Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Gene-Spliced Harry

Chapter 13

by Cypher3au 103 reviews

Alternate Order of the Phoenix. Harry is, quite naturally, a little ticked off at his friends and the Headmaster. Muggle science has developed a way to splice animal DNA into humans. Fawkes has ...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: R - Genres: Sci-fi - Characters: Harry - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2007-07-27 - Updated: 2007-08-13 - 2475 words

The astonishing lack of update can be blamed entirely on a severe case of triskaidekaphobia, or fear of the number thirteen. And the release of the Burning Crusade for World of Warcraft. And my University classes. And my night job. And, most importantly of all, my sheer laziness.

In all seriousness, though, I'd like thank everyone who still shows interest in this fanfic, despite the obscene lack of updates.

If Harry, slumped on the floor as he was, had to guess as to the reason why his face hadn't been melted off of his skull by the blazing fireball of feathered fury, then he'd probably just chalk it up to the whole `part-phoenix' thing and leave it at that. It made sense; it'd be a tad inconvenient if a phoenix's flames incinerated the bird every time it teleported. Rubbing the aching back of his head - he'd smacked it into the wall when he'd fallen on his arse - he climbed slowly back onto his feet, all the while eyeing the smug-looking glorified feather duster on it's gleaming golden perch.

Staring back with his beady black eyes, Fawkes opened one clenched talon and dropped a small bundle of black hairs into the tray beneath his perch, then pointedly set them alight with a flick of a crimson wing.

Dusting himself off, Harry stepped into the Headmaster's office, ignoring the bewildered expressions on most everybody's faces as he placated the irate firebird. "Alright, I'm sorry, I'll never do it again."

The immortal avian sniffed and turned in place, and once his back was to the assembled wizards and witches he tucked his head under his wing and drifted off to sleep.

After a couple of seconds, Umbridge spoke up slyly from her little corner of the room. "Never do WHAT again, Potter?"

The spliced teen stood unmoving for a long moment, before turning and answering the ugly amphibian's question. "I'll never be late for a payment again. I owe the Sorting Hat money for sorting me into Gryffindor."

McGonagall frowned, not quite sure if she had heard the Prefect properly. "Would you care to repeat that, Mr Potter?"

"I paid the Sorting Hat to sort me into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin; 500 Galleons for every year I'm a student." Harry rolled his eyes at the expression of disbelief on his Head of House's face. "Come on, it's not like being able to bribe the Hat is some big secret. Hell, I'm betting that the Malfoy family has a tab running; the Sorting Hat didn't even get onto Draco's head before the twerp was thrown into Slytherin."

Chuckling softly, Dumbledore shook his head in bemusement at Harry's `revelation', and the expressions on the faces of the assembled adults. He would never let Minerva forget this... "Harry, the Sorting Hat was crafted solely for the purpose of opening the sorting ceremony with a song and sorting students into the appropriate houses, no more and no less. Its decision is final, and would never be swayed by something as paltry as mere galleons."

From the upper reaches of a bookshelf, clearly audible cackling caught everyone's attention. The patched, frayed, and filthy magical artefact in question looked to be smirking down at the Headmaster. Obviously amused by the presumption that it was so limited in ability, the Sorting Hat hollered down; "You have no idea what I'm capable of, boy!"

Despite being thrown by the enchanted headgear's sudden display of attitude, Albus quickly regained his equilibrium, pushing his half- moon glasses back up the length of his crooked nose and addressing the humans before him. "Forgive me; he is correct, of course. Nobody but the four Founders of Hogwarts ever knew what mysterious magic was weaved into the Sorting Hat's creation, and until he chooses to enlighten us, the Hat, and his true capabilities, will forever be an enigma. But alas; we seem to have strayed far from the original purpose of this little gathering."

Cornelius Fudge nodded eagerly, shuffling his bowler hat nervously in his sweaty hands. Honestly, he wasn't a student anymore, he was the Minister for Magic! Being back in the Headmaster's office shouldn't make him feel so...bah! "Yes, those ridiculous allegations in the Daily Prophet-"

"Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"

Given a weaker target to assert authority upon, Fudge straightened his formerly slumped posture, scowled at the winged teen, and ground out; "What are you on about, Potter?"

Completely ignoring the tone in the Minister's voice, Harry rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You have to ask yourself; what could a sentient hat possibly do with all of that money? Me, I'm guessing a whole bunch of prostitute hats."

