CHAPTER ONE: THE BRAT WHO LIVED

Mr and Mrs Duzza, of Number Four Private Street, were proud to say they were true blue Aussies.

Mr Duzza was the manager of a Bunnings in Homebush, and he thought it was a fair dinkum job. He was a fat bloke with a beer gut and a huge muzzy.

Mrs Duzza was tall and skinny, even though she spent most of her time eating Lindt Chocolate and reading her Kindle on the couch.

The Duzza's also had a son, Dudley, and they thought he was a bloody top-notch kid.

But they had a secret, and they didn't want anyone to know their secret, cos it was a pretty dodgy secret etcetera.

And here was their secret; Pav's sister, Lily Potter, (Pav was Mrs Duzza's first name) was a witch. She could do magic and stuff, and that was pretty sick for some people, but it was a bit Un-Australian, so Mr Duzza thought it was bloody dumb, and therefore so did Pav.

When the Duzza family woke up on the bloody hot Thursday that our story starts, they didn't suspect any shit was about to go down.

The morning was pretty alright; Pav shoved Dudley into his high chair and gave him some Vegemite toast, Mr Duzza put on some shorts and a singlet, kissed his wife goodbye, and left the house.

"Bye, Vern!" yelled Pav, cos that was Mr Duzza's first name and that.

Vern jumped into his Holden Commodore; it was turquoise, and had a very stylish Buddha statue on the dashboard. He reckoned this made him look pretty mature and intelligent and 'sofasticayted'.

He saw a cat looking at a sign as he drove out the driveway, but reversed and looked back as soon as the thought was processed.

CATS DON'T READ SIGNS, YOU KNOB, he thought, THAT'S BLOODY UN-AUSTRALIAN!

He drove back out the driveway and settled into the morning traffic, ready to scream at some foreigners and fire some women when he got to the Bunnings.

Yeah…that'd be fully sick.

Vern had been in traffic for about forty minutes, and he was getting pissed.

As he looked out the window of his Holden and had a durry, he saw a couple of people walking down the street in bloody robes and cloaks and massive hats.

"Oi, mate!" he yelled out the window of his car, squashing the cigarette against the side of his car.

One of the people looked up, "Yeah, mate? You wanna go me?"

Vern got out of his car, "Yeah, mate. You wanna go me?"

The man stepped back, "Nah, you muggle. He Who Can't Be Named has fallen, so I'm happy and shit and we ain't fighting."

"Aight, you pussy." Vern got back in his car.

As he sat in the traffic, he thought about what the guy had said to him. What the bloody hell was a 'muggle'? Sounded foreign. Probably Arabic, he thought, and resolved to ask the Arab who worked at Bunnings what it meant.

Mr Duzza arrived at the Bunnings parking lot, and shoved his car into a handicapped slot.

For the next few hours, he shouted at people, unsuccessfully tried to make a child buy a drill, and fired three people, subsequently rehiring them as they left.

All in all, a very successful day at work.

At around 12:30pm, he decided to walk to the nearest Macca's and get a Coke Slushie. As he walked, he saw another group of people in cloaks sitting together, talking. He pushed past them, and caught a snippet of conversation, "No, you monkey, the fucking Potters. Yeah, their son, Harry."

Vern stopped walking.

Lily Potter's son was called Harry.

Or was it?

Nah, 'Harry Potter' was probably a pretty common name anyway.

No worries.

Vern returned to Private Street at 6pm, to see the cat now reading a map.

Wot?

He looked back again, and the cat was now just sitting down, licking its paws.

He jumped out of the Holden and waddled inside, where a cold VB and a lamington awaited him.

That night, he and Pav watched Home and Away, a particularly interesting episode where a bunch of men with their shirts off ran around on beaches getting people pregnant.

Vern decided to ask her, "Pav, you bitch!"

"Yeah, you fat mongrel?"

"What's your sister's son's name?"

"Why the fuck do you want to know, you knob?"

"Just cos, woman. Is that a crime?"

"Nah, alright. Harry. Bloody stupid name. Common. Not quiche, like 'Dudley'."

Vern felt as if someone had poured ice water into his pants.

Then he realized that he had spilled his VB.

"WOMAN, GET ME ANOTHER BEER!" he bellowed.

As Vern and Pav slept, they had no idea that the mysterious cat was still on their driveway.

Suddenly, a tall old man with a long grey beard stepped out of the shadows.

"What's up, Minerva?" he yelled at the cat, forcing it to jump a foot in the air, and morph itself into a tight-lipped woman with grey hair in a bun, wearing emerald green robes.

"Shut the fuck up, Dumbledore. You don't want to be spotted by all these dogheaded muggles, do you, mate?"

"Yeah, good point, woman. Cheers."

Dumbledore pulled a cigarette lighter out of his pocket, and pressed the button.

All the streetlights flew into the lighter, culminating as a single flame. He then pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, blowing smoke into Minerva McGoodonya's face.

"Could you not, you fag?"

"Sorry, mate. Where's Haggers?"

"Are you sure he's the proper bloke for this job? He's a bit of a mongoloid, mate."

"Not your business, you cow. Shut up."

McGoodonya looked annoyed, "k." she muttered.

Suddenly, a motorbike appeared in the sky, roaring down towards Dumbledore and McGoodonya.

It landed, and a large man got off, holding a small baby in his hands.

"Good evening, kekheads." He said, taking a swig of vodka from a bottle, and spitting it in McGoodonya's face.

"Dumbledore, here's the little shit."

McGoodonya intervened, "These people are true blue Aussies. If we leave him with them, he'll have a shit childhood."

"Yeah, likely. Until he's eleven."

"Well, yeah, but that's bloody ages away, you drongo."

"Oi, who wants to go down the pub?"

"Why would we do that, Haggers?" asked McGoodonya.

"We'll have a drink on little Potter, there. He killed the Bogan Lord, remember? It was this morning. They investigated it on 'A Current Affair, hosted by Rita Skeeter'."

"Yeah, k, fair enough."

Haggers dumped the child on the doorstep, his hair parting so they could see a scar on the infant's forehead; a boomerang-shaped scar.

"You see that kid, mate? He's the brat who lived!"

A/N: I hope you enjoyed. I am striving to parody the entire book, but that seems a bit steep and difficult from this end, so bear with me if some chapters aren't as funny as some others. I do need to include the actual story, although I will have to remove some stuff etc. to lighten the load. Before anyone asks; YES I AM AUSTRALIAN, I HAVE LIVED HERE MY WHOLE LIFE, I KNOW HOW AUSTRALIANS SPEAK.

k bye