***



Day 1, Part 2

I have to say this because some day, Mom is going to get around to tearing the pages out of my trip journals and pasting them into a scrapbook. The pages will probably be squeezed between too many pictures of Arm Pit without his shirt and Dad with a sunburn and receipts from all the trips we made to the grocery store, so what I write is IMPORTANT in remembering what really happens on this trip.

So I have to say this… I am NOT crazy.

Like I completely acknowledge that seeing Harry Potter on vacation is nutso, and I am the first to admit that this isn’t exactly the first time something like this has happened. But that’s a story for another sort of journal.

I am not crazy. Maybe some part of me realized that being in the UK meant I was about a million times closer to JK Rowling and so about a million times more likely to randomly run into her on the street. That happens, right? I mean, JK has to leave her house occasionally, right? I bet people run into her all the time.

But thinking you might spot JK on the street is TOTALLY different then expecting to run into Harry Potter. And not just because I'm a Muggle and can’t see Wizarding travel spots. There’s also the whole fictional character aspect.

This guy, though, looks just like Harry Potter should, and not like that teeny weeny leprechaun Daniel Radcliffe. For one, this guy has dark hair that rises and falls in unruly spikes all over his head, completely free from the help of any hair product. DanRad had the mussed Beatles bowl-cut until his stylists just completely gave up.

For another, he’s skinny. I mean REALLY skinny, with that sort of inverted chest thing that some teenage boys can rock. As in… maybe someone has been keeping him in a cupboard under the stairs and under feeding him. That sort of skinny.

He catches me staring at him. Uh-oh. Stalker much, Ally?

He says, “Hi?” Like it’s a question. Maybe hi? Maybe ‘please stop staring at me like a deranged goldfish and state your business’?

“HI!” My voice is too loud and I think my face is going to crack into pieces and fall off because I’m smiling so big. Definitely going with deranged goldfish. BE COOL, ALLY. BE COOL. “I’m Ally. Allison. Ally Cope.”

That. Was. Not. Cool.

I try again. “I’m staying here for the summer,” I sound all casual. My family travels abroad all the time. We’re awesome like that. “I’m American.”

HP-boy glances over his shoulder toward the lake to see if I’m talking to someone floating out there in the water. Nope, Boy-Who-Looks-Like-The-Boy-Who-Lived. I AM TALKING TO YOU.

“Oh.” I decide he must be shy. Poor thing. Maybe no girls ever talked to him while he was living with the Dursleys. I should hug him. Maybe he really needs a hug.

I hug him.

I AM HUGGING HARRY POTTER. I AM BEING SHOVED AWAY BY HARRY… Wait. In my spazoid frenzy, I seem to have lost my cool for a minute, but I definitely have more control over myself and all my impulses now. Will not hug stranger on the dock, no matter what fictional character he looks like.

By the way, dear Trip Journal, his eyes are green. Be still, my heart.

“Sorry about that. I’m American,” I offer again, by way of explanation. We are a cultural entity unto ourselves, you know? So maybe he just thinks any weird behavior can be explained by that.

Doesn’t work. “You mentioned that.” He pulls one of those rubber inner tubes from the water and drapes it over his shoulder. It could not be more apparent that I’m freaking him out and he wants to get away from me.

“So that’s how we say 'hi' and 'nice to meet you',” I explain. I might be following him a little bit, but it isn’t the creepy type of following. He totally knows I’m there and slows down so I can walk with him.

“That’s odd. I have cousins over there, and we never have issues with undesirable embraces,” Potter!Clone shifts the inner tube so it’s between us. I think it is supposed to keep me from hugging him again, but this kid doesn’t know me very well if he thinks a big rubber tire is going to keep us apart.

Hey, kid? I’ve been to the Rubber Museum. Yeah. I’m epic.

Wait. Cousins? In the US? WHEN DID THE DURSLEYS MOVE TO THE US? I really hope they live in Idaho or somewhere under-populated by defenseless Muggles. I can totally see it now. Vernon Dursley, Potato Farmer.

“But what cupboard would you live in?” I say to myself, only I say it out loud and get a strange look from the boy. “What’s your name?”

Say Harry Potter. Say Harry Potter. SAY HARRY POTTER.

He stops on the path. “Al.” For a minute, he looks embarrassed, and I wonder if he’s lying to me. He’s HARRY POTTER. Not Al. No one is named Al except on old mobster movies.

“It’s nice to meet you, Al.” Harry Potter.

“Erm. Yeah. You too, Ally-Allison-Ally Cope.” The edge of his mouth curls slightly, like I amuse him. “This is me.” He points at the cottage next to ours before heading toward it with his big rubber tube.

Al is getting away!

“Hey.” Oh. Crap. He glances back at me. “Is… everything inside your cottage the same color?”

