttered. 15?!? He didn't do it until he was 26...last year. "Are you saying--" He wasn't able to get the words out of his mouth. Instead, he stood up and turned to face the two-way mirror that everyone knew was a two-way mirror but still thinks it's just a plain old mirror. He mouthed "help" to his teammates watching. Greg knew they would get a file for him right away. Taking a deep breath and smoothing out his tie, he turned around...

And was confused.

The Granger girl was now wearing glasses that looked suspiciously like...

"Ms. Granger, is that--"

"Bertha." Snort.

Greg looked around. "No, your name is Hermione."

"Bertha. B-E-R-T-H-A. Pronounced BER-thah. It is of Old German origin, and its meaning is "bright, famous". It is also the Latin version of a Continental Germanic name. The name Bertha is related to the name of a Teutonic goddess. The name probably existed in England before the Conquest, and was reinforced by Norman use, but fell out of use in the 15th century. It was reintroduced into the English-speaking world by Germany in the 19th century," recited "Bertha" in one breath.

Greg stared, and then shook his head. "Bertha. Right."

Bertha snorted, "Yeah."

"Back to Potter."

"And now, let's continue to discuss the matter of Harry Potter."

"What?"

"Speak in even syllables, please!"

"WHAT?"

"Continue please. Por favor. S'il vous plaît. Bitte. Per favore. Alstublieft. Behag. Onegai. All--"

"Shut up."

"Yo no comprendo inglés."

Greg grinded his teeth despite what his dentist had told him about this bad habit.

"Let's get back to the matter of this interrogation," suggested Greg, the image of a large beer floating in his mind.

"I can't. I have a phobia for that."

Greg REALLY wanted to smack Bertha. "What phobia? Interrophobia?"

"No." Snort. "Gregsmoronicphobia."

"Alright. I am a government official and you as a suspect must obey the laws of our government. If you do not answer any of my questions, consequences will be dire. Now I demand that you answer truthfully and honestly!"

"He has a weapon," she whispered almost inaudibly, requiring Greg to lean forward so that he could catch her words.

"A weapon?"

"Yeah, yeah. And it's like, cool..."

"Can you describe this...weapon?" Greg said, hoping that something comprehensible would come out of her mouth.

"Well...it was long..." 'Ashley' began, pretending to concentrate hard.

"And it was like...that big," 'Ashley' demonstrated the length with her hands. She giggled.

"Someone shoot me," muttered Greg as his head hit the top of the table. A minute of silence passed before the suspect spoke again.

"Hey..."

Greg glanced up. Maybe she changed her mind (or whatever was inside that head of hers) and now wanted to tell him about Harry Potter.

"Yes?"

"Wouldn't you, like, need a gun for that?"

Viopathartic has created a website. On this website, you can learn more about my fics and about me. There's also a forum (Let's Talk), a guestbook, blog, and a recommendation page. For the blog I will be posting updates on the writing of my fics so that everyone will know what I'm thinking of doing and possibly give me some tips. I'm trying this new thing where everyone can help me write a new fic for Harry Potter and it's located in the forum. We can discuss from Harry Potter related to random things in that forum. I want to connect all of the H/Hr fans by creating this website.

Please leave a message in the guestbook so that know at least one person actually went and checked out my site.

http://viopathartic.webs.com/

Thank you for reading this chapter and keep an eye out for the next one. I don't think I have said this before but I love all of the people who read my fics and really appreciate your patience! Your support keeps me going!

6. Chapter 6

Damn Car

Viopathartic

A/N:

Enjoy =)

Harry and Hermione were in their cell, again, after Greg had all but pushed the two back inside. For some strange reason, Sanders seemed angry at them. Maybe it was because Ashley had sung the lyrics of Hit Me Baby One More Time as they walked back from the interrogation room. Maybe it was because she also took on the form of Jane and immediately ran into the arms of "Master Harry" in the presence of Greg. Or maybe it was because Harry, as José, had intentionally smacked Sanders' bum on the way out.

Who knows.

I need a drink, Sanders thought miserably, dragging himself from his desk to the refreshment lounge.

