Percy Jackson and the Locket of Salazar

1) "9-1-1, What is Your Emergency?" "Non-Alcoholic Beer is Assaulting Me!"

"Ah, good evening, Harry," Dumbledore spoke. "Excellent, excellent."

Mr. Dursley, finally breaking through his shocked silence, spat, "I don't mean to be rude —"

"— yet, sadly, accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly often," Dumbledore said morosely. "Best to say nothing at all, my dear man. Ah, and this must be Petunia."

And Petunia, wearing rubber gloves and wielding a sponge, stepped out of the kitchen, clearly half-way through her final sweep of the house. She looked kind of like Blackjack whenever he found out I didn't have any donuts, what with the shocked look on her horse-like face.

"Albus Dumbledore," Dumbledore introduced himself upon seeing that Mr. Dursley wouldn't be doing it on his behalf. "And you've met Percy, I'm sure. We have corresponded, of course. And this must be your son Dudley?"

Dudley, stepping round the living-room door, had grown even more since I'd last seen him, much of his bulk shaped into muscle now. Luckily, he hadn't been nearly as strong when he'd been bullying me. It was sad, though, that he looked like a beefed-up pig — that was a cow's job.

"No, that's their pet," I told Dumbledore. "He can even do tricks, see. All right, Dudders... Run!" And I sprinted down the hallway, reveling in the squeal that erupted from Dudley as he did exactly what I said, running back into the living room. "Oh, you deserve a treat for that one."

"Shut up, Percy!" Dudley growled, gathering his wits as he realized I was a lot smaller than he was.

"No," I shrugged, flopping back on the couch, listening as Dumbledore invited himself into the living room, Harry trailing after him.

Dumbledore placed himself in the cushiest seat available, right beside the fireplace, and with a wave of his wand, the TV, showing a game of soccer, flicked off.

"Aren't — aren't we leaving, sir?" Harry asked nervously.

"Yes, indeed we are, but there are a few matters we need to discuss first," Dumbledore told Harry. "And I would prefer not to do so in the open. We shall trespass upon your aunt and uncle's hospitality only a little longer."

"You will, will you?" Vernon grumbled, shuffling into the room as Harry sat on the arm of my armchair.

"That sentence was symmetrical," I pointed out. "And yes, I think we will."

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded, pulling out his wand. His shriveled hand waved again, and the sofa shot forward, knocking into the backs of the three Dursleys knees, forcing them into a seat before zooming back to its original place. "We may as well be comfortable."

"What happened to his —" Harry whispered to me.

"Later, Hare-bear," I rubbed tiredly at my eyes. I hadn't gotten much sleep in the past week, and the cushion was quite soft.

"I would assume that you were going to offer us refreshment," Dumbledore said to Mr. Dursley, "but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness." Another wave of the wand, and a large bottle of butterbeer popped into existence, accompanied by six glasses. It poured itself into the cups, which then floated over to each person. "Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured butterbeer. Non-alcoholic, of course," Dumbledore raised his glass to Harry and me. Harry caught two glasses, and handed me my own. I sipped at it, hoping that it would help me keep awake. Whenever that didn't work, I pouted, but immediately got a boost of energy at the sight of the Dursley's, who were all refusing to take their butterbeer, and thus were getting their heads battered by the glasses.

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore turned to the boy in question, "a difficulty has arisen which I hope you will be able to solve for us. By us, I mean the Order of the Phoenix. But first of all I must tell you that Sirius's will was discovered a week ago and that he left you everything he owned."