If Harry Potter Were my Best Friend

If you missed it, yesterday I guest posted at Corrupt Camel. Today, I am pleased to say, Camel will be guest posting here. After you finish this post, I encourage you all to head on over to his site for more comical genius.

Can you imagine being friends with the legendary wizard, Harry Potter? 

I imagine us sharing a tasty banana split at a local Baskin Robbins on a hot summer day. Extra chocolate syrup please. My red Schwinn and his sleek Nimbus 2000 would be locked up around front.

“Can’t you just make your own ice cream with magic, Harry? This B-Split set me back $2.99 plus tax. PLUS TAX. If I recall correctly, your parents left you a lot of money. You’d think you could have at least picked up the tab.”

“I can’t use magic around muggles and my gold coins usually just end up confusing cashiers and attracting unwanted suspicion,” Harry would say, with his mouth full of ice cream.

I’d sigh loudly. “That sucks so badly, dude. So so badly. Can I ask you a question?”

He’d look around, and lean in closely, “You know, we are best friends apparently. Go ahead, ask your question.”

“Too true my friend, too true. So, uh,” I’d say, pushing the banana split aside to show him just how serious this question was to me. “How many times did Hermione play with your, y’know, magic wand?”

“Excuse me?” He’d reply, dropping his tiny pink plastic spoon and removing his glasses to show how disgusted he was with me.

“Come on man, I mean, how often did she let you pull down her Dumbledores so you could stick your Weasley in her Hermione?”

“NEVER!” He’d stand up and shout. Causing patrons around us to glance over uncomfortably. At this point, he’d take a step back, some deep breaths, put his glasses back on and lower his voice, “No, never. Also, calling it a Weasley is SO wrong.”

“Don’t you mean, SO Ron?” I'd ask smirking.

“That’s a terrible joke.”

“Couldn’t resist. But for real, you and Hermione never ever fooled around? You mean, you two, all that time alone and no Slytherin? Really?”

Frustrated, he’d slap his palm to his forehead. "No. No Slytherin."

“Holy mother of Malfoy. Harry, surely, living in the same dorm you got to second or third base at least?”

“Can we talk about something else?” As he asked this he’d open his coat to reveal that he was packing magical heat.

I would know he was bluffing and continue to badger him. “No heavy petting? You can't tell me you didn’t place your Ravenclaw on her Minerva McGonagall?”

“Nope. No Ravenclaw. There was a bit of um…”

“A bit of what, Harry? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

Baskin Robbins would be quieter than one of Hagrid’s deadly farts. Every Baskin Robbins customer had been listening in and now, as Peanut Buster Parfaits and Oreo Blizzards sat ignored and melting on the tables, everyone held their breath (also how they might’ve reacted after one of Hagrid’s deadly farts).

One little boy, no older than 5 or 6 would stand up and say, “Go ahead Harry, we’re all listening. Tell us what kind of play you got with Hermione.”

Nods spread around the store faster than the smell of one of Hagrid’s infamous farts (which will no longer be mentioned from here on out).

Harry would raise his head proudly, address every last ice cream loving son of a bitch in the store and say, “There was a little bit of Hufflepuff.”

We’d all cheer as if we’d just won the house cup or had any idea what he meant by Hufflepuff. “HA! I knew it," I'd jump up from my seat with glee. "Give me a high five my friend.”

Our hands would hit and make a thunderous sound.

*SNAPE!*

Once everything calmed down a bit, I’d pat Harry on the back. “That is good news, Harry. For a second I thought you were a bit Quirrell.”

He’d look at me funny. “You thought I was a bit Quirrell? That is bizarre. You just imagined us sharing a banana split and um, in your own words, jumped with glee.”

"Nice burn, buddy. Looks like you had one trick up your sleeve after all, Harry. So, shall we share a celebratory milkshake?"

For more hilarity, visit CorruptCamel.Com