Harry Potter and the Flip of a Niccal

By: KKM

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series or any associated characters. Harry Potter is © J. K. Rowling. I also do not own the Gorillaz or any associated characters/songs. Gorillaz are © Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett.

Summary:

This is a Harry Potter/Gorillaz crossover. What happens when Harry escapes his cupboard and tries to run away from his horrible life in Little Whinging? Will Murdoc Niccals be his unlikely savior? Or is the evil bassist just out for his own personal gain? And just how does old Mudsy know about the magical world anyway? Stay tuned!

Side Note: Timeline-wise I'm moving the HP timeline to where The Sorcerer's Stone starts at Phase 1 of Gorillaz so the years will follow the Gorillaz timeline but I plan for the events of both story lines to all intertwine. So you will see how things in the Wizarding timeline are effecting what's going on into the Gorillaz timeline and vice versa. Hopefully that clears everything up. Ages: Harry 11, Noodle 10, StuPot 22, Russel 25, Murdoc 34.

Chapter 1: The Cupboard under the Stairs

Private Drive in Little Whinging had always been a pristine location in the eyes of prime real estate. Each little house was situated perfectly parallel to one another and each yard was a flush, immaculate green. There wasn't a single lawn left un-mowed nor a single weed out of place and that's just how its inhabitants liked it. Even those who lived there seemed well groomed and mild mannered. As far as the neighbors were concerned, it was the perfect place to be without a single trouble in the world.

But there was one blemish – the Potter boy.

Oh, his relatives seemed nice enough. Petunia Dursleys was a bit thin, but then again she did have to cook and care for her own family plus one. Vernon seemed to have a temper on him. Sometimes his bark sounded a bit like an enraged walrus. Who could blame him? He was having to work extra hours to support the extra child in their home and with that most likely came stress. Their son Dudley seemed a bit on the round side perhaps. However, he was a growing boy and growing boys needed to eat to grow big and strong!

No, the Dursleys were a good, upstanding family. What, with taking in that Potter boy they had to be… They were charitable and optimistic about the boy that was for certain. From the gossip of the neighborhood, the Potters had been a loud obnoxious sort; died in a car crash. They were drunks most likely. Their boy was just as bad. Always talking back to the family who'd given up every shred of decency to give him a proper home. They were obviously under-appreciated for their efforts.

Sure every now and then the small slip of a boy could be seen tending the garden in his baggy shirts and ripped jeans. But he never seemed to do it without complaint. He just seemed uncivilized compared to the rest of his family. It was a general census that the problem was with the breeding. Once an uncouth hooligan, always an uncouth hooligan. And now there was talk that the boy was having troubles at school. Poor Petunia. How did she make due?

He was a rogue little upstart… a freak.

Harry let out a sad sigh as he stared at the dark ceiling of his cupboard. Not long ago the clock had chimed signaling the start of his eleventh birthday, and yet he felt no joy at the thought. He supposed his life wasn't all bad even if Petunia had poisoned the neighborhood against him. Even with all the grueling work he was forced to do, he at least had a mattress to call his own and a couple of toys and small possessions to try and pass his time with. But he was lonely and desperately wished he could have one of those loving families he saw everytime he snuck a look at the telly.

He wasn't daft, he knew how they treated him wasn't in any way normal. He'd learned at school that other children received all three meals and sometimes more. He was aware that most parental figures hugged their children instead of smacking them around and forcing them into child-labor. He even saw how they treated Dudley as if the sun shined from his arse and could do no wrong. But not him. Harry was never good enough for that kind of special treatment.

He'd tried everything he could think of when he was younger to please them and hopefully change their hatred of him. But nothing had worked. Even trying to act pleasant toward them seemed to trigger their disdain. If he was too nice to them, they would just think he was up to something and punish him anyway. He couldn't depend on teachers to save him either as Petunia had already put in the good word for him about his lies and fantasies before he'd even stepped foot in front of them.

The worst was when something freakish would happen. When he was much younger he could always remember strange things happening like when Dudley's teddy exploded in a ball of fluff because he wasn't allowed to play with it or when Uncle Vernon's belts mysteriously vanished for a week after threatening Harry within an inch of his life after he'd accidentally broken their new coffee pot. As he got older, the more pronounced these strange occurrences seemed to be. His hair would grow seemingly overnight if his aunt tried to cut it. One of his teacher's wigs turned blue after she'd given him a rather lengthy lecture about chewing gum in class. Dudley's more hideous hand-me-downs would suddenly be too small to fit him. There was even one time he'd ended up on the roof after trying to outrun his cousin and his small group of thugs!

