Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Once We Were Warriors
Once We Were Warriors
4 reviews(AU) Hogwarts? No, Harry never went - instead he's a porn star living in the treacherous underground world of orgies and carnage. Meanwhile, the Order's search resumes unfounded ... but not for lo...
5Funny
--- ---
"Albus? Albus!?"
She lords over his desk, demanding attention, flapping a flimsy paper in his frazzled face. Her shrill words stop him dead, send a chill tingling painfully down his spine. A pudgy hand is frozen halfway to his mouth with a greedy handful of sticky lemon drops and it trembles, slightly, wavering indecision.
Her voice is tight, a knotted void of apprehension and delight. "I ... I think I've found him."
Albus is dumbfounded, mouth hanging agape. "Found him, Minerva dear?"
"Yes!" she cries, jubilant, nearly wetting herself - the old Tranfiguration Professors' bowls just aren't what they used to be.
"But found who?"
"Who?" Minerva repeats, thin lips further thinning. "Him! I've found him!"
"What?" Albus is confused, his brow wrinkled. "Found who?"
"Oh, you know who - "
"You Know Who?" Albus shouts, standing quickly to his feet, scarlet chintz chair knocked angrily to the floor. "Dear Merlin, woman, why didn't you just say so?!"
Minerva gives up, squints her eyes, and throws the paper hard towards his overlarge nose.
--- ---
When little Harry Potter was seven years old he ran away to Wonderland: an underground world of sex, drugs and party-hard rock n roll. Looks were power; the beautiful reined, the beautiful survived. Harry learnt quickly that brushing his hair would be tantamount to success.
And so it was that young Harry shed his name and followed a dream, a hope - and a trail of lubricated condoms.
For seven years after the British Ministry of Magic tried to find him. Their search was futile, though constant sightings crept up in the press. Most were printed only in the Quibbler - a notoriously awful magazine that repeatedly insisted Harry Potter was living happily in Belgium under the alias Harvey Headbanger - as an infamous porn star.
--- ---
"It does no harm to check, Albus. No harm at all."
He rubbed his nose, deftly avoiding her glare.
Minerva grinned triumphantly.
--- ---
A hand rests on her hip, ardent and apathetic. She flicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, taps a finger gently to her thigh.
She's the epitome of illustrious, fanciful good-looks; long legs, full breasts, wide blue eyes and flowing locks of blonde.
She's naked, standing over the bed, watching him sleep restlessly.
"Mary?" he asks, cracking open one big green eye, his deep baritone thick with unwilling slumber. "Is that you, Mary Sue?"
Mary smiles.
Harvey smiles.
Hearts throb and pulses escalate drastically.
He rolls over and ... pukes.
Pukes?
On her chest. And it's messy - Mary shrieks.
"Stop! Stop! Good God, boy, cut - "
Lights swiftly clicked on, sound buzzed, disgruntled chatter arose. The cameramen exchanged weary glances and eye rolls.
"Is something wrong, Smithy?" Harvey chokes out.
"Damn it, Headbanger - have a bloody break. You're sober or you're sacked, got it?"
Harvey glared. Oh, fuck the fucking job, fuck the fucking fuckfaced fucktard, and fuck the fucking fuck -
Fuck that!
Pouting, Harvey slowly turned away, wiping his mouth on the silk donna, and flounced a little wobbly - still quite bare - off to his change room to sulk.
He stopped halfway down the corridor and shouted over his shoulder, "I quit!"
--- ---
The Boy-Who-Got-Lost: Spotted Again With Big Ben!
--- ---
For ten drearily long, sickeningly sour years Albus Dumbledore had looked - had searched every bloody crack and crevice on the earth's bloody crust, for Merlin's bloody sake, and he had yet to find any trace of the damn boy anywhere. But Albus knew - he just knew that Harry was alive, just waiting to be found, waiting for them - for him/, and Albus simply /had to find the boy if it was the last thing he'd ever bloody do.
"But in /the Quibbler/, Minerva? Really, you know better - "
"Look, Albus. Just look at that picture!"
Albus eyed the paper grudgingly, glaring at the tidy black and white print perched upon his desk.
Harvey Headbanger gazed up at him mischievously from the cover page, winking suggestively.
