Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

Episode 12…

“Harry, they’re not using wands,” Hermione shrieked shrilly.

Harry had indeed disarmed the battling wizards. Four arms now paired off and arm-wrestled at his feet.

“Brilliant, boy genius,” said Weasel as he refereed the match. “That put an end to the fighting….Not!”

For the two wheezing geezer wizards, it only meant a change in tactics.

Bumblebore clamped down on Russet the Potato’s er Randalf the Potato’s er Randalf the Russet’s leg with his teeth. Randalf the Rancorous er Russet head-butted Bumble the Bore (whoops, sorry got carried away) Bumblebore’s chest.

“Oh bother!” whined Hermione prissily.

She marched over to the two thumping thwacking thaumaturges and booted them both in the butts. “Stop it. Stop this, this instant!” she cooed consolingly (sorry again, I wanted to see if you could write an attribution that didn’t match the text. Nope. So why should I use it? The author queried queasily.) “You two are acting foolishly.”

Randalf untoothed Bumblebore’s ankle and Bumblebore’s head ceased acting like a battering ram on Russet the Potato’s skin, which now had purpling which would lower its value in the stores. The two wise wizards looked at Hermione sheepishly.

“Oh ewe kid,” said Bumblebore to Hermione. His eyebrows jumped up and down on his forehead like caterpillars practicing cheerleading maneuvers.

“Thank ewe, dear,” said Randalf the Red Faced Wizard.

Hermione stomped over to the arms, warily waved her wand at them, (Randalf’s right arm was up by two points), and put each set into handcuffs that she materialized out of thick air. “I’d give these back to you two old gits, but I’m afraid as to what you might use them for, if left to your own devices.”

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Harry Splutter & the Lure of Hollyweird

Today’s episode comes to us from Lexi, writer, silversmith, repairer of rocking horses.

Episode 11

Bumblebore’s eyebrows knitted furiously, till it seemed they might produce a small sock or even a scarf. Following his gaze, Harry saw an elderly, upright man in brown flowing robes holding a staff, striding towards them.

‘You know who that is,’ gasped Ron, ‘it’s Randalf the Sepia!’

‘Randalf the Ridiculous,’ muttered Bumblebore.

The man had drawn level with them, and fixed his deep-set eyes on the glowering headmaster.

‘I am no longer Randalf the Sepia,’ he intoned gravely, ‘henceforth I shall be known as Randalf the Russet! I have been reborn, and besides, I always felt my name lacked something in the alliteration department.’

‘Be off, you old fraud!’ cried an incensed Bumbledore, rising on shaky legs and waving whatever container the Long Island Tea had come in at him, ‘there’s only room for one wise mentor in this narrative, and that’s ME!’

Randalf ignored him magnificently, and his piercing green eyes seemed to bore into Harry’s innermost being.

‘Harry, I am apprised of your quest for the Horcruxes…’

‘Horcruxii!’ shouted Bumblebore.

‘…and you must know, you face a terrible and dangerous journey. For The Eye will be upon you, and as you near Morrdorr…’

‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about!’ yelled Bumblebore.

‘AS YOU NEAR MORRDORR…’ Randalf repeated louder.

‘Clear off out of here! Go and morris dance with some hobbits! Take up jewellery making with elves! Get back where you belong!’ Bumblebore was jumping up and down. Suddenly he swung a fist at Randalf.

‘Noooo!’ shrieked Hermione. ‘Do something, Ron!’

But it was too late; the two mentors were already rolling around on the ground, punching and kicking, robes and beards flying.

‘Let me handle this,’ said Harry. He pulled out his wand.


‘Harry,’ said Hermione, ‘neither of them are using wands.’

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