Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Being Harry Potter XCIV
Description/Summary: Harry Potter's adventures in the fight against Voldemort. A sort-of meta-fanfic.
Spoilers: None as far as I know.
Character Bashing: None so far. No guarantees that won't change.
Feedback/C&C: Please! Always welcome!
Archiving: If you want to archive this, please contact me first.
Author's Note: This is the result of reading too much fanfiction!
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to their respective owners, including Ms Rowling and the relevant movie companies. Used without permission, and with no intent to assume any kinds of rights over any of the characters.
'Huh,' Harry thought to himself. 'This one is a new start. Never popped in in the middle of an wet dream before.'
It had all started, unsurprisingly, with Tom Riddle, or, as he called himself, 'Lord Voldemort.' He and Harry had been dueling. Wait. No. Nothing so formal as that. Fighting. Yes, that was a better word. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna had come to the Department of Mysteries because of a vision that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was being tortured there. There was a whole lot more involved, but that was a story for a different time. All of the others were out, either injured or tending to those who were. It was just Harry now.
Voldemort cast a spell that Harry didn't recognize. Hermione possibly would have, but she wasn't available. Harry didn't dodge fast enough, and the ethereal green light impacted his body hard, throwing him to the ground.
Harry found himself having what the Americans would call an 'out-of-body experience.' He opened his eyes, and saw his own body, unmoving, on the ground below him. A second spell by the Dark Lord raised a great wind, or, at least, what felt like one - since it didn't seem to be ruffling the hair on his body. It did, however, manage to push Harry's spirit form (for lack of a better phrase) through the tattered black curtain that Hermione had thought so dangerous earlier. The last thing he heard was Voldemort's derisively-laughing voice as he said, "Let's see what Dumbledore does when I control the body of the Boy-Who-Lived."
Since then, Harry's spirit (again, for lack of a better word) had found itself leaping from lifetime to lifetime, inhabiting his own body (i.e. Harry Potter) over and over and over again. He would settle in and open his body's eyes, and then begin the process of figuring out what was wrong in this version of himself. Because that always seemed to be the case: that there was something wrong that needed to be made right once again.
Sometimes it was obvious what was wrong, but that was pretty rare. That world where Voldemort had been killed and replaced by his youngest protégé - was one. No matter what she might have called herself, Hermione Granger was NOT Dark Lord - or Dark Lady - material!
But this was, as Harry thought, a new beginning. Most often, Harry would 'pop in' either shortly before or shortly after his eleventh birthday, before starting at Hogwarts. The second most common 'pop in' point was right before the final fight with Voldemort, and didn't that usually lead to a lot of scrambling.
But this was the first time he'd actually popped in while the Harry Potter of the time was in the midst of an erotic dream. So there were still some surprises for him. That was good to know, at least.
Fortunately, it also gave him a good idea 'when' he was. The only details of the image of his 'partner' in the dream that he could see in the darkness were silvery-blonde hair and even white teeth, and that meant one person: Fleur Delacour. Even if her Veela charms had little effect on Harry, she was still a very attractive girl. He supposed he was probably not the only person who dreamed about her on occasion.
In any case, since he hadn't met Fleur until the Goblet of Fire had spit out both of their names, it meant that he was after that. When, exactly, after that, was anyone's guess.
Harry lifted his head and turned onto his side, reaching for the edge of his bed for his glasses. "I'm at Hogwarts," he thought to himself. It was obvious: the bed he had at Hogwarts and the ones he had at the Dursley's, Potter Manor, and his own home were all different, so it was easy to tell. It also didn't hurt that he could hear Ron's snoring from across the room.
He slid his glasses onto his face and blinked a few times to clear his eyes, then went to his dresser for some clothes. "Gah," he thought. "Dudley's hand-me-downs. Why is it that so many of me never think to actually spend some of that money at Gringotts for clothes?" But it wasn't like he had much choice. Pulling on a set of clothes that did little but dwarf him, Harry gathered up his wand, cloak, broom, and the Marauders' Map. It didn't take long to exit the room, and he was careful to step over the trick board that always groaned: Neville was a light sleeper.
