I promised myself a long break from writing fanfiction so I could get in touch with my scholarly self. But I just love you all too much to leave you without a sequel.

Thank you to everyone on my Reviewer Hall of Fame: Jenny, Katya, I'm your 100th reviewer, L. Spencer1153 (I'm so happy u cared enuff to review so much. Here's the new story u wanted), me gusta books, Brick Retarded Weatherman, Black Triforce (u reviewed so much!), heartdamoose, Always Peach, WritingU.S.A., Caitie, Mz Hellfire, Pink Monkey Pirate, Kalira, Kimberly, CrazyMonkey1213, Unbeknownst, GirlChild1313, A fan, skwiggle, Ludricous, Lady Ana, fUnKy MaGiCk, the vampire slayer, kathryn, Courtney, ScottyBoi, sophiethedevil, Basketball-Football-Chick, Cat, Random Reviewer, Lily the Looter, , pookyrox, Lost-Magic, HULIA, MionezTwin01, abbs, and Neko Majin. You are all awesome, and I hope you've been keeping up with the story. Thanks for getting me to 100 reviews! Now, without further ado, enjoy…

Oh wait. Disclaimer: Silly me. How could I forget the all-important disclaimer. Ahem…I do not own Harry Potter. Only flippin idiot would think that. I also don't own the Flintstones, Rambo, or the molemen (though God knows I've been trying to find them since the dawn of time). Or anything else in here that's famous.

And NOW without any more further ado, I present to you:

Harry Potter and the Coliseum of Secrets

Chapter One: Blobby

The scene was dark and silent. Suddenly, bright spotlights lit the street from above. An announcer in a tux leaped out from a bush as loud music that sounded like the Flintstone's theme song erupted from nowhere.

"Potter, Harry Potter, goes to Hogwarts to learn wiz-ard-ryyyyy, Voldemort, wants to kill him, all because of some dumb pro-phe-cyyyyyyy!" the announcer sang. Suddenly a bunch of random readers marched up to him, slapped him thoroughly, and hissed, "How many times must we tell you that you people that no one's supposed to know about the prophecy till 5th year?!" before marching away.

Inside one of the houses one the street, a black-haired boy with a pear-shaped scar on his head reclined in melancholy on a luxurious arm-chair. He stared sorrowfully at his flat-screen plasma TV while his zombie-cousin Dudley, who was crouching under Harry's feet to prop them up, vibrated dutifully. His aunt and uncle, when they were not busy eating the brains of various neighbors, fed him grapes and fanned him occasionally.

The boy slammed his fist down out of nowhere and cried angrily, "Why must you treat me so cruelly? How can you fan me so evilly? GOD!" before running out into the street, leaving some confused zombies in his wake. Uncle Vernon blinked, then began chewing his fan.

Harry walked moodily onto the driveway, wondering how he could be so unlucky to be stuck with that horrid zombie family, when suddenly, after putting his foot down, he could not lift it back up. "Oh, even BETTER!" he cried bitterly. "I stepped in GUM!"

"Begging pardon, sir," a throaty high-pitched voice said from somewhere near his hip. He turned to see a strange sort of creature there, sort of like that mucuosy Pokemon thing, except with pointy ears and little stick legs that popped out from under his slimy shell. The goo dribbled off him onto the street, where Harry had put down his foot.

"What in bloody hell are you?!" Harry cried in horror.

The creature sniffed. "I have heard of Harry Potter's insanity, but never of his rudeness. No, never."

"I say, shut up," Harry snapped desperately. He wished he'd never met this disgusting slimebag.

"Ahem," the slime spluttered. "Blobby has a message for Harry Potter." He took out a sheaf of paper. "If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will die," the slime drawled in a bored tone.

"What?! Of course I'm going back to Hogwarts. How else will I be a hero?" Harry puffed out his chest. He didn't even like Hogwarts, but he wouldn't let the slime get his way.

Blobby shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. "Whatever," he said disinterestedly, lighting it up and taking a drag.

"I say, what are you?" Harry inquired.

"Elf," Blobby rasped. Harry looked at him incredulously.

"You don't look like any of the dead elves in the common room," Harry accused.

Blobby shrugged. "My mother was part jello." Harry wrinkled his nose.

"So, er, Boobie-"

"-Blobby."

"-Blobby-why exactly would I die if I went back to Hogwarts?"

"Well," Blobby began, "there's this guy named-"

"Ooooh! Oooooh pick me teacher! Pick me!" Harry waved his hand in the air. Blobby stared at him, then sighed. "What?" he asked.

"Is it Voldemort?" Harry asked eagerly.

"No."

"Is it...Voldemort's evil twin?"

"No."

"His...momma?"

"No."

"His evil teenage mutant ninja turtle?"

"No."

"His pet talking cabbage?"

"NO! NO! NO! SHUT UP! YOU'LL NEVER GUESS THIS SO JUST SHUT UP!" Blobby screamed. "LOOK, GO AHEAD AND GO BACK TO HOGWARTS FOR ALL I CARE, JUST DON'T BLAME ME WHEN YOU GET EATEN BY A GIGANTIC SNAKE!" Then he paled, if a blob can do that, and said, "Bad Blobby, bad Blobby." Harry watched him stab himself repeatedly before getting bored and wandering off to munch on wolfberries.

By the time Harry glanced up from the berry bush, now covered in throw-up, it was too late. Blobby was either lying somewhere dying from blood loss or else he'd gone back to whatever sewer he crawled out of. Harry shrugged and went back inside for a cool glass of insecticide to refresh him on this hot summer's day. While the Dursleys fanned him, he snorted contemptuously, "Who could fit a giant snake in that flimsy little castle anyway?"