"Hey Greg!"

He opted to feign deafness but considering the fact that the person was five feet away from him...

"Yes, Patricia?"

"Are we any closer to the trial?"

Greg reached for the handle of the fridge and opened it, ducking his head so that he could take a look inside. It was nearly barren—only three bottles of pop and one container of some questionable food was in there. His mum's cooking. "What trial?"

"Trial for Harry Potter," Patricia answered in an obvious manner.

He slammed the fridge door shut with his foot, and popped the cap of the soda. Greg vigorously shook his head, "I never had the time! I had to deal with this kid's smart alec attitude, his schizophrenia, his dramatic "oh damn I'm depressed,' mood, and his split personalities. Do you honestly think I had time to book a trial?

"Besides," he threw his dinner onto a nearby table, "we couldn't find a trace of blood on the fucking sword. No one has even paid attention to the case because they thought it was a joke. No attorney wants to defend Potter...I bet his own mother doesn't even want to!"

Greg took a deep breath. "This boy is not a killer. He's just mad."

He sat down and prepared to eat the meatloaf meal that his mum had packed him. Greg turned around, finger on the lid. "Evans. What is it now?"

Patricia was still there, deciding on how she should break the news. Sanders seemed to not want to do anything.

"Evans," Greg said in a warning tone.

"The Grangers are in the interrogation room. I think you have Hermione Granger under your watch?"

Greg blanched, much to the confusion of Patricia, profusely shaking his head.

"Her parents! I have to deal with that sicko and her perverted 'master', now you're making me meet her parents?"

Patricia frowned. "I'm not making you. You're the one in charge here."

Greg's expression lightened up. "Oh. Right."

He discreetly got up, whistling casually. "Well, I'm going to take my lunch break...didn't eat anything."

"Lunch break at 6? Why didn't you take it during say...lunch time? Besides, your mother packed you some dinner."

"Oh, well...I'm still hungry. Also I had to visit my pet at the hospital. My bird was terribly sick--spouting up hairballs and--"

Patricia skeptically raised an eyebrow. "Interesting bird you got there. I didn't know birds had hair."

"Well...he had a cat as a mother and a bird as a father...one of the rarest hybrids. Yes, that's it."

"You've got no balls," Patricia stated bluntly.

Greg, taking some offense to her comment, thought out loud about his options. "Hmm...Interrogate the Grangers and become severely brain damaged or let Feruton be corrupted?"

No need for any more thinking.

"I think Feruton's free. Get him to do it," Greg finally said before rushing out of the refreshment room, leaving his mum's meatloaf alone and sad.

The constable walked down the corridor to fetch Hermione Granger from the Cell With No Letter. When he was a few feet away, the two convicts' conversation floated into his ears.

"...right, so all you have to do is make believe that you have this terrible cramp...honestly, you guys have an easier life. Imagine, during the first day, you feel as if everyone's going to know. It's disgusting, revolting--"

A boy's voice, "Alright, alright. It's bad enough that I have to get my period but to hear the details--"

WHAT? But...Potter's a boy! That's not possible, unless...

The innocent bystander gagged.

Hermione's ears perked at the sound. "Wait? What's that sound?"

Harry shrugged, "Sounded like a cat."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Idiot." She peered through the prison bars of their cell. Funny: she was already used to being contained.

"Um...officer?" She found him on the floor, looking as if he might throw up.

"Sorry," the man coughed up some spit, "you...Hermione Granger?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Feruton wants to interrogate you with your parents," the officer said, getting up from the floor.

"My PARENTS?"

"Yes." Harry appeared beside Hermione and grasped the jail bars. The officer immediately turned red, unlocked the door, and muttered a quick "good day".

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other before shrugging and walking down the corridor.

Strange, you would think a murderer and a person who kicked an officer in the gonads would get escorts.

"Remus must have told my parents..."

The boy glanced at her. "Are you worried?"

Hermione paused and then said, "Strange as it is, I'm not worried. This has been fun, I admit."

Harry chuckled. What an improvement.