Harry would have found all of these events mildly interesting if it hadn't meant he'd get whooped before being shoved carelessly in his cupboard each time without dinner. Harry began to see this instances as more of a threat to his well-being than have any interest in finding out why these odd things kept happening to him. Why couldn't whatever it was just once help him escape this prison? He was so tired and lonely…

Suddenly he perked up in his little bed as he heard a faint click coming from his door. He cocked his head to the side and listened to the still house curiously, not daring to believe he'd heard right. Nothing seemed to move. He couldn't even hear the normal groans or creaks of the house. Everyone seemed to be sound asleep. Harry held his breath and watched with rapt fascination as he gently nudged the door open. His bed squeaked a little as he silently rolled off of it and cautiously stepped out from the cramped cupboard. Harry had always been small for his age, but the space was vastly becoming smaller to him with each passing day.

Harry found himself in a now very tempting situation as he stood between his cupboard and the imposing monstrosity known as the front door. His ears were still focused on the soundless house as he stared longingly at the barrier that was separating him from freedom. He wondered vaguely if this was a dream and pinched himself, yet he was still standing there. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearing two in the morning. It was no wonder everyone was still asleep.

He gulped as he took a tentative step forward. What did he have to lose by trying this, really? At most if he was caught he would get a well-deserved beating and be locked in tight for a day with no food. That was worth it wasn't it? To escape the hateful eyes of their nosey neighbors and to leave and never return to his relatives who had never liked him anyway? It was the one thing he'd wished for every birthday and now he suddenly had the chance of a lifetime.

He carefully undid the deadbolt and unlocked the main knob before opening it just enough and sliding into the chilly night. "I can't believe it," he muttered to himself with a sigh as he leaned his back against the door for a moment almost dizzied by what he'd just done. But then he seemed to snap out of it as he looked around noting that no one seemed to be up and about this time of morning. He should probably go now if he was going to at all.

As he quickly walked away from Private drive, he vaguely wished he had thought to put some shoes on his socked feet or maybe put on something more than the thin, worn pajamas he was still clad in. But he didn't let that deter him as he walked as far away as his feet would take him.

About an hour later, he knew that he wasn't in the best part of town. He could see an old rusty sign down the way that signaled he was close to Spinner's End which was where his aunt had always told him "the nasty sort" tended to live. He was getting tired and his breath was coming out in little short puffs as he looked around for a place to rest. His emerald eyes sparkled a bit when he spotted a small overgrown playground with a swing set. It wasn't much, but that swing looked comfortable enough to relax in for a moment. Making up his mind, he hurried over and plopped down before resting his forehead against the rusty chain in relief.

He barely took any notice of the two men that were paused a short distance away at the street corner. Their voices were low as they muttered to one another and seemed to trade something and then broke away from one another. The shorter of the two began to walk away as the taller stayed on the corner a moment longer before turning toward Spinner's End.

"Oi, wot's 'is?" the man's suspicious voice caught Harry by surprise as he looked up to see a grungy looking man with dirty blonde hair and rotting teeth. The man was staggering over toward him with a menacing twitch. "Oo are you and whadaya' doin' on my turf, kid? Did Philly send ya' ter spy on me?"

"N-no, sir." Harry stuttered as he slipped from the swing and slowly backed away. "I don't know a Philly…" he trailed off.

"Speak right proper now, don't ya'?" the crazed looking man said before fixing him with an accusing glare. "You are one o' Philly's! Ya' tryina' steal my customers! Well I got's a message fo' Philly, boy," he threatened stepping closer. He seemed to take great delight when the small boy lost his footing and fell backwards next to the swing. He watched as the small boy's eyes widened in horror as the man took out a switchblade from his jacket pocket. "C'mere kid, this won't hurt a bi-"

Harry stared up in awe as several things seemed to happen at once. A bright flash of red light blinded his vision as the scary man let out a yelp of pain and was practically blasted away from him at least ten feet. Harry winced a bit as he heard the sickening crack of the man's head connecting with the sturdy metal of the slide he collided into. Blinking rapidly, Harry stared too shocked to move.

