Well, I was just thinking about how in the green hell the Harry Potter series, a series about an incompetent politician who illegally locks away suspected criminals in a foreign island prison without a trial, citing and imminent threat by evil forces, wound up on the 'fiction' list. I was reading through the third book, and this idea hit me, so I spent a couple of minutes jotting it down. Have fun. I may update.

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azerbaijan

CHAPTER 1
I plagiarize an international copyright

Harry Potter woke up with a start. He looked around his room; it was messy, with books and clothes scattered everywhere. Harry was not like most boys's his age: for one, he dreaded the summer holidays every year, and longed for the date he could return to his school. For another thing, he had two dads.

Well, this was not entirely accurate: he was raised by two men, but he had a rather normal parentage, though it did not last long. When Harry was still a baby, his family had been visited by the greatest Dark Lord in the entire world: Bin Ladenmort. He attempted to kill Harry, and in the process murdered his parents who tried to protect him. To this day, no one knew why Ladenmort had decided to visit him, nor how Harry had survived the plane that was hijacked directly into his infant body (Although Dylan Avery's theory was that Bin Ladenmort was just a figment of everyone's imagination, and that Harry had been hit by a cruise missile. Then again, no one cares what the fuck Dylan Avery has to say). What was puzzling further was why two foreign nation where invaded in the wake of Harry's attempted assassination, instead of anyone simply finding and arresting Bin Ladenmort. Harry had not been left completely unharmed, however: he had been left with a small, lightning shaped scar on his forehead. The scar was the subject of much speculation and talk, especially as to how a 20 ton, 40 foot wide jumbo jet left only a half inch scar on harries forehead. Furthermore, Harry was the only person alive to have survived being hit by a plane, which added much mystery to the entire situation.

Harry was deep in reminiscence of the night, as he often was these days after learning the horrible truth of his parents death 2 years ago, and so did not hear the loud groan of the bottom staircase as someone walked up to his room. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a loud boom on his door. "GET DOWN HERE FOR BREAKFEAST, BOY!". It was his "uncle", Tom Delay. Harry hurried down the stairs, being careful not to stub his bare toes on the nail sticking out of one of the steps. His Uncle Tom had been talking about fixing it for ages, yet it seems like all Tom Delay ever did was talk, never taking any initiative or doing any real work. Harry often wondered why his uncle couldn't simply fix the offending nail, since him and his buddies where constantly bragging about how good they where at fixing things, although now that he thought about it the only "things" he ever heard them talk about where elections. "Bloody hell, Harry, comb your hair. It's a mess."."Uncle Rick, I don't HAVE a comb, and none of you will let me borrow yours." "Ha!" sneered his Uncle Tom "Let you touch your filthy liberal hair on our combs? Shut up, and eat your ruddy kippers before they get cold."."How come all I get is kippers," Harry asked rather annoyed, "When Rush gets Steak and eggs?" "BECAUSE, BOY!" Boomed his Uncle Tom, "RUSH ISN'T.... OFF!". Tom Delay was referring to Harry being a liberal. As far as they where concerned, having a liberal in their house was as bad as it could get. The hid the fact from everyone, and treated Harry, who honestly hated his guardians with all his will, like utter dirt. "Quiet, Tom!" squealed his other uncle, Rick Santurom, "the neighbors will hear you!" Rush was Harry's cousin. He was immensely overweight, and had finally accomplished what he had been threatening all summer: he finally required two chairs to sit down. "By the way, boy" said Uncle Rick threateningly, "If I hear one more ruddy owl, I'm locking you back in the cupboard under the stairs!" "Bloody well said!" Cut in Uncle Tom heatedly "They've been making a right racket for all the neighbors to hear!" he finished, glaring at Harry as if he had just uttered a foul word. "For. The Last. Time." said Harry, who's teeth where clenched so tightly it was making his jaw hurt, "I do not use carrier owls. No Liberals do. I have no clue whatsoever where you got that idea. We are perfectly able to use telephones. You know this, as you have seen me using one before. And what the hell is with all the British words? This is obviously a parody of U.S conservative politics, so this OBVIOUSLY takes place in America!
"..."
"..."
"...er..."
"Um..."
"Well you see..."
"..."
"uhhh...."
"..."
Harry cried out in pain as the cooking iron connected solidly with the side of his head.

Chapter 2
A dark Omen

Harry was in his room sending an Email to some of his friends from school. His uncles were asleep, snoring loudly, and his piggy cousin would be lying asleep by now, too. Harry heard a lite rasping at his door, and ex'd out of the computer program. "Come in" he whispered, so as to not wake anyone up. The door opened, and he saw the figure in the doorway. It was Dobby, their house-negro. "Hello, Harry Potter sirs! How great it is to see you agains, Sir! I am filled with great sadness when I am not knowing how Harry Potter is doing, sir!" "Er... Hullo, Dobby. It's been what, 30 minutes? What happened to your hands?" they where bandaged completely, and Dobby whimpered slightly as Harry mentioned them. "Well, you is seeing master", said Dobby hurryingly "I is burning the master's pot roast last night, Harry Potter Sirs! And when Masters see this, they made poor Dobby shove his hands under the lawnmower!" "Why, that's horrible, Dobby! Are you OK now?" Harry asked, worried about Dobby. "Oh yes masters, yes!" he assured Harry "So kind you are, master! Thinking of Dobby like that" he said, a tear forming in his eye. "So...." said Harry, wanting to change the subject "I....uh.... see your junks just hangin' out there." "Oh yes sirs!" said Dobby automatically, "'Tis a sign of the Negro's enslavement, sir! Master can not give clothes to Dobby sir, or else he will be free!" he said, as if each word pained him. "Er... you know Dobby, we fought a war over this a few years back. Black people are free. You can go. And most of that crap my uncles told you about cloths is probably false." "Oh, yes sir" muttered Dobby, with a look of accusation in his eye, "Masters Rick and Tom warned me, sir, warned me of your liberal tricks!" "Ok, Dobby; remember how we had this exact same conversation about Minimum wage, sex with white women, and the right to vote?" asked Harry wearily, not having the energy to have this argument again. "Look, never mind. What did you want?" "Oh, yes master! Dobby has come to give Harry Potter sirs the worst of news, sir! For you see, Dobby must warn Harry Potters, sir, warn him not to go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft, Wizardry, and Lawsuit Defense For When Our Asses Inevitably Get Sued By The Parents Of One Of The Dozens Of Kids That Get Killed, Injured, Or Mutilated Seemingly Every Year At Our School! For if he does, Harry Potter sirs, awful things will happen! Awful things indeed!" "But Hogwarts is my home! I can't stop going!" replied Harry. "Oh, but you must, sirs! Dobby has heard awful, terrible things sir!" Squeaked Dobby, his eyes wide with fear "You must!" "Like what? What did you hear?" Inquired Harry "I cannot say, Harry Potter sirs! I have sworn masters Tom and Rick I would not tell, and I cannot break my word, sirs! Tis' another sign of the Negroes enslavement!" Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "Ok, have you even heard of the civil war before, Dobby? Or the Emancipation Proclamation?" "No sirs, master Rick does not allow me to read history books, sir, only books that he gives me by Anne Coulter". "Ok, fine, whatever" Harry said, writing a phone number down on a small slip of paper "Just promise me you'll call this, ok? It's the number for the ACLU.". "Master has also warned me of them, sirs! Liars and Pinkos and leftist scum!" "ARG!" moaned Harry, growing more and more impatient "Just call them, dammit!". And with that, he slammed the door and went to sleep, dreaming about his wonderful return to Hogwarts.