No, time had not been kind at all to poor old Albus; a handful there, a handful here, lemon drop after lemon drop leading to a steady gain of pudgy pound after pound after pound, increasing consistently. And Albus, comprehending the likeliness of the image before him, promptly kneeled over and had a heart attack.
--- ---
"One hundred thousand pounds? Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
"Bloody hell, Juliette, that's almost as much as bloody Dumbledore weighs - "
"Friday," she says, interrupting the tirade. "You've got until Friday."
"And there's nothing," he simpers, sneaking an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "No other way I might otherwise repay you?"
--- ---
"Oh, Harry!"
It was unquestionable; the resemblance an eerie certainty. He had to be it.
"Who the hell are you?" Harvey asked rudely, sprawled over stained satin sheets. "Santa Claus and Mary-bloody-Poppins? Agh, I've told Trinity about this before - no-one over fifty, that's my rule."
It had taken them twenty-one hours; seven to apparate across Europe and clear customs, seven to find the apartment, and seven more waiting in the dingy lobby for their appointment, watching countless seedy others strutting up and down the hall in stilettos and fishnets (both male and female alike).
Albus was quite fed up, not to mention - just entering into the room then - more than a little startled. "What's that, Harry?"
Harvey pouts, playing along. "Have I been a bad boy again?"
Minerva and Albus exchanged a ponderous look.
It's four o'clock in the morning and they're in a brothel. That much was gravely obvious. The room is small and dark and smelly, sparsely vacuous; one large bed adorning the center, a cheep little table off to the side, french doors leading off to a rotting balcony outside. Overflowing ash trays, cigarette butts, empty bottles of liquor and half drunk glasses of wine are littered everywhere.
"And what are you gonna do, huh?" Harvey rolls over onto his stomach, laughing. "Oh, just spank me - I know you want to."
"No!" Albus cries, shielding his face from the view of Harvey's ... thingi. "No, we don't want that!"
"Oh?" Harvey asked, thinking hard. "What about this?"
He mimed.
"NO!" Albus and Minerva chorused, cowering fretfully.
"Well what do you want, then?" Harvey raised an eyebrow, looking Albus up and down. "Dresses are more your thing, right? And it'll cost you extra for the cellulite, by the way - I don't do this shit usually, I'll have you know."
A poignant silence befell them.
Harvey sat up from the bed, stretching taught arms over his head. He yawned, adding in a mumble, "I'm just a bit short of cash at the moment." Then he raised an eyebrow, biting his lip, and looked at Albus again, disgruntled and unsatisfied. "But I'm not sure I'm this desperate, yet. How much are you paying again?"
Albus had had enough. "What?"
"You deaf too, old man?" Harvey rolled his eyes. "I'll spell it out for you, lard-arse: loose the fucking pounds and come back a century younger. Then I might consider it." He turned to Minerva and blanched. "Ew - don't think I'd be able to get it up with your ugly mug looking back, eh?" he laughed.
Minerva was in shock.
Albus was scandalized. "Excuse me, dear?"
"Oh, don't you dearie me," Harvey warned, waggling a finger in front of the old codgers untwinkling stare. "That'll definitely cost extra."
"Cost?" Minerva spluttered. "All we want to do is talk to you, Harry."
Harvey looked bored, and a little insulted. "Who the hell is this Harry bloke? Dude, I'm Harvey. Harvey Headbanger? Don't you know? I'm only practically famous!"
"Harvey," Albus spoke slowly, frowning, "You've got the wrong idea."
Harvey didn't much like the sound of that at all. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked, a fag in his hand already lighting up.
"Do you know who your parents are, Harvey?" Dumbledore asked him kindly.
Harvey eyed his wristwatch, seconds ticking by traitorously slow. He charged by the minute. "Yes," Harvey lied, replying.
Albus pretended not to have heard. "We've been looking for you for years, did you know that?"
"Yes," Harvey lied again slowly, bemused.
"Harry," Albus spoke calmly.
Harvey glared.
"Harvey," Albus corrected, apologising, "Did you know you're a wizard?"
"Well, duh," Harvey rolled his eyes. "And will you cut all the fucking 'Harry' shit! What the hell is up with that?"
"You knew?!" Minerva cried, interrupting, and she would have been jumping up and down for the arthritis in her kneecaps, Harvey bet. "You've known all this time about the world of magic and you never sought us out?"