He grins at that. “It’s all purple. Lupines.”

He just smiled at me. I’m totally going to be friends with Harry Potter.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH I can't stop laughing at this...

I didn't even think about that! YOU are Brilliant!

I want to seeeeeee it!!!!

What can I say.. you are amazing at this.

Haha the whole thing made me chuckle!
His name must be Harry Potter!
Anyway, haha, wait, he's staying next door, hmm, interesting
Haha, the thought of Vernon being a patato farmer...Priceless!
Please post more soon!

So funny! I love it.
Hmm, Al...Harry's son's name is Albus, but they could call him all. Hehe.
PAMS!

Hmmm, I've got no idea. For sure going to visit the sets where they filmed HP...
Bahaha, hilarious
OMG, you are hilarious. Potato Farmer? I was chuckling through the entire thing.
Haha, why is he embarassed? I say Harry.
I want to be friends with Harry Potter!

I have one thing to say. You. Are. A. Genius. Seriously, you're an incredible writer and this is my favorite story. PLEASE PAMS!

I absolutely agree with Emily, this is amazing!!! I hope you do well at the awards!!
Anyway, great post!!!
(would be longer but I have to go)

this.was.amazing.it's either harry or albus potter he he he

PAMS PAMS PAMS

*makes room for you in the tent* It is quite nice in here, eh... not purple, but it works.

This stalker person approves of this update. Mhm. Yep I do.

I am now going to crawl back into my tent, make some s'mores and wait for more Ally. Her inner monologue is amazing BTW. Great work, Ern.

I've bookmarked this? goood. Subscribed to this? Yep. Okay now; I love this fanfic sooo much I'm trying so hard to not write this in caps. Best.Fanfic.Ever. Write moreee it's soo goood:]

Come on... we need a post!!!

Bonus points if you recognize the spell she uses.

***



Day 1, Part 3

It starts to drizzle again, so I head back to Rose Cottage.

Mom is making lunch. Let me tell you something important about my mother: she funnels all of her creative and artistic instincts into minor culinary disasters in the kitchen. Some people paint, some people write poetry. My mom creates masterpieces with mint jam and bok choy. Sometimes they’re epic, like the ginger chicken or her alfredo pizza. Sometimes, I think she’s trying to poison me.

“You will not believe who I just met,” I announce. Dad and Brad share the tiny pink couch and stare at the fuzzy television screen. Fancy British static.

“The Queen of England?” Mom guesses. She’s attempting to saw slices off that towel bread, and I start to worry about lunch.

“What would she be doing here?” I scoff. “No, Mum. Listen. I saw HARRY POTTER.”

She sets down her knife as Brad looks over with interest. “Should have guessed that one, I guess,” she finally mutters. Brad snorts.

Maybe he has one of those disgusting summer colds, because surely he isn’t laughing at ME.

“It IS problematic,” I say as I pull myself up on the stool at the kitchen counter. “He wasn’t wearing glasses. Harry can’t see without his glasses.”

Brad opens his mouth.

“But,” I hurry up to add, “the bigger problem is that Harry Potter was born in 1980. He’s like 30 years old now. This kid was my age.”

“Really. That’s the part you’re having trouble with?” Brad turns completely around to regard me. “You’re worried that the fictional character you’ve spotted on the beach is too old? I’d worry more about the fact that he’s FICTIONAL, Ug. That means he doesn’t exist.”

“I’m aware of what fictional means, Arm Pit.”

“I’m not sure.”

Mom keeps us from arguing by setting a plate of food in front of me. WTH, MOM? It looks like a pile of mashed potatoes with sliced hot dogs on top, covered in some goopy gray sauce. I feel my stomach implode in protest.

“What is this?” Give me towel bread, because I will NOT eat that mess.

“Bangers and mash,” Mom says. Who knew they even SOLD hot dogs in England?

“Mom. No,” I shove the plate away, where it is snagged up by Brad. He has no issue with the toxic-waste-that-is-lunch, but Brad would eat rabbit poop if he was hungry enough. “That is a crime against humanity.”

“Then don’t eat it,” Mom sinks onto the other stool with a magazine and makes a big point out of ignoring me. As if that’s something new and different. I am CLEARLY neglected. Much like Harry Potter with the Dursleys.

As if he is reading my mind, Brad asks, “Remember the time you got into the storage room under the stairs because you wanted to see what it was like to be Harry Potter?” He abandons lunch as the mess it is and flops back down on the sofa, jarring Dad awake for a moment. With one foot, Brad reaches out and adjusts one of the bunny ears with a toe-nudge.

It still shows static.

“And you locked me in there?” Rude, Arm Pit. There were Hagrid-sized spider/wooly mammoth crossbreeds in there.

Brad nods. “Best five hours of my life.”