Outside the room, Harry unfolded the map and quietly intoned, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," activating the map.
'Huh,' he thought to himself. 'In default mode, eh? Well, we can change that.' He pointed his wand to the top of the map, and said, just as quietly, "Pranks are a Marauders' best friend." It didn't take long to change what was displayed on the preferences menu that came up, allowing Harry to see where the castle's ghosts were as well as the others it normally displayed.
"Good. She's not there," he thought. Harry cast a 'reducio' on his broom and put it in his pocket, throwing the cloak over his head and shoulders.
With the cloak over him and carefully following the Map, it didn't take long for Harry to get to girl's bathroom on the second floor. He cancelled the reducing charm on his broom, hissed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets open, and flew down into it. He stayed on his broom on the off-chance that the basilisk down here wasn't dead yet: that'd happened once, a 'world' where the whole Chamber of Secrets bit hadn't happened before he'd 'arrived'.
The interior door to the Chamber was open, which was a good indicator. Entering, he frowned. He always forgot how low the lighting was in this place. Still, it was something he could deal with later. He flew towards the opposite end, to the place where Ginny Weasley's body had originally lain on the ground, coming face-to-face with the dead body of the basilisk. Once again, he'd forgotten how big the thing actually was. And it was in the way. A banishing charm did absolutely nothing for something that big, so Harry used a mobilicorpus to move the body out of the way. Even so, it was difficult to do - the dead weight of the basilisk was nothing to sneeze at.
'Finally, the last part,' Harry thought, absently conjuring a lantern atop a pole (essentially, a street-light), two regular-sized comfortable chairs set facing one another, and another chair about half the size of the first two.
He sat down on one of the regular-sized chairs, and took a breath. This could be bad, but it was something he had to do.
"Dobby!"
The cracking sound of apparition preceded the appearance of the three-foot-tall house elf. "Harry Potter has called for Dobby? What can Dobby hel..." And then the house elf stopped, squinting his tennis-ball-sized eyes. "Who are you and what have you done to Harry Potter sir?!"
Spoilers: None as far as I know.
Character Bashing: None so far. No guarantees that won't change.
Feedback/C&C: Please! Always welcome!
Archiving: If you want to archive this, please contact me first.
Author's Note: This is the result of reading too much fanfiction!
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters belong to their respective owners, including Ms Rowling and the relevant movie companies. Used without permission, and with no intent to assume any kinds of rights over any of the characters.
'Huh,' Harry thought to himself. 'This one is a new start. Never popped in in the middle of an wet dream before.'
It had all started, unsurprisingly, with Tom Riddle, or, as he called himself, 'Lord Voldemort.' He and Harry had been dueling. Wait. No. Nothing so formal as that. Fighting. Yes, that was a better word. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, and Luna had come to the Department of Mysteries because of a vision that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was being tortured there. There was a whole lot more involved, but that was a story for a different time. All of the others were out, either injured or tending to those who were. It was just Harry now.
Voldemort cast a spell that Harry didn't recognize. Hermione possibly would have, but she wasn't available. Harry didn't dodge fast enough, and the ethereal green light impacted his body hard, throwing him to the ground.
Harry found himself having what the Americans would call an 'out-of-body experience.' He opened his eyes, and saw his own body, unmoving, on the ground below him. A second spell by the Dark Lord raised a great wind, or, at least, what felt like one - since it didn't seem to be ruffling the hair on his body. It did, however, manage to push Harry's spirit form (for lack of a better phrase) through the tattered black curtain that Hermione had thought so dangerous earlier. The last thing he heard was Voldemort's derisively-laughing voice as he said, "Let's see what Dumbledore does when I control the body of the Boy-Who-Lived."
Since then, Harry's spirit (again, for lack of a better word) had found itself leaping from lifetime to lifetime, inhabiting his own body (i.e. Harry Potter) over and over and over again. He would settle in and open his body's eyes, and then begin the process of figuring out what was wrong in this version of himself. Because that always seemed to be the case: that there was something wrong that needed to be made right once again.