Before opening the door to the main lobby of the station, she turned to Harry, "Remember, it's your time of the month."

Harry glanced behind him then to his friend, grinning sinisterly.

"Got any tampons?"

_____

Greg groaned. For the first time, he actually came back early from his break. Great, now he'll have to deal with Grangers and Potter, who had evidently tagged along.

He put his car keys into his coat and checked for his pepper spray.

It's there.

A woman and a man, looking quite normal, stood beside Feruton. Once the Granger girl had entered, the couple immediately approached her. Instead of hugging her, they met half way.

"Hermione! I thought you told us you were going to get Harry out of jail, not be arrested yourself!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed, though she sounded more surprised then angry. Greg observed and swore he saw Mr. Granger hide a smirk.

"Hello Harry," he greeted. Harry grinned, something evil hidden in this simple gesture.

Greg had an inkling that they were all from Planet Evil.

He approached them, purposely pushing Bradley away with his elbow. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, my name is--"

Bradley snickered, "Sanders? I thought your bird was coughing up hairballs!"

Greg turned red before clearing his throat. "He's better."

"I thought birds don't have hair," Harry muttered to Hermione.

"They don't. Greg here was probably trying to get out of executing his duty as a government official. Poor work ethics, I tell you," Bradley laughed.

Though Harry was not particularly fond of Sanders, he was much better than this Feruton fellow.

"Hello, my name is Bradley Feruton." He stuck his hand out at Hermione who took it.

"You seem too lovely to be in jail, Miss Granger." Feruton winked at Hermione. She blinked, surprised at his obvious flirting.

"I don't think there's a need for you to be involved, Mr. Pothead--"

"It's Potter, Mr. Fuckhead," Harry said through gritted teeth as he glared at Feruton.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry pretended to look embarrassed. "Sorry, it's this PNS thing---"

"--PMS!" His friend hissed.

"Right. PS. With the M between it."

"What?" Mrs. Granger looked dazed.

"C'mon, Potter," Greg muttered, grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him away from the group.

The two watched from a distance. Bradley was clearly enjoying himself as he closely stood next to Hermione. He was laughing at his own joke; the Grangers were uneasily exchanging looks.

Me no likey.

Harry muttered under his breath, but then sighed in relief once he realized that Hermione was uncomfortable around this Feruton guy.

He tilted his head and directed his question towards Greg who was also gazing on the four. "Got a tampon?"

"No," Greg answered grumpily, not even processing his question.

"Damn."

5...4...3--

"What did you just ask me?"

"Got a napkin?"

"Oh," Greg said. "No, I don't."

"...so...who's that bastard again?" Harry asked grudgingly, leaning against the wall with his harms crossed. Unconsciously, Greg took on the same stance and glared at Bradley with upmost loathing.

"Bradley Feruton."

"Feruton. Sounds like a snob."

"Doesn't it," Greg flatly agreed.

Harry pushed himself off the wall once he saw Bradley putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"That's it. Bathroom break. Goodbye."

He stomped over to where the four were standing, yanked Hermione's arm, and dragged her to the women's bathroom.

Bradley stretched an arm out, trying to stop them from leaving. "Hey, you can't go in--"

"Sorry, love. Female problems," said Harry nastily before slamming the door shut.

Once the door was closed and the lock was in place,

"Harry, what in the world--"

"He was too close. He was supposed to be interrogating you but he was touching you! Idiot!"

Hermione looked at him peculiarly. "Are you...jealous?"

"No! I'm just PNSing--"

"PMSing."

"Right, its not like--"

"Harry, you're a boy."

Both of them blinked.

Harry stuttered, "Y-yeah...well, that's beside the point--"

Harry was interrupted by Hermione pouncing on him and gluing her lips to his.

-----

A good five minutes later, Harry and Hermione came back into the lobby, looking quite disheveled.

They were both grinning.

"Ah, Hermione," Bradley glanced between the boy and girl, "I think you can go home..."

She ignored the man and turned to her parents.

"Actually, can I stay?"

Greg was wondering why in bloody hell she'd want to stay here.