"You okay, kid?" a raspy voice asked causing Harry's head to jerk to the side. The youth's mouth nearly dropped open as he was met with the sight of the most terrifying man he'd ever seen. He had wild, bloodshot eyes with crazed looking mismatched pupils. Harry wondered if the one was infected as it was a rather alarming shade of red. The bags under this man's eyes were defined and puffy. His limp hair was short and greasy looking. His skin looked like it might have been pale once, but was currently taking on a sickly hue of green. Even his clothes looked stained and un-kept. This was definitely not the kind of man his family would have associated with, that much was for sure. And yet, Harry couldn't help but find himself staring up at the man in queer fascination.

That's when the man's words seemed to catch up with Harry's overwhelmed mind and he realized the rough looking man was asking him a question. "Uh, yeah. S-sorry, um…" he quickly scrambled to get up and cleared his throat before trying to appear presentable which was a lost cause as he was quite filthy now from his tumble. "T-thanks, sir," he said politely, watching as the man's eyes seemed to take in his curious choice of outfit.

"Sir?" the man laughed a wheezing croak of a sound, "'Been a long time since someone called me 'sir.' Not from around 'ere are yeh? This innit a safe place for tots li' you, kid," the man said after a moment before taking out a silver zippo and lighting a cigarette. Harry watched in fascination as the man inhaled deeply before releasing a cloud of smoke that curled all around him making him look even tougher than before. "Betta' run back to wherever yeh came from."

"I can't," Harry found himself saying, his small fingers fidgeting with the hem of his slightly large pajama top. "They won't miss a freak like me," he muttered, looking down at his dirty socked feet with a frown.

The older man quirked his brow at the kid's choice of words and shrugged. "You runnin' away? Won't get far without shoes," he snickered, taking another puff of his cancer stick before looking nostalgic. "It's a nice effort though. Reminds me of the good ol' days when I'd sneak away from me Pop until that blasted Hannibal would rat me out." He looked decidedly sour at that thought and snorted, "Fuckin' poof."

Harry found himself laughing before he could stop himself. Such language was completely unheard of where he was from. In fact this man was probably everything he'd been warned against as a child – the very definition of freakishness. Yet, Harry couldn't help but be drawn to his strange looking savior.

"Hn, maybe you're no' so bad after all." The man smirked before tossing his cigarette down and stepping on the butt. "Anyways, you betta' run off befo' that oaf wakes back up. E' may not go so easy on ya' next time if he thinks yer scarin' his clients away."

"Clients?" Harry asked, not really sure what the man was talking about. "I really don't know what he was on about. I don't know a Philly," he insisted, then sighed. "I don't really have a place to go, but I refuse to go back to my relatives. The only thing they want me for is a whipping boy and they'll just lock me up again."

The older man gave the boy a searching look at that and shifted his stance a little as he thought things over. His eyes seemed to linger on the boy's almost too slim form. "Well, yeh can't stay here, kid. It's too dangerous 'round here," he said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "What's your name, kid?"

"Harry," he answered bravely, sticking out his hand in greeting. The man did save his life after all so he felt he was doing the right thing. "Harry Potter."

The man's eyes widened slightly as his mismatched pupils strangely darted to the scar on his forehead as if he already knew where to look. But before Harry could question his reaction, the man had thrust his own curiously clawed hand at him and shook it vigorously. "Murdoc Niccals, at yer service," he practically purred, his voice suddenly taking on the oily quality of a salesman as he grinned like a shark circling its prey. "How would yeh li' to come back with me and meet me band?"

"B-band, sir?" Harry asked bewildered at the sudden change.

"That's righ' kid," Murdoc said arrogantly as he stood a little straighter. "You're talkin' to the leader of the world famous Gorillaz. Now, now let's be on our way an' while we're at it you can tell me why yeh ran away from these relative o' yers."

"But where are we going?" Harry asked.

"Why to Kong of course," Murdoc said knowingly, pausing only to pluck something from the nearly forgotten crumpled body next to the rusty slide before turning and striding away with a skip in his step. Harry waited only a moment before hurrying to catch up with his new friend and silently marveled about how this was his most interesting birthday yet.

A/N: And there you have it! The start of what will be a very long adventure. I've seen a few Harry Potter/Gorillaz cross overs and found that I liked the idea but wanted more depth so plan on eradicating this issue and making a story of my own.

Let me know what you think!