"Sought you out?" Harvey laughed, eyeing her warily. "As if!"
"And so you know who Harry Potter is?" Albus pressed.
Harvey began to shift uncomfortably, scratching his stomach. "Harry Potter?" he asked, frowning. The name did sound vaguely familiar.
"Yes," Albus began, and there were tears in his eyes; tears of sleepless nights and regrets, deplorable tears of hopelessness and merry tears of faith. "You are Harry Potter, Harvey. We think, that is - we will need to run a few tests, just to be sure."
"Right," Harvey said, disbelieving, taking a long drag. "When I ran away - "
"You mean when your relatives kicked you out?" Minerva cut in brashly.
Harvey growled. "No, I ran away!"
Albus frowned. "But that's not - "
"The point is," Harvey huffed, "I was neglected! Abused! Tormented and ridiculed!"
"... Yes?" Albus prompted, raising a brow. "So? You're alive, aren't you?"
"Barely," Harvey goaded. "I just got fired now, didn't I?"
"I thought you qui-"
"Whatever," Harvey snapped. "And you left me there! With those ghastly people!?"
"It was in your best interests, I assure you," Albus told him hurriedly.
Harvey snorted. "Why are you here? What the hell do you want me for now?"
"Harry," Minerva said brightly, happy the boy was finally seeing reason. "We'd like you to come back to Hogwarts with us."
"Hogwarts?" Harvey snickered, snorting. "Yeah right."
Albus beamed, mistaking him. "There's still so much you need to know, Harry."
Harvey paused for a moment, reconsidering the ridiculous notion, resisting the urge to up and leave before the weirdo's got dangerous, struck as he was by a sudden masterful plight. "Saint Nicolas," he began tentatively, focusing on Albus. "I'm famous there too, right? In this magical world of yours?"
"It's Albus," Albus said stiffly.
"Right, Dick, but I'm famous, aren't I? A bit of a mysterious celebrity?"
"Yes, that's quite right."
Harvey grinned, baring his teeth. "And that'll make me rich now too, wont it?"
Minerva nodded her head vigorously, her smile fond, oblivious to Albus' growing distress.
"I'm in."
"Albus? Albus!?"
She lords over his desk, demanding attention, flapping a flimsy paper in his frazzled face. Her shrill words stop him dead, send a chill tingling painfully down his spine. A pudgy hand is frozen halfway to his mouth with a greedy handful of sticky lemon drops and it trembles, slightly, wavering indecision.
Her voice is tight, a knotted void of apprehension and delight. "I ... I think I've found him."
Albus is dumbfounded, mouth hanging agape. "Found him, Minerva dear?"
"Yes!" she cries, jubilant, nearly wetting herself - the old Tranfiguration Professors' bowls just aren't what they used to be.
"But found who?"
"Who?" Minerva repeats, thin lips further thinning. "Him! I've found him!"
"What?" Albus is confused, his brow wrinkled. "Found who?"
"Oh, you know who - "
"You Know Who?" Albus shouts, standing quickly to his feet, scarlet chintz chair knocked angrily to the floor. "Dear Merlin, woman, why didn't you just say so?!"
Minerva gives up, squints her eyes, and throws the paper hard towards his overlarge nose.
--- ---
When little Harry Potter was seven years old he ran away to Wonderland: an underground world of sex, drugs and party-hard rock n roll. Looks were power; the beautiful reined, the beautiful survived. Harry learnt quickly that brushing his hair would be tantamount to success.
And so it was that young Harry shed his name and followed a dream, a hope - and a trail of lubricated condoms.
For seven years after the British Ministry of Magic tried to find him. Their search was futile, though constant sightings crept up in the press. Most were printed only in the Quibbler - a notoriously awful magazine that repeatedly insisted Harry Potter was living happily in Belgium under the alias Harvey Headbanger - as an infamous porn star.
--- ---
"It does no harm to check, Albus. No harm at all."
He rubbed his nose, deftly avoiding her glare.
Minerva grinned triumphantly.
--- ---
A hand rests on her hip, ardent and apathetic. She flicks her tongue to the roof of her mouth, taps a finger gently to her thigh.