“What?” Mom glances up from her magazine. She is going to give Brad HECK for locking me up. Finally, a little retribution for all the abuse I suffer at his hands. “Is that how all my Christmas wrapping paper got flattened?”

Un-flipping-believable. I spend five hours in the dark, and she’s worried about out of season WRAPPING PAPER???

“Mother!” I say. “I am your only daughter. You only get 18 years to raise and love me before I enter the cruel real world. Do you really want me to spend years in therapy because of WRAPPING PAPER?” Not to mention the ginormous spiders.

She just looks at me over the top of her magazine before raising it again. “Brad. Try not to put your sister into therapy, kay? It’s expensive.”

“Not my fault. She always rises to the bait,” he grunts and kicks out at the TV again.

Wordlessly, I shake with rage. And then… “HEADICUS EXPLODICUS!”

Nothing happens, so I stomp out of the room.

“Awww. Wait,” Brad calls after me. See? Sometimes a really excellent temper tantrum gets good results. Brad is going to apologize and offer to take me across the lake for ice cream.

He points at a spot beside the TV. “Stand right there. Yup.” With yet another of his eloquent grunts, Brad flops back on the small pink sofa. “Dad! Look! Ally is finally good for something – an antenna. Soccer on the TV.”

“Football on the telly,” I mutter.

“Shh, Ally. Let’s have quiet time.”

First off--Hilarious
Haha, I would not last long in that family. I'm the pickiest eater ever.
Bahaha, that sounds like something I would do. Try to get everyone to believe that he's real and what not. Priceless.
Hehe, yeah, I definitely wouldn't be eating that.
Ugh, I am terrified of spiders. I would have been screaming or something, probably hyperventialting.
Hahahaha, that's hilarious. I it
I love her response, it's priceless.
Brad is so funny, that sounds like something my brothers would do.

Fantastic post! PLEASE PAMS!

*SQUEEEEEEE* I will indeed share my s'mores with you because you posted more *shares the ooey gooey goodness*

Again, I approve. That wrapping paper bit was HILARIOUS. And the wording here. Teehee. Good stuff.


*pokes at the fire and waits patiently for more*


Stalker Approved

Arm Pit is soo Mean! I really don't like him grrr
Haha, Wrapping Paper!
Great chapter! PAMS! i wanna read more
*glares at Brad* Leave your sister ALONE!

Every time you say Cope, I think Copernicus.

[/random]

Brad without a shirt?

I didn't say anything. *total angel*



LOL! Just... LOL. xD I've always thought the HP characters look too jazzed up, in the movies. Emma = hot + no unruly curls = not Hermione.

Wait. Deranged goldfishes stare? O_O xD

Hehehe. I totally loved this part. TOTALLY! It should get an award. *pins big, gold star to it*






^ Yes, I decided to make a compilation of the parts that made me laugh. Because I thought it would look pretty silly, if I made a separate ROTFL smiley for each. See? I'm cool, just like Ally. =p

LMAO! I can totally imagine that, for some reason.



.... I ish still catching up. *hides*
But I wub this story. <3

pretificus totalus!!!!

omg this was amaziongg!

This was so totally awesome!!! You are absolutely hilarious.. She can't be totally crazy, it has to be someone to do with the Potter universe.

HEADICUS EXPLODICUS! LOL I'm so saying that when I get mad. Pams pams pams? ^__^ So funny:]

Insert me dying.

Quote:

“Then don’t eat it,” Mom sinks onto the other stool with a magazine and makes a big point out of ignoring me. As if that’s something new and different. I am CLEARLY neglected. Much like Harry Potter with the Dursleys.

As if he is reading my mind, Brad asks, “Remember the time you got into the storage room under the stairs because you wanted to see what it was like to be Harry Potter?” He abandons lunch as the mess it is and flops back down on the sofa, jarring Dad awake for a moment. With one foot, Brad reaches out and adjusts one of the bunny ears with a toe-nudge.

lmfao. Just the fact that she did that... hahaha.

I... had nothing of importance to say to any of these. Just that they made me laugh a whole lot.

You're a genius, bud. The whole world loves you and craves more.

PLEASE POST!!!!!!!!
The last time you posted was the 26th of June. It's the 16th of July!!!!

Please, I love this FF.

Love Katie

***



Day 1, Part 4

Mom must have informed Brad that his immortal soul is in danger of permanent grounding, because he finds me later. I’ve discovered an enclosed back porch and spent the rain shower making up a Harry Potter checklist using my books.

Black hair – check
Green eyes – check
Weedy build – check
Glasses
Scar
Parseltongue
To be continued

“So look…” Brad shoves his hands into his pockets, pushing his swim shorts perilously low on his hips. I cover my eyes with my journal. “I’m taking a boat across the lake. There’s a store thing. You can come if you want.”

