God Save the Queen

A/N: A humor one-shot, if your British and highly patriotic, you might get offended - otherwise, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I mean no offense to any parties my fictional characters may resemble, I make no profit off this work, and own nothing.

Harry Potter was not average in most ways, but was still a teenager under the piles of horseshit continuously piled on top of his -now severely- strained back. His relatives, normally loud and abrasive company, luckily, had retreated to the beach today.

Snatching a can of Iron pop out of the fridge, he strolled over to the couch, plopping down on the portion that still retained some fluff. Flipping on the telly and settling back into the couch, he listened to the BBC reporter state the obvious:

“ The Isle's average temperature has reached its peak this afternoon, topping out at a staggering 26 degrees. Many denizens of inland counties have retreated to the shores, trying to squeeze what relief they can find from the heat, when faced with this unprecedented, sweltering hot day.. This is - “

Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he studied the tops of the bushes outside the window, hoping and failing to catch sign of any sort of breeze.

Dropping his head back into the couch with a sigh of frustration, he tuned back into his chaotic thoughts. He didn't like thinking often, it usually just led to buggered moods, the prophecy.. his fragile popularity in school, his unfaithful friends, who excluding Hermione had almost all turned on him at some point.

No.. he liked to block those out for as long as he could, but this led to one thing, boredom. You see, boredom was never a good thing for Harry Potter to cultivate in company. It wasn't a good thing that day when he was just six and tripped his cousin Dudley at the top of the stairs, or when he had built a bug farm in one of his Aunt's frying pans.

He mused about doing something similar, but mischief like that was for kids, and muggle ones at that. No, he was a wizard, he had magic at his beck and call. Unlimited possibilities, and power. There was little chance that the Ministry, in his mind, had him as a priority -nor for surveillance, nor inspection- so soon after the break-in. His heart fluttered for a moment; freedom.

Sighing in frustration and letting his hands fall with a Thud to the couch cushions, he mused over possible activities. In the background, the telly continued its long diatribe.

“ Prince Edward today has announced a surprise trip too the Royal Academy at Standhurst. He's expected to have a meet with the Commandant, see to Prince Henry's progress, and continue on his way. This, of course, came as a surprise to no one; the Prince has been known throughout his reign for.. “

Smirking he hopped up off the couch and jogged up the stairs to his trunk, kicked the lock open and threw open the lid. Fishing out an old text from his Fourth year he thumbed through the pages 2 at a time. Locating the Charms to Baffle, Bewilder, and Trick chapter, he propped it open and hurriedly scanned the pages.

It was staggering, the sheer amount of shit that Wizard's invented, but he trudged through nonetheless until he struck gold. Some clever bugger had thought it was a good idea to take the Unforgivables, rename them, and then reclassify them in the books under the guise of something harmless.When he thought about it, it was logical.

Adults are just teenagers with heaps more pressure to deal with; and what do teenagers desire most? What they can't have, the book was his case in point. The author had just made the Cruciatus serve as a nerve agent in Mediwizardry, the Avada Kedvra as a useful agent for pest and rodent control, and the Imperious a stage magicians trick.

Glancing over the wand movements and incantation, he looked around for something to test it on. Spotting the familiar white owl, a slow smirk spread its way up the side of his face, casting eerie shadows that highlighted the bags forming under his eyes from largely restless nights.

Commande

The shiny black orbs lost all signs of life, the upper-portion of the delivery owl slacking as if gravity itself had increased.

“Hop”

The bird complied, hopping up and slamming its head into the top of its cage. Wincing, he jerked the wand and cut the connection.

Laughing a bit manically, he jogged back downstairs, grabbed a bottle of water, and sprinted out the door.

Navigating the many side and main streets, he all together too quickly spotted the familiar school he had just seen on the telly. Finding a comfortable spot on the ground, he made sure he was still near enough that he could see the approach of any, say, motorcades.

Splashing down some of the water, it took all of 10 minutes before the convoy showed. One Rolls Royce and two charcoal-black BMW's to its front and rear.

“So typical” He thought in mild distaste. Cracking his wand over his head, he applied a basic Disillusionment charm and crept up to the wrought iron gates. Smirking as the motorcade came to a halt inside the half-circle driveway of the Academy, he steadied his wand between the bars and fired off the modified Imperius.

Thoughts flooded his head, and looking back up, a man he assumed was Prince Charles, clad in dress garb and all, had come full stop.

Staring at the bars to assist him in clearing his thoughts, he suppressed the loud noise in his head and issued basic commands.

Walk The man complied.

Act naturally The man walked forward, shaking hands with the Commandant, smiling brightly.

Grumbling, Harry hurriedly cast a Magnification charm on his glasses, tapping them once and resettling himself, now with a much more suitable view.

Sing “God Save the Queen” The man started up a patriotic chorus, once almost done, Harry issued another very simple command.

Trip the Queen. The Old noble went stumbling forward, letting out a shriek, as if the ground were acid, flailing her arms wildly, and ultimately succeeding in face-planting straight into the asphalt with a dull Thud.

Genuinely chuckling for the first time in a few weeks, his face snapped to a serious demeanor, all mirth gone. He had a plan, and it was goood.

Steal the guard's rifle. The Prince complied, tugging the service bullpup from the guards hands.

Whispering the next command, he collapsed into fits of laughter as the once dignified Prince pointed the rifle at his Queen's feet, chillingly intoned “Dance bitch.” And emptied the clip, bullet by bullet, at Her Majesty's feet.

Composing himself, he caught one glance back through the bars before he was on the ground laughing again.

The Queen, it would seem, was bursting at her seems. She had, in all seriousness, made a wee.

Hearing a rustle behind him, he turned in time to see a pistol pointed directly at his face. Looking down, it would seem the charm wore off on him.

“Bugger.”

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