Chapter Text
Standing before the gates of Hogwarts: School of Radical Left-Wing Ideals, Dick Johnson surveyed the castle and went over his master plan.
He would enter through the gates, kicking them open with pure masculine rage before sprinting to the Great Hall and whipping out his 4.02.93 Artillery Battalion Assault Rifle Launcher and gunning down all the leftist scum within. Haha! Scum! It's funny because it has cum in it!
Dick Johnson nodded with masculine head-bobbing and scaled the locked gates, only impaling himself a little bit on the spiked tips. He was barely bleeding. He didn't need a hospital, especially not a commie-socialist one like the ones in Europe! And besides, no one could prove that he had been clinically dead for at least four weeks, so he was good to go.
Stumbling a bit due to the delirium brought on by blood loss, of which there was little to none, no matter how large of a blood trail he was leaving, he arrived at the mighty doors of Hogwarts: School of Radical Left-Wing Ideals!
With a mighty kick, his foot met wood. The door splintered into tiny splinters which reminded him of the tiny breadcrumbs of affection he tried and failed to get from his father as a boy. Gazing off into the distance as his mind wandered to the day his father bravely sallied forth to fetch a carton of milk, never to return, flashed through his memories. His papa had likely met his end by the hands of THE W.O.K.E., a dreaded hivemind virus that did. . .SOMETHING! Just like Critical Race Theory did! Dick Johnson didn't need to understand the things he was angry about to fight against them! Telling him what to think was Tucker Perpetually-Constipated Carlson's job.
'Ahem.' A racist voice from behind him spoke up. 'Are we going in soon? They've certainly heard all the commotion and prepared for our arrival.'
Behind him was his distant relative Boris Johnson, who had smuggled him across the pond in a biscuit tin. Dick Johnson was banned from nearly every airport, port, parking garage, and primary school in the world due to an unfortunate incident involving a litre of strawberry jam, thirty little girls, and a waffle iron. Damn liberals! A man couldn't get his need met in this day and age without them crying paedophilia.
'Yes, today we strike a fatal blow to the FemiNazi movement! Let men everywhere rejoice!' Dick Johnson cried, rushing into the school.
Entering the Great Hall he came face to face with. . .GASP! FemiNazi Emma Watson! She was dressed in Hogwarts: School of Radical Left-Wing Ideals robes, and not even the slutty kind! Still, something about the dark material brought to mind the good, HinduMuslimBollywood girls who covered themselves up from the eyes of men, lest they incur their fathers wrath and be brutally murdered to restore their families honour. Dick Johnson's johnson swelled at the thought of being the first to plunder her chamber of secrets.
'EMMA WATSON!' Dick Johnson yelled, a vein in his throat and forehead bulging with his masculine rage as he gazed lustily at what might have been the swell of her boba's. Or perhaps her shoulder. His parents had refused to let him attend any biology or sex-ed lessons, citing the GOOD LARDS HOLEY BI-BELL when questioned. 'I should have known that YOU would be here!'
'You don't have to shout, I'm right in front of you.' Emma Watson said, carefully lowering her hands from her ears.
'I AM A MAN AND THEREFORE FILLED WITH RAGE! IF YOU DO NOT LET ME EXPRESS MY ANGER THEN YOU ARE NOT RESPECTING MY BOUNDARIES AND TRAUMADUMPING ON MY TRIGGEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSS!!!!' Dick Johnson wailed. His therapist, a good godly man, had assisted him in beating his silly little ex-wife into submission when she had the ridiculous idea of signing them up for couples therapy. Some nonsense about him having a drinking problem and treating her like a punching bag. Well, taking a page from Jonah Hill's book, he and his therapist had used legitimate teachings to make all of his supposed flaws HER fault. Speaking of Jonah Hill, Dick Johnson was currently dressed like Tighten, from Megamind. The brave, chivalrous, heroic man had always been his hero, and he recalled how much he wept when the vile Megamind stole Hal's true love away. But that was typical of bitches, wasn't it? Offer them a bouncy castle on a silver platter and they run off with the first goth they see! TYPICAL FEE-MAILS!
Behind him Boris Johnson was glancing over the Hogwarts: School of Radical Left-Wing Ideals student records and meticulously crossing out Blaise Zabini's name over and over again with a marker.
'If that was enough to trigger you, then how about this?!' Emma Watson said, gesturing toward her left.
Turning his head Dick Johnson GASPED as several women stepped out from the shadows. Constance Pickering, the evil witch who hoped to change the status quo and make lives better for ALL muggles? Dick Johnson was a firm believer that #ALLLIVESMATTER, but he would be rotting in his grave before a damn homo got to ride a dragon before him! Delphini Lestrange as well?!?! Well, that one wasn't too bad, she had some #DaddyIssues that he would be happy to help her work through, though she was a bit old for his tastes.
His distant relative Boris Johnson squawked in surprise as the doors to the Great Hall opened revealing yet another foe. 'GASP!' Dick Johnson gasped. A leftist! Not just a leftist, but a social-justice-warrior-vegan-who-pets-cats-at-animal-shelters-every-Tuesday! A Conservaticks worst nightmare! The androgynous he-she was dragging something heavy and covered in a sheet behind them.
'Behold, Dick Johnson, your true self!' he/she/it/attack helicopter declared before whipping off the sheet, revealing the Mirror of Erised, which is just Desire spelled backwards, not that Dick Johnson could spell. He assumed Erised was the name of a pro wrestler
Dick Johnson stepped forward and peered at the Mirror. What he saw left him shaking. He saw himself! Smiling! Happy! Holding hands with his ex-wife! What kind of trickery was this? The only things his hands should be doing is smacking her for her impudence! The only things her hands should be doing is baking him another pie like a good 1950s housewife! Then the image changed, and he saw himself in a dress, performing before a crowd. His chest was stuffed to comedic proportions and his cake could not have fit into an oven meant for a Jew, not that those ever existed because the Holocaust was a scheme by Big Shoelaces to make people buy more aglets. Then it changed once more, and he was sitting on a beach with his head on another man's shoulder. NO HOMO! Good gravy god in buttery mashed potato heaven, the only thing that could make this worse was if he was drinking a Bud Light while shopping at Target!
Unable to accept these devilish visions Dick Johnson screeched, but you know, in a manly way, and ran to the top of the Astronomy Tower before flinging himself off. As he hurtled toward oblivion he swore he heard his father chuckling before declaring 'I forgot my wallet!'
Then he went splat like Humpty Dumpty and died of too much deadness. Blaise Zabini turned Boris Johnson into a toilet and placed him in the worst restaurant in the world where all the diners get instant food poisoning and spew from both ends. Emma Watson became the Master of Death and Empress of all the Multiverse and teamed up with Wonder Woman and Sandy Cheeks to topple the Patriarchy once and for all. But that is a story for another day. . .