Believe it or not, this is an apology. Sort of. Definitely as good as I'm going to get.

It’s stopped raining, so of course I want to go. We could run into Harry!Al again, and this time, I wouldn’t be a total loser. I toss my book on the table and follow Brad.

Outside, the other vacationers seem to have gotten over the brief storm in a hurry, and they are once again crowding the dock and paths. The air is sticky hot, almost as if it never rained at all. You would think that if we had to put up with intermittent showers, the weather would have the decency to be comfortable in between. I pull my t-shirt away from my body where it sticks to me and realize that, once again, I’ve forgotten to wear my bathing suit.

Part of me is delusional, because when Brad said he was taking a boat, I imagined how cool we’d look puttering across the lake in one of those motor boats the other families have. He stops beside a pile of shabby canoes, and while he attempts to pull one into the water, I try to avoid being crushed by the falling pile of molding lumber.

“Is this a joke?” I ask as I climb into the front end of the canoe. The boat slides away while one foot is still on shore, and my flip flops get wet in the process. It really isn’t a big deal, though, because there’s a puddle of green water in the bottom of the canoe.

I’m going to need new flip flops.

“Just paddle,” Brad grunts. He shoves the boat away from the shore, hops into it, and the whole thing bobs like it can’t decide whether to float or not. Finally, the canoe settles, and we start to glide across the lake. If it isn’t bad enough that the muggy heat makes my clothes stick to me in a really unattractive way, I’m now sweating because of the paddling.

“I saw you talking to those girls,” I say, trying to strike up a conversation. We’re actually doing pretty well at this paddling thing, which is probably due to the authentic rustic camping trip the family took two summers ago. We spent half the time in a canoe, paddling in circles, until we figured out that you have to paddle on OPPOSITE sides to get anywhere.

“Which girls?”

“The girls I saw you talking to,” I clarify. Honestly, we’ve been here less than a day. How many girls has he managed to meet? “On the dock.”

He grunts. There’s the Brad we know and love. Why use words when affirmative noises will suffice.

We paddle in silence for a bit. The canoe doesn’t seem to be taking on water, although it smells like basement and there is green slime on the toe of my flip flop. Still, there’s a breeze out here on the lake, and the quiet is unbroken except for occasional grunts from Brad. The line of flower-cabins disappear behind us, and ahead appears another shoreline containing an additional sprinkling of cabins and a long low building that must be the store.

“They’re French or something,” Brad breaks the silence. Cryptic. The store is French? It barely looks like a store.

“What’s French?”

“The girls. They have accents. I think they’re French.”

“How can you tell?” I lift my paddle from the water and we immediately swing into a slow circle away from the opposite shore. Oops! I drag my paddle in the water again, forcing the canoe back the way we want to go.

“They have accents,” Brad repeats. Twisted logic, but I let it go.

French girls for Brad. Harry Potter for me. Could this vacation be any more idyllic?

There’s a dock on the opposite shoreline, but we glide past it to head for the shallow water and pebbled beach. Climbing out of an unwieldy canoe onto a dock generally only leads to trouble, especially when the dock is higher than the canoe sits in the water. Much easier to splash through the shallows.

Being in the front means I have to hop out first and drag the canoe up the beach, which I attempt to do. My flip flops are slick with pond scum, and as the point of the canoe hits the beach, it snags there. I slip and sit down hard on the packed earth. Clumsy oaf girl.

“Are you hurt?” Brad splashes out of the canoe and drags it past me to rest completely out of the water, to the approval of girls hanging up the beach a bit. They watch him with interest, and I wonder how long until he loses his shirt again.

“I broke my bum.”

“And your pride.”

“And my sense of humor,” I agree, letting him help me to my feet. He lets go of my hand really quickly, eyes on the girls down the beach.

“Try not to find a hobbit or something hiding in the general store,” he heads toward the girls and the store.

Stupid idea, really. Hobbits clearly live in Middle Earth and wouldn’t be hanging out on a beach in England. I hurry to follow in his footsteps, wishing it was socially acceptable to rub my sore backside. Just then, a thought occurs to me.

French girls? What if Brad has been flirting with Veelas? I should stick close to him, just in case.

Oh he's being kind, i likey
GREAT chapter, and i like Ally's way of thinking, Veela's hmm.. *thinks*
I wonder if she'll see Harry/Al again
PAMS!

This is amazing! I just read the first few chapters and I can't stop laughing. Especially when she first meets "Harry Potter".

I subscribed!

Fabulous work!!!

The slime on the flip flop bit was hilarious. I thought about Veelas as soon as he mentioned French.

Haha, loving the checklist
As soon as you mentioned French, I thought of Veelas! Sweetness!

Hilarious as usual and I loved the post! PLEASE PAMS!