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Book The IIII: Harry Potter and the Color-gicians of Fingular

SYNOPSIS: Harry has to take an art class in Surgery-ician school. This ticks him off because he can't really draw. His tent-mates also get excited because graduation is only one year away, and once they graduate from school they get to attend magic college, which is back in the US; i.e., they won't have to fight in the Korean War anymore. What they don't realize, and what Harry discovers, is that "magic college" is apparently a euphemism for being killed and having your body harvested for its organs (a plot point that I picked up from the bad movie Parts: The Clonus Horror, but don't worry; the kids of today haven't seen that particular movie).

NOTABLE MAGICAL ITEMS IN THE BOOK: the Paintbrush of Paintbrushing, which can magically paint any picture that you want; and the Paints of Not-Painting, which prevents you from not painting a picture. What's going to happen when these two magical items get put together? I'm not going to spoil the magical excitement, but let's just say that Harry Potter is going to have a rather difficult time passing his art class!

SAMPLE DIALOGUE:

Margaret sidled up to Harry Potter in the hallway between classes. "Hey, Harry, what are you going to be painting for the big final in art class?"

Harry tried to look nonchalant. "Oh, I don't know yet. I'm trying to decide between a portrait of the Surgery-ician school Council of Magic-Throwing, or the minefield behind the school."

Suddenly the loudspeakers squawked to life. "Attention all personnel! Incoming wounded! All surgeons report to the O.R. immediately! This does not apply to all surgeons that are in a secret magical society that the other surgeons don't know about!"

"Whew," sighed Harry, "that was a close one. Now I can work on my art!"

... later on in the book ...

Harry spoke the Spell of Healing, and Hawk-Eye's gaping wounds closed up like a bloody red eye winking, but only doing the first half of the wink, where the eye closes. So they didn't open back up again, is what I'm saying.

"Thanks, Harry," Hawk-Eye gasped. "Looks like I owe you one."

"Actually, Hawk-Eye, you owe me at least seven or eight."

"Right," Hawk-Eye said, "but who's counting?" He then laughed uproariously for at least a minute. The laughter eventually trailed off, and Hawk-Eye stared morosely out the window. "When is this damned war ever going to end?"

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