Dumbledore, Fudge, and McGonagall, and the vast majority of portraits present were all distinctly and visibly nonplussed by this bizarre and disturbing train of thought, but Delores Umbridge's toadish features fixed themselves into a twisted, satisfied leer. "I knew it. You're insane, Potter."

Naturally, Harry completely ignored her, too, as he continued along the same twisted line of reasoning. "And then you have to ask yourself; `what kind of hats would the Sorting Hat be attracted to?' Saucy French berets, perhaps? Or maybe what really turns it on is a tough, manly, cowboy GAHG!"

Ignoring the Sorting Hat in favour of enjoying the ever-more disturbed expressions on his audiences' faces, Harry completely missed seeing the Sorting Hat launch itself off of the shelf and dive towards him, landing squarely on his head, blinding him and latching onto his skull with a grip like a vice. Immediately, the sorting hat began screaming House names directly into the wizard's head. 'Gryffindor! Slytherin! Hufflepuff! Gryffindor! Ravenclaw! Ravenclaw! Hufflepuff! Slytherin!' Faster and faster the screams came, each one feeling like the stabbing of a killer migraine, until only a constant screaming poured into Harry's mind- 'RavenclawHufflepufGryffindHufflepRavenSlytSlyGryHuRaSlGrHuRaSlGrGrHuSlRa-' - and then finally, mercifully, the wizard passed out on the floor of the Headmaster's office.

An unknown length of time later, Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. Rolling his head from side to side, Harry concluded that he was alone and still in Dumbledore's office, as evidenced by the sight of several former Headmasters and Headmistresses snickering down at him. "...well that sucked."

"I thought it was hilarious, myself." The Sorting Hat, looking smarmier than a Malfoy and perched on Dumbledore's desk, grinned mockingly down at the teen whose arse he had just kicked. "Have we learned our lesson?"

Sitting up, Harry gave the question some serious thought. "Hmm...nope, can't say that I have." When the Sorting Hat once again launched itself into the air, the Gryffindor vanished in a burst of fire, reappearing on his feet on the other side of the room, a wide grin on his face. A wide grin that vanished when a hefty black and gold mace rocketed across the room, shot between his legs, and slammed into the wall just behind him, missing his crotch by millimetres.

"Lesson learned yet?"

Ashen-faced, Harry nodded enthusiastically. Shakily bending over, the teen grabbed the weapon's handle and, with a fierce tug, pulled the bludgeoning tool out of the wall and swung it up in front of his face, where he could get a better look at it. Two and a half feet long, the weapon was a black shaft with a golden cap on one end and a hefty, flanged golden head inscribed with numerous runes on the other. Most noticeably, the heavy artefact seemed to almost hum with power, and it took real effort to hold it still.

Once again seated on the enormous claw-footed desk that dozens of Headmaster's had worked upon, the Sorting Hat piped up. "Impressive, isn't it? Dwarven work, that is, commissioned by Godric Gryffindor as a gift to Helga Hufflepuff herself; she thought it was a gaudy piece of crap though, so she shoved it into me and never touched it again."

Harry eyed the Hat curiously, resting the hefty weapon in question carefully against his shoulder. "What kind of idiot was Gryffindor that he gave Hufflepuff of all people a weapon as a gift?"

The Hat snorted. "Hufflepuff's descendents did a bit of creative editing of their family history some centuries ago; the Helga Hufflepuff most people think of, the plump, cheery woman with the excellent cooking skills, is actually the great-granddaughter of Founder-of-Hogwarts Helga Hufflepuff, who was a top-notch Rune-Mistress and the architect who designed most of the castle. Tall woman, lots of muscle, loved bar fights; a real Lady of class."

The sarcasm in that last comment was thick enough to cut with a knife, and a few of the formerly-Hufflepuff Headmasters could be heard grumbling in their frames. A smirk grew on the green-eyed teen's face. "I wonder what the Hufflepuffs would say if they found out the truth about their founder...any dirt on the other three you'd like to share?"

Shrugging, an impressive feat in itself for an object with no shoulders, the Hat noted; "Godric Gryffindor was a womaniser and a braggart of the highest order. Just imagine Gilderoy Lockhart with the power and talent to back up his boasts, and with a sex drive that makes the Weasley clan look like an order of chaste monks. As for Slytherin, well, you've seen that statue of his down in his chamber. The man looked like a monkey, but he lacked even a monkey's hygiene."

