Chapter 7 : Harry Potter and the Bag of Doritos
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Anyway, I do not own the Harry Potter characters. Big shocker there. Those are all Rowling's.
Harry Potter had a problem. And it just wasn’t any problem. No, you see, he was addicted to Doritos. But, unfortunately, Doritos didn’t exist in Hogwarts, and this saddened him greatly. Or, Great Britain, for that matter. In fact, he had never had them.
“Good Golly gee wiz, leaping lizards, jumping gargoyles!” exclaimed Harry.
“Shut up,” said Dobby. “Hey, my name sounds like Doritos.”
“You’re right!” cried Harry gallantly. He pondered this for a moment, and then shouted out to the world in pink vexation, “Since there are no Doritos existent in the European continent, I will eat the thing that sounds closest to it!” He turned to Dobby and said, “Thanks for the idea,” and reached over and took a bite out of his head.
“If it pleaseth Harry Potter sir, Dobby will gladly satisfy his appetite. For Harry is a great and kind wizard. But I must ask you not to nibble on my ear so much.”
Harry glared at Dobby. “I almost defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and I have a scar on my head. I think I’m entitled to nibbling on your ear in any way that pleases me. Now shove it,” and he went back to eating Dobby. But then along came Dumbledore, resurrected from the dead, by his lover McGonagall’s voodoo spells. She was actually a priestess from New Orleans. Bet you didn’t need to know that. Anyway, Dumbledore said, “I can’t allow this.”
And Harry Potter said, “Hey, your name begins with a D. Let’s eat you!”
Dumbledore stared at Harry Potter. “You can’t,” he said calmly, now cutting his toenails. “For I taste like Doritos. And Doritos are an acquired taste.”
Harry smiled widely. “DORITOS? I LOVE DORITOS! LIKE, OH MY GOD!!!” He lunged for Dumbledore and sunk his teeth in the old Headmaster’s neck, while ripping out the hairs from his beard and eating them. “Yum. Why don’t they make Bertie Botts every flavored beans in Dorito flavors?”
“Harry, you ought to be studying, instead of chewing on the headmaster. You know you want to write that potions essay. Now put down the old codger, and come here.”
Harry looked up to see a face obscured by bushy hair. It was a squirrel! Wait, no, that was Hermione, but close enough.
“Hey, squirrel!” Harry called. “Do you want some Doritos?”
The squirrel called Hermione stared at him (well, this was assumed, as you couldn’t see her face through her hair).
“NO!” cried the squirrel. “Doritos don’t exist in Britain! In fact…” she put on a mesmerizing tone, “you don’t like Doritos. You hate Doritos. Ooh…” Harry looked at her as if she was mental, which she probably was. “I’m the one who likes Doritos, Harry. Especially ones flavored with house-elf and ancient wizard. In fact, when you thought I was trying to liberate the house elves, I was actually shipping them to a secluded warehouse where I would give them names that sounded like Doritos, and then eat them. Slowly and surely. Very slowly. Extremely and excruciatingly slowly. I was like a snail, Harry. A hungry snail. A hairy, hungry snail.”
Harry stared at Hermione and shrugged. “Want to eat Dumbly with me?” Hermione stared at him, but then smiled.
“Why not?” she asked, and she transfigured two house-elves into a fork and knife, and joined Harry, happily humming, “We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, and happy Doritos!”
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