She's the epitome of illustrious, fanciful good-looks; long legs, full breasts, wide blue eyes and flowing locks of blonde.
She's naked, standing over the bed, watching him sleep restlessly.
"Mary?" he asks, cracking open one big green eye, his deep baritone thick with unwilling slumber. "Is that you, Mary Sue?"
Mary smiles.
Harvey smiles.
Hearts throb and pulses escalate drastically.
He rolls over and ... pukes.
Pukes?
On her chest. And it's messy - Mary shrieks.
"Stop! Stop! Good God, boy, cut - "
Lights swiftly clicked on, sound buzzed, disgruntled chatter arose. The cameramen exchanged weary glances and eye rolls.
"Is something wrong, Smithy?" Harvey chokes out.
"Damn it, Headbanger - have a bloody break. You're sober or you're sacked, got it?"
Harvey glared. Oh, fuck the fucking job, fuck the fucking fuckfaced fucktard, and fuck the fucking fuck -
Fuck that!
Pouting, Harvey slowly turned away, wiping his mouth on the silk donna, and flounced a little wobbly - still quite bare - off to his change room to sulk.
He stopped halfway down the corridor and shouted over his shoulder, "I quit!"
--- ---
The Boy-Who-Got-Lost: Spotted Again With Big Ben!
--- ---
For ten drearily long, sickeningly sour years Albus Dumbledore had looked - had searched every bloody crack and crevice on the earth's bloody crust, for Merlin's bloody sake, and he had yet to find any trace of the damn boy anywhere. But Albus knew - he just knew that Harry was alive, just waiting to be found, waiting for them - for him/, and Albus simply /had to find the boy if it was the last thing he'd ever bloody do.
"But in /the Quibbler/, Minerva? Really, you know better - "
"Look, Albus. Just look at that picture!"
Albus eyed the paper grudgingly, glaring at the tidy black and white print perched upon his desk.
Harvey Headbanger gazed up at him mischievously from the cover page, winking suggestively.
No, time had not been kind at all to poor old Albus; a handful there, a handful here, lemon drop after lemon drop leading to a steady gain of pudgy pound after pound after pound, increasing consistently. And Albus, comprehending the likeliness of the image before him, promptly kneeled over and had a heart attack.
--- ---
"One hundred thousand pounds? Are you serious?"
"Deadly."
"Bloody hell, Juliette, that's almost as much as bloody Dumbledore weighs - "
"Friday," she says, interrupting the tirade. "You've got until Friday."
"And there's nothing," he simpers, sneaking an arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "No other way I might otherwise repay you?"
--- ---
"Oh, Harry!"
It was unquestionable; the resemblance an eerie certainty. He had to be it.
"Who the hell are you?" Harvey asked rudely, sprawled over stained satin sheets. "Santa Claus and Mary-bloody-Poppins? Agh, I've told Trinity about this before - no-one over fifty, that's my rule."
It had taken them twenty-one hours; seven to apparate across Europe and clear customs, seven to find the apartment, and seven more waiting in the dingy lobby for their appointment, watching countless seedy others strutting up and down the hall in stilettos and fishnets (both male and female alike).
Albus was quite fed up, not to mention - just entering into the room then - more than a little startled. "What's that, Harry?"
Harvey pouts, playing along. "Have I been a bad boy again?"
Minerva and Albus exchanged a ponderous look.
It's four o'clock in the morning and they're in a brothel. That much was gravely obvious. The room is small and dark and smelly, sparsely vacuous; one large bed adorning the center, a cheep little table off to the side, french doors leading off to a rotting balcony outside. Overflowing ash trays, cigarette butts, empty bottles of liquor and half drunk glasses of wine are littered everywhere.
"And what are you gonna do, huh?" Harvey rolls over onto his stomach, laughing. "Oh, just spank me - I know you want to."
"No!" Albus cries, shielding his face from the view of Harvey's ... thingi. "No, we don't want that!"
"Oh?" Harvey asked, thinking hard. "What about this?"
He mimed.
"NO!" Albus and Minerva chorused, cowering fretfully.
"Well what do you want, then?" Harvey raised an eyebrow, looking Albus up and down. "Dresses are more your thing, right? And it'll cost you extra for the cellulite, by the way - I don't do this shit usually, I'll have you know."