But the Grangers smiled and nodded. Harry jabbed the air as if he just won something in the lottery.

CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY!

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Granger pulled her aside and whispering, "I see you're having fun. But Remus will send for someone to get the both of you."

"Yes, thank you!" Hermione hugged her mum as if she had just received the best Christmas gift ever.

Bradley looked like he wanted to smack himself just to make sure he was awake, but he didn't.

So, Greg did it for him.

Check out No More Weird Guys and the newest chapter of A Club!

And Happy New Year!

7. Chapter 7

Damn Car

Viopathartic

A/N: Okay, this chapter is a bit odd. I'm not sure if you will think it's funny, but I'll just post it anyways.

I have finally settled with an ending that will fit quite nicely with the randomness that I built this story on. But you'll have to wait until the next chapter.

I will make sure that Damn Car will be my first multi-chaptered story to be finished. I'm gonna do it.

You. Will. See.

Chapter 7:

Oh, what a lovely thing called freedom! Since the Grangers had already paid bail, Greg released Harry and Hermione. A regular convict would have run out of the jail and would have immediately headed to the local fast food restaurant to scarf down burgers. However, the two teenagers wanted to spend their first minutes of freedom in the same place that had taken it away from them.

First, they visited Brett in the medical center.

Brett screamed and Harry smiled.

Second, the two met Dr. Kern as she was picking up her stuff and leaving her job for good.

Kern ran away and Harry smiled.

The two wanted to have lunch in the cafeteria but apparently, the convicts needed to be fed.

So the two found sanctuary in some guy's office. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly after entering the disastrous office. Every item in the room was out of place. But Harry made her forget by grabbing her by the shoulders and planting a big one on her lips. As a result, the whole OCD issue was forgotten as the two continued to snog by the door, on the desk, and by the windows.

Later, the two got down to business.

"A little to the left."

Harry nodded and moved the picture frame on the mahogany desk in that direction.

"Um…a little forward."

Harry did as he was told.

His friend tilted her head and squinted. She held her hand up and pressed her thumb and index finger together. "Just a bit more."

"Hermione!"

Hermione put her hands on hip, appearing to be affronted. "I'm suffering from OCD. What else do you expect, Harry?"

Bradley Feruton needed to pick up a case in his office. He expected the door to be locked, but to his surprise, two teenagers appeared to be messing around in there. With closer inspection, he realized that—

"What are you two—hey, stop moving my picture frame around!"

"You're right. No matter how much we move it, she's still going to look ugly," Harry sighed in a defeated manner.

"Hey! That's my wife you're talking about!"

"I know," Harry replied, unperturbed. Meanwhile, as her friend and Bradley, Hermione listened to their conversation, frowning. What a sleazebag! Wasn't he flirting with me the other day?

"…not as if she loves you!" Harry explained, causing Feruton to go red in the face.

"That's it! Officer," he called, strolling to swing his door open. He poked his head out, trying to gather a nearby officer's attention.

"What? You're arresting me? Under what circumstances? Annoying the hell out of you?"

Bradley scowled, closing the door. "What are you doing out here anyway? I thought you were supposed to be in your cells."

"Yeah, well, Hermione and I needed a…uh, bigger place to snog—oh, I don't think you should sit in that chair by the way," Harry advised.

Feruton, who was just about to sit his bottom on his computer chair, suddenly leapt up. "…what did you do?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied innocently. And they were innocent…but Feruton did not know that.

"Whatever. Just get out!"

The two shrugged and left the man's office.

Not even a second later, Harry poked his body back in and quickly straightened one of Feruton's crooked diplomas that was hanging on the wall. He backed up and made a box with his hands, clicking his tongue with approval. "Right. Now it's perfect," he muttered to himself.

Then Harry turned to Feruton who was looking at him oddly. "OCD. Can't help it."

"You know," Greg said as he munched on some of his Chinese takeout, "I let Potter and Granger go."

Patricia, who joined Sanders for lunch at his desk, swallowed and took a sip of soda. "Really?"

Her partner nodded casually. Patricia scoffed, "It was that easy to get rid of them?"