The next day was Harry's birthday. The zombie-Dursleys waited on him, holding up platters of caviar and placing a crown on his head and a scepter in his hand. At least here, in the summer, people appreciated him and worshipped him like the true tragic hero he was. Harry chose to ignore the fact that the only ones who did this were his addled relatives. Instead he basked in glory—that is, until the doorbell rang. Harry snapped his fingers and Dudley waddled over to answer it, trailing his arms along the floor.

A man and his wife were on the step. "We're here for the dinner with your father to discuss tampon production at his factory…" The man continued after Dudley gave him a blank stare: "You know…Sir Lord Madam Wellingtonley the Third?"

Dudley replied by tugging at the man's scalp, drooling. "Oh god! Zombies! My wife is terrified of zombies!" Sir Lord Madam Wellingtonley the Third shrieked, jumping on top of his wife's head, who fainted. The Dursleys rushed over and made a quick meal of the dormant victims. Harry rolled his eyes and would have gone back to watching one of those hilarious British sitcoms with all the old people, if not for a certain part-elf part-jello standing in the doorway. He loomed above the full and satisfied Dursleys, a cell phone in his hand.

"Sorry, Potter," the elf said dryly, "But Blobby must do this to save Harry Potter from blah blah and the blah blah blah…" He punched three numbers into the phone…

By the time the lights of the sirens flashed through Harry's window, Blobby had conveniently disappeared. Harry himself was busy pacing the living room, wondering how to deal with police investigating his zombie family. But alas and alack, 'twas too late for our hero. He heard his doorbell ring and went to answer it, a dread feeling in his stomach.

A week later found him barricaded in Number Four Privet Drive, which resembled a strange looking fort by now. He'd barred himself into the house after chasing the police out with a vacuum cleaner. He had a bandanna tied around his forehead and a Gatling gun propped out of the living room window. He'd been holding off the cops for what seemed like forever, crying such silly things like "You'll never take me alive!" or "Give me liberty or please go away and leave my man-flesh consuming family alone, brutes!"

The only time he could stop was at night. And since the moment we join him again was night, he was sitting staring outside his window. Because he was rather busy trying to make a spoon stick to his nose, he didn't see what appeared to be a disembodied head in his open window until it was only a foot away from his.

"ARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!" Harry cried, collapsing in a heart attack.

When he came to, what looked like a girl in a silk blouse with a shock of red hair was bending over him. But when it spoke, it was in a male voice.

"Hey there mate," Ron began. "We thought you'd never come to. We've been waiting till the cows came home!"

"Oh God! The cows? Home?!" And with that Harry fainted again.

The next time he awoke, a young man with a hockey mask and a machete in his hand was peering at him from above.

The next time he awoke, the hockey mask man smacked him across the face. "We don't have time for you to keep fainting, Harry! Snap out of it, before the police see the—" he was interrupted by the sounds of gunfire, and the slight thump of two bodies hurling onto the floor before something big exploded just outside of Harry's window. "—car," Jason finished meekly.

"Phew," muttered one of the bodies, who looked exactly like hockey man except for his striped shirt, hat, and claws. "That was a close one…" Freddie got up and dusted himself off, after helping Ron to his feet.

"Crikey, mate!" Ron cried. "We were gonna spring you outta here and take you to our house, but those funny-looking people outside exploded the car! How are we gonna get out of here?!"

Harry grinned. He had just the means. He walked over to his trunk and dramatically pulled out—

"A tampon?" Freddie exclaimed incredulously. "How is that going to help?"

Harry scowled, burrowed farther into his stuff, and finally pulled out a hand-size motorized cart in triumph.

"Er…mate, sorry, but I really don't think we could all fit in that," Jason rolled his eyes.

"I don't really think our eyeballs could fit in that," Freddie observed.

Harry sniffed. "I shrunk it and took it home in June. All I have to do is make it big again and we're good to go."

"Genius—" Ron began.

"Yes, I know I am."

"—of these Muggles to make a lamp shaped like a penguin," Ron said in awe, eyeing Harry's furniture. He looked back at Harry in his Rambo outfit and added, "I say, what are you wearing, mate?" After Harry angrily punched a hole in the wall, he set about trying to engorge the cart to its regular size. Once that was done, he hurriedly flew it out of the window, breaking a few more holes in the wall in the process.

"Climb in!" Harry cried. Hails of gunfire whizzed above his head as Freddie, Jason, and Ron hopped into the cart. As they zoomed upwards, Harry shot the lasers at the cops below. "You'll never take me alive, damn you! For Scotland! For Scotland!"

"But Harry, you live in England—" Freddie began.

"England! Damn the English and their Longshanks!" Harry shot the lasers at various clouds and cloud accessories, such as birds.

About 439857483 miles and 67 dead birds later, they'd arrived at Ron's house, 'the Burrow' (WTF? Harry thought). As they alighted on the ground and he shrank down the cart and fit it into the truck, the "Burrow" was made clear. Ron lived in a trench.

"Mum and dad's house got bombed by the muggles in WWII," he began. "And then the armies came through here and had a bit of a row and made all these trenches. So we had to live in them."

Harry grimaced. Living in tunnels in the ground did not seem very sanitary. "If you think that's bad, wait till you hear about the molemen," Jason grinned. Harry groaned as he spotted a hairy man with a pointy face scurrying about in one of the tunnels.

"Home sweet home," Freddie crowed. Harry grimaced.

Well? How was it? By the way, I have good news.

Harry: You just saved a bunch of money on your car insurance by switching to Geico?

No. I accept unsigned reviews.

Harry: How is that good news?

It's good news because now you can all….

REVIEWWWWWWWWW!