A poignant silence befell them.
Harvey sat up from the bed, stretching taught arms over his head. He yawned, adding in a mumble, "I'm just a bit short of cash at the moment." Then he raised an eyebrow, biting his lip, and looked at Albus again, disgruntled and unsatisfied. "But I'm not sure I'm this desperate, yet. How much are you paying again?"
Albus had had enough. "What?"
"You deaf too, old man?" Harvey rolled his eyes. "I'll spell it out for you, lard-arse: loose the fucking pounds and come back a century younger. Then I might consider it." He turned to Minerva and blanched. "Ew - don't think I'd be able to get it up with your ugly mug looking back, eh?" he laughed.
Minerva was in shock.
Albus was scandalized. "Excuse me, dear?"
"Oh, don't you dearie me," Harvey warned, waggling a finger in front of the old codgers untwinkling stare. "That'll definitely cost extra."
"Cost?" Minerva spluttered. "All we want to do is talk to you, Harry."
Harvey looked bored, and a little insulted. "Who the hell is this Harry bloke? Dude, I'm Harvey. Harvey Headbanger? Don't you know? I'm only practically famous!"
"Harvey," Albus spoke slowly, frowning, "You've got the wrong idea."
Harvey didn't much like the sound of that at all. "Mind if I smoke?" he asked, a fag in his hand already lighting up.
"Do you know who your parents are, Harvey?" Dumbledore asked him kindly.
Harvey eyed his wristwatch, seconds ticking by traitorously slow. He charged by the minute. "Yes," Harvey lied, replying.
Albus pretended not to have heard. "We've been looking for you for years, did you know that?"
"Yes," Harvey lied again slowly, bemused.
"Harry," Albus spoke calmly.
Harvey glared.
"Harvey," Albus corrected, apologising, "Did you know you're a wizard?"
"Well, duh," Harvey rolled his eyes. "And will you cut all the fucking 'Harry' shit! What the hell is up with that?"
"You knew?!" Minerva cried, interrupting, and she would have been jumping up and down for the arthritis in her kneecaps, Harvey bet. "You've known all this time about the world of magic and you never sought us out?"
"Sought you out?" Harvey laughed, eyeing her warily. "As if!"
"And so you know who Harry Potter is?" Albus pressed.
Harvey began to shift uncomfortably, scratching his stomach. "Harry Potter?" he asked, frowning. The name did sound vaguely familiar.
"Yes," Albus began, and there were tears in his eyes; tears of sleepless nights and regrets, deplorable tears of hopelessness and merry tears of faith. "You are Harry Potter, Harvey. We think, that is - we will need to run a few tests, just to be sure."
"Right," Harvey said, disbelieving, taking a long drag. "When I ran away - "
"You mean when your relatives kicked you out?" Minerva cut in brashly.
Harvey growled. "No, I ran away!"
Albus frowned. "But that's not - "
"The point is," Harvey huffed, "I was neglected! Abused! Tormented and ridiculed!"
"... Yes?" Albus prompted, raising a brow. "So? You're alive, aren't you?"
"Barely," Harvey goaded. "I just got fired now, didn't I?"
"I thought you qui-"
"Whatever," Harvey snapped. "And you left me there! With those ghastly people!?"
"It was in your best interests, I assure you," Albus told him hurriedly.
Harvey snorted. "Why are you here? What the hell do you want me for now?"
"Harry," Minerva said brightly, happy the boy was finally seeing reason. "We'd like you to come back to Hogwarts with us."
"Hogwarts?" Harvey snickered, snorting. "Yeah right."
Albus beamed, mistaking him. "There's still so much you need to know, Harry."
Harvey paused for a moment, reconsidering the ridiculous notion, resisting the urge to up and leave before the weirdo's got dangerous, struck as he was by a sudden masterful plight. "Saint Nicolas," he began tentatively, focusing on Albus. "I'm famous there too, right? In this magical world of yours?"
"It's Albus," Albus said stiffly.
"Right, Dick, but I'm famous, aren't I? A bit of a mysterious celebrity?"
"Yes, that's quite right."
Harvey grinned, baring his teeth. "And that'll make me rich now too, wont it?"
Minerva nodded her head vigorously, her smile fond, oblivious to Albus' growing distress.
"I'm in."
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