Chapter Text
Once again, an argument had broken out at breakfast in 28201 East Bonanza Street. Mr. Maxi Cartman had been woken early that morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Kenny’s room.
“That is the third goddamned time this week!” he roared across the table at his nephew. “If you can’t control that fucking owl, I'm throwing it outside where it belongs!”
Kenny tried, yet again, to explain to them why she was hooting. “She’s bored!” he said. “She’s used to flying around outside all the time. If I was actually allowed to let her outside at night—“
“Do I look stupid?” snarled Uncle Maxi, fried egg dangling from his lip. “I know what’s going to happen if that owl is allowed out.”
He exchanged a dark look with his wife, Lianne.
Kenny tried to plead his case again but his words were drowned by a long, loud burp from the Cartmans’ son, Eric.
“Mahm! I want more bacon!”
“There’s more in the frying pan, poopskykins,” said Aunt Lianne, giving loving eyes to her obese son. “We have to feed you while we have the chance. . . . I don’t like the sound of that school food. . . .”
“He's fine, Lianne, I never went hungry when I was in school,” said Uncle Maxi heartily. “Eric eats enough, don’t you, son?”
Eric, who was so fat his ass hung over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Kenny.
“Pass the frying pan, donkey balls.”
“You forgot the magic word,” said Kenny irritably.
The effect of this simple sentence was catastrophic: Eric screamed and fell off of his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Cartman gave a small scream and clapped her hands over her mouth; Mr. Cartman jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.
“I just meant ‘please’!” said Kenny quickly. “I didn’t actually mean—“
“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU,” thundered his uncle, spraying spit onto Kenny's face, “ABOUT SAYING THE ‘M’ WORD IN OUR HOUSE?”
“I —”
“HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ERIC!” roared Uncle Maxi, pounding the table with his fist.
“I just —”
“I WARNED YOU! YOU WILL NOT TALK ABOUT YOUR FREAKY SHIT UNDER THIS ROOF!”
Kenny stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to get Eric back on his feet.
“Sorry,” said Kenny, “I didn't mean it like that . . .”
Uncle Maxi sat back down, breathing like a tired rhino and watching Kenny closely out of the corners of his small, angry eyes.
Since Kenny had come home for the summer break, Uncle Maxi had been treating him like a bomb that could go off at any moment, because Kenny McCormick wasn’t normal. In fact, he was as abnormal as he could be.
Kenny McCormick was a wizard — a wizard right out of his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Cartmans were unhappy for him to be back for the summer, it was nothing compared to how Kenny felt.
He missed Hogwarts so much it was like a constant ache in his chest. He missed the castle, with its secret hallways and ghosts, his classes (but not Garrison, the Potions teacher), the mail that arrived by owl, eating feasts in the Cafeteria, sleeping in his gigantic bed in the tower dorms, visiting the school's culinary master, Chef, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest, and, especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world (six tall goals, four flying balls, and fourteen players on broomsticks).
All of Kenny’s spellbooks, his wand, his school robes, his cauldron, and his state-of-the-art Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a closet under the stairs by Uncle Maxi the second Kenny stepped through the door. The Cartmans did not care if Kenny lost his place on the Gryffindor Quidditch team because he hadn’t practiced all summer? They really didn't care either if Kenny went back to school with none of his homework done? The Cartmans were what wizards called Muggles (they didn't have a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was the worst thing that had ever happened to them. Uncle Maxi had even locked Kenny’s owl, Lemmiwinks, inside her cage, to prevent Kenny from sending messages to anyone in the wizarding world.
Kenny looked nothing like the rest of his family. Uncle Maxi was fat, with black hair that faded to grey closer to his neck and glasses; Aunt Lianne was round-faced and always wore her brown hair in a bun at the back of her head; Eric was brunette, angry, and obese. Kenny was small and skinny, with bright blue eyes and golden-blonde hair that was always messy. Whenever he was home, he always wore an old orange parka that mostly covered his face with the exception of his eyes and his forehead were there was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.
It was this scar that made Kenny so abnormal, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Kenny’s mysterious past, of the reason why he had been left on the Cartmans’ doorstep eleven years earlier.