By now, roughly three quarters of the paintings in the room were glaring down at the talkative garment, a fact that Harry found quite amusing. "And the skeletons in Ravenclaw's closet?"

All humour vanished from the Hat's demeanour, and it fixed the young wizard with a look that was deathly serious. "Rowena was an Angel, Potter. She was perfect in every way, and if you ever so much as suggest otherwise again, I will take that oversized letter-opener over there and use it to remove that grotesque appendage you plan on getting so much use out of!"

The spliced teen winced. "Duly noted. So..." Glancing around the room for a new topic to steer the conversation towards, Harry settled on a question that had been hopping around in his head since he regained consciousness. "Where have the Headmaster and the rest of that lot gotten to?"

The Hat gave Harry the evil eye for just a little while longer, making sure his annoyance was plain to see, before answering. "Amelia Bones showed up with a couple of Aurors, and the whole lot of them went to inspect Umbridge's belongings."

"And they just left me here?"

The Hat 'shrugged' again, a motion that looked just as odd the second time as it did the first. "They didn't want to take their eyes off of Umbridge or Fudge for a second, and I suppose they also didn't want you blundering around in such a delicate confrontation."

The teen's expression was the very picture of outrage. "What do you mean, blundering!? I'm great with delicate confrontations!"

The leathery folds making up the Sorting Hat's face shifted to give the impression of raised eyebrows. "Really?"


"Like when?"

The outraged look on Harry's face faltered, changing to a frown of concentration. For almost a minute the wizard stood silently, growing slightly flustered under the silent, expectant stares of the Sorting Hat and so many paintings, before pointedly glancing at his watch. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got Transfiguration in about...two hours, so I guess I'll see you later." Making to leave, the spliced Gryffindor picked up his bag and took two steps towards the door before stopping and turning in place, pointing to the mace still resting on his shoulder. "Hey, do you want this back?"

The Hat kind of blinked, then leaned to the side a bit in a contemplative fashion. "I'll tell you what, you fix that hole I made in the wall, and you can keep the mace."

"Sold!" Harry whipped out his wand and flicked it at the gaping crater in the tower wall, "/Reparo/!" The stone wall reformed in a second, and even before it was finished Harry was examining his new acquisition more closely. His slitted eyes took in each individual rune, one after the other, and he made a mental note to ask Hermione to translate them before his instinct for self-preservation kicked in, and he arched an eyebrow at the Sorting Hat. "We're not going to get into trouble over this, right?"

The pointed headwear shook itself in a negative fashion. "It's not some highly sought-after, treasured heirloom of one of the Founders, waiting for a worthy witch or wizard to wield it like Gryffindor's sword is; it's just Helga's garbage, nobody but us knows about it, and it's just been taking up space inside of me for a millennia. If you want it, then take it."

That was enough to wipe away the few lingering doubts in the teens mind. "Good enough for me." He hefted up the mace, grinning eagerly. "I think I'll take this baby for a spin; see what it can do. See you around, Hat." And in a pillar of fire, Harry vanished from the tower.

When the flames dispersed a second later, Harry found himself in a small clearing not far into the Forbidden Forest; the same clearing within which Hagrid had taught the third-year Gryffindors and Slytherins about hippogriffs, before class was cancelled as a result of Malfoy being a moron and getting himself injured. Setting down his bag, Harry strolled over to one of the sections of ruined, half-crumbled wall that surrounded the clearing, making a few practice swings with Helga's mace as he walked. Stopping at a reasonably intact, four-foot high section of wall, he swung the mace up high over his head, took a deep breath, then swung it down at the stone structure with all of his might.

A thunderous boom, almost an explosion, rocked the clearing. Not having known exactly what to expect of the clearly magical weapon, Harry was understandably shocked when he found himself kneeling, holding onto a mace whose head had slammed into the ground after violently, almost easily splitting the wall in two. Shaking off his shock, the wizard stood, picking up a chunk of solid stone the size of his head as he did. With his inherited phoenix abilities negating much of the stone's weight, he easily lobbed it into the air, then swung at it beater-style it as it fell to earth. The mace head blasted through the stone with almost contemptuous ease, spraying stone shards across the clearing.

A grin spread slowly across Harry's face as he surveyed the damage inflicted by his two swings. "Oh yeah, this could come in handy."

Not the longest chapter, I admit, but you can rest assured that the next update will come much quicker than this one did.

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