Welcome brothers.
I see you've clicked on this fic because you are interested and think it may be good.
I'm sorry.
ANYWAY HARRY POTTER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME I WILL NOT REPEAT MYSELF HA!
Reese had never been the smartest person, she will admit that.
That didn't mean she was stupid, either, it just meant that when her closest friend began to none-too-subtly plan Reese's untimely demise, nothing was really thought of it. At least, not by the woman herself.
Her other closest friend, aka known as the closet friend, had always been very intelligent by contrast. Everything about Sam has been smart, from his neatly combed, vibrant ginger hair, to his narrow, searching sea-green eyes, all the way down to his classic Timberlands that would have looked ridiculous on her. She much preferred her hoodies and vans, thanks.
Sam, the smart one, had tried to warn her, truly he did. 'Mal had always seemed kind of sketchy', he had claimed. Reese had shaken her head in disbelief, then. Now, bleeding out on the operating table with a gaping stab wound - courtesy of Mal, that literally backstabbing bitch - she was a little more inclined to agree.
What kind of psychopath waited until three in the morning, before sneaking into their lifelong best friend's house, just to stab said best friend in the living room?
Reese was just grateful that she hadn't died in the living room, the irony would've killed her - oh wait.
'I'm dead anyways, aren't I?'
'Poor Sam' she thought numbly, the raised, panicky voices of hospital staff fading in a dull fashion, 'who's gonna watch Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings marathons with him now?'
That was her last, childish thought, before she fully succumbed to the silent darkness.
"Seriously? Out of all of the mortals on that earth, that died in that split second, you chose her?"
"What's wrong with her? She looks sane to me...to a certain extent."
"There was this lovely Indian lad who was hit by a truck, he seemed sensible-"
"BORING! Just send him to that basketball anime he loved so much. I have a feeling that this mortal shall make this world interesting, unlike the other ones we tried-"
"George, she had a shitpost Tumblr blog-"
"Even better, I say!"
"...fuck it. It's too early for your bullsjit, George. I'm going to get some Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Bye."
"Adios!"
"Shut up."
"Up! Get up! Now!"
That was what Reese woke up to. Not the tough voice of her grandpa, nor the high-pitched yapping of Buffy, her old Pomeranian. Though, the screeching outside (accompanied by the comforting sound of banging on the small closet door - and when did she get in a closet?) certainly sounded close to Buffy's hollering when a car drove by the house.
Reese stretched, only slightly surprised when her hands brushed the short ceiling, and yawned quietly. The psycho woman outside banged on the door again.
"Up!" she screeched. Then rustling from what sounded like a kitchen, along with what may have been the sound of a frying pan being placed on a stove. Reese shook her head. She felt as if she had dreamed...simultaneously? Half if her mind was fixated on deep, rumbling voices discussing a mortal's fate, while the other felt like she had just flown on a...motorcycle? Odd.
Footsteps approached Reese's closet (this area felt like hers, strangely enough), before the lady's demanding voice rung out again, "Are you up, yet?"
A groan. "Nearly."
"Well, get a move on. I want everything perfect for Duddy's birthday."
"...!"
"What was that?"
"N-Nothing!"
' y?
'I'm in a closet - no surprise there - there's a crazy bitch bossing me around, and it' ' y?'
"Oh sweet Jesus."
Harry fucking Potter. Small child, who saved the Wizarding World. Or...will save? Won't save? Reese needs help.
Well, she's not really Reese anymore, is she? Or - she's also not a she anymore? Plus, she's like, ten years old. She's gone from a 26-year-old woman to a prepubescent Boy-Who-Lived.
She's also, consequently, fucked.
She'll be even more fucked if she doesn't get her ass into gear and fi ' s breakfast. She reaches for a plain white sock with one hand, expertly slipping on her - no, his hideous glasses. And by god are they hideous.
"You could even say," he whispered, narrowing his eyes behind the clunky glasses, "they need som k."
Re-Harry sighed. He needs a social life.
The fact that Harry could stand up in this small-ass space was concerning. His body was painfully malnourished, and the fact wasn't made any less obvious by the baggy hand-me-downs the Dursley had supplied him with. The movies weren't very accurate in that sense of Harry.
Actually, now that Ree-Harry looked in the small mirror next to his 'bed', he could spot several inaccuracies. His skin was rather tanned, and his eyes were a very vibrant green, contrasting nicely with his skin tone. His lashes were long and his cheekbones were high, giving him a rather aristocratic look, if you ignored the chubby cheeks.
He looks closer to seven or eight, really. That was rather sad.
Harry huffed, pouting like the ten year old he physically was. He knew how this story would go. He'd go to the kitchen to cook. would throw a tantrum over the presents. They'd go to the zoo. Harry would get grounded. The letters would come, leading the Dursleys in a wild goose chase, all the way up to a rickety saltwater cabin. Hagrid would come to rescue him, and that is where his suffering would end.
Ugh. Muggles.
He opened the closet door, and began towards the plot.
Forgive me, it's a school night. I couldn't write any more within an hour.
Any suggestions? Leave a review. I'm open to nearly everything!
I need ideas for this fic pls ;-;
Anywayyyys! Ciao, bitches! (JK I love you pls)