When he was just one years old, Kenny had somehow survived an attack from the greatest Dark troll of all time, Dildo Schwaggins, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Kenny’s family had died in Dildo Schwaggins’ attack, but Kenny had escaped with his lightning scar, and — nobody understood why but— Dildo Schwaggins’ powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to troll Kenny.
So Kenny that had left him with his dead mother’s sister and her husband. He had spent the past ten years with the Cartmans, never understanding why he kept making weird things happen without actually trying to do them, and wholly believing the Cartmans’ story that he had gotten his scar in the car accident that had killed his family.
And then, a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Kenny, and the truth had been revealed to him. Kenny left for wizard school afterwards, where he and his scar were famous . . . but now, the school year was over, and he was back with the Cartmans for the summer, being treated like a dog with a bad flea infestation.
The Cartmans hadn’t even remembered that today was Kenny’s twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn’t been high; they’d never given him a real present, much less a cake — but ignoring it completely was a new low . . .
At that moment, Uncle Maxi cleared his throat and said, “Now, as we all know, today is a very important day.”
Kenny looked up, not wanting to believe it.
“This is the day I make the biggest deal of my entire career,” said Uncle Maxi.
Kenny sadly looked back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Uncle Maxi was talking about his stupid dinner party. He’d been talking about nothing else for the past two weeks. Some rich contractor and his wife were coming over for dinner and Uncle Maxi was hoping to get a huge deal going with him (Uncle Maxi’s company made drills).
“Let's run through the schedule one more time,” said Uncle Maxi. “We're all going to be in position at exactly eight o’clock tonight. Lianne, where will you be — ?”
“In the front hall,” said Aunt Lianne promptly, “waiting to welcome them into our home.”
“Good. Eric?” “
"I’ll be waiting by the door.” Eric put on a nasty, fake smile. “May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”
“Oh, they’ll love him!” cried Aunt Lianne.
“Good, Eric,” said Uncle Maxi. Then he turned to Kenny. “And what about you?”
“I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not here,” said Kenny tonelessly.
“Exactly,” said Uncle Maxi nastily. “I will take them into the living, properly introduce you, Lianne, and you will pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen —”
“I’ll say dinner is ready,” said Aunt Lianne.
“And, Eric —”
“I'll say, 'may I take you through to our dining room, Mrs. Mason?'” said Eric, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.
“What a perfect little gentleman!” sniffed Aunt Lianne.
“And you?” said Uncle Maxi viciously to Kenny.
“I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Kenny dully.
“Okay. Now, we're all gonna get in a few compliments at dinner. Lianne?”
“Maxi tells me you’re an amazing golfer, Mr. Mason. . . . Where did you buy your dress, Mrs. Mason, it's beautiful. . . .”
“Perfect . . . Eric?”
“Hows about — ‘We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you.’ ”
This was too much for both Aunt Lianne and Kenny. Aunt Lianne burst into tears and hugged her son, while Kenny ducked under the table so they wouldn’t see him laughing.
“And you?” Kenny fought to keep his face straight as he sat up straight again. “I’ll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” he said.
“Where you should be,” said Uncle Maxi forcefully. “The Masons don’t know anything about you and it’s going to stay that way. When dinner’s over, you'll take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Lianne, and I’ll start talking about drills. After that, I’ll have the deal signed before the news is on at ten. And tomorrow, we’re going shopping for a vacation home.”
Kenny didn't feel excited about this. The Cartmans didn't like him any better on vacation than they did here.
“Alright then — I’m off to pick up the suit jackets for Eric and I. And you,” he snarled at Kenny. “Stay out of your aunt’s way while she’s cleaning.”
Kenny went outside after breakfast, leaving through the kitchen's back door. It was a warm, sunny day. He walked across the backyard, sadly sat down on the bench near the fence, and sang under his breath:
“Happy birthday to me . . . happy birthday to me . . .”
He had gotten no cards, no presents, and he would be spending the rest of his birthday pretending not to exist. He stared miserably at the bushes. He had never felt so lonely in his entire life. More than anything else, even more than playing Quidditch, Kenny missed his best friends, Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him once all summer, even though Stan had said he was going to invite Kenny to come and stay at his house at some point during the break.