Sometimes it was obvious what was wrong, but that was pretty rare. That world where Voldemort had been killed and replaced by his youngest protégé - was one. No matter what she might have called herself, Hermione Granger was NOT Dark Lord - or Dark Lady - material!
But this was, as Harry thought, a new beginning. Most often, Harry would 'pop in' either shortly before or shortly after his eleventh birthday, before starting at Hogwarts. The second most common 'pop in' point was right before the final fight with Voldemort, and didn't that usually lead to a lot of scrambling.
But this was the first time he'd actually popped in while the Harry Potter of the time was in the midst of an erotic dream. So there were still some surprises for him. That was good to know, at least.
Fortunately, it also gave him a good idea 'when' he was. The only details of the image of his 'partner' in the dream that he could see in the darkness were silvery-blonde hair and even white teeth, and that meant one person: Fleur Delacour. Even if her Veela charms had little effect on Harry, she was still a very attractive girl. He supposed he was probably not the only person who dreamed about her on occasion.
In any case, since he hadn't met Fleur until the Goblet of Fire had spit out both of their names, it meant that he was after that. When, exactly, after that, was anyone's guess.
Harry lifted his head and turned onto his side, reaching for the edge of his bed for his glasses. "I'm at Hogwarts," he thought to himself. It was obvious: the bed he had at Hogwarts and the ones he had at the Dursley's, Potter Manor, and his own home were all different, so it was easy to tell. It also didn't hurt that he could hear Ron's snoring from across the room.
He slid his glasses onto his face and blinked a few times to clear his eyes, then went to his dresser for some clothes. "Gah," he thought. "Dudley's hand-me-downs. Why is it that so many of me never think to actually spend some of that money at Gringotts for clothes?" But it wasn't like he had much choice. Pulling on a set of clothes that did little but dwarf him, Harry gathered up his wand, cloak, broom, and the Marauders' Map. It didn't take long to exit the room, and he was careful to step over the trick board that always groaned: Neville was a light sleeper.
Outside the room, Harry unfolded the map and quietly intoned, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," activating the map.
'Huh,' he thought to himself. 'In default mode, eh? Well, we can change that.' He pointed his wand to the top of the map, and said, just as quietly, "Pranks are a Marauders' best friend." It didn't take long to change what was displayed on the preferences menu that came up, allowing Harry to see where the castle's ghosts were as well as the others it normally displayed.
"Good. She's not there," he thought. Harry cast a 'reducio' on his broom and put it in his pocket, throwing the cloak over his head and shoulders.
With the cloak over him and carefully following the Map, it didn't take long for Harry to get to girl's bathroom on the second floor. He cancelled the reducing charm on his broom, hissed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets open, and flew down into it. He stayed on his broom on the off-chance that the basilisk down here wasn't dead yet: that'd happened once, a 'world' where the whole Chamber of Secrets bit hadn't happened before he'd 'arrived'.
The interior door to the Chamber was open, which was a good indicator. Entering, he frowned. He always forgot how low the lighting was in this place. Still, it was something he could deal with later. He flew towards the opposite end, to the place where Ginny Weasley's body had originally lain on the ground, coming face-to-face with the dead body of the basilisk. Once again, he'd forgotten how big the thing actually was. And it was in the way. A banishing charm did absolutely nothing for something that big, so Harry used a mobilicorpus to move the body out of the way. Even so, it was difficult to do - the dead weight of the basilisk was nothing to sneeze at.
'Finally, the last part,' Harry thought, absently conjuring a lantern atop a pole (essentially, a street-light), two regular-sized comfortable chairs set facing one another, and another chair about half the size of the first two.
He sat down on one of the regular-sized chairs, and took a breath. This could be bad, but it was something he had to do.
"Dobby!"
The cracking sound of apparition preceded the appearance of the three-foot-tall house elf. "Harry Potter has called for Dobby? What can Dobby hel..." And then the house elf stopped, squinting his tennis-ball-sized eyes. "Who are you and what have you done to Harry Potter sir?!"
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