"Yeah. They went home already so…"

"Hey, chump." Harry nonchalantly came into their view and sat down behind a vacant desk. Hermione followed his move and waved.

Greg's eyes widened. "Potter! What are you—"

"Visiting." he answered casually. "That Feruton kicked us out."

Hermione, being OCD, set to work and began to clean up the mess that the two officers created.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning. Honestly, I can't stand the messes you guys make," Hermione replied.

"What do they have this time?" Patricia asked with uncanny casualty as she scraped the last of her rice from the carton.

"From my observations, OCD. And put that back," Greg ordered when he saw Hermione start to pick through the confidential folders.

"Well, they're unorganized," she said defensively.

"What’s next, I wonder," mumbled Patricia.

"You see," Harry began, his fingers quickly moving across the desk to straighten the pens and pencils, "We suffer from all of them…"

Patricia scoffed, not seeming to care.

Harry threw a pencil at Sanders who automatically caught it and glared at the teenager.

"Why are you spending time here? You can go anywhere else now, yet you choose to torture us."

Hermione gave Harry a look, and this one movement changed their behaviors. He leaned forward, appearing to be extremely serious. "Hey…um, we might leave soon so we just wanted to give you an explanation to our behaviors."

Greg stared with opened mouth while Patricia curiously cocked an eyebrow.

"Actually, Harry, I don't think we should," Hermione advised gravely. Harry shook his head. "We have to. They must know."

The two officers glanced at each other, believing that whatever Harry was going to tell them was going to be a groundbreaking discovery.

Hermione nodded and sighed, "Okay then. Tell them."

Harry took a deep breath and somberly said, "See...me and Hermione here...we're magical."

Greg blinked.

"Oh boy! Okay," he said as he stood up and placed both hands on the table. "I'll be right back. I just need to get a few of...er...my friends."

He patted Harry's hand sympathetically, whispering, "They're going to take you somewhere safe."

As Greg walked to his office to call the Psychiatric unit, he couldn't help but laugh. Of course, his fellow officers gave him odd looks, but he didn't care. He finally understood Potter and his little friend Granger.

So that was why Potter was so strange! He was not weird as in the-guy-nobody-likes. He was insane like the-person-in-a-straitjacket. It all made sense!

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

The fellows from the psych unit finally arrived and quickly set to work.

Hermione and the patient to be collected were unaffected by the sudden intrusion.

Harry was quickly contained and was currently being strapped to the retractable gurney.

"I'm rather tangled and well, I, uh," said Harry and he started twitching. "I don't like being tangled."

"Tough," one of the fellows said, followed by an, 'OW!"

He turned around as he massaged his left shoulder, only to find a teenage girl smiling "sweetly" at him while holding a paper weight.

"Sorry, there was a bug."

Greg Sanders sighed with relief as he walked to his office. Potter and his friend were being taken care of by the people from the crazy unit. Things at the jailhouse finally go back to normal.

He reached the door to his room and twisted the knob, already thinking about putting on some tunes. He was in a mood and he loved it. However, once he was inside, his good, jolly feelings were ruined.

A petite lady who had dark brown curly hair stood up from the seat behind Greg's desk. She straightened her black suit and smiled politely.

"Good evening, Mr. Sanders."

"Er...good evening," Greg said unsurely. This woman looked like a person with authority, someone who was higher than him. "Pardon, but who are you?

The mystery woman reached into her jacket pulled out some sort of badge. Greg, who was quite confused, leaned forward and squinted, then felt his mouth go slack.

"Sumer Skont, Secret Intelligence Service."

So, do you know who this "Sumer Skont" is? If you don't, take a closer look at the name.

Also, I need your help. Yes, you.

I want you guys to suggest some "current" rock songs that Harry and his band might be able to sing in A Club. So far, I have pieces from Linkin Park and Dashboard Confessional because that's how I imagine Harry's singing voice.

The next chapter is nearly done; I just have to work out a few kinks.

If you guys haven't already, check out my new one-shot In the attic. \

Thanks and until next time,

Viopathartic