Plenty of times, Kenny had been on the verge of unlocking Lemmiwinks’ cage using magic and sending her to Stan and Kyle with a letter, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Underage wizards weren’t allowed to use magic outside of school. Kenny hadn’t told the Cartmans this yet; he knew it only was their fear that he might turn them all into piles of dog poop that stopped them from locking him in the closet under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, Kenny had enjoyed muttering jibberish words under his breath and watching Eric run out of the room as fast as his fat legs could carry him. But the long silence from Stan and Kyle had made Kenny feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Eric had lost its appeal — and now Stan and Kyle had forgotten his birthday.
What wouldn’t he give right now for a message from even Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard he had ever met? He’d almost be glad to see his archenemy, Craig Tucker, just so he could be sure it hadn’t all just been a dream. . . .
Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun and games. At the end of last year, Kenny had come face-to-face with none other than Dildo Schwaggins himself. Dildo Schwaggins might be a ghost of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still deadly, and still determined to regain his lost powers. Kenny had slipped through Dildo Schwaggins’ grip for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Kenny kept waking in the night, drenched in a cold sweat, wondering where Dildo Schwaggins was now, remembering his face, his wide, evil eyes —
Kenny suddenly jumped and sat up straight on the bench. He had been staring absent-mindedly into the bushes — and they were staring back. Two huge green eyes had appeared in the leaves.
Kenny jumped to his feet just as an evil voice came from behind him.
“I know what day it is,” sang Eric, waddling closer.
The huge eyes blinked and vanished.
“What?” said Kenny, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had been.
“I know what day it is,” Eric repeated, standing in front of him.
“Cool, fat ass,” said Kenny. “You finally learned the days of the week.”
“Today’s your birthday,” sneered Eric. “And it would appear that you haven’t gotten a single present or card this year. Don’t you have any friends at that hippie bullshit school? Or do they not like you because you’re a poor, ugly fuck?”
“I wouldn't let your mom hear you talking about my school,” said Kenny coolly.
Eric pulled up his pants, which were slipping down his fat ass.
“Why were you staring at the bushes like that, butthole?” he said suspiciously.
“I’m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire,” said Kenny.
Eric stumbled backwards, a look of panic on his fat face. “You c-can’t — Dad said you you’re not to do m-magic — he said he’ll throw your poor ass out of the house — and you don’t have anywhere else to go — you don’t even have any friends that you —”
“Jiggery pokery!” said Kenny in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus — squiggly wiggly —”
“MAAAAHMMM!” howled Eric, tripping over his feet as he ran back toward the house. “MAHHMM! He’s doing you know what!”
Kenny paid for his moment of fun. Even though, Eric and the bushes were perfectly fine, and Aunt Lianne knew that he hadn’t really done magic, he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan she was holding. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise that he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished his chores.
While Eric sat around watching TV and eating ice cream, Kenny cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the bushes, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the backyard fence. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck after he’d finally conceded and taken off his signature parka. Kenny knew he shouldn’t have risen to Eric’s bait, but Eric had said what Kenny had been thinking himself . . . maybe he didn’t have any friends at Hogwarts. . . .
I wish everyone could see the famous Kenny McCormick now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face.
It was seven-thirty at night when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Lianne calling for him.
“Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!”
Kenny headed gladly into the shade of the pristine kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight’s dessert: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugar flowers on top of an immaculate cake. A roast beef was sizzling in the oven.
“Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” snapped Aunt Lianne, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.
Kenny washed his hands and wolfed down his meager dinner. The second he had finished, Aunt Lianne took away his plate. “Upstairs! Hurry!”
As he passed the door to the living room, Kenny caught a glimpse of Uncle Maxi and Eric in bow ties and suits. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Maxi’s furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.
“Remember— one sound —”
Kenny headed for his bedroom, tiptoeing, slipped quietly inside, closed the door, and then turned to collapse on his bed.
But he couldn't, because there was already someone sitting on it.